#finally finished my first run and am very emotional about it so wanted to take memory portraits

[halcyoceans]

// Time goes so fast, heaven is lost // I wish you good luck, I still remember every day 🌹

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #astarion #astarion ancunin #shadowheart #lae'zel #karlach #karlach cliffgate #wyll ravengard #halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 withers #jaheira #bg3 minsc #minsc and boo #bg3 scratch #bg3 tara #tara the tressym #finally finished my first run and am very emotional about it so wanted to take memory portraits #no owlbear since I didn't get her this time </3 sorry #aurocrafts

[hoseoksluna]

MURK | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 16.9k

summary: one encounter with jungkook heals you enough to mend your boyfriend's heart.

pinterest board: murk

warnings: anxiety attack, different forms of self-harm and self-sabotage, mental agony, mutual masturbation, toying with polyamory, foreshadowing the use of a sex toy, alcohol consumption, seduction, provocation, teasing, oc wears pretty lingerie, cuckold kink, guided female masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, nipple play, clit rubbing, ass play, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, facial, cum eating

note: oh my god, this was supposed to have three parts, but it was getting way too long and i decided to prolong the series. i'm not gonna even mention how many parts this series is gonna have bc my characters surprise me every time i finish writing so... they're the boss of me. ANYWAYS, pls i am so proud of this work of mine and i can't wait for you all to read it. pls, spam my inbox anonymously! i need to hear your thoughts, so pretty please, let me know everything you're feeling, hating, expecting etc. i'm absolutely obsessed with oc, jk and yoongi. ALSO, let me know what team you are. team yoongi or team jk? i'll put a poll in the final part if i remember. hehe ENJOY READING ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Sensing Yoongi’s emotions, the clouds pull in, shunning the sunlight and you feel it. You feel it, enormously. 

The wind becomes violent. Curtains of sheer gray slap against the windows, undulating with such might that you sense its urgency. You stare at it in deep thought, naked and barren—void of any dignity, void of any rightness of feelings. A hole of blackness takes form in the middle of your chest, where the memory of Yoongi exiting the room hastily plays on a loop and there’s a faint, feeble hand in you, one of that urgency, that reaches for him, while the other remains slack at your side, caressing your own skin, pacifying your selfishness, your hypnosis—dragging you away from the side you had unwittingly and so unrightfully chosen. 

And while you want to mend what you’ve caused in your relationship, the only side you want to take at the moment is your own. The defeat pains you still, but what aches even more is the feeble wish there wasn’t any defeat at all. Not on Yoongi’s face, not on yours. 

You don’t regret what you’ve done. You don’t want to regret anything anymore, which is why you’re still standing dressed in your femininity as Jungkook apprehensively rakes his hands through his hair on the bed. You care very little for it because a bigger part of you is concerned about the well-being of your boyfriend. You wonder what he’s up to downstairs. Is he pacing? Is he busying himself from the onrush of his negative emotions, not able to stand the sight of you? You’d run to him, but there’s a bigger matter at hand. You have to fix your mind first. You have to cleanse yourself of the mess and the chaos, sort out the darkness so the light pours in. 

The light that will guide you to make the right decisions at last. The light that will burst your ugliness to smithereens, smother you with its heat so the hypnosis won’t penetrate it again. The light that should, ultimately, help Yoongi, help your relationship—fix its face, soothe out the overbearing tension. 

You’re aware Jungkook put you under a spell, now that the wind and Yoongi’s coldness has sobered you up. Turned you against him. Made you forget about him. You give zero fucks about how he does it time and time again. What you will concentrate on in the present time is making sure it won’t happen again. How? You’ll figure it out. Somehow. 

You don’t want any of the males to regard you as of now—and you wish you were alone, you wish you could escape like Yoongi did. That thought leads you, conspicuously, to begin to understand the reason behind his actions, but you don’t allow it to unfold in you. Not yet. You turn around to look at Jungkook. 

Elbows propped on his thighs, he’s digging a hole into the hardwood floors with the blackness of his irises. A small mole kisses the side of his ribs, the only visible part of his body that is otherwise clouded in shadows. You take your eyes away from that sight, not trusting yourself, hating yourself for naturally looking at that intimate part of him. Upon the sound of your movement, Jungkook flicks his eyes towards your form. You dislike everything about his attentiveness to you with every fiber of the betrayal that your body has become. 

His face is squished in his hands. He doesn’t look at your bareness. Merely studies the emotions written on your face. Like the healer he is, you know he wants to find something, anything to latch himself onto. And while you once obsessed over this need of his to mend, to make right, you despise it now. In spite of it, while you swallow down your distaste for it, your hand yearns to pet him like the wounded puppy he is, because you know that the tumultuous darkness both men are facing is of your origin, of your doing.

You keep it clenched in a tight fist. 

You don’t want to touch him anymore. You don’t want to touch any of them. Don’t want to cause any more harm than you already have with your desires. 

Jungkook startles when you make your way towards your travel bag. You hide your breasts beneath your forearm, not wished to be seen, not wishing to be vulnerable like that. The feeling of your stickiness along the inner sides of your thighs makes you cringe, worsens your hatred, and tears begin to sting in your waterline when you unzip your bag and grab the first thing you see. Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, but for the last time you avert your gaze from him and bolt to his bathroom. At the sound of his heavy steps, you slam the door shut. 

He calls your name and it is only then, when you’re alone, that you let those bitter tears and whimpers emit out of you. The sound is hidden by each strike of his palm upon the wood and your hand flies to your mouth in effort to stifle your emotions, feeling undeserving of them, feeling wrong, ugly, not worthy of his damned attention—not worthy of anything. 

“Sweetheart,” Jungkook whines. The first pet name he ever called you. You let out a pained sound and he forces the door open with all his might. Even though you don’t want to, you let him see the state of you—clutching your wrinkled dress and panties, concealing the evidence of the pleasure he gave to your body, of your femininity that he had put under his spell. 

You step away from the threshold, slinking deeper into the shadows of the bathroom. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be looking at you with such solicitude and affection. His brows shouldn’t be knitted like that, those eyes bigger and rounded than they usually are, fists tight and clenched, veins thumping and thick. Yoongi should be standing in his place with the intention to heal. Not him. 

“Please, go away,” you whisper, hot tears pouring down your pallid cheeks. You’re ashamed of them because you know full well that at this point you should be doing anything but crying. You’ve gone through so much turmoil, mingled with the darkness to such great extent that you should be proud of your work. You wanted this at some point—you wanted to remain the opposite force with separate feelings. You wanted to be his, when you had no right to choose. 

Jungkook’s eyes glisten. You turn your back to him, unable to be a witness to his emotions. You can’t see that; you don’t deserve to and he shouldn’t be feeling like this. He should’ve long exited this disorder—

You sob louder, exhausted of your thoughts, exhausted of shoulds, of wrongness. Turn the shower on, aware of the traces of disobedience and pain on your backside and you want to hide, but you have nowhere to go to. 

Jungkook turns the main lights off, leaving only the soft flickering bulbs on by the mirror. Ever the healer who senses your emotions by some sixth sense that you hate. Dimness covers your shame. 

He takes away your dress and panties and you let him. Folds them neatly on his laundry hamper. You watch him treat your underwear with such gentleness that it hurts. A flashback of him ripping your thong and making your bum red fills your brain, causing your feelings to expand in your chest—so much that you think your body is too small to keep them in. You can’t breathe, your lungs don’t have enough space to stretch and you panic, taking small breaths that don’t appease your need for air. Not at all. 

You step into the shower, needing to get away. 

The hot water burns on the curves of your behind and you hiss, but it alleviates your hatred. You deem it is precisely what you deserve. Your hand turns the temperature higher, sobbing into the stream of water, lungs heaving with such heft and it is okay, for it camouflages your hypocrisy. That is, until Jungkook notices it. 

“Are you crazy?” he mutters in dismay, fixing the temperature, but you grip his wrist briefly, pushing it away. Don’t look at him. Only warn him this way, silently. His miffed sigh wafts into the mist rising along your form, diffusing into your hair that still carries the scent of the pond. You want to wash it all out. “It’s going to hurt more like this.” 

You scowl, cupping the water in your hands like a child. “I don’t care. Leave.” 

The outward pain of your body isn’t the problem here. It aggravates you how he doesn’t see it—how he can be so ignorant to the more important matter at hand. Yoongi left because of him and because of you, because of the single-minded pleasure between you both that had nothing to do with Yoongi. You might as well have been there alone with him—Yoongi being just a pair of helping hands. Redundant. 

Burning. Burning of eyes, burning of skin, burning ache of heart. 

Jungkook scoffs at your forwardness, dumbfounded. Has the audacity to follow the drop of water trickling down the small of your back. You splash him, willing him to go away, but he stays put. Unbuttons his cargos. Hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, ridding himself, and stepping into the shower with you, sliding the door shut. 

You whisk your eyes to him with as much ill-will as you’re able to muster and he seizes it, unafraid of it, backing you against the wall. Solemn mien, subdued and so soft amidst the hardness of his decisiveness. Small pearls of emotion are stained upon the wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, twinkling in the shadows in tandem with the ever persisting glint perched on top of his irises. “I told you to leave.” 

He doesn’t blink. “You splashed me,” he utters, lowly. Grips your waist and pushes you against the coolness of the tiles. It takes a hold of the burn and rips it away, relief flooding in its place and your features relax against your will. “See how it feels better?” 

It does, but you don’t give him the benefit of the doubt—you refuse to. Not when you deserve to rot for hurting your boyfriend enough to make him leave, not when it should be him standing here with you—

“Don’t punish yourself,” Jungkook whispers, fixing the temperature yet again, letting the mist disperse. Such a tender, velvety sound that reaches deep inside of you, even when you want to fight him, even when you think that punishing yourself is the least you can do, considering how despicable you’ve become. But then he dabs a small amount of body wash onto his palm, rubs it across your sternum and it nobbles the drift of your self-sabotage. 

You feel the snugness of his touch, the darkness thickening in you and you take a fright of it. 

You put a stop to it. 

Grasping his wrist, you blink through the unrelenting fragrance of cherries filling your nostrils. “Don’t touch me.”

Seeing the panic flitting over your damp eyes, he lets go, respecting your wish. Smears it on the broadness of his chest instead. “Alright, I won’t touch you.” 

You sigh a whiny, vulnerable breath of relief. The glint of his irises ripples as tears pool across them. He, too, blinks them away. Stills as a sculpture while watching the film of your emotions. For a mere moment. Your throat constricts. Time, then, resumes. 

Jungkook hands you the bottle. Silence suffuses the profound atmosphere as you lather yourself in the cherry aroma. Almost without touching your skin, he peels your hair away from your back, capacitating you to reach your shoulder. As if his hands, now that they’ve acknowledged themselves with your body, simply cannot keep their distance. You shoot him a look that forces him to drop his limb. Note that it trembles on its way down to his side; note the same trepidation beginning its course on your body. Your mouth rounds in yet another rush of emotions, but you don’t cry. 

You’re so tired. So tired of feeling. So tired of guilt, of shame, of getting up and falling again. 

You avoid your intimate parts, your breasts and your behind. You hold your body instead, arms wrapped around your ribcage in effort to put yourself back together. You don’t understand why he’s here, why he cares; why he thinks he has the right to touch you without your boyfriend being present, why he thinks the situation between you and Yoongi is something he needs to remedy. And why, ultimately, he thinks it’s right to be on your side, instead of Yoongi’s. 

He’s not your friend. He doesn’t know you. 

You look up at him to fire that question at him, but Jungkook clutches the shower head and, with lukewarm water, he cleanses you of the foam, the bubbles and the stickiness on your thighs that he never got to wipe clean because you had pushed him away earlier. And then it happens. 

He cleanses you of your dirtiness, of your hatred and of your tiredness, too. With the same shower head, the same lukewarm water. And you can’t explain how he does it, how your body lets him, how it willingly lets go until there’s nothing in you anymore. Just the cherry perfume and the hole in your chest with a murky cloud in the middle. You merely watch it dribble down your skin, plop onto the tiles on the floor, swimming around your feet and his. Dumbstruck. 

You feel like stomping on it, but you don’t have the energy. Figure it will drown in the small pool of water on its own, die a slow, painful death, before it trickles down the drain. 

You don’t know how it came about now that it’s gone and you can’t take your eyes off of him. All he did was rinse you off. And the ridiculousness of it all is that, the more Jungkook deepens your eye contact, the more you want it back. You want to be the one who purges you of it. Steal the magic from his hands and splatter it back on your skin, in place of the cherries. He can keep those. 

Why did he come? Why didn’t he go to Yoongi? 

And you ask him. “Why are you here?” 

He fishes for a bottle of shampoo. “Will you let me wash your hair?” 

You scowl up at him. “I asked you a question.” 

Stillness in his features. “So did I.” 

That damned stubbornness, so reminiscent of yours, of your muted, silent one, hidden within you. Fair enough. You search within yourself for any hint of protest. Find none—find it’s been washed away, find cherries and the heft of the cloud, no darkness, much to your dismay. You turn your back towards him. 

“Tilt your head back.” 

Thankful that he didn’t do it himself, you do as he says. Jungkook wets your hair and you feel the pond leaving you, your heart skipping over to latch onto it, adamant on not letting it leave, but alas—it disappears along with everything else. You wish your heart would trickle down the drain, too. You have no need for it, anyways. 

Jungkook’s touch on your hair is benign, careful as he rubs the shampoo on your scalp. You flutter your eyes shut, welcoming in, somehow, the massage that diminishes the intensity, which your thoughts are hurled at you with, as though he was the owner of them and he came home to make order. And they settle altogether to listen as he begins to speak. “It shattered my heart. To see both of you so broken because of me. I saw it at dinner at first. Then I saw it again today. It pains me. It pains me that it’s my fault.” 

Silence, hefty, strong silence. The principle of being seen by another pair of eyes; the principle of your agony being seen and understood, no longer obscured within your mind, within your heart. Jungkook didn’t just see you, he saw Yoongi, too. Saw through you both. Something about that, along with the work of his fingertips, mitigates the heaviness of your emptiness, of your cloud, but it doesn’t tear the misty body. Not yet. 

Your throat is dry. “Why are you here, then? Why aren’t you with Yoongi? He’s your friend.” 

He gently drags his palms across your length. “Because Yoongi deals with things like this on his own. He doesn’t need a friend when he goes through shit. He needs to be alone.” 

You don’t understand. Yoongi always needed you when his mental health was at stake. Needed you as he unraveled the entanglement of ropes of that darkness that had enveloped his mind by talking to you about it. Then, he would eat with you, fuck you and try again the next day. It would be a long process, but it would be something you’d go through together. There never was a time he’d walk that path alone. 

And then it hits you. 

That was before you. Before he met you, he meandered through that decaying meadow alone. Jungkook served in the military—he doesn’t know anything about the change that occurred. Doesn’t know that Yoongi gave up his isolation. 

And you tell him. Merely a hint of it. Figure it’s Yoongi’s story to tell and you don’t have the heart to snatch that opportunity away from him. 

Listening to your words, Jungkook slackens. You only hear the sound of the shower head being put back into its place that indicates his shock to you. You figure he wanted to rinse off the shampoo, but the information paralyzed his body. You turn around to see that bewilderment writing verses across his features. Tenderness, too. A tendril of liquid emotion swirling past his waterline. “I tried my best to make that happen when I could,” he utters and you don’t think he realizes he said it, eyes unfocused, fixed on the tile beside your arm. “You can’t imagine how difficult it was for him. To let you in.” 

You feel the same tenderness curling into your cloud. Your mouth rounds again. Touched, terribly touched. Gladness holds hands with that tenderness, gladness that he didn’t leave when you had told him to. Because if he had never stepped inside the shower, you wouldn’t have known. You wouldn’t have known the secret that changes everything. 

You yearn to see Yoongi. Yearn to hug him, hold him, to pour out your love into him. Think you’re ready now. Stable enough to satisfy your craving. And in the love that you feel for him, you sense the light swarming, begging to be seeped into him. 

You stand beneath the stream to rinse off the shampoo, the water blanketing your head, peace penetrating your skull, tidying up the mess in your mind. Hushing out your thoughts now that your negative feelings long slinked away. You’re a new person. Clean, purified. And while you find it hard to believe, all you want to do is truly run to Yoongi. 

You can’t let him venture back to that forlorn meadow, to the ghost of his isolation. You might have shown him the way, but you have the will to stop him—and that’s more than enough. 

The healer that Jungkook is… he did it again. He dismantled your attachment and now he fixed your mind. You don’t know from what source he had rooted out the light, but he gave it to you. He gave it to you when you needed it the most, without knowing a thing about it. 

Blindly, you hook a finger around his index in a gesture of thanks. You don’t want to look at his nakedness. Don’t want to be pulled into that energy again. It brings his attention to you and you want to weep. Differently now. You want to weep due to the fact he somehow, seemingly, knows because he cups himself. Due to the roundness of his eyes that you know, that still live under your skin—differently now, too. Due to the fact that you got to be acquainted with him, despite the ruckus and the pain it came with. 

And you hope, in all truthfulness, that you remain something along the lines of friends after this day is over. How else would you have gotten to this healing? 

You open your mouth to express your gratitude, but Jungkook speaks first. “Don’t look at my worm.” 

The laughter that dribbles out of your mouth is so lightweight, so full of breezy and summer-breathed relief that the tears, which were held in, do break through the confinement and roll down the apples of your cheeks. Different, different tears. 

Friends, yes, please. You beg the heavens. May they let him become your friend. 

Jungkook scrunches his nose, squeezing your finger, relief, too, washing over him. “Don’t cry, I swear it’s not small like this all the time. It gets bi—”

“Get me a towel, you dummy,” you say, softly, amidst your sputtering laughter, wiping your tears away. Jungkook smiles, the change of the atmosphere illuminating him from beneath, and he slides the door open, letting the slight cold air in. You turn off the water, focusing your eyes on the last ripples of water draining your negative emotions until they slip, entirely, away. 

Jungkook holds out a beige towel for you. Doesn’t wrap it around you; still respects your wish. Lets you take it from him and then he disappears into the bedroom, closing the door shut behind him. 

You used the alone time to doll yourself up for Yoongi. At least a little bit—you didn’t want to overdo it, amongst other things that you already had. 

Although you missed your favorite mango scent, the cherries didn’t seem so bad and you got accustomed to it fairly quickly as you swiped a tiny bit of your cream blush along your cheeks, where you’ve let your relieved tears dry. You smeared the same tint of soft red upon the puffiness of your lips, connecting it to the perfume, connecting it to the healing that sank lower and lower in your gut. And you sealed it into the entwistment of your braid—sealed it fully.

You won’t let it leave you. Not this time; not again. 

By the time your feet pad down the wooden stairs, you discover what Yoongi was up to in his absence. Three plates of ramen are prepared on the dinner table, gone cold by now, along with utensils and opened cans of fizzy drinks. The sight lids your eyes with tears, but you stifle them, blink them away. You thought he wanted to forget you, when in reality he had you in mind the whole time. And not just you, but your culprit as well—and he cooked him food. 

A sudden roar forces your head to whisk towards the balcony. And your heartbeat quickens. You don’t feel your legs as you speed outside. 

Yoongi sits on top of the stairs, a cigarette in hand, torso twisted, facing Jungkook, whose shoulders sag in consternation, palms open towards him. He makes a move to his side, but Yoongi raises a limb to stop him. Looks at you for a moment. At your wet hair, at the same state of Jungkook’s. Your heart lodges in your throat—

“Get away from me,” Yoongi mutters, taking a long drag from his cigarette, and you don’t feel anything at all. Not your legs trembling, threatening to drop to the ground. Not the standstill of your bloodstream. You’re struck, unable to speak, to think. Yoongi rises to his feet and points his busy fingers at you. “Did you enjoy your shower?” he spits the venom in your face, ruining your makeup that you diligently put on for him—your tears flow, mingling with it, hot to the touch. “Did you enjoy fucking him?”

You gasp. “No, Yoongi, I didn’t—”

Yoongi’s own tears pool in his clouded eyes. You’ve never seen them before and they break you, tear apart the cloud in you. “You didn’t what, honey?” he croaks out. Repeats the question. 

Your sobs ache, but you don’t care. You take a step towards him, reach out your hand like you should’ve done earlier before he left and he takes it. The light that spills out from your chest radiates him, radiates him enough that he gives you the chance to explain yourself, to redeem his heart and you’re willing to do anything for it. His palm is cold, more cold than it’s ever been and Yoongi squeezes you, as if to beg you to undo the gashes upon his heart. Jungkook looks at the intertwinement for a mere second and you refuse to note the sliver of pain whirling past his eyes. Not this time; not again—this is about you and Yoongi. And you’re glad when he leaves. You don’t watch him go. 

“I didn’t have sex with him,” you whisper, the only way you could keep your voice still, your tears soaking the neckline of your lacy dress. You will your healing not to quiver, but to remain strong, remain unbreakable. “I swear on my life that I didn’t.” 

The same drops of pain pour down his face and you can’t bear it. You bury your face into his clothed chest, bunching the material of his T-shirt in your fists, needing him to believe you, needing him—

“You took a shower with him,” he breathes in pure disbelief. You feel it palpitate in his heart that your forehead is pressed against. This time, you understand right away how wrong that was—that showers are something that belongs to you and him, your shared rose garden of some sort that they could become, even though you were too smothered by the darkness to realize it fully in the moment.

You halt the shame creeping in. The guilt, the wisps of darkness. You’ve healed, and it shall stay that way. No more. 

“I took a shower alone.” The wind nips at you and it is like a slash of a whip on your back. “He came in—”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. Lets his cigarette fall to the floor of the veranda. With his lips pursed and like a bolt of lightning you can’t keep in your hands, he rips himself out of your hold and lopes inside the cabin with heavy, wrathful steps. 

And you can’t stop it—the colliding of Yoongi’s fist on Jungkook’s cheekbone. 

You yelp, grabbing a hold of the fabric of Yoongi’s T-shirt to pull him back, your sight blurred enough that you can’t see. You can’t see properly the way Yoongi doesn’t let Jungkook fall to the floor, but instead grabs him by the collar and fumes in his face. Your sobs choke you and you press yourself against his back, wrapping your arms around his torso, willing him to stop, begging him in your silent language. 

You feel the heavy, long thuds of his heart, the trembling lift and fall of his chest and you squeeze him tighter, weeping into the cloth of his garment, emitting liquid fear—fear of Yoongi receiving the same hit, fear of the darkness, much bigger one, enveloping all three of you. And you don’t have the time to blame yourself for causing this. Yoongi’s words stop you dead in your tracks. 

“You forced yourself on her?” he hisses, pushing him to and fro like the curtain billowing behind you. “Are you that fucking desperate for pussy that you forced yourself on my girl? Should I fucking kill you?” 

A momentary stillness. Your breath is loud. Louder than the hard huffs of air escaping the mouths of the two males. 

“Let go, hyung,” Jungkook croaks out, defeated. And you don’t know how the sound of it makes you feel. Perhaps, you’re feeling nothing, which is a good thing. You put your boyfriend first in your weak heart, his feelings, his well-being. Not Jungkook; not yourself. Even though your heart silently, painlessly cracks. 

“I asked you a question.” Yoongi’s wrath rises, absorbing the room, despite the fact his voice is deadly calm. You squeeze him harder. 

He did force himself into your personal space, but if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been healed. You wouldn’t be here, on your boyfriend’s side. And the thought of being the opposite force if he hadn’t done that, cradling his back instead of Yoongi’s terrifies you enough that you speak up—in need to fix the situation. 

“He didn’t, Yoongi. I promise,” you whimper, burying your face deeper into the middle between his shoulder blades. And there you feel his spine shake. You caress his stomach to soothe him, peppering kisses along that strong column. 

Yoongi punches him again. It reverberates throughout your whole body. You only hear the crash of Jungkook’s form onto the floor. 

“Only over my dead body will you lay a finger on her again,” Yoongi hisses and he twists his wrist to alleviate himself of the affliction scattering along his knuckles. “And what you’ve done to her, the pain you’ve caused her is something I will never forgive you for.” 

Stillness. Terrible, terrible stillness. The whip of the wind. A roar of an upcoming storm in the heavens far, far away. You don’t become it. You remain yourself. His girlfriend, defended. 

Yoongi turns around and cradles your face in his hands. Wet, worried eyes, begging you for something that you can’t pinpoint. Shiny, sniffling nose, suppressing his emotions. Red, regretful mouth, breathing out exasperated breaths. Quivering chin—quaint in the rawness of his expressed love towards you. You yearn to kiss him, you yearn to take him home, so terribly remorseful that you got him into this gut-wrenching mess. And you listen to your body, fulfill the only right decision you’ve come across since meeting his friend. 

“Let’s go home, baby,” you whisper, pecking him softly. Yoongi nods, wiping your tears away. Takes your hand and leads you towards the front door. 

Jungkook, now standing on his wobbly feet, bruised and bloodied, merely watches the pair of you. Sorrowful. And as you walk away from him, you clutch in your heart what he’s done for you. 

Yoongi hands you his car keys. “Wait in the car.” 

You nod and you go. Don’t stick around to see the unfolding of the storm. Don’t say goodbye. 

The rain pitter-patters on the roof of the car. You’re tired of it. You’re tired of the summer. Don’t find any beauty in it. Not even in the mountains and the trees. 

Yoongi hasn’t come back yet. 

Your stomach grumbles, but you don’t feel any hunger. You’ve nibbled on your bottom lip so much that rawness of blood is all that your teeth sink into. The same blood that, much like your darkened self-sabotage, trickled out of Jungkook’s nostril. It tastes bitter on your tongue. 

A ruthless carousel of scenarios spin in your mind and you’re tightly buckled in the seat of fear with no way out. The fear that, in your absence, Yoongi’s hit got reciprocated. The fear that the same blood you taste could, possibly, be on your own hands. 

You want to get away from here. Far, far away. 

When Yoongi emerges from the cabin, a thunder announces it. The only blood you detect is the dried one on his knuckles. The rain didn’t get to clean it and once he places the same hand upon the shivering coldness of your thigh, a decision perks up in you. A decision to not let anyone get in the way of mending and cleansing anymore.  

You shall be the one who does it now. Not the rain, not Jungkook. They’ve both done enough. 

And when you lift that wounded hand to your lips, you wish you could clean it with your tears—but you fear the salt would only pain him more. So you settle for your sighs of relief, for your gentle kisses and for the light in you to do the work. 

“No more tears, honey,” Yoongi murmurs, cupping your chin and pecking you. “It’s over now.” 

You drift to sleep during the ride home. 

And you sleep through the whole afternoon in an anguished effort to forget. Forget the blood, forget the sound of Jungkook’s body hitting the floor… forget yourself. 

You didn’t dream about anything at all. Only the darkness consumed you, a lullaby of nothingness. 

And when you awake, your feet groggily take you to Yoongi. They seem to know where he is, even when your eyelids are still half-closed, even when your brain still dozes. A canopy of dusky, darkening heavens, with hues of roses dispersed all around, gently fondles your eyes to rouse them fully and right here, on the balcony, much different to the one you spent your afternoon on—much smaller, much more confined—is where you find your boyfriend. An empty pack of cigarettes on the table, a cold purple lighter and a dark bottle of liquor.

His strained back greets you first. He doesn’t hear your steps; he doesn’t sense your presence and it isn’t until your fingertips touch his saddened spine that he turns around. Wrinkles of the same dejected nature, absolute despair wrung into the paleness of his face. You cradle it and you bolster it when he spills into your hands, when you feel the hotness of his tears. And you spill with him—the only thing left to do. 

You will your light to swathe him. Press his head against your chest as you lead him to take a seat with you on his lap. And you keep your mouth tightly shut when the soreness of your muscles, the slight discomfort of the burn on your skin forces a whine out of you. You keep it caged in. Put your boyfriend first. 

Sifting your fingers through his hair, you kiss his scalp—kiss his mind, even when you don’t know its contents. To ease it, whatever it was that caused him to break. 

You sit like this until the moon springs from the clouds. You don’t look at it. Refuse to. 

It’s Yoongi who speaks first, cold fingers sunk beneath your thighs, seeking your warmth. 

“Tell me everything from the beginning,” he murmurs, weary eyes boring into yours. “I need to hear it from you.” 

You’d give him anything he asked, anything he wished for; you’d pierce your heart if the time asked for it. And so you nod, place your hand on his chest, lie against his good shoulder and you begin to leak. Leak the simplest of words you’re able to find in your windswept mind. 

“He put me in a trance when we were intimate. So much that I lost my mind, lost my surroundings, lost my sense of home.” You swallow, dryly, thinking that’s the best way you could explain it without deepening the gashes upon his heart. Decide you will not overdo it. “And when you left and I breathed in the fresh air, it was like I’d woken up from it. It hurt so much. I was worried about you, but I wasn’t ready to face you. Not when I had to deal with the repercussions.” 

Yoongi squeezes the flesh of your thigh to comfort you, thumb fondling the skin back and forth, listening intently. 

“I didn’t understand at first why you left. I was so out of it. But little pieces started to put it together in my mind as I was thinking about it. And then I saw Jungkook with his head in his hands and I knew I’d done something really, really bad. I wanted to run away, like you did, but I had no other place to go to other than the bathroom. And Jungkook…” you trail off, taking a deep breath, preparing yourself mentally for this part of the story—the thread that is linked to the bruises upon Yoongi’s knuckles. “I thought he wanted to comfort me, and maybe he did. I pushed him away but he relented. He was concerned because I—” A lump forms in your throat, your lashes quiver. “I made sure the water was boiling hot because I wanted to burn off—I wanted to punish myself for making you leave, for hurting you. And then he got in the shower and I didn’t say anything.” 

You pause for a moment, thinking about how you’re supposed to mention the matter of the burn of your backside and his concern regarding it without wounding Yoongi. 

“He—” Your throat constricts and Yoongi cradles your face in his palm, lifting your head so you can gaze into his eyes, draw strength from him. He nods, encouraging you to continue, while seemingly giving you as much time as you need. Tears the lump apart. “He was worried because the hot water was making the burn on my butt worse, but I—I didn’t feel it. I was crying so hard.” 

His eyes search for something in yours and you know right away what it is. The answer to his question on whether he touched you. You wrap your arm around his neck. Glad it didn’t wound him. Enough that you overbrim with the desire to assuage his disquiet. 

“He didn’t touch me,” you whisper, although it’s not entirely true. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. “Not in the way you think. I told him to stop. He wanted to wash me. I told him no.” 

He blinks, but you can’t read his solemn features. You see the memory of Jungkook gripping your waist and pushing you against the tiles, so you wouldn’t burn your skin, and you saying nothing displayed on them. It overwhelms you, but you fight it. What’s done is done.  

The worst part of the story awaits you. You pluck it, ready to get it over with. 

“All he did was rinse me off. And he told me about how it hurt him to see us like this because of him. I felt everything leaving me when I was listening to him. I don’t know how, but I did. He asked to wash my hair and I let him. I felt so relieved to be ridded of the guilt and the pain I felt that I started crying again. He made me laugh. And then he left me alone. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if he hadn’t been there.” 

Stillness, awfully quiet stillness—like the one at the cabin, but you do not fear it. An abrupt onrush of strength fills your bones, giving you the notion that whatever comes next is something you’ll be able to endure. 

Yoongi drops his hand. You will your heart not to drop along with it. 

“The lines have been blurred so much that I—” He averts his gaze. Towards the glimmering stars up above as if they could give him the strength he’s now void of. “I don’t know if it’s fair for me to feel the way I do, when—when I let him have you.” 

You are able to endure it. A motherly stimulus creeps in, one that has the capacity for the mightiness of whatever it is that he’s feeling. You want to swallow it down. You desire to. 

“What do you feel, baby?” you whisper, nudging your nose against his, an Eskimo kiss to relieve him, to help him. “Tell me.” 

Yoongi narrows his eyes in regret. “It should’ve been me,” he breathes. You nod, agreeing with him, even though you’ve accepted that fate wrote it was meant to be Jungkook. Perhaps for that very reason, he was inscribed to be pulled into that whole situation to begin with, no matter how lewd it was. “And it should’ve been me under that—”

He doesn’t let himself finish his sentence, but you know what he wanted to say. It brings tears to your eyes, the fact that he hated what you had done to yourself and instead wished it was him—to whom the harm was done. 

You let them pour out. You don’t want them smothering you. You want everything out, so you can move on—so both of you can. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. Another Eskimo kiss, a longer one this time. Yoongi sniffles against you and you want to pull out more from him, to rid him completely of those negative feelings. “Like you said, it’s over now.” 

Yoongi nods, vulnerably, and you peck him on the mouth. And he’s unable to reciprocate the kiss, for his features twist in another rush of liquid emotions. You stroke the back of his hair, running your fingers down its length, urging softly more out. 

“I don’t regret anything,” you continue, pressing your cheek against his tears, letting them seep into your skin. “Even though it hurt, I don’t regret it, Yoongi. Neither should you.” 

He sobs and it reverberates through your body. You remain strong. Strong like the mountains. “I hurt him.” 

The breath you inhale is knifing you sharply. “He loves you—”

“And I hurt him,” he cuts in, squeezing you against him, needing you. “I didn’t trust a word he said. I didn’t—” he heaves, unable to catch his breath, hiccups. “Because I thought he hurt you, I didn’t hear him out. I didn’t know he helped you.” 

“What did he tell you?”

“He told me he didn’t force himself on you, but I didn’t believe him. I gave him so much shit for it, for spanking you. And then he begged me to hit him again.” 

The healer deemed it would make Yoongi feel better. Your heart warps. 

“Did you?” 

“No.” 

You kiss his temple and you don’t realize that it’s a silent thanks until you lift your lips, however you’re not thrown off balance. It should be like this. You should feel for both men. You should feel. It makes you a living, breathing human. And Yoongi’s reactions and emotions make him human, too, even if they seem wrong in the moment. It’s not something to hate him or judge him for—it’s something to love him for. He should feel safe. Deserves to. 

It’s better than to feel nothing. 

And you tell him. A thousand times until he nods, sloshing your words in his mouth before carefully swallowing them, accepting them. 

“It’s not a lost cause. You can talk to him. And you can try again.” 

Yoongi looks at you as he takes in what you’ve said, as if the concept never crossed his mind—or, if it did, it perhaps seemed too unrealistic to make happen. As if he was doomed for life. As if he lost him forever. 

Love is never lost. And you tell him that as well. 

Yoongi lights up from within. You wipe away his tears. Brush his hair away from his face. And you give him every last drop of your light, hugging him. And he hugs you back until birds begin to sing in the sky. 

It took several weeks for Yoongi to gather courage to call Jungkook. Liquor bottles piled in a row on the balcony and you didn’t count them anymore, you just joined your boyfriend, who had become a frail skeleton, whenever his nerves asked for the burning liquid. Either you would keep him company or you’d bring your own shot glass. And each time, it would end with a subdued, murky therapy session, without the fucking. 

Yoongi hasn’t touched you since the afternoon spent in the cabin. 

He wasn’t in the mood and you stifled yours. Your body was so accustomed to the daily release of pleasure that because it didn’t have it now all of a sudden, it felt weird—it felt out of place, and you drowned it out with alcohol and smokes, drowned it out with shopping sprees until money ran out and stashes became empty. So you had to settle for your own hand. 

And it was easy. You daydreamed about Jungkook. Felt the ghost of his fingers on every sensitive place your hand roamed. On your breast, on your thigh and on your clit, in your entrance. You replayed everything he’d done to you and it didn’t hurt; you didn’t feel shame. You’ve healed to the point that it drenched you, aroused you enough to coax your orgasm out in mere minutes.

And it didn’t feel shameful because Yoongi had told you the reason why he fled the scene. 

“You were in pain and I couldn’t stand it. You wouldn’t look at me and if you did, you’d look away as if I had no role in the sex. He took control when it should’ve been me. And I didn’t do anything to stop it.” 

It wasn’t about you being so preoccupied in the trance. It was about Jungkook taking charge as if you were his. Which was what led Yoongi to think he forced himself on you in the shower. It was about him being silent and not speaking up, prioritizing your pleasure. 

It made sense to you, but you still apologized. For what, you didn’t know. Just felt the need to. And Yoongi made you feel so safe, as safe as you had made him feel that night on the balcony, that you couldn’t help but yap about how enjoyable it was for you—what Jungkook did to you. And Yoongi agreed. 

You were content that you’ve moved past the hurt and focused on the real truth beneath, revealing it: you both had enjoyed it when you were pleasured. 

You didn’t check if the conversation made him hard, for you ran into your bedroom to relieve yourself of the ache between your legs as fast as possible. But he found you. Watched you. Validated you. Validated your daydreams. Told you what to do as he smoked a cigarette, standing in between your outstretched legs before the bed, the summer wind cooling the sweat on your body. And then he told you to do it again. 

And again. 

Until he couldn’t pull out any more orgasms out of you. 

He became obsessed with it. 

Because the next day and the many after that, you did the same thing. He would watch you while you fingered yourself. He’d tell you what he’s doing to you in your daydreams, taking charge of them, what Jungkook is doing to you. Other times he’d jerk off and come all over your tummy and cunt. Still remain hard; still remain needy. He wouldn’t fuck you. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t even insulate it. Wouldn’t slip it inside the dreams. And once his desire would run out of its sweet wine, yours simply wouldn’t. And the more you both indulged in this act, you figured out two things. 

One, Yoongi used it as a coping mechanism. As a healing tool to recuperate from the afternoon spent in the cabin, one that would ultimately help him have sex with you in the long run. Two, you were riding the waves of ideas and excitement with no real fulfillment, with no release. 

Tasting the picture of the sin at first might have been enough—but the more you did it, the more you wanted to sink your teeth into the real thing. 

You wanted Jungkook again. 

And like the intelligent man Yoongi is, he figured it out, too. 

A certain number of orgasms was an indication of an ending to this playful time. And the last time you did this, Yoongi—at this number—was ready to withdraw and jump into the shower, but you grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Hungry, starved, devouring his neck, grinding your still wet pussy against his softening cock. 

He put two and two together. Immediately.

“You’re hungry for what I haven’t given you yet, aren’t you?” 

You begged for it, moaning against his artery, reveling in the feeling of his cock against you after such a long time. And when you looked at him, you saw drunkenness seizing his features. Drunkenness without the consumption of alcohol. And you felt the same inebriation enclosing around yours, knowing your desire sparked this inside of him. It felt different. Way, way different. 

“Think about how you want it. Make yourself come as many times as you want. And when I come back from the shower, tell me about it. We’ll figure it out; we’ll make it work.” 

It grazed your hunger. Squeezed it in such a playful way. Like a human hand squeezing an animal because of the cute-aggression it feels towards it. 

You didn’t know how many times you came. You were too lost in the story you constructed, soaking the bed sheets even more than you already had. Your fingers had turned wrinkly by the time you opened your eyes, finished with the plot, to see Yoongi leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, not having the heart to disturb you in your passion. 

And while you showered, playing the story in your head over and over, Yoongi cooked you food. Poured you liquid courage. Waited for you at the table, dressed only in a pair of joggers. Chain-smoked, the rule of only smoking on the balcony long forgotten during his process of healing. 

When you sat down to eat, you slid your feet across his lap. Lifted your camisole, let him see your bare cunt the way he liked it that one time; the scent of your mango body butter wafting in the air, the sultriness of an August evening carrying that eccentricness right into his senses, readying him for what you were about to tell him. 

And you began, casually, with every bite of the delicious food he made you. You got ahead of yourself, though, dumb by the intensity of adrenaline and arousal coursing in your veins. “I want you to dictate every move. And it’s up to you if you let him fuck me or not. My first idea from the start was—”

“I want you to tell me your full fantasy. What you touched yourself to. From the beginning ‘til the end.” 

You fixed your mistake quickly. 

“I dreamed about him watching us. You gave him rules. No touching. Hands on the armchair I wanted him to sit in. No talking. Then, I began with you letting him see what we’ve been doing. Loudly, vulgarly. Me playing with my pussy while you jerked off until you came all over me. Then you ate me out and wouldn’t stop until I begged you to fuck me. From behind. While you stretched my ass with a butt plug.” 

“Did I talk? Like I do normally?” 

“Yes. He heard it all. Every word you used. And I wanted you to do it to make him needy. Needy enough to beg you to let him fuck me.” 

Yoongi only cursed. And you felt him hardening again under the soles of your feet. You caressed his ache with your toes.

“He thought the butt plug was used to stretch me for him, but it was for my pleasure, for decoration. You only let him pump your cum deeper into me. You didn’t let him come. And you held me from behind. Held me open for him in the air. And then he begged you for mercy. You gave in. Dropped me to the floor. And he fucked me ruthlessly, keeping me still on the floor with his thighs around me. He wasn’t able to last long. Begged you to let him come in me and you did. And then… then he ate me out. And so did you. At the same time. And I came so hard that I squirted. Then we took a shower. All three of us.” 

“Did anything happen in the shower?” Quick, hard breaths, as if he was on the verge of an orgasm from your footjob. 

And he proved to you, with a groan, that he was when you finished your story and his joggers dampened. “No, you both just held me. And we kissed like crazy.” 

And it was this release of cum that drove him to make that phone call. 

When Jungkook picks up on the first ring, Yoongi grabs his keys, blows you an air kiss and leaves. The joy that thrums in your heart is unlike any you’ve ever felt. You know where he’s gone. You know it fully well. 

And in the meantime, you doll yourself up. 

Hours later, he returns. With a grin blossomed on his face, one you haven’t seen since the day at the cabin, and a pink bag in his hand, one he hands you as soon as he takes off his shoes. 

Inside you find the butt plug you dreamed of. Silver with a purple faux diamond in the middle. Fairly small, just the kind you’re certain you will be able to take. With a freebie of a much smaller packet of lube. To be safe playing out the fantasy. 

Yoongi kisses you so hard when you look up at him that he steals all of your breath, ridding you of your chance to thank him. 

“He’s coming over later.” 

You kiss him, equally hard. Happy that he’s happy, happy to see movement in his healing journey. You give him tiny kisses, a hundred of them, and he breathes a laugh into your mouth, his joy filling you with energy and exhilaration. Finally, finally, finally—you’ve missed this emotion of his. Glad for the sadness, for the murkiness to be gone. 

And you pray nothing gets in the way. 

When Jungkook announces his arrival by knocking on the door, the sight you’re met with is quite uncanny. Though your heart isn’t stirred by it, bouncing in your chest like a small child seeing its father after a long, long time. 

It’s been almost a month and he’s become older since the last time you saw him. His hair, grown longer and thicker, curls at his temples, ears and the nape of his neck. Round eyes have stayed the same, as well as the glint, and there’s a hint of the same joy that you’ve found in Yoongi, whirling in circles past it. Nose void of any blood, cheekbone healed from bruises. His demeanor is careful as if he had been punished enough by the fight and the silent treatment that followed it, taking off his shoes and his zipper hoodie, revealing a much bigger broadness of shoulders and arms, exposed in a tight fit of a black tank. 

While Yoongi drowned his sorrow in alcohol and smokes and then came across his relief, his air in a sexual fantasy with his friend involved, he—the said friend—clearly found his coping mechanism in the gym. 

He’s huge. As if he hadn’t already been from the military. 

You lick your lips at him, and it’s such a natural reaction that you don’t even think about what you’ve done until you perceive that he doesn’t look at you at all. And it turns you on. It turns you on that he’s holding himself back from you. You know what hides beneath, what comes out when he lets go of his good boy persona.  

Glancing at Yoongi, he’s already smirking at you with a playful gaze. Affected by his ignoring of you just the same. The shared connection thickens the energy around, but Jungkook breaks it. 

He breaks it once he lifts his head, hangs his hoodie on the back of a chair and envelops you in a hug. Defaces your evident tendency to view him as an object, scribbles it in slashes until the ink runs out. All by a few strokes of his hand down your hair, down your back clothed in a new silky robe. 

And when he withdraws from the hug, you see the healer that helped you become the person Yoongi needed on his journey. 

His somber eyes skim over the long length of your nighttime attire, as if lamenting over the fact it’s not the red one. Over its dusty-pink color that parts the fabric to reveal your smooth leg and your toes. And then he’s gone, pulling your boyfriend in the same hug that lasts a bit longer, uttering silent words that should’ve been said that afternoon at the cabin with each increase of squeezes and pats within the hold. 

You know they’ve said what they needed to hear during the phone call to mend what’s been broken. You feel a certain proudness of Yoongi for managing so well, for being at this very part of the journey. It’s praiseworthy. 

“You hungry?” 

Jungkook looks at you at last, imaginary puppy ears perking up at your question. And his eyes soften, wet with emotion from the reunion. He rubs his belly. “Starving.” 

You shuffle your feet to make your way into the kitchen, but Yoongi beats you to it. Wave a hand towards the table, inviting him to sit and, out of habit, you pour some liquid courage into a shot glass for him from the bottle you keep there instead of a vase filled with flowers. 

He merely glances at it. Doesn’t drink it. 

“How have you been?” you ask, screwing the lid back on, not being able to take your eyes off of him—your entire history faintly blanketing your sight. 

And he deepens the eye contact. 

“How do you like your butt plug?” 

Taken aback, you laugh, the atmosphere so airy all of a sudden that your cheeks flush and your lungs heave with affability. This is the friendship you had begged the heavens for. Without strings, without pain. Light-natured friendship, with flirtation in the middle. You find it hard to believe you have it. Find it hard to believe he’s here. 

Find it hard to believe that when you had told Yoongi he could try again, he took your words and created this, embedding it into your fate. 

“It’s pretty,” you say, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. Jungkook smiles, fondly, fingers wrapping around the shot. You’re reminded, momentarily, of the way he teased you with the foot of his wine glass on your first dinner date. 

As if thinking about that night, too, his other fingers sneak to your bare knee, tapping it once. “We picked it for you.” 

You nod in feigned, exaggerated gratitude, even though you mean it, even though the thought of them choosing a sex toy for you makes you burst into flames from within. “Thank you, Oppa. Thank you so much. I will use it well.” And you bow to him with each word in your seat next to him.

Jungkook laughs and it’s such a sweet sound that you feel unfamiliar flowers growing in you, laughing along with him. He lays his palm flat on the entirety of your knee. Heavy, strong, warm. Then, he widens his eyes, as if he only now realized what you’ve called him. “You’re younger than me?” 

You’ve guessed he was older than you. “I was born in 1999. I take it you’re around the same age as Yoongi?” 

Not the same, entirely. You recall him calling Yoongi ‘hyung’. He must be a year or a few years younger. 

That tenderness you know flashes in his face. “I was born in 1997. Yoongi is older than me.” 

Your mouth opens in the shape of ‘O’. Jungkook’s eyes flick to it before he averts them, slapping the side of your thigh gently, sighing as if he held his breath the entire time. Only then does he down the shot you poured him, keeping his hand there. 

Such a blessing, the simple act of getting to know him. 

He slouches in his seat and you ask him again. “How have you been?”

Smacking his mouth, he roams his gaze along the perimeters of the dinner table. And you realize he’s avoiding the question. Avoided it the first time you launched it at him, too. 

You fold your fingers under his palm on your knee, signaling your understanding and sympathy. Don’t want to think about the healing journey he had to walk through by himself. He’s reached the end and that’s the most important thing as of now. You caress his reddened, tattooed knuckles, smeared with flecks of violet and yellow—much like your bum that one afternoon—with your thumb, wondering how that tinge came to live there. “What happened to your hand?” 

Jungkook contemplates your study of his hand, stoically, still as ever. Then, his mouth rounds, barely, in a tiny suggestion of sadness. Your heart catches it before it disappears, making it hers. In such a swift moment that you don’t realize what you’ve done. 

“Boxing,” he murmurs, eyeing the way your hand is enclosed around his large palm, the way your thumb hovers over his knuckles, as if afraid to cause them any more pain. Seems touched by it and your brows knit, your heart speaking to you, telling you something, urgently, but you don’t understand her. 

“You don’t wear boxing gloves?” 

Jungkook shakes his head ‘no’. “Didn’t want to.” 

And then it hits you—the language of your heart unfolding within you, deciphered at last. It hits you how you and him are very much alike. 

This is his coping mechanism. Hurting his hand as he lets out his negative emotions. Knowing, just like you, that the pain is the gain, the relief. And by the state of the bruises, you were wrong. He’s not at the end of his healing journey—and he’s nowhere near the beginning. He traipses around it, steering clear of it, ignoring it. 

Your lungs swell. And that motherly impulse you’re familiar with croons around them, extends towards him with the dutiful intention to heal. 

And you will. 

You will heal both of the males. 

And the decision is strengthened even more in you when Jungkook hears Yoongi’s footsteps and startles, extracting his hand from your hold, from your thigh. Like he startled upon hearing your movement back then, scurrying towards your bag as if you were intending to leave him, abandon him. 

It is your heart that weeps now for him, not your eyes, remembering the words Yoongi uttered over his bruised cheek and bloody nose. Only over my dead body will you lay a finger on her again. You try your hardest to remain strong on the outside. For him, for Yoongi, for yourself. You try your hardest to forget that declaration, that physical pain of his, considering it over—long gone, a lifetime away. 

And when your boyfriend sets the full plates of food in front of him and he digs in wordlessly, you watch him. With a landslide in your insides. With a hand on his muscled arm, stroking back and forth, eyes flicked momentarily to Yoongi, willing him to see how broken his friend is. 

But Yoongi can’t bear to see it. 

He settles for a drink instead, fixing his gaze on the table. Takes a step back on his journey, his nerves pursuing him. And so he’s not alone, because it is your duty, you follow him into that rabbit hole like the Alice you are. With empty hands, void of any control, despite the onus you own in your heart. 

By the time sex is even mentioned between the three of you, you’re tipsy and your head is swimming. 

You’re conscious, aware of your body, aware of your surroundings and your home. Aware that you’re intoxicated, too, and it’s a peculiar feeling—to be present in your body and out of it just the same. And you owe it to the males sitting around the table. To the owner of the house, mainly. 

Yoongi has taken such a dominant role naturally that he’s the reason why your head is taking laps in his energy. And it was him who put the topic of sex to the front after double meanings found their way into the gradually unfurling conversation, imbued with exuberance. Asked Jungkook straight away if he’d been sexually active with people after you, to which he merely shook his head ‘no’, too vulnerable to express it in his own words. You don’t think Yoongi even realized the gravity of the question, influenced by the alcohol, the lighthearted energy and the fact that he got his friend back. And Yoongi… he praised him for it, making his head lift in disbelief and coyness. You saw the way it healed him, brought color to his face— it happened so quickly, too quickly, Yoongi turning the leaf over right after, seamlessly leading the conversation back to the double meanings, working them up until you and Jungkook blushed. 

But you didn’t listen entirely, and neither did Jungkook. You surveyed the way he turned the praise over in his mind, dwelling on it. And you knew, without a doubt, that, besides healing him—undoing the ugly words flung at him that day, it turned him on. He played with his bracelet in the air, a faint smile on his mouth, legs outstretched, touching yours, and you… you wanted to play with him, too. Your body begged you for it, telling you it’s time. 

In fact, you knew very well what the little bit of alcohol Yoongi drank was doing to him. Much like Jungkook, it helped him avoid the matter of his friend’s sensitive burden at hand while collecting information. Especially about where he stands in the realm of the three of you and sex. And while you’ve let him do it, thinking it was something he needed to do on his journey, you've also been deciding for the last half an hour when it was time to put a stop to it. The sexual comments, the double meanings—it became too much, became too obvious, even though he, in most probability, wasn’t even aware of it, was doing it for you unconsciously. And your body agreed, whispering to you that the only way you could do that was to take advantage of what was right before you.

You were going to outrun your boyfriend and seduce them both. 

You light up a cigarette, bringing Yoongi’s attention to you. You graze your foot on his shin as you cross your legs, lifting it higher until you reach his thigh. And when you take a long drag, you skim your hand on Jungkook’s knee, briefly—calling for his attention, too, preparing him. Your toe feels up Yoongi’s soft manhood and he stops talking, your hand trailing along the side of Jungkook’s thigh, inches away from his intimate parts. They let you touch them, both heads turned in your direction. 

Stillness, arousing stillness. You smile, innocently. 

Before Yoongi has the chance to scold you for interrupting him, you withdraw. You withdraw entirely. Pretend to take your cigarette to the balcony. Jungkook lifts his hand to grab yours, to put it back where it was, but you’re gone before you could take him up on it. 

You feel both of them watching you as you leave. You sway your hips a little. It makes you chuckle. Makes you feel invincible.

You stay there but for a mere moment. Don’t even finish your cigarette before you put it out in the ashtray. And when you return, you undo the knot while they are preoccupied, unaware of you. Uncover the outfit you spent your money on while Yoongi healed. 

A sheer, black crop top, with polka dots and puffed sleeves, that ties in the middle, ending beneath your breasts and adding nothing to the imagination. Could be mistaken for a wireless bra. Panties of the same tulle material with frills on the side. You leave your robe undone, the act of revealing yourself so casually stiffening your nipples. You consider taking a seat as if you did no such thing, but an idea pulls you to your boyfriend, who’s ignorant to your scheme, listening to something that Jungkook is telling him. 

You don’t grasp any of the words coming out of his mouth, however you do focus on the deep intonation of his voice. Let it curl beneath your skin; propel you to act out on your whim. 

You take a seat on Yoongi’s lap. Jungkook’s gaze falls on your intimate form, bare under the almost translucent fabric, and he parts his lips. He watches as Yoongi wraps an arm around your middle and smiles at the feeling of your bare skin. You rock your hips once, backwards, pretending you’re shifting to make yourself comfortable and Yoongi grips your waist until his fingers turn white. Jungkook doesn’t stop talking, hides his astonishment at your behavior, at your boldness. Doesn’t stop looking at you and neither do you at him, nodding to every other word as if you were listening. That is until you grab a handful of cheese balls and pop one by one into your mouth, purposefully letting one of them fall into your cleavage. 

“Can you get it for me? My hands are full.”

You have a perfectly free hand by your side.

You’ve interrupted him so rudely that you’re surprised that he doesn’t frown at you, but smirks instead. Yoongi caresses your thigh, validating you, catching onto your scheme, and it spreads the fire that burst in you hours ago, making it bigger, hotter. 

It’s time. You want both of them, badly. 

You lean forward for him, fingers ready for the next move you’re planning. Jungkook lifts a hand, reaches for the orange treat in the middle of your breasts and before his digits have the time to grasp it, you pull on the loose knot on your top, your flesh spilling, the treat slipping onto the floor.

He only chuckles, deeply. Teased, but pleased. 

“Oh, no.” Fake pity; fake pout. You look at the cheese ball, then back at Jungkook. Your impishness reflects in the blazing fire of his eyes, the same one that courses through your body. “I guess I didn’t tie it properly. Can you do it for me? My hand is dirty.” 

You eat the last remaining cheese balls while staring him dead in the eye. Show him your orange-tinted fingers once you’re done. A spark flashes in the fire; piques his interest. 

Leaning forward even more, Yoongi uses your position to slide your robe down your shoulders. Lifts you for a second to rid you completely of it, setting you back down sharply, causing your breasts to bounce. Throws it on Jungkook’s lap. A gesture that tells him playtime has begun. He sucks in a breath, biting his bottom lip, the way Yoongi gathers your hair in his fist stealing his attention fleetingly from you, fingers clutching the fabric. 

And when he takes the swinging laces in his hands and barely tightens them, you click your tongue, disapprovingly. “Tighter.” 

It arouses the beast in him, eyes lidding ever so slightly. He pulls on the laces until your breasts are squished together. “Like this?” 

You wet your lips before you quirk them up. “Yes. Make a bow for me.” 

Jungkook deepens the eye contact as he obeys. You lift your chin, asserting Yoongi’s dominance, taking after him, the inkling to own that beast in him absorbing you whole. 

And you shall. 

When he’s finished with the bow, he grazes the material of your top, fingers flat against your nipples before he slouches back in his chair. The touch was too brief for your liking, yet it spurs your cunt to soak your panties, the notion that you’ve done it intoxicating your senses—you’ve seduced him. 

You mimic what he did, theatrically—you slouch back into Yoongi’s chest, turn your chin to the side to tell on him. “Yoongi, he touched me.” 

Yoongi only smirks, playing along. “Did he? How? Show me.” 

Your fingers fly to your pebbled nipples, stroking them in downward motion like he did before you repeat it. Again and again. Your hips begin to slowly rotate, your body reacting to your touch, to the pleasure you’re giving it. “Like this.” 

Jungkook’s breath hitches in his throat. He spreads his legs. You do, too. And when you whimper, he twitches, your robe slipping onto the ground, joining the cheese ball. 

“Did it feel good? When he touched you there?” Yoongi asks, hands spreading across your thighs. You make a noise of agreement, whining into it. “Does it feel as good now?” 

You shake your head ‘no’, meaning it. “No, it makes me needy.”  

Yoongi hums. “Where?” 

You cup the soaked material of your panties, right over your cunt with one hand, while the other squeezes your breast. “Here.” 

Your boyfriend opens your legs wider, as if to take a closer look at what body part you’re showing him. “You should do something about that, shouldn’t you?”

“Like what?” 

“Touch yourself.” 

Jungkook stills. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. Neither do you. 

“How?” 

“I don’t know, maybe I should ask him,” he mumbles, fingers playing with the frills on your hips. “Do you want me to ask him?” 

The asking of consent, beckoning out your slick. You nod your head. “Ask him, please, I can’t take it anymore.”

Jungkook’s mouth is parted in an enigmatic manner, waiting—waiting to be given what your boyfriend long teased him with. And you like the suspense, the tension pulled so taut, the process before he’s gratified. It makes you even needier and, like Jungkook, you clutch the fabric of your panties in impatience. 

Yoongi doesn’t ask right away. He tortures Jungkook until his lips lose their moisture. Dry, like a withered flower asking for the tiniest raindrop to refresh. And you want to give it to him. You’re leaking so much dewiness it is only right that he could get to drink it. You tuck that thought into your heart. 

Yoongi hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your panties and slowly, like your robe, drags them down as far as he can reach. Then, he lets them pool by your knees. “Take them off of her,” he commands in a hushed tone, fingers drifting to your waist, stopping by your mound and your stomach on the way. And it isn’t until Jungkook rids you fully of the wet undergarment that he finally asks: “How should she touch herself?” 

Jungkook crumples it in his fist, tightly enough that white comes into view across his colorful knuckles upon the denim of his jeans. And among other things, his breath hardens. Gazes into your eyes as he says to Yoongi, “Tell her to lift her legs, lick her fingers and rub her princess parts until it feels good.” 

He’s tuned in into the role-play. You think about how you wanted to turn off your brain for him when he had told you to not think that he’d ever get sick of you. How you wanted to keep it stupid for him. 

You know that if you were to do that, if you were to let go—that he’d put you under his spell again, but you’re not letting that cave in on you. Because when Yoongi imparts the instructions to you and you lift your leg, propping your foot on Jungkook’s thigh, saliva-coated fingers finding your clit, you feel a sliver of something indescribably exhilarating. 

Jungkook moans at the first few careful circles. And it’s him who becomes hypnotized. 

It’s your green light to play the role of a stupid, innocent girl—in the hands of two very experienced, aroused men. Seduced, more like. You pat yourself on the back, mentally.  

And the proud feeling of your achievement, the feeling of his vigorous and ardent observance of your pleasured cunt, of the tendril of the profound reminiscence that sweeps in as if he truly missed the sight of her—it all incites you to speed up your movement. To consciously immerse yourself deeper in the role, in the pretending. You figure it should work like this; you won’t get submerged in the water of the hypnosis if you remain in control, clinging to it with all your might. Not if Jungkook is the one spellbound this time. 

You feel your orgasm drawing closer at that thought, breathing against your body. 

“Am I doing it right?” 

Jungkook sneaks a hand around your ankle, hard breaths puffing out of his still parted mouth, cheeks full of vibrant color, eyes dazed—so awfully dazed and fixed on your cunt, on the sheen of your arousal splattered on your folds. Then, he licks his lips, slouches further in his seat after he moves his chair to be more in line with you. Horny, curious puppy, needing to see the full view; your work of art. Yoongi’s soft chuckle rumbles against your scalp and you realize he’s been watching him this entire time, studying him—assessing the situation meticulously. 

“Is she doing it right?” Yoongi asks and you can hear the smirk coating his voice. Jungkook’s other hand, with the panties still clutched, wraps around his hard length, brows furrowing and you whine at the sight, but Yoongi tuts, disapproving. “No touching.” 

Jungkook lifts his hand and so do you—to stall your orgasm, the principle of Jungkook obeying so easily almost throwing you over the edge. You breathe heavily, a tingly sensation swarming within your skin, a certain string of words rising on your tongue. 

You turn your head towards Yoongi. Dart out your tongue to lick swiftly at his bottom lip before you kiss him. Yoongi hums, pleased. “Tell him he’s a good boy.”

Another similar sound, one that makes you smile. You drift a hand towards the back of his head, fingers sinking into the dark length of his hair. Yoongi purrs, blinking down at you like rose petals fluttering—you feel as though you were at the very beginning, living through the moment you learned Jungkook’s name, as if no pain, no murkiness never settled upon the three of you. You don’t know how it makes you feel and you hardly want to decipher it; you gravitate towards enjoying yourself more, thoughts and feelings pushed to the side. 

“He is, isn’t he?” Yoongi murmurs, taking your arm gently in his hand and joining it to your other one around the back of his head, then he roams his back, takes his time, until he plants it upon your cunt. You spasm at the long-awaited contact. “He listens well. So out of it, the poor thing forgot to speak. Maybe we should help him with that, don’t you think?” Poor thing. Your hole clenches, drooling with your dewiness and you groan, the aspect of Jungkook being degraded like this, after he dominated both of you the last time, making you utterly, utterly feral. 

At your noise, Yoongi begins to play with your slippery folds, pressing them together with his fingers flat on each side—not touching your pussy, but pleasuring her nonetheless. You give him more at each squeeze he bestows on your clit, elated that he’s touching her after such a long time, elated that he’s able to. 

It is, undeniably, working like this. Your heart thrums with elation. Happy it has come to this, happy it’s different this time—happy that both parties are happy. 

Not wishing to lose the momentum, you gaze at Jungkook. At the light cascading dimly from his lip ring—that pink, puffy, dry mouth that you long to kiss, that you long to feel on your bundle of nerves. His eyes seem to grow in size at your attention and you’re so touched to witness something like that. You need to ride his face; you need to watch those eyes roll back. You can see his need to take charge, to tell both of you what to do by his irregular breaths, clenched fists and bulging muscles, veins so prominent that you do well not staring at them at all—but he subdues that need, perhaps for you, perhaps for Yoongi. Both possibilities graze your feelings with such fondness that he’s putting himself last, prioritizing the hard truth: you’re not his, not in the sexual ambiance of your time spent together, not even in the lasciviousness of your daydreams. 

You’re Yoongi’s and he’s the boss, one he should’ve been since the beginning. And that’s the core of the difference. The key that makes this work. 

Covering your mouth, you spill your idea of how you should help Jungkook speak into Yoongi’s ear while keeping your eyes on his round ones. He aches to be let in on it, to know, but you don’t allow him that satisfaction. In fact, when you beam at Yoongi once you withdraw, it’s more of a provocation directed towards the puppy than an expression of your true joy. 

“Yes, fuck yes,” Yoongi agrees, orbs aglow by the idea, by something that you can only pin down to a feeling of safety within the environment. He feels safe. Feels comfortable. Feels okay—more than okay by the hardening length against your bum, by the moonbeams flecking across his irises, by the extension of his index finger to your clit, which makes you freeze, stop breathing altogether. “But I want to make you come first. Can I?” 

You peck him, deeply, to seal that package of positive feelings in him, to seal that sense of safety and comfort. Nod a million times. “Yes, please, baby. I need it.” 

Yoongi coos at the pet name, at your willing submissiveness to him and expression of neediness. Nudges his nose against yours. “Need what?” 

You giggle softly. Happy, so awfully happy. “I need you to make me come,” you say, but your words are muffled by the way he skims his mouth over yours, and you don’t think over the next words directed to the other male that tumble out of you. “You want to watch?” 

A stupid, stupid question because he’s been watching this entire time, although it breaks something. Breaks the invisible wall between you, Yoongi and him—breaks his coyness as he sets your foot down and leans forward, smiling fondly. “I’d be happy to watch. Honored.” 

It breaks the unspoken, unseen tension. Breaks the past. Breaks the hurt. And the difference, now validated, made beautiful by his smile, sinks in, spreads across the atmosphere surrounded by the three of you. The sense of safety and comfort now sails over into Jungkook’s pores, slipping inside. And you could burst now. Burst with your joy. 

The afternoon spent in the cabin dissolves. 

You didn’t expect that to happen. 

Yoongi feels it—and you feel him feel it by the trembling breaths he takes against your back. And even though you went into the rabbit hole with him with empty hands, now you hold healing in them. A warm round body of light, heavy and thick, ready for them both. Yoongi might have talked Jungkook’s head off and drank until his nerves eased and was able to escape them, but now he’s eligible to take the light. Jungkook is, too, now that he’s given you his consent for the dynamic to be different. A certain kind of glorious satisfaction envelops you in glow, ridding you of any intoxication and you’re bare. Vulnerable, horny and so tremendously bright. Filled with flowers, filled with love, filled with a delicious, selfish taste of control. 

You want to kiss Jungkook, but you recognize right away that there’s a time and a place for that, one that is not appropriate now. You stifle your craving, wiggle your hips to let Yoongi know you want him to begin. 

You brim with the need to forget now and just enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself at the hands of your long-awaited desire, now boundless, now right, now different. And you break the crumbles of the wall, the hurt and the past when you tell them. “I want us to forget about the last time and enjoy where we are right now. Can we do that?” 

Although you don’t know the contents of the long conversation they had in private about this, you’re glad you’ve said it out loud. Glad it’s out of your chest. Glad for the kiss Yoongi plants on your temple. Glad for Jungkook’s hand encasing yours. Even if that’s the only way they communicate their agreement. 

Out with the old, in with the new. 

And Jungkook keeps holding your hand when Yoongi begins to rub your clit. He tightens his hold, in fact, at the first twist of your features, at the relief intermingling, despite the fact he knows nothing about how this is the first time Yoongi touched you like this since forever ago. His hand feels much more different than yours, much more nimble and much quicker. And the pleasure that floods your body is more about that than it is about the stimulation. A wish pricks at you, a wish to tell him, but you don’t let it get near you, not when you know the time for that is long, long gone, not when forgetting is supposed to take place now because the new is here. 

You push those thoughts entirely away. The thoughts of there being a certain forever ago, a certain past along with it, too. 

And then Yoongi hums and the sound sweeps it far, far away from you. 

He pinches your nipple. Finds it’s not enough and forces your top open, undoing the bow, baring you to his and Jungkook’s eyes. Joins his other hand to knead both of your full breasts, but you whine, needing him elsewhere. Yoongi chuckles, listening to you—drifting his hand immediately back down to your clit, resuming his swift circles.  

Jungkook salivates. Makes no indication of being in demand of participation. Merely wipes at the corners of his mouth while his other hand squeezes yours in a tight, clammy hold. Light protrudes from his eyes, akin to the one you still own, cooling the sweat layering upon your body. No darkness of arousal, none whatsoever, only the chocolate brown of his irises, vibrant, mesmerized and absolutely affectionate. 

Newness, you breathe it in and exhale a moan. Yoongi changes direction. Moves from circles to side to side, angling your body so he can give it his all. You feel the incoming pressure of your orgasm and you ready yourself for it, squeezing your eyes shut. And when he decides to alternate, so quickly that you lose track of it, it is your ultimate undoing. 

Mainly when Yoongi curtly slaps your clit, transferring you back to the very beginning of your story, rooting you there. You come so hard that you fall apart. 

Tears fly out of you, but you laugh—and the sound is broken by a deep moan from your chest caused by pure, boundless euphoria. Yoongi prolongs your orgasm, keeps strumming your clit, purring onto your mouth and you open your eyes to witness his devotion to it, to your pleasure. Brows furrowed, eyes lidded, pouty mouth. Adamant on making you feel as good as—

It triggers another orgasm. A softer, mellow one. And the string of noises you let out are of the same dulcet nature. Yoongi swallows them, groaning, fondling your pussy, patting her gently, making you tremble, woozy, giddy and so incredibly girly. 

“That was so good,” he whispers, caressing you everywhere and you nod, a million times. You’ve missed him, terribly. 

You give him a nasty kiss full of tongue, aware of what’s happened and of what’s next just the same. 

Yoongi perches on the floor, knees on either side of yours as you crawl towards Jungkook’s lap. He leans back, a surprised grin appearing on his flustered face. And it hits him like a ton of bricks when you pop his button open and drag down the zipper of his jeans. Your words that follow, too. 

“Off. Everything.” 

“You want to suck me off?” A calm bewilderment coats his voice, such a heavy oxymoron for him to bear when he was fine with just watching. 

You smile at him briefly before you wet your lips, eager to make happen what he can’t believe you’re willing to do for him. “I knew it would get you talking.” 

An airy laugh. So endearing to your hearing sense. He cradles your chin for a mere beat of time. “You’re so smart.” He takes off his tank, revealing his enormous pecs adorned with a long but dainty silver chain that you crave to have swinging in your face, that steals your attention from the dose of validation he gave you. 

But when Yoongi leaves, your heart sinks in panic. 

Only to hoist it back up when you realize he went to fetch the gift he bought you, along with a bigger tube of lube from your bedroom. Your body tremors and it’s both of the males that try to alleviate it. Yoongi, who settles back behind you, fondling the skin of your bare bum. Jungkook, who turns you to look at him, nodding once to let you know everything’s okay. 

You release a breath, but you can’t hide the shakes. 

Jungkook strokes your brow. A tender touch that drives you to believe him. Yes, everything’s okay. The past is gone. Healing is contained in the conscious reminders. The light in your hands flutters, calling out to you, and you press it over that heft of your wandering heart. 

It’s you who alleviates the tremors. 

And when you take off your top, Jungkook follows suit, ridding himself of his jeans.

To distract your mind from hurling false thoughts at you, you finally allow yourself to look at his hard length—still, disappointingly clothed. Thick. You can almost feel the memory of him, the heaviness of him, when he had you pressed against him by the pond. The first time you touched him. You groan, softly. “Off.” 

Jungkook coos, patting you on the cheek with his finger. “So eager.” 

He paints a smile on your face with that brush of his digit. “Be a good boy and listen.” 

Without taking his eyes off of you, he swears. Pulls his manhood out, tugs his boxers a few inches down and you bite back a gasp, a moan and something in between. Red, swollen tip, the petal of a sun-kissed rose, little thick veins enveloping the girth. He keeps his balls covered to tease you. “Like this, Mommy?” 

You glare at him and it’s Yoongi’s second-hand embarrassment laughter that smooths out your features, contagious to such a great extent that when you look back at him to see him pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed and crinkly, you burst into the same laughter, lungs expanding, exhaling all that heft and momentary residue of panic until there’s nothing negative left. 

It even radiates Jungkook. He laughs so much that his cock bounces, which deepens your giggles and you hide your face in your hands. 

And when the conveyance of joy simmers, another tender tears rush out of your tear ducts. Good tears. You’re so content with life shared with the two males that you can’t help but be emotional. You shield those tears behind the premise of your laughter. They’re private—just yours. The final conclusion of the dark side. 

Yoongi skims his fingers across your tiny hole. Back to business. 

You tug Jungkook’s boxers all the way down and you lift his ankle to rid him completely of them. Mimic the way he did it to you. You even think about keeping them. Think about how this is exactly how it should be—recollecting only the good parts of the story, the light side while letting the dark one go. Jungkook sees it on your face and he lets you decide. 

You don’t have to think twice. 

You fling his underwear on the chair you sat on. Jungkook caresses your hair in response and you smile at him. Yoongi leans over you, fists your hair and pushes you toward Jungkook’s cock. At the sight, the puppy swears. 

“Spit on it. Make it nice and wet for him,” Yoongi orders and there’s slyness to your ever persisting smile when you gather your saliva and do exactly as he says. 

At the first contact of your liquid love, Jungkook swears again and there’s no stopping to that litany of vulgar words when you, just like him, swirl it around the top of his head with the tip of your tongue without taking your gaze off of him. It’s at this movement of yours that a flashback gleams across his still round, tender eyes for a split second. Now he remembers, now you’ve pulled him back to the place you didn’t even realize that you did. 

Yoongi guides you to wrap your mouth around him and Jungkook loses it. 

The suction of your cheeks, the eye contact, the warmth of your mouth and the wetness of your tongue, Jungkook rolls his eyes back before he whisks them back to you, not able to miss one moment of the pleasure you give him. Yoongi pushes your head back and forth and when it dawns upon you that there’s nothing else for you to do but to keep your mouth open while Yoongi does all the work, you moan. And like Jungkook, you can’t stop. 

You feel Yoongi’s lips at your ear. “You think you can take him all the way?” 

The mewl that comes out of you is the only agreement you can manage to give him. Yoongi groans, kissing your earlobe before he licks it, nibbles on it, taking his mouth to the skin beneath, causing your eyes to narrow. Your pussy drenches, throbs and your hand automatically flies to her. You rub yourself slowly to gain a hint of relief, bobbing your head up and down, tongue feeling up the thick veins along his girth and you whine so desperately—enough for Yoongi to check what was the cause of it. 

He draws back. Finds you touching yourself. Clicks his tongue and chuckles in absolute appreciation. He likes what he sees. Pushes your head until your nose swipes past Jungkook’s minimal pubic hair and only when you gag does he let you breathe—does he let you play with his tip on your own. “Mommy is playing with her needy cunt.” 

The curse word that wafts in the air is singular, coming out of your and Jungkook’s mouth simultaneously. There’s no laughter this time. Just thick arousal spreading across the room, dizzying all of your senses. Jungkook is breathless and the look you share is desperate, unspoken but so, so vivid. You take him in your free hand and jerk him off, reveling in the feeling of his veins. You give him all of your whiny moans, straightening up, your fingers sneaking to your hole. Eyes narrowing, mouth open, the sounds of your slick saliva in your tight grasp so obscene, so stimulating that when you begin to finger yourself and Yoongi latches his lips onto your neck, you know you’ll be coming in mere, pathetic minutes. 

Jungkook leans forward a little bit to watch you stuffing yourself full. Bites his lip, closes his eyes when you tighten your grip around his head. And you do it again and again to coax his moans and he willingly supplies you with them. Opens his eyes and the look he gives you stops time. “So good. So fucking good.” 

You yearn to kiss him and he does, too. You twist your wrist and he loses himself for a moment. That alone speeds up the coming of your orgasm. Your body flares with heat, your fingers picking up their speed instinctually and Jungkook angles his head to kiss you—

You push him back. To tease him, to make him more desperate because it pleases you and Jungkook smirks at you, gripping your panties in his fist. Hiding your own, you lick him all over and get to the undiscovered part you want the most. 

You mouth his full balls. Whimper against them. Hot flashes fill your sight at the scent of him, even more so when Jungkook inhales your sounds and emits the same ones. “Fuck, sweetheart, oh fuck, yes, like that.” Takes your hand and busies it, wrapping it around his length. You spasm at the pet name, at the warmth that seeps into your skin from him.  

It’s him who guides you now. Yoongi merely watches, in awe, wet fingers rubbing circles on your tiny hole, preparing you. “That’s it, honey, make him come.” 

You’re so overwhelmed by your task that you withdraw your fingers from your heat, though Yoongi is quick to replace his. And the speed he establishes, you mimic it on Jungkook’s length and he grunts at the contact of your dewiness on him. You twists your wrists, fucking yourself back on Yoongi’s fingers. Bore your gaze into Jungkook’s. Hard, hard breaths, quickening lifts of his chest, he struggles to reciprocate your eye contact, the rhythm so beautiful so seamless, working so well. 

And when you wrap your lips around him and suck him with fast bobs, he comes. 

You open your mouth, yearning to feel him paint your face. Quick to grip his balls to feel them emptying out for you and you milk his cum out of him, jerking him off until his ropes smear on the corners of your lips, hot and thick. Yoongi pulls out his fingers, latches them onto your hip. “Stick out your tongue.” 

You do as he says, in time to catch the last rope landing onto the muscle. You hum, swallowing, watching the tension screwing his features and the relief unweaving it as his orgasm reaches the end. Winded, dumbfounded, gruntled. A lovely sight to behold. 

Jungkook’s grip loosens on your panties. And with his other hand, he feeds you his cum. Swipes his fingers from your cheek onto your mouth, plunging it inside. Yoongi kisses the side of your face, gripping your neck to hold your head steady for Jungkook, allowing him to finish the job. 

You swallow everything, the taste of him suffused with mild earthiness, with tanginess and the tiniest hint of sweetness. Liquid candy, just for you. You allow him to see how much you enjoyed that, but it’s Yoongi first to whom you show that you’ve swallowed everything. 

Your boyfriend beams at you. “Well done, honey.” He kisses you hard, licking into your mouth, and the thought of him tasting the residue of Jungkook numbs your senses entirely. “You did so well.” 

You’re panting when he withdraws and when you look at Jungkook, there’s a moment of stillness when you take in the thundering turmoil rushing inside him. You don’t have to guess what’s behind it. Jungkook voices it. “Let me kiss her, please.” 

Such a soft murmur, charged with so much desperation. You break at the sound of it, gripping his hand, furrowing your brows, ready to give him anything he wants, boundlessly. Your heart thuds and it only takes one look at Yoongi and he folds, too. 

Nods. 

You thought he’d kiss you from the position you’re in, but Jungkook stands to his feet, grabbing you along with him, picking you up like a child by sliding his hands under your armpits. And when he presses you against him and kisses you hungrily with fast pecks, breathing hard, you discern how illogical it was for him to call you Mommy. 

Even though he can listen like a good boy, it’s merely a role, one he plays for you, for Yoongi, one that fragments with each kiss. Who he truly is the reversal of it. 

He’s Daddy. Undeniably. 

You’ve never been keen for titles. You and Yoongi never used them, never felt the need for it, hence why you both laughed when it came up. But the more you kiss him, the more you sense it. The awakening dominance, the tendril of fatherliness that spirals around you, the deserved respect he emanates. It turns you on to the point that you find yourself wondering what else is there beneath the shadows of your undiscovered sexuality. 

The feeling of his warm skin against yours, his still hard manhood against your stomach, the provocation of the lip ring, the softness of his mouth slowing down and prolonging the kiss—fuck. How much more can you possibly get aroused? He empties out your brain, but you’re calm, not panicked by it at all. And to stay conscious, to stay in control, you wrap your hand around him again. 

He hisses, breaking the kiss, grasping your hand. “Too sensitive. Sorry. I came so hard.” 

You coo, pecking him deeply, squeezing his broad shoulders. “It’s okay.” 

When you turn around to give your attention to Yoongi, you find him deep in thought, fixed on Jungkook. “Remember how she came when you kissed her? At the cabin?” 

Your heart speeds up. Not due to fear or anything of the sort, but due to excitement. You know where he’s heading with this. 

“Hard to forget,” Jungkook murmurs and it thrums beneath your skin, spreading wide. 

“She came multiple times when I made her think about that,” Yoongi starts and you can’t halt the smile growing on your lips. A tiny whirl of shyness mingles with the words coursing through your bloodstream. “It’s what we did. I made her imagine that you were kissing her, eating her out while she touched herself. And now I want you to give it to her. Give it to her good. Better than she was able to imagine.” 

Sharp inhale of breath. You want to see his reaction to your secret—but then hands. Clammy hands on your hips, nose nuzzling in your hair. “Who’s gonna be in control when I do that?” 

Your eyes widen, pulse quickening to the point that it troubles you. 

And Yoongi looks at you when he answers his question, “You. It’s me who’s gonna watch now.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two 

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

[girlwitheconverse]

STRAWBERRIES

╰┈➤ KEEGAN P. RUSS

Pairing: Keegan x singlemom!reader

Genre: fluff

Story type: one shot

Word count: 2k

TW: unexpected pregnancy

masterlist

You take a sip of your iced coffee, well deserved you must say, as you look around the coffee shop finally relaxing after a stressing day.

Then you remember that it’s still 10 in the morning and that your work break ends in ten minutes.

The life of a single mother of a toddler of four isn’t easy by any means but you wouldn’t change it for the world, you love Ellie, your daughter, too much to even think of a life without her. You remember all the emotion you felt the day you discovered you were pregnant: shock, fear, and excitement; in this precise order. Ellie’s father probably stopped at shock, because the day after you told him you were pregnant you received a break-up message and he ghosted you.

He disappeared. Completely. Even moved out of his apartment.

Your parents? Like the religious people they are…They kicked you out of the house because you had a kid outside marriage! How outrageous of you.

“Sorry? Is this seat free?” a deep voice makes you come back with your mind on earth, you look at the man and damn is he handsome. Black hair, blue eyes, athletic…Definitely your type. Before answering you look around: the place is almost empty and there are plenty of free tables. Is he…Does he like me? Is the first explanation that comes to your mind but you can’t be sure of it: maybe he just doesn’t like to sit alone.

You nod with a polite smile “Yes.”

The mysterious handsome man sits in front of you and places his cappuccino on the table. The air between you two is awkward so you decide to say something.

Because standing up and leaving seems mean.

But before you can say anything he speaks, “My name is Keegan.”

You blink a few times, then smile “I’m Y/n”

He’s definitely trying to flirt with me.

“I’m not usually one to flirt like this so forgive me if I'm straightforward but that's just how I am.” He says, leaving you shocked. “But…I think you’re beautiful”

You notice his ears getting red and smile at the cuteness. “Thank you, Keegan.”

When was the last time a man flirted with you? You can’t even remember. Every time you go out you have Ellie glued to the hip and that makes most men run away. You’d be lying if you said you didn't like the attention.

“Would you…like to go on a date with me?” He asks as he looks into your eyes, he is indeed very straightforward.

“I…” You try to buy yourself time by taking the last sip of your coffee, should I say yes? He’s totally my type…But what if he drops me as soon as I tell him I have a daughter? Maybe I should just see how the date goes and then decide how to procede. Yes. Definitely that. “Why not?” you say with a smile.

He smiles too and Oh God, his smile is so pretty you feel like you’ve already fallen in love. He hands you his phone to put your number in it, you do so and then stand up.

“I need to go back to work, it was a pleasure meeting you, Keegan…I’ll wait for your text then.” You smile at him and walk outside the cafe, already calling your best friend.

“Girl, I need you to babysit Ellie someday…I don’t know when but I’m going on a date with this super handsome guy and-” before you can finish talking your best friend screams.

“Going out with a guy? An handsome one? You? Damn I’ll babysit Ellie anytime! You go get that D while me and your daughter have a tea party while we talk shit about Cinderella, never liked that bitch anyway.” You laugh and can’t help but feel grateful for having her as best friend.

A week later

“Do I look cute?” You ask as you show your best friend your outfit “it’s a picnic date, I wanted to stay on theme”

“You really went for the slutty sundress, uh” she says with a smirk, your eyes shoot wide and you look down at Ellie, hoping she didn't hear the swearword.

“Mommy pretty!” She says as she hugs your legs, you pick her up and kiss her round cheek, chuckling as you need to clean your lipstick off her cheek.

“Mommy loves you.” you say before placing her on the ground, “Mommy is going out with a friend okay? I’ll see you later.”

The doorbell rings and you hold back a scream of excitement before picking your purse and walking outside, making sure that Keegan couldn't see Ellie from the door.

“H-hi.” You stutter as you see his outfit, a white t-shirt and brown pants, he’s holding a picnic basket, nothing spectacular but he looks so handsome. His bicep is so big.

He smiles and you notice him looking at you from head to toe, “Hi…Let’s go, I know you can’t wait to see my secret spot.” He says with a chuckle and you two start walking side by side. You and him have been texting each other for the past week and you discovered that he’s in the military, it now makes sense why he has such perfect physique, you also told him about your job as a banker.

As you walk, you chat about anything and everything, from your favorite books to the most embarrassing moments of your childhood. Keegan is easy to talk to, and his warm laughter puts you at ease. You can't help but wonder what he would be like with Ellie, but you quickly shake off the thought, reminding yourself that it's too early to think about that.

The spots he brings you to is a beautiful park with green grass and flowers, “it’s beautiful!” You say as you look around while he puts a blanket over the grass.

“Next time I’m taking you to the beach.” He says as you both sit down on the blanket.

“I love the beach!” You say excited, it’s been so long since you felt like this…Like a woman and not only a mother. “And I love sushi too…” You say as he takes the food out of the basket.

“Yeah, you already told me that a few times by message.” He says with a chuckle, remembering how you spent more than twenty messages talking about sushi.

“It was my worst craving when I was-” You stop before you can say too much, you still haven't told him about Ellie “When I was sick a few months ago, but the doctor said I couldn't eat any.”

He shakes his head and hands you a pair of chopsticks, “Oh, I almost forgot” he says as he picks from the basket a bottle of white wine and two glasses.

“The wine too?” You say shocked but with a smile on your face.

“Of course.” Keegan puts some wine in a glass and hands it to you, “to this date.”

“Hoping that this will be the first of many.” You add before you take a sip of the wine.

You two spend an hour eating and chatting before you lay down on the blanket with a sigh and a smile “I’m so full!”

“Even for these?” Keegan asks as he takes out of the basket strawberries that have been dipped in chocolate.

“I’m never full for these” you say with a chuckle.

“Say ah…” He says as he picks a strawberry and places it near your mouth, you blush but let him feed you the strawberry.

The sweet taste of chocolate and strawberry floods your mouth, followed by the warmth of Keegan's gaze. You blush profusely, your heart pounding in your chest as he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You sit up and pick a strawberry, “say ah…” you say as you feed him the strawberry, he laughs but lets you feed him. “ops, you’ve got chocolate here” you say before kissing his lips. He’s frozen at first and you think you’ve gone too far, but then he places his hand on the back of your head and deepens the kiss.

The kiss is a heady, intoxicating rush that seems to consume every part of you, spiraling through you and leaving you breathless, your senses filled to the brim. The world narrows down to just the two of you, and for that moment, nothing else matters. As you reluctantly pull away, still caught in the lingering haze of the kiss, you can't help the bubbling laughter that escapes your lips. Keegan, ever so stoic, stands there looking utterly bemused, that stunned expression on his face worth a thousand words.

"That was... unexpected," he murmurs, his voice a low, husky whisper that sends a thrill running down your spine. There's a hint of a smile playing on his lips, a soft, almost shy admission that echoes your own feelings.

A month and a half later

You’re panicking as you text to Keegan, cancelling the date (one of the many you two had in the past month and half) last minute because your best friend just told you she has a fever and can’t babysit Ellie. Is also too late to call a a babysitter, so you don’t have any other choice if not to stay at home with Ellie…Ellie, whom you still haven't told anything to Keegan.

I’m getting deployed tomorrow after lunch, we won’t see each other for two month after that…You really can’t come?

I’m sorry but my stomach hurts so much, I just got my period :(

Then I’m coming at your place with some chocolate ice cream and chips

You really don’t have to

Too bad I'm already in my car.

You sigh you look at the text and sit on the couch, damn him and his perfect personality. Maybe it’s the universe telling you to stop hiding the truth from him, to stop ignoring the elephant in the room.

“Mommy look!” Ellie says as she shows you the drawing she just made: some yellow on top of the paper and then blue on the bottom, “It’s sea!” With that you realize that you were holding the drawing upside down.

“Oh my! It’s so pretty! This definitely goes on the fridge” you say as you stand up to put her drawing on the fridge, next to your favorite drawing she made: the one with the two of you.

“Yay! Mommy likes it!” She says as she jumps up and down happily, you pick her up and kiss her cheek.

“Listen, Ellie, mommy’s friend is coming here and you need to be a good girl okay?”

“Auntie?” she immediately thinks of your best friend.

“No, not Auntie, another friend.” As soon as you say those words the doorbell rings.

You place Ellie down and walk towards the door, when you see Keegan standing outside with his hands full of snacks your heart breaks because of all the lies you told him but now is the moment of the truth. Will he run away? Will he get mad? You couldn't really blame him if he did so, not after all the lies.

You smile, “Thank you, really but…I need to tell you something…”

“What’s wrong?” He asks worried, but before you can speak a little voice behind you speaks and a little head pokes out the door.

“Mommy friend came?” Ellie asks as she looks up at Keegan with her big eyes. The man looks at you confused and you give him an awkward smile.

“I think it’s better if you come in.” You say as you let him in, Keegan enters and places the snack on the coffe table in front of the couch in the living room.

You place your hands on Ellie’s shoulder and take a deep breath, “Keegan, this is Ellie…My daughter”

To say that he’s shocked is an understatement, he stutters for the first time since you have started dating him, “w-what?”

“I shouldn’t have hidden this from you and i’m so sorry for my stupid actions I was just…afraid I guess at the thought of losing you.” You admit and Ellie looks up at you with a confused expression, you don’t want her to think that you don’t love her.

“You thought I’d leave you because you have a daughter?” He says even more shocked than before.

“That’s what most men do when I tell them.”

“I am not the type to do something like that, I love you and the fact that you have a daughter? Just makes me love you more” your heart flutters as he drops the l-word and your cheek flush red.

“You love me?” you ask with wide eyes.

“Damn if I do!”

“I love you too…And I was so scared of losing you, I’m so sorry…” You say with a smile, he smiles back and then crunches down to Ellie’s height, smiling at her.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Keegan, mommy’s…friend” Keegan says with a smile as he holds out his hand towards Ellie.

“Hi I’m Ellie” Your daughter says as she puts her small hands in his, shaking it clumsily.

It was such a sweet moment and you were almost tearing up when, “Are you my daddy?” Ellie suddenly says. You choke on your own saliva and Keegan laughs, shaking his head.

“No…Not yet at least” Keegan says as he smiles up at you.

“Watch Mulan with me?” Ellie changes subject immediately, very much toddler like, and pulls Keegan towards the couch. You can’t help but laugh as you look at the two of them playing together, feeling like you just found the missing piece of your puzzle, which is now perfect.

Ugh, this probably sucks and I’m sorry but I recently got back to writing and I’m trying to stay consistent to it :(

If you liked the story don’t forget to like, reblog and maybe even leave a comment :)

And remember, my inbox is always open for requests! even anonymous ones (emoji anon too!)

#ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #girlwitheconverse #konig cod #cod angst #cod keegan #cod one shot #cod men #cod x reader #keegan russ x reader #keegan x reader #call of duty keegan #keegan p russ #keegan russ x you #call of duty #ghost cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #cod #cod mw3 #john price #captain john price #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #fanfic #cod fanfiction #comics #simon ghost riley

[lxvebun]

whisper of the heart pt II

bun's notes: I'm really glad you guys enjoyed the first one so much :3 hopefully you will like this one as well.

synopsis: Genshin boys voicelines about you!

content:Alhaitham/Kazuha/Thoma/Cyno x gender neutral reader (so they/them prns used) in this series, their vision is in tune with their emotions, part one explains it the best. Cyno was incredibly difficult i'm sorry if it sucks shsjsjs. Eng is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Part one

Alhaitham

About y/n:

"y/n and I go a long way back. They are a very intelligent, kind, and creative person. We studied under the same masters. Academic rivals? I wouldn't go as far as to say we were rivals per se, but the occasional competition between who got the highest score on an essay wasn’t out of the ordinary. Who won? Well, our scores wouldn't differ much at all actually. Even to the decimal, we usually got the same. When they asked our masters how such different essays could receive the same score. According to our masters, it seemed I lacked creativity in my writing, as they overdid the creative aspect. The masters words, not mine. Although I’ve read hundreds of books and essays in my life already, none could compare to the way y/n wrote theirs"

About vision:

"Unlike other people, I’d say I have decent control over my emotional elemental power, it at least doesn’t manifest in an obnoxious physical sense. That said, as much as I try to control it, the light of my vision starts to flicker and flutter to the rhythm of my heartbeat. So you can imagine the light show that starts once y/n enters my view *sigh* They think it’s, and I quote, "Adorable"...I suppose that makes it alright"

About relationship:

"Hah, You’re surprised I'm in a relationship? While It’s true that I don’t appear as the most approachable person out there, not that I mind, even I am not immune to love… While there’s no scientific proof out there that soulmates exist, against all logical sense, I’d like to believe y/n and I are."

Thoma

About y/n:

You haven't met y/n? Oh, they’re such a sweetheart! such a kind and inspirational soul. I’m sure you’ve seen them run around Inazuma City or Ritou before. They have the prettiest eyes and the most lovely smile. they run a lot of errands and help with general activities and festivals. In their free time, they usually help me out with housekeeping or acompany me to the market. You’re surprised I'm talking so lovingly of them? Well, of course, I would, they are my partner after all"

About vision:

"sigh I’ve had to switch to steel handle brooms instead of the normal wooden ones. It happened one too many times that I would be sweeping the floors and y/n would come up to me, resulting in small waves of fire to flutter around... Let’s just say, I’m glad my Lord has a hydro vision.

About meet cute!:

y/n and I both share a love for animals, I actually met them while they were nursing a bird back to its strength, the poor thing was still young and completely soaked because of the heavy thunderstorms. Word went around they were caring for it and I decided to take a look and see if they needed help, little did I know that I would be meeting the love of my life. We routinely feed the stray dogs and cats together when we’re both free:)"

Kazuha

About y/n:

" I was able to sense their presence in the wind long before I met them. A fragment of my soulmate in the form of a warm summer breeze, bearing the scent of roses and those familiar mapel leaves. As much as I wanted to follow it, I was still a wanted man after all. I couldn’t just return to Inazuma, no matter how much my heart cried for it.

At that time I started to keep a journal on what I was doing, what I was thinking of, and where in Teyvat I was whenever the wind carried them to me, So I could show it to them when we did finally meet. I never had the chance to finish that journal because our paths crossed sooner than I expected. Apparently, just as the wind carried them to me, it did the same for them. Fate has an interesting way of bringing people together. From the moment I stood face to face with them, I knew who they were and by the sparkle in their eye and the way they immediately rushed into my arms, I can guess it was the same for them. We’ve been wandering together ever since"

About vision:

"I’m well aware of how visions respond to your emotions. I don’t actively try to fight it, In a way, i think it’s quite romantic how my vision responds to seeing y/n by sending a breeze through their hair or twirling flower petals around them. They don’t seem to mind either"

About love language:

"From the moment y/n and I met, we decided to travel together. With every step we took, we got to know each other better, and with every rest under the starry night sky, our relationship grew stronger. They love nature as much as I do, and while I show my adoration for it in poems and music, they show their appreciation in colorful paintings and sketches. If we ever run out of paper on the road, I’m not against them using my arms as a canvas, the same way they allow me to ink love poems onto their skin. That way it doesn’t matter how far apart we are, we wear our love for each other on our skin

Cyno

About y/n:

"y/n? The fact that they are my partner is not something I tell many people, but since we are so close, yes, they are. They joined the forest rangers a while ago, I met them when I dropped of some books from the Akademiya Tighnari needed. And while I gave them to Tighnari, I decided it was a good time to tell my new joke…..Tighnari did not find it amusing, but y/n did. To this day, their laughs are still the sweetest melody I've heard, and I'm fortunate to hear them every day through my excellent jokes.

About vision:

"Please, don’t bring that up, I still feel bad about it. I didn’t know my vision would respond so strongly……fine, the first time y/n and I held hands, I got so...flustered I accidentally send a small shock wave where our hands intertwined. They weren’t hurt, but I still feel bad about it. It hasn’t stopped them from holding me though, I’m glad about that

About TCG:

"y/n and I are both quite the genius invokation tcg players, and the more rounds we play the more....energetic we get. Let's just say that Puspa cafe does have a noise limit....

For my birthday they got me a beautiful commissioned card with artwork of us on it. Having it around has become a good luck charm for me. I always keep it on the very top of my deck.

Thank you for reading angels!

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #thoma x reader #kazuha x reader #cyno x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #alhaitham x gender neutral reader #kazuha x gender neutral reader #genshin fluff #cyno x gender neutral reader #thoma x gender neutral reader #genshin headcanons #alhaitham #kazuha #cyno #thoma #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin impact imagines

[teejaystumbles]

Against all odds (part 6)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5

@tryan-a-bex

**

I will not let you fall again.

Dream let's Hob gently sink into the deeper, dreamless areas of sleep and watches his dream of the White Horse slowly disperse. What remains are the stains of blood on his fingers and the sweetness of strawberry on his lips. Slowly, Dream lifts his stained fingers to his mouth and tastes his friend's offering. A shiver runs through him when the warm, metallic taste hits his tongue and he clenches his other hand into a fist to contain his emotions.

What a thing to do, to offer him all this and mean it. Foolish, and dangerous.

Dream should not be surprised. After all the things Hob has written and told him his affection for Dream is obvious. Still. To declare his devotion like this, here in Dream's realm where Hob's subconscious might be truthful but still prone to exaggeration… let's just say that Dream is wary of how this offer will hold up in what Hob considers to be the real world. Hob must have read his journal entry by now. The urge to offer Dream food and comfort surely stems from it. Dream will not hold his friend to a pledge made while dreaming, at least not without further acknowledgement in the Waking.

Would it be hasty to assume Hob might have written an answer already? 

Dream is not proud of how abruptly he stopped writing and left Hob with the equivalent of a loaded gun to the heart without even a goodbye, as if he had meant to write more. He had, but hadn’t been able to muster the strength to pick up the pen again after finally voicing his fear about what Hob will think of him once he knows his name. Dream had dropped the book back at Hob’s flat in haste before he succumbed to the urge to rip out the entire entry once more.

Silently Dream steps out of the Dreaming and into Hob’s bedroom. The man lies asleep on his bed, his breathing calm. Nothing short of a very loud noise will wake him now, so Dream should be safe to take a look at the journal. He steps towards the desk where the book lies open. A few lines are indeed newly added underneath Dream’s abruptly ended entry.

Dream’s eyes widen as he reads the words of his friend, hastily scrawled as if he had hurried to put his thoughts to paper in a rush of emotion.

“You are more dear to me than anyone else.” “All I need is you, and our conversations.”

Dream shakes as he reads and rereads Hob’s short few lines. It seems his friend is not finished writing and Dream regrets coming here to read this prematurely. But what if Hob wakes up and decides to rip out this bit, like Dream tore two pages from the book? His first two attempts had not been much different from what he had finally written but his resolve to lay himself bare before his friend had wavered several times in the beginning. After starting to write for the third time Dream had simply forced himself to continue and face Hob’s reaction to such honesty with as much grace as he would be able to muster.

What if Hob wakes up and is afraid he’s gone too far, that Dream will react unfavourably to his ardent declaration of friendship? He cannot allow that.

He picks up the pen and writes.

My dear Hob,

I thank you, for your reassurance, and your offer of comfort and help. I do not feel deserving of such a good friend as you are.

Dream falters, unsure of what to write. He opts for putting down exactly that. He feels like by now this is what writing these entries is about, to simply let his thoughts flow to the page as if he were talking to Hob. Except that this is somehow easier than talking.

I confess I do not know what to say. I feel like I have run out of words to put down, after my last entry. Perhaps it is no wonder, I am interrupting your unfinished answer, after all. Please forgive my hastiness, I simply wanted to make sure you did not feel your last entry was not appreciated. On the contrary, you have taken a weight off my chest with your words.

I miss the quiet comfort of your company, my friend, and therefore I beg your forgiveness if I stay at your side for a few minutes, while you sleep and are unaware. I promise to never harm you in any way that I can control, not on purpose, but I will of course not bother you in the future if this breach of your privacy is uncomfortable to you. 

I would like to meet you soon, when you are awake. I will let you know when I am ready. May I rely on your experience to choose a suitable place? Preferably not indoors. Thank you.

He hesitates for a moment but then signs, With affection, your friend.

Dream puts down the pen and then slowly sits down on the edge of Hob’s bed, the mattress not moving under him at all as he has decided to not distribute any weight to his form so he won’t disturb his friend. He indulges himself and lets his gaze linger on Hob’s familiar features, face slack in sleep. Hob’s hair is about the same length it was in 1889. It forms a tangled dark halo under his head, still slightly sticky with some kind of oil or cream Hob seems to have put in it. Dream preferred his friend’s hair loose and longer, thinking back on their last few meetings. He remembers longing to brush his friend’s hair in 1689, when he looked so terribly unkempt. Dream also remembers seeing his friend’s lush chest hair for the first time that night. It had been something he had been quite fascinated with, a morsel of personal information he had stored away for later perusal. Now Dream eyes his friend’s sleeping form curiously, taking his time to commit what he can see to memory - Hob’s strong nose and beard shadow, the length of his dark lashes, the dark hairs peeking out of his shirt collar and covering his naked forearms, curling around his slender wrists-

Hob shifts and sighs in his sleep and Dream startles. Quietly he gets up and steps away from the bed. What is he doing, watching his friend sleep? Surely Hob will answer that he finds that kind of behaviour weird, unseemly even. Dream shouldn’t have done it. He shakes his head, annoyed with himself, and goes back to his realm. There is always work to be done.

**

Hob wakes up with the unsettling feeling that he dreamed of something very important, but he can’t remember what it was. He groans and buries his face in the pillows. His head, and weirdly his tongue, hurts. He moves it around a bit in his mouth. Yeah, he definitely bit himself in his sleep. What the fuck?

He sits up and his eyes fall on the open journal. He left it like that last night, but the pen… the pen has been moved to lie neatly above the journal. Hob knows he left it on the side, or in the middle of the pages even. He’s not that tidy.

Hob scrambles out of bed and picks up the book. There are new words in his stranger’s cursive, small handwriting. He reads it two times, then once more for good measure. His stranger has been here? He has been watching Hob sleep?

“My dear Hob.”

“I miss the quiet comfort of your company.”

“I would like to meet you soon.”

“With affection, your friend.”

Hob feels himself shiver and his skin break out in goosebumps. Then he feels heat rush through him and hurriedly he puts down the journal and goes to take a long and relieving shower. 

His mind is all over the place for the rest of the day. Hob cannot stop thinking about what this change in tone might mean for him and his friend. He won’t deny that he has been yearning for this, this gentleness, the quiet understanding and open show of affection Hob never dared let himself hope for too much. His friend likes him! Even if it’s meant in a strictly platonic way, there is no doubt any longer that his stranger cares for Hob. That he likes being with him. Every time the realisation hits him he has to swallow back tears of joy and one time even excuse himself from a meeting to punch the air and grin stupidly at himself in the bathroom mirror. This century is finally turning out for the better, he thinks.

Part 7

#I've sat on this for weeks now sorry #I guess I hoped I'd be able to finish it and post it to AO3 but I'm slow #1989 au #the sandman fanfiction #dreamling #teejay writes

[crescencestudio]

๋࣭⭑ Devlog #40 | 5.1.24 ๋࣭⭑

Happy April (pretend I'm not late on this devlog)!!

April flew by in the blink of an eye. It's been a really busy month for me personally--I'm not sure about you all!

This devlog is going to be structured differently from the past devlogs for two reasons: 1) my concussion is lowkey kicking my ass and 2) I had a release going on almost every week this month because I am a Crazy Person HA!!!!

This month was filled with some kind of release every weekend, which is equal parts exciting and exhausting. Because releases always take a lot out of me, I basically spent every day this month cycling between phases of post-release euphoria, post-release depression, pre-release excitement, recovery burnout, burnout guilt, and just about every emotion in between.

THEN!! I got into an accident about a week ago and have been throwing hands with the resulting concussion since. So it's basically been a crazy month in the Crescence world.

That being said, let's run through the month in chronological order, and every weekend release :crazy eyes & hysterical laughter:

Kayn's Beta Route Out Now!

Kayn's Beta Route has been Finished!

In Extremely Exciting news, Kayn's beta route was finished during the first weekend of this month! I had put off publicly announcing it because I didn't want to clash with the demo release. But it was released quietly to patrons and beta-testers. Feedback so far has been very kind, and if you'd like to get access to Kayn's beta route, you can play it with the Hydra ($10) tier on my Patreon ^^

I will publicly announce the route sometime later. But for now, for those who bother reading my devlogs, here is a treat!

Enhanced Demo Release

Bro we fucking did it

Second weekend of April, we released the ENHANCED DEMO OFFICIALLY!!!! It was so exciting (and nerve-wracking) to be able to finally get this out to the public. Reception has been so nice, and it's been rewarding to see people finally be able to play the enhanced demo and see what I've been working so very hard on these past couple of months. I'm really glad you all liked it and appreciated all the details that I've painstakingly polished <3

I mentioned it before but I was really nervous for the release---I had no idea how it would go. But as always, I could not be more appreciative of the support you all give to little old me. Thank you, and I hope you all like the taste of what is to come in the Alaris world!

If you haven't gotten a chance to play the demo yet, please check it out here!

ALSO..... if five people want to rate the demo and haven't rated it yet...... it would make me very happy....... we are so close to 300 ratings.....

Velox Formida

Yes, I did help make a game in 36 hours.

Adding to the madness, I got sucked into this game jam by beloved and crazy @shewassaying. You have to make a game in 36 hours. It was a crazy whirlwind of an experience, but with people I always love being with. We finished a beautiful fantasy game if anyone would like to check it out!

Are you tired yet? I sure am.

A Faerie's Tale

We aren't done yet gamers

Finally, to round out the marathon, I created the GUI for this beautiful little game that was submitted to Amare Fest (which you should check out, since a lot of other cool games were submitted!). I had the opportunity to work with some extremely talented devs (@steamberrystudio, @jeneara, @windchimesgames, @tuffmallowinteractive, and feniks of OL fame), some of which are like titans in the VN community to me ;_;

The game is an enchanting, short little story (and FREE!) about a Fae. Something I know many of us are suckers for nyeheh. Please feel free to check it out here

That's it... Kinda.

And that's about it for this month! As you can see..... it was very much a back-to-back month. Because of that, I'm trying to use right now as a break (everyone thank my concussion for forcing me to take a break, yippee!).

Some other things that I want to highlight this month:

We released an official trailer for Alaris. She's stunning, and if you haven't seen it yet...... well, what are you waiting for....

intertwine is part of a Palestinian Relief Bundle. For only $8, you can get access to over 300 cracked games and support an important cause. If you haven't donated yet, please consider doing so. We are close to almost half a million dollars raised! Bundle ends in 4 days, so please consider buying if you haven't already

Alaris is part of a small little collaboration/cross-promotion of other magical and mystery otome. If you like sexy games by cracked devs, please check them out at the bottom of my itchio page. Some of the other games include Obscura, Lost in Limbo, The Good People, Save the Villainess, Snow White Ashes, and more! I would link them here, but I'm starting to get a headache teehee.

Anyways, that rounds out this month and a bunch of exciting news! I know it can be overwhelming to look at. Per usual, I never expect anyone to play every single game I am involved with. But if any of them catch your eye, I encourage you to check them out since many of the people I work with are very talented and you never know what new devs/games you'll get introduced to as a result!

See you all next month! <3

#alaris #devlog #other games #i am tired LMFSLEIFJ

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

lover - p. parker

a/n: hi guys so sorry it's been a while i meant to finish this a million times and im still not thrilled with the ending but oh well! i want to make a quick note that as someone whose hard of hearing i am aware that being hoh/deaf has a lot of rheotric around it and there's a lot of positive associations with being hoh/deaf but reader in this fic is not always happy with being hoh because being deaf/hoh has a LOT of complciated emotions associated with it! just keep that in mind as we go forward. warnings: hoh!reader, cursing probably, suggestive behaviors, lots of kissing, lots of fluff, a poorly written ending, gn!reader, reader having a lot of complex emotions about their hearing, talks of weddings, and reader has a mom and a step dad who love them. AUTISTIC PETER BTW ITS ONLY MENTIONED ONCE BUT IT IS IMPORTANT TO ME word count: 4.0k summary: peter parker is quite literally the most amazing boyfriend ever. even when you realize you're hard of hearing. pairing: tasm!peter parker x hoh!reader now playing: lover - taylor swift "my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue/all's well that ends well to end up with you/swear to be over-dramatic and true to my/lover"

Going to the grocery store is a nightmare.  

Especially when you go on a Saturday in New York City, on a relatively nice day out.

You’re pushing the cart through the grocery store, trying to focus on what’s right in front of you as Peter comes up behind you, placing a box of cinnamon toast crunch in the bag before you check it off your list.

This is your system—Peter runs around grabbing your assorted groceries for the next two weeks as you check it off the list, then there is two people making sure you have all your groceries. This pretty much eliminates the possibility of having to run out to the store during the week.

And usually, you do this very early on Sunday mornings—Like, you and Peter are the first patrons at the store.

But you’re out of just a few things that are essential—Toothpaste, Milk, coffee—You pretty much just decided to get it out of the way for the next two weeks.

The problem now, is that you’re in this crowded store, full of people talking, machines beeping and carts wheeling.. You’re struggling to focus. That’s what you pass it off as, at least.

Peter’s hand lands gently on your arm as he says your name gently.

“Huh?” You tilt your head to look at him.

“I just wanted to know what was next on the list.” He smiles at you. You glance down at the list,

“Uh, Bread.” You tell him, planning on making grilled cheese and tomato soup for dinner.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” He hums, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You smile softly. You’re not the biggest fan of PDA but Peter can recognize when you’re feeling upset and just need a reminder of your worth.

A few minutes later, as you’re struggling to ground yourself in the middle of this Trader Joe’s, Peter spooks you when he comes up behind you, his hand resting on your upper arm.

“Fucking Christ—” You gasped, “You terrified me!”

“I’m sorry, Baby.” He says gently. “I called your name a few times, was yapping all the way down the aisle.”

“Oh..” Your face softens. You don’t really know how to say all the things you’re feeling.

“Hey, I’ll—I’ll finish up here, how bout you step outside for a few minutes? Wait for me by the carts?”

Your list is almost finished up so you nod, smiling gently before leaving the grocery store, finally getting some peace and quiet. You lean against the wall of the grocery store, watching people pass the grocery store. About twenty minutes later, Peter walks out of the grocery store, holding your grocery bags. He hands you two bags but carries about four. Your boyfriend is Spider-man, and as much as you hate taking advantage of that.. You can’t’ deny how nice his strength is for situations like this.

He shifts the bags around to pull two candy bars out of his pocket—

A Snickers for him, and a standard Hershey bar for you.

You eat your candy as you make the short trip home, not saying much. The candy bar helps, but this looming truth lingers in the air, and you don’t want to be the one to say anything about it. So the pair of you make your way into the apartment, putting away your groceries wordlessly. But in the quiet of your apartment, you stop, suddenly plagued with a new trouble.

“My ears are ringing.”

“What?” It’s not something he’s asking because he did not hear you, but the statement catches him off guard.

“My ears are ringing.” You repeat. He gently takes the oranges out of your hands, scared that you might dig your fingers into them and destroy them half an hour after he picked them out.

“Okay,” he says softly, putting them to the side. “Why don’t you go sit down in the living room while I make some tea and put the groceries away?” He gently prods. Too busy wanting to literally claw off your own ears, you nod and head over to your couch.

Peter’s by your side a few minutes later with a mug of tea on the coffee table. However, it goes quickly forgotten as you climb on top of him, cuddling into him. His hands rub your back gently. You sit like this for a while, until he decides to ask—

“How long have you had trouble with your hearing?” His voice is soft. You reflect for a little while, before responding with a soft,

“A long time, now..” You remember being a teenager and having trouble hearing your friends in the lunchroom and lectures being a nightmare during college. “I think I’ve been just ignoring it for a few years..”

He had a feeling that’s what your answer would have been—you’re rather in tune with yourself, and something like this would’ve been something you picked up on a long time ago. But he doesn’t blame you for ignoring something like this.

“You know we should probably go to an audiologist, right?” He asks.

“Yeah, I know..” You sigh, cuddling into him further, as if you can hide away from the entire world.

“I’ll take you,” he says gently, not wanting you to worry about going alone or being anxious. You’ll be anxious anyways, but maybe he could help. And he will help, his fingers always brushing against your skin, making sure you remember that he’s there and not going anywhere. It’s the best way he can help-- By making sure you’re not alone.

“Thanks..” Your voice breaks, and he frowns, his hand coming to find your cheek, pulling you into his view. The sight of you crying makes his heart squeeze.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks softly, his thumb wiping your tears.

“I don’t..” You bite your lip, trying to form the words. You’re not an idiot. You have done some research on Deaf culture. You knew that it was an enhancement, something to be proud of. And that was phenomenal—You had done a lot of courses in college on disability rhetoric, and you knew how important it was to reinforce positive associations with disabilities, as well as the fact that most deaf and hard of hearing people did not consider themselves disabled.

And all that pride lived inside of you—But you couldn’t help your struggle about the subject. It would take time to adjust to, and Peter.. Peter deserved an easy life. He was Spider-Man for Christ’s sake!

“I don’t want you to have to worry about me if it turns out I do have trouble hearing. I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

He frowns at this, tilting his head.

“Hey,” he tilts his head, looking at you with admiration. “Did you know when I was adopted by my aunt and uncle they told them I would be a challenge to raise? That my autism and lack of social skills would make me.. harder to love..?”

“You’re not hard to love.” You immediately say, and he smiles.

“I know. My aunt and uncle proved that to me, they went into raising me knowing that I would just have different struggles as other kids my age. Even if you are heard of hearing or deaf—You’re not hard to love. You just have different experiences and struggles from other people our age. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want every part of that journey.” He leans forward and places a kiss on your forehead. It makes you smile a bit. “Now, no more tears. Let’s watch a movie, and we’ll start our research tomorrow, okay?” He hums.

You nod and grab the throw blanket behind him, pulling it across the pair of you as he grabs the remote and turns on your favorite movie. His hands stay on you, rubbing comforting patterns into your skin.

He turns the subtitles on without you asking.

• • •

The audiologist office has lights that are too bright. You and Peter sit side by side, as you look around at the other patients. Your chest tightens as you realize you are surrounded by people in their 70’s and 80’s—Except for you, a twenty something year old, a young boy, around seven, and a teenage girl. You all share similar looks of discomfort, but in your anxiety, you notice that there’s a sense of.. familiarity in seeing people your age here.

You decide to put a pin in your thoughts, as Peter’s hand finds your thigh, and you glance back over to him. In the past two weeks, He’s been giving more physical cues to get your attention, a small way he’s trying to make you feel more comfortable.

“Stop bouncing your leg,” he says softly, “You’re just working yourself up.” He says gently. You nod, and then your name is called, so you gather your things, and before you go, Peter grabs your wrist, before throwing up the sign in ASL for ‘I love you’. You grin and throw it back, before following the nurse into the back.  

Peter waits, for around half an hour, making sure not to draw too much attention to himself. He makes pleasant conversation with two of the older ladies who are there, after finding out that they all grew up in Queens.

After that half hour, you come back out of the back rooms of the office, and Peter grins at you as he says a quick, respectful goodbye to the two older women, before handing you your jacket.

The pair of you stay quiet until you’re out of the office, and only when you’re a few steps away does he slip his jacket on before asking,

“How’d it go?” And with this, he clumsily signs along. The pair of you have been practicing ASL—Short phrases here and there.

You hesitate for an answer, going into your bag and fishing out a small ASL dictionary. Inside, in his sort of messy handwriting, Peter has written you a note that you take a glance at every time you open it. It reads, ‘Don’t forget I love you’, and it never fails to make you smile.

Another challenge you’ve been facing in your journey to learn ASL is your facial expressions—You’ve never been good at properly matching your face to your emotions or words, so it’s been a struggle.

“Fine,” You speak and sign. Then you pause. “Actually, not fine.” You sign, and then you drop the signing, because you’re only a beginner. “It’s sort of what we expected—My hearing is.. bad, and will probably get worse as I age.” His hand finds yours.

“Okay.. What did he say about hearing aids?”

“That If I felt like I needed them to schedule a follow-up.” You tell him. “But they’re expensive and I’ll need to do research to see what sort of health insurance coverage I have.”

He nods gently, his thumb rubbing your knuckles gently.

“Well, we’re gonna cross that bridge when we get there, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He throws up the sign for ‘I love you’. You throw it back. And it might seem stupid, but every time Peter holds up that sign, your heart melts a little bit. Maybe it’s a low bar or something like that—And it’s true. But Peter is learning a whole new language for the sake of making sure you’re comfortable and for your comfort. No one has ever done anything close to that for you.

• • •

Peter has become in tune with your body. Which is a weird way to say it, but it’s true. Those heightened senses of his come in handy, and mostly, he watches for tension in your shoulders and your jaw, perfect indicators that your ears hurt.

Usually, it’s this painful ringing, and usually, Peter just tries to make you as cozy as possible while you ride that out.

But tonight, you’re at a family party, celebrating your sister’s birthday. She’s getting married in a few months, and she’s been so busy with that you haven’t seen a lot of her. Peter holds your gift for her in one hand, and your hand in his with the other.

The party goes well for the most part, you’re just relaxing and hanging out with your family. It’s a nice party, and you’re grateful for your entire family. Your mom holds your nephew in her lap, your sister laughs with your aunts and her fiancé, and your brother and uncle are yapping about some football game.

You, Peter, and your stepdad stand in the kitchen, talking about all sorts of things. Your sister’s wedding, the cruise he just took your mom on, Peter’s recent promotion, and of course..

“Have you considered hearing aids?” Your stepdad asks.

“Yeah, they’re just.. expensive.” You laugh, nervously.

Your stepdad gently taps his own ears, “Well, you’d be part of an elite club.” He grins.

You roll your eyes playfully, before your attention is grabbed by a tugging on the leg of your pants. You glance down, and see your young nephew, gazing up at you with wide eyes.

“What can I do for you, little man?” You ask, a hand coming up to brush hair from his face. He says something you can’t quite make out, so you put your drink on the counter and crouch down to hear him properly, tapping right below your ear, “One more time, bud.”

“Can Peter come play?” He asks, still a little shy around the man you’ve been dating for a while now. You grin and nod,

“Of course he can.” You glance up to Peter, then to your nephew. “What do you wanna play?”

“Dinosaurs.” He requests. So, you pick him up and turn to Peter.

“Peter, our friend here would like to play dinosaurs with you.” You grin.

The way your hair falls into place, the way you hold your nephew close, the way your smile pinches your eyes together.. Peter wishes he could freeze this moment forever because you look perfect.

“Dinosaurs?” he repeats, before grabbing your nephew from you, and then positioning him so that he’s riding on Peter’s back. “Dude, I love dinosaurs!” that’s the last thing you can make out as Peter carries him off to the living room to play dinosaurs. You watch with an affectionate smile, taking small sips of your drink.

“So… Nice kid..” Your mom says as she walks into the kitchen.

You assume she’s talking about your nephew, so you shrug, “He is a good kid.”

“No, I’m talking about Peter.” Your face flushes as you realize where this is going.

“What about Peter?” You hum, looking over to her.

“I’m just saying, I think—”

“You two are gross together.” Your stepdad chimes in, but there’s no malice behind his comment. In fact, you only laugh because it’s something you used to say to them when they started dating.

“Yeah, I know,” You hum. “I really love him.” You confess, before shrugging.

“You know, with your sister’s wedding coming up, I’ve been thinking a lot about—” Your face flushes, as you finish your drink.

“When Peter and I are ready to get married, you two will be the first to know.”

“Oh, so you do wanna marry him.” Your mom smiles. Your face is warmer now.

“I’m gonna go mingle, you two should try minding your own business.”

You find Peter rather quickly, and he just smirks at you, before signing, ‘Talking about marriage?’

You roll your eyes, signing back, ‘Shut up.’ He just puckers his lips and blows a kiss at you. He wants to marry you too.

• • •

After dinner and cake, you sit in your old bedroom, rubbing your ears as you try and come up with an excuse to leave.

Peter finds you a few minutes later and sits next to you on your bed. You lean into him, your eyes heavy from dealing with the ringing you’ve been dealing with.

He gently prompts you to pick your head up before signing, ‘Ringing again?’

You just nod.

“Pete, I wanna go home.” You tell him. Your brother and nephew left a little while ago, and downstairs, your aunts and uncles are getting ready to head home.

“I know, baby. Let’s get you home.” He hums softly. He gently rubs his hand up and down your arm, before pressing a sweet kiss to your neck. Then, one at the base of your ear.

• • •

A few days later, you’re just doing chores around the apartment when your phone buzzes. When you take a minute to glance at it, you find yourself grinning.

It’s the link to an article, sent to you by your mom—Besides Peter, she has been the greatest support through your journey in figuring out you’re hearing. And she knows you have a bias towards Spider-man as far as vigilantes go (wonder why).

The link leads you to a photo of Spider-man, who is swinging across the city, holding up the sign for ‘I love you’. A grin breaks out on your face, just in time for Peter to crawl back into the apartment.

You find him with his mask off as he starts to calm down from a long day, and before he can do much else, you make your way over to him and pull him in for a long kiss.

He hums, his hands finding your waist as your arms wrap around his neck. When you pull away he grins.

“Hi.” He hums.

“Hey..” you smile. “I didn’t know Spider-man knew sign language,” You tease, and he just laughs, a light pink dusting of blush across his cheeks.

“He knows it for you.”

“For me?”

“For you, baby,” he leans in and kisses you gently. His hands begin to travel from your waist to the hem of your shirt, and then up, resting his gloved fingers against the skin of your sides.

• • •

Your hearing aids come in just in time for your sister’s wedding.

You pick them up and hold them in your hands as you go back and forth, worrying. Worrying about Peter not liking them, worrying about breaking them, worrying about everything, really.

But you stand in front of the mirror, and put them on carefully, before turning them on. You take a moment to adjust to how certain sounds are now. The drip of the faucet is more pronounced, and the sounds don’t just melt together like they usually do.

You can even hear Peter shuffling around outside, giving you as much time as you need to process the look and feel of them. When you finally step out, you’re nervous, and he must be able to tell.

“Look at you,” he grins, peering at the hearing aids. “Can we get a spin?” You immediately let out a nervous giggle, and then do a little twirl for him, and he just laughs and claps.

“You like them?” You ask nervously, and he nods.

“Absolutely.” He tells you. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the side of your head, right next to your hearing aids. “I have something for you.” he tells you, before handing you a small black box. For a moment, you freak out. He probably senses the panic and shakes his head, “Just open it.”

You do, and when you realize what you’re looking at, your heart absolutely melts. It’s a gold star earing that has a chain that hooks onto your hearing aid, and another chain with more star pendants that dangle. It’s gorgeous, and you wonder what you did to deserve him. You lean in and kiss him gently.

“Thank you.” You say softly, and he can tell you’re going to get emotional, so he kisses you again.

“I think you look very pretty.” He hums, “Complete.” You grin and lean in for another kiss.

You’re beginning to feel it, too.

• • •

The morning of your sister’s wedding, you’re texting Peter as your sister gets her makeup done. You’re pretty much all ready, you’re just inclined to stay with her until she needs you.

‘Bug Boy

2:24

Attachment: One Image’

The look of Peter in his suit makes your heart melt.

‘Sugar

2:26

you look very handsome, pete <3’

‘Bug Boy

2:26

Aw, thank you, sugar. Do I get a photo of you or do I have to wait?’

‘Sugar

2:27

nope! gotta wait.’

‘Bug Boy

2:30

: (‘

‘Bug Boy

2:33

How are your hearing aids feeling?’

‘Sugar

2:35

good! they’re helping with all the commotion. i’m glad i got them before the wedding’

‘Bug Boy

2:36

Me too. I love you. See you soon?’

‘Sugar

2:37

see you soon <3 i love you.’

 You wear all black, as per her request, and you ask her a few days before if it’s okay if you wear your hearing aids, mostly because you don’t want the attention on you if you must answer a bunch of questions about your hearing aids.

But she’s more than happy to have you wear them, especially if it means you can hear everything that’s happening, and that your ears won’t ring.

The gold hearing aid jewelry goes well with your outfit, and you’re anxious to see Peter again—You’ve been so busy getting ready and helping your sister get ready that you haven’t given him a chance to see your fancy new outfit.

Just before the ceremony, as your sister is having her first look with her soon to be husband, you manage to sneak away, finding Peter mingling with your extended family, enjoying a drink, and eating some appetizers. Your spider boy and his appetite.

You tap on his shoulder when he’s alone, and he turns and quite literally gasps at the sight of you.

“Look what we have here,” he hummed, his hands running down the sides of your outfit. Then, he puts his drink down and begins to sign while speaking, “You look gorgeous. Your jewelry looks lovely.” He grins.

You blush, before signing back, “You don’t think it looks weird or clunky?”

“No,” He shakes his head, “You’re glowing,” he tells you, leaning into place a soft kiss on your lips.

“I love you,” You sign, “Do you want this?”

Your question catches him off guard, and he signs back,

“What?”

“This,” You gesture to the area around you. “A big wedding.”

His answer is simple but effective—

“I want whatever kind of wedding you want.”

“Even if I want big obnoxious flowers and a big ugly pastry gown?”

“Even if you want all that. Although..” He trails off, shrugging his shoulders.

“Although?” You question.

“I always imagined you in something simple. Something that shows off your features, not outshines them… And now, your little stars and hearing aids to go along with it..” He hums, grinning at your reddening face. “And pink tulips.”

“Pink tulips?”

“To go with the white roses.” He hums. You never really thought of Peter as a guy to have dreams and plans for his wedding, but he’s full of surprises. You know that better than anybody else.

“I love you.” You say softly, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. On your side, the flash of a light goes off and you start to giggle when you realize that one of the many photographers your sister has hired, and you realize that the photos of you and Peter will forever be known as from your sister’s wedding when you were just dating.

“I love you,” he hums as he holds up the sign for it. “How much time do you have before the ceremony starts?”

“Twenty minutes?”

“..Plenty of time.” He has this wicked grin on his face. Your face flushes, before you take his hand, letting him drag you off to a quiet corner of the venue.

“You better not ruin my hair or my makeup, spider boy.”

“I’ll be nice and gentle- I can be mean and rough later.”

“Peter Parker, I swear to god—”

He cuts you off by pressing you against the wall of an elevator, and as the door closes, he runs his fingers over your hearing aids, before pressing another kiss to your lips.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker hurt/comfort #tasm!peter parker fluff #how many different ways can i tag this peter parker #hoh!reader #tasm!peter parker x hoh!reader #peter parker x hoh!reader #spiderman fluff

[nicolesainz]

Win until you bleed (CL16)

Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: (my pure imagination of charles winning wdc) and a lot of fluff, maybe bad Italian and French translations

I’m so sorry if it’s short. I will repay you :)

“Verstappen’s right on his tail Crofty!” Martin Brundle exclaimed anxiously as we all saw the Red Bull going head to head with the Ferrari.

"There hasn't been a more intense battle for first place for god knows how long. So thrilling!"

Thrilling the viewers and fans say, but everyone at the Ferrari garage, including me, thought this was nail-bitting and extremely cut-throating.

I have witnessed the highs and lows of Charles. Whether from up close or from a small television. From karting victories, to European championships being lost and then being crowned as the F2 champion.

Dnf's and mistakes have come and gone during those six years in Formula one. I have seen him smile a lot, but also cry. Cheer and shout, but also angry and disappointed. A true emotional rollercoaster.

With only 3 laps to go, Max and Charles were separated by just 5 seconds and that gap needed to be kept alive, otherwise, the title battle would come to a disappointing end for Charles. He would have to see Max stand at the top of the podium again, with another championship under his belt.

"Come on Charles! Je t'aime trop pour te perdre" (I love you too much to lose you) I whispered softly, as I prayed for a positive result or for a miracle to happen.

I felt two bodies leaning beside me, only for them to be Isa's and Carlos's. Poor Carlos was unfortunate enough to suffer an engine blow. At the moment, he didn't care about himself. He only wanted Charles to win and bring to Ferrari, what would be the 16th Drivers Championship.

Championship number 16, for the driver carrying number 16.

"He will take it. I have no doubt" Isa tried to calm me down as much as she could. The couple knew how much Charles meant to me. Everyone knows me as his best friend and ultimate supporter, but that figured it out how my love for him, had altered into something bigger.

"Chiudete gli occhi e tra un minuto sarà incoronato campione del mondo." (Close your eyes and in a minute, he will be crowned world champion) Carlos uttered, equally anxious about his teammate, who was having the battle of his life out there.

"And last lap" Xavi, Chalres's race engineer said through the team radio.

Max had managed to close the gap to 3 seconds, inching closer to the car in front of him. To say that I didn't feel like throwing up my guts, would be an understatement. I always am scared whenever Chalres races but this time, I could barely open my eyes to watch the final lap, on the screen of the garage.

"Forza Charles! Puoi fare questo!" (Come on Charles. You can do this) the entire ferrari garage shouted as the last few corners were approaching

"This may be it everyone. Ferrari, after almost two decades, without being crowned champions, will give the Italians tonight, something to remember for a long long time to come" Crofty's voice echoed through my headset, sending a positive wave of energy.

"Y/N, open your eyes. This is it!" Isa and Carlos took my hands in theirs and held them very tight.

"After years of anticipation, the bells will ring again happily in the small village of Maranello. Tifosi, come out of your houses, take out your hats, flags, shirts and wave them. Because tonight, for the first time, after finishing six year in formula one and five years with ferrari, Charles Leclerc is finally, a world champion under the red!"

The screams of happiness almost shook down the garage. Tears of joy were running down my cheeks. The biggest smile was plastered on my face as I ran towards the fence and climbed it as high as possible, alongside with Carlos and the mechanics who were applauding pridefully.

"The fucker did it. He kept his promise and won! You should be proud. Because this, is just the beginning." The Spanish driver, who had managed to clinch P3 in the drivers championship, said whilst yelling for his friend and now world champion teammate.

"Molte congratulazioni Charles. Sei ufficialmente un campione del mondo, sotto il nome di Ferrari. Sei il nostro figliol prodigo. Grazie." (Many congratulations Charles. You are officially, a world champion, under the name of ferrari. You are our prodigal son. Thank you.) Fred said through the team radio, before Carlos asked him to say a few words as well

"Sono più che onorato di essere vostro compagno di squadra e amico. Oggi ci hai reso tutti molto orgogliosi. Che guida straordinaria! Sono senza parole. Goditi questo momento, perché ne stanno per arrivare molti altri. E non presentarti in ritardo sul podio, una donna speciale ti sta aspettando." (I am more than honoured to be your teammate and friend. You made us all very proud today. What an amazing drive! I am speechless. Enjoy this moment, because many more great ones are about to arrive. And don't show up late to the podium, a special lady is waiting for you.)

"Grazie a tutti per il duro lavoro svolto in questa stagione. Non posso essere più grato. Amo tantissimo questa squadra e spero di continuare a rendervi orgogliosi il più possibile. Carlos e Fred, grazie per avermi creduto e dato fiducia. Y/N, sei tutto ciò che potrei mai chiedere a una persona. Tutti vorrebbero averti al proprio fianco, ma anche se sembra meschino, sono felice che tu sia solo mia." (Thank you everyone for the hard work you have put this season. I can't be more grateful. I love this team so much and I hope to keep on making you proud for as much as possible. Carlos and Fred, thank you for believing and trusting me. Y/N, you are all I could ever ask for in a person. Everyone would want to have you by their side, but even if this sounds mean, I am happy that you are only mine.)

“Tu as fait de moi la femme la plus heureuse du monde. Cette nuit est à toi et le championnat aussi. Je suis immensément fier de ce que tu as accompli. Je t'aime plus que les mots ne peuvent le décrire.” (You made me the happiest woman in the world. This night is yours and so is the championship. I am immensely proud of what you have achieved. I love you more than words can describe.)

The view of the podium, is one sight for sore eyes. A true beauty. My best friend, the man I love, standing at the very top. Being crowned world champions means so much to Charles and to me. I get to see him be the happiest version of himself.

When Charles got off the podium, before being wrapped to anyone else’s hug, he ran towards me and fell into my arms.

I’ve never felt my heart pounding so fast. His heavy breathing on my neck gave me tingles, which caused butterflies to crawl into my stomach.

Suddenly, his hands were free so he hugged me back, tighter and sweeter than ever before. He was mumbling something that I couldn’t really understand.

“I have to tell you something, but please, don’t freak out” Charles looked me deeply in the eyes, as if he was about to say something groundbreaking

“You’re scaring me. Are you alright?” I am full of worry and anxiety runs all over my body

“It’s a proposal. I need to ask you a very serious question-“

“Charles if there’s anything I can-“ I don’t even manage to finish my phrase when he blurts out

“Would you want to be my girlfriend? Honestly, there’s no other person I’d like to share my life with more than you. I see you more often than my own siblings and it’s up to the point I call you my family. I love you in all the ways you could possibly think and my heart breaks at the single thought of not having you close to me”

I fought the urge to not jump on him and wrap my body around his so hard, but unfortunately failed. The night became even better than it already was.

“I’d love more than anything else to be your girlfriend. No matter the circumstance, I will always love you Charles. Seeing you smile is my source of happiness and I wouldn’t change it.”

That night, was one, I’d never forget in my life. Nor I ever intend to. It’s the euphoria that keeps me sane and his love that runs in my veins.

#charles lecrelc #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #ferrari #formula 1 #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc fanfic

[charliedawn]

avengers (and peter parker) on their wedding day, maybe seeing reader walk down the isle?

Tony was very nervous at first, he kept glancing at the alley door, hoping you wouldn't get cold feet or run away..You had every right to.

He was a flirt, egotistical genius and you had had plenty other reasons to quit, give up..His foot was shaking and he was about to call the whole thing out when you appeared.

You were breath-taking.

Words got stuck in his throat and when you started walking, Tony felt that—out of all the Avengers—he was the luckiest.

"I do.."

He blurted out before the priest had even started the ceremonial speech. You smiled knowingly at him and Tony thanked his lucky star that he got to you first. He wasn't stupid, and knew you had had many proposals before him and he didn't think you would pick him, but you did..He wanted to do a little dance and shout very childishly.

"TAKE THAT, SUCKERS !"

But, he didn't want to sound like a complete asshole the day of your wedding, so he simply smiled back.

He almost forgot that he had a whole speech prepared for the occasion, a real teary-eyed emotional speech..But, when he opened his mouth to say them, the words that got out were completely different.

"Y/N L/N. I never thought you would become a Stark, even less to accept to go on a first date with me or become the one who brightens my life. But, for some reason ? I wouldn't have it any other way. And even though Stark used to be a name I wasn't proud of—that I despised even—I know that if you decide to wear it ? I would never be prouder of bearing any other name..You make me want—for the first time in my life—to embrace who I am and give my all so our future name may make you proud. I love you, Y/N.", he finished and you were thankful he did, because you would have had no time to shower him in praises in return.

"Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist..And, I hope, no more the playboy I used to know ?"

A couple of muffled chuckles and barely hidden snorts made themselves heard in the audience. However, you didn't mind them, as your eyes were still fixed on Tony who faked being offended, placing his hand flat on his chest with his eyes slightly agape in mocking indignation.

"I thought..How could someone so great ever be interested in me ? Out of every person in the high crowd..How could the incredible Tony Stark ever see me ? But—for some strange reason—you did. You took my hand and we danced. We danced, and it was on that first night that I knew. You were the one I would end up falling in love with, and even though there were a lot of stones and crevices along the way..Here we are."

Tony smiled knowingly at you. Your love had never been simple or straightforward, but it still led you to the altar. He didn't believe in destiny, but he had to admit it really seemed like it.

When it was finally the right time, he didn't hesitate before repeating the I do and you followed him suit.

Your love wasn't perfect, but it was worth it.

He then grabbed you and tilted you backwards to kiss you deeply, not caring about the room full of guests gasping and clapping energetically around you.

And to make it even better, Tony grabbed your hand and you both ran away, a car already waiting outside for you. When you were both in the car, he turned towards you and asked you with a small enigmatic smile.

"Where to, my lady/gentleman ?"

You thought about it for a moment before finally answering with a wide grin.

"How about..everywhere ?"

Tony seemed taken aback for a moment, but soon, his signature smile brightened his face and he kissed your knuckles before starting the car.

"EVERYWHERE ! HERE WE COME !", he declared loudly.

You missed the old man, standing next to the car, until your eyes briefly met and he smiled.

You were sure to have seen him somewhere before ? He waved and you waved back sheepishly. It was like you were saying goodbye to an old friend.

"Take good care of him..", he mouthed to you before Tony drove away.

Clint was on the verge of tears. He had waited for that day for so long, he thought it would never come..

Natasha had to hold his hand while they were waiting. Clint knew he had to choose a best man, but he couldn't see anyone who deserved that title more than Natasha.

"Don't worry. They're coming. Hold the tears, you big softie."

Natasha admonished jokingly and he gasped a breath before nodding weakly.

"I'll try..", he replied with a little broken voice, his tone betraying his nervousness.

Natasha smiled sympathetically and patted his shoulder encouragingly.

At that moment, the doors opened and you appeared. In an instant, all of Clint's worries vanished. He just knew his heart seemed to be malfunctioning, as it couldn't stop beating faster than a running horse.

He felt cold sweat run down his spine and gulped loudly as you started walking towards him.

That was it.

The moment he had waited so long for and it took all of his will power not to laugh in relief. Finally. He would have everything he ever desired..You would be his wife/husband and the notion itself made him feel like everything he had to go through to find you was worth it.

He almost missed the priest's words and when it was his time to talk and tell you everything he felt for you ? He fell silent from a second or two in secret devotion before finally finding the right words.

"Y/N. I wanted to impress you. I even asked the others for advice on what I should say to you today..But, truth is ? There are no words strong enough to tell you how much I love you..You know me. I was always the quiet type, and even though, you found something in me. And, if you say yes today ? Know that you would make me the happiest man in the world."

He couldn't hold back his tears any longer, but you neither. You smiled happily at him and took a big breath before starting talking too.

"Clint. I knew from the beginning that winning you over would be a challenge. Tough guy who has terrible trust issues and a fortress around his heart that even I, had great difficulty piercing through. And God knows I've tried.."

It made him and the audience laugh, but if a marriage was to be successful, it had to be built on truth and trust. So, you had to be completely honest as to why you had fallen for that man that everything seemed to tell you not to at first..

"..But, I also saw a side of you that took me by surprise. A glimpse of who you truly are..You're the most caring and admirable man I have ever met and just for that, you gained my heart."

Clint blinked his tears away and when he held your hands and leaned forward to kiss you, it was beautiful and so true, it brought tears to Natasha's eyes as well.

When you took a step back and you smiled brightly at each other, you didn't even hear the loud cheers around you.

You threw the bouquet and it landed into an old man's hands. You didn't recognize him exactly, but you were sure to have seen him somewhere before..He smiled widely at you and shouted.

"SEE YOU AT MY WEDDING !"

You smiled and nodded in agreement.

"Send me an invitation !"

The old man smiled back and disappeared in the crowd afterwards. Your attention then went back to Clint who took your hand and led you to the exit, flowers raining on your path.

You knew you would be happy with him.

A marriage on Asgard was everything you suspected it would be..especially for a royal wedding.

There was the whole kingdom chanting your name and the aisle was so long, you had trouble seeing the end of it..However, when you finally arrived, Thor was waiting for you in his glistening and shinning armor. He looked like one of those princes in fairy tales and you couldn't believe you would soon be his wife/husband.

"You look beautiful.", was the first thing he said to you and you couldn't deny it when he was looking at you with so much love and affection.

It was happening.

You would become the king/queen of Asgard.

Odin linked your arms together with a white cloth and since you are from Midgard, he also asked for the both of you to exchange wedding rings.

When it was time for your respective matrimonial speech, you started.

"You. Thor Odinson. You are everything I never thought possible. You are literally a god. A warrior with inimaginable powers who—one day—knocked on my doorstep and asked for my help. I never could have imagined that my decision of helping a stranger would lead me to where I am today..But, I'm very glad it did..I'm glad it lead me to you. Thor."

Thor beamed at you and for a moment, you could have sworn a tear escaped his eye, but he quickly wiped it away with his thumb before speaking too.

"You. Y/N of Midgard. Are and will always remain the only being in the universe I will ever willingly kneel to. I will offer you my undying loyalty to. And yet, I think it is not enough. Because, you deserve so much more than what a king, or a god can offer you. You deserve happiness, and I will enjoy spending my entire life making sure you will get it. OR MY NAME ISN'T THOR ODINSON !"

You cried a little and knew that Thor wasn't a liar and knowing you had such power over him filled you with pride. Your love for him was overflowing and your heart was beating alongside his like a silent imperceptible song only the two of you could hear.

When Odin asked you, you both said yes in unison, not leaving each other's eyes. You missed the way an old man was looking at the both of you with tenderness..As if he actually knew you.

"You can kiss the..."

Thor didn't wait, he leaned forward and pulled you flushed against him before kissing you breathless. The whole kingdom applauded and you wrapped your arms around his shoulder, everything disappearing around you.

But, a familiar voice succeeded in piercing through the crowd's clamoring to you.

"Have a great life you two."

You opened your eyes and looked around, but the old man was already gone and all that was left was the arms of your beloved around you. Thor tilted his head to look in the direction you were facing with a small worried frown.

"Is something the matter, Y/N ?"

You smiled reassuringly at him and shook your head.

"Nothing important..Let us go."

He smiled widely, as if he was waiting for you to say that before carrying you in his arms to the exit.

He was very excited about spending the night with you and show you everything Asgard had to offer. Your new home.

Bucky was surprisingly calm.

He knew you would come. He was standing straight next to Sam.

With Steve being gone, Sam was the best option and he remained stoic beside him with a small knowing smile on his lips.

He leaned forward to whisper.

"Don't worry, Bucky. After today, you'll no longer have a reason to keep that frown on your face."

Bucky huffed a laugh and as Sam had predicted, the moment his eyes fell on you, he smiled.

You were beautiful..He forgot where you were for a moment and took a step forward, eager to tell you how incredible you looked, but Sam stopped him by resting his hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down, tiger. Let them come to you."

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks and moved his leg up and down impatiently, a smile not leaving his face as he waited for you to walk the stairs of the altar. Once you were finally there, you looked at each other and Bucky instinctively reached for your hands.

The priest arrived and when it was time for the both of you to vocally express your love, you found yourself speechless. What could you say that might express the way you felt about him ? Thankfully, Bucky spoke first.

"Y/N..You are beautiful and smart and incredibly clever. I didn't expect you to be there by my side when times were rough for me, but you were..You are more than what I am worth and just by standing here today, you might as well consider me impressed and in love with you more than ever."

You smiled and nodded understandingly, knowing how every word from Bucky came from the heart. You blinked a few times to wipe the tears away and then replied.

"Bucky Barnes. You have suffered greatly in the past, but I sincerely hope you will find the happiness and peace you seek for with me..In that future we will build together."

It wasn't long, but it was the truth. Bucky could feel it as he smiled tenderly at you and reached for your hand once more. He was sure to find more than he ever bargained for with you and you both tried not to laugh as Sam almost tumbled forward in his eagerness to bring you the rings.

Once the rings exchanged and you both said yes to each other, Bucky kissed you passionately and you smiled into the kiss. You were finally married. When you pulled away, Bucky eyed the door significantly and you smiled again before nodding on agreement. It was time to go..Bucky grabbed your hand and you started running towards the exit.

Once out, Bucky was surprised to find a brand new moto at the gates of the church and was even more shocked when you unhesitatingly jumped on it.

You must have noticed his confusion as you turned towards him and shrugged.

"Happy wedding anniversary in advance ?", you threw the keys at him and Bucky's smile widened as he understood, this new beauty was all his.

"Did I already tell you how much I love you ?", he asked, running his hands on the shiny plastic with admiration.

"Once or twice.", you replied with a small teasing smile, happy that your gift was appreciated.

You glanced back at the church and found a man on the stairs, staring right at you. He smiled kindly when your eyes met and for some reason ? You knew he was someone important.

You smiled back before Bucky climbed on the seat his brand new motorcycle and you wrapped your arms around his waist.

"Am I still your favorite ?", you teased as Bucky was obviously still admiring the moto, but he immediately broke eye contact with her to look at you.

"Have no doubt about that. I'm the one riding her. You ? I would let you ride me."

Your smile dropped for a moment as you registered what he just said, but Bucky didn't let you reply before starting the engine.

You would have all the time to figure it out on your honeymoon. *wink wink*

The priest was the first one out after you and you locked eyes for a moment. He smiled and winked at you before shouting.

"Enjoy the ride !"

Scott took a big breath before breathing out loudly, skipping from one foot to the other nervously..He had already been a groom once, it didn't end well..He sincerely hoped this time around would be different. He had Cassie by his side with her little basket full of pink rose petals and he wanted to show her that her dad wasn't a complete failure.

But, he was scared.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose to calm himself down, but it was difficult.

What was he doing ?! Why go through the same process when he already knew marriage had never worked out with him ?

However, when the door slammed open and you appeared, as gorgeous as the day you met..He knew why he was here. He knew why he was risking it. He was risking it for you. Because you were worth it. Because you were different.

His heart filled with love and his eyes with tenderness as he saw you walk the aisle. It was like an angel had suddenly come along to brighten his day and make his insecurities wash away..You were here. It was all that mattered.

He took a step forward and extended his hand towards you that you took with a big smile..Gosh. He would die for that smile.

When it was time for the marital vows, Scott had planned the whole thing, had written it down even. But, as his eyes locked with yours, he realized it didn't matter. Whatever he could possibly say, you already knew.

So, he decided to speak from the heart and improvise, something he never really was good at..according to a lot of people.

"Y/N. You're the man/woman of my life. From the moment we met, I never doubted a second that we would eventually be together. However, I won't lie. I was scared. Still am, actually. I wasn't a good husband, not even a good man either to be honest..I want to believe that I can be with you, but it's hard. I'm excited, hopeful and it's fantastic, but also terrifying. I've never felt like this before, not since Cassie was born. I'm so in love with you. I can't wait to kiss you, have children with you, have a life with you, change diapers with you and..", he chuckled awkwardly at the sudden silence in the church/room after that last part and massaged the back of his neck nervously,"..I ruined the moment, didn't I ?"

You laughed. You laughed, and Scott's eyes widened as tears formed at the corner of your eyes and he feared you were laughing at him, but he quickly discarded the idea.

"Scott..You fool ! You're the best man I have ever met ! You are an amazing father, a goddamn superhero and I can't believe you can't see it yet ! I'm so in love with you, I want all the things you want and more ! I don't care about your past. I love you, Scott. You."

Scott couldn't hold it any longer and pulled you in his arms, not even sparing a glance at the crowd around you. You laughed and kissed each other before the priest had even finished the request and shouted in unison when it was time to say yes, eager to be alone together.

You then ran and you took Cassie in your arms, the three of you entering Scott's car in a hurry, ignoring her mother's protests.

At the last minute, you could have sworn seeing an old man waving at you, but it was only a flick of the moment and you shook your head.

You were going home and Cassie beamed up at you.

"I KNEW YOU WOULD BE MY NEW MOMMY/DADDY !"

You laughed at that and when Scott kissed your knuckles, you knew your future would be amazing.

Stephen was surprised. He wasn't surprised that he was getting married. That. He knew.

He was surprised to find you already waiting for him at the end of the aisle..34 hours before the wedding. You weren't wearing a dress/suit, but you were still there, as if waiting for him..as if you knew he would be there.

He floated down next to you and you stood still, not even glancing at him. You knew he had something to ask you..

Stephen looked up at the ceiling.

Maybe would he find the words up there ?

There was something bothering him..

It wasn't him who had asked you. He thought he would be the one to put a knee on the ground and get out the ring, but you beat him to it..And the only answer you had given him when he had asked you about this sudden decision, was an enigmatic smile and a cheeky wink.

It was gnawing at him. However, your voice cut him out of his thoughts as you turned towards him.

"I wanted to see you..Just, to make sure you're okay."

His eyes widened. It was his wedding, why wouldn't he be okay ?! He was ecstatic, he couldn't wait to be eternally linked through marital contract with you..He had waited too long when love had knocked at his door the first time, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. So, he lied. He smiled and shook his head.

"I'm okay.."

The look you gave him showed that you weren't fooled, but you didn't persist. He would tell you eventually..

There was still this worry persisting in the back of his head, and even though he wanted to tell you, he couldn't.

So, when it was the time for marital vows on your wedding day, only one question went past his lips.

"Y/N..Why did you propose ?"

Your brow furrowed and you looked up at him with confusion in your eyes and he understood he would have to be clearer.

"Why did you propose first ? You knew I would have eventually done it..Right ?"

Your reaction wasn't the one he expected as your straight out busted into laughter..He knew he should be upset, but the sound was so beautiful, he couldn't help but laugh as well.

"Right. Stupid question.", he quickly added, but you shook your head and held his hands in yours. You smiled absent-mindedly at his calloused fingertips and wondered how many people he had saved with those hands ?

"Stephen Strange..If I had waited for you to propose to me, I would have died a bachelor/an old maiden."

He was shocked at first, but let out a soft chuckle at the realization..You were right. Stephen had a problem when it came to taking decisions, especially concerning the matters of the heart. He should have known.

Well..He had his answer now.

The priest smiled as he saw Stephen's contempt expression, which was known to be a rare sight.

"Stephen Stradt..", he started, but was interrupted by Stephen.

"It's Strange."

The priest frowned a little at the correction before continuing.

"Right, Strand. Will you take Y/N to be your wife/husband ?"

Stephen stopped himself from rolling his eyes and decided to ignore the priest and looked back at you. You were radiant and Stephen felt his chest fill with pride at the thought that finally, he had found his happiness. He would no longer be alone.

"Yes.", it came a little too quick and by the way your smile slightly widened, you knew too.

You followed suit and when he leaned forward to kiss you, you let him linger there a few seconds longer than necessary, certain that that kiss would stay in both of your memories until the end of your lives.

You then pulled away and Stephen turned towards the crowd, trying to remain composed, but failing as his cape started wiping his tears away.

"Quit it.", he ordered and the cape indulged, but seeing Stephen's red face was enough for you to let out a small laugh. He sent you a death glare, but it softened as he realized you were now his wife/husband..that he would get to hear your laugh again and again. It made him smile again.

A few days later, the marriage papers would arrive and you would both be surprised to find the correct last name on the document.

"I knew it ! That old priest was mocking me !", Stephen exclaimed in disbelief and you laughed.

However, you then found another small note written by the priest to your attention.

Take good care of that old grunt for me. I wish you both a good fulfilling life.

You smiled at the note and the faint memory of the priest's face came back to you..Somehow, you were certain to have seen him somewhere before ?

Stephen noticed your thoughtful expression and squeezed your hand.

"Is something the matter ?"

You looked back at him and smiled reassuringly before shaking your head.

"Nothing. Just an odd feeling of melancholy..It'll pass."

Stephen didn't further on the subject, but he did extend his hand forward to lead you outside.

"How about a walk outside to clear our minds, Y/N Strange ?"

You smiled at the name and nodded in agreement.

"There is nothing I would like more, Stephen Strange."

Peter was late.

It was to be expected. It wasn't easy to be a superhero.

However, what you didn't expect was Spiderman to crash your wedding and land in front of you. You knew that Peter was Spiderman, but many of the guests didn't. Or, so you thought ? There weren't that many guests, and since your few family members that could come had been delayed by traffic, you couldn't be sure.

"What are you doing ?", you whispered to him and he shrugged before replying.

"There was too much traffic. I didn't want to be too late to my own wedding.."

You rolled your eyes and hid your amused smile before turning towards the priest and gestured him to continue the ceremony. The priest, after a few seconds of staring at the unexpected groom, indulged. When the part of the vows arrived, you wondered if you should spare his whole secret identity thing by addressing him as Spiderman ? But, he spared you the trouble as he started.

"Y/N. We went to class together. We fought crime together. And now, we're getting married..Wow. If I didn't know any better, I would say you have a crush on me ?"

It made you laugh. Typical Peter..Always had to get the last laugh. But, not this time.

His eyes widened when you started undressing in front of everybody and Peter then noticed your hero suit underneath.

"What are you doing ?!", he exclaimed, mourning the dress as it fell to the floor.

"There is no way you're getting married in your hero suit and I don't ! Now, help me get out of that dress/suit !"

"Yes, ma'am/sir."

Peter eagerly agreed with a small amused laugh and then helped you undress while the guests looked at each other, wondering if it was all part of the wedding plan. But, when you were both in your hero suits and Peter held your hand, it felt like there was only the two of you.

It felt right.

And when your eyes met ? There was this warm sensation that spread across your body and when it was time for the kiss, you pulled him in. Peter didn't complain.

He thought he would never get to ask you to marry him, as many heroes die young. He knew this the moment he became Spiderman..He thought he would never get to see you in a wedding dress/suit. But, here you were.

You were married. It was done. Peter's eyes watered and he quickly wiped them away. He wasn't going to cry at his own wedding.

But, you seemed to read his mind as your own eyes brimmed with tears of joy.

You kissed him again and Peter swore he could have died of happiness right there.

He then remembered where you were and pulled away, his hand still in yours as he turned towards the crowd. There was aunt May, clapping next to Happy who was trying his best to remain stoic, but failing spectacularly as he burst into tears. Aunt May gave him a handkerchief that he accepted gratefully.

Peter smiled affectionately at them, but then his eyes caught another pair of eyes on him. An old man was sitting at the far end of the room/church and was clapping too. He had a pair of sunglasses on and even though Peter had never seen him before, he was familiar to him somehow..It was an odd feeling, a mix of melancholy and relief. It was as if his uncle Ben was still there, still watching over him.

You also noticed the old man who left the church with his fist raised to the sky.

"Good job, kid.."

"Who put the marinara sauce next to the tortilla chips ?!", was the first thing you heard when you entered the room where there was suppose to occur you wedding after-party. There was no doubt it was your wife who had just exclaimed her disapproval and was now rearranging the whole design of the room to her taste.

You pretended to be as obfuscated as her by the room arrangement, even though you were the one who had placed the marinara sauce next to the tortilla chips.

"What ?! Where is the police ?! The National Guard ?! The army ?! A crime has been committed !", you joked and she sent you a glare that immediately made you raise your hands up in surrender.

"I'm innocent, officer. I swear."

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile betrayed her amusement as she huffed before exchanging the marinara sauce for some guacamole..Figures.

"It is no laughing matter ! I want everything to be perfect."

You repressed an eye roll before wrapping your arms around her waist and resting your chin on her shoulder, while she was working her magic to make everything "perfect." Then, a dark thought crossed your mind.

"Say..Did you ever try to make me 'perfect' too ? Just wondering..", you wanted to sound nonchalant, but Wanda was not fooled. She suddenly stopped her actions to focus on you and saw the sudden hesitancy in your eyes.

She framed your face with her hands and slowly tilted your head so you would look her in the eyes. She then gave you the brightest and most genuine smile she could muster before kissing your forehead.

"You already are.", she finally answered and you felt your heart skip a beat at her confession. You smiled back at her and kissed her sweetly.

"I love you..", you whispered against her lips and she laughed, a light and beautiful laugh so pure it sounded like your wedding bells were already ringing.

"I sure hope so..", she replied with a small amused smile and you held her close.

Who could have predicted a little red witch would have stolen your heart ?

An old man then entered and coughed to get your attention.

"I'm sorry to interrupt..But, if you youngsters would like to follow me, I would like to show you the cake. It has arrived earlier than expected."

Before you could answer, Wanda gave the old man a wide grin and clapped excitedly.

"OF COURSE ! Lead the way..", she then grabbed your arm and dragged you forward, eager to see the cake with you (and maybe even get a taste.)

You walked past the old man and mouthed him in exaggerated helplessness.

"Help."

But the old man raised his hands, clearly signifying that his hands were tied and watched you both walk away with a small smile on his face.

"...I hope you will finally be happy, Wanda."

"Once the war is over, I'll marry you. I promise, Y/N."

Steve had promised to you before going to war all those years ago, and you had waited..You had waited..But, he never came back.

When Steve was found under the ice, his first thought after being brought back to life was to find you. But, what he found wasn't what he wanted..He learned that after long years of waiting, your heart had stopped one morning. He walked into the cemetery and his eyes prickled with tears as he saw your name carved in the stone. You were supposed to grow old together..

And now, you were six feet under the ground and Steve could only wish he wouldn't have waited..He played with the ring in his fingers and bent his head forward to hide his tears from view..It was not supposed to end this way.

He loved you..He still loved you..It wasn't fair.

He tightened his fist around the ring and wondered if he should just get rid of it ? Would it bring him some kind of closure ? Would he finally find peace ?

He then buried one knee in the ground in front of your grave and asked the question he had been so nervous to ask in the past, one that he had no trouble with now..Now that it was too late.

"Y/N L/N..Would you marry me ?"

The pang in his chest tightened at the deadly silence. He would never get his answer it seemed.

He burst into tears, his teardrops falling onto the ground, watering the dry earth beneath him and making it all the more real.

What had he ever done to deserve this ?

"I'm sorry..I'm so sorry I was too late, Y/N. I..You don't know how much I would have wanted to be there. I would give everything to get back to you..I love you. I love you so much. It hurts."

Captain Rogers who was normally so composed, could only crumble in the dirt for your forgiveness. He had seen all of his old camarades marry and die on the battlefield..Now, he didn't know if he pitied or envied them.

He would keep fighting. But, what was the point now ? You were gone.

He left the ring on your tombstone and walked away..only to walk back to retrieve it.

He couldn't give up. He wouldn't..Never.

A few years later :

When Steve stayed in the past, he only had one thing in his mind: you.

He ran so fast, faster than ever before and climbed the stairs by four, racing through your front yard to knock at your door. He was breathless and knocked a second time more urgently, hoping that you would be the one opening the door.

Finally, footsteps were heard and the door opened ajar.

You appeared. The door wasn't completely open that he was already embracing you.

"Y/N..", he uttered your name with such relief, it brought tears to your eyes.

You returned his embrace and buried your face in his neck.

"I missed you..so much.", you cried out and Steve tightened his hold on you, thinking of the irony in your words bitterly.

"I missed you too..And I don't want to wait any longer."

You pulled away confused, until Steve fell on one knee in front of you and got out the ring he had bought all those years ago.

"Y/N L/N. Would you..?"

He didn't get to finish the question.

"YES ! YES YES YES. ! ONE MILLION YES !", you interrupted him and jumped into his arms, making you both fall backwards.

When the ring was slipped on your finger, you looked at it with such a bright smile, Steve could only adore you more for it.

You were both in such bliss that you failed to notice the man standing on the other side of the road, gazing upon the both of you with almost paternal tenderness.

"Finally..You are all happy now."

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #marvel #peter parker x reader #tony stark x reader #iron man x reader #spiderman x reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #clint barton x reader #hawkeye x reader #thor x reader #bucky barnes x reader #scott lang x reader #ant man x reader #stephen strange x reader #wanda maximoff x reader

[scoobydoodean]

Adding onto the "John’s emotional outpourings" thought train:

I think it’s so interesting that in his final speech to Dean, not only does he applaud Dean for assuming the parentified and spousified role that he himself forced on him ("You took care of Sammy and you took care of me"), he also specifically praises Dean’s obedience and lack of self-advocacy in the matter ("You did that, and you didn't complain. Not once.")

Hearing John acknowledge everything Dean’s sacrificed for their family no doubt meant a lot to him, but I actually think it was very detrimental to his self-worth in the long run. It further cements the idea that Dean’s value is intrinsically tied to how useful he is to others, to how much shit he’s willing to take from loved ones without a word of protest, and to how much of himself he can give away. By the end of the season se see this idea culminate in him selling his soul ("At least this way, it’s like my life could mean something."), which is really just the natural extension of how his life and his body have always been treated as bargaining chips.

This is an interesting interpretation, Anon—not one I aim to take issue with, but since it's in my inbox, I'll share where my interpretation differs. It might be more in the sense of John's intentions.

I think there's a reason John opens with and mainly gives an apology—for being an empty shell—for Dean having to fill his shoes—and the majority of his speech being an apology and given within the context that John himself failed and that Dean had to fill his shoes biases me against interpreting the closing lines where he praises Dean's actions as him meaning to say that's where Dean's inherent worth lies.

JOHN You know, when you were a kid, I'd come home from a hunt, and after what I'd seen, I'd be, I'd be wrecked. And you, you'd come up to me and you, you'd put your hand on my shoulder and you'd look me in the eye and you'd... You'd say "It's okay, Dad" Dean, I'm sorry. DEAN What? JOHN You shouldn't have had to say that to me, I should have been saying that to you. You know, I put, I put too much on your shoulders, I made you grow up too fast.

To me, John is saying the opposite of that Dean's worth lies in being the eternal care taker. It's him saying that Dean deserved to be protected and cherished and comforted, and John utterly failed, and instead Dean had to pick up his slack—carry his dead weight—and that wasn't fair. He finishes with,

You took care of Sammy, you took care of me. You did that, and you didn't complain, not once. I just want you to know that I am so proud of you.

I take this not as John necessarily praising that Dean didn't complain? I take it as an acknowledgment that Dean is an actual person. The same way John knew Dean wanted a home despite Dean insisting differently to us and Sam in various season 1 episodes, John understands that what Dean does and what Dean feels are different things. Dean is not the mindless John robot Sam framed Dean as in 1.10. There's a reason Dr. Ellicot wanted to make Dean better in 1.10 and tried to ghost-lobotomize him (because Dean was angry—because he resented his family [1.06]) but there's also a reason Dean was able to resist his ghost-lobotomy long enough to burn Ellicot's bones.

In regards to being proud of Dean—I mentioned that I think John focuses on this because he saw what tipped Dean off that he was possessed by Azazel in 1.22. But supplying further context here—1.21-1.22 are about Sam and John both fighting to be the first one to die for revenge... and being willing to sacrifice each other. In 1.22, as they are about to enter the building where John is located, Sam insists that Dean not bring The Colt with them. He doesn't want to waste a bullet for John. Sam insists this is what John would want, and Dean says he doesn't give a damn what John wants. Dean sneaks the gun in anyway, and kills a demon who's beating Sam to death with it. That's what leads to the conversation about the the wasted bullet with Azazel!John.

Dean: You’re not mad? John: For what? Dean: Using a bullet. John: Mad? I’m proud of you. You know, Sam and I, we can get pretty obsessed. But you – you watch out for this family. You always have.

It's chilling that Azazel is the one to praise Dean, isn't it? And it's further chilling that that's what tips Dean off that this is not his dad.

Dean knows this isn't John specifically because John would not appreciate what Dean did for their family this whole episode—what Dean has always done in fact: keep their family afloat and keep them all alive while John was busy being stuck in his own head, burning with rage and vengeance... and even throwing blame at Dean. Dean got yelled at by Sam before he brought the gun in for wanting to prioritize John's safety over revenge, and Dean was ready to get yelled at by John too for prioritizing Sam over revenge. John would be too blinded by vengeance to notice or even give a damn that Dean saved Sam's life. John would tear Dean a new one for being the only rational person in the room—the only person who hasn't been swallowed whole by bloodlust to the point of not giving a damn about the rest of the family... and in a less extreme sense, this is how it has always been. Dean has always been unappreciated. So John shows a little goddamn appreciation for the fact that Dean kept them afloat— for the first time ever. Then pointedly—John's last act is to finally prioritize Dean's safety specifically over his revenge. He abandons the revenge quest that just one episode meant more than Dean or Sam's lives, and hands The Colt over to his mortal enemy to save his son. He chooses love for Dean over vengeance.

What sullies John's speech—what poisons it for Dean—is what John does right after. And this is what I meant about John "poisoning the well". John apologizes for putting everything on Dean's shoulders right before... leaving Dean with the bag for the rest of eternity. It isn't like John's going on vacation—he's going to Hell. But he still permanently makes Sam Dean's responsibility. He doesn't even tell Sam what's going on—he treats Sam like a child and makes Dean his permanent guardian, permanently foisting his parental obligations on his parentified son right after apologizing for allowing him to become parentified, and that ruins John's speech.

I think Dean selling his soul has several interconnected motivations, and absolutely—a gigantic one is Dean's parentification and the belief that he is disposable. Dean feeling disposable and like sacrificing for his family is all he's good for was never going to be solved by one conversation, but John's one conversation is also ruined, and arguably just makes Dean more resentful because John pushes at this scabbed over wound for Dean, making it raw, and instead of wrapping a bandage around it, he ultimately pushes his thumb in. However, also leading into Dean's demon deal is 1) Dean loves his brother. 2) Dean being made to feel responsible for Sam specifically for his entire life 3) Dean's believes he came back wrong and him being alive is unnatural (it's left a hole in his chest—he feels unbalanced—angry—off—almost monstrous) and sacrificing himself will restore the natural order and help him escape this looming monstrosity. 4) Dean is trying to escape John and Sam's expectations and demands—that he fulfill John's dying wish and make himself responsible for Sam by saving or killing him. In a disturbing way, it's how Dean is liberated.

By making the demon deal, Dean has fulfilled "saving Sam" through an very unintended loophole, and avoided "kill Sam"—a mandate Dean was perpetually haunted by all of season 2—that Sam was determined to enforce at every opportunity while knowing it was what made Dean want to die! Being responsible for the whole rest of Sam's life makes Dean tired—it's why he says he can't handle the weight on his shoulders—he can't handle the pressure and the expectations that he chain himself to Sam's destiny for eternity. He's tired. He just wants to escape... and he initially sees his demon deal as a light at the end of the tunnel—as a way to get away. It makes him feel good for the first time in a long time (3.01)... because he is freed of the burden of his family's expectations and demands. When Dean starts to explore why he doesn't care that he's dying... that's where he confronts his parentification and objectification.

#mail #season 2 #2.01 #1.22 #3.01 #john #i dont deserve what he put on me #parentification #dont objectify me!

[thezombieprostitute]

Sparks Fly - Part 4

Summary: After working as an engineer for Wilford & Gilliam Trust for several years you find evidence of seedy dealings and burned books. After turning in the evidence you find yourself in danger and seek help. You're taken into the protection of a mob family where you run into your high school best friend, Mace.

Word Count: ~1200

Warnings: Implied violence and attempted murder. Please let me know if I missed any.

Part 3 -- Part 5

Series Masterlist

“DC,” Mace whispers between kisses. “DC, we gotta stop.”

“What? Why,” you whine as he gently pushes you away.

“You’ve had a roller coaster of a week,” he explains. “Your emotions have been, understandably, all over the place. I want to make sure you’re in the right state of mind, that I’m not taking advantage of you.”

You can see the pain in his face as he says this. It’s clear he wants to keep going but he’s putting your emotional needs first and it makes you want him more. But you know he’s right. You hug him tight and ask, “can we still cuddle on the couch? Make out some more?”

“Absolutely,” he breathes, making you giggle. “Want to do that now,” he asks.

“Gotta finish the fries first,” you tell him, moving back to your seat. He chuckles and nods, “okay. I submit to french fry superiority.” You giggle and he continues, “we probably should use this time to talk about what’s going to happen during and after your testimony.” You sigh but nod in agreement. “I’m currently waiting to hear back if I can be with you at the courthouse but I’m hopeful. Between GBH, Barton and maybe Fowler we’ll have at least one person outside the courtroom and one inside. The third would most likely be outside the courthouse."

“And you trust them,” you say more than ask. 

He nods in affirmation, “absolutely. They’re really good at keeping people alive.” You pause your eating and he thinks, “there’s probably a better way I could’ve worded that. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I know what you’re trying to say.” You resume eating your meal so he continues. 

“As for after your testimony, I know from previous experiences that you’ll have a few options. One of them is your standard Witness Protection. We’ve got some connections with the Federal Marshalls and we can get you to them. New name, new city, and some protection. The other version of that is we set you up with a new name and enough money to start a new life in a new city. One of the primary differences being we could get you set up in another country all together.”

“What if I don’t want to leave?” 

“What?”

“I worked so hard to get where I am, I don’t want to just drop everything and leave.”

“DC, these people are trying to kill you. What’s the point of holding onto everything if it just leaves you dead?”

“I’m going to die eventually, regardless of whichever option I choose. I might as well choose the option that makes me happy. What makes me happy is living here, being with you again.”

“I…I don’t know,” Mace admits. “I’m not sure how much protection we can actually offer if you’re not working for us. You’re doing everyone a huge favor by testifying, of course, but…”

“Will you at least look into it as an option, AC?”

He thinks for a minute, eyes never leaving yours. “Let me call Teach,” he finally says. “If there’s a way, she can find it.”

“Thank you, Mace. I really appreciate it.”

“Mace,” Teach says over the phone, “I’m gonna need you to put me on speaker for this.”

He quickly pulls the phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker so you can hear as well. “Done,” he tells her.

“Ms. Y/L/N, can you hear me?” Teach’s tone is very serious. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” you’re quick to reply. 

“I’m going to ask you some questions and I need you to be completely honest with me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” you nod, even though she can’t see you.

“What is your primary reason for wanting to risk your life by staying in this city?”

You pause. She’s not beating around the bush at all. “My life is going to be at risk in any of the scenarios I was presented with. It’s just a matter of to what degree. The relocation options would certainly make it difficult for me to be found, especially the international one. However, the people who might occasionally check in on my safety have no investment to do so other than pay obligations. Additionally, I’d never know if I could actually trust anyone. I wouldn’t be living beyond going through the motions. I’d spend my life looking over my shoulder with minimal support.”

Looking at Mace, you continue, “whereas if I stay here, I have people I can trust. People who are invested in my safety."

“Will you accept one of the other options if we are unable to provide you the protection and means to stay?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“One last question,” Teach says. “Is your primary interest in staying because of Mace?”

You hold Mace’s free hand, fingers interlacing with his, “I’ll admit he is a major factor. But, as he pointed out recently, we’ve only been back in each other’s lives for a couple of days. I have a life here that I’m not willing to just give up without a fight. Or at least exploring all of the options. I understand your organization may not be able to offer more than this one time protection and one clean slate and I accept that. But I have to try.”

Teach is quiet for a moment, “okay. I’m gonna need a copy of your resume. Mace will know how to get it to me. In the meantime, please make sure to take care of yourself. You’ve got your testimony in just a couple of days. Which reminds me, Mace?”

“Yeah, Teach?” Mace moves closer to the phone.

“You’ve gotten approval to be in the courtroom but you are not allowed to actually be in proximity. Huffman needs to make sure none of our people are seen too close to her or the Defendant might be able to claim witness tampering.” 

“Okay,” Mace nods. “That makes sense. Just so long as someone tells me what room to be in and when I can go in on my own.”

“And Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Yes, Teach?”

“You’ll have to be careful to not make too much eye contact with Mace. I understand you want some emotional support for this, but we have to be careful to make sure your testimony isn’t dismissed.”

“I understand, Ma’am.”

Teach hangs up and you curl up against Mace. You work with him to get a copy of your resume to her quickly.

“Do you think she’ll be able to find something,” you ask Mace after he sends the file.

“If anyone can, it’s her,” he assures you. “She’s quite the fighter, especially when she thinks it’s for something that’s right.”

“I hope she finds something,” you whisper.

Mace nods, “in the meantime, we should make sure to get you ready for your testimony. Like she said, I won’t be able to be with you but you’ll see me. I promise.”

“Thanks, AC. I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”

Part 3 -- Part 5

Series Masterlist

Tagging:

@chibijusstuff

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@rebekahdawkins

@texmexdarling

Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

#mafia!james mace #mob!james mace #james mace x reader #mace x reader #mafia au #mafia!mace #mob!mace

[maxphilippa]

So from one person who finished Fionna & Cake to another, how was the show for you?

i was very tired when i first got this ask so i didn't quite exactly answer it but now i am feeling a bit better so. okay:

Fionna and Cake. I actually just watched the whole series yesterday LOL. I got spoilered from the beginning but i didn't mind. On a general perspective it is what I needed emotionally to be fair. I came back from an vacation that was for my mental health and the series helped me realize about a very much awful friendship I had and how I gave so much of myself to them.

One of the main topics that resonated with me the most is how it treats the search of finding who you are through two characters that are different yet so similar in their struggles: Simon and Fionna. Both of them want their lifes to be different because they're afraid of change and also are running away from their feelings. Seeing their friendship go from complicated yet on decent terms to an genuine friendship/found family type of thing on which they've grown a lot and care deeply for eachother was so important to me.

"Shouldn't they get to die as themselves?" Is a line that stuck with me in a way I didn't expect that it would at all. I haven't really been feeling like myself in months and that got to me very deeply.

And, oh, don't get me started on Simon and Betty... oh they make me so miserable (especially since they were the ones that made me realize that I gave so much of myself to an ex friend). Their whole thing broke my heart on so many ways. I knew that they wouldn't let it go like that and transform their thing into something toxic, because they're not. They're complex. They obviously love eachother, but Simon recognizing that Betty gave so much of herself to him, and how he didn't even notice it as much, how he didn't stop to think what was the best for both of them broke my heart.

People can say whatever they want about the finale being underwhelming but. It is what Simon and Fionna needed. Simon didn't exactly move on just yet, but he accepted that he could still keep going, and that getting help wasn't something bad. And Fionna started to accept that her life is just as normal as it can be and is ACTUALLY appreciating her life for once too. She's not like Finn in anyway, but that's what I like of her. She's her own person.

Both Simon and Fionna go through a lot of stuff together but with general different approaches on said topics. And I related to them A LOT. I think that watching F&C was what I needed because I was just kind of giving up on everything y'know. Life is not easy but you're not alone, and eventually things will get better.

The takes on grief and self discovery, the search of purpose and so much more made me EMOTIONAL to say the least. It was all done so beautifully and with cleverness.

On more silly notes. Farmworld Finn. I love him. He's such a good dad. I live in denial so he's alive for me. A cracked skull never stopped Finn. I love his kids. I loved Jay and Little Destiny. I really did. Loved Cake. LVED GARYLEE. Winter King and Candy Queen were so funny too. AND OH MY GOD THE STAR TIMELINE. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT. AND AND. UGH. and i kind of hoped that finn and fionna could have met eachother but it's fine mdkhj

fionna and cake was a great series in general and it has so much details and so much love and so much going on i love it. it's also been a main fuel for making aus rn haha. 10/10

#fionna and cake spoilers #fionna and cake #fionna the human #simon petrikov #cake the cat #betty grof #farmworld finn #max answers

[rhymey-workshop]

Feel free to skip. TW: I'm joining the military.

Growing up is really hard, and I don't think we realize that until we're on the verge of a big change, standing on the border between two parts of your life, balancing on a precipice before you take the swan dive known to many as change.

I'm packing my things. My dad finally brought home boxes and storage tubs and I'm finally packing my things, and that makes the passage of time so much more real.

I'm packing my things. My mom opened the door to tell me to watch my sleeping brother, and said nothing about the fact my room is a mess, or that I was just staring blankly at the cardboard box I just taped the bottom of. That box is ready for my craft books and paint stuff, my origami paper, my reading stand, my books on how to make stuff like children's books and animation. She made no mention of it all, just made that same pinched expression she has for weeks and then schooled her expression into something more neutral as she nodded towards the bedroom where my brother is and after a moment I got up and stumbled in, sitting at the foot of the bed to type out some kind of vent on Tumblr.

I'm packing my things, and I'm stuck between wanting to cry and finding myself unable to cry. I'm leaving home. I've been dreaming of getting out of here off and on since I was 13. At times I had a countdown of years, months, weeks, days that I had to stay, that I had to wait for the day I could finally leave. It made being angry or sad or any other complicated emotion easier. It made hardship easier to cope with. It made it easier to get through the hard times because I knew I could leave and nothing could stop me.

I'm packing my things, slowly, piece by piece, and I'm starting to understand the weight of what my dad said, when he said I was the first person on either side of my family in generations to not run away from home before turning 18. My mom left home at 17, my dad spent more days out of the house than in it as a teenager and left the god damn country. My bio paternal family has these issues too. My maternal family is full of people that ran off, that stayed away from home and didn't look back. My mom only speaks to one sister, and can't speak to her brother as long as their mother is alive. I didn't leave. I finished high school, I got my diploma, I took my time and I didn't leave before I was a legal adult.

I'm packing my things to leave home, and it's hard. It's scary. I've never been away from home for very long, and here I am, getting ready to do something more than just "Move out".

I'm packing my things, putting my life into boxes, sorting what's going to stay, waiting for me to return, what's getting tossed, what's going to get donated or given away. I keep finding things and remembering shit related to them. I keep finding things and remembering who gave them to me. I keep finding things and remembering which parent smiled when I got it.

I'm packing my things, and in a way I'm also processing a kind of grief I didn't know existed.

I'm leaving home for something I thought through for 8 months, and I'm coming up on the one year anniversary since I made my decision. It's been just under two since I signed the dotted line, swore in, and came home to congratulations and a sureness that I'm doing the right thing for me.

In 5 days, I'm going to my last meeting. Getting a send off from a group of people doing the same thing. A couple of them doing the EXACT same thing.

In 9 days, I'll spend the last full 24 hours I've got with my family, eating a fruit tart and playing putt putt. I'll say good night and that'll be the last time I see them for months at the very least.

In 10 days, I'm hiding my key on the porch and walking out the front door while everyone is asleep. They'll wake up and I'll be hundreds of miles away from them. In 10 days, I'm hopping in a big unmarked government van (and this will never not be funny to me) with like 5 other people and we're all doing the same thing. We're going somewhere and we have no idea what is really waiting for us.

In 11 days, I'm not in civilian limbo anymore. As it stands I am subject to the UCMJ but I'm not a sailor yet. In 11 days, I'm a recruit, and that's fucking dizzying to think about.

I'm getting ready to start a new part of my life and it's going to be exciting and new and I'll make friends and I'll go a couple places and I'll have stories to tell my brother and family. I think I'll be better, when all is said and done.

But right now, I'm packing my things into boxes and tubs, and right now, I want to cry.

#if you read this far #and want to know why the fuck I am joining up #the reasons are #in order #i dont know what im doing with my life but want out of this town #submarines are fucking awesome #and im poor #i got a 98 on my asvab and i think i picked a pretty neat job #i guess there is also a family history component #5th generation to serve #basic training #sad thoughts #growing up #us navy #im scared tbh #but thats okay

[tomtenadia]

Detours to You - ch 6

Hello all,

Here I am with another chapter. This one should be an easy one and bird boy is a very happy man...

Hope you will enjoy it 🙃

A week had passed and Aelin worried that she hadn’t heard from Rowan. Maya had asked a few times about him and kept wanting to know if he had loved her drawing. The radio silence did not make any sense, especially not after all his pushing for contact.

So Aelin took matters in her own hands.      

Quickly she looked up the address of TFD HQ and saved the location on her phone.

“Lys, El, I have an errand to run I’ll be quick.”

The two women nodded and smirked when they noticed the address still up on the screen “Do you think that she finally changed her mind?” Asked Lysandra.

“As long as she doesn’t go there to kill him and then asks us to help her hide the body,” added Elide with a grin.

*

Aelin reached the building that was the headquarters of the fire department with ease and parked alongside the pavement.

Once inside the building she felt overwhelmed by the structure. It had four floors. She reached the map on the wall and located his office. Aelin rode the lift and once on the floor she looked around. She stopped a man and asked him for the chief and followed direction. She was about to walk to his door when a woman stopped her “Excuse me, where are you going?”

“To see the chief.”

“Do you have an appointment?” Asked the brunette with irritation.

“No, but if you tell him Aelin is here to see him he will let me in.”

“You can’t just waltz in like that, the chief is a busy man.”

Aelin leaned forward on the desk “Tell him Aelin is here.”

The woman lifted the phone and the wicked part in Aelin gloated when disappointment appeared on the receptionist’s face “You can go in. But I will suggest you make an appointment next time.”

Aelin ignored her and went to the door. She knocked lightly and waited for him to call her in.

His office was tidy and neat like she knew Rowan would be, but his desk had a scary pile of folders “Is this the wrong time? Your secretary almost ate me alive.”

Rowan gave her a genuine smile “Lyria just does not like unscheduled visits.”

“I am sorry.” He shook his head and stood, going out of the door. He heard telling the secretary not to disturb him.

“Take a seat.”

“That pile of reports looks scary.”

He nodded heavily “It’s all the incidents in the past few days that now need to be filed. They come to me after the captains finish them and I have to sign them off and these,” he pointed at a very small pile “are the ones that require further investigation.”

Aelin cleared her voice and changed subject “I haven’t heard from you in a week.”

Rowan shifted in his chair “I gave you some space. After the argument we had I thought it would be better, for both, to let thing settle. It was still brand new and I thought it was a good plan.”

She smiled and agreed. That week had helped a lot to sort out some of emotions and that’s was why she had initiated contact “Thank you.” She opened her bag and extracted the first item “This is a drawing Maya made. She begged me to give it to you. She has been asking about you a lot.”

Rowan took it and smiled. It was the two of them playing hockey “I love it.” He stood and turned to the cork board at his back. He shuffled some notices and pinned the drawing in plain sight “This office needs a bit of colour.”

Aelin grinned and he sat back. Carefully she extracted the box from her bag and placed it in front of him “These…” she started “These are letters. A lot of them. I could not talk to you so I wrote you letters. They start from the day we broke up. Follow my pregnancy and most importantly Maya’s life and the key moments. There are photos too.”

Rowan stared at her and she was positive his eyes were moist.

“They will probably answer a lot of questions.”

“Thank you.”

Aelin was silent for a moment “If you want to be more involved, I have a good occasion for you,” she admitted “Lys and I this weekend are attending a book fair in Adarlan, we use it gather ideas on authors we want to try and support and sometimes host too. We have been doing it for the past three years.”

“It sound like a brilliant idea.”

Aelin nodded “Maya usually stays with my parents but I am willing to offer you the possibility of having her at your place for the weekend if you want.”

Rowan’s face lit up in the most beautiful smile that he could offer her “I’d love to so much. I am free. Always on call but free. I really want to do this.”

“I will give you the contact details for my parents if you have a call.”

“Will they be upset that they are not babysitting?”

Aelin chuckled “No, my mum will be delighted that I finally stopped being pigheaded and let you in.”

“I always loved your mum.”

“So, Lys and I leave on Friday evening, you will have to pick up Maya from school. I will make sure they are aware it will be you. We are coming back Sunday evening. Is it okay for you?”

“Friday is not an issue. Just make sure they know.”

Rowan’s heart raced in joy, this was a great opportunity for him.

He then opened a drawer and extracted a bit of paper and passed it to Aelin. She had just offered him a great opportunity and now he was going to challenge her. 

“I was counting the days until you discovered this.” That was the quiet comment she made at seeing the paper he was holding.

“You put my name on the birth certificate.”

Aelin nodded heavily “Yes, I wanted to hope. I wanted to believe that you’d be back to me and we could be a family. I wanted you to be her dad, even if you were not with us.”

“Aelin—”

“When I come back,” she added, knowing what he was going to ask “when I come back we will tell her the truth. Just be only a friend for one weekend.”

“Of course.”

“I will bring clothes and all she needs. I will leave them at the shop, just pick them up after you get Maya from school.”

Rowan nodded “Do you have any rules?”

“I am not a fan of tv and Maya never asks for it. She loves drawing or play with toys and make up stories.”

Rowan laughed “Good, I don’t even have a tv. I have Netflix gathering dust on my pc and DVDs.”

“She eats anything and as far as we are aware she has no allergies,” continued Aelin “her bedtime on school days is around 8:30, and on non school days we push it as far as 9:15 sometimes.”

Rowan took notes.

“Your house will be a new environment and she will want to explore all the nooks and crannies and she might wake up during the night. Be prepared for her to join you in bed. She did the same with my parents.”

“Will it be okay for her to sleep in my bed?”

“You are her dad, Rowan.”

“I know, I just want to make sure.”

Aelin went on for a while telling him as much as possible to prepare him for a weekend with Maya. She was nervous at the idea but wanted to give him the opportunity to be with Maya alone.

Aelin stood “I will text you all the contact details and I will tell the school tomorrow.”

Rowan joined her at the door “Thank you for this.”

She nodded and walked away while Lyria stared with disappointment.

*

After the meeting with Aelin he had finished filing all the reports, dealt with the ones still needing attention, sent one to OFI pending an arson investigation and the called it a day. He grabbed his radio and the keys for his pickup. The TFD allowed him to use the department pickupto move around the city so that if there was an emergency he could respond quickly. He carried his gear in the trunk at all times, and kept a spare one at station 15, where he went to drop it off when it needed cleaning. 

The office was empty and he had sent Lyria home at five. It was now six and decided that the mall was the only option. 

He had some shopping to do. 

First of all he had to get a car seat. That was the main priority if he was going to use the car.

He was not a big fan of the shopping centre but he needed a place that was open till late and everything in one location.

He started with the kid’s shop and went to the car seats department. In front of him a wall of items and no clue where to start so Rowan took out his phone and started researching. He discovered that they were divided in categories according to age, weight and height. He spent twenty minutes looking up average height and weight for a five years old and found the group he needed. Now he had to choose the best one. That task took almost an hour. He felt as if a degree was needed to buy a car seat. Once he found what he wanted he grabbed a trolley and began wandering around. He collected a selections of tools to baby proof the house. He wanted to buy some nice bed sheets and a duvet but nothing piqued interest so he reluctantly decided to order it online.

And then he found himself in the clothes section. Rowan walked to the toddler’s area and started browsing until he picked up one in particular and a big smile appeared on his face.

It was a green dress with a skirt with straps and a white top underneath. It had a panda at the front and he was positive Maya would love it. 

Feeling hopeless he checked the age until he spoke to the sales assistant told him to buy a size higher just in case she grew into it too quickly.

By the time he finished, his trolley was full of stuff and the bank account definitely much lighter. 

Once home he unloaded the truck and carried everything inside. The house had finally started to feel like home now that all the boxes had been unpacked. Now it needed decorating to suit a five years old and be baby proofed to his standards. 

He  was unpacking the car seat when the phone went off. It was his mum.

“Hi mum.”

“Hi darling, how are you?”

“I am fine,” a wide smile spread on his face “Really well.”

“You sound happy.”

“Mum?” He said with his heart racing “I have a daughter.”

“You what?” Rowan heard the surprise in his mother’s voice.

“Remember Aelin?

“Of course.”

“Well, turns out that when I left she was pregnant and now I have a five years old daughter.”

His mother was silent and he worried “It’s okay mum, we are working on it.”

“I am just concerned.”

“I know mum, but it’s all fine. She is coming this weekend,” he paused “She looks like me, mum.”

“What’s her name?”

“Maya.”

“You always wanted a little girl.”

That he did. He would have accepted any kids but a girl was always his main preference.

“How are you?”

“I am so much better, Sellene has been coming almost every days with the kids. We had a lot of fun.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Rowan, please don’t worry about me. Enjoy your life in Terrasen and your daughter,” she paused “perhaps in spring when it’s less cold I can come and visit.”

“Mum, that would be wonderful.”

“How’s the job going? Is it worth it?”

“Yes, a lot of paperwork but the commissioner has some great ideas to improve the TFD and he asked me to help him. And I like that I have a much more regular schedule.”

“Good, my love. It’s late here. Keep me in touch about my granddaughter and send photos when you have them.”

Rowan said good night to his mother and then relaxed. His mother sounded so much better and the fact that she had suggested to come and visit him was a big step for her. For two years she had been unable to leave the house and she still would not go any further than uncle Ellys’ house. It was progress.

He made dinner and then went back unpacking all he had bought.

The excitement was so strong that he was positive he would not sleep very much. 

taglist

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127

#rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #aelin x rowan #rowanwhitethorn #throne of glass fanfiction

[poupeesdecirque]

Posting by Queue, or: why I need some distance from my crafts

It has been some time since my last hobby meta blog entry, it had different reasons and one is that I need distance. Like, yes I of course enjoy crafting and sometimes I am like a little child that runs everywhere to show off things.

But it got ... less intense. And I learned I do better when I keep projects or at least details to myself to sit on them for longer. That the first euphoria is purely mine and not to be shared.

Like for my photos I have a buffer of several weeks now. Yes, I know past-me would have kind of hated that. But I learned I do better when I have a time buffer. I do take photos weekly but sometimes they don't feel special enough to get the weekly photo feature?

Friday & yesterday I went out for photos and while I like the ones from yesterday way more than the ones from friday I am not sure if the set from yesterday will get the feature or not as it's only a hand full of photos giving me that certain spark.

Other than that I am a very emotional artist, I sometimes really fuck up my art and hate it at the moment I worked on it, but then, sometimes, after a few days or weeks I can look at it and just wonder about what was my problem the day I made it.

Another thing is that I, myself, enjoy my art. The process of it. And I like to see my blog updating, sometimes I forget what post will go online and then I check the blog and think "ah yes, this was that thing!", and it reminds me why I made the blog overall, to show myself I had progress and that every tiny step counts.

Which leads to another reason why I hold back in regards of posting. Yes, I do share some snippets in my stories over on insta but not always and not all. I sit on over 300 drawings from the last two years alone nobody ever will see, I enjoyed drawing but it's nothing for the public eye. I will maybe go back and redraw some and share the redraws then, who knows?

But wait, there is actually more reasons.

The biggest or main reason is ... i sometimes go really wild on projects. In January I finished so many dolls it was insane, I worked on Cosplays and other crafts in an incredible speed, I have literally no idea where I found the time but I somehow did and doll parts arriving every week did the rest.

I keep the blog running with partially 2 month old stuff but .... to be honest I don't have doll stuff aside photos to do anymore. All I can do is wait for bodies to be shipped (or dolls even) and arrive. There has been no movement since January. Aside Iza getting the shipping notice for our Split, might take a while until its at her place and I can't really start on the Akuma until I got the body (which I at least have finally ordered this month) as colors need to be matched and mods to be made.

I am truly itchy to do something else than sewing all the time, I do enjoy cosplay but you know how much I like sewing (hint: not at all). So to remind myself of the fun I had in the past weeks I have mixed my blog to bless me with some progress I had which was maybe not sewing all the time. And well, the Cosplays have deadlines and I do get some ideas aside purely sewing while doing them, so that keeps me going for now.

Yes, I could start redoing dolls like Alastor or Erwin. But you know what? IT'S ALMOST ALL SEWING. Urgh.

Aside that real life is pretty good at eating me up and I just want to enjoy crafting. Right now drawing feels like stress relief but I hate the results and just scan the pieces and put them away to never look at them again, I have a bunch of posts queued up without any captions, a wip entry of a current project only has two photos but I lack the spoons to actually get them done. But since those posts are so far back it's fine (yes I know drafts are a thing).

In general I enjoy having my art to myself to get used to it before I put it out into the wild as I just recently got reminded I do bad with direct comparisons still and it hits some triggerpoints from the past and makes everything harder, I don't need that.

I literally have no idea if this blog makes sense even, lol. I just am tired of sewing and stopped working on my current project around lunch time and have drawn so much today and I walked way too much the whole week my friends urged me to stay the ef home and at least try to relax. But I'm restless as my body is too stressed (I know it all I'm a certified relaxation trainer so eh), so, have an over the place blog entry.

#blog #hobby meta #or something like that #idk

[nihilnovisubsole]

oh, right, shadowbringers! i'm overdue for another ffxiv bullet point vibe check. i actually finished it a couple of weeks ago, and then my sink exploded [long story] and i wanted to chew on it for a while. it's clear that this expac is an overwhelming fan favorite, so i figured i should formulate some more intelligent thoughts about it.

part of me worries that my shadowbringers experience was colored by how badly i missed the people and places on the source. more than the aether and gods and soul transference and all that stuff, what i really took away was a sense of loneliness. the first isn't my world. its citizens are strangers to me, though i recognize on a philosophical level that i should help them. even the scions - in theory, my closest comrades - have lived for years in the blink of my eye and become very different people. when did thancred become responsible? when did the twins grow up? i wondered what other NPCs were doing without me. all i wanted was to go home.

on the other hand, i read a theory that this is the point. the story wants you to feel cut loose from everything you know. are you still a hero in an emotional vacuum? will you still put yourself on the line to do the right thing? sure, your world will be doomed if theirs falls, but that possibility seems so huge and far-off that it doesn't register in your gut. i don't think that's the writing failing to connect with me or anything. if that's the intent, it's an interesting feeling for a game to evoke.

i may have also exacerbated that feeling by keeping my actual avatar isolated on norvrandt for so long. i mentioned earlier that i play around the game's day-night cycle, running missions based on when they'll feel most immersive. that extends to maps, too: if the story says i'm stuck in a place, i stay around that place until the story carries me elsewhere. i mean, i'll dip out for wondrous tails and daily cactpot and stuff, but i don't take big story vacations to jet around eorzea. i didn't "come back" from the far east in stormblood until doma was free. that's a lot of MSQ to just spend alone with your thoughts.

there's a storytelling paradox at work: the first's problems are so large and so bad that it's smaller and more personal when you become invested in someone's plight. i expected to care a lot about liberating ala mhigo because i'm so fond of raubahn as a character, and i did. i didn't expect to feel the pity that i felt for, say, kai-shirr, or runar's unrequited crush on y'shtola. it comes on slowly and quietly.

i don't know. it's a curious story. it's a melancholy story. it's a lot more experimental than the expacs that came before it. it'd probably be worth it to new-game-plus it at some point to pay closer attention to the individual character arcs.

same goes for emet-selch. he's a curious villain. i don't sympathize with his methods, and i obviously have no romantic interest in him. but i keep mulling him over. he keeps lurking in the back of my mind, which means that his writing succeeds by virtue of being memorable.

to my mind, everything around amaurot contributes to that success. amaurot is where it all starts to come together for me. it's a beautiful, odd place - art deco in final fantasy? who knew? - and the pinnacle of the arc's surreal "this is a dream, but tangible" tone. you can tell the team wanted to go all out with the ascian reveals they'd been building up to for years. i wonder if they had fun designing it.

even if it is. i. hm. no i shan't say it

all right, i'll say it

I AM EMET-SELCH AND I AM HERE TO ASK YOU A QUESTION

there, it's out of my system. on a less ridiculous note, i finally got royce's canon armor! now i can gpose freely. i wish there were an in-engine way to pose with NPCs, but them's the breaks. who knows? maybe we'll get it eventually. it is a live service game.

#ffxiv