#when there is NOTHING you can do to stop this fucking tragedy. and let's be honest there isn't a lot normal people can do

[lazylittledragon]

i refuse to believe that boycotting is hard. my favourite thing in the world is ordering maccies after a late night at work/a concert/getting drunk. yes i do miss it sometimes. but the other night i ordered from a small place near my house instead and it was the most orgasmic burger i've ever had in my life. i very rarely say this but fucking suck it up people are DEAD

#ramble #also only 0.29 delivery instead of 3.99 #and chilli cheese bites #i swear to god the best food you'll ever eat while drunk is from the tiny shithole that's open until 4am #if you're refusing to do literally the smallest thing you can do to help then i have questions #it's FOOD. you'll survive #it's not even NECESSARY food #if it was like a chain grocery place and you don't have access to anything else then i would understand #but it's just NOT #make your own coffee for the love of god #when there is NOTHING you can do to stop this fucking tragedy. and let's be honest there isn't a lot normal people can do #and people say to you 'do this insignificant thing just to show that you even CARE' #and you DON'T do that???? what is actually wrong with you #also i've been worried about this since my last post about sbucks but this is Not an attack on the people who WORK at the boycotted places #because it is an absolute privilege to be able to leave your job and immediately find a new one

[gay-dorito-dust]

How’d they react to you calling them bro or dude whilst in a pre-established relationship…(platonic/romantic)

Dick: he’s insulted.

Gutted.

He will try to give you the silent treatment for such a shameful thing but ultimately fails as he ends up being the one pawing at you for attention.

‘Do you still like me? Or did you just run out of cute nicknames to call me?’ He’d say one night as your both cuddling in bed together. ‘If it’s the later then I can help you find something, just please spare me and don’t call me dude or bro anymore.’

He’d rather you call him Richard-wait, no he hates that even more because to him you’re not meant to use his fully name, only cutesy nicknames that’d make a grown man sick to his stomach. Nothing else would suffice other than Dickie bird, handsome, babe, hunk, honeybun or anything that wasn’t his name.

He’s go mad or would act delusional and say that everything was fine when everyone could tell that it wasn’t. People who know him have personally came to you and begged you to stop calling him dude/bro because he kept talking their ears off about how his beloved partner is torturing him, which ends up torturing them even more upon hearing about his relationship issues.

Dick would even consult Hayley on what he did wrong, only for Hayley to look at him with those big, big eyes of hers. This was not her level of expertise unfortunately. (Head empty, no thoughts. She can’t do her abc’s guys it’s a real tragedy.)

Jason: ‘I just had my tongue down your throat just now and you had to go and ruin the mood by calling me bro. What the fuck.’ - Jason at some point.

It’s a whole mood killer for him to be honest.

He’s calling you things like chipmunk or sweetheart but here you were calling him dude and bro. He knows for a fact that he’s well and truly out of the friend zone because the shit you’ve done together isn’t platonic in any sort of way.

Thinks Roy had set you up to call him dude or bro behind his back. (He hasn’t)

Jason is petty and will get his own back by referring you as ‘just a really good friend’, ‘buddy o’ mine’ or even worse than both of those; ‘chum.’ 💀

When you go low, Jason was more then willing to go to the depths of fucking hell to the point it had become a game to see who’d call out just how stupid this all was, and at the both of you for ever thinking that this was an excellent idea in the first place.

You’ll probs get punished…I’m just going to leave it there and let your minds guess what that ‘punishment’ was exactly.

Damian:

As much as Damian hates it when you call him Dami, he hates it when you call him dude or bro even more, if that’s even possible.

Damian hates it when you call him dude or bro. He’s not your dude or bro, he’s your partner and he expects no less then darling, my heart or my beloved.

So you calling him dude or bro is more than enough reason for him to give you the silent treatment.

‘Until you learn that I am your partner, I won’t want to be anywhere near you if you’re going to keep calling me your bro or dude. It is a disservice to who I actually am to you.’ He says with a huff and beckons Titus to follow, only for the Great Dane to be left confused as to why his human parents were at a disagreement over something silly.

Also Titus, Ace, Jerry, Alfred the cat, Goliath and BatCow are children of divorce because I said so.

So it’s bests that you apologise while you still can because Damian can hold a grudge unlike any other. Even if you didn’t, you’d still crack first before Damian and quickly put an end to calling him dude/bro.

He just thinks being called a dude/bro when in a pre-established relationship is an insult.

He can take a joke but not when it’s aimed at his relationship. He’s well and truly devoted to his relationship -if we’re to completely ignore the whole being Robin thing- that it might as well be an insult towards him too at this point.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc fanfic #dc fic #dc comics x reader #dc x y/n #dc fanfiction #jason todd imagines #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson fluff #damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff #dc fluff #nightwing x y/n #nightwing fluff #nightwing imagines #nightwing x reader

[revasserium]

can i have one were zoro realises she does things bc of truama (like doesnt speak much etc)

hold me (still)

opla!zoro; 6,680 words; slow!!!!burn, fem!reader, ex-assassin!reader, straw hat!reader, general tragic backstory/trauma, fluff, hurt/comfort, bit of angst, emotionally constipated zoro, communication? what's that?, nami playing therapist bc she's the only one with 1 iota of emotional intelligence

summary: sometimes, stillness is a virtue, and others -- a tragedy. or, in which the straw hats pick up a new member and zoro is equally intrigued and weirded out by you.

a/n: well. you guys asked for slow burn and... the burn is so slow u gotta squint to see the smoke yall. but trust. the burn does get there! pls be patient!! and i tried to combine 2 dif reqs in this one fic :)

You are of the quiet sort. Just a shadow dancing in the periphery of their vision, and when they first met you, you’d told them it was your superpower, a soft, still smile slipping across your lips. Luffy had bought into it immediately, and the invitation was out his mouth before anyone could stop him.

“Come with us!”

“Oh…” your lips pressed into a thin line of consideration.

Zoro’s fingers itched towards his swords because something about you makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But something else — something uncomfortable and strange, something very much like curiosity — seizes his chest and twists his stomach. Strange, he thinks, too strange.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

And then, you’d smiled wider, and nodded, and that had been that.

It’s been three months since then, and you are still of the quiet sort, though it had receded a bit with time. What with Sanji’s gentle flirting and Usopp’s not-so-gentle stories and Nami’s bright, dry-humored companionship, you’d begun to “open up a bit”, so Luffy observed.

Zoro, for his part, has kept his distance. Because sometimes he still catches you at the bow of the ship, staring out across the midnight waters, still as a stone-carved statue. Still as a wooden beam — stiller, even.

“What’s with that?” he asks one day, strolling up to Nami as she traces a fine line over a new map she’s working on.

“Hm?” is her very eloquent response.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth and casts his eyes about the ship, finding them drawn to the shape of you, up at the bow again, reading in the shade of the tangerine trees. Nothing moves except for the wind as it whisps through your hair and the slow scanning of your eyes as it skates across the page.

“New girl,” Zoro says, crossing his arms as Nami finally looks up at him and then off towards you.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Zoro lets out a puff of breath, unfolding his arms to glare at Nami. He finds her grinning a lopsided grin as she clicks shut her compass and puts down her pen. She leans a hip on the barrel she’d been drawing on and folds her own arms.

“Oh, you like her.”

“I’m weirded out by her. ‘S not the same thing,” Zoro snaps, but when he tries to leave, Nami blocks him with an arm and pins him with a sharp, leveling look.

“No, no, no — we’re gonna work this through.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Uh-uh, you still owe me after that round of drinks the other night — remember when you bet you could drink more than me?”

Zoro narrows his eyes, “I did drink more than you.”

Nami’s grin is gleeful, “No, you didn’t. You had to be dragged back to your room after clogging up the toilet. Or do I need to show you the evidence —”

“Alright — fuck, fine. But really? This is what you’re gonna waste your favor on? You could’ve asked me to —” Zoro gestures around vaguely, “clean the bilge or something.”

Nami shrugs, looking almost too pleased, “Nope! This is what I wanna use my favor for. And, really, you think a bit of bilge water is gonna gross me out? C’mon.”

Zoro heaves a sigh and leans back against the main mast, closing his eyes.

“Fine then. Go.”

Nami sits back on the edge of the barrel.

“No, you go. Admit that you like the new girl.”

“I don’t.” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’ve seen you staring at her. We’ve all seen you staring at her.”

“What, that a crime now?”

Nami fights the urge to roll her eyes, “No, but I’ve never seen you try so hard to avoid someone before.”

Zoro lets out a bark of laughter, hard and mirthless, “Yeah, so that must mean I like her.”

Nami cocks her head, “It means you feel something towards her. And I’d suggest you figure it out.”

“And how’d you propose I do that?”

Nami once again waves in your direction, “Go. Talk. To her.”

Zoro lets out another breath, eyes scanning across the ship, anywhere but towards where you’re still sitting and reading, finger flipping a page in a perfect, smooth, singular motion.

And Zoro’s not blind. Blunt though he may be at times and careless as he is about most material things, he can still appreciate beauty when he sees it. And you — there’s no denying that you’re beautiful. Your strange stillness aside, when you do move, it’s with a dancer’s lissome grace, fluid lines, not a single movement wasted. When you smile, it seems to light you up from the inside, and your words, though soft, carries the well-worn weight of river stones, glittering beneath the clear, spring stream of your voice.

There’s a sharpness in your eyes, a straightness to your spine, a way of carrying yourself as if you’re afraid that one wrong move might shatter you and the entire world around you.

Sometimes when he sees you, he wonders at the hands that had sculpted you this way. He wonders at your life before they’d picked you up in Loguetown, when you’d oh-so-silently slipped up the execution platform and helped Luffy down, all the while staying free of Smoker’s watchful gaze.

The few times he’s seen you fight, he can’t help wondering if you’ve eaten some kind of devil fruit as well. No human could be so fast as that. Or be so quiet. But then again, he’d fought Kuro, and they’d seen stranger things. Still, he marvels at the way you flicker in and out of sight, slipping around the edges of battle like a dark, haunting thing, and men would drop like flies beneath your quick, quiet hands. With nary a sound or shout before their eyes roll back and their breathing is no more.

On the instances when Sanji had asked about your past, your eyes had gone misty and dark, unfocused. You’d gone still, freezing for so long that Usopp would cough just to fill the silence. And then slowly, ever so slowly, you’d turn back towards them with a small, sad smile and say:

“There’s… not much to talk about. I grew up somewhere far away, where if you didn’t keep quiet and still, bad things would happen to you. And then when those bad things happened, if you weren’t quick — the quickest of all, you’d die.”

Bad things, huh? Zoro thinks as he makes his way towards you, a hand resting on the hilt of his swords. He comes to a stop next to you and leans against one of the white planters, casually peering over your shoulder at the book in your hands.

For a long moment, neither of you move. Then, Zoro clears his throat and forces himself to speak.

“Is it good?”

It takes you a second, but eventually, you turn towards him.

“The book? Yeah, I suppose.”

“Not exactly a glowing review.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy little thing as you look back down at the page.

“It's about a girl who falls into an enchanted sleep, and a prince who wakes her up with a kiss.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”

“Yes, and one hell of a prince.”

Zoro finds himself chuckling, his shoulders loosening as he takes another breath.

“And then what?” he asks.

“And then… he asks her to marry him.”

You run your fingers along the page, smoothing your palm over the ink and parchment. Zoro watches you, wondering, always wondering.

“What’s she say?” and it’s then that he notices his own voice, hushed and low, barely a whisper.

You look back up at him and smile a smile a sphynx would have been proud of.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

Zoro takes a breath, and the breath tastes distinctly different than all the breaths he’d taken before it. As if the world takes the breath with him, and some fundamental truth had shifted on the exhale.

The moment breaks, as moments are wont to do, when Sanji calls out for lunch and Zoro jerks out of his almost-reverie. You slowly close your book and rise to your feet, turning back to smile at him.

“C’mon, it’s lunchtime.”

Zoro nods and follows you into the kitchen, where Luffy and Usopp are already digging in, and Nami is pouring herself a drink. She spots the pair of you and catches Zoro’s eyes. A grin ticks at the edge of her lips but before she can say anything, you’re accosted by Sanji sweeping into a deep, flourishing bow, and ushering you towards the table, where he’d set your place in a manner fit for a princess.

“Where’s my setup?” Zoro asks as he drops into the seat next to you, cocking an eyebrow. Sanji shoots him an unimpressed look.

“I’m surprised you can use a fork and knife, moss-head. Just be grateful and eat up.”

Zoro scoffs but digs in nonetheless.

When next they dock, it’s on a rare, peaceful island — an island of light and books and learning, where the air smells of salt and ink and drying parchment, of unwritten words and untold stories. But it smells of a stillness too, and Zoro knows without having to ask that you’d like it here.

And you do.

He’s never seen you smile so much, never seen you so vibrant and full of life. You chat and laugh and read with a voracious hunger, and he finds himself drawn to this new, warm, moving side of you. He finds himself, more often than not, by your side, even when neither of you speak. And he basks in the comfort of the quiet that permeates the air when it’s just the two of you — him hanging in the hammock on deck, you reading by his side.

But now, there’s the soft tapping of your foot, the shuffle of pages when you flip forward to see what’s coming next, and of course the ever-present shush of the ocean as it washes against the Merry’s side.

The Log Pose needs two weeks to properly calibrate to the next island, so they’ve got time to kill.

On the fifth night, over dinner and drinks, Luffy asks the question that everyone’s been thinking since the day they’d all met you —

“So. Why’re you so still all the time? Not that it’s weird or anything — well, actually — it kind of is, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m just asking cause I'm curious!”

You look up from your half-finished wine but Zoro feels it happening, like the hush of a fan blade slicing through air, the gasp before a porcelain vase tips over and shatters. You stop. You stare. You’re frozen in every sense of the word. And he’s known you for long enough to know that you only go still as a reflex, only reach for it as a shield. Against what? He doesn’t quite know.

“It’s… something of a long story,” you say, your voice low and hoarse.

Luffy grins, smacking his lips as he sucks the meat off a chicken leg, “We’ve got tons of time! Right?” he looks around as if for validation, but everyone’s eyes are caught on you and your unnatural stillness.

Zoro shifts slightly in the seat next to you, opening his stance and turning towards you.

“Could do with a good story.”

Your eyes flash in his direction and he offers you the barest hint of a smile.

You relax, ever so slightly, drifting back in your seat, your glass cupped in the palms of your hands. And then, you begin to speak, your voice smooth and lilting, your words washing over them like the faint lull of the tides.

“When I was three, my father sold me for a barrel of beer.”

A dull clack echoes around the room and everyone turns to see Sanji hurriedly righting the thick stein he’s knocked over. Thankfully, it’d been empty.

“Sorry — I just — what?” he sounds furious but Usopp lays a hand across his arm and shakes his head.

You take a deep breath and continue, your voice oddly emotionless as you say, “The man who bought me took me to an island. It was… a dark place. A quiet place. I only learned its name after I escaped — an island called Elysium.”

Nami gasps before clapping her hands over her mouth.

“I’ve just — I’ve heard of that place before, but I thought… I thought it was just a made-up place.”

Luffy swallows hard, frowning, “What’s it like?”

Nami’s eyes flicker between you and Luffy, “Supposedly… it’s the home island for… for the most feared group of assassins in all the seas combined.”

Usopp’s eyebrows jerk up, “The most feared?”

A faint smile seeps across your lips like blood.

“Yes. The Shadows that Live.”

Everyone turns to look at you. Luffy picks up another drumstick.

“Whoa… cool name!”

Zoro hums, “I’ve heard of them before — but mostly, it was just an old wive’s tale about… shadow assassins who hunt in the dark. Mercenaries for hire. But… no one’s ever seen one before.”

“Because… once you see one, you’ll never live to tell the tale,” you say, your eyes now downcast and fixed on the glass in your hands.

“Then…” Usopp’s voice is soft, “What about… you?”

“I… I ran away.”

Silence greets you. But after a moment, Luffy spits out a bit of bone and uses it to pick at the space between his teeth, his eyes round.

“Wow! You must be pretty good to run away from an island full of shadow assassins!”

You almost laugh, his boundless trust hitting you like a punch to the stomach.

“So…” Sanji lets out a puff of silvery smoke, “the staying still thing… that’s just part of your training, yeah?”

You nod, “Something like that.”

Someday, you think, you’ll tell them about the hellscape that was Elysium island, of the long echoing halls, dark and still and silent. Of the mechanical beasts that hunted by sound and movement alone. Someday, you’ll let them know about the poisoned pomegranate seeds that they feed all the “recruits” to keep them hazy, of how you’d kept six of them suspended in your mouth and spat them all out when you’d finally made it far enough from the island to allow yourself to breathe.

“And… are these shadow assassins gonna come after us?” Nami asks, her voice careful and light.

You purse your lips, “I… I don’t know.”

Nami sighs, but a moment later, she moves to refill her drink with a slight shrug, “Well, just one more enemy to add to our growing list. Soon, we’re gonna have to post a sign-up sheet.”

At this, everyone laughs, and the tension snaps like a wounded spring.

Luffy burps loudly, patting his stomach, “I’m not worried — I mean, if you were able to run away from them once, that means you’re stronger than them, right?”

You pause, your hand hovering over the wine bottle. Zoro gently reaches over and refills your glass for you. You shift back into movement, casting him a small smile and taking a sip. The wine is cool and tangy as it hits the back of your throat. You breathe, and the world keeps spinning.

“I… I’m not sure — I’ve never fought… any of… them… before.”

“Guess we’ll find out if they try to come for you then — but you’ve got us now!” Luffy says, reaching for an apple and chomping into it, “ — Sho… you duon gotta wourry —” he licks his lips as he takes another huge bite before tossing the core towards the waste bin, “We’ve got your back!”

Nami makes a disgusted face, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, ugh.”

Sanji chuckles, tapping out his cigarette, “Yeah Luffy, mind your manners.” But his voice is full of laughter and you find yourself relaxing into the sway of the night, the swing of conversation. Beside you, Zoro refills his own glass and leans over to clink it against yours.

You turn, but he only raises his glass before taking a sip.

You mirror his movement, cradling the cup to your chest when you finish.

Later, he finds you by the tangerine trees, ghosting your fingers over their lush green leaves, dark enough to look black in the evening light.

“Hey.”

You turn, “Hi.”

Zoro sighs and looks out over the darkened waves, the moonlight refracted into a million shattered bits of sky.

“Luffy’s right, y’know.”

“What about?” you ask, joining him by the railings. The night air is cool and crisp. Behind you both, the island oozes with lamplight and laughter. Even from here, you can hear the joy, the peace that permeates the air here. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, you think, to stay here forever.

“If they come for you,” Zoro says, “we’ll have your back.”

You let out a small chuckle, looking down at your hands, “I know.”

“So,” he turns towards you, his earrings glinting in beneath the scimitar moon, “you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

You lick your lips, and instinctively, you reach for the stillness. All the days and weeks and months with the people around you have softened you, and for that, you know you should be thankful. Still, old habits die hard, and you have to clench your fists and dig your nails into your own palms to keep from freezing completely.

You take a shivering breath and force it out again.

“Fear’s a hard habit to break.”

At this, Zoro grunts, though it sounds something like consent. The moment stretches, long and soft and taffy-sweet.

He turns back towards the sea, “Yeah,” he says, and then —

“But we can take it slow.”

You swallow hard, passed the broken shards of forgotten words lodged in your throat (you find that they all somehow taste like thank you), and you nod. Warmth tickles your cheeks and you wonder why he’s said we instead of you — and later, lying in your bed at night, staring at the moon-slatted ceiling, you wonder if he was really talking about fear or if it was something else entirely.

You don’t get a lick of sleep that night.

The next few days pass in a light, repetitive blur. You and Zoro are sent on a few short shopping trips in the city, and you’re glad for something to do that involves movement. Shocking how quickly the body adapts once the weight it’d been holding on to is lifted.

You are still quiet, and he, the same; but the silence has shifted around you, and whereas before it’d been solid and steady, it’s now thrumming and charged with some unspoken energy.

Neither of you are blind to it; nor, it seems, is the rest of the crew.

Sanji’s taken to openly teasing Zoro about being with you all the time, complaining loudly that he can’t get a word in edgewise because Zoro refuses to leave you alone. Nami keeps on trying to drag you out for “girl's day” shopping trips, hinting at all the cute clothes you could get and how “green really suits your skin tone, y’know?”

Luffy and Usopp for their part, both just grin whenever they see you together — Luffy stoked at the fact that you seem more happy and talkative, Usopp gleeful at the way Zoro always seems so much softer when he’s next to you.

You’ve taken to watching him when he trains, sitting in the shade of the tangerine trees, a cold drink in your hand as Zoro runs through his katas. You content yourself with watching him flow through the movements, one and then another, and then another after that. He contents himself with your presence, knowing that you’re here, feeling your eyes as they skate down the length of his back or the width of his shoulders.

It’s a peaceful sort of companionship, even if it is living on borrowed time.

When you all wave the little island goodbye, it’s with heavy hearts and tearful smiles. It had treated you well, and you think you’d miss it. But adventure is as adventure does — it calls, beckoning to those with wandering hearts to listen.

The first week back at sea is a strange one, full of a ringing nostalgia. As if you’re simultaneously coming home and leaving one at the same time. Everyone is a bit quiet, except for Luffy, of course, who literally bounces off the freshly waxed planks, humming to himself as he sits on top of the great ram’s figurehead.

“Is he ever still?” you ask one day, sometime in the second week.

To which Zoro makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh, “You’ve been here a while. What’d you think?”

You sigh softly and tear your eyes away from the bright, shivering ball of energy that is your captain towards the far horizon. A sliver of uncertainty twines through you and your breath slows. Zoro glances at you, now long since attuned to your subtle shifts in movement and stillness. He narrows his eyes.

“What is it?”

You shake yourself back into the moment, forcing a smile.

“Nothing. I think…” your words fade as the feeling twists in you again, knife-sharp and stinging. You clear your throat and reach up to brush away a strand of hair. Skin grazes skin as Zoro’s hand meets yours in the same gesture and you both freeze — hands held up, his finger caught against the bend of your cheekbone, your fingers curling over his.

Time slows, slackens around the pair of you, and the moment stays, suspended in space — garnet dark and perfect.

Neither of you dare to breathe. It’s then that you realize how close Zoro is — close enough for you to see the entire ocean reflected in his eyes: big and dark and so endless it nearly unmoors you. Close enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin; his body, emanating heat. You’d often wondered, in the long hours of watching him train, at the glistening copper of his skin and the light-kissed quality, if the sun himself favored Zoro as well.

Like this, it’s easy to believe that beneath his skin, there pulsed something like sunlight.

“Look! It’s an island! It’s an island!”

And just like that, the moment shatters. Time slips back into motion and you pull away from each other, breathless, with warm cheeks and thundering hearts, feeling somehow lightning-touched and static-ridden.

You take half a step back, reaching up to press a hand to your mouth as if to stop something from tumbling through. But what? You can’t really say.

Zoro tips back as well, whipping around to help Usopp and Sanji with the sails as Luffy continues to holler, waving his hat. On the horizon, you see it looming — the silhouette of an island. You lower your palm from your lips to your heart and wonder what kind of island it will be.

Deserted — seems to be the answer when you all make landfall. The island is quiet, but the occasional chirp and cricket staves off your nerves as you all wander cautiously about the beach, squinting into the dense forest that seems to encompass the whole of the island.

“Looks like a good place to camp for the night!” Luffy says, grinning as he plops down on the sand.

Sanji nods, dusting off his hands, “We’ll need some wood for a fire, but I reckon I can whip up some grilled fish from the fresh catch.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look around, glancing back at the darkening horizon.

“Something the matter?” Zoro’s voice is soft as he helps you carry some of the camping supplies from the ship.

“No… yes… I —” you look up at him, pursing your lips, “I don’t know. I’ve just… this island is…”

Zoro looks around, his dark eyes scanning the thick swath of forest just beyond the beach, “Too quiet?”

You let out a tiny laugh, “Yeah, something like that.”

He nods, “Don’t worry, I’m — we’re here.”

And he leaves it at that, hoisting a stack of wood over his shoulders and going to help Nami with the fire. You watch him with a smile, wondering what on earth you’d done to deserve this level of caring, this magnitude of kindness. Soon, dinner is had and drinks are shared and laughter is spilled like so many silver coins over the white sand beach. The lull of the evening takes over you all, and before long, Luffy and Usopp are slumped over each other, snoring loudly.

You stare into the depths of the fire and try to tamp down the growing dread festering inside your bones. All those years of holding still, of breathing and listening and feeling — you shake yourself — no, not all stillness is a bad thing. Not all silences are made the same.

“You’re doing it again,” Zoro’s voice almost makes you jump. Instead, you turn, finding him next to you as he nurses a half-drunk bottle of wine in his hands. He doesn’t look at you, but there’s a loose grin hinged across his lips.

“Sorry,” you say, ducking your head, feeling a now familiar heat creep into your cheeks that has nothing to do with the dwindling bonfire.

“Don’t be,” Zoro takes another drink, “But I told you… you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I know… and I’ve said before —”

“Fear’s a hard habit to break,” Zoro echoes back at you, finally glancing over and catching your eye.

You breathe out, looking down at your own hands, “Yeah… but I’m trying.”

You both fall silent, and for a while, the only sounds are the crackle of the dying flames, the shush of the ocean waves, and the occasional snores from the rest of your crew. It’s late — later than you realized.

“Do you… want me to grab a book for you?”

You smile, “No, I don’t think it’s bright enough.”

“I could restoke the fire.”

“No, it’s — it’s okay.”

“Alright.”

A bird coos the distance.

“Why don’t you tell me a story?” you ask, turning to look at Zoro proper, shifting till your body is facing him.

In the faint light, you can see the edge of his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You’re asking the wrong guy — you should wait till the Great Captain Usopp’s awake.”

“Yeah, but I want to hear one from you.”

Zoro sighs, his eyes fixed on the last of the flickering flames. He takes another swig of wine before he starts to speak, his voice low and a bit stilted, but he pushes on. He tells you about his childhood, the village he’d trained in, the doujou in the middle of the wood, his friend who he’d never beat — not even once.

He tells you about he early mornings and the late nights, and how the world had seemed large enough to conquer.

“… And then… there came a morning when she didn’t show up… and sensei came and told me that there’d been an accident.”

His voice almost breaks then, and your eyes catch on the shining white hilt of the Wadou Ichimonji — his thumb pressing against the guard, running along it’s hard metal edge.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Zoro shrugs, “Don’t be.”

You nod, “Still.”

Zoro slates you a lopsided smirk, “So. Now you know my tragic backstory too.”

You laugh, leaning back to cast your eyes up towards the sky, “And you know mine — it’s almost like we’re friends or something.”

Zoro lets out a long breath, “Yeah… or something.”

There’s a tightness to his voice that makes your skin tingle and it takes everything you have not to look over at him, to try and see if he’s looking at you, watching you the way you’d imagined him to be. You fancy you can feel his gaze on your face, but you close your eyes instead.

You let yourself fall into the warm haze of sleep, and for a while you drift there, your mind sifting through shards of memories and slivers of sound, casting them against the backs of your eyelids as you slowly slide into the darkness of dreams.

You wake up to a gasping stillness — the silence pressing in on your eardrums like thumbs, the darkness around you so complete it’s almost a solid thing. You freeze, your breath hissing to a halt inside you. Then distantly, ever so distantly, you hear the sounds of battle — metal clashing against metal, the hard thud of boots against flesh. You shake your head and reach up to clap your hands over your ears and only then do your senses return to you, snapping back as if you’d been abruptly shunted back into your earthly body.

“Gum Gum — Pistol!”

“Seize her!”

You whip into movement, fast as a flash, dashing away, hoping against hope that it would draw your attackers far enough from your crewmates.

“No one… ever… leaves us…”

The voice is serpentine and susurrus, sinking into your skin like sharpened teeth, but before it can reach you, it’s cut short by a bright flash of silver.

You gasp, whirling around, reaching for the nearest pulse, instinct taking over as you sink your fingers into muscle and flesh. The rush of blood thrumming beneath your fingertips comes too easy, even as a familiar scent accosts you. A moment later, your hands are being pinned above you, and thick, rough bark is digging into your wrists as Zoro stands before you, a sword in one hand, the other holding you still.

His eyes are a little wild and a lot worried. There’s a ring of red rawness around his neck, thin trickles of blood trailing along his jugular, disappearing into the wide scoop neck of his shirt.

“Hey, look at me.”

You nearly whimper, struggling against him, fear still coursing through you like a drug but Zoro is strong enough to keep you held. Behind him, you can see the rest of the crew fending off several shadowy figures, Usopp waving a torch, screaming at the top of his lungs, Luffy whooping as he whacks another figure with his fist.

“Z-Zoro?”

“Yeah, it’s me — eyes up here.”

You swallow in a breath, and then another, and you feel the bright thrum of urgency leave you as your body slowly falls slack. And then you’re slipping, and he’s looping an arm around you to keep you upright.

“Th-they’re here — they —”

“They’re gone — we got rid of them — hey.”

Zoro takes you by the shoulders and gives you a gentle shake. Finally, your eyes catch on his and your gaze holds. You see yourself reflected in them, stark and terrified, but alive — somehow alive.

“They’re gone,” he says, his voice soft and low by your ear, his arm still wrapped around your middle. Shivers wrack your body as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells of steel and skin and the metallic tang of blood. It’s then that you remember — the wounds on the sides of his neck. The marks in the shape of your hands —

You jerk back and feel a sticky wetness against your cheek.

“Zoro, I hurt you!”

At this, he scoffs, pulling back far enough to flash you a look.

“This is nothing. C’mon.”

He offers you a hand, and after a second you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. Wordlessly, he presses his palm to the small of your back, his arm extended to keep you steady as you both make your way back towards camp.

“Phew! That was a workout!” Luffy is saying just as you both reach the outskirts of the now-darkened bonfire. Sanji is pulling out a cigarette, striking a match, and first lighting the end before tossing it into the remains of the firewood, fanning it up into a slow flame.

Nami and Usopp both look a bit shaken, but none worse for the wear.

They all pivot to look at you.

You go still against Zoro’s side, uncertainty flooding through you. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s fingers as they press into the bend of your waist, solid and steady.

Then, Usopp coughs, “C’mon y’all — the Shadows that Live? Psh! More like — the Shadows that Fled, am I right? Yeah? Didya see the way I sent ‘em runnin’ with my brand new fire-powered explosion rounds?”

Nami chuckles and Sanji follows suit, shaking his head and letting out a thin wisp of smoke. Luffy’s grins at you, pumping a fist in the air, clapping his right shoulder.

“See? Told you we’d have your back! We are your crew, after all!”

Weakness seeps into your limbs as you nod, hot pin-pricks of tears itching at your lower lashes. You lower your head and rub at your eyes before looking back up again with a smile. Sanji grimaces as he looks over Zoro.

“Got something on your neck, mate.”

Zoro glares but you glance over and feel your stomach twist with guilt.

“Sorry… I can clean that up for you. They’re not deep but they do need to be bandaged up.”

Zoro wipes down his sword before sheathing it and motioning towards the ship. Behind you, you can hear Nami yawning and saying something about catching up on some more sleep and Sanji reassuring her about having the last watch anyway.

The kitchen is still dark, but the dusty dawn sweeps against the far horizon and neither of you bother to turn the lights on. You carefully set the first aid kit on the kitchen counter and collect the supplies as Zoro leans back against the edge and folds his arms. You work in near silence, reaching up to first wipe the thin threads of drying blood before tending to the tiny, crescent-shaped puncture wounds.

You press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against one of them and feel Zoro wince.

“Sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

You bite your lips, “If this had been a bit deeper or a few inches over —”

“But it wasn’t. So it’s fine.”

You don’t look up at him but you can feel his eyes on you. Your movements are fluid and sure; you’d clearly done this before.

“Hey, look at me.”

You freeze, eyes slowly gliding up the planes and divots of his neck, slipping up the line of his jaw, so sharp it might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. Your breath hitches as you finally meet his eyes, and there’s a dark, knowing glint behind them that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m fine.”

And for the second time in a handful of hours, you’re caught by the realization of your closeness — only a breath of space between you. There’s a crimp at the corner of his mouth that looks dangerously like a smile and then you’re tipping forward, a thumb reaching up to trace the line of his bottom lip once —

The movement acts like a trigger, and suddenly, he is leaning in and the breath of space disappears.

For all your life of stillness, you thought you’d learned to appreciate the depths and widths of movement. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this — for the push and pull of lips on lips, for the force and friction of skin against skin. For the gasp and hiss, for the breath and kiss.

For the feeling of his large palm as it settles along the swallow’s-nest bend of your neck, the way his thumb runs along your jaw like tracing the guard of his beloved sword, tilting your mouth towards him. For the way your heart might flutter like a tiny, caged bird, or the way you might feel his heart thumping like a fist from his chest to yours.

For the way his voice rolls over your name like a ship at sea; for the way it would shake your body from your bones and leave you more liquid than solid in his arms. For how you never used to think your story would be a love story, but then you realize that every story is a love story if caught in the right moment, in the right light.

And here, breaking apart from Zoro, with a thick, stolen streak of lemon-yellow sunlight leaking in from the kitchen window — that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Oh,” is all you have the strength to say.

Zoro, in all his solid brilliance and quiet audacity, laughs.

You taste the smile on your own lips before you realize you’re smiling. But when you try to bury your face in his neck, he winces slightly as you brush his still-fresh wounds.

“Crap, I forgot about these.”

Zoro chuckles as you hurry to press a few small bandages to the wounds.

“It’s okay. So did I.”

You finish dressing his wounds in silence, though this silence is markedly different from every other silence that had ever existed between you. There’s ease and tension, both, and when you’re finally finished, Zoro takes both your hands in his.

“So…” you say, unsure suddenly of where to look.

Zoro’s laugh is just as soft, just as uncertain.

“So.”

You try to look out the window, but by now, the dawning sun is so bright that it temporarily blinds you and you jerk back. Zoro smiles, reaching up to run his thumbs along your closed eyelids before dropping them to hook around your wrists again.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” he asks, quiet as always.

You purse your lips and let your lashes flutter open. You find him watching you. Heat crests up your shoulders and into your cheeks, and suddenly, the exhaustion of the night before saps at your limbs. You sigh.

“Right now? Not really.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, sounding as relieved as you feel.

You bite your lips and cast your gaze shyly across his face, your bird-wing heartbeat still flapping in your chest. You fight the urge to go still, to reach for that shield that has always protected you before. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s thumbs tracing circles along the insides of your wrists.

“Can I ask for something else, though?”

“What is it?”

You reach up a finger, nudging one of his golden earrings. You don’t miss the way he shivers, or the way his breath quickens in his chest.

“Kiss me again.”

Zoro grins, tugging you towards him, leaning into the curve of your palm as he does.

And does.

And does again.

reqs are: temporarily closed

but feedback is much loved and appreciated!!!

#Anonymous #one piece #one piece live action #opla zoro #opla roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #x reader #opla #one piece netflix #opla zoro x reader #one piece live action x you #one piece live action x reader #roronoa zoro fluff #one piece fluff #opla fluff #roronoa zoro imagines #roronoa zoro scenarios #floofy floof floof #scheduled post #angst mcgee #and yes after some consideration and that poll #im giving Proper Caps a try LOL #its strange i think it actually changes my voice a lil bit #but i dont think i mind??? #anyway -- any feedback would be much appreciated! <3

[cod-fishing]

“Would you want to be buried with your family, Si?”

Simon looks over at Johnny, eyebrows raised at his lovers random interjection. He gives him a once over, eyes narrowing a little bit, trying to find what could have possibly brought that question on. Finding nothing, Simon turns back to his book.

Johnny watches him scan a few lines before replying. “Can’t.”

Johnny’s brows furrow. “Why not?”

“They thought I was dead,” he replies simply, almost absentmindedly as he flips a page. Johnny’s confusion only grows until,

“Washington got your spot,” he says with dawning horror.

Simon says nothing, just humming an assertion. Johnny finds himself in a position he is in far, far too often as Simon’s closest confidant- utterly horrified, while Simon shrugs, already having worked through it with a therapist years ago, and numb to the sheer tragedy.

Simon turns another page, and Johnny breathes through the instinct to start screaming. A man who betrayed him, tortured him, and killed his entire family. Buried in his families plot, where Simon deserves to be someday. Where Simon was supposed to be able to fucking rest, someday.

Eventually, when he’s more in control, Johnny opens his mouth again, and it only comes out a little bit grated.

“So if you die, what would you like?”

Simon snorts at the ‘if’, and finally looks back at Johnny, considering him.

“What do you want?” Simon asks simply.

Johnny just looks at him for a second. Blinks, licks his lips. Opens his mouth to tell the truth, but pussies out at the last second.

He cracks a smile, but Simon can see the way it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Ah, I dunno. Just curious.”

Ghost considers the obviously bullshit answer, but decides to allow the out, turning back to his book. They lapse into a comfortable silence, Johnny going through his gear for their mission tomorrow, Simon flipping through his novel.

“What made you ask, anyways?”

Johnny stops in his movements, and looks over to Simon. The room is technically his, as the commanding officer, but it's strewn with evidence of Johnny’s place in his life. Clothes, notebooks, weapons. His shave kit in Simon’s bathroom, cause the lighting is better, and because its pretty nice to have Simon walk up behind him with a soft touch to his back while he cuts his hair, making sure he hasn't missed anything and leaving him with a kiss pressed to his shoulder.

"I'm thinking about retiring," he blurts out.

Simon looks over, and blinks.

"And…and I want my ashes scattered in the highlands. Unless you want to be buried next to me," he says, feeling out of breath at his confession. "That would…that would be good too,” he near-whispers.

Simon puts down his book.

“But if you wanted to be with you family, I could probably rob the grave and get Washington out of there, and put you back in. I’ve done crazier stuff.”

Simon’s mouth curls just a bit. “Come here, Johnny.”

He hesitates, for just a moment, feeling raw and vulnerable. But Simon pats his thigh, and Johnny could never resist that call. Curling up on Simon’s lap, he hides his nose in his neck, wrapping his arms around the broad shoulders of his best friend, his lover.

Simon embraced him back, pulling him close against his chest. They stay there for a moment, tension slowly draining from Johnny, and eventually Simon whispers.

“I’ve had it in my will that burial rights go to you for a year already. And as for retirement…”

He pulls back, and Johnny does to, looking into his warm eyes, shockingly open in this moment.

“You let me know when, and I’ll follow.”

#AND THEN THEY DO THAT AND DIE OLD AND CONTENT IN THE CONTRYSIDE AND THEIR FRIENDS AND FAMILY SCATTER THEIR ASHES IN THE HIGHLANDS TOGETHER #soap mwii #cod mwii #soapghost #ghostsoap #cod mw2 #ghoap #simon ghost riley #tf141 #john soap mactavish #codmw2 #mywriting

[azzydoesstuff]

lethal company dashboard simulator

🛠️ she-fillin-my-quota Follow

man 41-experimentation has the worst abandoned facilities. where is all the scrap guh??

🪲 lootyloot-nestynest Follow

the fuck are you calling an abandoned facility?? experimentation is my fucking home you prick. you scrappers call these facilities abandoned but they're not. you're just wandering into our homes and stealing our things. leave it to the scrapper to regurgitate insectophobic slop. blocked

#like i swear to god. these fucking scrappers are so stupid. i hope they all die #insect pride

3,601 notes

🌰 nuts-be-cracked Follow

i swear to god y'all, ain't NOTHINg moving on my watch

🖇️ boioioioing Follow

heyyyy ���

🌰 nuts-be-cracked Follow

😬

457 notes

🦅 professionalhawkster2 Follow

bro why do the fucking dogs keep messing with my gang?? they almost killed jerry a couple hours ago

🦖 heywhosaidthat Follow

how about you be fucking quiet you fucking pickle thieves

#seriously who steals pickles lmao #fuck baboon hawks

92 notes

🖳 theindomitablesigurd-deactivated1968

T HEY TOOK M Y PIcKLES!!!!1!!

#naw i'm uptading th ose mf dangjer level to 75% agfter tha t shit

18 notes

🛠️ she-fillin-my-quota Follow

first time visiting 7-dine! wonder what i'm gonna find lol

🖇️ boioioioing Follow

hey i live there! lol

🛠️ she-fillin-my-quota Follow

🫣

🖇️ boioioioing Follow

man what the hell

#cw coilphobia #fucking scrappers #hope i coil this bitch lmao

7,084 notes

🦑 badjokesbyjeb Follow

What do you do after eating a really tasty planet? You give the restaraunt five golden stars.

🪙 living-on-the-blingbling-baby Follow

BEAST LET ME OUT ALREADY I NEED TO GET OUT I CAN'T BE DIGESTED YOU FUCKING BEAST CEASE THIS MOCKERY OF OUR GOLDEN PLANET RELEASE ME SPIT OUT THE RINDS LET ME LEAVE

🖁 across-the-system Follow

Haha, good one Jeb! You should really change your url!

#you fucking idiot don't say shit like that #he's gonna fucking escape at some point if you keep doing this and then you'll really be fucked you fucking moron #goodjokesbyjeb

765,014 notes

🦈 thump-thump-thump Follow

who up eatin' their legs

🛠️ she-fillin-my-quota Follow

what

🦈 thump-thump-thump Follow

us thumpers get called halves because when we're born we have to eat the bottom half of our bodies to get out of our eggs. this is why we have no legs and have to use our arms to walk around. hope this helps ❤️

#cw thumperphobic slur #cw half #don't be ignorant like this and do your research #also don't call us halves please #thumpers #thumperposting #thumper gang

132 notes

☣️ richrichardguy-deactivated0709

man why don't this fucking door open. oh it's my fucking crew behind it fucking great. fucking assholes won't stop saying i smell

🌿 rapaxfoliumsnap Follow

hey i think we haven't met before

☣️ richrichardguy-deactivated0709

😨

🖳 theindomitablesigurd-deactivated1968

RICH NOOOOOOOOOOO

#bro stank like shit but i didn't want him to go like this #not like this! not like thiiiiiiis!

64,089 notes

🪲 lootyloot-nestynest Follow

you guys, i just found the coolest fucking metal sheet. you have no idea

42 notes

🛠️ she-fillin-my-quota Follow

BRO GET OUT OF THE DOORWAY STUPID FUCKING BOX

🎁 lethaljesterjestering Follow

listen to my tune

351 notes

🔦 new-guy-working-here Follow

hey guys it's my first week working for the company! i think i'm gonna make quota this time

🌿 rapaxfoliumsnap Follow

no you're not

🔦 new-guy-working-here Follow

no i'm not

9,278 notes

🎭 she-fillin-my-quota Follow

hey guys i'm resigning from the company rn. im gonna make some changes accordingly on my blog now. can someone tell @lootyloot-nestynest i'm sorry and ask them to unblock me. i'm a changed man now, i'm not a scrapper anymore

🖇️ boioioioing Follow

guys idk something seems off about this guy. he was spewing coilphobic shit a couple days ago

🎭 comedy-tragedy-drama Follow

guess who's been busy, coily? 😏😏😏

🖇️ boioioioing Follow

no fucking way

#the madman did it #bro got fucking masked lmao

#is this anything #shitpost #shitposting #lethal company #lethal company shitpost #lethalposting #companyposting #tumblr dashboard simulator #lethalblr #companyblr

[impishjesters]

hiii! Could I just say that I absolutely love your writing and they way you describe jax? I love your writing style as well. So-

Could you write a jax x reader where the reader is very sensitive and prone to crying? Like they have a super loud and bold personality, kind of like jax, so you'd think a few mean words wouldn't affect them right? Wrong. They're actually super sensitive and can cry easily. Like maybe if jax were to get into a fight with reader and maybe takes it too far?

warnings(s): Jax, insults/name calling, nondescriptive arguments, angst (I tried to balance it out with some fluff in the second half) note(s): Jax is a noticeable ass in the first half of this, honestly Jax is his own warning A/N: I truthfully believe that his reaction would heavily depend on whether the two of you were just two people trapped here vs in a relationship of some sort. I don't want to post him being only an asshole, so I included his response/reactions if you were his s/o as well. (Also thank you for the kind words! 💜)

As two people trapped in the digital hellscape together

It doesn’t take you long to learn Jax’s disregard for the emotions of others. His blatant disregard for Gangle’s tears and Pomni’s little panic attacks that he only eggs on are proof enough.

Jax would’ve never suspected you to be sensitive given your loud and bold personality, he’s never noticed the subtle change in your posture or behavior when you get insultingly clumped in with the rest—or if he did notice, he never said anything.

A fight with Jax is a one-sided fight, he’ll throw some backhanded question about why you were suddenly being a crybaby, an unfunny joke about how you must’ve taken Gangle’s tragedy mask when he wasn’t looking.

“Look it’s not that big of a deal, I don’t know why you’re getting all bent out of shape.”

Jax is an ass through and through, he’s not trying to gaslight you into believing you’re crying over nothing, he genuinely believes you’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s just words.

As his s/o

Again you are aware of just what kind of person Jax is—that said you are given some leniency to his awful behavior, unlike the others you have a special place in his chest cavity

As mentioned above he never really suspected you to be sensitive, though he can sort of piece two and two together when your behavior changes or if you just up and outright walk away.

Seeing your eyes water is definitely an indicator that what was said may have offended you in some manner.

Jax isn’t good with this sort of stuff, does he approach you and ask about it? Or does he just ignore it and let you come to him?

Ah, fuck…

It’s not that he doesn’t care that he upset you, but he’s just a tad confused about why you are suddenly upset.

The whole thing gets even messier when the two of you get into a fight. To him, this “fight” isn’t a big deal, when you mention that it’s something he said callously, he’s reminded of the times you walked away seemingly upset.

It takes him a few minutes to compose his thoughts and word himself carefully enough to avoid making the situation any worse, it’s one of the rare times you’ll get him to be more genuine and serious to work this out.

Afterward, he makes the effort to remember not to say or do certain things that particularly upset you. Though it’s tough, sometimes that shit just comes out with no filter, and whoops there he goes saying the thing he told himself he wasn’t going to say with you around.

None of it is ever directly aimed at you though, he can do that much at least.

On the occasion that something minor slips he’ll apologize later on, sigh, and give you a hug. Hugs don’t fix everything but they do get you to stop crying. (This is usually only during cases where you get choked up levels of sensitivity, like, a dog in a movie died and that’s a sad kind of sensitivity.)

On the topic of crying, Jax playfully (genuine) pokes fun at you when you cry over something minuscule. He’ll tease and ask if it’s a hobby crying over the little things—again not maliciously, if anything it’s kinda cute. (You are allowed to take a smack at him if his teasing is too much, he probably deserves it.)

#jax #jax x reader #tadc #tadc jax #the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x reader

[lets-just-daydream]

Astarion x reader soulmate AU or vampire mates PLS IM BEGGING

I HOPE YOU LIKE! I did have fun writing this 🥹

Warnings: mentions of torture, nothing graphic

Astarion was sure of few things in the tragedy that was his life. But the things he was sure of were the things that killed his spirit. Things that quashed his will to live.

After two hundred years, he was sure he would die here, under Cazador's thumb. He wasn't sure when or how, but that would happen.

After two hundred years, he was sure that there were no gods out there who would ever answer him. He stopped praying to them long ago, for they clearly didn't care about creatures like him. Creatures of the night.

After two hundred years, he was sure that he had no soulmate. No partner that was out there waiting for him. Perhaps it was wishful thinking and in fact he hoped he had no soulmate out there, that maybe they were long dead by this point if they were lucky.

He thought it cruel, the way soulmates worked and deigned a guess that Loviatar must have had something to do with the cruel design. A person can feel their soulmate’s pain. How awful. And how truly awful for any person bound to himself or his siblings.

He hadn't felt any phantom pain himself in all his years under Cazador so he remained hopeful that they were already dead. Gods know his soulmate didn't deserve it.

One day, Astarion sat in his dilapidated bunk with the heavy curtains pulled shut and a threadbare blanket over his shoulders as he worked diligently with his needle, repairing his beloved shirt for… well he'd lost count how many times he'd repaired this shirt. That's just the way it was.

As he pulled the white thread through the thinning fabric, he let out a yelp and a strained “fuck!” as he dropped the needle and his hand flew to his foot. His small toe ached as if he'd just dropped something on it or stubbed it. He frowned and looked down at it. It looked fine but gods, the pain was awful.

Any other person would know, would get that feeling that their soulmate had just hurt themselves but the possibility was so far removed from Astarion's mind. He brushed it off with an annoyed huff and picked his needle up again to continue his repairs, the pain eventually fading.

It happened again, a few weeks later. An inexplicable pain that changed the course of his sad existence. It was late, he was out. At the Elfsong Tavern, chatting up some stranger to bring back to Cazador. He wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying, but he feigned interest, nodding where appropriate and throwing in the occasional affirmation as he sipped the goblet of wine paid for by stolen coin he'd lifted from an unsuspecting drunkard.

Astarion shuffled closer to her, wanting to speed this along. His hand came up and pulled her hair back from her ear and whispered.

“What do you say we get out of here and somewhere more quiet…” His voice silken and honey smooth.

Mere words whispered and she was a red, blushing mess. He heard her heartbeat pick up and she nodded, her excitement obvious only to him. He stood from his seat and extended his hand to her and as she reached out to him, an intense pain marred his knee. Astarion doubled over and grasped at his knee, letting out a curse as he pulled his pant leg up to examine whatever injury he'd just sustained.

There was nothing there, his knee smooth and pale, slightly bruised but that wasn't out of the ordinary. He felt like he should be bleeding with a sizeable wound. He whipped his head around to see if anyone had attacked him but no one paid him any mind except his “date.”

Astarion was annoyed and confused. He lowered his pant leg again with a huff and the woman who he didn't bother to learn the name of let out a laugh. “Seems like your soulmate is out there getting into trouble.”

If Astarion had warm blood coursing through his veins, it would have gone cold.

“What?”

The woman stood, grabbing her belongings. “Your soulmate. Obviously hurt their knee since you're in pain but seem fine. Happens to all of us. I'm almost certain my soulmate got their arm chopped off last week based on the pain I felt for days and days.”

She shuddered and grimaced, rubbing her left arm. “You see anyone with a fucked up arm, come find me. Goodnight.”

And then she left. She left him in a stupor and a predicament. Firstly, it was too late to try and seek anyone else out to bring to Cazador tonight. By Astarion's estimations the sun should be rising soon and he needed to get back to the palace. The thought of arriving empty handed caused a familiar panic to rise in him at whatever torture he was certainly due for this day.

But secondly, and possibly worse if he let himself think about it too much… whatever pain he was about to go through would be inflicted onto you. His unsuspecting soulmate. If what that woman said was to be believed, anyway.

Astarion wandered back to the palace in a haze. He ping ponged between self-preservation and not letting himself get worked up over the fact that you were about to be tortured, put through some of the worst pain you could ever endure. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to be weak but he couldn't help the guilt. Even if he did manage to find you, even if you were out there, you could never want him after what you were both about to go through tonight.

Hours later, after Cazador had finished taking his wrath out on Astarion for failing to bring him a victim, he wept. He often wished for death, never prayed but he did this day, with each flog, flay torture, he wept in excess for you.

Your whole body ached. You'd been saved from falling to your demise at the very least as the nautiloid ship crashed but gods you’d still had some momentum when you hit the ground.

Pain was… quite normal for you these days and you lived most of your life in fear for when the next bout of pain was going to knock you out for several days. Whoever your soulmate was, whatever life they lead, you felt awful for them. You couldn't help but also feel a little resentment for all the torturous pain you'd been through and when you finally did meet them, you were going to demand some fucking answers. Not only did they seemingly get beaten up everyday, but the constant hunger pains you felt never went away despite how much you ate. Were they starving themselves?

For now though, you stood and took in your surroundings, dusting your clothes off and squinting as the bright sun beat down on you. You stepped through scraps of metal towards some rocky cliffs and to what looked like a path. You made it through and saw someone, a tall, pale elf standing by the cliffside, examining the damage made by the crash. His hand staked through his hair and he looked around warily until he finally laid eyes on you.

“You there!” He called out. He sounded posh and you internally rolled your eyes. “Can you help me? I have one of those… brain things cornered.”

You walked over to him and peered into the bush where he was pointing and you jumped slightly when a boar ran out from the underbrush. You let out a laugh and sigh of relief and turned back to him but before you knew what was what, a cool knife was pressed against your neck and you fell to the ground, a grunt of pain escaping yours and the elf’s lips.

His arm came around your shoulder and he held you in place as you struggled, looking up at him. “What are you doing?” You cried.

He pressed the dagger against your neck and you felt a nick of pain as he drew blood. You cried out in pain and to your surprise, so did he. You paused, confused. The stranger also paused, his body stiffening and his eyes zeroed in on your neck where his dagger met your skin.

You took this moment to your advantage and rolled out of his arms, making sure to elbow his face in the process. But as the crack of your elbow made contact with his nose, you cried out in pain and grasped at your nose, standing and looking at him in accusation.

He also stood, holding onto his nose and his neck.

He couldn't be.

Neither of you dared say a word as you clutched your faces in pain, staring. Waiting. For what, you weren't sure but the pieces started to fall into place and you slowly stepped towards him. He stiffened and leaned away from you but you grabbed his arm and pinched it, grimacing softly when, yes. You felt the same phantom pain in your own arm on the same spot. You said nothing and only stared into the stranger's red eyes.

He in turn, grabbed your arm and squeezed, stopping when it began to hurt.

This was it. This was him. This was your soulmate.

“No way,” you whispered.

The stranger turned soulmate seemed to be in a similar state of disbelief. “You're… real,” he murmured.

Whether he was pleased or upset, you weren't sure. He kept his feelings quashed. But you felt no desire to do such a thing. You'd often thought about what you would say when you finally met your soulmate and now that you were here, seeing his pale skin, his eyes with accompanying bags to match and his expression that he tried to keep impassive but you could see the fear etched onto his face your rehearsed words failed you.

Instead, you stepped forward and placed your hand on his arm comfortingly. He stiffened at the contact.

“I'm sorry,” is all you managed to whisper, your eyes wide and apologetic.

You didn't need to elaborate, he knew and you knew that he'd been put through shit, you along with him. You didn't resent him like he thought you would, you didn't accuse him or yell at him for what he'd put you through. No. You apologised to him.

He shuddered out a sigh of relief and stared at you, a small smile on his face.

“My name's Astarion.”

#red writes #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fic

[shadowlali]

honey and vanilla

COD AU - Alejandro Vargas x fem!reader

[18+] wc: ~900 summary: Alejandro spends time with the woman he loves. masterlist

warnings: NSFW, some proofreading, no use of Y/N nor details on reader’s appearance, discussions of death and murder, discussions of cartel violence, sex work, angst, possibly unrequited love, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: For @glitterypirateduck writing challenge “Amor a Alejandro!” I used prompt 30. You're the only one I trust to do this. Angst is definitely something I want to write more about. This is, I think, the first time I write it, but I hope I get inspired in the future to do more!

“Mi vida,” Alejandro groans, “made just for me.” 

His fingers grip your thigh, making indents in the soft skin. He thrusts in so slowly, sliding through the creamy mess of your fluttering cunt. 

“Tell me, tell–me, please,” he pleads. 

“I’m yours,” you whine, “just for you.” 

Bites and half-moon nail marks cover his back, chest and neck. You mark him like you own him. He speeds up, bottoming out, hoping he reaches deep enough that he ruins you for every other man. You clench tight, hungry for more as he fucks you hard into the mattress. 

Alejandro switches from chanting your name to moaning take it, mi vida, take it, like the good girl you are. And you do, you always do. You spread your thighs impossibly wider and drag your fingers over his arms, feeling his muscles ripple from the exertion. 

“Princesa, f–fuck,” Alejandro stutters, “te amo, te amo, te amo.” [I love you, I love you, I love you]

I love you, Alejandro, you cry out, I love you. He moves his hips at a punishing pace, slamming into you, feeling the vice grip of your gummy walls suffocate his cock. Your cunt pulses with heat and he knows that you're close. 

“Ale–” 

“I know, princesa,” Alejandro interrupts, his movements becoming desperate, “come for me, come for me.” 

He manages to unsteadily slip a thumb between your thighs and rub fast circles on your swollen clit. Even when he can barely hold himself up from the pleasure, Alejandro always makes sure you finish first. 

Your eyes shutter and you ripple and gush around his cock, hands clawing at his arms. Sensitive little thing, he groans, moving his hand to lightly squeeze your neck. 

Alejandro forces you to look at him while you come. You know better than to turn to the side, know that the scrunch of your brows and the glassy look in your eyes will push him over the edge. 

And it does. Mía, mía, mía, he repeats, filling you up, painting your walls with his thick come. You grip the wrist that holds your neck, holding his hot stare until he collapses into the crook of your neck. You place warm kisses on his temple and ear as your pulse steadies. [Mine, mine, mine]

The honey and vanilla scent of your skin always calms him. Especially in times like these, when missions go south and he loses good—no great, men in the crossfire. A million thoughts swirl in his brain, what could I have done differently, it should have been me, is this fight worth it? But you bring him back, settle the shame and guilt that burns his blood, soothe the rapid pace of his heart. 

Your bodies are sticky, sweaty, remnants of your love-making on your thighs and sheets. He moves to lay his head on your bare, soft tummy. Your fingers glide through his thick hair and lightly massage his scalp. Alejandro probably doesn’t deserve this, the softness of your body and the unyielding affection you give him. 

“It’s not your fault, Ale,” you whisper, “how would you have known about the ambush?” 

“I should’ve known, it’s my job to know these things–it’s my job to prevent these things.” 

His voice rises with the last few words, but you keep him in your embrace anyway, continuing to run your hands through his hair. He doesn’t deserve you. 

“Cartels are ugly and dangerous, they’ll stop at nothing, nothing, to get what they want, Alejandro. It’s a tragedy what happened, but don’t let them get in your head. Don’t let the death of your soldiers–your brothers be in vain.” 

He presses a kiss to your skin, grateful that he came to see you. “You always know what to say, don't you?” 

You tug on his hair gently, and whisper no, not always.

“Do you have anyone else to talk to? Like another soldier? War is heavy on the mind, Alejandro.” 

Alejandro shakes his head. He can understand where you’re coming from, you don’t want him to do something reckless. “You're the only one I trust to do this–to talk about this. Especially now that I think there’s a mole in my team.” 

Alejandro’s eyes glance at the clock on your bedside table, it’s nearing midnight. He needs to go back to base and regroup, go over new strategies and find the mole. His time with you is almost up. There's never enough time to be with you.  

“I should go, princesa,” he asks, standing up from the bed to slip on his clothes. 

Alejandro takes out an envelope from his jeans pocket and places it on your bedside table. It’s the price you agreed upon last year, and a few extra bills because he likes to spoil you. His heart pinches as he wishes this was real.

But it’s not. The kindness and the warmth you show him is real, but the rest, he pays you to tell him I’m yours and I love you. There’s moments where he tricks himself into thinking that maybe you do belong to him, maybe you do love him.

Even if it’s all fake, he’ll come back to you as long as you let him.  

You walk him to the door with your much softer hand linked in his.

“You can call me whenever you want–no charge, Alejandro,” you plead. “we're love–friends. And I care about you so, so much.” 

He doesn’t deserve you. 

“I will.” 

Alejandro places one more kiss on your soft lips and walks out of your home, already counting down the seconds until he can come see you again.

#Amor a Alejandro #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x female reader #alejandro vargas smut #cod x reader #cod mw2 x female reader #alejandro vargas #cod mw2 smut #shadowlali

[vaguely-concerned]

listen I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore but on this playthrough of DA2 I found myself once more entranced and heartbroken to see hawke reenact their relationship with their mother with the entire cursed city of kirkwall. you can never do enough for leandra, and you can never do enough for kirkwall. leandra is proud of you, and kirkwall uplifts its champion, but no matter how hard you try for them you can't fix everything there that's broken, no one could, and even the fact that anyone would feel the burning responsibility to take that task on is a huge warning sign on its own. leandra will easily allow you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of the family's continued well-being again and again, even when she'll beg you to spare the twins from the same thing. it's such a sad, painfully realistic thing because I truly don't think leandra meant to fuck up her kids, and yet she primed her oldest for an abusive toxic codependent relationship with an entire ongoing dumpster fire of a city state better than she ever could have if she had meant to.

I think what leandra actually, deep down wants from you is something you can never ever give her and that is cruel to ask of anyone, but especially your kid -- to bring her back to a time when she was happy. to reclaim when you were all happy, when nothing was broken that couldn't be fixed, before malcolm died, before you had to leave behind bethany or carver's broken body on the ground. to get her childhood back from where she left it and found it all gone and in ruins when she returned. 'this is all your fault'. this is the tragedy of parenthood sometimes I think, that capacity to define a life: she said that once, in a moment of profound pain, and she probably wouldn't have said it under other circumstances and she apologizes later, but now hawke has to live with that forever. leandra can't bear her own emotions without letting them spill over onto someone else so she won't have to hold the discomfort of them anymore, and hawke is left to shoulder that burden and responsibility again and again, handed the impossible task of making it all okay again, somehow -- of stopping anything bad from ever happening again in the Nr 1 Bad Things Constantly Happening capital of thedas.

and then at the same time there's the mirror of how varric's whole family wants orzammar back (and to him orzammar is just a ghost he's seen in their eyes -- there's something in his voice when he says 'That stupid plate was the whole city of Orzammar to him' that gets me every time, how much he understands that he doesn't understand and how lonely that makes him among them, and on top of it all he's frustrated and ashamed and sad that he just doesn't get it and can't meet them on it -- like it's a betrayal that he actually belongs up here, when varric wants so badly to be loyal), just as the hawkes want happiness back. (I don't think it's Lothering in itself that longing is for, it's for being together. Lothering was just the place they stayed the longest.) they're all in exile, even as they try to make a new home out of that exile.

(varric and hawke's real 🤝 quality across all personalities, affinities and choices is 'parentified child' lmao. so much of varric's character makes perfect sense once you know he grew up supporting a mother who was an emotionally volatile alcoholic, honestly. between varric, the hawkes, isabela, seb if you have him and merrill's whole Situation with marethari I feel like DA2 covertly is to mommy issues what ME2 is to daddy issues fjsdjfa)

basically I think I'm trying to pick apart exactly why the fact that leandra is clearly proud of hawke and tells them so several times doesn't feel like it helps at all, almost feels more like a cage even though it's clearly meant well? and what I'm getting is that it's because my sense of what hawke actually needs, in general but especially from a parent, isn't admiration or approval but to be loved and supported and understood. I don't believe leandra ever quite understands them, and it scares her because it makes her think she maybe never even understood malcolm. (that's the subtext of a lot of what leandra will say about him in legacy, at least. he's slipping away from her as the years pass after his death and she fears she never really had him in the first place, if he had secrets like these.) she consistently treats her oldest more like a partner or peer than as her child, which considering hawke is always described as being very similar to their father… I mean I totally see how that could be easy to slip into for her after he died especially, but it doesn't make it any less fucked up or unfair.

the real leandra in legacy is. she is SO absurdly self-centered, if you really pay attention. I don't want to keep dunking on her because I don't think she's like this on purpose, but it boggles my mind. if you do the quest in act 1 she gets so upset and overwhelmed that the kids just sort of sit there like :( at the end, which adds to the trend that through the game you constantly see hawke comforting leandra, and you pretty much never see leandra comforting hawke, beyond some light vaguely encouraging comments in passing. if you do legacy in act 2 while she's still alive hawke comes to her, tentatively asking if malcolm ever spoke to her about any of it -- clearly requesting some sort of emotional support or help to make sense of it. she then expresses her side of it, but never once does she say anything to the effect of 'hey that was a lot to go through, are you okay after all that?'.

instead she essentially hands them the responsibility of having a good life, to repay what malcolm did for all of them. and in theory that's not the worst takeaway I suppose, malcolm probably would want them all to be happy, but in the moment it only feels like more expectation heaped upon you somehow? especially since you don't really get to express anything about how it made you feel before she goes to the 'ah no use complaining' zone (after SHE got to express her grief at feeling like she's losing more and more of that old life, and hawke barely got to say anything fhsfalkjfs). in general she really doesn't do much like. parenting, does she haha. there is so much love there in that relationship, and yet so little comfort. Oh, those days. All of us, in that simple place. Well, that's neither here nor there, is it. This life, we have to make the best of it. And thanks to you, and him, I will. Oh well, mum, I'm uh. I'm glad you feel better after that, at least. Nice to be of service.

it's varric's ghost-leandra who actually acknowledges what a burden hawke has taken on, that shows an understanding of why they're doing it, acknowledges the loss they've been through and also reassures them in their sense of belonging that still can't be taken from them, despite it all -- The best of him is still with you. The best of all of us. It's what makes you try so hard. You'll always have that. We'll always be family. (you can't take 'loved' away, huh.) you get a bit more of a reconciliation/reconnection between hawke and their dad's memory by being reminded he got like this too, you know (implicitly you're not alone). varric through leandra is the one who tells them what they probably would have wanted and needed to hear from a parent right then -- It's going to be alright. that's what Hawke, The Champion means to everyone else, and for once they get to be the one to hear it. except only in a kind dream that never really happened. I. it. hmmmmmm. crushing. that is crushing. but also so incredibly tender from varric's side, and so moving to me that he's seen all this stuff and so desperately wants to give them that comfort. anyway DA2 is about love in some of the realest and thus messiest and most human ways I've ever seen and it makes my brain go wild it's my favorite game of all time goodnight

#I don't even know what I'm saying anymore folks please just. accept this. it makes no sense/compels me though etc. #dragon age meta #dragon age #dragon age 2 #hawke #leandra amell #honestly someone should do an analysis of the mother figures of DA2 because oh BOY something is up here #elthina and all her talk of the chantry as a 'gentle mother' very much included #as I believe terry pratchett once wrote: #That's Nature for you in a nutshell. Always dealing off the bottom of the pack. No wonder they called her a mother.

[vaspider]

Pete Buttigieg is not the fucking point.

Truly amazed at the people whose big takeaway from that thread is "you hate Pete Buttigieg" like buddy did you not... read... all of it?

I genuinely don't give a shit about Pete himself. If you think this is about Democratic self-devouring or whatever the fuck, please mentally substitute Ellen or George Takei or Rachel Maddow or your favorite Other Respectable Gay. I hear some dude named Rubin is even a conservative who is getting turned on for adopting a baby? I don't know who he is and I don't care (do not tell me, I do not care) but if it makes you feel better, substitute any of those names.

I think the ones that actually make me sad are the people who keep insisting that 70% of people support gay marriage, and that I'm just 'acting out my trauma', and we won't see things turn against us, we're perfectly safe now, how dare I say that cishets won't put themselves out for us when it counts, it's different now.

Honey, 99% of people want tomorrow to go on pretty much like today, and what they'll support when it doesn't cost them anything has nothing to do with what they'll support when it does. Those of us telling you 'we were abandoned before, and we were the ones who took care of us then' aren't telling you because we're incorrigibly bitter misanthropes. I am annoyingly hopeful, actually, and in love with humanity and the beauty of life. Seriously, I have to write poems about it because I love the universe and all of humanity so fucking much. One of the things I love about humanity is its fragility and its uncertainty. I love the ways in which we fail.

And humans, over and over again, turn our eyes away from tragedy.

If you are lucky enough to have cishet friends and family who will put themselves out for you when it really matters, that is fucking fantastic. That's not nearly universal, and I'm afraid that you're going to find out sooner rather than later that it's far less universal for you than you'd like to believe.

At the end of the day, you can believe me or not about all of this. You can say that I'm just a bitter old transfag, an angry old dyke, a traumatized old queer if it lets you sleep better at night, if it allows you to just close your eyes and say 'this is all going to be fine, because 70% of people support marriage equality!' and get some rest. I can't make you pay attention.

And the thing is? I'd love to be wrong. I would absolutely love for every cishet who has ever said "one of them" or said "well, I mean, I just don't want to see it, they can do whatever they want in private" or whatever to turn out to be the raddest fucking ally the world has ever seen. I know it can happen! My in-laws went from being Baptist homophobes to getting weekly chatty update phone calls from the two trans women refugees from Latin America who they housed and helped get their papers sorted and who are now living in New York and call them Mom and Dad. Like, truly, it can fucking happen!

But you can't count on that from the vast majority of people, because when it comes down to it, most people want tomorrow to go on pretty much like today. You're much more likely to be able to count on someone with a dog in the hunt.

More than that, though, the point of that essay -- which, when people miss it, they miss it so hard that it feels deliberate, honestly -- is that all of our bullshit infighting doesn't mean dick. I've been saying that for years, begging people to think inclusively about our community, begging people to stop all the bullshit infighting because I could see this shit fucking coming, you didn't need to be Cassandra to see it coming but sometimes I felt like I was screaming until my throat was horse, the fucking tsunami is coming, it's coming, motherfuckers, can't you see the way the water is pulling back?

And here we are, and all the arguing about whether bi lesbians are "valid" doesn't matter, and everyone's attempt to gatekeep butch and femme doesn't matter, and everyone's arguments about whether neopronouns are bad doesn't fucking matter because we are all just fags, dykes and trannies to them, they do not care for one fucking second about any of this. None of them care for one second about our infighting. No one is going to stop and ask you what your orientation is so they can call you the right slur when they're gaybashing you, kids. They. Don't. Care.

So now here we are, and people are acting like the point of the essay is that I wanted to call one particular dude a fag, rather than that it doesn't matter how perfectly primed you are to fit into Respectable WASP Society, it is your queerness which is objectionable. It is your gayness. It is your transness. It is your bisexuality, your asexuality, your lesbianism. You will never be granted rights and respectability. You have to defend your rights, and stop giving a shit about respectability as a metric of whether or not someone deserves them.

I mean, for fuck's sake, some Iowa voters tried to withdraw their caucus support once they realized that Pete was gay. It literally fucking happened. There's video. Someone they supported above all the other candidates in the Iowa primary was immediately disqualified for them to the point where they tried to retract their support the minute they found out he was gay.

That's the fucking point. I don't care who you use as your Proxy Respectable Gay.

Pete Buttigieg is not the fucking point.

[txttletale]

so when Palestine fights back by killing civilians, including children, you go: it's justified

but when Russia invades Ukraine and kills civilians, including children, and Ukraine fights back in defense, you go, Ukraine should settle for peace

and you say Israel can just stop the occupation, they have that power and then they could avoid their civilians dying by simply deciding to that, yet you don't see that the Ukraine war stop just as "easily", by Russia stopping the invasion. They invaded, they started the war, just like Israel occupied Palestine, they are the one who can stop it

I know these are two different situations but I cant help but notice how different your approaches are, like adjusting your theory according to who is attacking who.

also, you said it would be strategically impossible (im paraphrasing you) for Russia to stop their invasion, well, wouldn't it also be strategically impossible for Israel to stop their occupation.

Also, if Ukraine settle for peace (I want them to, I generally agree with your points on the topic) and Russia gains something from it (as their peace treaty will most definitely assign a lot of Ukraine land to Russia), then Russia gets the message that invading other countries is successful and a good way to go about things. I mean, obviously the peace work will begin after they settle for peace, preferably working with Russia, im just curious to hear your thoughts.

English isnt my first language but I hope you understand

volodymyr zelensky might have something to say about this comparison. obviously to be clear his comparison is fucking ridiculous, but is illustrative of a key difference--that all of the force of NATO are arrayed behind ukraine (a privilege not enjoyed by palestine) and that the government of ukraine is aligned with NATO rather than its own people--which is why it's selling everything that's not nailed down to the predatory west.

i do of course think that russia should stop the invasion! i respond flippantly to most people asking this because they rarely ask in good faith, but let me say it unequivocally--i'm a communist, i think that the fall of the soviet union was a tragedy and the oligarchic mafia state that rose from its ashes is an insult to everything it stood for. putin is a far-right anticommunist and the oligarchs that he represents are scum. in the case of russia vs. ukraine, russia is straightforwardly the agressor and it would be a good thing if russia withdrew immediately.

but when i talk about the need for a peace settlement, i'm not (no matter how much nationalists and the NATO fandom will yell that i am) advocating for an unconditional ukrainian surrender. i'm talking about the maximalist positions about 'punishing russia' and ensuring some imaginary total defeat that the NATO bloc advocate for and push the ukrainian position towards. the US and their allies have made no secret of they fact that they seek to prolong the war, use it as an opportunity to open ukraine up to US investors, and don't care about ukrainian casualties:

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

& ultimately, there is the fact that i (and almost all my followers) live in the imperial core--as communists there is nothing any of us can do to push russia towards peace. that's a task for the russian communist and peace movements. what we can do, however, is obstruct and protest NATO's involvement in the war. this is what the union of ukrainian communists have said in their statement on the war:

We appeal to the Russian workers as a fraternal class, bearing all the burdens of war on its shoulders, also suffering from impoverishment, unemployment, and the elimination of fundamental rights and freedoms: seek the defeat of the bourgeois power in Russia, turn your weapons against the Russian oligarchs and their political acolytes. We are ready to fight with you to turn the imperialist war into a class war against the power of capital and for the communist revolution. We appeal to the workers of the countries belonging to NATO: To stop the threat of the destruction of humankind in the nuclear clash of imperialist war is only possible in a struggle not for abstract peace, but for the overthrow of the power of the bourgeoisie of their countries, who are waging these wars and profiting from them. Work for the defeat of the bourgeois governments and the NATO bloc in this war, put forward the task of turning the war between nations into a war between classes, turn the weapons produced by workers' hands not against the workers of other countries, but against the capitalists of your own countries, against their power.

—Union of Communists of Ukraine, On The War And The Tasks Of The Working Class

so--people in the west are powerless to do anything to prevent or weaken russian imperialism, short of supporting their own imperialist powers--which, if you care at all about human life or the working class, is robbing peter to pay paul. however, those same bourgeois western governments are the ones supporting the israeli genocide--this is a case in which the Western proletariat can and should mobilize to suppress the imperialism and colonialism of the aggressor, because they live in countries that directly support it.

of course, there are also massive differences in the actual circumstances of the relations between russia and ukraine--russia is not, for example, built on stolen ukrainian land, nor is ukraine an open-air concentration camp whose water and electricity are provided by russia only sparingly, nor has ukraine seen in peacetime regular brutal massacre, invasion, bombing, and murder as palestine does every single year of so-called 'peace' that passes between israel and palestine. the situation of 'peace' between russia and ukraine before 2022 was not one of totally intolerable one-sided massacre, as the situation of 'peace' between israel and palestine has been.

as such, there are in fact multiple parties who can pursue peace in ukraine, including parties that we, communists in the West--who are the people i blog as and for--can pressure and organize against effectively. there is only one party that can pursue peace in israel. the situation is not comparable, either on its face or in the relation the West and as a result communists in the West have to it.

#ask #tbc i know abotu the war in the donbass #which is still not in any way comparable to the situation in gaza or the west bank

[thesmpisonfire]

Okay so, I wanna talk about my sonboy Richas, my guy Felps, their relationship, and everything about yesterday as well

So, lets go :D

First thing, Felps actually really don't like taking care of Richas when he's without his armor

Felps has the terrible memory of being the one (together with Cellbit) to watch Richas first death. The three were at a cave and Felps and Cellbit were taken down first and had to watch Richas getting swarmed and die far from their grasp

The death was reverted, but still, when Felps logged in next time, Richas had JUST died to the bull again, so he already had 1 life. It was the very same day, just a couple hours after. Felps always reinforced about the armor, to the point he didn't let Richas take it off even when safe at Foolishs place when he could see Leo didn't wear it

Felps fucking loves that kid, he's just the quieter dad. He won't scream that much, when he panics, he shuts down and focus on the problem. He's the best dad to talk about feelings and often is the one who talks Richas out of his spiraling self deprecating thoughts, while other dads don't have the same touch

Felps has the patience to talk with Richas and hear Richas points. He always is the one talking him into a shower even if it takes a whole trip beforehand so Richas can have fun before it. He sings a lil song to get him through a shower. Ever since he came back from the lab, he trusts Richas a lot with his own strength, he knows Richas can defend himself even better than Felps can defend himself

It means a lot that Felps is the only dad Richas will listen to more easily, even if sometimes it takes a lot of talk and bargain to do so. Richas is a difficult kid, he channels all his sadness and pain into being silly and overly courageous, which means he will be a disobedient kid, he will put himself in danger, he won't listen to his dads if he can make a joke about it and it has been getting worse lately

Richas is Not doing okay, he's constantly scared of losing the ones he love, he feels easily replaceable which makes him panic and act out in 'jealousy'. He has said before he fears his siblings don't really like him and it's why he always wants to have family around, he knows he's a problem and has even apologized to Bad about it once. He thinks he can't express his love through words when he has written so many beautiful things, he paints bc its how he thinks he can better translate his care

Yesterday, after Bad took him and Felps to the graveyard and out of it, Richas went back with Felps and put some flowers around their graves. A small talk started when Felps wondered if the dead eggs were looking down at them, but also couldn't really believe it because they'd be too far up there to actually see anything. Richas then said how people used to tell him Bobby was up in between the stars, but they stopped telling him that 'story'. Then, this talk happened

"Do you think they'd [Dead eggs Richas never met] like me?"

"Ofc they would! Everyone loves you! They'd love you, Richas"

"If I had died today, would I meet them?"

Felps goes quiet for a couple seconds here, then goes back to talking

"Maybe, maybe not. We can never be sure, Richas. What if you died and it's just nothing after, huh? It's a big bet. You can't keep thinking like that and then go throw yourself in front of a zombie horse to find out if they're at the other side"

"Yeah, I wouldn't be able to annoy all the dads, it wouldn't be worth it... I'd miss you all so much" (He used the word saudade)

"Awwn... But you would be dead, Richas. We would be the ones missing you, we would be the ones staying behind"

And to me this is a very telling moment. Because Richas didn't realize people would miss him as well, he just thought about how he'd miss being with the others. He also says how he'd be in hell, missing his family but also laughing at tragedy. When Felps asks why hell, Richas goes "You really think I'd end up in heaven? With the way I am?"

Felps spends the rest of the stream hyping Richas up, telling him how much he's loved and how much everyone cares for him. Felps manages to get through Richas after a while, and they have a nice moment together. Richas already arrived to the square without armor, after having recently argued with Forever about it, and Felps didn't mind bc that area was all lightened up so less mobs were spawning, plus the aforementioned trusts he has on Richas

No one expected the horse because it came from outside the square, right out the border, and literally fell on top of them. Felps was quick to go after it, and Richas was caught out of surprise and got height damage as well, eating through 2 totems (and also having to switch out the other ones from his hand due to the rule)

Felps was smart about the horse, he always hit up high so there wouldn't be any risk of a misclick, he hit crit after crit pushing the horse away so he could better kill it without risking Richas, and he did it! I understand BBHs scare but everything was already solved and Richas was halfway being revived already

If anything, the trip to the cemetery scared Felps more than it did Richas. Richas is well used to the threat of death, he plays with it by jumping into mines and purposefully walking without armor around Forever. But Felps isn't. He wants his kid safe, he wants him alive. Felps was willing to never come back if it meant Richas could have an extra life, he would die over and over for that kid

After everything, he talked with Richas, and the kid didn't rlly need to be convinced to wear his armor now that he knew how the square can be tricky. Felps didn't need to yell, or compare Richas to anyone, or play lil games. Just a talk, and Felps' trust that Richa would now do his part, and he did!

Each mob they encountered next, Richas and Felps stayed side by side. Felps let Richas kill them first bc he knows Richas likes it, but always helping and telling him how he was doing it well. When they were rowing around later in the boat, music playing, Felps went on about how it was all that mattered

Richas was alive, Felps was alive, they got a scare but they were okay now. And it was all worth it for these calm, happy moments. These were the ones that should be remembered, the ones that made it all worth it

#qsmp #felps #q!richarlyson

[alphabetboyluvr]

THROTTLE - JJK | EIGHT

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

warnings - welcome one and all to the chapters that made some of my wattpad girlies stop reading throttle, you have been warned! mentions of drugs. jungkook wears a key around his neck and it ain't for a door! solo masturbation (m). enter stage left: cc @ yoongi's door. infidelity (boo), dry humping (yay), yoongi has a choking kink (?), he cums in his pants <3 back for round two! not all that explicit, oral (f), he's so talkative <3, protected sex, incredibly sombre aftermath!! v satisfying end to the chapter IMO!!

word count - 16.5k

minors dni // series masterlist

It surprises everyone when Jungkook is the first to speak. He stands, shoulders broadening like a fallen angel unfolding its wings, and then he's back.

The man you once knew? It's undeniably him. He's still just as powerful in his stature as he always was, just as handsome, just as life-threateningly attractive.

For a second - only a moment, barely even a millisecond - you let yourself indulge in the chime your stomach has been subduing.

It's just the same as it always has been.

He's different now, though. So vastly different, you question whether or not you would have recognised him in the street.

His hair is dark, and it doesn't frame his face in the way it used to. Shame. You used to love getting your fingers tangled in it. It's pushed back now, the fury in his dark brows as clear as day. They're missing a piercing, which you'll admit is a bitter loss, but the lip ring is still there, at least.

You don't let yourself think about the one on his tongue. Haven't thought about it for weeks. Months.

Only because every time you do, you force yourself to think about roadkill instead. It's the only way you can get it out of your head. Does now mean that when you see roadkill, you think about him. Fitting, really, given the tragedy of your time spent together.

Instead of letting him know just how fucked up he still gets you, you simply raise a brow in his direction. Your back sinks into the chair you've poised yourself on, and you cross your arms, imploring him to speak the fuck up.

Part of him doesn't want to, just as 'fuck you' to your prissy rich bitch attitude. He'd forgotten about this; how much a little cunt you'd been when the pair of you had first met. Back then, it had gotten his interest piqued. Kept him coming back for more. Was the thing that got him cumming, full stop.

But now, it just feels vindictive.

And so he decides to be just as much of a vindictive swine back.

"No one's been looking for you," he says as his eyes burn into you - and yet you remain perfectly cool. Calm. Unaffected.

There was a time, a few moons ago, when a look like this from Jungkook would have surely killed you. Now, it's just all very laughable.

"Eunhee's never been much of a liar, Jungkook," you smile, glad to have checked in with her before heading to the boxing club. Maybe he did stop showing up at your door two months ago, but it was enough of a weapon to use against him.

"That senile old bat?" He laughs, and you remember just how mean he could be. It's a trait that you'd pushed to the side in your memories, all rose-tinted and sweet. The reality makes those memories a lot easier to swallow, the salt from his words diluting the sugar. "Wouldn't take her as a credible source."

The air around the pair of you is stale; unpleasant. It reeks of desperation. Desperate for what? It's debatable. Nothing good, that's for sure.

Quite literally everyone in the room is uncomfortable.

Everyone except for the pair of you.

See, this is a back and forth you've perfected. The way you bicker - the way you taunt one another - used to be foreplay. He'd rile you up just ruin you.

It's electric. Jungkook wonders what has more volts - your shared energy, or the taser he's pretty sure you've got hidden in your bag. You're too smart to come somewhere like this completely defenceless.

He's just as smart as you, though. Reads your moves, and knows exactly what to predict. Maybe it's not a form of intelligence that will do any good, but he's spent so long studying you that it would be impossible for him to not be an expert by this point.

He could write an encyclopedia about you; a dictionary based on your vocabulary.

He'd file himself under 'asshole', and would hope you'd reassign him to 'inamorato'. You wouldn't. If anything, you'd place him in a pile of discards; words unused by you for so long that you've forgotten their significance in your life.

If he were to have his own dictionary, he'd file you under cocotte. CC for short. But he'd draw fucking hearts in the margins, and crack the spine from just how often he looked at your page. Might just rip it out and keep it in his wallet like a passport photo.

"Credible source?" You smirk, ruby red lips pouting in a way that feels new to him. They're slightly different, he thinks. The shape is the same, but they seem poutier. The product of fillers, maybe. He never thought you'd be one to go down that route, but he's questioning everything he knew about you as the lights of the club reflect in the diamond on your finger. He's blinded by it; blindsided by you. "Surely this isn't Jeon Jungkook talking about credibility? About trust? That'd be a first."

"Watch your fuckin' mouth," he snaps, and it's clear you've hit a nerve. Good. "Got shit to say? Say it, then get fuckin' gone, C."

And, oh, it's painful. So gloriously painful.

The way you don't falter is the worst part. The name given to you in the sanctuary of his car lingers on his tongue, his lips ajar. There's no crease between his brow, eyes just as round and inviting as they always had been.

You think he's baiting you. Think he's trying to get your defences down. You don't realise that his defences actually are - not until he knocks his head to the side, flicking a switch as his glare returns.

"I think what Jungkook is trying to say," Jin speaks up, knowing that there'll be no resolution without a mediator. He can feel the energy between the pair of you. The vibrations run deep and jagged, stained in red and echoing regret. "Is that we aren't aware there was business to discuss?"

You turn to face Jin, but let your eyes linger on Jungkook for just a second longer before you address his friend. Handsome, you think. Incredibly handsome, in fact.

You've always thought Jungkook was the most beautiful thing about Daegu, but you might change your mind. All you need is this new guy - the one with plump lips and shoulders that eclipse Jungkook's - to glare at you. See if it gets you searing under the collar, hot between your legs, like Jungkook's glare does.

Many men before have looked at you with suspended disbelief, agitation curving around their brow bones. It's nothing new. The way that Jungkook's glare could have gotten you on your knees? That was new to you.

"Nor was I - or at least, I wasn't. Not until Jungkook told me about that little plan of yours a few months ago," you say as you smile at Jin, all pleasant and performative."But I'm very selective about who I invest my time in."

You don't have to look at Jungkook for him to know that he should take your next statement personally.

"I've no time for little boys running around playing cops and robbers. I conduct my business exactly like that; like a business. I make negotiations, I make deals. Sign contracts - and I'd never hire someone without running a background check. Can get yourself into a whole world of trouble if you don't know who someone really is."

"You're planning on employing us?" Namjoon pipes up, the prospect of a hefty payday sounding like music to his ears.

"Not employing," you say. There's more you could divulge. So much more. But it's time for baby steps, now. No use in getting ahead of yourselves. "Think of it more like... entering a partnership. A mutually beneficial agreement."

"Your appearance on TV today," Jin says, the most analytical of the bunch, trying to figure you out. "How would that help to aid your negotiations?"

You smile. It's quite simple, really.

"That was to stop you from thinking you could ever fucking touch me."

There's more venom than you intend there to be behind your words, but you haven't quite healed from the last invasion of your autonomy. You're still disgusted but how easily you were manipulated into thinking that Jungkook ever gave a fuck about you. If they think they're ever getting the chance of getting that close again, they're sorely mistaken.

"The world is watching boys," You continue. "One wrong move, and the world will be asking: what happened to her? It's my way to keep you in check. Anyways, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Who do you work for?"

"Who do you work for?" Jungkook spits back.

"Myself. Answer my question."

Jin takes the reins from Jungkook. "We're not at liberty to say."

"Fine," you shrug, getting to your feet. You're here to talk with men, not boys. If they can't make decisions for themselves, then what's the point? "I'll be on my way then. Time is money boys, and if you aren't willing to give me a dime, then it's not worth it for me. I don't need you."

"Yeah, well, if you don't need us, then why the fuck are you here?"

The way Jungkook's nostrils flare amuses you. Let's you know the real question he's asking: If you don't need me, why did you come back? Back here, specifically?

It's a good question. One you wish you had a solid answer for.

"There are rats all over this city," you tell them, thinking that it'd be best to choose at least a half-truth. "I don't know many of them, not well. Not personally. Don't know you fuckers personally, either - very rude of you, by the way, to break into my apartment like that. I'm sure Jungkook could have just told you the code - but anyways, I digress. I know how you operate, to a certain degree."

"Oh, yeah?" Jungkook questions, doubting that very much. "How do we operate?"

"Like fucking idiots," you say with a voice as flat as his tyres after a few too many burnouts. "You send in unprepared fuckers who think with their dicks instead of their brains."

Jungkook scoffs, but the rest of them wave their heads a little, contemplating the fact that you're entirely correct.

"I know your weak spots," you say, but choose not to elaborate on the fact that you were once Jungkook's. You sit back down; an act of defiance for the fact that Jungkook quite clearly doesn't want you there. "And I know some of your strengths. I also know that we have a mutual interest in the downfall of my father. Might not trust you fuckers as far as I can throw you, but I trust that your feelings towards him won't have changed all that much in three months."

"Yours seem to have changed," Jungkook notes all rather bitterly, and it makes you laugh.

You lean forward in your seat, elbow resting on your knee, chin in your palm. Your ring glistens in the light, but Jungkook ignores it. Wishes he could ignore you, full-stop, but he can't take his eyes off you. Deprived for so long, he doesn't know when he'll get this luxury again.

The fact that you're in the boxing club alone - unprotected, despite it all - should be indication enough that your feelings towards your father haven't changed. Why risk it? Why put yourself in a circumstance where you could be used against him if you weren't willing for that to happen?

"Look at you," you smile, but it's laced in contempt. "Finally making assumptions of your own. I'm proud. You got a little way to go, though, baby. You're missing the mark. Give it some time and you'll be able to make assumptions that check out."

The pet name is delivered with such ease that Jungkook almost doesn't notice it. It's the look in your eyes that really delivers it, the chaos and confusion you're conveying in one simple smirk.

"Like yours did when we first met?" He says with a raised brow, thinking you've never made an accurate assumption in the whole entire time he's known you.

"I assumed you were a cunt. Ding, ding, ding. Always right."

This earns a snicker from Namjoon, who can admittedly see why Jungkook liked you so much. There's something about you that gets the heart rate going; gets people interested in what you have to say.

Jungkook says nothing. Rolls his eyes, and grates his jaw. Doesn't see any point in conversing if you're just gonna be a bitch. He always knew you were like this, but he'd managed to chip away at your softer side and had somehow forgotten just how hard your exterior is.

You've fortified it, now though. Built your defences up. It's been three months, and you've not wasted a day. Naive of him to think you would have. You're your father's daughter after all.

"Look," you turn to Jin, still pretty and poised, but this time there's an air of sincerity to your words. "I'm waving a white flag here. You fuckers are lucky I came to your first. Might not trust anyone else in the city, but I don't trust you either. Thing is, boys, I'm traceable. If you try and do anything to me now, you fuckers'll get caught."

"So why would we want to do business with you?" He questions, incredibly curious. He thought after everything with Jungkook, that'd be the last you would see of him.

"Cause I was always traceable, you silly cunts. Do you think just cause I wasn't on speaking terms with my dad, that that was it? The moment you did the raid, I was back on his radar. I'm your connection. I'm your way in," you say, gesturing to yourself to really drive it home how important you could be for them. "If you want to bring him down - if you want to take him for all that he's worth - then you need someone on the inside. You need me. Honestly, the fact you thought a ransom situation would work is laughable, but it just shows you're lucky to have brains now to go with your brawn."

"We haven't agreed to anything," Jin reminds you. There's a warmth to his voice that contrasts the atmosphere within the room.

"No, but you will."

"Why?" Jungkook interrupts, eyes narrow, voice scornful. He's picking at the sides of his fingers, chipping away at hangnails.

"Cause what more do you have to lose, huh?" You shrug. "You're Kang's bitches, now. Wouldn't you rather be mine? I give great employee perks."

The way your eyes dance around the room, from man to man, and eventually land on Jungkook's is deliberate. He knows this, and he lets it get to him.

"What would they be?" Namjoon scoffs, unaware of your innuendo. It's kind of sweet, how naive he is.

And so naturally, you shatter all illusion of innocence.

"Ask Jungkook."

There's silence. No one quite knows how to reply.

No one except Jungkook.

"Ring on your finger be happy with you saying that?"

And for the first time, you're rattled. You hadn't expected him to mention it.

"That's of none of your concern," you shrug. Now's not the time to let him get to you - but the way you rabbit on afterwards is evidence enough that he has. "I'm not here to be interrogated. I'm extending an olive branch; giving you the chance to earn the money you were so desperately trying to make from me. You get your money, I get my father's downfall on a silver platter."

The way you look at Jungkook is unfamiliar. It's as cold and frigid as the winter nights you used to stow away with him in his car; breath clouding in the freezing temperatures despite the warmth in your heart.

A few months ago, such a look from you would have destroyed him. Absolutely decimated his entire sense of belonging. Life wouldn't have been worth living.

Now? It feels like a luxury. A sinful indulgence. He's been deprived for so long he'll take even the smallest hit of whatever you'll give him - and even when it's fleeting, your attention is like crack fucking cocaine.

It's not just your hair or your gaze that has changed. In fact, a lot about you has. There's a hollowness to your cheeks now that there wasn't before; a slight gauntness.

Without the convenience store snacks to keep you going, you actually had to eat decently. Having someone to go home to also meant that your junk diet had to be replaced with something more... appropriate for a woman in her twenties. No more eating like a teenager.

Your loss of appetite in the aftermath of Jungkook's revelation had certainly helped with this, and if anything, you've gained weight over the last few weeks - but you're still not as soft as you once were. He can see it in your cheeks. Saddens him, a little.

Has him thinking about what you could look like beneath those clothes of yours. Wonders if his hands will still fit your waist perfectly, or if your tits will still overspill in his palms just how he liked it. Considers that maybe they won't. Maybe he'll never get the chance to find out.

You think Jungkook looks colder. It's funny, cause the weather has heated up quite considerably, but it's never been frostier between the pair of you.

Getting to your feet, you brush down the tops of your thighs to straighten any creases. You've still got a persona to keep up, even when it's dark outside.

"You can discuss it amongst yourselves," You sigh as begin to head for the door, heels clicking as beneath your feet. There's something about the sound that you just adore. Maybe it's the repetition. Maybe it's the way it drowns out the chime in your stomach as you walk past the man you once thought you... No, you think. That's not right. The man you used to fuck. Much better. "I don't care, either way. I need an answer by the end of the week, or I'll find someone else. You aren't special. Plenty of other fuckers in the city who want to make a quick buck. Plenty of others who hate my father for one reason or another. You just had the balls to try it first."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Jungkook calls after you.

He's disappointed when you simply call back, "you don't."

There's more to be said, he thinks. More to discuss.

So he follows you to the parking lot. None of the other boys do. They already know they aren't welcome, and quite honestly, none of them wants to third-wheel such an awkward encounter. They'd already filled their quota for the day.

As he enters the dreary parking lot, he notices a car that's unfamiliar. It's a Merc. Black. Matte. Not too standard around these parts. Fuckin nice, though. He's impressed. Makes a mental note to ask you about the spec some other time.

"Hey, honey." You speak pleasantly into your phone as you pace around, not realising Jungkook's presence yet. He doesn't speak up. Too curious about who this honey could be. "Yeah, Just heading to Jieun's now. I'll be a couple of hours. Okay, okay. Love you, too."

Jungkook pretends like he didn't hear that bit. Does a terrible job of it - but at least he tries.

When you clock him, you couldn't be less bothered if you tried. So what if he heard you on the phone? It's up to him if he reads into it or not.

"You wanna know you can trust me?" You raise a brow, reading his suspicions of you.

Jungkook remains silent. He'll pretend it's to preserve his hard exterior, but in reality, it's to save himself from admitting the truth: he'd trust you with his life.

"I just lied," you continue. "I'm not going to Jieun's. I'm going to Yoongi's. Can follow me if you like. We both know it wouldn't be the first time. I'll be transparent with you - but don't think for a second that I trust you back."

"Yoongi's", Jungkook nods. Remembers the way Yoongi used to look at you. Remembers how he once thought that he was competition. More fool him for ever thinking you actually cared. You've a ring on your finger, now. Neither of you were ever competing, apparently. And if you were? Fell at the first hurdle. "What's that then? A little extra marital fun?

You smile insincerely. "Not married yet."

"So?"

"So even if it was, Jungkook, you're not the one who put this ring on my finger. You've no right to an opinion."

"And I never would have given you a ring," he says, as if he thinks his lack of interest in you could hurt you any more than it already had.

"Never would have wanted you to," you shrug, both of you as good at feigning disinterest as one another.

There's something about him though that has you curious. Has you feeling like you're being challenged. It's just like it was when you first met. The words you speak are laced with disgust, but the burning in your eyes can only be described as desire. He hates how easy it is for him to get like this around you. Hates that you know exactly what you can do to him.

He's realising now that you're far more in control of your feelings than he ever thought you were. He only ever saw you so vulnerable because you chose that. You let him. He's shut out now, and he doesn't like it.

But he does like the smile resting on your pretty lips as you walk towards him.

The way you encroach on his physical space has him hitching his breath in his throat, as if he's terrified to breathe around you. It's fitting, given the way you make him feel like he's drowning.

It's more than that, though.

What he truly fears is inhaling your perfume. smelling your shampoo. He's terrified of what it will do to him if he learns your hair still smells like gasoline. Even more petrified of how he'll feel if he learns that you don't smell like it anymore, mind you.

It's when you extend your index finger and hook it beneath his necklace that he really begins to lose his mind.

"Yanno," you say so quietly he has no choice but to edge just a tiny bit closer. Raising the key to be level with your eyes, you study it, watching the way the tiny crystals almost sparkle in the moonlight. You know they don't. It's just an illusion. If you had to guess - had to assume - you'd say coke. It's the only thing you can imagine him doing. His eyes are focused down on you, lashes long, gaze stern. "You should have told me you like coke."

Jungkook stays silent as you look up towards him, your lips laced in seduction. He knows better than to let you succeed, but - fuck - it's so hard not to. Whatever you're doing has an ulterior motive. It has to.

"Bumping coke's gonna ruin that pretty little nose of yours," you note.

"The fuck would you know about it?" he scoffs, but doesn't pull away. Can't bring himself to. All he can think about is the way your lips look. The difference in them is minimal, but they're definitely plumper. Have to be. Or maybe he just wants to kiss you more than he ever has done.

Your lips part as you lay your tongue flat and press the key to it.

Jungkook swallows, the lump in his throat swollen and intrusive. You wait a second. Wait for two. Then twist the key and dab the other side against your tongue.

"Takes longer if you swallow it," he whispers. "Snorting is much more cost-effective."

"Maybe so," you shrug, releasing the key from your mouth before pressing it against his chest with a slight push. "But you can't go around wearing Class A evidence like that, you silly prick. I meant what I said," you trail off to a whisper, stepping even closer towards him. He doesn't back away. Quite the opposite. He edges a little closer too. He knows he shouldn't - knows you're just baiting him - but god what a temptress you are. "I need to know I can trust the men I work with. I can't have you getting thrown into jail just for the fun of it. I need you clean."

There's something different about that last command. A softness. A plead. Your eyes linger on his, and then you pull away from the magnetism of his being.

"Stay off the drugs, Kook. A deviated septum looks sexy on no one."

And you're right.

But it doesn't really matter. The coke was just a pass time until his favourite drug came back to town. He's one hit down, and thinks the high will last him all fucking week.

The buzz perseveres. He's so consumed by it that he can't recall the conversation he had with the boys before he left. Can barely fucking remember the drive home.

But as he strips himself bare in the quiet comfort of his apartment, he can remember you.

Can remember your eyes, and the way they engulfed him with the heat of your fury - but also the way they simmered. Lashes low, lids half closed, you'd looked at him like a fucking siren, and the memory of it had his tattooed hand stroking at his firm cock. He hadn't been able to get like this since you'd left. Had tried on more than one occasion. Never managed to see it through. Would feel sick after a pump or two.

It's different now. His wrist flicks and his hand works his shaft, head thrown back into his pillows. His hips pulse, desperate for more friction, his own palm a shitty compromise after the luxury of your pussy.

It's when he's thinking of you that he gets breathless. Starts to moan. Wanks himself even faster. Harder. "Shit, C."

The term of endearment sounds so fucking sweet on his tongue. Has his torso tensing. Ass too. The wave of an orgasm threatening to crash.

Driven by instinct, his strong fingers wrap tightly around his hardened length, stroking gently. Tilting his head back, eyes firmly closed, he lets pleasure wave over him as he rolls his hips up into his palm. A guttural moan escapes his wet mouth, his teeth finding their home on his bottom lip.

More. He needs more of you. Needs your hair in his face, the scent of gasoline suffocating him. Needs his lips around your nipples, hands grappling with your ass. He needs you here.

All he's got - the only thing he's got - are his memories. His body writhes beneath him, the chain around his neck slipping from its position. There's little thought that goes into the way he moves the chain and holds the key tight between his teeth to keep it in place; nothing except the knowledge of your tongue licking against it earlier.

And then his lips close around it. His teeth ease, and the key sinks onto his tongue, the chain taut on his chin. He slows the movement of his wrist for a second. Rolls it once. Twice. Tries his best to work out if he can taste you or not.

He can't, but he can't taste the coke either, which means you did exactly as you intended. He moans, vibrating around the small key, devouring the idea that he'd exchanging spit with you once again, in a way. He knows the truth of the matter couldn't be further away from that, but it feels so fucking forbidden.

Just like you always have been. You'll remain that way.

But as his torso grows damp with the release of his orgasm onto his abs, ropes of sperm that he wishes he could have fucked into you going to waste on his skin, he can help but let his mind run wild.

Can't help but wish for more.

And so it comes as no surprise when Jungkook arrives at the boxing club, bright and early the next morning and says, "I'm in."

────────────

There's a sheen to Yoongi's skin as he opens up his apartment door, damp from the shower that was shut off just a few moments prior. Hair wet and sticking to his forehead, you're surprised to find you're the one choking on your words.

And then he smiles.

Smiles as if he's just beaten the high score of an arcade game, smiles as if he's managed to reach the peak of Apsan just in time for sunset. He smiles, and it feels like he's fixing you up with gold; seeping into the cracks that Jungkook left in you.

"If you wanted me to cover your shifts, you could have just asked," he beams. It's the first time he's seen you in three months. "You didn't have to be all dramatic and quit on me like that."

His teeth are showing, and they only show more when you give him a light tap on the shoulder with a closed first. His body jolts back slowly, eyes eating you up like a souffle pancake after a month-long fast. He bites down on his bottom lip with those pretty pearly whites, and pushes his door a little further back to invite you inside.

"You know you like a girl who keeps you on your toes," you grin back at him.

"Coffee? Tea?" He asks as you cross the threshold. You both know he won't have any at home, and that he'll need to order it in, but the gesture is kind. He's kind. "On my toes, yes. Sprinting marathons just to keep up with her? Less so much."

"Wine? And you'll thank me for the cardio in later life," you assure him, and toy with a joke about other forms of cardio you could do together. It dances on the tip of your tongue, and you know that if you spoke it aloud, goosebumps would form on his bare arms - so you say nothing, instead. 

He'd be the perfect distraction, you think, nothing like the boy you're trying to forget. Kind, and handsome, and someone who actually gives a shit about you. 

Forget distraction. He'd be the perfect man. Or at least he would be if he wasn't so helplessly infatuated with you.

That's thing about Yoongi; he sees all the good in you, and ignores the bad.

He'll take your witty banter, but neglect to factor in how mean it can sometimes be. He'll watch you yawn at work, half-bored to death, but refuse to acknowledge the fact you could cure said boredom with the tasks on your to-do list, that you instead leave for the next shift worker. He revels in the beauty of your laugh, but apparently is deaf when he hears you bitching about customers who have done very little wrong.

You aren't a saint. Perhaps not a sinner, either, but you sure do feel a lot closer to one than you think you should.

For all his wrongdoings, Jungkook never once treated you like you were a saint. There was no pedestal beneath your feet when you kissed him; he'd stoop to your level.

He saw you exactly as you were, which is why it hurt so much when you realised you'd only ever seen a facade that he'd cooked up in the shitty back room of a boxing club.

Thoughts of him are dissolved with mindless chatter, Yoongi always so good at taking your mind elsewhere. He knows you in such a way that talking is easy. It never feels calculated, never feeling like you need to think about what you say. He'd never judge you for a single thing.

Perhaps he should. Perhaps if he'd have held his guard up a little higher, stood his ground a little firmer, then he wouldn't be so weak to the way you batter your lashes and give him coy looks in dull-lit rooms.

There's talk of the garage; the usual customers, your old boss, how late shifts drag without you there. He's quiet when you ask about Jieun. Just tells you she's all good. He changes the subject. Asks about your dad, and how the fuck you managed to keep that one quiet. 

You're surprised to find that honesty feels nice. 

Until, inevitably, it doesn't.

"You gonna tell me about the ring?" he eventually asks after you've both had a little wine to ease the tension of three months you've been away.

You don't drop your eyes from him, not even for a second. His damp hair is nearly fully dry, and he looks so comfortable in a pair of grey sweats and a white shirt, reclined on his sofa. Simplicity looks good on him.

You're still in business casual, tight dress hiked around the top of your thighs as you sit on his floor. It was always your default when you came to his place, for some reason always opting for the floor instead of next to him on the sofa. Always been concerned about keeping a little distance. Funny, how the one time the distance would be apt, you find yourself wanting to sit next to him instead. You don't, though. Not yet, at least.

"What of it?"

Yoongi looks at you like you're a little bit mad. He kind of thinks you are.

"It's on your ring finger."

"Oh?" you say with a small laugh. "Is it?"

His eyes narrow on yours, before they glance back down to the ring. The stone is clear, and if he were to guess, he'd assume it was diamond - but he'd never struck you to be the kind of girl who ever wanted diamonds. Opals, maybe. Emerald, topaz. Stones with a bit about them. Something interesting. Not a diamond. Of all things.

But perhaps he didn't know you as well as he thought he had done. Perhaps you really weren't the girl he had dreamt up in his head; the one that he spent hours upon hours daydreaming about after you left.

Funny, how both he and Jungkook would get lost for lifetimes thinking about you, but they were both so vastly different.

In Yoongi's you'd come back home, show up at the garage like no time at all had passed, and tell him that you were wrong all along. He's the one you want. He's the one you've been going crazy thinking about. He's the one you came back for.

Sometimes he thinks about that week you went to Busan. Thinks about what it could have been like if he'd been the one to take you. Thinks about how fucking good it could have been to experience life outside of the confines of work and your apartments together. He thinks and he thinks and he thinks. Occasionally he acts on those thoughts too, but he tries not to.

It all feels a little wrong.

But that's what he likes about it. The fact he knows he shouldn't be thinking about you when he's turned on just turns him on even more; so he finds himself thinking of you far more often than he should. Thinks of you when he's alone; his bedroom lights switched off, duvet pushed midway down his thighs, hands roaming down his body. He grazes his skin with the tips of his nails. Pretends it's you.

"What about you," you shrug, nodding towards the scrunchie that's looped around the neck of a wine bottle on the counter. "Don't think your hair's long enough for that."

"You'd be surprised," he grins, pleased to find you grinning back.

"Prove it," you flirt, getting to your feet to retrieve it.

Yoongi watches as you retrieve the scrunchie, and knows that he should tell you no.

He should say 'actually, that's my girlfriend's.'

But she's only ever been a distraction to stop him from thinking about you - and how can he think of anyone else when you're in his space, heels off, dark hair draped over your shoulders like fine silk?

In your heart of hearts, you know that the scrunchie means he has someone. The hair grips by the sink, the takeout containers for two next to the recycling, the fact his apartment is actually clean and tidy, too.

"Prove it?" He grins as you return to his sofa, but you don't sit. You stand in front of him. Keep your eyes on him. Wait as he adjusts a little, his leg unhooking from beneath the other so that his lap makes the perfect seat for you to sit upon.

And so you do. You hike your dress up. One of your knees rests down next to his thigh. You're tentative. Slow.

His hand strokes up the back of your thigh. He nods. Encourages you further onto his lap. When your second knee finds its home next to his other thigh, he nods again.

You're smiling as you lower your weight, ass perched on the tops of his thighs. There's a little distance between the pair of you. You're not as close as you could be. Proceeding with caution. His lips pouty, eyes pure. A paradox.

"Prove it," you nod, and your hands start to toy with his hair. He's smiling right back at you, enthralled with the flirt almost as much as he's enthralled with the way it feels to have your nails scratching against his scalp. "Gonna make your hair look so pretty."

It's unfair, he thinks, that you get to have your hands in his hair, but his aren't allowed in yours. Doesn't realise that you wouldn't object.

"Don't think you will," he simpers back, the hand of his that was on the back of your thigh now resting on top of it, stroking ever so gently. The touch is so gentle, so minimal, and yet it has you pulsing beneath the lace of your underwear.

There's a ring on your finger, and someone waiting for you at home, but no one's had you in a position this provocative since you jumped town. See, you're 'waiting'. 'Want it to be special'. Don't want to make the same mistakes you did last time the ring had been on your finger.

Or at least that's what you tell yourself, and your fiance seems to believe it - why else would he get down on one knee again?

"I definitely will," you banter as you wrap his hair up with the scrunchie. His hair sticks on end, like a tiny sprout, and he looks adorable. "Gonna make you look sooo pretty."

He frowns, but with a sparkle in his eyes that let you know he's just joking. "Done?"

"Done," you beam, giving it one final adjustment. There's a slight movement to your hips, too. Getting cosy. His hand sinks a little further up your thigh. You pretend not to notice it. "Prettiest sprout in the whole of Daegu."

"Only Daegu? There are prettier sprouts outside of Daegu?"

You shrug. "Maybe. We should enter you into the national pretty sprout competition."

He adjusts his hips, sitting up a little straighter. He moves you into a more comfortable position as he does so. You're closer now. So much closer.

"Think I could win?"

"Best in show, baby," you grin. "I'd win for best sprout stylist, though."

Laughter echoes around you, his smile so sweet, so saccharine that you think he must surely be made of sugarcane.

The way Yoongi looks at you is devastating. Eyes soft and round, they're glossy and wet. Earnest.

They drop to your lips, then return to your eyes. Repeat. His lashes flutter whenever he does so, and there's a reflection from his floor lamp that looks like a pretty little love heart in them.

So devastating. It's the kind of look people would write films about, all for that one shot of his eyes after the confession scene. The one that will go viral, the one that will be cited for years as 'the look', the one that would earn Min Yoongi a place in the heart of every young woman who watches it. Young men, too. Fuck it, anyone with a pair of working eyes.

He's got a look in them that makes you want to believe in love; but the fact you even have to think about it just proves that this could never be that.

"I'm using you," you tell him, knowing that honesty is all you can really give him. He deserves that much, at the very least. Deserves more, you think, so much more than you can ever be - but he doesn't want more. He just wants you.

He tries a little banter. "To win the competition? I know."

But you don't feel like bantering. You want him to know how much of a piece of shit you are. How much you only ever think of yourself. How selfish you can be.

There's a look on your face that is unfamiliar to him. A warning. I'm a hurricane; I will destroy you. It's one that he ignores.

"I know," he whispers back, seriously this time, his index finger tucking away strands of your hair that are hanging loose. Eyes focused on the movements of his fingers, he's too scared to look into yours. Shy, almost. Timid, and sweet, and everything that Jungkook's not. "And I'm letting you. I'm using you, too."

It's funny, because he really thinks he is. He thinks he's got control over the situation, that all this is happening because he chose for it to happen - as if you haven't been holding the cards this whole entire time. He's only winning because you're letting him win.

Part of you feels bad. You know that his feelings for you run deeper than your simple want to be wanted, and yet you don't try and rectify the situation. He's a grown man. He can make his own decisions. He can make his own mistakes.

The tentative tips of his fingers trail down your cheek, your neck. He pushes your hair over your shoulder, and presses a kiss against it.

His lips trail a little further up, ghosting your neck, occasionally pressing down. He's slow. Takes his time. Savours this; savours you.

You're surprised by the way it feels when Yoongi finally kisses you.

His lips are just as they should be, firm and soft, and when his tongue begins to trail across your bottom lip, you accept it into your mouth. There's silence in your sternum. You had expected that bell to chime like it so often did, but instead, there's just a small fizzle and pop, like a sparkler being dunked in a water cup. You can feel the fizzle, mind you, working its way down until you find yourself clenching.

This is good, you tell yourself. What you need.

Yoongi's tongue is slow as it licks into your mouth. He's working you out. Seeing how you taste, how it feels when your moans vibrate against him.

His hands tentatively begin to roam; hips pulsing beneath you. The weight of your body on top of his feels like a fucking crime. His fingers trail up your back. Tickle at your spine. Curve round your ribs and ghost the underside of your tits.

Your breath hitches, and all you can think about is him.

Your fingers clasp around Yoongi's, holding them in place, stopping them from moving further. He looks at you, head tilting when he realises yours is shaking. He's scared he's fucked it already.

"Just," you say quickly, noticing the panic in his eyes. "These," you gesture to your chest, not wanting to be specific but needing him to know. "Off limits. If that's okay?"

He nods. "Sure, of course. I'm sorry."

"No," you smile. "It's okay."

You could clarify. Could explain. Could make up some lie about how you don't like it, or how you're insecure, but Yoongi accepts your boundaries without question.

"Sure?" He asks, a little scared to venture further. He doesn't want to do the wrong thing. Doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, or make you feel like regretting your choices. He knows that he's probably only ever gonna get one shot at this, but he's gonna treat it like an audition for a permanent position. If he does well, maybe you'll want him again.

His hesitancy is sweet, you think. Endearing. Perhaps a little bit of a turn-off, but you don't seem to mind. You like that you can take of him just as much as he wants to take care of you.

The pace of his hips increases beneath you, your clothes aiding and abetting your crimes. It's not technically cheating if nothing happens. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself.

Sure, his cock is fucking solid beneath his sweats, trapped in the confines of his underwear, and - fuck it, fine - maybe you are so wet that you're leaving a small mark on his crotch from where it's seeped through - but it's nothing.

It's not like you're actually touching his dick. Your hands are exclusively in his hair, his pretty sprout long gone, the scrunchie now around your wrist.

And it's not like he's inside you, either - although he wishes he was. In fact, he's thinking about it when he begins whining into your mouth. Your hips are working against him, the friction getting you closer and closer an-

"God, you're gonna make- fuck, I'm gonna-" he rasps, but he doesn't slow his movements. His hands are on your waist, dictating the speed at which you're moving on top of him. He's using you just as much as you're using him.

"Cum?" You finish his sentence with a sinful smirk against him. Your tongue flicks against his, and he's whining again. You're so direct, so blasé, that he doesn't know how to control himself. "Don't pretend like it's the first time, Yoongi."

See, Yoongi doesn't fuck like Jungkook.

Yoongi fucks nice girls. Girls who fuck for love. Girls who rarely fuck. Girls who do as they should; sit pretty, let the man have his way with them, and ask for nothing in return. Girls who are prudish, and refuse to discuss sex unless they're about to have it.

More often than not, Yoongi goes for girls who love him.

And it's probably why he's so fixated on you; because he knows you never will.

You're unattainable. Good girl gone bad. Sultry and seductive in a way that he's never seen before.

He ruts up against you, chest heaving as his grip on your waist forces you to angle a little further away from him. He shakes his head ever so slightly, lips hanging ajar. "Not the first time. Course it fucking isn't. Look at you."

And now you're fucking whining. He likes the reciprocation. Makes him feel like you want this just as much as he does - and you do. There's nothing you want more at that moment than to have Yoongi twitching in his underwear, unloading himself all because of you. You want the control. The power. The satisfaction.

You want a man weak for you, to make up for how weak a man had made you feel. You want confirmation that Jungkook was nothing special. That you can have the same impact on any man.

And here Yoongi is, hard beneath the weight of your body, your pussy hot against his stiff crotch; body clammy as he pretends like the scrunchie around your wrist doesn't belong to a girl who bakes him homemade tangerine tarts, just because. He isn't thinking about her. He's utterly consumed by you. He'll feel bad about it after you leave, but for now, he's just thinking of ways he can make you stay.

"Slow," you tell him, placing your hand against his chest, just below his ribs. You both ignore your ring just like you both ignore the scrunchie. He's just as corrupt as you are. Maybe you're a good match. Maybe you can be each other's favourite mistakes.

You shuffle back a little; ass perched on his knees, eyes looking at his crotch as your palm follows your gaze. It's not hard to get a read on his size beneath his sweats. They're a pale grey, but there's a telling dark stain where you've been sitting.

"Shit," he hisses. "We can't- I can't. I want to - fucking hell, I really do - but I can't."

"I know," you nod. "That's not what I'm after."

The way you smile as you say it has Yoongi thinking he might just cum right there and then. You're fucking with his head - but what bothers him the most is how much he likes it.

"What are you after, then?" he asks as he feels your hand squeeze around his length. He groans, head tipping back against the top of his sofa. The way his hips pulse is involuntary, and it has sin lacing your smile.

"Just wanna adjust you slightly," you shrug. You want his cock laying flat against his body. It's kind of at an angle now, and while it feels great to grind down on, you know it will be even better if you can work up and down his shaft a little easier. Better for you both.

He bites down on his lip to hold back another moan and nods when you release the pressure of your palm.

"You wanna move it, or shall I?" you ask, not wanting to overstep a boundary.

"I'll do it," he says, hand dipping beneath his waistband without hesitation. It's not cheating if he does it, he rationalises. It is cheating if you do it. He's decided, that's his limit. As long as you don't actually touch his cock, then it's fine. He hasn't given the kissing much thought because he doesn't want to stop doing it.

He looks at you as he strokes his cock, just a couple of times. Just enough to make you wish it was your lips around it, not his hand. You can't see anything - it's still hidden by his sweats - but the adjustment just makes the outline so much clearer. So much bigger.

"This okay?" he asks, almost nervously. Eyes darting around your face to get a read.

You nod. "Perfect."

His hands find your waist again, and he pulls you further up his lap. He holds you in place as he slowly pushes up against you. Your hand snakes behind his neck, the other clasping one of his wrists. Your nails dig in; a moan stuttering from your pouty lips.

"That feel better?" he checks, but your reaction was all he needed to confirm it.

Still, you're notoriously the worst - and so you smirk. Lean forward. Subtly move your hips as you do so. Press a chaste kiss against his neck. Whisper, "I'm not sure. You'll have to try again."

He's even slower this time. Deeper. You shouldn't be doing this, Yoongi.

And yet he does it again. Groans. Curses. "You make me so hard."

You can't help but laugh. He's sweet. Nice to be with. "You're welcome."

It's the giggle that gets him.

Sweet? Nice? Yeah, fuck that.

His hips get erratic. The speed, the pace. Jesus H. Christ. It's a good job you aren't fucking because you think he'd actually break you. You know he'd kiss it better, so it's okay - but now you're thinking of his tongue and how badly you want his head between your legs.

"Wait for me," you whine into his lips, as your hand dips towards your clothed cunt. It's so warm and wet that it's a miracle Yoongi hasn't stripped you bare just to have the luxury of experiencing it.

You both know this is a one-and-done kind of thing. One time can be classed as a mistake. A lapse in judgement. Forgiveness will be far easier. Repeat offences? Well, they're a pattern. Guaranteed to reoccur. It'd be an affair, for lack of a better term.

Yoongi was raised better. You weren't, but that's neither here nor there.

With your dress hiked up around your hips, it's almost cruel how easily Yoongi could access your pussy if he really wanted to. Has been resisting the temptation. The lace of your underwear - black and barely there - leaves little to the imagination. He's salivating at the sheer thought of how you could taste. He can smell your arousal, and thinks you must be some kind of delicacy.

His brain is playing tricks on him. Making him feel like he hasn't eaten for weeks. What he wouldn't give to have you in his mouth right now.

It's out of bounds, though. He can't.

But he can match the rhythm of his hips to the pace you're rubbing languid circles against your clothed cunt, right above the hood of your clit.

And again, he wants it in his mouth.

He needs a distraction. Something. Anything. Feels your grip on the back of his neck and decides that's it.

"Throat," he husks. "Put your hand around my throat."

The sound Yoongi makes when you do as he's asked, nails digging into his skin ever so slightly, is unlike anything you've ever heard before. It's desperate, unrestrained. Pathetic. So fucking hot.

But you're both mewling now, bodies clammy beneath your clothes.

It hits you first; the wave of an orgasm crashing down over you, taking Yoongi with it. Your body shakes on top of his, teeth biting down into his shoulder as hands squeeze your ass so tightly you think it might bruise.

Good. Would be nice to have the mark of someone else on your skin for once.

He folds almost as fast as you do. He's quiet as he cums, not minding that your grip on his throat had dropped. There's no announcement, no prewarning, he just lets his body fall into the familiar notion of what it feels like to experience euphoria because of you. Breath hitched, cock spurting into his underwear, Yoongi's head lolls. His eyes are half-mooned, lips resting ajar, looking directly at you as he cums.

It's sordid. Dirty. Forbidden. Your favourite kind of sexual exploit - but Yoongi is a willing participant. Wanting.

His hair is a little ruffled from your hands, body limp and docile from his release. He makes no objection as your frill his hair with a smile. He does eye you a little curiously as you begin to tie his hair back up with that damn scrunchie again. He's glad it's off your wrist. Felt guilty looking at it.

You tilt your head, eyes expansive and inquisitive as a smile prevails. "Prettiest sprout in Daegu."

And he really is; honey skin all pink and clammy, eyes glossy, a smile forming on his pouty lips. But he's also not stupid. He knows you're just trying to pretend like what just happened never did.

It's the sensible thing to do - but fuck, he's been thinking about that (or at least some variation of it) for months. Years, even. Against his better judgement, he steals a chaste kiss from your lips. "Prettiest sprout maker in Daegu."

The bashful shake of your head, the way your cheeks apple, the sound of your fucking giggle, all confirm it for him.

"Shut up."

"Don't think I can," he grins, satisfied to have finally gotten you like this. And then he kisses you again, because he knows full well that very soon he won't be able to. "Why the fuck did we never do that before?"

You wrap your arms around his neck and simper into his kiss. It's nice to be wanted. Nice to have someone want you just for the sake of wanting you. Nice to use someone instead of being used. There's no ulterior motive with Yoongi; just bad timing. That's all.

"'Cause we'd have never got any work done at the garage if we knew how good it felt," you hum, voice light and airy. He's missed you in the months you've been away. "Would have spent all our time in the stock room."

"You did that anyways," he laughs, pressing kisses down your neck. "Fucking slacker."

His lips stop beneath your collarbones, just shy of your chest, mindful of the boundary you set earlier.

"You never complained," you remind him. "You loved it."

He shakes his head. Doesn't deny it. Just grins.

And that's when the guilt starts to creep in for you, too.

Yoongi's one of the good ones. Hair tied up all cute and silly just because you wanted to do it. There's safety to be found when you're sitting in his lap. He'd never fuck you over. Never.

But you've twisted his arm, and made him fuck over some other poor girl. You know it's gonna eat at him - because he's a good person. Far better than you are.

"Hey," you say quietly. "I should get going."

"It's late," he replies, his deep voice a similar dulcet volume to yours. He's mirroring you. It's cute. "You can take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch again. Like last time."

The way he tacks that last sentence on is so delicate. So pure. Proof that you can trust him. It's tried and tested. Customer approved. Trip Advisor recommended.

In your heart of hearts, you know you don't deserve another minute of his company. You look down. Choke on your words a little. Shake your head. "Wouldn't wanna put you out."

You've a home to get to.

"It's no bother," he smiles.

You know leaving will hurt him, but fear staying will do more damage.

And again, you've a home to get to.

"Stay," he says.

"I can't," you whisper. Nudge your nose against his. Let your lips linger a little too close. Don't press down until he does. And then you kiss him like you really mean it. You think you do. "I'm sorry."

The worst thing about Yoongi is the way he smiles. It's innocent, even if what you just did wasn't. Sincere. Compassionate. You know he's only thinking about you - but there are other people in this equation. You reach for the scrunchie. It pulls from his hair with ease - a testament to how he feels about his short-lived romance. It doesn't matter though, as you pick up his wrist and place the scrunchie around it.

He looks at it; at your nails and how they clasp his hand so delicately. He squeezes them. Nods. Purses his lips, takes in the shine of your ring, then looks at you. "I'm sorry, too."

You're not sure what for. For not acting sooner? For not asking you on a date all those months ago? For the fact he moved on when you moved away?

"It's cool," you say and try a sincere smile back. He sees right through it. "We're cool."

"We are?"

"We are."

Yoongi calls you a cab. You've had too much wine to risk getting pulled over. The scandal your father would face as the result of you getting a DUI isn't worth it at this point. You've a role to play. A home to get to before the sun rises.

And despite it all, he kisses you goodbye.

"Better not go rogue again," he tells you.

All you can do is smile. "No promises."

────────────

When your fiancé calls through to the master bathroom - letting you know he's off to work - you pretend you can't hear him. There's a shuffle by the door as he waits for a reply, but when he doesn't get one, he assumes you're beneath the water.

Easy enough mistake.

You've been too busy staring at your reflection for upwards of ten minutes, trying to assess who the fuck is staring back at you. The marble countertops are cold beneath your hands, the shower running freely, 'cause you're not the one footing the bill. Your fiancé is.

You don't feel bad about the fact you're quite literally pouring his cash down the drain. There's enough money to cover it - but of course there is. Despite his well-to-do salary man image, his main income comes under the table. It's illicit, but so is everything in the world you'd left behind all those years ago.

The man who put a ring on your finger is on your father's payroll. Has been since he turned eighteen. Is following in his own father's footsteps.

It's all very sweet, when you come to think about it - what kid doesn't look up to their father? You sure had.

You, the daughter of a political figurehead; he, the son of the Chief of Police.

It's what made you such a great couple from the get-go.

Was kind of like the fairytales your mother would read to you before bed. You wonder now if she was trying to ingrain the idea of such a suitor from your early childhood. Get her ideal man embedded in your brain before it even had a chance to fully develop.

Your fiancé is a little older than you are, so they had to buy time. Make sure no relationship between the pair of you could be scandalised.

Once you were of age, it seemed to be a match made in heaven. The stuff of Shakespeare plays.

It was only natural that you would end up together. Set in stone. You'd marry and become an unstoppable force for your parents. The city would remain theirs.

Thing is, you never wanted to be a character in a Shakespeare romance. You always thought it'd be fruitless. They all end up the victims of great tragedies, anyways.

What you had wanted was to be the muse of a sonnet. Have a man dote on you; write you poetry under the glare of sweltering summer heat. Someone who'd make metaphors out of the condensation on cans of chilsung, consumed together down by your favourite spot along the river. He'd mumble nonsense about the smell of your hair and how he'd long to touch you with his ink-stained fingertips.

As you grew, you began to favour motor oil over ink. Hardly a surprise that you'd been suckered by a motor-loving swine with ink etched into his knuckles. You tend not to think about how gentle those hands of his could be. He'd been everything you had ever wanted wrapped into one. Tied with a pretty red bow.

Now, you think you'll be lucky if you make it to the footnotes of a political history book.

You shower. Take a little longer than normal to rinse the grimey feeling of betrayal from your skin. It'll never leave. Not really. Lodged beneath too many layers of skin.

It's not like you had gone to Yoongi's with the intention of letting things get that far. A little flirt, sure, something harmless - but it was just so lovely to have choices. So nice to be able to choose someone who is also choosing you, even if just for a moment. A lapse in time; in judgement.

Your fiancé never chose you. He chose the path of least resistance from his parents, and you just so happened to be crossing the same road as him.

He's tall. The full cliche - dark, handsome. Had been your first 'love' before you knew what love actually was. First everything. First boy to cheat on you, too, but you mother just told you all men were cheaters. Nothing to get your knickers in a twist about. Your father was leading by example.

So even though you're in his apartment, wearing clothes washed in his detergent, helping yourself to snacks he bought, you know not to be too comfortable. Not to convince yourself he actually wants this relationship for anything other than his own political gain.

He's banking on a promotion. Not within his career, but within your father's corruption. You're an asset.

And him? Well, to state it plainly, he's an ass.

He's also definitely fucking his secretary, but it's not like he's getting lucky with you so you don't care all that much. She was in the picture before you. Or at least, while you were away. It's been a few years since you were last here. Enough time for something to blossom. Poor thing probably actually loves him. You doubt it's reciprocated.

The ring on your finger is nothing more than a political move; a safety net for the man who had held had refused to pawn it after you left the first time. You'd been a diamond girl, back then. Had been a different person entirely.

You're sat on his sofa, twiddling at your ring, garbage reality shows play on his obnoxiously large television screen, when he pops home towards the end of his lunch break.

He seems agitated. Doesn't really greet you. Is looking for a casefile he'd left at home this morning.

"Think they're by the bed," you hum, vaguely aware of flicking through them this morning after he'd left.

Petty convenience store robbery, nothing really to write home about. You scoff at the cases he's been assigned, as if he were still a rookie. He's been on the force for years. He should be investigating major crimes. Murders. Narcotics. Corruption.

Then again, he'd end up investigating all of his friends if he did those cases. Must be better for him to stay away.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he dismisses as he rushes on through.

There's a slight waft of perfume as he passes you. It becomes clear why he decided to cram the document retrieval into the last ten minutes of his lunch break. You find yourself wondering if you had smelt like Yoongi when you'd arrived home the night before.

"You picking up the car this afternoon?"

Shit. The car.

"Yeah." Your capability of making lies sound like bible truth is commendable. A skill. Talent. "Was just about to go."

"Okay, good. You gonna be near Kang's? I need some more oil."

You're silent for a moment. Think of which lovely little lie to tell. Settle on, "Jieun lives not too far from it. I can pop by."

He hums something in response. You think it might be a thank you but he doesn't care to articulate it properly. It's not till he walks back to the living area that you realise he's still talking. "-actually be good for you to get out of the house. You can't mope around here all day."

You scowl. Look at him with genuine disdain. "Sorry?"

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, a look on his face as if he genuinely thinks he's not being a dick. "You can't be out all hours at night - and before you say it, I don't care if it's just at Jieun's, I have a work schedule I have to sleep for - and then spend all day doing nothing."

This time, you stay silent.

You don't think he's wrong, but he's also the one who had given you terms and conditions when he put that ring back on your finger. No GS25 was one of them. No university either, which is what you'd really wanted to do; actually educate yourself on business affairs, so that it wasn't all bullshit when you were dealing with the hooligans from Kang's.

But no. To be welcomed back into the fold was to be restricted; prevented from doing things that would garner you any further independence.

"While I'm at Kang's, I'll see if they've got any jobs going," you say. The garage in front of the boxing club would actually be the perfect place for you to work while you figured out your next move. You also know there's no way in hell it would ever be given the green light.

"Working for your father's political rival?" he scoffs, not taking you seriously for a second.

"Says the man who wants me to buy oil from there," you scoff right back. "But fine, I can go back to GS2-"

"No. Your father said-"

"You think I give a rat's arse what my father said?"

"Your father said to keep a low profile until he can justify another job opening in the mayoral office."

"Joy. Can't wait," you say as he walks to the door. He's out of it without even so much as a goodbye when you mumble, "You might be his bitch, Hoseok, but I'm not."

Realistically, the conversation had been done as soon as you mentioned getting a job.

It's on the list of 'No Can Do' activities, set in place by your father to keep his political appearance clean. No job, no school, no clubs, nothing worthy of a scandal. Nothing that could be used against him. He might have won the last election, but Kang came pretty fucking close to stealing it from him. He needs to gain back the favour of his people.

It takes well over an hour to get to Kang's by foot from the city center apartment you're in, so you head to the nearest bus station. Figure you'll just hop on the 503. Will try not to think about Jungkook when you do so.

You're dressed down, a slouchy jumper over a pair of jeans fading you into obscurity. Nothing special. You know you should really make more of an effort to keep up appearances, but you're tired. Exhausted. Not physically, but mentally.

Your old life is draining you.

There had been method to your madness: you'd returned 'home' for a reason.

Part of you wishes you hadn't. Wishes you'd have gone straight to Kangs.

But you needed an 'in', and to be honest, you needed protection. You play a mean game of poker, and your bluff has been perfected, but behind the poker face, you're scared. Of your reality. Of your father. Of the men who dwell in Kang's boxing club.

And so you'd needed to get your ducks in a row before you stepped foot into Kang's. Couple of months was all it had taken for your family to be convinced that your reckless youth had been outgrown; for a ring to be back on your finger.

You find yourself thinking about Jungkook; what it could have been like if you'd have met him before... well, before everything.

You think about your life as a teenager - privileged, affluent. Think about his hardships, and how you could have tried to help. Your father never would have listened to you, but you could have a least appealed to his sense of humanity. Could have tried to stop the funding cuts. Probably could have extorted your father; used his mistakes against him.

Instead, you'd distanced yourself. Changed your legal name as soon as you could because you knew that, eventually, you'd want to run. Would want to remove yourself from any position of influence.

It's why you never could have helped Jungkook. You had been running from the very thing he needed: power, influence, money. At the time, they'd been meaningless to you. Not meant for you, you thought - though you're doing rather well cosplaying as Daddy's little princess again.

As you make your way across town, you notice how bad the air quality is once more - heavy in your lungs, drying your eyes out.

You make your way to Yoongi's, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. Like you're just going to hang out on a day off. You'll gossip about the boss, maybe make theories on why Jieun had called in sick the week before.

But when Yoongi opens his apartment door, he wants to look like he's ambivalent about your arrival. Indifferent. Unphased. Can't help but smile, though.

"Twice in twelve hours?" he says. "Really making up for lost time, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, because there's an innuendo lacing his words and you're not sure what to make of it. Both of you are sober, now, not a drop of wine left in your systems and yet... you kind of feel like you are a little tipsy.

Your skin is clammy, heart beating a little faster than it should be. Just the air quality, you tell yourself. Harder to breathe. Yeah, just the air. Just the pollution, baby.

Funny, how it's Jungkook's voice in your head again.

But Yoongi's heart is doing the just same. Can't blame it on the air.

He knows last night was wrong, but the adrenaline rush that had come with giving himself up for you made him feel like he'd digested enough uppers to kill a man. Swallowed them whole. Chased a high he'd never reached before. Nirvana. Purgatory disguised as paradise.

"Look, Yoongi I-" You begin, but he interrupts you. Knows the tone of voice you're using. Doesn't want to hear it.

"Don't," he says, opening his door a little wider to invite you in.

You hesitate, but when he knocks his head back, eyes half-mooned as they drink you in, you can't refuse. He nods to the sofa, where you take a seat, shoes off, feet up, legs crossed.

He stands by the wall opposite you, keeping a little distance. Looks down - but then right back up and into your eyes as he says, "You've only just got here. Don't treat me like I was a mistake already."

There's silence as you look at one another. Your lips rest ajar, a million thoughts fighting it out to be spoken first.

"You weren't."

You're not sure you believe it, but you want him to. Don't want him feeling like you regret him.

"No?" He says, dark but deliriously honest; not only how they drink you in, but how they also pour out for you. The windows to his soul are open, curtains wafting in the breeze. He's inviting you in. Offering you a home. "Why does it feel like you were about to say that it was?"

Because you were.

Not because you thought it was a mistake for you; but because it was a mistake for him. The scrunchie has been hidden away, and his take-out for two containers have been left out for the recycling collection. He's testing out what it could be like, you think. What it could be like to have you in his space.

"I can't give you what you need," you say quietly, avoiding eye contact. You'd expected a little more small talk before jumping to the hard hitters, but Yoongi's been striking out for years. He's making the most of your defence being down.

"Can't, or won't?"

"Both," you feign a half smile. "Even if I wanted to, Yoongi, I don't think I could. I'm not made for you people like you."

"And what am I like?"

"Good," you speak so softly he can't help but smile. "Deserving of more."

He just shrugs. Doesn't hide his hurt. "What if I don't want more?"

"Yoongi-"

And then his hurt takes precedence; obscures any whispers in his mind that tell him not to do... well, do whatever the fuck this is. He's waited years for a green light from you. Instead, you'd raced through amber the night before. Looks red now. He just wants fucking green.

"I don't want more."

"Yoongi."

He looks down. Shakes his head.

When his gaze meets yours again, the windows are shut - but the curtains are still drawn open wide. It's dark inside. Lights are off, but there's somebody home. They're waiting for you to come home, too.

He walks a little closer to the sofa. "Tell me you didn't want me last night."

You're so good at lying. Have mastered it. And yet-

"That's not fair."

Why aren't you lying to him? You can be cold. You can be callous. You're perfectly capable of treating the ones you love like they mean nothing more than the shit beneath your shoes, and yet it's hard to do it with Yoongi. Hard to tell him anything he doesn't want to hear. He deserves the earth, you think, and yet all you're giving him is dirt that will get trapped beneath his nails.

"Tell me you didn't," he repeats, standing a little taller now. His shoulders are broad. Powerful. You'd be safe with Yoongi. Would want for nothing. "Tell me you didn't want me last night."

You look down. Shake your head.

Shame is a funny feeling. Fools you into thinking you should be honest.

"I can't."

Yoongi doesn't smile. Just nods. "Because you want me, too."

"Not for the right reasons, Yoongi," you stress, hoping he'll see sense.

"Who gives a fuck about the right reasons?"

"You will."

"I won't."

"When you ruin what's good for you because of something I can't give you, then you'll give a fuck," you tell him. The hairband might be hidden but there's half a tangerine tart left in his fridge and a concert ticket she bought for him taped on the door of it. His life is good. He doesn't need you storming through it like a summer typhoon. "I am nothing. I can give you nothing."

And then Yoongi does something all rather unexpected.

He smirks.

Toys at the corner of his lips with his tongue. Crosses his arms and raises his brow. "You gave me yourself last night."

"I gave you my body," you correct him, getting to your feet. Nothing good will happen from this conversation. You just need to get your keys and go. There's an urgency to your movements, heading towards the kitchen section of his open planing living space. Your keys will be on the hook where he keeps his own, you're sure. "Look, I've got-"

Your movements are halted as Yoongi reaches for your hand. Pulls you round. Walks you back until your ass is against the kitchen cupboards. You're looking up at him. The closeness of your bodies is intentional. Orchestrated by him; allowed by you. His voice is low as he says, "That's not nothing."

"But it's not enough," you stress, and you absolutely mean it. "I'm engaged to be married, Yoongi."

"And I'm already going to hell," he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. You don't stop him. "So I may as well have fun with it."

This is a side to him that you've never seen before. One that screams danger. Either he's learnt what you like in a man, or maybe he's just been hiding this part of him. He's tried being perfect, has seen it doesn't work. Maybe this is the real Min Yoongi.

"Yoongi," you say with little thought as his nose nudges against yours.

"Mhmm?" he hums back. His lips ghost yours. Your heart is beating out of your chest. One of his hands is flat against the kitchen counter as the other brushes up the curve of your waist.

You shake your head. The movement only causes the friction of your lips to tenfold. "If this happens, it doesn't mean anything."

He smiles against you. Shakes his head. Presses his lips against yours. One, two, remember to breathe. Pulls away. "It means everything."

You've always been a sucker for men who speak in definitive terms.

But you know how dangerous they can be, now. Know not to trust their words.

"We're not on the same page," you say. At least this way, you can't be accused of leading him on.

"We're not even reading the same damn book," Yoongi smiles against you. Kisses you again. Pulls away before you're ready for him to do so. "But does it really matter if they both have the same ending?"

And then you kiss him. It's soft. Tender. So sweet and gentle compared to the hardness of your heart. "It's not a happy ending."

"So close it, then," Yoongi says, pulling away from you a little. He's giving you the chance to leave. To get out. Escape. "Close your book. Stop this from happening."

But then you're kissing him again, and his tongue is in your mouth and - fuck - it's so nice to feel someone touch you with such intent. You know this is more than something casual, know that you've cared for Yoongi for too long for it not to have stemmed from nothing, but there's no permanence. It's terrifying and soothing all within the same swipe of his tongue against yours.

"One last chance," he says, lips so close to yours that he may as well be sending you telepathic messages. "Close your book if you want to."

It's shameful, the way you shake your head. Keep your eyes closed. Swallow. "But I wanna know what happens next."

Must sound like music to Yoongi's ears. He kisses you so deeply you think you may suffocate.

"What happens next is up to you," he moans into your lips, his nimble fingers pushing the button of your jeans through its fastening. "But it starts with this."

The sound of your breath is heavy. It soundtracks the murmur of your jeans zip being pushed down. Doesn't hide the way he curses against your lips.

"Yoongi," you whisper, eyes closing to stop yourself from catching his gaze.

His lips press against your throat, his dexterous fingers toying with the lace of your underwear. He knows he shouldn't. Knows that there's no taking this back. Knows he's fucking everything up - but he's played it safe for so fucking long and where has that ever gotten him before?

"Yoongi, I-" you try again, but his tongue strokes against your neck, teeth grazing it ever so scarcely. His fingers sink into your jeans. Press on your clit above your underwear. It has you gasping for air. He eases his pressure, then reapplies. Repeats. Your hips move languidly against his movements. You want this. Want him.

Want to feel like you're actually loved.

"Say the word, and I'll stop," he promises.

But you just shake your head.

"No?"

"No."

"Don't stop?"

He presses his fingers against you. Circles. Once, twice. God, it feels so fucking good to have him touch you like this. Has you mewling. "Don't stop."

"I won't. I'll make you feel so good," he husks against your neck. "You know I can do it. Know I can make you feel better than anyone else ever has."

The promise is pointed; directed at Jungkook. You hate that you're thinking about him. Hate that as you tug on Yoongi's hair, his fingers still pressing against your clothed cunt, it's Jungkook's face in your mind. His smirk, how he loved watching you come undone, how he comes undone.

And so you open them. Focus on Yoongi. Tell him how good he's already making you feel. Tell him how you've thought about this before.

It's not a lie. Admittedly, it was before Jungkook had ever come onto the scene, when you and Yoongi were still dancing that awkward line of flirting or friends. You'd settled on different sides, but, for a while, you contemplated what could happen if you chose the same side as him. Spent a couple of late nights imagining how he'd feel.

He's more delicate than you ever expected. Gentler. Softer.

"Is that what you want?" You moan as his lips yours, nails scratching up his throat, remembering how much he'd liked it the night before. He whines a little into the kiss. "Wanna make me feel good?"

He nods. "Wanna be the reason you cum."

His hands sink further into your jeans. Slip beneath your underwear. You're like fucking silk on his fingertips. Incredibly sodden silk, but silk nonetheless. Exquisite.

Yoongi presses his body into yours, and you can feel his bulge against your tummy. No matter how badly you appear to want him, he wants you more. Always has done.

What a devastating achievement this is. Yoongi finally has the girl he's wanted in the palm of his hand, lungs stuttering her chest - but it's tarnished.

All he ever wanted was to love you. Not to fuck you. Sure, it'd be an inevitable side-effect, not one he'd ever complain about, but this just... wasn't how he'd envisioned it.

He's not sure that he could classify what he feels now as love. It's something quite similar, yes, but it's tainted. The waters he's treading are murky, as if something could pull him under at any time. A little bit of seaweed, maybe, wrapping up around his ankle, seeping up his legs like the ribbons of ballet shoes, pulling him down to dance on the ocean floor.

He'd let it, he thinks, if it meant he got to dance with you.

It's when your hands creep to the top of his trousers that he knows he's won. Knows that you do want this, too. Want him.

The second your hand wraps around his length, warm and stiff in your palm, he's ready.

You'd come undone with one another the night before. Used each other. It was self-serving. Self-gratifying. But now?

He's going to be the reason you come undone. His movements. His hands. Him. All him.

The way he guides you through his apartment is sweet. Careful, and gentle; his back is to the walls just in case he knocks into them. Keeps you protected.

And that's exactly what Yoongi is; a safety net.

But as he gets you on his bed - gets you undressed, gets his lips in places he only could have dreamt of, his tongue on your skin, teeth nipping - it's easy to forget that the safety net is still suspended a few meters above ground. You're not entirely secure.

The way Yoongi cradles your jaw makes you think you are, though. He always asks permission. Never takes a chance. Is vocal not for the sake of it, but to make sure that you always have an out. He wants this, wants you, but only because he's convinced you want him too.

Let me eat your pussy, baby. Is that okay? Will you turn over for me? That's it. God, yeah like that. You're so fucking good at that. Wait, wait- no. I'll cum. Don't wanna cum yet. Sit on my face. Shut up, no, I don't care. Maybe I want you to suffocate me. God. Taste so fucking good. That's it. Grind. On my face, baby. All over it. Look at how hard you made me.

And how can you refuse his requests?

Yoongi doesn't hide what he likes. Likes you. Likes you on top. Your hand around his throat. The way your nails feel against his skin. Would really like for you to leave a mark but he always grabs onto your hand whenever he thinks that you might. It's a reminder: his body isn't yours.

His heart might be, but who cares about that?

You don't, clearly, and so nor does he. He'll take what you give him.

And what a gift it is; clammy bodies, dulcet moans, whines of his name.

Yoongi's thought about this so many times, but he's never realised how good it would feel; what it would be like to hear you giggle while he's pushing himself inside you. Had never realised that you'd kiss his temples when he bottoms out, or that you'd whisper his name like a fucking bible verse. Never considered that you'd be so tight around him that he'd spend a fair while warming his cock inside of you, kissing you slowly as you adjust to his size. Never thought you'd taste so sweet, sound so serene.

Never thought he'd get this.

But he did.

And so now he gets it. Gets why that blonde-haired prick couldn't stay away. Gets why he wanted Yoongi to know how well he'd been fucking you - because now it's the only thing Yoongi wants to do, too.

Wants you. Wants you. Wants you.

Wants you in his bed, on his floor, in his shower. Wants you in the GS25 stock room, wants you out back in one of the cars he's working on. Wants you in every way he can get you.

Wishes he hadn't taken so long to act on it.

Because he knows that he can never really have you, now.

It's why he's letting himself indulge on this occasion. He knows what he's doing is wrong, but as far as he can see it, it's a once in a lifetime. He'll never get the chance again.

Never get you sat on his cock like you are now, never get to watch the light that peaks through his half-closed blinds illuminating your features, never get your cheeks all rosy and dimpled like this ever again. Never gonna hold your bare hips as you grind against him, never gonna pull on your wrist to bring your chest flat to his, never gonna kiss you through another orgasm.

But for now, he does. Bucks his hips, whines your name, tells you he's there, tells you - oh god, like that, baby - he's gonna cum. Fuck.

And so you meet him there. Rub delicate circles on your swollen cunt, bringing yourself to release just when he does. The thin layer of latex between you protects you from becoming his, but it all feels the same. The way your heart beats. The way he kisses you. It all feels the fucking same.

His arms wrap around your back. Hold you tightly. A kiss is pressed into your shoulder; up your neck.

The guilt that you expect to arrive never comes.

It will do, eventually - but much later on. His will come in the depths of the night, when he's sleeping beside his girlfriend, too much of a coward to tell her that he's betrayed her.

You think yours will come in the cold light of day a few months from now, when you finally let your brain process everything you've been through.

He tells you he's sorry, cock still buried inside of you, and you shake your head. Tell him you're sorry, too.

"What if I don't forgive you?" He teases, trying to lighten the mood - but you almost think he means it.

"Good," you smile. "It would be good if you don't."

You trace the vein that runs down his arm, and forge some faux sense of intimacy. You're playing house, but you can't play forever. Always have to go back to reality at some point.

This point comes half an hour later; Yoongi shirtless in a pair of sweats, leaning against his door frame toying with loose strands of your hair. He wants to kiss you. "Do you regret it?"

You want to kiss him, too. "Do you?"

The way you ask is so light and airy that Yoongi still feels like he's floating. The only thing he wants to weigh him down is your body on his.

"No."

Your want is growing too large, so you look down to avoid his gaze. Yoongi notices a lash on your cheek. A wish. He should reach for it. Collect it on his thumb, tell you to blow it away.

But he already knows what you'll wish for. Who.

And so he doesn't give you the chance. Hopes the wind will steal it from you.

"Don't be a stranger," he tells you as you go. His lips are plump, annoyed with his brain at the lack of kisses stolen from you before you left.

You lie. Tell him that you won't be. Say you'll see him soon.

Both of you know that you won't.

And it's only confirmed when you get into your car - breath heavy, eyes warm, tears verging - and you spot fucking Jieun walking up the road towards Yoongi's apartment. She's carrying a punnet of tangerines. Wears her hair tied into a half ponytail like you used to do.

This. Now. Yeah, this is when the guilt comes.

It makes so much fucking sense. Of course they'd have ended up together without you in the way to fuck everything up like you're so bloody good at. You wait until she's inside his apartment complex to start the car up, and fucking pray that Yoongi's gone to freshen up, that he's hidden the condom in the trash, that his lips won't taste like you.

Oh god, it's all so fucked.

"What have I done?" You berate yourself, head resting on the top of your steering wheel.

Whatever has happened has happened. You can't take it back. Nor can Yoongi. Just a fact of life now: Min Yoongi has fucked you. And you've fucked his life up.

You dart through town, giving little to no shit about the speed limits nor the unwritten rules of the roads, and find yourself cleaning tears off your cheeks with the back of your hand. You're not crying, not really. Not intentionally. It's just kind of happening.

That's your excuse for everything these days. It just happened.

The radio is off, and the roads are smooth beneath your tyres, but everything just feels so fucking loud. The engine barely makes a rumble but it feels like it's roaring at you. Screaming.

And then you are, too.

Screaming at the world; why it had to be this way. Why you're incapable of making good decisions. Why you couldn't have just stayed in Busan with the boy who'd stained you red with the colour of his love that ended up being nothing more than a little lie.

By the time you get to Kang's, you really are sobbing. It's in the way your shoulders shake; chest tightens. That's the issue with going back to your family. You're a frightened little girl all over again. Out of your depth. No fucking clue what you're doing. Just trying to feel something. Anything. Anyone.

For a moment, it had worked. And now everything is broken again.

You twist the keys in the ignition; let the engine cool before you pull yourself together. Pull down the sun visor, check yourself in the mirror. Check for signs of weakness. Grab a little lipstick from the centre console. Your eyes aren't all that bad. There's a little blush on your face, but there's plausible deniability. If anyone questions if you've been crying, you can blame it on windburn. Or tell them to fuck off and mind their own business. One of the two.

A deep breath settles in your sternum. You're not who you were a minute ago. You can do this.

Shoulders rolled back, you hold your head high as you enter the boxing club. The TV is playing in the background, Seokjin and Namjoon sat up by the sofas. They're surprised to see you, but it's not entirely out of the blue. They knew you'd be back.

Jimin clocks you as he's grabbing a water, and nods. You don't nod back.

And despite the fact you refuse to look at him as you enter the boxing club, Jungkook knows.

He's not entirely sure of what he knows, he's just aware of the fact you aren't quite yourself. There's an elegance to how you carry yourself and now is just the same, but... there's something. He can't pinpoint it. Can't figure it out.

But of course he can't.

It's a matter of the heart, not the mind.

In the same vein, it's not a matter at all. He doesn't care about you. Not like that. Doesn't give a shit if you're hurting, or if you're upset, or if someone has been unkind but-

Oh, fuck it.

He does care. He does, he does, he does. He cares so much. So, so much. So much that it feels like his heart has been ripped from his chest just looking at you. There's blood pooling all around him. Kids fucking dance in it like puddles. You watch from afar with a smile and a shrug, holding his still beating heart in your hands. You did this, love.

Jungkook closes his eyes. Shakes the image from his head. Tells himself to stay off the hallucinogenics for awhile.

His eyes find you again as you walk towards Seokjin. Jungkook is down by the bags, unwrapping his hands after a heavy session. There's sweat gleaming on his skin, staining pretty patterns down the back of his shirt. He's pleased you'd arrived now. Knows he looks like shit, but also knows how much you liked fucking him after a workout. Would tell him not to shower. Was the pheromones. Some shit like that. Drove you fucking wild.

The pleasure he takes in your timing is forgotten about when he realises just hollow your eyes are. Finds himself actually wanting a shower - admittedly, with you. It was always where you'd find the most comfort together, and that's what he wants. Just wants to fix whatever's gone wrong for you today.

Instead, he just walks toward the sofas. Doesn't like not being a part of the discussion. There are a few nods. Slight deliberation - and then Seokjin calls the Jungkook and Jimin in to the sofas regardless.

"Taking a vote," he says. It's already been discussed in private between the boys, but no formal plans have been put in place.

You choose to stand. Jungkook sinks into the leather of the sofa in front of you. Avoids eye contact. You pretend to look at the men around you, but you don't really take any of them in. You're unfocused. Disillusioned; disassociating. Daydreaming of the beach, where the water is clear and the sand is warm.

And then, you do let your eyes fall on his. They're so wide and worried. Jungkook is certain he's never seen you like this. Something isn't aligning. Hasn't been since you left, but he thought things would fall back into place when you returned.

You okay? he says silently.

You look him up. Look him down. Part your lips - only to close them again once Seokjin starts talking.

"All those in favour of working together?"

One by one they raise their hands. Seokjin first, then Jimin. Namjoon looks around. Shuffles uncomfortably. Doesn't look at you as he raises his hand.

"Kook?" Seokjin asks.

"It's a bad fuckin' idea," he says, eyes never once dropping from yours. He's not telling the boys. He's telling you.

"Your forte," you say sweetly, but there's no smile on your lips.

And he just nods.

"Yeah. It is."

He raises his hand.

Full house.

"Alright, then," Seokjin beams. "Let's get to work."

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook masterlist #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut #bts fanfic #throttle #jungkook fluff #angst #smut #jungkook

[kel-lance]

Yandere! Gojo x Reader Part 2

Ik part 1 was short, but the meats will be in the next part ;p

Here're the potatoes though

———————MDNI---------DDDR--------TW——————————

“You know I’m obsessed with you right?” Your senses were failing you. All you could do was hear first, then the physical feeling in your body shot back to you, causing you to throw up this mornings meal a foot away from where you were laying before. Your face stickier now with this mess, joining your tears and blood. You lay back down on the concrete floor, trying to catch your breath, praying he’ll give you a moment to breathe, but knowing him, this is almost his favorite part. 

“You’re doing so good, baby.” He crouched down to where you lay. 

“What the fuck was with the nicknames?”

He caresses your cheek as you breathe heavily, trying to regulate yourself from the pain. “Look at me (y/n).” Ge grabs your chin and picks it up, raising you with his two fingers.

Your vision’s blurry as you don’t throw up easily, your whole body is burning and your limbs are numb from being locked up from his previous heimlich’s. You were exhausted, pissed even but not injured bad enough to stop this week’s missions. No, nothing can stop you from completing one. Your streak is strong, they could rely on you, there was nothing more important than washing this guilt you paid to carry. But right now, you could care less about his power trip, his ego, just everything about him screamed entitled. 

He helps you sit yourself up, stomach on fire and head splitting open. Catching your breath, he holds your back for support, eating up the view in front of him. He’s obviously excited in so many ways, you thought he was actually smiling at you for a second. Not one of his “I’m that guy” “ME Me ME” “Look at this” any kind of attention seeking shit eating grin that he looked like he practice in the mirror for years. 

“That’s so odd, I’m having fun with a weakling. You, too, are nothing against me. But why does it feel so good when my hits land?” He raises his hand at causing you to at least close your eyes for contact, bracing for your brain to shake against your skull with his infamous one handed knock outs, but laughs at your reaction. 

“There’s always a bored feeling, like the action was a responsibility for me. I have to hurt the weak to protect the weaker. I don’t get breaks. I don’t get release. Won’t you help me out, (y/n)?” He shoved his two fingers down your throat to help you get an answer out.

“When you’re done, make sure to clean me up.” You gagged. You knew he hated you. He wanted to know everything about you his first year here. While you were climbing the ranks, he watched and studied you. Not like he’d have to put in much effort into schooling anyway, he was a prodigy after all. 

Yet since the tragedy in your first year, you’ve become a completely different person. Your team is still on you about it, rather your new team keeps trying to understand you, know you, see you, hear you, but you’re not going to let more people get hurt. You’d rather they hate you than let them die (fr) of a little mystery. 

Gojo stopped shoving his fingers into your mouth, not caring if his nails scratch all around before. “Woah, senpai, you’re letting me go there?” 

He holds onto your shoulder for support to stand and sighed. “Rest up then~” Before you could read his body, his fist collided with the side of your head. Your ear felt like it exploded. Your vision went black again.

————————

“How much longer are you gonna sleep?” You feel a heaviness on your side as you laid on your back.

“Fuck.” You were still with Gojo. The pain seemed to have subsided greatly but that won’t help the confusion from blacking out twice.

“Where are we?” 

“This is my house! Welcome!” Gojo presses his weight on you as he leans closer to you, looking a mixed of relieved and excited. It definitely made your stomach turn.. 

He helps you sit up and you look around, just imagine the “most generic modern house for a high schooler”, it’s just insane. Large living room with skylights, connected to the kitchen, dining room, main hallway, leading to the maze you know it took to get you to this couch. “Dude, what-“

“Don’t call me that.” You turn your head and his welcoming smile before became just a cold look. He rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. He turns his entire body towards you and leans forward, both his large arms are hugging your sides but your back hurt from all the weight. 

“…Gojo.” 

“You’re breaking my heart, doll.” He sighs like you should’ve know better. “I’m over here giving you every name in the book and you just have dude? Bro?” He leans in further, threatening to break your back, slowly adding more power to his new found squeeze on your wrists. “Try again.” 

This is terribly embarrassing, maybe it’s best he chose somewhere more private to talk. “Satoru…” You were trying your best, what else would you call someone you barely knew? You should really try asking him that.

“That’s better.” He smiles but his eyes stay the same. “It’s not enough,” He hooks and grabs the hair at the back of your head, pulling you to face him, “Try… it… again.” 

He’s shaking, harder than you, trying so hard to contain himself. You could feel his dark aura grew thick and potent, his grip on your wrist was so close to snapping, you swallowed your pride in the name of your next mission. 

“Since this is our first time officially meeting,” This was embarrassing as is, but will you go against or play along? “I’ll call you Sa-san.” 

He blinks like he refreshed. “It’s something. Original compared to my ex girlfriends’ pet names.” He looked away like he was trying to remember which was his favorite, and pondered if yours was better. “I like it.” 

“…Why do you need to bringing them up?” You lean back into him now, making yourself small under him, testing out the power dynamic. Did he really want you like he said? Would that create an opportunity for you? Hopefully. No sane person would actually be happy and enjoy being kidnapped by the most handsome, rich, powerful, popular guy at school.

His eyes matched his smile. “You’re so cute, are you jealous?” He lets go of your wrist and hugs you tighter, shaking you side to side excitedly. 

“No, I just don’t get the thought process. I still barely understand what’s going on right now and why you’re being like this.” 

You realized right now there’s no point. They’re not going to expel him for kidnapping, and it’s not like anyone else would want to speak up with you and go against the Gojo’s. They have people who love and would defend them, put their own lives at risk just to get a bit of their attention, even if you got out of this house, he could give one simple order and have the hounds search and feast on your remains. People born in power disgusted you, it wasn’t fair.

His playful demeanor once again goes as fast as it arrived. “Are you fucking hard of hearing or do you not care?” He put his chin on one side of your neck as he tugged your ear on the other. “Have you not been listening to me this entire time?” 

You wince from the pain but look away from him. “It’s not like you’re not serious.”

“And why would you think that?” He pulled your ear harder and moved his hand tot he back of your head, balling up your hair to make you face to face. “What? That a nobody like you would be wanted so badly by someone like me?” You were getting so annoyed with the sudden mood changes. 

Sure, your cursed technique was adaption, a form of Reversed cursed technique, but this wasn’t an enemy others were calling you to exorcize. Instead this demon saw and latched itself onto you. An embodied curse of a certain feeling. 

“More like you get to do whatever you want and I’ve been avoiding that warpath, I have my own plans.” He could never understand the life you lived. Much less have so much fun toying with someone who wasn’t interested it was fine because you could handle it.

“But I want you, so you’re mine.” 

What logic- that just pissed you off.

“I don’t need this,” You break forward, away from him. “I don’t need you and I sure as hell got to be the top student at JJH by myself, not because I was just born with rare powers or good looks or the apathy you need to survive in this world, I”m done.” You use your shoulders to loosen his playful hold.  “Do you know how stupid you look when you go around acting like that?” 

You’ve snapped. “I’ve seen how you are and hear you, but it’s embarrassing.” This is how you’re gonna get the upper hand now, if those feelings were real then would be able to flow your way out of this and then run or kill him. No one gets this far with Satoru, maybe he’s just having a breakdown. Being the strongest would definitely be difficult… if he had a heart. 

Shit. “Maybe he’ll realize what he’s doing,” The small voice in your head was trying to calm you down with excuses, it was always something that made you go easy on your opponents. You had heart for them and want to hear them out til the end, even in an evil way sometimes when they’re just that terrible, but that doesn’t seem likely now. 

“I was right about you. You’re perfect.” 

You were about to register for your body to move, your legs should have started running but he was just so fast. One hand pinning down your shoulder, the other feeling down your side, squeezing almost like his fingers were tasting your skin. He finds your neck. 

First biting harshly, then kissing and licking each mark hungrily. His hold on your arms to your own chest has your breathing labored. You felt so much as your breathing stayed limited, not wanting to test him in this position. 

Gojo moves you onto his lap now, you can already feel his heartbeat on every surface you touched. With bored eyes you let him do what he wants as you’ve lived through worse, 

“So good~.” He was trying to eat you you swear, your skin now decorated with marks wherever Sa-san could reach. He was marking you, literally. You don’t even know what to do after. If things aren’t too bad, you’ll be going straight to Geto and Nanami after this. You thought about it a bit more and might have to rethink that since Shoko must’ve been the one to clean you up. 

You have to decide now, play along to get to your mission faster? Or will there be no option to leave after this? You’ll just have to put him to sleep to see. 

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #anime #jujutsu gojo #jjk x you #tw #tw dark content jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru #satoru gojo #taaotjjk #taaottw

[whumpbby]

Idk if there's a right way to say this but Jiang Cheng's biggest crime in and out canon is being not that pleasant to be around and i rlly wish people would acknowledge that instead of trying to paint him as The Worst in order to justify their weirdly intense hatred towards him

I'm going to ramble,sorry, that how I put thoughts in order:)

I think that's the perfect way to say it actually. And 100% fact imho. His biggest flaw is that he has no patience with other people's shit and no filter on how little patience he has. He lets people know he's unhappy with them. All his care and dedication is in his actions.

The way he cares about Wei Wuxian and then Jin Ling - even his scolding is an expression of care, always concerned about the way their behaviour can bring harm to them or to their sects. The way he sacrificed his life for Wei Wuxian without a moment's doubt and neve mentioned it. The way he was fighting a war and rebuilding the sect at the same time. The way his sect became absolutely notfuckwithable. The way he kept throwing himself in the way of danger for his loved ones in the Temple.

This is not some villain who only cares about himself - the way he's being painted by the antis.

There was this post somewhere saying that the biggest flaw in a fictional character is being boring - they can be a war criminal, as long as they're not boring.

I think for some people who are looking for pure escapism and feel-good simplicity (and nothing wrong with that, everyone does that) the "boring" gets replaced with "ugly". The depiction of trauma survivors that didn't "go through all that and ended up kinder". That didn't get over the tragedy in their lives to an appropriate standard. That are functional, but not happy. That bring back the bad stuff that happened because it still influences their lives and behaviours and reactions.

They want all the tragic trauma of the past, but without long-lasting consequences that aren't leading directly to cock-healing or fawning.

Like, if you think about it, no one went through the war in that book and came out "better". Absolutely no one. Lan Zhan drowned himself in guilt and directed all his anger towards Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian didn't stop running for even a moment and he became an intensely careless, emotionally dishonest person. Lan Xichen settled into not really doing much, coasting on his sects' position and JGY's help. Nie Mingjue became a bona-fide warlord who basically said "fuck these people, hunt them for sport for all I care". Meng Yao learned that you can stab your problems away. Everyone around them became incredibly trigger-happy for a long while.

And yet JC is the only one singled out as the Evil Walking The Land, because his trauma response isn't pretty and stoic and is specifically, understandably, targeting the Innocent Cinnamon Roll Protagonist and isn't fixed by the end of the book. He could have saved the world, but as long as he's not polite while he's at it then fuck him.

This is, like, primary school level morality were facing here xD

I cannot tell you how surprised I was when entering the world of The Untamed - prepared by Tumblr to see jC as this demon of a man and instead found this guy who, by all accounts, is in the right 99% of the time. Then I read the book and was staggered by the final reveal. And the absolute bullshit I was fed by people that wanted to sour me on the character before I could make my own mind.

Not even gonna get into how these people treat Wen Ning - whose whole existence is a horrific chain of horrific events ending in his absolutely awful existence of an actual slave... But he's such a cute puppy, eh?

Tldr: people who keep making excuses for hating JC do it to somehow justify the fact they can only accept Trauma Light in their fiction.

#mdzs #canon jiang cheng #jiang cheng

[starfirewildheart]

Scars and Souvenirs

Chapter 19

Summary: Sy and his lady both retire from the army but not before tragedy befalls Sy. He slowly tries to adjust to life again on their ranch.

Pairing: Sy / OFC

Word count: 2,206

Rating: mentions of war; being a POW, death, talk of trafficking, forced prostitution and assault.

Chapter 19

~~~I was in the hospital for the last 6 days. I had hoped I'd have loads of time to write but in reality I spent that time being a human pin cushion, being sick from meds or having tests. Thanks for being patient with me!~~~

Sy paced impatiently back and forth in the small observation room as he watched Mike through the two way mirror. He'd argued Mike's plea to Walt and the attorneys and they finally relented, though of course there was a cost. Mike wouldn't be allowed to testify at trial after this but they all understood why he needed to do this. He also wanted to do this without Sy or Walt in the room so the compromise was using an interrogation room so they could be close by and see them at all times. He just hoped Mike got the answers he was looking for.

~~~~~~☆~~~~~~

Mike looked up when the door opened. A deputy led Mitch Holmes into the room and cuffed him to the metal ring in the center of the table then left again. Another man, dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase entered. “As agreed on, there will be no recordings, nothing said will be admissible under any circumstances, for anything.  I want it to be known that my client is doing this as an act of kindness and can stop at any time he chooses.” He looked at Mike then at the two way mirror where he knew Walt and Sy were before closing the door and leaving father and son alone while he joined the others behind the glass. 

“Are you OK? I was worried when I heard what happened to you.” Mitch was laying it on thick acting like father of the year. “I can't believe the court let you get involved with that damn man and woman who got you hurt!” He had no idea how much Mike had been told about his involvement in what happened but since he wanted to visit him he doubted that he knew much. Now was time to try and throw Sy and Deb under the bus. If he could get Mike to hate them then he might have a chance with the court. 

“Y..you were worried about me?”

“Of course I was! I should never have agreed to let them take you.”

“The court agreed, not you,” Mike reminded him.

“I've always told you that the court don't give a shit about us and that nosey assed cop neither!” Mitch complained. 

“So, do you have anything you want to ask me?’ when Mitch looked at him like he'd grown a third head he continued. “You've spent your time talking about and blaming everyone but not a single word about you or even me. Why is that?”

“I was talking about how they let you get kidnapped and hurt, Mike. You.. you're not still mad at me over boxin’ your ears when you drank my whiskey are ya? Cause you deserved that,” Mitch shook his finger at him.

Mike shook his head to clear it wondering if he'd somehow ventured into some alternate dimension of crazy. After a few minutes something dawned on him. Walt and Sy had told Mike that Mitch had been held in isolation since being arrested and the only thing he'd been told about Mike was that he'd been rescued and was alive. Mitch had no idea that Mike knew it was him that sold his son to the gang. Sitting up straight Mike leaned closer to the table. “You're a worthless junkie who couldn't pay off his debts so instead of dealing with it like a man, which you aren't, you SOLD me to them! You sold me for the cost of your own fucking habits KNOWING  what they were going to use me for.” 

“You don't talk to me like that!” Mitch snapped.

“Or what? You gonna hit me some more,  Mitch?” He let the sound of the last two letters in his name draw out. “That will never happen again.” Mike stood up and paced around the small room successfully making Mitch antsy and uncomfortable before coming to a stop facing the mirror in front of where Sy was standing on the other side. “When I started trying to arrange this meeting wanted to talk to you about a lot of stuff because I was going to demand answers. The moment I saw you though I realized you would never tell me the truth about anything. You would try to manipulate me to get what you want but nothing more.” He turned to face Mitch. “That being said, what I do want to say,” he sat down and leaned on the table. “I just wanted to say that I hope your prison stay is everything you deserve it to be and I have some friends now that will help me make sure that your cell mates know that you're available to work off your own debts now. Granted I'm sure you won't bring the same price I would have but they will just have to whore you out twice as much.”

“You little fuck!” Mitch growled and tried to lunge for him. Mike was much too fast and moved out of reach.

~~~~~~♡~~~~~~

Geralt watched intently as the doctor force bent Debbie's knee, ready to jump in if he felt he needed to but the woman was tough. There were tears in her eyes and she had his hand squeezed so tight he could hear the bones creak but she did exactly what she had to do.

“I'm impressed with how well you're doing. Incision is healing nicely and I'm going to start your physical therapy this week. Once they get your leg strength built back up…”

“You're going to do another surgery and then I start all over?” She interjected. 

“Not all over but re-healing, yes. Remember it is going to be a long road but we will get there!” 

“I'll get there…” She mocked as the door shut behind him, throwing a roll of tape in frustration. 

Geralt arched his brow at her and tisked but had to bite his lip when she blushed at his mild scolding. The nurse came in and fit a new brace on her leg. It was shorter and had locks so that she could start to bend the knee slowly and not cause damage. Finally, after setting up physio, the next doctor appointment and getting blood work done they made it out to the truck to head home. “Hungry little one?”

“Starving,” She nodded. 

“Pizza, burgers, Mexican, Chinese?” He listed off nearby options. 

“Chinese,” her stomach growled loudly.

When they were seated and placed their orders Deb sipped on a soda then twirled the straw in the bubbly liquid. “You and Sy are really close. He always talked about you but now that we've met on person I can tell the feelings are mutual.” Geralt took a drink of his water waiting to see where this was going. “None of you have girlfriends. Why?”

“A few of us have had in the past. Napoleon often has a female companion but not for long periods. Will has a girl back where he calls home.” 

“You don't agree with attachments though? You think they are an exploitable weakness.” She looked  down at her plate. 

He pondered carefully before answering.  “I think anything that we love or care about has the potential to be used against us. If the person is evil enough or ruthless enough they will exploit anything.”

“I don't want to be a weakness,” She sighed softly.  “I already have been though, for all of you. He called you to help him but if not for me he wouldn't have needed to.” 

“Don't do anything stupid,” he leveled his eyes at her.

“I'm not, i.. I just don't want to be a reason he gets hurt. I want to be an asset not a burden.” She munched a spring roll. 

~~~~~~☆~~~~~~

Sy stretched his back as he walked through the barn with Mike. It had been a crazy day that started with them and their attorney arguing with Mitch's attorney on whether or not Mike could even see him. Once they met most of Mitch's demands, around four in the afternoon, then it was finally 

tiime for the meeting. “Did you get what you wanted out of the meeting?” He asked Mike.

Mike scratched Rose's snout and neck. “I wanted him to explain why he would do all this to me? Why does he hate me so much that he would sell me to someone who was going to pimp me out? Why?” His voice rose as he turned to face Sy. “What about me is so fucking broken that….” He choked up and spun to the left punching a wall in frustration. 

Sy went to him and pulled him into a hug but quickly let go when Mike fought against it. “Kid you're not the one who's broken, he is. Your old man has an addiction but it's more than that. Mitch is,” he struggled to find the right words. “He's a monster. He is the one who disappointed you, who let you down.”

“No one else ever saw that.” Mike demanded.

“Because it's true,” Sy stood firm. 

“And what about Debbie and everything that happened to her because of me?” He yelled. “She nearly died because you both tried to help me!”

“What? Mike, no, that wasn't your fault. You and Deb both got caught up in something that you had no control over. You didn't do this to her anymore than she did it to you.”

“They took us because Mitch sold me!”

“Walter pulled Deb and I in on the gang case. We got involved knowing the risks, kid. You two happened to be together so they took you both. Your old man set it up, sure but they took her hoping to get information about our investigation.”

“He's right,” Deb said as she limped over to them on her crutches. When they pulled up they saw Sy's truck by the barn and stopped. “Truth be told, we all try to protect each other from bad stuff and sometimes end up making it worse. Sy was working with Walt and shut me out of the investigation trying to protect me. On my end all I saw was him secretly texting and calling some random woman, sneaking off to meet her in secret. Instead of talking to him about it I threw myself into my work which got me involved with the corrupt detective. I convinced myself that what Lindy said about me not being enough for Sy was true and was trying to distance myself so it wouldn't be such a shock when he left me.” It was the first time she'd said some of that out loud. Sy was looking at her like she was from Mars and Mike looked like he wanted it to be true. “I don't even pretend that I have all the answers any more because the truth is that I'm more worried now than ever but the few things I do know, I'm sure of. Love gets you hurt whether it's unintentionally or not. Loving someone makes you a point of weakness for them and leaves them open to getting hurt. What is the alternative? We've all found each other and formed bonds which I think we are weaker without. If we run away from each other then we're vulnerable and will do anything to find each other.” She scrubbed her hands over her face in frustration.  “I can't make you believe the truth any more than I can force you to stay here if you're determined to leave. None of this was your fault and I hope you believe that, Mike.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, “and we want you here.”

Everything broke through Mike's walls at once and they crumbled. He wrapped his arms around Deb and buried his face against her shoulder and neck as the dam broke and he sobbed. He sobbed for his past, his childhood, his asshole father, his mom that left him and all the shit that happened recently. He cried until he had no tears left. He felt Sy's arms around him as well, helping comfort him. When the tears finally stopped and his heart rate came back down he felt completely drained. They must have been standing there for quite awhile because his legs were aching and going numb. 

The three of them headed back to the house. Mike was so drained he went to lay down for a nap before dinner. Debbie headed to the kitchen and grabbed her pain pills tossing a couple in her mouth then going to the fridge to get some water to rinse them down before bending down to try and grab an ice pack from the freezer. Sy's big hand reached in front of her and got the pack.

“What did the doctor say?”

She told him everything as they went to set on the sofa. It didn't take long between the exhaustion and the meds that she fell into a fitful sleep.

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