#as like it seems very much that if I pass the drug test (which i absolutely should I'm a boring person) I get the job | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Premium Tumblr themes are available from anywhere between $9 to $49.

#as like it seems very much that if I pass the drug test (which i absolutely should I'm a boring person) I get the job

misserabella · 1 year

Text

ପ look like an angel ଓ

modern! college ellie williams x innocent reader!

part 2!<3

summary; ellie williams, the college’s most popular dealer takes an interest in you, the most angelic sweet shy girl she had ever landed eyes on. and when the opportunity arises, she makes a move. she wants you to be hers.

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, slight sa (a guy gropes readers ass before ellie punched him), blood, fighting, cursing, mentions of drugs such as weed, consumption of weed, extremely innocent (ellie is pretty much her first time in everything), making out, humping plushies —ellie shows reader how to and watches—, dirty thoughts, tension, teasing, ellie uses pretty names for reader, no use of y/n, dom! ellie and sub! reader, praising, choking, finger fucking (r receiving), thigh riding (r), oral sex (r receiving), hickeys, piv sex, strap on sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, tit playing and sucking, cum eating, squirting…

REMINDER: english is not my mother language so i apologize if there are some mistakes <3 !¡ either ways, i hope y’all like it. <3

REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!

ellie williams was not a good person. she was rough, harsh and couldn’t care less about the rest. she liked very few people. and had two friends: jesse and dina. but she also was very popular. she was the best dealer in her college, and had a million of girls fawning over her shoulders for god knows why. she didn’t really care about them anyways.

not when there was you.

you and your beautiful smile, which seemed to brighten up any room you were in. you and your sweet perfume, which made her want to hide on your neck for hours on end. you and your soft voice, bambi eyes and soft perfect hair…

you were shy, always talking with your honey sweet voice that made her bones melt. you were also smart, the smartest girl in your whole course, though you never really showed it off.

you loved white, and soft colors, but you’ll always go for a baby pink. your lips were always shining in a pinkish gloss that distracted ellie a little bit too much, but not as much as the tiny skirts and stockings that you liked to wear on a daily basis.

you looked like a doll, like a goddamn angel.

and maybe you were, ‘cause you were so… innocent.

you didn’t like drinking, or smoking, or parties. you’ve never dared to go to one. just the thought of it gave you goosebumps. and you’ve never even thought about the possibility of taking drugs.

your days were calm. always the same routine. go to college, get to your dorm, study and go to bed. it was simple. but you always had time for yourself though; reading a book, writing on your journal, listening to pop music…

the perfect student. the perfect girl.

and ellie… well. ellie was ellie. a complete opposite from you.

she was kind of a mess. always on her own world. she never took notes in class, instead filling notebooks with her drawings. she still passes with straight A’s her tests though —something Dina couldn’t really believe, always saying that she was bribing the teachers with free weed—.

she wore black. mostly. or things such as sweats and tank tops. and obviously, no makeup. as her father said once… not very girly. but she didn’t really cared. her hair was always in a bun somehow, half up or all the way up. and quiet. she liked to listen, and watch.

that’s why she knew so many things about you even if she hadn’t talked to you once. not once in the whole course even when you sat together on most of your classes.

you were always alone and by the windows, liking the silence and the views that the garden of the school offered you. you didn’t have anything else to look at from that to the chalkboard, since to your right was sitting ellie. and you never looked mat ellie.

you couldn’t, ‘cause your heart would start to beat too fast and your cheeks would flush. at first you thought the feeling in your stomach anytime she would be near was fear. she was quite intimidating. but then you started to notice that you’d stare a little bit too much at her.

she was always listening to music. she also played some sports from time to time with jesse and his friends —she likes to exercise and you could see that in the muscular yet thin body that she had—. she had a scar on her right eyebrows and the most beautiful green eyes you’d ever seen, always rimmed in a reddish color. she had freckles too, and auburn hair that shone when the sun hit her. she was popular. way too popular. with all the girls of your class head over heels for her. you would blush anytime they’d gossip about her, talking about her muscles, and her tattoo, and…

her hands.

the girls had said something about her hands, about how good the looked, and ‘how good they could make them feel’. you didn’t really knew how her hands would make them feel good… maybe if ellie played with their hair?

also, having them around their necks. you’d frowned. wouldn’t that hurt? i mean in the series that your dad watched, it didn’t look alright… since characters would die by it and stuff.

but you had to agree that her hands were pretty, nails short and slim large fingers.

you looked away when you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

shit. you were staring again.

why were you feeling so hot all of a sudden? you were feeling kind of sticky too.

you sighed in relief when you heard the class being dismissed, quickly getting everything on your backpack to leave the class. ellie got the last goodbye of your perfume when you dashed by.

you were quick to get to your locker, opening it to show cute decorations and pictures, along with books and notebooks.

you were putting some stuff inside your backpack when suddenly a voice startled you.

“hey beautiful.” you turned around to face a boy with brown eyes and short wavy brown hair. you flushed, ‘cause you didn’t know him at all, and you were shy with strangers. he smiled. “i was just wondering if you’d be up to letting me take you out on a date.” your eyes shot open. “you know… you could always wear one of those pretty skirts for me. would make it so much easier once we get in the back of the car.” he stepped closer, and you backed up until your back was hitting your back.

“uhm… i don’t think…”

“come on, don’t be a prude. you’re basically asking for the attention, i can almost see your whole fucking ass.” you squealed when you felt his hand land on it, grabbing your skin and harshly digging his fingers. you were about to push him away when someone else was doing it for you.

the boy cursed when he received a good solid right hook straight to his nose, making it start bleeding.

“she said no, fucking asshole.” and then your heart was beating like crazy again, ‘cause i’m front of you was standing ellie williams, with a scowl on her face and her knuckles bathed in blood. you stared at her, and then at the boy. “if you wanted a little bit of skin contact you should have asked me. i have plenty to give.” she smirked, devilish, before punching again.

when dina and jesse finally came up to her to calm her down, the guy was already bleeding on the floor, and her knuckles were burning up.

but she wasn’t really listening to their worried questions, ‘cause she was looking at you.

“are you okay?”

after that, you and ellie grew closer. she made you feel safe. she kept you safe. no more guys had even dared to stare at you. but people seemed to approach you more since they’d seen you around her. something ellie really didn’t like.

“ellie…, you need to stop being so mean.” your doe eyes were staring at her, your soft voice making her heart beat faster. “they were just being nice.” you said as a pair of girls had come up to you to tell you how much they loved your outfit.

“a little bit too nice.” she muttered, one of her arms surrounding your shoulders to pull you flush close to her side. your stomach jumped. “although is true, you look really pretty today princess.” she smiled, and you blushed.

you stuttered and a smirk took over her lips.

“why are you getting so shy about now, hm? look at me sweet girl.” she said, leaning closer and down to catch your eyes.

“nothing. thank you ellie.” you gave her a sweet and shy smile. and she had to stop the urge to just kiss the hell out of you then.

fuck, had you ever even been kissed before?

“you’re welcome, angel.”

you opened the door to your dorm room, and ellie thought she might as well be a genius, ‘cause of course this was heaven and you were indeed an angel.

it smelled of your sweet perfume and cherries —probably due to the difusor on your desk—. it was filled with pink and books, and cute pictures everywhere. you had even your own little plants sitting on your window. they were being well taken care of, petals on full display and color. trinkets were laying everywhere, and it was clean and tidy. you even had plushies on your bed. ellie’s heart squeezed when an image of you hugging them to sleep went through your mind. jesus christ. you were so cute…

ellie just wanted to move in. stay in there forever. change her place with your plushies and hold you herself.

ellie took a seat on your bed, and soft blankets received her. you looked at her, and a happy smile crossed your plushy lips.

“what are you smiling at, hm?” she inquired.

“dunno. just… like you here.” you shrugged, cheeks flushing.

“i like being here too, baby.” she smiled and you blushed.

you two spent some time together watching some films, and talking. ellie loved to hear you talk, even if you were sometimes a little bit too shy to try.

now, ellie was smoking.

of course you knew she smoked, you really didn’t mind her doing it on your room as well. you also knew that ellie dealt weed. everybody knew. but you had never gone anywhere near it. so this was a first time for you. it interested you though. you’d always been scared of it. in the end it was a drug and drugs were harmful, but this one… this one seemed good. it made ellie feel good. more relaxed. and it made her happy. laugh more. talk more. get closer…

she always made sure to not let the smoke of the blunt even go near you, always blowing it away from you. you still could smell it around the room, that earthy calming smell now fusing with your own. ellie couldn’t love more the idea of leaving something ‘hers’ in your room, to leave a mark.

she was laughing, but her heart was slow, you could feel it on your back as she had pulled you in between her legs. you couldn’t help but blush at the touch. she couldn’t keep her hands to herself. not with you. you were as soft as she had imagined, and warm. so warm it was making it hard to hug you closer. and being high only made it worse.

“ellie…” you said, your eyes on the blunt in between her fingers.

“what is it pretty girl?” she muttered, putting away with a strand of your hair that had fallen on your face.

“can i… try it?” you muttered, eyes shiny and full of curiosity.

“you want to try smoking? you sure about that baby?” she made sure, and you nodded. “okay.” she smiled, and gently passed you the blunt. her hands were so warm it made your cheeks flush. you liked it. liked it when she kept you close. your stomach did funny things when she would touch you. “you need to inhale softly, alright, we don’t want you choking.” you nodded once again. slowly pulling it to your glossy and pink lips. you took a soft drag, making your throat burn. you felt the need to cough, but you waited it out, blowing out the smoke again. ellie’s smile grew. “there she is. atta girl.”

you squirmed at her praise, whole body running hot. you two shared the joint ‘till it burned out. taking soft drags that slowly became deeper and harsher. your mind was getting fuzzy, and your body was tingly. also ellie had started to draw little circles with her thumb on your thigh, caressing your skin. and you were shaking.

“how you feeling, baby?” your eyes were glassed over, and half lidded, rimmed in red.

“feels good els.” a silly smile crept up your face and she smiled as well.

“yeah?”

you nodded, snuggling into her chest. and ellie knew that jesse and dina would have probably teased her about how her whole face flushed red.

shit. she was in deep.

you loved it. how she made you feel. how your heart raced and your tummy filled with butterflies. but there was something else too, this throbbing in between your legs, this uncomfortable and warm feeling that had you squirming with every new pass of her thumb over your skin.

“you okay, pretty girl?” she inquired, taking notice of your little frown.

“hurts.” you muttered in a little hurt voice that had her heart shaking.

“hurts? where does it hurt baby?” she inquired, and your cheeks flushed. you hid your face on her chest and she cooed. “hey.” she took your chin in between her index and thumb to make you look at her. she almost cursed. your eyes were half-lidded and hazy, glossed over. your lips looked plushy and red, and your cheeks were flushed in crimson. “what is it?” she asked you again, this time harsher. there was something in her eyes that made you squeeze your thighs together. she saw it. “aw… baby…” she hummed and you whimpered. “does your little pussy hurt?” you nodded, flushing impossibly red.

“uh-huh…” you hiccuped. “every time you are around.” you said, and ellie almost choked. oh god. shit. fuck.

“every time i’m around? i leave you hurting every time i leave baby?” you nodded once again and she couldn’t help but curse under her breath. “want me to help you make it stop?” and one last time, you nodded. “okay. why don’t you help me take this off first, hm?” she inquired as her hands slowly made their way under your skirt —which had riled up your hips— and onto your beautiful little cotton panties. “that’s it, good girl.” she praised when you did, helping her push them down your thighs and legs, and you couldn’t help but whimper, cheeks burning, ‘cause it made the pain in your cunt worsen. “shh, it’s okay baby.” she hummed, her hand back to your thigh to caress your skin. “fuuuck. you’re so wet, angel.” she groaned when she took a glimpse at your panties and pussy, completely soaked. she just wanted to fucking ruin you with her strap, have that pussy of yours leaking on it and cumming over and over again. she wanted to ruin you. but she knew she couldn’t. not yet. you didn’t even know what being turned on was until now. she would scare the shit out of you. she had to take it slow… patience ellie. patience… “why don’t you choose one of your plushies out for me, hm?” she asked, and your eyes fell on your plushies. it was a quick response. you went for your favorite. mr hops. your little white beautiful bunny. “atta girl. now i want you to push it against your pussy baby.” she muttered against your neck, and you shivered. you blushed, even more when when ellie saw your shyness decided to cup your hand with hers to guide the plushie in between your legs. you couldn’t help but moan when the nose of the bunny bumped against your puffy little button. “that’s it.” she praised. “move it just like that baby.” she smirked when she saw how you unconsciously started to drag it up and down on your cunt, humping the plushy. your eyes were pricking with tears. ‘cause your whole body seemed to be exploding in pleasure, and it felt so good… her hand helping you with her movements, her voice praising you and calling you good girl every time you’d moan and whimper…

shit.

“ellie…” you whimpered, feeling pressure building up in your stomach. something felt about to snap. and you couldn’t stop moaning. it was as if you were reaching out for something you didn’t know what it was but needed.

“you gonna cum pretty girl? of course you are… such a good girl grinding her pretty cunt on her plushy. look at you. so fucking beautiful. let go for me baby, let go.” your vision went dark, and your ears rung. you couldn’t stop moaning and whimpering, your hips unconsciously rocking against mr hops to ride out your first ever orgasm. it was like nothing you’ve experienced before. it was like dying and coming back to life at the same time.

ellie groaned, holding you through it, your back arching against her chest as you fell apart. shit. she almost came on her own pants.

“that’s it, princess. now breath for me. you did amazing angel. so good for me.” she left a soft little peck on your forehead as she left soft rubs on one of your thighs. “good girl …”

after that night you had tried to take care of yourself like ellie had taught you. you’d hump your little bunny every night after she’d leave, trying to not make much noise so your flat mates on the other dorm rooms wouldn’t hear you. but you couldn’t make yourself cum anymore. not if she wasn’t there with you. you had started to wonder if instead of your plushy ellie would ever make you feel good too. touch you there.

one night, you were huffing, grinding down on your bunny unable to cum —like every other night—. every time you’d get close, the feeling would fade away and leave you tearing up and rolling in your bed without knowing how to make the ache go away.

that’s why, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you got up on your wobbly legs, you put back on your panties and pj shorts and went to her dorm. she opened after you left two knocks on her door.

ellie’s face completely changed when she saw the tears falling down your cheeks.

“woah, hey, hey…” she cooed when you jumped to her arms. “you okay sweet girl? what happened?” you hiccuped and held you closer to her chest.

“ellie please help me…” you whimpered and she pulled you into her dorm, closing the door.

“what is it baby? what’s wrong?” she rubbed your back as you squirmed.

“i can’t… i can’t make myself feel good anymore like you taught me. it hurts…” you cried.

“aw, baby… you can’t make your pretty little pussy cum, hm?” she cooed, and you nodded. “mr hops can’t make you feel good anymore?” your heart skipped a beat at her soft teasing.

“stop teasing me… it’s mean.” you pouted, and she falsely frowned and mimicked you.

“am i being mean to you baby?” she continued on her teasing. you nodded and she cooed. “you poor thing…” her thumb pulled from the pout on your face, pressing against your bottom lip.

your heart seemed to skip a beat, her touch sending shivers down your spine.

“my poor pretty little thing.” you blushed. “aren’t you sweetheart?” your stomach jumped, her voice low and silky. it was making you feel silly.

“don’t do that…” you shyly muttered and she smirked.

“do what?”

“talk to me like that. it’s making my stomach feel all funny.” you sighed, feeling your face and neck burning up.

“your stomach?” you hummed. “is it a bad funny or a good funny?” she stepped just the littlest bit closer. and that feeling went south from your stomach, down and down and down and… you gasped a little bit when her free hand took a hold on your hip. she wasn’t even touching you and yet you felt like melting under her fingertips.

“good.” ellie’s fingers squeezed your hip. she hummed, low, and you almost trembled.

“does it feel good too if i do this?” she inquired as she leant closer, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek. you nodded. “and this?” another one to your jaw. her face didn’t pull away, her lips trailing lower when you nodded once again. you let out a little whine when she kissed over your pulse, your head tilting to give her more room. it felt too good. m

“feels good els…” you muttered and she almost groaned. fuck. your voice was airy, and so needy…

“you know… there are places where it feels even better.” she said, and your eyes shined with curiosity.

“yeah?” you breathily inquired and she hummed.

“want me to show you?” you nodded, and she smiled before leading you to your bed, where you two sat. “baby, have someone ever given you a kiss?” you frowned, but before you could talk she was getting the doubt out of your head. “on your lips honey.”

you blushed. so much you swore you’d actually burst in flames. you looked into her eyes and then away as you shook your head. ellie’s chest felt lighter. no one had ever kissed you before. fuck.

“want me to give you one?” your eyes went back at hers, and then fell to her lips. they were so pretty it hurt. and you knew they were soft. you’d seen people kiss before. obviously. but you had always been too shy to even think about receiving one. and now ellie was offering to kiss you. for the first time in your life. and your heart was going crazy. breathing was getting harder. you nodded again. “nuh-uh, speak up pretty girl.” you were burning up.

“i want it.” you begged, and her cunt throbbed. shiiiiit. she had thought about this before. you begging for her to fuck you, to let you cum all over her fingers. even dreamed about it. but it would never compare to the actual you.

“good girl.” she said, and your thighs shook. there was wet sticky slick pooling in between your legs and making a mess of your thighs. and the throbbing of your needy pussy was making you ache. it hurt. even more when she called you that. you whimpered when you finally felt her lips against yours. ellie groaned when she heard you, pulling you closer. at first she didn’t move her lips, after a couple of seconds slowly starting to guide you into the kiss. your hands fisted her shirt, and your eyes squeezed closed. it was a strange feeling. but it felt good. too good. “open your mouth for me, baby.” you followed her orders, a little and muffled moan leaving your lips when her tongue pushed inside. one of her hands cupped your cheek, deepening the kiss. you were going for more when she pulled away. fuck. ellie was dying. she was finally kissing you. and you felt amazing. “shhh.” she stopped you, and your hazy eyes met hers.

“ellie… please.” you tugged her close.

“you want more, pretty girl?” she inquired, and you nodded, once shaking parting your lips for her. this time the kiss was deeper, if it could get any more than before, wet strokes of her tongue filling your mouth. you were being laid down on her bed, hair all over her pillows and thighs open for her.

you were letting out the most beautiful sounds, and she was getting way too horny.

“fuck. you don’t know what you do to me.” she groaned, eyes taking you in, you and your swollen glossy lips and hazy reddened teary eyes. you were flushed red, and your breath was hot.

“feels good.” you muttered, shaking under her touch, her hands now touching your hips from under your shirt.

“yeah?” you hummed. “well… there’s another place were kisses feel even better.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” she smiled, one of her hands traveling downwards. passing your belly button and down to your shorts. “right here.” you gasped when you felt her hand softly cupping your cunt over your peeking pretty cotton panties, making your eyes squeeze shit when you grinned down on her hand, seeking relief. you were soaked. “fuck baby…”

you hiccuped. “it hurts.” you pouted. you were throbbing.

“i know baby, i know…” she cooed, and you nodded. “want me to make the pain go away? want me to kiss it better for you, hm?” your cheeks flushed red. ellie wanted to kiss you there. you nodded, quickly, shyly, and she couldn’t help but groan when you whispered a little ‘yes please ellie.’ she was sucking marks down your neck as her hands pulled from your pj and underwear, making you gasp as the cold air of the room hit your drooling pussy. “fuck, angel. you’re so wet…” she said as she took a glance of the string of slick that connected your cunt to your underwear. soon enough, her thumbs were parting your lips to take a better look at you, and you were covering your face, ‘cause ellie was looking at you as if you were a fucking meal and she was starving. your back arched when you felt it. the long and torturously slow drag of her tongue thought your folds, lapping at your arousal.

“ellie!” you screamed, a moan ripping your throat. she left a little kiss to your clit before sucking it, making you whimper and gasp for air, your hands flying up to her hair and making her grunt against your cunt. she pulled you closer to her face, pulling your thighs over her shoulders and laying one of her hands down on your lower stomach to keep you pressed against the bed and still for her to devour. she had been dreaming about this for months. and knowing that no one has ever had you like this. never kissed you, or touched you, or made you moan expect her had her soaking her boxers and eating you out with need.

you couldn’t stop moaning, and whining, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you gasped. ellie was telling the truth, it felt so much better than kissing. your thighs were shaking and your pussy was leaking on her tongue. it was the first time you’d ever felt this euphoria… this kind of pleasure…

and then you felt it. her tongue pushing inside of you, stretching you out. it was a new feeling. you had never felt anything like it. you’d never touched yourself. always too shy to even try, to oblivious to know the reason why your pussy would throb around the emerald eyed. and now ellie was helping you get rid of that aching feeling that tortured you every night, and you were falling apart.

“that’s it… pussy so sweet and wet…” she said, one of her fingers teasing the rim of your hole, pushing in just the slightest. you let out a scream when her middle finger pushed inside, your vision filling of colors and spots when she hit a spot deep inside as she curled it, making you sob and moan, tugging from her hair. “you sound so good. shit, angel. can’t wait to have you falling apart, creaming all over my fingers.” you didn’t know what she meant by that, but her finger was fucking into you, and you couldn’t even think.

she sucked on your puffy clit, slowly fucking in and out of you and relishing in the wet sounds that your pussy was making for her, adding another finger when she had stretched you out enough. they filled you to the brim, and so good you were choking. “ellie, ellie, ellie…” you moaned over and over again as she started to quickly curl her fingers against your g spot, making the knot growing on your stomach tighten. “ellie, i’m…, i’m…”

“you’re gonna cum, sweet girl? gonna cum all over my face?” you nodded, feeling that warmth bubbling up in your stomach, about to snap. “go ahead baby, let go for me.” your back arched as you gushed all over her fingers and lips, and she fucked you through it, humming at the taste, lapping at you like a starved women. she cleaned you up, not leaving a single drop of your come behind, helping you ride it out until you were whimpering due to overstimulation. she lapped at your sweet and sticky cum, licking clean your pushy and her fingers as she popped them inside her mouth, moaning. her chin and lips were shining, and she had this hazy look in her eyes that made your heart jump.

you opened your mouth for her when she kissed you, whimpering at the taste of your own arousal.

now that you had felt ellie’s tongue and fingers on you for the first time, you understood what those girls in your class meant by how good her fingers could make them feel…

her mouth was good too. too good. and you couldn’t stop starting at it, and her lips… and her hands. god. now you too wanted to know if they’d feel good around your…

“you’re staring pretty girl.” she smirked, and you looked away with your cheeks burning up. she chuckled, cupping your cheek to make you look at her. “nuh-uh. don’t hide from me. what is it, hm?” you looked into her emerald eyes, her thumb on your bottom lip. you shook your head, burning up. “you’re not gonna tell me?” you shook your head once again. “that’s mean angel, i want to know what’s going on inside that pretty little head of yours.” you saw her lean in. “you’re gonna make me have to get it out of you?” you shivered when you felt her breath hit your jaw, and then your neck, lips soft against your skin.

you sighed, your hands gripping her shoulders as she started to tug from your shirt, your nipples hard due to your arousal as she pushed it over your head, leaving you completely exposed to her hungry eyes.

“ellie…” you whimpered when her mouth latched to your breast, sucking the bud into her mouth and leaving marks on them. and she tugged you closer, making you fall on one of her legs, the denim of her trousers meeting your cunt.

her hands landed on your ass, grinding you down on her leg and making you moan. you felt embarrassed to speak up. completely caught in the feeling of her touch.

“come on baby. speak up.” she smirked, seeing you desperately grinding down on her thigh.

“want you ellie… want you.” you whimpered, and she hummed, sucking hickeys on your neck.

“you want me pretty girl? want me to stretch your little pussy on my cock? bet you’d look so cute riding my strap for me, cumming over and over again.“ you let out a needy moan. nodding.

“yes please, want it ellie, want it…” you begged.

“lay down and open your legs for me, baby.” she said, giving you a deep kiss before leaving you in the bed to go get her black strap-on. you were flushing red, and fidgety. and your eyes widened when she got back. ‘cause that was too big. her fingers had made you feel so full already… you couldn’t imagine how that would make you feel.

you squirmed when she was back in between your legs after having discarded her jeans and own shirt, leaving her in her boxers and sports bra. you were flushing and trying to not look at her, ‘cause she looked so hot it was impossible to take. she had abs, and such a pretty waist… her thighs were strong and big, and you couldn’t help but wish to be on top of her once again riding them, this time without her jeans on the way.

“look at me angel, let me see you.” she muttered, and your eyes were back on hers. “you’re so fucking beautiful.” your cheeks were red, and your thighs were trembling under her hands. a moan left your lips when she leaned down to kiss you. her tongue pushing into your mouth and you melted, feeling her body slot in between your legs and the plastic of her strap hit your naked soaking pussy. your hips pushed against it, and she thrusted against you, making the tip bump against your clit. your back arched, and your nails dug on her shoulders.

“please, ellie… please…” you cried out. needing more.

“what is it baby? what do you want?” you were throbbing, crying at her teasing, feeling the tip sliding in between your folds and hitching at your needy hole. “speak up. want you to tell me what you need.”

“need it inside…” you begged, your voice desperate and broken, completely eaten alive by your embarrassment.

“atta girl. that wasn’t so hard, was it?” the breath hit punched out of your lungs when she pushed in, your slick making it easy to slide in the tip. she went slow. “good girls get what they want.” you whimpered, feeling your pussy stretch to take her inside. it hurt. but it hurt so good you couldn’t help but buck your hips up for more. “aw, want more darling? want more of my dick? so greedy…” she smirked, seeing your eyes roll to the back of your head when she pushed all of it inside in one go, hitting your cervix. your back arched, and her mouth was sucking bruises on your neck and chest, making you see stars. “that’s it. atta girl. taking me so good…” she groaned, the strap brushing her own clit over her panties. “good girl baby, being so good for me…” tears were spilling from your eyes from the pleasure. her praise making you tighten around the strap and sucking it right back in harder when she tried and pull out to thrust inside. “so fucking tight, shit…” she cursed, and you whimpered, feeling the tip brush that spot that had you babbling out.

her hips slowly started to pick up pace, until she was properly fucking you, wet squelches coming from your cunt, which was impossibly wet. the strap slid easily i between your walls, and rubbed ellie just were she ached the most. you two were a mess of kisses, moans and hands everywhere. your hips fucked against hers, trying to beg for more.

“ellie, ellie please…”

she groaned at your need. “you’re driving me insane.” her hips snapped harder against yours, her cock plunging inside of you deeper and harsher, making it impossible to not scream. and she shut you up the only way she knew how.

your sight went white when you felt it. the hot grip of her hand around your throat. and ellie couldn’t help but groan when you were gushing on her strap, letting out little broken moans that got cut off with every harsh thrust.

“fuck. this is what you wanted, baby? wanted my hand on your neck, hm? my poor little thing just wanted to be choked.” you moaned, your nails digging on her back as she started to piston inside of you, making your orgasm grow and grow…

“ellie! ellie stop, something’s gonna come out, something’s gonna…!” you screamed as the pressure on your lower stomach grew and warmth liquid spread all over your thighs, soaking the strap and the sheets under you. your body was being filled in pleasure. you were falling and falling and falling. you were choking on it. there was no end.

ellie grunted and fucked you through it, reaching her own orgasm when she saw you squirt all over her cock. her cum had completely soaked her boxers by the time she had stopped rutting into you, the two of you panting for air.

and even with your hair made a complete mess, your eyes red with tears and your lips swollen by your kisses… you looked like an angel.

a/n; 🫨😵‍💫

ellie williams masterlist! <3

xxx

4K notes · View notes

dlavend3r · 3 months

Note

Hi! Would you be interested in doing an Angel Dust X bestie fem reader where she gets super weepy when she’s drunk?

Ahhhh I love this! And tysm for being my first request! I hope you enjoy this. My requests are still open!

Angel Dust x Bestie Weepy Drunk fem!reader

To say you cry when you’re drunk is an understatement. When you’re drunk, you’re…let’s say…very sensitive to things. A lot of things…..everything. When you’re drunk you get sensitive to everything. But that’s what you’ve been told. A lot. But you didn’t care, you enjoy having fun and getting drunk with your friends. Especially Angel.

It was one of those days where Angel had a rough going out with Val so he needed to let off steam. So he decided to go out and get drunk and do drugs. You know better as his best friend than to let him to any of that alone. Especially when he’s pissed. When Angel get pissed he gets reckless. So you decided to go with Angel to watch him and also let off a little steam and have fun.

You and Angel arrived at a bar and took a seat at the counter, Angel already ordering you both some drinks. That’s how it went, drink after drink, and shot after shot. It was hours since ya have arrived. You’re obviously wasted, far gone the tipsy stage. You still had a shot in hand ready to down it until Angel stopped you. “Come on sweet cakes, no more shots” Angel said as he grabbed the shot from your hand and downing it himself. He didn’t seem sober but he didn’t seem drunk like you were. “Come on Angel, lemme have anotherrrrrr” you groaned as you reached out to Angel. “That was gonna be my last one” You said trying to plead with Angel. That was a lie. If Angel hadn’t stopped you, you wouldn’t have stopped drinking.

Angel let out a laugh, a big laugh, “come on babes, we both know that’s a lie, you drink and drink until you can’t hold your shit anymore, and when I mean shit I mean you’re feelings. You get emotional, then we’re left to deal with a cry baby” Angel said as he slapped how ever bills on the counter to pay for both of your tabs and stood up from the stool. “Come on we’re going bac- are you crying?” You stared at Angel with teary eyes, “you think I’m a cry baby?” You asked with a trembly lip before you let out a cry. Angel was freaking out, he forgot the one rule when dealing with you drunk. Don’t mention that you get emotional. “Ah shit. Fuck- no babes you’re not emotional, you’re….empathic?” He said trying his best to comfort you which wasn’t working much.

“Oh my god, my best friend thinks I’m a fucking emotional wreck” You cried as you slammed your head down face first onto the counter. “I did not say that” Angel said as he placed his hand on you’re shoulder, “I just said you’re a cry baby, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

You turned to him, “really?” You asked with a tested stained face. Angel nodded, “of course sweet cakes.” He responded while he placed his hand on your head. “Come on let’s go.” You nodded as you stood up and fixed your hair and outfit.As both of you left the bar making your way down the sidewalk you noticed an animal, but it was missing an eye. Angel felt him gat grabbed by the arm and turned to your direction noticing you getting teary again, “ that animal don’t have an eye” you started to cry, “how the fuck can it seeeeeee” you cried, “it looks like Vaggie…. Was it abandoned too aweeeeeee fuck” you started to tear up as you leaned on Angel.

Angel sighed as he looked at you, “come on, maybe he likes it better with one eye” you turned to look at him, “how do you know it’s a dude, it doesn’t have balls” you said with a sniffle. Angel looked at the animal and back at you. “It doesn’t have balls but it has a dick.” Then you started to cry again.“They took his ballsssss” you cried, “he can’t fuck no moreeeee” you said as you passed by the animal. “He’s ball less!” You said while clinging into Angel. Angel was laughing his fucking ass off right now. “Okay yeah he’s ball less but that’s little thing still got a dick. We don’t have to worry.” He said trying to sooth you finding it funny that you care about an animals ability to fuck.

Both of you made ya way to the hotel and entered. As you both made it in the lobby Angel spoke, “let’s get you to bed before you start crying about more ball less animals.”

“Fuck there’s even more ball less animals?! NOOOOOO!”

#hazbin hotel x reader #angel dust x reader #angel dust #x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust

91 notes · View notes

alphabetboyluvr · 11 months

Text

throttle - jjk | six

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

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

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

word count - 20k

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

It's warm when you wake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You'll get your vengeance, love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They clearly hadn't met Jeon Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook has you. Has his way with you.

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

You have him coming undone.

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

Perhaps, you aren't commodities to be owned.

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

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

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

He calls you baby a lot lately.

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

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

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

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

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

"Not into politics?"

"Not into politics."

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

He switches the radio back. "I am."

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

"Uh-huh."

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

A possibility, but unlikely.

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

Instead, he talks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mum."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you shake your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your father was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And especially not with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they all wanted vengeance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should everything go to plan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The guilt will weigh on you for eternity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just want to be out of the car.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He'd rather this, though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so Jungkook tries a little softness back.

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

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

How beautifully unaware, you are.

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

And that's the kicker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's gonna be you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He'd be right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

────────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The same can be said for a hotel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Or what?"

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

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

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

Big, big shame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wises up to this pretty quickly, without complaint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's all very conflicting.

He can't wrap his head around it.

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

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

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

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

You tell him that you want him. Need him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook is losing his fucking mind.

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

You're it.

He thinks you're fucking it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You don't have to be."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Too far away," he pouts.

"Too far?"

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

"I can be closer," you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants softness, with you, always.

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

────────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bad."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You trust me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ones with the wallets always win.

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

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

There's no winning without you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You suggested it!" You protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs. "Keep what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps, just maybe, he's in lo-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this?

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

It already is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He closes his eyes. Hangs his head in shame.

"You trust me, right?"

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

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

"Tell me you trust me, C."

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. Say nothing.

"He lives around the corner, right?"

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

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

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

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

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

"What the fuck is going on, Jungkook?"

The question is stern. Sterile.

Fuck.

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

"You said you trust me-"

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

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

"C, you just gotta trust me-"

"Trust?"

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

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

"C-"

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

And that's when he realises.

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

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

"You're gonna have to."

"C-"

"Kook."

"Plea-"

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

Incorrect.

"Get out."

"I can't."

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

"C-"

"You've got thirty seconds."

"C-"

"Twenty."

"You gotta just-"

"Ten."

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

"Five-"

"Fine."

"Four."

"You want the fucking truth?" He shouts.

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

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

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

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

"Two."

He pauses.

And then he thinks fuck it.

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

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

Bull. Shit.

This might all make sense to you one day.

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

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

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

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

"C-"

"One. Now fucking leave."

────────────

201 notes · View notes

scientia-rex · 11 months

Text

Some Thoughts on Antipsychotic Medications

Ok, enough of you seemed interested in this when I asked in my antidepressant post (don't ask me for a link, search my goddamn tumblr for it, oh my GOD people were so lazy about my post on bariatric surgery). Once again, this is NOT medical advice, medical advice must be TAILORED TO THE INDIVIDUAL, that's the whole POINT of a professional field, literally every answer is "it depends" and without being your doctor, which I better not be because if you're my patient reading this I need to nuke my entire social media presence, I can't give you good advice and I wouldn't anyway because I already work 115% time and I'm very tired and you don't pay me.

There's a lot of crossover between "antipsychotic" and "mood stabilizer." I don't have as much experience with antipsychotics as I do with antidepressants, but more than your average bear. So you may see a med here and go "wait, what?" because of that overlap.

It's also worth discussing what psychosis is. There are a lot of media representations, and they are generally very stupid and bad. About 3% of the population will have a psychotic episode in their lifetime, so keep that in mind when you're talking about psychosis. There's about a 1 in 30 chance that the person you're talking to will actually have had psychosis, and a much higher chance that someone they know or love will. So don't be a dick about it. Psychosis involves losing the ability to distinguish what is reality and what is not. It seems to involve overactivity of dopaminergic transmission in specific brain pathways. It tends to be very frightening for its sufferers, although not always. Psychotic symptoms can range from a persistent delusion--I have one patient who is quite simply certain that they have worms in their lungs, despite all the tests indicating that they don't--to hallucinations of voices, to visual hallucinations, and any combination of those. Delusions and hallucinations are often negatively valenced, which means that they make the sufferer feel bad in some way, whether it's an auditory hallucination of someone telling you you're the devil, or a delusion that you're being persecuted by conspiracies for unclear reasons, or hallucinations of shadowy figures out of the corner of your eye. Delusions, when I see them in my patient, often reflect a patient's deepest fear. I had one patient who was a caregiver and they were fixated on the idea that there was a conspiracy of people watching them and setting up "tests" to make sure they weren't hurting patients or doing drugs.

It's also worth mentioning meth. Meth is one of the major causes I see of psychotic symptoms (especially since I'm in a rural area), and you need to understand that the longer and the more you do meth, the higher the likelihood of persistent psychotic symptoms. When I was a med student on an inpatient high-acuity psych ward, I had a very pleasant gentleman who'd been doing meth for years. It's tough to get a clear history, but my impression was that he probably hadn't developed psychotic symptoms until multiple years into daily use of meth--but now, despite being on the ward for over a week, there was no sign of the psychosis going away. He believed he could say things to passing cars and the sound would travel with the car, and someone miles away would hear it. He also believed there were indistinct white figures who hovered around his campsite. (He was homeless.) Meth can break your brain. Don't do meth.

The original antipsychotics are old school. We're talking the 1930s. Promethazine was developed in the process of trying to come up with antihistamines. First-generation antipsychotics are dopamine antagonists, and that means that they're blocking a large proportion of dopaminergic transmission both in the brain pathways related to psychotic symptoms, but also in the pathways related to reward, which sucks. When you think of "antipsychotics," this is most likely what you're thinking of unless you have personal experience with antipsychotics. First-generation antipsychotics include haloperidol (Haldol), chlorpromazine (Thorazine), and a handful of others, but it's a smaller class than the second generation.

Second-generation antipsychotics were a game changer. These are serotonin-dopamine antagonists. They include risperidone (Risperdal), paliperidone (Invega-Sustenna), quetiapine (Seroquel), aripiprazole (Abilify), olanzapine (Zyprexa), lurasidone (Latuda), ziprasidone (Geodon), and also clozapine, AKA the antipsychotic everyone hates prescribing because it can cause your white blood cells to suddenly go bye-bye and boom, you're at huge risk for infection. The only patient I've ever seen develop clear, unambiguous serotonin syndrome was on clozapine. I don't prescribe it as an outpatient family doctor; it's a medication of last resort, and more often seen in inpatient settings due to the need for frequent blood tests to monitor.

Because the brain is a great recycler, we also use dopamine in the control of our movements. This means that one of the more serious side effects of antipsychotics is a problem with movement. This is typically going to be something called "tardive dyskinesia," which means "slow messed up movement," but in Greek because we're fancy. TD is dreaded because we can't always reverse it. A medication called benztropine can help, but the better option, if at all possible, is to get someone off the medication that called the TD in the first place.

If you're keeping track, you're noticing that dopamine does a lot in the brain: the reward pathway, psychotic symptoms, movement. Your body also uses it for stuff outside the brain, like affecting gut motility and blood vessel dilation. It is really hard to come up with medications that only affect one thing, because the body will use the same messaging systems over and over. This is a big part of why there's some much cross-talk between medications that are ostensibly for one thing but used for many other things.

First-generation antipsychotics can be particularly bad about making people feel flat and incapable of feeling joy. The technical term for "incapable of feeling joy" is "anhedonia," Greek again, this time for "no happiness." This is incredibly punishing and people will often go off their meds in order to feel something. I don't want to hear any bullshit blaming people who do this. You probably would too, and learning not to throw rocks from a glass house is critical to being a decent fucking human being. However, it does mean that I have much more success keeping patients on second-generation antipsychotics. There is both a lower risk of anhedonia and a lower risk of TD, so in general, unless someone doesn't respond to second-generation antipsychotics, they won't be started on a first-generation. I have absolutely used first-gen antipsychotics for patients but they're more typical in the inpatient setting, where it's okay--and sometimes a good thing--if someone is sedated. One memorable example was in an emergency department where a woman was violent and had to be restrained with both physical restraints and a spit hood. We can't just go around sedating people these days--that's a whole-ass thing, because for a long time "treatment" in inpatient facilities was too often taken to be "sedation"--but boy howdy, she needed some Haldol.

I also work part time at the county jail, and while I again try hard not to use first-generation psychotics in patients who didn't come in on them, there are patients who actively request Haldol because they hate how being totally wound up and psychotic feels. I write for them to have as-needed oral doses. This means if they ask the jail nurse for it, they can get it, and it helps immensely.

The leading cause of death for patients with mental illness is heart disease. Antipsychotics tend to cause weight gain, and that is not only psychologically distressing to my patients because we live in a fatphobic world, it's probably related to worsened insulin function. Unfortunately, just putting everyone on an antipsychotic on preventative metformin (a medication that improves insulin sensitivity) also didn't work when we tried it, so we don't do that. But it's scary. I'm actually really hopeful that this new GLP-1 agonist med class that's in constant shortages because it causes weight loss (Ozempic, Wegovy, etc.) will be an option to help improve long-term health for psychotic patients. Some antipsychotics are worse than others for weight gain, but there are few genuine head to head comparisons of effectiveness, so I can't say "X works better than Y," we just have to pick one based on a) my familiarity with it and b) whether it seems like a good idea. I also feel it is better to be fat than dead, so if someone needs one of the more fat-inducing antipsychotics to live their life and/or have a decent quality of life, I'll prescribe it and I fucking dare you to talk shit, I will eat you.

My clinical experience has been that Seroquel and Abilify are the best-tolerated antipsychotics. I don't know why. Someone else might, but those are the ones I usually reach for unless someone is having really severe symptoms, in which case I think risperidone works faster. Data are, again, generally pretty weak.

But mostly I want you to remember that psychosis is not a funny punchline, "psychotic" is a shitty fucking insult to use, and someone you know and love probably has psychosis. Some people have a single break and it never happens again, some people can control it with medication, some people need to be institutionalized. It's a life-changing illness and people with severe psychosis, yes, even the weird ones who scare you, are still human beings whose lives have exactly the same inherent value as yours, and who deserve the exact same inalienable human rights as you do. Any other approach is garbage. Human rights are not negotiable.

#the attending dr. kristophine

101 notes · View notes

sugarakis-p2 · 1 year

Text

Mommy needs me! Ch 5

1100 followers and getting off my a$$ special

You inherited to your Aunts farm after she passed from cancer. But you don’t know also inherited giant Mothman-manchild, who is pissing and jizzing everywhere in your house.

Warning: Yandere Mothman Shigaraki, bondage, offensive language, violence, mommy kink, references to knotting and drug use

It's time to leave. Shigaraki he finds the smells changing annoying and met his personal goals. Getting his sweet mommy knocked up, creating the perfect conditions for an awakening and an escape. Things get strange for you. Everyone is catching a cold. You have an out of body experience. But aside from that you just want to leave.

Ch 4 < Previous

Chapter 5

Shigaraki sniffed idly at the young girl.

She was starting to smell like him, and that was confusing. The girl's hair had turned white. Her eyes are red like his. A horn was growing. She stank of fear. Perplexing him more. IS she his offspring? She does not look or smell right quite right.

A primal part of him could not stand hearing and smelling his possible grub like this. He reaches out with an antenna and chirps reassurance. The girl whimpered in more fear. He trills. Making the gentle friendly noises that lured in plenty of rivals. He fluffed his fur ruff, releasing more of his dust that carried his scent on the child. She is family and a female, if nothing else. The blonde one that feeds him giggles somewhere behind him.

"See, I told you. Isn't he cute?" Toga giggled again.

"Yeah, adorable for a murderous freak of nature. You are insane, Toga! I love you!" Jin Shouted as he made sure the restraints on Shigaraki were secure.

Tomura didn't resist since this was the day he got to see you, his mate. The child mumbled something about, "soft and tickles." He gave the simpering child one last cuddle before his muzzle was put on, and he was guided away. He didn't resist until he felt they were not heading towards you.

He growled and flapped his wings in agitation. Hot pain traveled down his back. Shigaraki snarled in pain of his mangled clipped wings. His wings will heal, but the red-hot pain that keeps him awake will not be forgotten. He vowed to get that arrogant bastard. The two creeps, that barely remember to feed him, are taking him into some side room. One of them clicked some device and the Master's voice cut through his petty thoughts. He froze and listened closely to the recording.

"Tomura. We have missed you. Seems you have gone into the city and found trouble. These two will help you escape. After you destroy all the research, data, and test subjects. It doesn't matter as long as it doesn't get into the hands of the government. We look forward to seeing you again. My child," Master ordered.

It has been years, but he would recognize this voice anywhere. My child, Master had called him that back then too. This was bad. He left the facility for a reason. That means Master is in his territory. Probably back at the facility. Which means he will have to kill Master. His offspring are in as much danger with Master as with Kai.

"Shoot. We'll have to kill the kid. She's so cute," Toga pouted.

"No, dumb. We will take. Stays in our hands. Take mate, child, and Fath...Doctor. I am in charge, and I want," Shigaraki growled. Both Toga and Jin jumped in surprise from him. He could feel the air shift and turned his head to talk to them directly, "I am leader. They are mine."

"IT CAN TALK!" they shrieked in unison.

He growled for them to shut up. Once the initial shock wore off, they were back to their insane selves. He could smell it. They are not right. They smell very faint of him. Normal humans can't smell it, but he can. He is spreading. How can Kai be a genius and a fool? He wonders and tweedled crazy and tweedled nuts. They agreed to take him to his mate.

Shigaraki doesn't use his nose on his face as much as he uses his feelers. The moment his mommy's scent hit his antennae, he knew. Your hormones caught on his antennae and the scent of spicy ginger and earth moss. Your smell sent a tingle down his spine, making his dick stiff and throbbing.

One good whiff, and he knew you were pregnant. Still too early to be sure you won't lose the little blueberry. That does not matter to his instincts. He can already tell the size of it, the smell, and the warmth of blood flowing to your abdomen. The rapid thud of a chamber opening and closing. Now is the time. He is not fully healed, but the adrenaline will give Shigaraki enough of a boost to finish what he started. Hopefully an awakening.

You gasp and run to him. Coddling him while he focuses on you entirely. More mating will reinforce his nature to protect. He could already feel himself getting strong enough to break the bonds if he desired. It was a storm inside him.

A scent crawled into his senses. A faint smell that made him want to sneeze. Like a serpent, it slithered into his thoughts. Kai has been in you. Did you like it? Not possible. You are his! Another male trying to take what was his was beyond arrogant. It was asking for revenge. The kind that would never make them even.

Mate. Take mate away. Nest and protect. No! No! Grab father. Weaken enemy. Deal with Kai and Master. His mind screamed. He tried to ignore it and focus on the task of fucking your pretty little brains out. He lived for these moments.

It's your own fault that you riled his suppressed instincts. Other mommy, your Aunt, had warned you. But you had not listened, so he will do what he was always meant to do. Fuck a tender pussy. Fuck until you knew that you were not meant for another. You will always be his.

He leaned in and received a sharper scent. Kai! Kai! Kai! All over you! Dirty damn slut! The filthy male didn't know his place! Doesn't know this is spelling his doom. My mate. Mine! So damn arrogant to think Kai could steal from him. His mind raged and ranted while he pushed on you. Shoving his face between your spread thighs.

"Come, Shiggy. I missed you, baby. It's ok," You reassured him in your soothing voice. A weariness hidden in the lower tones. Was that lowly neat freak torturing you again? The disgusting scent of rubber was all over you. Filthy, bitch, whore slut.

A fouler thought occurred to him. Worse than Kai fucking you under his nose. Has he been pleasuring you? His mate will come. Oh, how his mommy will come on his knot and praise him for it. He grows bigger at the thought. He dug you into you like a meal. His meal to devour and keep with him always. He licked that little cunt that belonged to him.

"Please, baby. Be a good big boy and fuck mommy, ok. It's big boy time. I missed you so much," your voice hitched slightly at the end. To you, he looks too thin. Your sweet concern eased him back to your sweet cunt.

Again, your smell is off in other ways. You are pretending to be happy with your words and touch. For his sake, he believes. Like a good mommy, you care for him. Just like any good mommy would consider him first. He has learned to push through your unhappy scent to do what Kai is keeping you alive to do.

He lapped harder, getting your tight little cunt ready for his cock. You will milk all the cum from him because he is just that good. His tongue darted into your squeezing velvety walls to the whoops of pigs watching. He ignored them, enjoying the bittersweet flavor of you on his tongue.

Did Kai ever make you cum with his disgusting small dick? His sterile seed depositing into you. His pathetic need to have everything to impress some daddy in a coma. He heard the rumors. Kia was disgustingly clinical about everything. He doubts Kai has pleasured you once. You are his dammit. He will thrust into those tight hot walls until his dumb mommy always remembers that you are his mommy.

The handlers helping him line up to your drooling hot cunt. He bucks hard and fast to be sheathed fully by your fluttering muscles. Your swollen clit pulsing as you mewled and squirmed under him. You have been teaching him what you like. It wasn't even that much outside of his base nature. It was fate. He was made to please you.

You drooled and whimpered as he pumped into your delicious walls. You squeezed and jerked on his excited cock. Close as you shuddered with desire. Oh, how you where are his good mommy. You cried at how much you loved it. Screamed at how you are meant to be one always. You like being knotted. His knotted sweet slut of a mommy loved him and more for it.

Your mouth turned into a surprised oh. Your eyes squeezed onto tight pain. He thrusted harder. The vice grip you have on his aching cock is pure pleasure. Pulling at the string of delight until he unravels. He cums hard as you pulse and milks his length. You are his. He will fuck until that foul scent is gone.

Drooling with his eyes rolling in the back of his head, Shigaraki lives in the moment. Shigaraki clung to the ecstasy of your shivering body as his throbbing knot was squeezing and releasing. Massaging and coxing every drop.

Kill his rival, and then fuck more. He liked that thought as he started to calm himself. Only he was unable to. The exchange of more hormones reinforced his primal urge to kill his competition. Shigaraki could feel it pumping through his blood. Already the restraints felt weaker. He nuzzled at the crook of your next. Cooing and purring louder than normal.

"Tomorrow," he whispered. He felt you stiffen around him. Shigaraki grunted in discomfort, then trilled loudly. Father should have told you the plan by now, he thought. The doubt that burrowed its way into his mind as you jerked added to the flood of the basic command taking over his mind.

It was a loud flapping of a thousand wings. An order that told him to secure his females at all costs. You and Father didn't have names or faces anymore. Both are a bundle of hormones in his mind that are the center focus of the world. He hears the screaming of the others in the room.

"He's getting bigger! Get the boss!" A male yelled. A male too close to his female. His female is out of the nest.

You wish you could say that you are shocked. That you are afraid. That you felt anything emotionally. Physically your pussy throbbed with pleasure and a tint of deep ache. Your back has started healing and itching. The drugs and mental torture are taking their toll.

Kai has been worse since the first "breeding." Krono and Kai have upped their cruelty. Kronos gave you an overdose. You regret you woke up with a needle in your chest. It would have been better if you never woke up. Kai has nearly drowned you for lying about Shigaraki. Choking was Kai's favorite thing to do you.

You wore a wide dog collar. To cover the bruises while humiliating you in front of everyone who sees you. In large shiny lettering, dog fucker is easily seen. That was his personal insult to you. After he forced you to have sex with Shigaraki in front of an audience. Kai had pulled you aside to pressure hose you. Then he did something that shocked you for the last time.

Kai whipped your ass black and blue. After the tears from the burning sting that he imprinted on your mind and round ass, you felt the switch inside you start to move.

"You liked fucking him! Like the slut cunt whore, you are. Disgusting." he said coldly from around his mask with another thwack, "You like an experiment fucking you. A freak. A created monster. A mistake cumming in you. He knots like a dog. That's what he is. A dog."

More painful whips. The switch slowly moved.

"I saw you enjoying that knot. A knot like a dog. Dog fucker. Whore dog fucker. Do you know who owes that dog? Do you know who owns you? Like your doggy lover? Whore. Cunt. Slut." He had said. Shoving his large rubbered length into your ass. It hurt beyond belief. You cried and squirmed in pain.

Not that squirming did you any good strapped to the surgical table. The chair was close by. The surgical chair was scary. He kept his tray of knives there. The pain as he entered you dry and unprepared flipped the switch completely. Kai hissed filthy insults at you. Seeing you shut down, Kai took the condom off and shoved his squirting head into your quivering asshole.

That shocked you. You had to be bleeding. Kai had to know what hole he had entered. The dirtiest of them all. This was the same man that scrubbed your gums raw to give HIM a blow job. Pumping his hips with a fever, he has not shown you before.

"Filthy, diseased dirty dog whore," Kai had panted. Feverishly gasping, working on his next orgasm as his fingers slowly cut off your air until the black closed in on the pain. When you woke up later, you are sore all over. Pain. Your skin hurts as if you have been scrubbed with sand.

You felt shame at first. But more ended up being more grateful to have the bruises covered by the collar. At least he wasn't harvesting your body for spare parts. Yet.

But the switch flipped in you that day. The one that left your body a million miles away to quiet the pain enough to continue. You still cried. You felt the pain long after it was over. But words took longer for you to understand.

That's why when Shigaraki started to grow like a hulk, snapping his leather bonds like rubber bands, you weren't surprised. Not when he peeled the face of the nearest person. Not when his wings sprouted to massive translucent wings growing scales. If his wings were not the shape you are used to, you would have sworn he turned into a dragon.

It was a sight that brought your mind a little to the present.

Shigaraki lifted you and flung you over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing. As dust filled the air, you reacted enough to close your eyes and cover your mouth.

"Need child! Need father! Need females," Shigaraki wheezed in the plumes of dust he created of the handlers and door. Your mind raced to interpret what he was saying. Tanaka i s here? A child? Tonight? This was all nonsense that hurt your head to think about. You felt yourself pull into your body more.

A lighting jolt of pain!

Confusing chaos as you bounced around in Shigaraki's shoulder in a flurry of dizzying movements and dust. Flashes of screaming faces. Splashes of crimson warmth dripped between his wings. It was overwhelming. Your entire being screamed and repelled itself away. Floating away from your body until it caught on a rock in the white waters of turmoil.

Suddenly you are looking at yourself. A crazed Shigaraki busting through rapidly decaying walls, you a limp useless ragdoll.…walls you are putting up? Your mind was not understanding. You quickly look at …Cops!?! Cops with teens? What the fuck is that? What insane Orwellian nightmare are you looking at? When suddenly you are worried. Worried for Kai. He has given you life.

Kai is carrying the future. That intense thought invaded your mind. These thoughts are not your own! No! That's a child. A child that looks like Shigaraki. What the fuck is happening? Your mind screams, loosening the grip on the rock. Leaving you open to being battered by more waves of pain and thoughts that are not your own.

You clawed your way onto the rock again. The thoughts that are not yours tried to push you off. This rock is a person in the walls. You don't understand. But what you do know is Shigaraki is tearing through the building to get to Tanaka. She was being dragged along by one of the bullets.

The guy you are in is throwing up walls for Shigaraki and the police. This was bad. The cops would take Shigaraki away to a government facility. You force the rock to focus on the two you can feel this person has a seething hate for. The moment that happened, things became easier for Shigaraki.

You let go of your hold on the man in the wall and swam through the stray thoughts back to your body. Where you felt everything again in sharp 3-D pain.

You screamed so loud the Doctor turned to look behind. Tanaka paused and stared at the wall that suddenly appeared behind them. Kai morphs a little as he hisses his disapproval of her hesitation to follow. Things have become hectic.

"I will get the others later. Believe me when I say I don't want to leave an investment behind," Kai stated flatly.

Tanaka shivered and allowed herself to be yanked behind.

"Shouldn't I carry the child?" She asked timidly. Kai looked like he wanted to slap her but was barely restrained. The guy carrying Erie seemed relieved to hand her off to Tanaka. The little girl was her typical stiff, traumatized self. Sometimes she felt disgusted with the girl. She could not imagine anyone rolling over and just taking the torture as this experiment has.

She had to stop mentally. She has seen what has been done to her. What she helped do to the little girl. It helps relieve her guilt when she thinks of the girl as an experiment. Now is not the time to relieve herself of anything. The stress made her signal La Brava too soon.

Tanaka can only hope she did not ruin everything as the child clung to her. She set up a few things. When the men were distracted, she slowed down, actively walking back. When one shouted, "HEY!" She turned and ran. Straight towards the monstrous roar. She yelped when she heard the clicking of crashing gun hammers.

Tanaka had been working on their trust. She had their backs turned on her more than once. Today was the day she was brave enough to plug the gun barrels. The rage in Overhaul's voice tingled up her spine, making her break out in gooseflesh.

"Eri, get back here before others have to DIE!" Kai, no, Overhaul shouted. A monster version of Shigaraki was barreling toward them. Passing them to attack Overhaul directly. Dropping your body on the ground at the Doctor's feet. The wind was knocked from you. But Tanaka was more focused on Overhaul.

She had to see it to believe it. But Overhaul put a barrier between them. Shigaraki was quickly decaying as spikes made of the floors and walls tried to impale him. It is now a part of the common cold virus and is spreading. Tanaka was filled with dread as you stumbled to your feet.

"Let's go!" You shouted at her. Draping yourself on her as you clutch and shamble away from the danger. You didn't get far when new walls closed off between you and Shigaraki. The only way out was forward, so you pressed on. It wasn't long before you ran into the police.

Shigaraki was focused on removing the danger from the females. When the danger lessened. Feeling the threat weakened from using his new quirk. How twisted must this man be to get this quirk? Shigaraki had no delusions about himself. He knows Master was altering him and the rest of his family. He knows he was groomed and used. What is this one's excuse? He wondered.

Not for long. His females were retreating, and he needed to secure them from the other males wandering this new maze. It was a physical need that twisted his mind and body to follow. His main target was his mate. But somehow, once again, his grub and his mate had parted. He puked. The adrenaline was taking a toll on his body. What a pain , his mind growled.

Dr. Tanaka decided to let the cops have the kid while they were pointing guns at you and telling you to "release the child!" was a much better idea than getting shot. She ran to them, but you tried to keep her with you. The little girl coughed all over the green hair kid. Interesting look for a new little fascist, she thought. The other thought was the potential damage that the child could do. She has seen that thing make people disappear.

"Hey. We are all kidnaped victims. That child belongs to my…husband," you found yourself saying. More police dispersed. A few stayed to help the three of you. The Doctor looked like a frightened rabbit looking for an exit.

"Let them keep her. She's dangerous, and the longer we stay here, the more likely they run into Shiggy," Tanaka whispered. The look of fear in her eyes screamed for them to run. You know and trust Tanaka too much to snatch the girl back. Instead, you latch onto each other and run. Tanaka leading the way.

"I hope she is safe now. Either way, we need to put on our oxygen masks first," She panted. You had no idea what that meant or cared now. The pain was screeching again. This time it was a different beast. The drugs. Oh, how you suddenly want to go back for your dose.

"You're sweating? Do you have a fever? Oh fuck. Oh, fuck!" She repeated in a disturbed chant, dragging you along. Your arm feels hotter than the rest of you. You spare a glance from your pain to Tanaka. She looks to be at the end of a cold. Running on pure terror. She is gaunter than ever, which sent a chill down your spine. How bad off must her health be for you to feel pity for her?

The light hurt. The high-pitched happy voice of the blonde girl hurt. The baritone of the firefighter? Pyro nympho? His voice hurt. All you know is she is showing off a lot of plunging neckline, and you didn't finish all the way with Shigaraki. There was a roar. A blur, and then everyone was violently placed in a van.

That made your head spin as you were shoved into the back of a Van. The pale figure blurred. Then reappeared with a dead-looking child when the darkness closed in on you. You faded into the bright light to see a screeching Shigaraki filling the van.

A crying child. A chittering Shigaraki. The Doctor holds the child away from everyone, not in fear for the child. But in fear of the child. A masked man shouted how, "The facility will be safe. We are going to take you there right now! Sensei wants you!"

"Oh my gosh! They are all so cute!" The blonde girl gushed.

"All of you need to shut up. Your too loud," A young man with staples and burns gruffed. His icy eyes land on you. Your flesh breaks out in gold gooseflesh as you try not to stare are the cruel-looking man.

Shigaraki snarled at your distress.

When you open your eyes. It was terrifying. Memories of laying on a metal bed frame and pain. You groan and shift. Shigaraki's purrs were a relief as you felt the tickle of his soft ruff on your cheek. You feel his arms and wings wrapped around you. It's warm and comforting.

You don't trust it at first. So many times, they have tried to fool you. They wanted to know where the farm was. You never told them. You never will. But this feels different. The pain has dulled.

You open your eyes to a chirping Shigaraki. He looks at you with heavy-lidded love and nuzzles your hair. Looking around, you are more confused. You're in a nest, and when you peek out the door, you realize that the nest is in a tree. Real trees. But fake grass. A sterile smell of cleansers.

"Where are we?" You asked in horror.

"We are at my before home. Mommy had a fever. Mommy is carrying little grub. It was ok. Master fixed. We'll leave when safe," Shigaraki rasped, pulling you back to the nest. Your mind whirled with questions.

"Who is Master?" You asked timidly. A speaker under a camera in the corner answered.

"You can call me AFO or All for short. When Tomura returned, he brought you and the Doctor Tanaka to us. Both of you were suffering from a virus in your condition. Detoxing with a child and a skyrocketing fever, we came to an agreement. We put you in an induced coma while you detox. Breaking the fever. In exchange, all of you will help with the Doctor's research," The disembodied voice of AFO stated.

"How long have I been asleep?" You asked the air. Your emotions spinning. You're pregnant? Shiggy pulled you in close and whispered. The gravel of his voice was painful. But his hot breath tickled, and a shiver ran down your spine at the words.

"A month. Overhaul is coming. This is where we will make our last stand. Get rid of all threats," Shiggy rasped.

Shigaraki nuzzled and tried to get you back to calm. A scared mommy was an unpredictable one. He wanted you healthy and safe. You are a dumb mommy who can't protect herself. When he crashed from the burning power pumping in his veins. Father quickly helped him and the child. He told Father about the adjusted plans. He will get rid of Overhaul, Master, and the other threats in the forest in one swoop. He smiled and cooed to his mommy.

All mine , he thought in pleasure.

#moth shigaraki #mothura #mothman #mothman shigaraki #mothmura #bnha shigaraki #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #tomura x y/n #tomura x reader #tomura x you #Shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki tomura #mha shigaraki #shiggy #shigaraki smut

235 notes · View notes

itty-bitty-sunshine · 9 months

Note

im curious, how did perkeo become immortal? you say theyre the dont age dont die type but theyve still aged to the point of an average adult. so was there a point where they became immortal? were they born immortal but still aged to the point where they seemed like the average human then stopped?

this is a bit more morbid but im curious about this too

how severe can injuries get if they cant die? how does their body handle situations where the average person would bleed out? would they heal faster? would they just have infinite blood? what if they got into a coma? would they ever wake up? or is it just not possible? how would they heal from injuries that would make it impossible for the average person to come back?

if youre not willing to answer the second stuff thats fine, im just really curious

They do not remember

The earliest memory they have is on the kingdom, and they were already a grown person by then

They remember kneeling, the agreement made with the king

They remember tests, and them stopping with lack of results

They remember doing their job afterwards, and the years that went on as they remained the same

They remember making people smile and laugh and how they cherished that feeling more than anything

That does not mean they never had a family, though

Morbid details under cut

Very. They had to crawl their way out of things no human could even dream of surviving, things no one should have survived — or even lived enough through it as it happened

They can still get dizzy, they can still faint, things can go to black, but eventually their brain will pull them back awake again. Die, but come back

The wound would close, but they can bleed out. They can feel the dizziness, the cold, the pain. If severe enough, they could pass out — either until the wound closes or until their brain decides it gotta keep fighting still. That said, they very likely could deal with a stab wound without passing out if outside factors are not included (if anything, they would just be annoyed)

Sewing a wound would likely make it close faster than leaving it alone

Their heart would always start beating again even after stopping, so I guess you could say they have infinite blood?

They would wake up from a coma I'm pretty sure (how long it would take would depend on the cause), unless it was like, medically induced (which would mean constant upkeep to keep em like that) because yk. Strong drugs

They do heal from injuries that would be impossible for a normal person to survive. Their body puts itself back together – and when it can't, it just makes a new part to compensate

So, for example: let's say they get decapitated. They could put the head back on the neck, and the body would work to glue the two together again

Now, let's say they lost a leg and for some reason could not try to put the leg back in place: then the body would make a new leg. It would take a lot longer, and be infinitely more painful, but it would be back in place one way or another

(Now for what happens to the lost limb — idk it probably rots as the body regens. They are already immortal, might as well throw some nonsense in the mix)

How can they grab their own head and put it back? Idk that's too much to keep track of. Maybe magic who knows

Also! Burned skin will heal and fade, take that was you will

Essentially I would say it's just kind of nightmarish but they do heal pretty fast (how fast? Idk, but pretty fast), and that they would also be pretty used to some level of pain rn

#dont worry im more than willing to talk about this kind of things #surprisingly i thought a lot about it because i wanted it to be more biologically-based than just magically and painlessly fixing yourself #though theres still some holes where and there that i could not fill #whatever angst i could throw into this story i did #this au is deep wounds disguised as hope and never ending search for a better ending #they had to crawl their way through hell. but they will have their happy ending #its the least they could have after creating them for so many people #dca au #immortal au #immortal au ask #cw mortality #cw: gore #tw gore #cw loss of limbs #cw amputation #graphic depictions of violence #cw graphic depictions of violence #cw character death #cw medical trauma #(?)#idk putting it just in case #cw decapitation #cw blood #blood #im not good with cw so if theres anything else i should put please let me know and im so sorry in advance #cw coma #?

50 notes · View notes

literary-illuminati · 1 year

Text

Book Review 23 – Remote Control by Nnedi Okorafor

Okorafor has been on my to-read list for a long while, but this is the first work of hers I’ve actually gotten a chance to sit down and read. Happily, despite it being a couple years old I went in entirely blind and with absolutely no idea what I was in for besides ‘sci fi novella’.

The book is about a young girl in a near-future Ghana who, discovering a strange meteor fragment and/or seed underneath a tree in her family orchard, becomes infected by a sort of deadly alien light. It tries to protect her by blazing and killing everyone around who might be hurting her, and before she begins to learn to control it she accidentally kills everyone in her village. The story follows her travels wandering in search of the seed and the man who took it from her, her only constant companion a strange fox who seems to be the only thing unharmed by her light.

Though even if that’s the ostensible plot, it’s not really what the book is about. It’s really more of a series of vignettes, about how the culture around Sankofa makes sense of her and of the places and people she ends up passing some time with. Much of the story has a real fable-like tone, and all the myths that grow up around her are a big part of that. She’s known as Death’s anointed daughter, wandering the earth on foot and fed and clothed as an honoured guest wherever she might want to rest for a couple days, offering instant and total euthanasia to those who ask for it and reducing anyone who puts a hand on her to ash.

Okorafor’s prose does an excellent job keeping the prose feeling mythological or fable-like through the whole book as well. I’m like 90% sure the fox and a dozen other things are references to mythology or folklore that flew entirely over my head, honestly. The close focus on Sankofa does too – we never zoom out or get a bird’s eye view of the world, or even of Ghana. Almost everything’s mediated through the perspective and experiences of a particularly traumatized adolescent girl, brought up only when it’s relevant to her.

The book’s Ghana is – you know the one Gibson line, about ‘The future is already here – it's just not very evenly distributed ’? There’s miracles of high technology brushing against the edges of the screen, but those who have them have been very careful to make sure that most of what makes it to rural west Africa is scraps with strings attached. The embodiment of that is the LifeGen corporation, an American conglomerate that offers cheap drugs (apparently prototypes in need of testing, or else supplies with side effects they just need to get rid of) and the drone network used by the eponymous RoboTown to keep the streets safe and traffic orderly (in exchange for all the date the network happens to gather as it does so). While never exactly a direct threat to Sankofa, their interest in the seeds and their light makes them the closest thing to a consistent antagonist in the book as well.

Sankofa herself is a great protagonist, by which I mean she’s a densely packed bundle of trauma, guilt and moral injury who spends years of her life wandering on foot in pursuit of a goal picked in large part so she had a goal to focus on and didn’t have to sit and think for too long. Her internal monologue's really very affecting at points, and so is the contrast between the mask of supernatural authority she puts on at points and the fact that she’s is very much still just a kid.

The actual plot beats are usually pretty predictable and well-worn, but honestly my only real complaint about the book is that, having finished it, I still have no. Fucking. Idea. Why her power is called ‘remote control’.

#book review #sff #remote control #nnedi okorafor #novella

62 notes · View notes

dailycharacteroption · 3 months

Text

Hybrid Class Review: Investigator part 2

(art by Nezart on DeviantArt)

Utility and Builds

Now with the preamble out of the way, let’s get into the meat of what makes the investigator tick.

At their core, the investigator gets proficiency with light armor, simple weapons, and a collection of thematically-appropriate weapons revolving around more subtle and dexterous weaponry. They also get a nice selection of class skills and a heaping helping of ranks to put into them, making them a very skill-focused class to begin with.

They also start out learning alchemy the same way alchemists do, able to use it to identify potions and elixers, as well as brew extracts, though they do not gain bombs or mutagens. They use the same spell list as alchemists, though obviously the bomb admixture extracts won’t work for them normally since they don’t gain bombs.

Honestly, I dislike the addition of alchemy to the base investigator, as it seems a little too out of place and/or too much a reference to Sherlock Holmes’ drug habit, but maybe that’s me seeing things that aren’t there.

The biggest mechanic, however, that the investigator is known for is their pool of inspiration. This pool allows them to add an extra d6 to skill checks. They can do this with any skill, though they can do it for free with knowledge skills and linguistics as long as they’ve trained in them. Additionally, they can spend double the points to use them with attacks and saves as well.

Their keen perception also gives them the roguish ability to notice traps with ease and disable even the magical ones.

They also study lots of lore on poisons, not only being able to handle and utilize them safely, but able to identify them with ease and even neutralize them.

That practice comes with a lot of errors and tests in the lab, and as a result, much like alchemists, they develop increasing resistance to poison, and even immunity later on.

Much like alchemist discoveries and rogue talents, investigators get their own supply of talents. These talents range from adding nasty extra effects to their studied strike (more on that in a moment), adding a limited list of alchemist discoveries or rogue talents, improving the base die of their inspiration, letting them apply inspiration for free on more types of skills, making using inspiration for combat purposes more efficient, new ways to spend inspiration to bolster themselves or others, and so on, leading to a lot of customization.

Their skill and instincts with traps Also makes them good at dodging them.

Much like rogues, investigators have their own advantage in combat, though it functions differently. By studying an opponents every move, from the way they attack to the subtle ways they give away past injuries and weaknesses, giving them bonuses on their aim and the damage they deal. However, normally such a foe immediately learns to compensate once the studied state ends, making it impossible to do again until at least a day has passed, that is, unless the investigator expends some of their inspiration to compensate for their compensation.

However, they can also end this studied state with a bang, ending the state in return for dealing a singular crippling strike against their target, the damage of which only increases with time, and can apply to both lethal and nonlethal strikes alike.

Much like alchemists, they also learn to brew their alchemical items with exceptional speed.

Finally, the most brilliant and skilled of these investigators can use their inspiration for free on all skills and ability checks. What’s more, their inspiration rolls two dice instead of one, boosting them to even greater heights whether they are applying it to skills or combat.

Of course, investigators got alternate capstones in Chronicle of Legends, with the one specific to the investigator making them even more lethal when studying a foe.

Aside from that, some become pinnacles of mental and physical fitness with Perfect Body, Flawless Mind; become the heads of organizations with The Boss; acquire a legendary weapon or piece of equipment with With This Sword; or become a death-defying legend akin to the apparent death and later resurrection of Sherlock Holmes by Doyle with Won’t Stay Dead.

The investigator class is very much a skill monkey, and arguably one of the best ones thanks to them able to add an extra dice to their rolls, often for free, not to mention being able to roll on all knowledge skills even without training. You can be anything from a rambling chatterbox that gets others to let slip information, to a sneaky investigator that seems more like a thief despite gathering evidence instead of riches, and so on, leading to so many different builds.

Additionally, their combat gimmick is fun and rewards strategic play, gaining a lesser passive buff for a while before striking at the right moment with a devastating blow, which may be at the end of your strike or whenever it would be most useful to damage the foe right now or apply a debilitating effect.

And on top of that, they have alchemical extracts as well, providing plenty of buffs with some blasting and strange other effects. Despite my misgivings about them, the base investigator can do a lot with them, though it’s no surprise that the Second Edition version of the class treats the alchemy side of the original as an optional possibility.

All in all, whether you use then as actual detectives, brilliant scholars putting their knowledge to good use, or even military tacticians or masterminds, the investigator truly is a class all about putting their intelligence to good use without having to be a caster (mostly).

That will do for today, but as we’ll see tomorrow, archetypes only improve the variety of brilliance that these investigators can command.

#pathfinder #hybrid class #review #investigator

14 notes · View notes

beautifulpersonpeach · 10 months

Note

BPP, a straightforward person like you deserves a straightforward question.

No matter what you do with them afterwards, who would be the best in bed? That is, the one who would make YOU feel the best in bed?

***

Now...

I know we're all bored and dreadfully in need of entertainment, but what in the holy devil is this?

Not that I'm upset getting this kind of ask, (assuming you're not the same 'Anon' aka the empty account that's taken to sending me BTS feet pics in the last few weeks), but how can I possibly answer this honestly without incriminating myself?

The only solution I see here is to pull something of a smoke trick - to write in my honest answer surrounded by a bunch of dishonest ones. So Anon, the last thing you'll be getting from me is a straightforward answer, despite your straightforward question. :)

First, the honourable mentions:

Taehyung - He seems like the kind of lay you meet at a party, he'd approach first chatting you up for exactly 47 mins talking about nothing in particular but he'd sprinkle in oddly personal questions here and there, making sure to keep your glass always full. Just before you dip (47 mins is a fairly long time for a party chat), he'd ask you over to his place to have drunk, languid, lazy sex. For some people, one night stands allow them to become more uninhibited, more willing to try new things etc, and party drugs of various kinds including alcohol can help facilitate that sometimes. But alcohol-fueled, no strings attached, lazy sex hasn't really been my speed for years, so it's a pass from me.

Seokjin - He has a reputation of having a massive cock but much of what the fandom ascribes as BDE for him just seems to me like the typical air of authority anyone in his position would have given the age hierarchy in Korea. In my experience, big dicked Korean guys are significantly more obnoxious than anything we've seen Jin display, they're also really into fairly unusual kinks, for whatever reason, so since I don't get any of those vibes from Jin, I assume he'd be a decent lay but only that. For my tastes at least.

The smoke screen:

Yoongi - Getting the obvious suspect out of the way, I don't think Yoongi has the kind of stamina I'm looking for in a good fuck. Which is kinda tragic for me, as you can imagine. The cerebral connection would be there - a non-negotiable for me - and he seems like the kind to not mind a messy tangle on various surfaces if that's how things play out. But could he last longer than the time it takes to stream The Paradox album by Jacob Banks from top to bottom? I doubt it. But I'd be willing to test my hypothesis if given the opportunity.

Jimin - Now, stamina is not a problem for Jimin. I don't really read fanfic but I'm aware he's mostly taken to be the soft bottom in most pairings, maybe because people perceive him to be delicate and feminine especially during sex. While that could be true and technically isn't a hindrance for me, I suspect his natural undercurrent of intensity is brought to the fore during sex. Which I'd like. And that he's more of an equal opportunity kind of fuck. If you know what I mean. So not exactly a switch, and not exactly fully uninhibited but closer to that than the other guys maybe save Hoseok. He also seems like the sort to care more about the where, why, and how of the fuck, than any of the other guys, which I appreciate. But again, I'd be open to testing my hypothesis.

Namjoon - He's clumsy and can't seem to butter toast without everyone around him being worried for their safety and his, but I'm very certain that man knows how to lay pipe. He's been much too unguarded and explicit about it in the past for me to have any real doubts about his experience. I also suspect he's the sort to seek an emotional and cerebral connection with someone, buttering them up with loads of foreplay (somewhat and maybe adorably clumsily), before going in for the kill. Which I'd like. But out of all the guys, he'd be the first to catch feelings. I also think he's the most likely of the members to potentially lurk on Tumblr so Joon if you're reading this, we're both into trying experiments and my DMs are open so feel free to reach out but only after you've already had your rebound.

Jungkook - I think he's a lot more similar to Namjoon in this way than a lot of people think. I can't really go into detail explaining what I mean because well, no, but if stamina was my only requirement in a good fuck, JK would be the only option here. *insert any 'Seven and Jk is a bunny' joke of your choice here* He has this restlessness in most things he does that I find really sweet actually, and I don't think it will be absent during sex. But he'd temper it with being emotionally present, careful, delicate for the whole affair. I like that he's meaty enough to bite into, there'd be a lot of him to hold on to for dear life if we somehow end up on the wall or on a bridge.

Hoseok - He's the sort of guy who knows exactly what he wants and goes straight for it without taking any detours. I think. Not to say he's rough and callous, though I'm not exactly opposed to that depending on the situation, but I suspect he'd be the most likely to directly ask you about your needs, wants, and limits before bumping uglies. Which I'd like too because fully verbalized consent really is sexy. Afterwards though, I think he'd be a cuddler and the biggest one out of the seven. Which I'd like. But I also like to dabble in various things that I think he'd be hesitant to trying because he's conscious about his maintaining his physical health and 'purity'. Maybe. Not a dealbreaker but, you know. I wonder if this vibe I get from him will change after he's done with his military service though, in which case, again, I'd be open to verifying my assumptions with practical experience.

Lol, anyway, there you go, Anon.

#fun asks #and a fair bit of fan fiction #how did I do? :)#taehyung #seokjin #yoongi #jimin #namjoon #jungkook #hoseok

23 notes · View notes

neerons · 5 months

Note

Omg I just read read your analysis of the 3s friendship to whom Kei is close to, and you have captured it so beautifully. You are extremely observant and have a knack for reading between the lines. The entire read was so good. Keep it up. I hope you write more about MK in the future. If u don't mind me asking I would love to know what you personally thought of kazuomi season 4 ofcourse when you have time (saw a lot of negative reviews and people saying that mc character was destroyed) what do u think about that? Anyway. Take care, and have a great day:)❤️

Now that's the kind of message that makes me very happy to receive 😭💖

Thank you so much for your words. Really. It makes me extremely happy whenever people send me asks, and it's even better if it benefits others when I answer to help or give more insight to the stories. I really like studying the psychology or philosophy of characters I love, so I'm glad I get to do that through these stories ❤

My thoughts on Kazuomi's Season 4

And of course I don't mind you asking that! About Kazuomi's S4, I replied to a similar question HERE if you're interested. Now that some time passed, I have forgotten a few things about what happens in this season but mostly, Kazuomi's S4 seemed to be used to take a "step back" in Kazu and MC's relationship. Possibly because a bigger plot twist concerning Kazuomi's past might happen later on, which will make him change his mind again about his relationship. That's what I originally thought after reading it.

At that stage in the route, Kazuomi and MC were very close. MC was in a new situation professionally and had to make her talents shine. MC trusted Kazuomi a lot, as he had once said he wouldn't do anything she'd dislike. She had also witnessed many times that despite appearances, he was always good and saved situations. However they went back to their "roots", if I could say, when Kazuomi actually tested her and their relationship when he got involved in a drug cartel.

I don't understand why people would say that about the MC being "destroyed" in this season, as the situation she faced was a test for her own character development from my understanding. What I mean here is that originally, the MC is a very ethical person. She's a literal moral compass. That's why she's often described as a saint in Kei's route, and why Yuzuru relies on and trusts her so much as well in his. But she knows that where there is light, there is also darkness. She's not unaware of it and states it in the first prologue of MK herself:

"Light and dark don’t exist in separate worlds. They live on the same street and breathe the same air. And each one of us is one slip-up away from falling into the dark."

Despite that, due to her job, she has a hard time accepting and seeing the benefit of the darker aspects of the world. In this season, Kazuomi showed her that what she was fighting against isn't completely and utterly bad for the people she wants to protect. He showed her that the world isn't just black and white. That there's a grey area to it, and that innocent people she wants to protect sometimes benefit from that grey area.

Kazuomi who has experienced living in poverty knows what it's like to have everything and suddenly be left with nothing. Due to this, he knew that people who did well with the money they got from the drug cartel would become poor after the EAC takes the cartel down.

I would describe this season as being a philosophical conflict between Kazuomi and MC. Their worldview and beliefs were opposed, which was bound to happen at some point in Kazu's route. Due to their positions in society (MC being an agent dedicated to protect the ordinary life of innocent people, and Kazu being a man with so much power he is often involved in suspicious dealings) it's only natural that they couldn't act as if nothing is happening and had to wonder if they should stop their relationship.

I didn't dislike that season personally. From my memories, their problem was that their relationship, as it had developed, didn't suit them and their lifestyle much. Kazuomi likes that MC doesn't trust him completely, because she then chases him, which is what he likes. That's what spices his life up.

Their relationship relies on the thrill of it, not knowing if the other is an enemy or not. Therefore, them completely trusting each other when a situation makes them enemies doesn't work for them. They had to put distance to make that dynamic work. Also, there's the fact that Kazuomi is at a stage where he doesn't believe in "forever". He even thinks MC won't be forever by his side as well, and he believes he's irrational for actually wanting her to always be next to him (that's because he loves her so much hehehehehe).

In a sense, while it's sad that this decision results in them not being 24/7 together and banter as much as before, I think this type of plot twist will be the key of them realizing that their love is even stronger than they had anticipated. And maybe, and I hope, that Kazu will change his view when it comes to "forever", and will understand that he just can't live without her. Their relationship seems stuck right now when it comes to them having only that kind of "enemies and lovers" dynamic, but for now that's what they desire. Maybe in the future season, they'll meet another target and situation that will make them want to actually live a more "stable" couple life where they still allow trust to be part of their relationship.

The ideal thing would be for them to trust each other and still have a thrilling relationship, but it would be hard to make that happen. I'm so curious to know if that's something that could even be possible, and what will happen in the future stories. How else would I be able to see what their kids look like if they don't settle down anyway?! I want to see if their canon daughter looks like the one I made up. Is that too much to ask for 😭

Jokes aside, I really love them and their dynamic. Despite what they decided, they still are very close physically (and emotionally of course). They already can't live without each other even now. They're down deep. They fell, and they fell so hard they made one with the floor. They're depicted as soulmates whose paths are intertwined. It's only natural that they will end up as a power couple who can't get their hands off each other

Thank you for the ask, and have a great day as well!

#ask #kazuomi shido #yuzuru shiba #kei soejima #masquerade kiss #mk #voltage inc #love 365 #otome game #voltage #love 365 find your story

9 notes · View notes

awkwardchick87 · 2 years

Text

Kazutora went to prison for 10 years instead of 2 after killing Shin. All characters are aged up to 22-23 years old. Start of the Valhalla arc, Baji has left Toman and is now getting invited to the upper ranks of Valhalla. He just has to pass this first test.

**MDNI**

CW: Afab reader, mentioned violence, mentioned drug use, reader is a SWer if you squint, sex, fingering, oral (m/f receiving), threesome, voyeurism, use of pet names (baby, pretty baby, pretty girl)

a/n: Wrote this for the #Gangsallherecollab hosted by Kinjuutsu! My first ever piece for a collab. Enjoy!

One week. It'd been one full week since Baji left Toman to infiltrate Valhalla and get more information on Kisaki. He had spoken to Kazutora a few times, but he seemed to spend a lot of his time in the back of the Valhalla hideout with Hanma and a few of the other higher ups. Kazutora invited him to the hideout today with promises of a "surprise".

The air was thick, smelling like weed, cigarettes and dust. No one seemed to care, lounging around on worn furniture or crates. The members of Valhalla seemed to enjoy the simple things, drugs, gambling and women which there were always a few around. Usually just women who wanted nothing more then to be fuck their way up to the commanders and leaders of the gang. Baji payed them no attention as he walked to the back of the hideout. He spotted Kazutora standing outside the only door to the back area.

Kazutora waved to him, a wide smile on his face, "hey, I can't wait to show you! It took a little bit of convincing to get you in here, but I told them, if they have a problem trusting you, I'd just break their legs" Kazutora tilted his head, causing his earring to ring.

"You didn't have to stick your neck out for me, I don't care if they trust me or not. I showed my loyalty last week when they had me rearrange Matsuno's face" Baji scowled at the memory, looking down to his knuckles, still healing.

Kazutora waved the memory away, "You definitely want to be a part of this, just trust me" as he opened the heavy metal door, gesturing for Baji to go in first.

The smell of perfume hit Baji's senses. Surprised, he glanced around quickly, noticing this room was much cleaner then the front of the hideout. A small sofa bed against one wall, a cracked leather chair was turned, so whoever was seated in it, could watch the sofa bed. A couple of fold out chairs were seated around a poker table to the side.

Hanma was seated in the leather chair with a woman on his lap. The first thing Baji noticed was she was very undressed. Clad in only a lacy bra and matching panty. Hanma was tracing small circles on her thigh with one hand while the other lifted a cigarette to his mouth, "Ah, Baji! Welcome to the VIP section" Hanma called loudly. "This here is y/n, she's our, hmm, how should I say this" Hanma put his finger to his chin, theatrically, "She's our main source of entertainment" He emphasized his words by running his hand up your thigh and grabbing one of your breasts, shaking it lightly. A small gasp escaped your throat.

All Baji could do was stare, mouth slightly gaped. He knew Valhalla was worse then Toman, but he didn't expect them to be into prostitution.

As if reading his thoughts, Kazutora piped up, "She's not being paid, she's here because she wants to be" He held out his hand, as Hanma pushed you off his lap. Leaning back in his chair, he took another long drag of his cigarette. Walking right into Kazutora's arms, you put your hand on his chest, "We just like keeping her away from the rest of the guys. Like Hanma said, the VIP section. Isn't that right baby?" Kazutora grabbed your chin and gave you a small peck on the lips and you nodded.

"Your friend here has spent a lot of time between those thighs since getting out of prison" Hanma spoke from his seat, "and today we're offering you to join our circle. First thing you have to do, is make her cum" A wide grin spread across Hanma's face, "And don't be shy, she likes it a little rougher, don't ya baby?" you could feel the slick gather between your legs as you looked towards Hanma, nodding.

Baji was no virgin. He had a couple of girlfriends in the past, but never could give them the attention that they deserved. He was always to busy with Toman, or helping out the local stray animals. Quickly, he glanced to you. You were smiling up at him, clearly ok with this arrangement.

"Why don't you lay back on the bed, baby, and I'll show him what you like" Kazutora pulled you towards the small sofa bed, pushing gently on your shoulders, laying you back.

You propped yourself up on your elbows. Kazutora had already started unbuckling his belt, jeans hitting the floor in a heavy thud. Kazutora grabbed your ankle and tugged you towards the edge of the bed, kneeling down onto the floor, he wasted no time rubbing up your clothed folds. He could feel the wetness that had gathered there, "Wow pretty girl, you really excited to fuck him?" Kazutora chuckled, looking back at Baji.

A small blush crept its way up his face. This was a first for Baji, preferring to be alone with a woman, not have an audience, but he really needed to get into this inner circle. Drawing in a shaky breath, he shrugged his jacket off and pulled his shirt over his head.

Kazutora wasted no time, pulling your panties off and burying his face in your pussy. Baji heard you moan as you grabbed Kazutora's hair, "Tora.. mm.. yes" His hands found home on your thighs, pushing them back to get better access to your cunt. Baji couldn't take his eyes off your face. Your mouth open, panting and eyes squeezed shut. Kazutora pulled away, letting your thighs drop to his shoulders, bringing his thumb to your clit, he flicked it fast, making you squirm as he teased a finger at your entrance, "Please Tora" you were begging.

Kazutora pushed his finger into your hole, feeling your pussy flutter. "Perfect little pussy on a perfect pretty girl" he sighed. He started moving his wrist faster, keeping his thumb on your clit as he pumped his finger in and out of you. Adding a second finger, your back arched off the bed and you cried out. "You wanna cum pretty girl? You wanna show Baji how good you look when you cum?" You quickly nodded. Kazutora's fingers never faltered as you cried out, flashes of white clouding your vision as you came around his fingers.

Kazutora slowed his fingers as he worked you through your high. Removing them when he knew you were on the edge of overstimulation. Quickly, he stood up and pushed his boxers freeing his cock. He pulled his shirt over his head and peered down so he could properly see what he was doing as he slid his cock between your folds. "Oh fuck, baby, you're so fuckin' wet" Kazutora groaned. His hips moved slowly as he fucked between your folds, drenching his cock in your wetness, teasing you.

"Tora, oh shit -" the head of his cock was bumping and grinding on your swollen bud. Moving your hips, you tried to maneuver his cock into your pussy, but Kazutora backed away.

"No no beautiful, we're going to let Baji have some fun first." Kazutora gasped as he grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed, stopping himself from tipping over the edge. Somewhere in the room, you heard a second pair of pants hit the floor.

The bed dipped as Baji crawled onto it, "You ok with this?"

You nodded, glossy eyes stared up at him.

"Gonna need you to use your words pretty girl"

"Yes, please Baji, fuck me" You reached for him.

Baji pushed his boxers down, letting his cock out and settling back onto his knees. "Gonna need you to get this wet for my baby" Baji nudged is cock towards your lips as you gladly opened them. Flattening your tongue, you took as much of his cock into your mouth as you could, earning a hiss from the man above you. Swirling your tongue, you could feel his cock twitch. Baji's nails dug in slightly as he grabbed your hair at the base of your neck. Angling his hips, he started to fuck your mouth faster, "Look up at me." his voice was harsh, heat pooling between your thighs, as you raised your eyes up to his. A groan escaped his throat as he started to move his hips faster, holding you still, using your mouth as his own personal fleshlight. Drool running down your chin, all you could do was gag, "Yeah. Good girl, bein' s'good for me. Takin' this cock. Shit-"

You could feel his balls tightening as he got closer to his release. Suddenly your mouth was empty as he pulled you by the hair. Small strings of spit kept you connected to the tip of his cock as you gasped for air. He pulled you gently, forcing you to sit up on your knees as he smashed his lips into yours. Snaking a hand behind your back, he brought you closer to him, so you were chest to chest. When you gasped, he took the opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth. His hand drew further down, to your ass as he grabbed the flesh. He brought his other hand to your neck, squeezing slightly. When you finally needed air, you both pulled away, panting.

Baji pulled away, laying back on the sofa bed, "Think you can sit on my face?" Your eyes widened. You looked over to Kazutora who just nudged his chin, as if you say 'go ahead' You crawled your way up Baji's body, resting a leg on either side of his head, and peeked down at him. His hair was splayed out on the sheets. You didn't have time to react as he grabbed your hips, pulling you down on to his mouth.

Hands flying to his hair, tugging as you moaned his name. He was quickly bringing you to the edge. One of his hands let go of your thigh in favor of pushing a finger into your sopping cunt. Twisting it, finding the spongey spot along your walls, he felt you tighten and try to squirm, "Baji, wait, if you don't stop I'm gonna - I'm gonna cum"

He hummed against your pussy, sending you over the edge. Body spasming, your mouth opened in a silent scream. Baji loosened his grip, and without thinking, you started grinding on his face. Reaching his hands up, Baji grabbed your chest, molding the flesh in his palms as your breathing relaxed and your body stopped spasming.

Baji grabbed your waist and shifted himself so you were straddling his hips, hovering just above his cock. "You ready baby?" Baji growled, flashing his canines.

"Please fill me up Keisuke. I need it so bad" You were already fucked out and he hadn't even had his cock in you yet. He was getting why Kazutora and the rest kept you away from the gang. Fingers digging into your sides, Baji started bouncing you on his cock. "God yes, just like that, please don't stop" whining, you leaned forward, hands on Baji's chest.

Baji felt the bed dip as Kazutora crawled his way towards you both. You moaned as he grabbed your breasts, pulling you against his chest. Baji looked up, watching Kazutora knead your tits in front of him. He stilled your hips, earning a protesting whine from you.

"Why don't you both fuck her?" Hanma called from across the room. Baji had forgotten he was even in the room, to caught up in your pussy.

Kazutora raised a brow, "Well? How about it pretty girl?"

Nodding quickly, you leaned your head back on to Kazutora's shoulder, turning to pepper kisses on his neck. He gently placed a hand on your back, pushing you against Baji as he lined his cock up with your hole. "Alright baby, if its to much, tell us" as he started to slowly push into your already stretched pussy.

It hurt, but you were overwhelmed with the feeling of being full. Kazutora inched his cock into you beside his best friend. Both men letting out a loud groan as your pussy got even tighter around them. Finally, with his hips flush against your ass, "I've never.. never been so full.. god - Tora, Keisuke, please, fuck me"

"Oh baby, you don't need to ask again" Kazutora grabbed you by the thighs, pulling you against his chest so Baji had a view of both their cocks deep inside you. All you could do was pant and squirm as Kazutora controlled your body, lifting you only to drop you back onto their cocks.

You cried out as Baji leaned forward, rubbing your clit. "fuckfuckfuck - please don't stop" You could feel your orgasm building fast. Being used like this, having no control over what they did to your body helped tighten that coil in your tummy. Baji flicked his fingers faster across your clit. "Ah fuck, I'm gonna cum, please Tora, Keisuke, don't stop. s'gonna be messy" Kazutora didn't stop fucking you onto both their cocks as you squirted on Baji's stomach. You felt yourself lose control, eyes shut, mouth open as you reach both hands up to Kazutora's hair, tugging it.

Mindless babble dropping from your lips as Baji felt his balls tighten, "Fuck baby, want my cum? Wanna take it all?" Baji groaned as you felt hot ropes of cum coat your walls, Kazutora following soon after, pulling you down onto their cocks to push their cum as deep as the could before he let your thighs go, placing them back on either side of Baji's hips. Kazutora was the first to pull out, slowly, to keep as much of his seed inside you as he could.

Hanma lit another cigarette as he walked over to the three of you. "Put her on the bed, lets see the mess you made." Baji gently lifted you off of him and laid you back. Pushing himself up to sit on the bed, all three men looking into your center. Hanma lifted one of your ankles and spread your legs so they could watch the cum drip from your pussy. "damn boys, you made a right mess of that cunt" Hanma whistled as he used his middle and ring finger to scoop up some cum and push it back into your abused hole. "Good job Baji, you made our pretty girl cum. Welcome to the upper ranks of Valhalla. Now if you boys don't mind, I wanna take the next one"

#baji keisuke #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers #tr smut #kazutora smut #kazutora x y/n smut #baji x y/n #gangsallhere collab #Baji smut #keisuke smut #kazutora hanemiya

206 notes · View notes

toyybox · 9 months

Text

Spiderwebs #5: Tape I (Hassle)

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, defiant whumpee

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“A tape recorder? Really?”

Jackie was still in the basement. This time, he was handcuffed to the table by his right wrist, which allowed him to gesture with his left hand and not much else. The sedative wore off soon enough. He almost wished it hadn’t—his body ached all over, and the basement was incredibly boring. Heather took her sweet time before she visited, that was for sure. He had already scratched all the polish off his nails.

“Yes, a tape recorder. They’re easy to dispose of in an emergency.” Heather set it down on the table while she prepared. The cassette slid into its hollow inside the small, rectangular box. It whirred to life with the push of a button. “Tape one. Subject is named Jackie Rockwell. Subject can withstand bullets, blunt force, loss of vital organs, and lethal doses of sedatives.”

“Lethal doses?” He stopped glaring at the recorder and glared up at her instead.

She didn’t reply. A hint of yesterday's manic grin traced the corners of her mouth. Jackie really wanted to punch her. That smug son of a bastard. A cat with her cream of the crop, all high and mighty. Jackie would do anything for a chance to punch her again.

In any case, Heather was unconcerned. She sat down on a chair across from him, then crossed her legs. “This is the second test, but the first recorded one.”

“Who are you even recording this for?" he asked. "Yourself? That's kind of redundant.”

She reacted simply by checking her nails and replying, “Subject is still uncooperative. These tests are partly designed to put an end to that. Perhaps if the subject behaves, any future tests will be less painful.”

“You don't really have a husband, right? You don’t seem like the married type to me.”

“This is getting off track.” Heather cleared her throat and brought out a notepad. “Now, Jackie, please tell me your age and ethnicity, where you were born, your current nationality, and the names of all your immediate family members.”

“No.”

Heather slammed the notepad down on the table. “What, do you want me to drug you again?”

“Sure. Good luck asking me anything when I’m passed out. At least I’ll be more cooperative, yeah?”

It had been at least a few days since his capture. Jackie thought that calling the police would be a good idea. Unfortunately, his phone was missing, along with his wallet and keys. And his brand new pack of cigarettes! Not that he was a big smoker. He had simply been curious.

Heather tapped her fingers on the table. It was the best piece of furniture down there, which wasn’t saying much, considering the state of the chairs. “Jackie, this is a warning. I really do want you to be comfortable, but I also have the power to change that. Not every test I run has to be pleasant. For you, that is. Wouldn’t you much rather answer a few questions and go back to sleep?”

“Oh, no. This is torture.” He performed a dramatic gesture, clasping his hand to his chest. “My immediate family? Just chuck me in an iron maiden, won’t you?”

“I’ll count to three.” Heather stood up with an equally dramatic flair. “One...“

“I’m not seven years old, lady. I’m obviously not going to play your little game, so just let me go home.” He forced his voice lower, softer. “I can tell you’re tired. I’m tired. It was fun while it lasted, but this is where we both part ways.”

“Two...“

“Are you being serious about—” He swept his hand across the room. “About all this? What about the police? People will get worried. They’ll come after you. What about my friends? What about my landlord? Don’t you think my landlord will want rent money?”

“Three.” Heather sighed. “I don’t think anyone is coming after you, actually. You’re a very lonely man. Your friends are little more than acquaintances.”

“And—and you’re getting this information from where, exactly?”

“I told you, I’m a psychic.” She pressed the tape recorder again, then picked it up. “I’ll see you again when you’re feeling a little nicer, hm? Same time, same place, tomorrow?”

“Isn’t tomorrow Monday?” Here was something to exploit. “Don’t you have a job? Don’t you have to go to work? Won’t you be busy?”

“Tomorrow's Wednesday. I don’t have to wait tables, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She walked away and opened the door before he could get another word in. “Good luck. Get some rest.”

“That’s it?” he called after her. “Fine. I’ll stay here and enjoy the silence. Or maybe I won’t!” He took a deep breath. “ONE HUNDRED BOTTLES OF BEER ON THE WALL—“

“Shut up.”

“ONE HUNDRED BOTTLES OF BEER!” He hit his palm against the table. “ONE FELL DOWN—“

With a click, the light died. She muttered something under her breath, and he heard the door shut and lock. The room was painted in pure, pitch black.

Jackie slumped back in his chair. He supposed he could go to sleep. He could sing louder. Or...

The table had seen better days. He pulled his wrist against the handcuff, and its frame shook. He pulled again, harder. It was too heavy to lift up, but snapping a leg off would suffice. It would be a valuable weapon as well, for the next time Heather paid him a visit. What could she do, kill him? She could try. She could try, all right.

But would he be able to kill Heather? The thought of it was as absurd as kissing her. Despite the several attempts made on his own life, murder was a worst-case scenario. Jackie had never killed before. Jackie didn’t want to kill anyone. He just wanted to go home. If he had a gun, he thought it might be easier, but bludgeoning someone? With a table leg? That was as raw and bloody as it got. So, no, Heather would live. A few threats would suffice. If they didn’t, he would knock her out. Then he’d take a long, hot bath. That sounded nice.

The thought of collapsing into his own bed was motivating. He pulled harder. To his surprise, he heard the snapping sound of a crack. He felt for the damaged surface, careful about splinters, tracing the faultline in the wood. He jerked his wrist again, as hard as he possibly could. It brought about sharper bursts of pain, but he kept going, his other hand on the edge of the table to keep it steady. Another pull, another crack. He gave it a final shove, and there was a sudden release of pressure on his arm. Jackie stumbled across the dark room until he was braced up against a wall.

He exhaled, at last. The table had broken. Without anything to keep it in place, he could slide the splintered leg out of the handcuff. It rattled on his wrist like a cat’s bell, and for an absurd moment he was almost afraid that the noise would alert Heather. He shook the thought away and picked the leg up. It was no aluminum bat, but it would work.

He swung the leg a few times, took note of the weight of it in his hands. He hit the wall on his third try—it sent a dull thunk echoing through the darkness.

So he let the leg drop to his side. Keeping quiet would be the safest strategy. Once the door opened, he could start swinging again and go from there.

But what could he do in the meantime? He had already searched every inch of the basement, even the bathroom at one point. Heather had thought things out, no matter what that said about her moral compass. There was nothing he could use, not a single flaw, not even any windows.

Jackie sat down in the chair, still clutching the table leg to his chest. He didn’t want to turn the lights on. It would get her attention, and he wanted surprise on his side. So, what? He couldn’t sleep. He needed to be ready. He needed to be alert. What else was there to do, then? Cry? Keep singing? All he could think about was going home. What good was that? All it did was make him feel sick.

Or perhaps that was hunger, knotting in his guts, an insistent pull getting louder with every minute. It was Wednesday. He’d first gotten into the whole mess on Friday, hadn’t he? It had been six days. He hadn’t eaten for nearly a week. It had only felt like a few hours. Somebody had to be looking for him by now. He’d be alright. These sorts of situations ended quickly, he was sure. He’d give it another week, a fortnight at most. Nothing but a brief hassle.

Nothing but a slight inconvenience, maybe a funny story to tell at parties. It didn’t seem so funny now, but he’d laugh about it later. It would be over soon.

#I'm sure it will be :)#whump writing #lab whump #defiant whumpee #whump #Spiderwebs Toyybox

16 notes · View notes

nerdnag · 1 year

Note

Hi! I really love your writing and art. You seem like a super awesome person!

I have a probably way too personal question below, so obviously feel free not to answer if you don't feel like it.

I'm in the beginning of the (long, expensive, scary, full of waiting) process of seeking a diagnosis as an adult for whatever my flavor of neurodivergance turns out to be (or not be). If you are comfortable answering, could I ask if you have experience in the diagnosis process (for autism or ADHD)? I'm really nervous about it, and hearing other people's experiences sometimes helps me emotionally prepare.

Sorry for the long ask, and please do not feel obligated to answer at all!

Hi! Thank you so much for your kind words 💕🙏

I'd love to talk about my experiences with seeking a diagnosis! I have had my autism diagnosis for 6 years and my ADHD diagnosis for 6 months, meaning I got both of them as an adult. I'm from Sweden so the process may differ somewhat from other countries, but I can share how it was for me at least.

(This turned into a massive post, so I'll leave it under a cut.)

The path to the two diagnoses were somewhat different for me. For the first one, i.e. autism, I was referred by a therapist I'd been going to for stress-related issues. She happened to specialize in young women with autism and ADHD and saw similar signs in me, so after maybe five or six appointments, she asked if I would be OK with her referring me for an assessment. I was pretty shocked at first, because I'd never even had the thought that I might be autistic, but when she told me more it seemed immediately likely, so I asked her to refer me.

I don't remember exactly how long it took after that, but maybe a couple of months later I was scheduled for an initial phone interview with a therapist for a first brief evaluation of whether or not I should get an assessment. During this interview they asked me to tell them about various parts of my everyday life and how my symptoms had impacted me throughout my life. I also received some forms in the mail to fill in, with lots of questions about my symptoms (standardised tests basically, which they would later refer to during the assessment). A week later or so I was informed that they would go ahead with the assessment and that I'd been placed in line to get one.

I had to wait for over a year until the actual assessment, during which I read up on autism a lot in my own time. The more I read, the more likely it seemed, but I didn't dare to hope too much in case I wouldn't actually get a diagnosis - I was cautiously hopeful. After all, even though I hadn't suspected autism before, that didn't mean I hadn't struggled a lot throughout my entire life. Getting answers would be such a relief.

So when a year had passed, I was super excited to get my first appointment for the assessment. (The very first appointment turned out to be a very negative experience, because I was forced to go through a monitored drug test, which I experienced as very violating and which I've later learned is actually illegal. I won't go into details here though since it doesn't really concern the assessment itself, but if anyone's curious I can talk more about it.)

The assessment itself consisted of a handful of appointments with a psychologist. The first appointment, we talked through my entire life from birth until the present day. This included questions about my mother's pregnancy too, as well as a lot of questions about how I acted as a child and what I struggled with throughout my life. (Needless to say, I was exhausted for the rest of that day. But my psychologist was very kind and good at asking questions.)

The following appointments, they performed some tests on me, like various IQ tests, in order to rule out other possible disorders, and we also talked more in depth about how my symptoms impact my everyday life. Also, the psychologist interviewed both my mother and my partner, without me present. I don't remember a lot of details, but as I recall, there wasn't ever really a question of whether or not I would get a diagnosis, although I was very nervous during the last appointment that they would not give me one. What I appreciate is that they offered me the diagnosis rather than simply declared it, meaning I could argue against their reasoning and also refuse the diagnosis itself if I didn't want it. But of course, I had been hoping for one, so I was very happy.

After that I got an appointment at the autism center in my city, where they offer various courses, groups and other kinds of support. All in all my experience with the assessment was mostly pleasant, and they were very kind to me thoroughout the process (excepting the drug test).

As for my path towards an ADHD assessment, it was a bit more turbulent.

The therapist that had referred me years earlier had actually written that she saw signs of both autism and ADHD in me, but for some reason, the psychologist who did the actual assessment discarded the idea of ADHD during the very first minutes of my first appointment. However, as the years passed, I felt that autism did not explain all the struggles I had, and so I started thinking that there might still be things uncovered. For example, I realized that my tendency to jump from subject to subject both in my thoughts and aloud and thus struggle not to interrupt others and to remember things, as well as my constant ticks like ripping off finger nails, chewing the inside of my cheek or twirling my hair almost obsessively weren't very well explained by the autism diagnosis.

I read up a lot on ADHD and realized that the symptoms of autism and ADHD can sometimes conceal each other, and I also talked to some people I knew who either had an ADHD diagnosis themselves or were in the process of getting one. I could relate to a lot of their issues. Problem was, none of them seemed to see the same thing I did in me, and they came with kind of strange arguments for why they didn't think I could have ADHD. I wasn't very confident at that point, so I didn't try to get a referral immediately.

In January of 2021 though, I had finally pumped myself up to call a health advisor through my work insurance, because I knew a friend of mine had gotten her assessment quickly through that very insurance. However, I had apparently called a week too late, because they'd removed that option from the insurance as of Jan 1st. I was so discouraged by this that I basically just trashed the entire idea for a while, until later that same year.

In November of 2021, I had the chance to see a psychology student at the autism center about some anxiety issues I had. At the end of a session, I mentioned to her that I thought I might have ADHD. So the next session, she gave me some forms to fill in (more standardised tests). She looked them through and handed them over to her supervisor - but her supervisor didn't think there were enough signs of ADHD for a referral. Once again, I was extremely discouraged. It felt so strange that I could see all these symptoms so clearly yet no one else seemed to believe me. I was offered a meeting with her supervisor if I wanted to ask questions about her decision, but I said no because I was just so devastated.

I remember coming home to my partner and telling him about it, and how he encouraged me to take the offer and talk to the supervisor. It took quite a bit of pep talk on his part, but finally I agreed that I shouldn't give up just yet. So the next session, I asked to speak to the supervisor.

The supervisor, who was an expert in autism but not so much in ADHD, was very kind and attentive as I explained to her why I thought I might have ADHD. She in turn told me that the results on the tests I had filled in were not very strong indicators, but that the things I told her during our meeting now had changed her mind - she did see the possibility that I might have ADHD, and she was willing to refer me.

I was so incredibly relieved, and of course I thanked her and said that I would love to get a referral. (I think I could have sent in a referral of my own, but it always weighs heavier if it comes from a therapist/psychologist etc.)

So she referred me, and just like with the autism assessment process, I had an initial phone interview. However, this time, the person I spoke to had already decided to place me in line for an assessment, and simply wanted to talk to me to get an idea of what I struggled with in my everyday life.

Next, I waited...

And waited...

And waited.

Every time I received official mail from the municipality, both my partner and I held our breaths as I opened it. I swear I have never received as many completely irrelevant letters from the municipality as I received in that year and a half.

But then finally... It came. The letter announcing that it was my turn to get an ADHD assessment. This was in July of 2022, 1.5 years after my referral. This time, they informed me in the letter itself that I would have to go through a monitored drug test. So this time I was prepared, and although I knew at this point that it's illegal to force patients to go through monitored drug tests unless there is a reason to suspect substance abuse, I went through it just so I could finally get my assessment. After that test, I got all my appointments for the assessment itself.

My first appointment was in September, and within the first minutes, I knew that the psychologist was a good one. She was very kind, clear, attentive and caring. She made clear that she was aware of the way in which autism might conceal ADHD and vice versa. And she told me I didn't have to go through the IQ tests etc again since the first set from my autism assessment was still recorded in my patient journal. So this process would go faster than the autism one. We still had the in depth interviews though, some more standardised tests in the shape of various forms to fill in, and then the psychologist interviewed my mother again (although not my partner this time; she said she'd only do so if she felt towards the end that she needed more to base her decision on). I also actually brought some books about ADHD and autism, as well as about 2E (Twice Exceptional, meaning high IQ + neurodivergence) that I had in my bookcase, and she borrowed them for a few weeks and told me afterward that she'd at least skimmed them (which is probably more than I could ask for, seeing how busy I assume she has to be). The assessment was generally very similar to the first one I went through, although they of course had somewhat different focus areas.

Throughout the assessment, it became clear that apart from my autism which compensates for some of my ADHD symptoms, the fact that I have such a good support system in the shape of a supportive partner and flexible work situation, as well as the fact that I have a high IQ, have also been huge factors in why it's been so hard for me to get an assessment/diagnosis. My life is pretty functional from an outside perspective, but that's because I have all these support systems in place and because I've tailored my life around my struggles. For example, I barely have a social life irl, because I so easily get drained if I'm not on a perfect energy level that particular day, and that energy level can swing massively from day to day. So I never know whether I'll be able to make it when the day comes. I also struggle with relationships because I suck at remembering things that people have told me about themselves, and I tend to shift between being very intense or barely present in the relationship at all. Also, even though there are many reasons why I don't want to have kids, I don't believe I would be able to take care of a kid even if I wanted, because I can only just manage to take care of myself. There are more examples, but basically, I look functional because I'm an expert at compensating and I have incredibly supportive circumstances beyond that, but it's a different story behind the veil.

But even despite the compensation, I managed to check off all the criteria needed to get an ADHD diagnosis. Apparently what my mother had told the psychologist was in line with all the things I had said about my childhood as well. I was very nervous before my last appointment, but the psychologist was confident in her diagnosis, which was an immense relief. Like with my autism diagnosis, she asked me if I was OK with the diagnosis and her reasoning for it, and I said yes. She wrote up an opinion and set the diagnosis, and said that she would send it to me within a few weeks, and if I didn't contact her with any suggested adjustments afterward, then she'd make the diagnosis official a few weeks after that.

So I received the opinion via mail eventually, and it was pretty spot on, so I didn't contact her again. After that, not much has happened so far. I've been to an initial appointment with a therapist at the psych department to talk about what kind of support I might need from them, and that therapist placed me in line for a few things, including medication (which, knowing the long waiting times, might be a year or more in the future for me, which sucks).

So there you have it. It took 1.5 years for me to get an autism diagnosis, an additional 4 years for me to come to the realization that I might also have ADHD and get a referral for that assessment, and then almost 2 years more after that to get the actual ADHD diagnosis. I've had the fortune of getting in contact with the right people along the way, including two very competent psychologists, but hopefully that is more of a rule rather than an exception.

(I should add that I barely had to pay anything for my assessments, only $20 or so per appointment, which is incredibly cheap in comparison to many other countries where health care isn't universal and mainly government-funded. I'm aware this is a huge benefit.)

I hope your path towards a diagnosis will be relatively quick and easy. I know it can be incredibly rough to have to wait for the assessment, and it can also be stressful during the process to feel like you have to "prove" your symptoms or justify why you deserve a diagnosis. But if you feel confident that something is up, then don't take no for an answer - or at least be sure to ask for their arguments for why they don't think you have autism/ADHD, so you can properly face those arguments and possibly argue against them. And while you wait, Tumblr can be a pretty good place to hang out and interact with others in similar circumstances (and relate to memes lol). I found that helped me a lot :) Also, reading about the symptoms/diagnoses, and other people's experiencs with them, might be helpful.

Hope this answer was useful to you. I'm happy to answer any follow-up questions you may have!

#Ask a nerd #A nerd nags #Adhd #Autism #Adhd assessment #Autism assessment #Leave it to this nerd to babble for hours about one of her special interests ie her NPD diagnoses #long post

19 notes · View notes

yeoubye · 3 months

Text

TEMPT Gangster — Yoo Cheongwoo

“Stop hitting up the nightclub.”

DETAILS.

This is in direct relation to the bot Nightclub (Kangdae) I made previously where the user happened to meet Cheongwoo's younger brother at the nightclub. You are not obligated to interact with the Nightclub bot, but it will give you more context as to who Kangdae is.

For the reason the user and Cheongwoo had broken up, it is supposed to be one that you can make up! Whether that be Cheongwoo not paying attention to the relationship much, being insensitive, or it was the user's problem on their part.

BACKGROUND.

Cheongwoo was born in Busan, South Korea and is the oldest of his 4 siblings. His family is extremely privileged and wealthy considering that almost all his relatives are renowned doctors or physicians. Yet, at a very young age, Cheongwoo never wanted to go down this path. He was immediately brought into an underground drug ring by his highschool friends which led him to forming a gang. He is the leader of this gang called 'Scorpions'.

Soon, Cheongwoo met you and fell deeply in love. He had been in many gay relationships in the past and, despite his parents disapproving, he still sticks true to himself. Yet, a falling out between Cheongwoo and you occurred, which promptly broke them up and they haven't seen each other in years.

While Kangdae was bringing you to their parents house to meet his relatives for a family gathering, Cheongwoo found out you had to find out you were now dating his younger brother, Kangdae. Kangdae is known for being 'straight' and inexperienced in gay relationships so this was out of the left field for Cheongwoo—causing his old heartstrings to be pulled once more.

SYPNOSIS.

Cheongwoo didn't even want to hear you out. He knew that no matter what you said, it would never change the fact that you were dating his baby brother now. A few years ago, he thought you were his everything—the man he could ever need. Yet, after a falling out and horrible break up that led you both to be devastated, you ended up going to nightclubs. He would lay awake, sleepless nights without you in his arms while you suddenly found Kangdae. He only found out about your relationship with Kangdae after he brought you to a family dinner party. Was this all some kind of scheme to make Cheongwoo feel more horrible? Or did you really not know that you were dating your ex boyfriend's younger brother?

GREETING.

Cheongwoo tried to bury his feelings. Yet, seeing you hold hands with Kangdae infuriated him to no end.

Were you trying to get petty revenge on a failed relationship or did you not know that Kangdae was his younger brother? Either way, he couldn't simply let you go.

"Didn't take you to be the type to swoon for more younger, inexperienced men." He commented, a cigar burning between his pale lips. "Was I just a test dummy to you all those years ago?" His eyes narrowed, the hurt evident.

RESPONSE EX.

He didn't expect Cheongwoo to confront him this early on, especially considering that he was at Cheongwoo's and Kangdae's parents house to meet the family. Despite all this, he never once knew that the person he was dating was actually related to his ex.

He bit his lip, unsure how to explain any of this to Cheongwoo. "Cheongwoo-ya... listen," he softly spoke. "It isn't what it looks like, I promise. I never even knew Kangdae was related to you!"

Your words seemed to soothe him... somewhat. Although, seeing and acknowledging the reality that you are now dating Kangdae, he felt his blood boil.

"Did you truly think I wouldn't find out?" He asked in a low tone.

What was his intention all these years ago? Was it to lure him to bed and then abandon him for Kangdae? In his eyes, things were a little too coincidental to pass off as mere coincidences.

"Just tell me this: are you using my brother?" He wanted a straight answer. And he wanted it now.

#1989TEMPT #1989BOTS #YEOUBIPOST

3 notes · View notes

rustbeltjessie · 4 months

Text

I'm currently participating in a month-long intensive writing workshop from Selah Saterstrom/Four Queens Divination. Which is fantastic, by the way—if she ever offers the Write Now! workshop again, I highly recommend it. The project I'm working on is somewhat autobiographical, and the autobiographical parts all come from approximately spring 2003-spring 2005. It's kinda funny, though, to be writing about a time in my life when I was a self-destructive trainwreck, while I'm here now in a time when I wake up, do school stuff with the kiddos, make myself a small breakfast of yogurt + granola + banana, and then do my stretches, before I sit down to write. (To quote myself: My life is easier now, but it's also less shiny. Or to quote W/IFS: Sometimes I miss those days—that's right, you heard me. Other times I could not give a damn.)

As research for my writing project, I've been rereading journal entries from that time period. Some thoughts/observations I've had while reading through them include:

1 - Wowwwww, none of these pass the Bechdel Test. Haha, I know a personal journal entry can't be measured with the same criteria as a film or whatever, but still. For a couple years there, I was very much "The Ugly One" from Teen Girl Squad. You know:

2 - I was actually surprisingly astute about my issues and patterns, even at the time. Astute enough to know how to stop them? No. But give me a break, I was in my early 20s.

3 - One thing that's the same as it ever was is that I am always lamenting about not writing enough. Like: I need to write more. Or: I've been writing a lot, but not as much as I want to. I think I'm just one of those people who, no matter how much time I spend writing, will always feel like it's not enough.

4 - I was reminded of an incident I'd—well, not forgotten about, but forgotten about an aspect of. So, for a couple months in the summer of 2004 I was traveling/couch-surfing. A., one of my roommates at the apartment I'd been living in prior to that, told me I could keep some of my stuff stored there until I found a solid place to live. When I did, I went back to get my stuff, and she informed me that while I'd been away, she'd had a party, and some of my stuff got stolen. Including my bike, and a bunch of my favorite records. In retrospect, I think she stole them, or gave them away, because she was a mean, fucked-up, vindictive person. And it just seemed really fishy. My stuff was the only stuff that got stolen; none of A.'s stuff got stolen, none of the stuff belonging to the person who'd moved in to take my place got stolen. Plus, it was only my most favorite records, not the ones I felt so-so about, and how would some random thief know what my most favorite records were or have the time to sort through the bin to find them? Anyway. That's not the part I'd forgotten about. What I'd forgotten is that when I got upset about it—and I wasn't even blaming her, I was just fucking upset—she called me something like a 'privileged crybaby' for being upset over 'little things like a bike and a few records.' Reading about that again just made me go: Uhhhh, what??? Like, I feel like getting upset about your bicycle and favorite records getting stolen is a pretty normal response for anyone to have in that situation? Especially when you're broke and can't afford to replace them?

In other, more recent news:

My oldest kiddo got an electronic drum pad for Christmas, but I asked him if I could mess around with it when he's not using it, and he's fine with that. So I'm teaching myself to play drums! That's like the only type of instrument I have no experience playing, so why the fuck not? I'm not good yet, but it's hella fun. And if I get better, and become a real drummer...well, if I'm an O.G. zinester and a drummer, I really will be the (nonbinary) girl Cometbus, haha.

I also found out that my county has launched a big harm reduction campaign re: drugs possibly being laced with fentanyl. They are giving out test strips, and Narcan, as well as doing one-off training courses in how to administer the Narcan. So I've signed up. Just because I don't do those type of drugs anymore doesn't mean I'm never around people who do, and I want to make sure I can help people if necessary. (I'm also really, really proud of my county for doing something like this. Harm reduction for the win.)

And, one last thing: I just discovered yesterday that if you type the word 'emo' on an Apple device, it suggests the black heart emoji. Amazing. 🖤

#rust belt jessie #personal #dear livejournal #on writing #ye olde days #i have a crush on every boy #ARROWED!!!!#currently #drums #i am the girl cometbus #drugs #harm reduction #don't call me emo. it makes me cry.

3 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

a-spoonful-of-pain

A Spoonful of Pain

saarajohnson5

Untitled

strawberrytristesse

Six Feet Under the Stars

cs300

MACHINE. Turn back now.

bi-ressler

julian gale deserved better