boresom

I like having a conversation with myself; telling inside jokes to one another. It’s one of the things that keeps me sane.

In the morning when the sky is still young and courageous. Wearing shorts and a tank-top, holding a glass full of liquid of innocence. “What’s our plan today?” I ask.

“Why ask?“ My inner-self counters. “We could be doing something less exciting and chilling. Maybe something inspiring or thrilling and be as stupid as we can. I don’t know. Let’s figure it out now.” She replies beaming.

And I did everything out of instinct, not having a clue of anything and simply getting lost. Sometimes I was stumbled on the way, maybe got me a scratch or two but at the end of it, I’ve never felt more amazing than I did right then.

In the middle of the day when the sun is–at the highest–mature and poised. Leaving a bold mark the size full of lips on the mug’s rim. It’s filled with steaming awakening dark brew. “Let’s see,” I start. “I have to leave before eight, can’t afford to be late. Again. Today, you need to behave.”

My inner-self groans. Something I roll my eyes at because she knows me all too well. She is the part in me that I preserve the way she is. Untouched. She balances every impaired part of me.

Sometimes I was forced to participate in her ever kind of adventures. And they did not always end beautifully. She’s a disaster. Always doing everything disorderly—anything at all, is done like a three year old girl trying to eat cake by herself. A mess. But my kind of scenes were probably boresome to her. Each time she would talk me out of it saying, “It’s not what you want!” “Leave!” “You deserve better” and we ended up not talking to one another. I needed space.

I didn’t listen to my inner-self. It was heart-wrenching and draining at most knowing she probably was right. Again. But I know she felt just as tired as I was. She is me after all.

At the end of the day when moon is at peak. Mirroring the way the sun shines—not as bright and blinding. More like pastel and wise. Sporting on pyjamas; sitting on the couch bundled up with cushions in front of television. Sipping the heartwarming potion of happiness. Coming to realisation, we’re wounded, if our battle scars are any indication. But we survived, didn’t we? She and I are whole. She is me and I’m that part of her that will do things—out of my boundaries; out of my ever shaped logics—to keep her sanity.

—  inmostcave 
“I’ll Be Better, Mami” // Jeon Jungkook ♥

Request?: NOPE! My imagination along with a little help from a birdy!

Description: You are a fem!dom and your teaching Jungkook to be a good boy out in public

Tags: fem!dom, drabble, public teasing, teasing, cuffs,


“Jagiya-ah! Please,” he tugged on your arm. You rolled your eyes and tugged your arm away from him. “No, the guys will look for us.” Jung kook whined even louder and be walking past the bathroom looked at you two oddly.

“Please! It’ll be quick I promise!” he begged. You finally snatched your arm away from him. “No, now lets catch up before it’s too late,” you say and run back over to the rest of BTS.

Jung kook was bothering you about having sex at the carnival. Claiming its a risk that every guy wants, but you really weren’t in the mood. You came here for the fun and rides, not his version of rides. 

You were able to keep horny Jungkook controlled as you guys went on several rides around the carnival before finishing the night off with the guys at a Korean Buffet. After you got your food, you and the rest had a conversation, while Jungkook stared at you and rubbed your kneecap in a way, that normally made your crave him, but you were to distracted in the conversation. You knew Jungkook gave up after he fell back on the chair and picked at his food. 

While you listened to Yoongi’s surgery, you felt the familiar cold hand touch your kneecap again, but this time, in a sexual manner, massaged them. You ignored it at first before it slowly made its way up your inner thigh. Jung kook knew that was your sweet spot and he caressed it lightly making you shutter as you tried to take a bit of your food. You looked at Jungkook, who had the boresome expression on his face, while slouching in his booth seat. You knew his game, and you didn’t like it. 

“Yah! Y/N? You still listening?” Yoongi asked. You nodded. You paid your attention back at Yoongi as he continued. Not even 20 seconds into the story, Jungkook’s hand began to move up to your core wear he gently patted it. He slowly rubbed it at a slow pace, making your panties a bit wet. Your eyes were fluttering in pleasure, as you tried your best to not make it noticeable he was touching you. Snap out of it, you thought. You shut your legs, but Jungkook pinched your clit making you jump up in your seat. “OKAY!” you realised everyone was staring at you. “I think me and Jungkook should go home. I forgot to feed the cat,” you quickly added. You grabbed your purse and stormed out the restaurant to the car.

The whole ride was quiet. The only thing playing was the latest kpop hits. Jungkook was trying to make things okay by humming and trying to make you sing, but he knew he really upset you. He slowly started to know he was in big trouble at home. When you two arrived back at your flat, you walked inside,t taking off your earrings and setting them in the key bowl and kicking off your heels. 

“Y/N, i’m sorry,” Jungkook said. You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Don’t even worry about it,” you say as you put your hair up in a ponytail and walked up the stairs, taking off your watch. Jung kook took off his coat and was following behind you to your bedroom, when you spun around when you were at the door. “Your sleeping on the couch tonight,” you quickly said. Jung kook rolled his eyes. “Really? Just because I touched you, your being upset,” he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, because I told you no the first time and you violated me in front of your own friend and embarrassed me! So, yeah, I’m upset,” you said as you walked inside and shut the door quickly before Jungkook could sweet talk you. You weren’t upset. You were mad. Mad that he was trying to be the dom. It’s stubborn, but you were still mad. You walked to your bed and dressed into your PJs before turning off the lights.


You couldn’t sleep. Not with the thought of Jungkook’s hands roaming your body and touching you lightly as you begged for him to touch you.

You sat up and got off your bed and your legs seemed quicker than your body. Your legs knew why you were walking down these stairs to your resting boyfriend who was on couch. You crouched behind the couch and crawled over to the side Jungkook was before standing up, towering over him. You admired him as you stared. His chest rose slowly as you breathed and muttered hushed words in his sleep.

“Y/n..shit,” he moaned and turned his head. Was he having a wet dream. You licked you lips and bit your bottom lip as your eyes traveled down his bottom. Your watched his chest rise first, than his stomach which here there would tense, his hips that rocked and grinded against the couch as he continuously moaned your name out, each getting louder. The louder it got and the more he chanted your name, your ego got filled more and more. You eyes traveled to his erected cock that stood proud in his sweatpants. Your eyes widened and looked at his face. His face was seductive as he bit his bottom lip.

Keep reading

Some of you may have heard that this or that writer “writes the same book over and over.” Once, this was a metaphor. It meant that the writer always dealt with similar themes, or the same genre, or certain types of characters often got into similar situations.

But that was before Stephenie Meyer and E.L. James, two lazy scriveners who have literally taken the first books in their series and rewritten them. E.L. James has done is twice, rewriting Meyer’s series as her own–and trust me when I say James didn’t knock herself out filing off Meyer’s serial numbers–and then rewriting the first book of her own series from the perspective of a stalkery, controlling, manipulative and emotionally abusive piece of scum. I mean, her male romantic lead. 

(Having seen excerpts from the book on Snark Squad and Jenny Trout, and having read all three of James’ boresome nightmares, I can attest to the fact Christian Grey is, in the rewrite, an even more despicable person than he is in Ana Steele’s perspective. That says quite a lot.)

I do not see the point of this. I don’t know why this is being mistaken for creativity. They’re not creating anything new; they aren’t crafting a startling or innovative interpretation; they aren’t adding anything to the original world or to an alternate one. They are copying what they did already and changing–oh, words and style, but the stories’ structures remain the same.

And yet people are eating this up. I don’t understand it. There are infinitely better written and more enjoyable books out there. I’d rather read science fiction, fantasy, or mysteries–there are plenty, and the writers don’t get nearly enough love–but if you want, there are plenty of books involving romances with vampires and other paranormal beings. (”Twilight with fill-in-the-blank-paranormal-creature” is practically its own genre.) Practically ever romance publisher has a BDSM line, inclucing Harlequin/Mills & Boon; publishers that don’t have a BDSM line generally have books that qualify, anyway. There are multiple romance and erotica lines about billionaires, if that’s your cup of tea.

No one has to settle for recycled cardboard and stale air.

So why are they?