#(and obviously this doesn't mean you will turn out like the people who raised you.

[youraveragecatastrophe]

In season 2 episode 5, Carmen says "the idea of even having a headquarters may be a little too 'VILE island' for me".

I feel we're now touching the heart of the matter of HQ for Carmen. Not that Carmen wanting to see the world or not knowing where to rest wasn't true, but this may be the bigger and more subconscious reason why she hadn't tried to find an HQ.

This line shows just how deeply she was affected by VILE and her upbringing. Apart from not knowing who she is without VILE and being unable to imagine herself not trying to stop them... just having a place to rest and put her things, somewhere to call home, somewhere to organize future capers- all that makes her think too much of VILE island.

She's trying to distance herself from VILE so much that anything that looks slightly like them is to be avoided. Do you think that, because they raised her and she believed in their teachings for years, Carmen is afraid of becoming like them without even noticing it?

[ventbloglite]

I think we need to sit down and talk about malgendering.

Not misgendering, malgendering.

We all know what misgendering means. Misgendering is when a trans person (or to be honest, even a cis person) has their gender denied to them in some fashion by implying, suggesting or outright stating that their gender is actually Something Else and not the one they identify as.

e.g. A trans woman being told she cannot attend a certain class because it's 'just for women'.

Malgendering is when the trans persons gender is not questioned or denied and may even be affirmed - but only in a context in which it can be used against them in some fashion (to make judgements on them as a person, to exclude them from something, to incite bigotry towards them etc).

e.g. That same trans woman taking her shirt off on a hot day and being arrested for indecent exposure.

This is misgendering;- "You're not a woman, you're a man." This is malgendering;- "Trans women are women, so obviously they exist to serve men."* *obvs it is also transmisogyny and all malgendering is transphobia.

But what you don't want to hear is that malgendering is a form of transphobia mainly used against trans masculine people and nonbinary people.

Most people recognise malgendering when it's;

Using the term 'theyfab' to ridicule an agender person or making jokes about how an agender they/them user looks (to you) to be a completely cis woman.

But you need to look out for how;

Malgendering is treating trans men like their transition has turned them into women-hating predators because of your own predjudices towards men/trans man were always inherently women-hating predators because maleness is what makes you those things not your actual thoughts, words and actions.

Malgendering is not listening to how trans masc people are marginalised 'because men aren't oppressed though' as if that's not ignoring a huge part of their identity (the being trans part) and how that works.

Malgendering is telling trans men 'this is just what it's like to be a man, people treat you like shit and you have to take it or not transition'.

Malgendering is insisting that any trans man who calls any attention to the fact that he is indeed, trans, and has/had female anatomy and faces misogyny due to being raised and still perceived (by transphobes) as a woman is misgendering himself, all other trans men and 'weaponising his AFABness'

All of this is transphobia. All of this is bigotry. This kind of predjudice and bullying doesn't magically become 'OK' once you find the 'right' group to do it to. You either want to end bigotry and transphobia and identity-specific targetted hate or you want to perpetuate it. But you can't call yourself a trans ally, or escape the bigotry allegations whilst malgendering people. And no you're not being sneaky by slipping in your hateful predjudice comments and actions whilst validating their gender.

Malgendering is transphobia.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids (pt.2)

[<- part 1]

"Oh, yeah," John jerks his head up like he just remembered the fact people are supposed to have names at all. He gestures to the kids, pointing to each of them as he introduces, "Daniel, Daniel, and Danielle."

This time, all three kids flip him off simultaneously. Bruce clears his throat, trying to figure out if Constantine is messing with him and, if so, in which parts. Since, so far, everything the man has said sounds like a poor attempt at pulling his leg.

"I don't think they like those," he cautiously says, and the kids whip their heads at him, nodding furiously. Bruce can't help but be just a little enamored with the way they behave.

"Of, sod off, at this point I don't care what they like," John straightens up with a dismissive, albeit weak, wave of his hands, and rubs his face, "They are menaces. Sometimes by accident, but mostly on purpose. Their grandfather thought it would be easier to handle them if they were not teenagers, and while I agreed with his reasoning at the time, I-" he glances at the kids, who all have displeased grimaces of various levels on their faces, "I have been made to reconsider. I swear that ancient bitch is laughing his ass off wherever he is now."

The kids suddenly grin. They are not very friendly, nor polite smiles - if anything, they look a bit nightmarish. An old grandfather's clock in his study makes a very loud ticking noise.

"See?" John whips his head to look at said clock, the expression on his face bordering on insane. His eye twitches.

If Bruce doesn't do anything now, he might become one of the very few people who managed to witness John Constantine, the Laughing Magician, have a meltdown. So he sighs and decides to solve the problems one at a time.

Which means that no matter how alarmed or suspicious he is, his first move would not be to interrogate either the man or the kids.

"You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, I trust you can find it on your own," he tells John, almost softly, as he catches the girl from slipping away from his lap, "Is there anything I need to know about children before you fall unconscious?"

John slumps with relief, so obviously that Bruce almost smiles. Hardships of raising - or, watching, for that matter - kids, he understands.

"Yes," he breathes out with an air of exhilaration and turns to the kids again, pointing to the middle child, "Danny is the original. He is from this dimension and timeline, that is. Dan," he turns his finger to the older boy, "is in the wrong timeline, he's Danny's future evil self redeemed into older bratty brother. Dani," he switches to the girl, "is Danny's clone, made by his arch-nemesis of a godfather. If she starts melting at any point, wake me up immediately. If any of them start floating, sprouting tentacles, speaking to walls in static, or glowing, don't."

Bruce looks down to the kids. So, definitely metas, that would explain the government trying to get them... Or, no, it wouldn't because he is fairly certain no government is going to blatantly ignore the Meta Protection Acts.

"Don't let them raise the dead, and if you give them food, make sure it doesn't have a face. If you find more than three of them, it means one of them has duplicated, don't worry, they will absorb it back later. Absolutely don't let them touch any guns," Constantine is backing down to the door as he speaks, his gaze flickering from the kids to Bruce and back every second. Like he is leaving a ticking bomb in Bruce's lap, and not three children. "Danny is, comparatively, the most responsible one, the other two are up for any dubious trouble they can get to at any moment. Oh, and their memories are wonky because of de-aging, they remember some things but not others, so if they say something particularly disturbing, it's most likely some random piece of knowledge they managed to keep."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He did get the part about the kids being, well, abnormal in the matters of their origins, but the disjointed set of rules and advices doesn't help as much as Constantine probably thinks it does.

"Allergies, preferences, ages they were before?" He tries to get at least some more info down before John disappears through the door. Actually, maybe he should send someone to handcuff the man to the bed lest he disappears completely.

"None, but don't let them eat cutlery. Danny likes space, Dani has a thing for exploring, and Dan likes violence." The older kid stirs in Bruce's lap and says something in the direction of Constantine. No sound comes out, but the man seems to get what he's trying to say anyway, "Okay, yes, that was rude of me, sorry. Dan likes... exercise," he ends up with, and that placate the boy enough to slump down and cross his arms. John sighs, "They were seventeen, fourteen, and twenty respectively. Now," he snaps his fingers, and suddenly Bruce can hear the girl - Dani - humming a tune under her breath. So, he lifted the silence spell, it seems.

"Good fucking luck," John wishes to Bruce, earnestly, and all but vanishes away.

Bruce sighs and looks down to the kids.

"Are you hungry?" He tries, and all eyes are on him at once, attentive and unblinking.

"Fruitloops," Danny says, and while Bruce is positive that's the name for a cereal, he gets a feeling that's not what the kid meant.

[dollypopup]

"Colin had no trauma related to love and self worth like Anthony. Anthony watched his father die, watched his mum turn into a ghost of a person, and didn't want that for his wife"

Bestie. . .they have. . .the same dad???? They have the same mum???? Literally all of the Bridgerton children except Hyacinth watched Edmund die? They all experienced Violet's immense sorrow? He and Violet obviously have a very close connection and so of course he saw her wilting (plant pun, if you were wondering) or at least knew about it and has responded with being particularly gentle with her?

Trauma shaped all the Bridgertons. Colin was a young boy when his dad passed and everyone in the family experienced an immense grief and, unlike his brothers, Colin was twelve, he wasn't the heir, he wasn't the spare, and had no responsibility but to go to school (sent off elsewhere after his dad passed away, thus disconnected from his circle of support and family) and figure out how to be a man from strangers and rakes. Literally no one had space for his grief and sensitivity? He even cries alone in his bedroom in Season 1 and stops talking about his travels after he gets made fun of in Season 2 and claims that hardly anyone replied to his letters in Season 3 like what do you mean he has no trauma related to love?

Colin was right there on the steps watching his father cradled in his mother's arms as she wept over his sudden passing. Of course he has trauma related to love? Colin's entire arc was about how he only felt he could be cared about if he was pleasing the people around him or being useful in some way and putting on a mask and a persona so he wouldn't be hurt by how much no one else wanted the real, messy, authentic him around? His mum and dad lived a love story and Colin watched it fall to pieces just as all the Bridgertons did, he just internalized it differently. His entire family was grieving so he decided to be useful by offering levity where he could, especially as the brother raised predominately with his sisters, Eloise and Daphne.

And yet despite the fact that this was such a huge tragedy of his childhood, Colin still is incredibly emotionally available and as soon as he realized what he felt for Penelope was romantic, he takes initiative and he cuts into her dance with Debling and he chases after her carriage so he can confess that he can't stop thinking about her and he's not at all angry at her, she doesn't vex him, it isn't frustration at her- it's torture because he is so damn besotted with her that he dreams of her and the kiss they shared haunts him but it's torture he embraces because he's a romantic soul who is incredibly emotionally brave and he cares about Penelope more than he cares about his ego or image or past hurts.

Give my man his flowers.

[secretsofafangirll]

video star

summary: the time when Olivia appeared in a blind, deaf, mute baking video with the triplets and Matt couldn't keep his hands to himself.

warnings: touchiness in front of people/on camera, suggestive language, suggestive content, use of pet names.

a/n: the song doesn't have any significance, it just plays in o.c.'s headphones.

"Hey guys, welcome back to another Wednesday video," Nick blurted at the camera posed several feet in front of them, "Today we're doing another Deaf, Blind, Mute Baking Challenge."

"However," Chris butted in, sticking a mocking finger in the air, "We have a special guest for today's video," He drawled out and looked off to the side where I was standing. Matt was still leaning back against the counter and smiled at me.

"Come on out, sweetheart." Matt beckoned me over with a flick of his fingers and a nod of his head. I jumped into frame and smiled at the camera.

"Hi guys!" I waved enthusiastically and placed my hands on the counter in front of me.

"For those of you who don't know, Olivia is our best friend in the whole world and Matt's girlfriend. If you didn't know that, you've obviously never watched a video because she's in all of our vlogs and we never shut up about her." Nick summed up the basics for the viewers at home.

I've been friends with the triplets since my freshman year of high school. Chris and I instantly clicked one day in Math when our more extroverted personalities found their ways to one another. He introduced me to his two triplet brothers at lunch that same day, and the rest was history. We became inseparable and spent every second of every day together since. Things became interesting with Matt and me as we got older and grew into ourselves but we officially started dating after we graduated high school. We were always scared to announce our relationship to his fans because they can be volatile to their female friends, but once we did and they accepted that we loved each other, we've been so open and comfortable expressing that love physically on camera.

"So, how this is gonna work is..we're gonna draw out of a hat and three people are gonna be either blind, deaf, or mute and one person won't be able to use their hands. Let's hope that person isn't Olivia, because she's the only one of us that really can bake, like at all," Chris addressed the room and the camera.

"Dude, if I get fucking handcuffed, this is gonna be awful," I raised my brows and turned to Chris.

"Have a little faith, kid," Chris bumped my hip with his. I heard the car keys rattle on Matt's belt loop as he pressed himself away from the counter and came up behind me to wrap his arms around my neck. My hands subconsciously reached up to grip his muscular forearms.

"Alright, well, let's get the fuck on with it," Matt spoke.

"Okay, relax. We've been rolling for two fucking minutes." Nick stuck an accusatory hand up at Matt.

Nick reached around the counter for the hat and we all drew a card.

"Matt, you say yours first," Nick assigned.

"Mute," Matt chuckled, "Too easy."

"Deaf," I read aloud, "Yay! I just get to listen to music." I ran over to the couch and grabbed my headphones, working to connect them to my phone and find a playlist.

"Noo!," Chris whined, "Handcuffed."

"Loser", Nick teased.

"Which means that I am blind." Nick concluded, "Olivia wanted to bake something from scratch but that's a bit too hard for us, so we just got boxed brownies with, like, an extra cookie thing that we have to do too."

As Nick started to read off the contents of the box, I placed the headphones over my ears and pressed "shuffle" on Spotify. The first song to grace my ears was "B.Y.O.B" by System of a Down. A loud, scream-y nu-metal jam to deafen my sensitive ears. If I listened to anything too quiet, I'd be able to hear them. I watched as Matt tied the blindfold onto Nick and then Chris tied the bandana onto Matt. Matt then locked the handcuffs onto Chris' wrists behind his back.

I watched as the three of them tried to talk to each other, myself trying to read their lips and body language. I knew Matt well enough to know he was frustrated and Chris well enough to know he was giving Nick directions.

Quickly, when they started to struggle too much, they called me over. However, my eyes were closed as I mouthed the words to the song and I couldn't hear them.

"Everybody's going to the party have a real good time," I sang with Serj and wagged my finger to the Ooh.

What made me open my eyes was Matt pushing a hand against my lower back to guide me to the counter. The sudden jolt and touch startled me and I lurched forward, almost falling into the hard counter top face first. Matt's hand quickly shot and gripped my waist, pulling me back into him.

"Oh my God!" I yelped, my hands shooting out in front of myself to stop me before he did. He spun me around in his hands and I placed my extended hands on his chest, "Thank you!" I yelled, unaware of my volume. He just pressed a finger to my lips to tell me to be quieter. I whispered a faint apology in return.

I looked over to Chris who was probably spewing some bullshit at us about how cheesy we are, seeing as how his left cheek flexed up slightly in annoyance. Matt ushered me over to the counter where they handed me the box to try and fix what they already messed up. I took one look at the batter and knew they added too much oil.

"Okay," I started, "I think you guys just put too much oil, but it's not hard to fix. I just need a dehydrator like flour or cornstarch to dry out the oil." I turned around to grab the flour from the cabinets that I stock for them, because if I didn't they'd either starve or waste all of their money on eating out.

Due to my shorter stature, I had to stand on my tip toes and stretch the life out of my arms to reach the flour. Matt came up behind me and placed a hand on my side to tell me to relax and he reached up and grabbed it for me. I thanked him before turning around and continuing to mix the brownies, Matt's front just brushed my back the whole time as he watched over my shoulder, his hand resting gently on my hip.

Once I was done with the brownies, I needed to grab a bowl for the cookie part. I wasn't planning on making it, since it's supposed to be a challenge, but I still grabbed the equipment needed. I bent down in front of Matt to grab a smaller bowl from the cabinet below the island. When I leaned over, I didn't realize two things; one, how close I was to Matt and what he wouldn't be able to resist doing when he noticed the position we were in, two, how it would look on camera.

Both of Matt's hands found my hips when I unexpectedly stuck my ass into the air right in front of his dick and he subconsciously pressed himself a tiny bit further into me. Soon, his hand left my hip and it braced itself on the counter above my head so that I wouldn't hit the counter when I got back up.

"Okay, so you guys need to do this, because this is supposed to be your guys' challenge." I started clearly over the sound of Evanescence’s "Going Under”. I sang the words under my breath as I turned away to let them do what they needed to do. I hopped up onto the counter behind them and enjoyed my music as I watched them yell at each other.

At least I thought they were yelling at each other...

Turns out they were yelling at me to preheat the oven that I was sitting next to. I watched as Matt stepped closer to me. He placed his hands on my thighs and nodded to the oven dials. I quickly understood and turned the dial to 350 degrees. Matt's eyes darted all across my face and down my body that was only clothed in shorts and a tank top due to the intense Los Angeles heat. I knew exactly what look he was giving me and it was killing him that he couldn't kiss me.

"Later," I mouthed to him and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. He dropped his head to my shoulder and I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulder to squeeze him into me.

Soon after, the brownies had made it out of the oven safely and we were all stripped of our sense-depriving shackles. I was kind of disappointed to be done with the music, but I missed hearing my favorite boys talk.

"Okay, the brownies are done and they look fine," Nick began to the camera, "But we did fuck them up a little bit, so hopefully Olivia's fix was okay."

"Bro, she's literally a professional chef at this point, I'm sure they're still gonna be great," Chris said matter-of-factly. Nick began to cut the brownies, which they should've baked on parchment paper, and got a piece for all of us. He slid it in front of me and we all tried a bite. They still tasted great and they looked like boxes.

"Obviously, if it were up to me, we wouldn't have boxed anything, but for a boxed brownie mix," Matt came up and hugged me from behind and my hands fell to his that wrapped around me, "I would give this is a solid 8 out of 10." I said giving a thumbs up with the camera.

When they had all given their notes and feedback, they said goodbye to the camera and turned it off.

"You guys need to practice a little something called self-control, you horny fucks," Said Nick as he shook his head and took down the filming equipment. 

"Shut the fuck up, Nick," Matt spat as he pulled me closer, "Hi, my girl. D'you have fun?" He asked, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

I pulled back slightly and leaned up to kiss his lips, "Mhm. I always have fun filming with you guys." I smiled up at his stunning face.

"What'd you listen to?" He asked, pulling away from the hug to reach over and grab a cup from the cabinet, but keeping a hand on my waist. I turned to watch him as he got what he needed.

"I listened to System of a Down and Evanescence. I wish that, like, Nirvana or something came on though." I sighed and looked down for a moment before focusing my attention back on him.

"S'nice. I need to branch out, broaden my musical horizons," He said as he filled his cup with water from the fridge.

"And your kitchen horizons, because, my God, you guys suck at baking." I teased exasperatedely.

"Hey, watch yourself," He tutted, "They suck at baking, I, on the other hand, can whip up a good dessert."

"Alright, mister, I bought already-been-smoked salmon and tried to cook it anyway, Sturniolo." I accused, rolling my eyes jokingly.

"Oh, yeah? You want to play it that way?" He smiled smugly and slowly stepped toward me, setting his water down on the kitchen island.

I backed away in response and put my hands up in defense, "I'm not playing anything. M'just sayin' it how it is. S'not my fault your egos too big."

"You little-," He cut himself off and reached for me. A high-pitched yelp escaped my mouth as I dodged his hand and I backed away from him before running to his bedroom. I might be more agile than him, but his legs are much longer than mine. He caught up to me as I was trying to slam his door shut, and he stopped the door before I could close it. He swooped in quickly, picked me up, and tossed me onto the bed, kicking the door shut somewhere in between.

"Matt!" I giggled, as I sat up, bracing my hands behind me. He crawled onto the bed in front of me and shoved my chest back down.

"Those brownies might have been good," He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss right below my ear, "But I know you're gonna taste even better," He whispered into my ear and began to trail a path of open-mouthed kisses down my neck...

//

author's note: alright...how'd we like it? I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it, but I wanted to put something out. I liked the concept but I'm unsure of how it turned out. let me know what you guys think.

all the love, she <3

[lnfours]

us. | l.n

summary: and what seemed like fate becomes "what the hell was i doin'?" ; aka time heals all wounds, so they say, but has it been long enough for it to heal the one he left?

warnings: the highly requested part two to ‘august’, use of she/her pronouns, childhood friends to lovers, second chance romance, oscar giving lando advice bc duh, pining, language, lando absolutely word vomiting when it comes to his feelings, fluff towards the end.

‘august’ | listen | masterlist

oscar piastri took pride in being more observant rather than being the life of the party. he much rather preferred to be labeled as the 'wall hugger' rather than the wild child between him and his teammate. he let lando have that role, opting on sitting on the sidelines more often than not.

but tonight, it was completely different. the aussie driver had agreed to hitting the club in monaco tonight to celebrate charles' first home win and his own second place finish. he couldn't shake the feeling that something was going on with his teammate, eyeing him as he sat down in the lounge area the group had gotten for the evening. something out of the normal for the brit.

he decided to take matters into his own hands, joining his friend on the couch. lando sent a tight lipped smile to his teammate, another red flag the aussie picked up on. he wasn't sporting his usual smile, the one that beamed. one of pure joy.

"you feeling alright, mate?" oscar asked, genuinely concerned.

lando nodded in response, "'m good, just a bit tired."

he hummed, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked out at the dance floor of people. the crowd normally lando would be in the middle of, but not tonight.

"gonna make me pry it out of you or are you just gonna tell me?"

lando chuckled softly, letting out a soft sigh, "y'know that new reporter for sky who was in the media pen earlier?"

oscar furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, trying to remember your name, "think so? shit, what was her name?"

"y/n," lando said and oscar nodded in agreement.

"yeah, that's it," the aussie turned back to look at his teammate, "what about her?"

"well, a few years ago, her and i kind of..." lando trailed off, leaving his teammate to raise his eyebrows.

"you two had a thing?"

lando nodded, "yeah, she had a vacation rental next to mine in the states, and one summer we just really hit it off. y'know, we went on dates and eventually it turned into something more, and... oscar, i was in love with her."

the australian was shocked, "did you tell her?"

"i did," lando nodded, swallowing before continuing, "and i was with her when i got the call that they wanted me to join the team, and i just... i fucking left. i left without waking her up and saying goodbye. the best few months of my entire life, falling in love with someone who has never made me feel more loved and appreciated, and it all went down the drain because i fucked it all up."

oscar sat in silence for a minute, processing what the brit next to him had just told him, "well, do you still love her?"

"i never stopped," lando looked over at his teammate, his expression showing the guilt he still felt for leaving that one night, "i don't think i could ever."

"have you told her?"

he shook his head, "pretty sure she hates my guts, so, no."

oscar sighed, "listen, although she has every reason to hate you, i mean, i would too, doesn't mean deep down that she does. obviously, running into you again has probably brought up all of those feelings she worked to get over, but if you really feel the way you're telling me you feel about her, and it seems like you do, you gotta fight for it. you can't just let her slip through your fingers, again, and live a miserable life. nothing's gonna come out of it if you don't work for it."

lando sat in shock at his teammate, blinking at him like a deer in headlights. he had never known oscar to be this wise when it comes to relationship advice. he truly didn't know he had it in him.

"what?" the aussie laughed, "mate, i've been with lily for five years. you think we haven't had our own fair share of ups and downs?"

"no, i'm just amazed that at your age you're so wise." lando joked back, the two of them laughing.

"yeah, whatever," oscar waved him off, "but seriously, i mean what i said."

he nodded, "i know, i just don't know when i should talk to her."

oscar shrugged, "the sooner the better. that way you stop moping around like a sad, lost puppy."

lando jokingly rolled his eyes, pulling his phone from his pocket, "shut up."

his heart hammered in his chest at the thought of messaging you, opening instagram. but, just when he went to open his messages, your profile picture caught his eye at the top of the screen. he tapped onto the story you had posted not long ago, holding it down so it wouldn't disappear as he scanned over the picture.

you were still at the track, posting a picture from one of the offices. a video from your interviews today sitting on the screen, clear that you had stayed late to finish working on them. a caption written out on the photo.

'in desperate need of another cup of coffee'

he was up on his feet before he could even think through what he was about to do. shoving his phone in his pocket as oscar smiled at him softly.

"where're you heading?"

lando turned, walking backwards away from the lounge area, shouting over the bass of the club music playing loudly through the speakers, "'m feeling like having a cup of coffee! thanks for your help, osc!"

oscar raised his glass in a cheers motion to his teammate, watching him turn around and make a beeline for the exit. lily found her way to the lounge area, sitting next to her boyfriend and jabbing her thumb over her shoulder, motioning towards his teammate.

"where's he heading?"

oscar smiled, swallowing the sip of his drink, "going to get his girl."

the night breeze in the monaco air felt nice on lando's skin, a contrast against the overly warm club he had been in. he pulled his phone out once again, searching for a coffee shop that would still be open at this hour. he found one that looked promising after a few minutes of searching, putting in the directions to it and taking off in the direction.

he ignored the hammering of his heart in his chest as he carefully placed the cup in the holders of his car. was it the best idea to show up unannounced with a coffee in hand, especially when he wasn't sure how you felt about him? probably not. but after the conversation with oscar, all he could think about was how he couldn't lose you again. how even after searching for someone to fill the ache in his heart that was put there by his own doing, no one could compare to you. they couldn't ever be you, even if they tried or if he tried to make it work. it wasn't the same.

he parked the car, heading towards the building he knew all the journalists worked in. some of them still hanging around, sending lando smiles but confusion clear in their eyes as his eyes scanned the room.

"do you know where y/n is?" he asked an older man, a guy he had recognized to be your camera man from earlier. the man nodded, pointing towards the room with glass walls. he could see you in the room, your back facing the door. headphones sitting on top of your head, clearly invested in your work. he swallowed nervously, thanking the man before heading towards the room.

you hadn't noticed he entered the room until a hand placing a coffee next to you caught your attention. you slipped the headphones off, placing them on the desk before turning to see who was standing behind you.

he met your eyes, which were also laced with confusion as you spun around in your chair. he sent you a small, nervous smile. the same smile you had given him in the media pen hours ago.

"lando? what're you doing here?" you asked, "and how did you.."

he smiled softly, "saw your story."

"what is it?" you asked, moving to grab the warm cup, "i mean, i like my coffee-"

"with light cream and two and a half sugars. the pink packets, though, not the white ones."

your heart squeezed in your chest, he remembered the way you liked your coffee.

you took a sip of the warm liquid, tasting exactly the way you liked it. you took in a deep breath, meeting his green eyes once again and you swore you were slowly falling in love with him again. it was like you were back at the beach house, back at the exact moment you had realized you were in love with him.

maybe the feelings you thought had gone away after the years weren't truly gone.

your lipstick left a pretty mark on the white lid and he scanned your facial features. in the dim lighting you were still as gorgeous as the day he met you, pretty colored eyes that complimented the color of the strands of your hair. a pair of glasses sitting comfortably on your face, remembering that you only wore them when your eyes were starting to get irritated after a long day.

your voice was soft, "lando, what're you doing here?" you asked again, still confused on why he had come, "i mean, other than dropping off a coffee, which thank you for, by the way, but shouldn't you be out with the rest of the drivers? y'know, celebrating..?"

"well, i was," lando breathed, ignoring how it came out a little shaky, “but, to be honest, i just.. really want to talk to you.”

everything he rehearsed in his head during the driver over here was going out the window with each passing second. the longer he looked in your eyes the more he wished he had never walked out of that house all those years ago. the more it was eating him up inside that he let the best thing he ever had go, that he never told you why.

you sighed, pointing over your shoulder to the screen behind you, “i really have to finish this,”

“it’ll be quick,” he was almost begging. about to get on his knees if he had to, “promise.”

you nodded, your brain yelling at you for agreeing but your heart almost leaping out of your chest at the fact that he was here. standing in front of you. right now. when he could’ve been at the club, wrapped around some other girl. but he wasn’t.

“okay, just, let me grab my things.”

he nodded, biting down on his lower lip nervously as you saved your work and exited out of the editing software. you packed up everything in your bag, pushing the chair in before grabbing your coffee from the desk.

he held out his hand, “here,”

you furrowed your eyebrows in response. he motioned to the bag and you smiled softly, “oh, thanks,”

he nodded, letting you lead him out of the office. you said goodnight to the crew that was left, not batting an eye at the looks they gave you for having the, arguably, most sought out driver on the grid tailing behind you.

once you were outside, he walked next to you. matching your pace as he looked over at you, “so, uhm, how’re they treating you at sky?”

you nodded, “good,” you smiled softly, “didn’t expect i’d work in the same sport as you, to be honest.”

“you’re telling me you didn’t follow me here to make me realize i’ve been missing out all this time?” he joked and you laughed, shoving his shoulder with yours.

“shut it,”

“sorry, too soon?”

you chuckled, “forever might be too soon.”

he chuckled with you, unlocking the doors to the mclaren. he opened the passenger side door, letting you sit down in the seat. you took your bag from him and smiled, a silent thank you, before he closed the door for you and rounded the front of the car to get in on his side. he started the car, looking back over at you, "hungry?"

you hummed, "starving."

"perfect," he said, putting in the directions for a place he knew you'd like. you rubbed your lips together nervously, watching the monaco lights pass by you. the breeze was nice, something you could get used to.

you cut through the silence that fell over the two of you, speaking over the soft music he had put on for the drive, "so, what did you want to talk about?"

he looked over at you, the red of the stoplight illuminating his face. he had grown into his features, but the boyish things about him was what you loved. the way his dimples deepened the wider his smile was, the moles and freckles that littered his skin like stars, and you had noticed the small scar on the bridge of his nose. one that wasn't there years prior, but you had grown to love. you silently hoped he'd tell you the story sometime. wanting to know every detail of his life the past few years, the years you spent watching from the sidelines.

"about what happened," he said, the light turning green and his attention fixing back to the road, continuing to drive, "i feel like i owe you a very long, detailed, explanation."

you nodded as he pulled into a parking lot, "okay, yeah," you breathed out softly, "sure."

he parked the car, turning the engine off before looking back at you. you turned to face him, giving him a soft smile as he looked at you, eyes dancing around your face before he took a deep breath.

"listen, i know it's been a while and i really wouldn't blame you if you hate my guts, but i just... can't. i can't pretend that i've lived in a world i'm completely satisfied with. and i can't bring myself to fall in love with someone else because no matter what, i find myself wishing i was with you, at that stupid beach house where i first felt what love truly felt like."

you sat in silence, taking in his rambling thoughts. this conversation definitely wasn't going as well as he had rehearsed it in his head, but it was too late to turn back now. he was sitting here, spewing every emotion he's felt over the past couple of years in front of you. it's how he truly felt. no filter, no hoops to jump through, just pure emotion and longing and hints of regret, and true apologies.

"you're the first thing i think of when i wake up and the last thing i think of before i go to bed, and hell, sometimes i even find you in my dreams because for a while that was the only place where you and i co-existed. and i'm so fucking sorry for how i left you, how i packed up and moved on with my life without even considering how you would feel. it makes me sick to my stomach to think about the fact that i've fucked up the part of my life that felt normal. that felt real, and all because i was too much of a coward to tell you what was going on. too scared to drag you into all of this,"

he was still rambling and you couldn't help the way your heart hammered against your chest. the moment you had wished for all these years finally unfolding in front of your eyes and you couldn't help the tears that were starting to prick your eyes.

"but now, you're here, and i'm here, and... holy fuck i'm still so in love with you."

his throat bobbed, swallowing down the nerves as you watched him. you were speechless, unsure how to respond to everything he had just spewed to you. your heart was caught in your throat, the tears closer to spilling over after his rambling. he had said everything he was feeling and little did he know it was the same way you had been feeling too.

after every wish and journal entry wishing he'd waltz back into your life, he finally was here. sitting across from you, and now you were speechless. unable to find the words to tell him you felt the same way.

"i'm sorry," he mumbled, looking away and straight ahead of him, almost as if he was embarrassed to spring all of that onto you, "that was a lot all at once, i'm sorry-"

you leaned over the center console, grabbing his face in your hands, turning him to face you and smashing your lips against his. the tears falling down now at the feeling of having him this close again. the familiar feeling of having his lips on yours again being enough to send them dripping down and onto your shirt.

he was quick to kiss you back, as soon as the initial shock wore off. his hand moving to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss as you grabbed his shirt in your fist, not wanting to let go after he had been away from you all this time.

he pulled away when he needed to catch his breath, forehead resting against yours. you smiled softly, the two of you panting breathless and in love. he brought his thumb up to your cheek, wiping away the few stray tears that were still lingering. you leaned into his touch and he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"i love you," you breathed, nose bumping his, "so much. i never stopped, even after you left."

he smiled, his voice soft, "i'll spend a lifetime making it up to you."

you shook your head, "it doesn't matter. you're here now, that's all that matters."

"can i start with dinner?" he asked, smiling softly and brushing a piece of hair from your face. you hummed and nodded, pulling away from him as he got out of the car, jogging to open your door. you smiled and placed a quick kiss to his lips, joining your hands together. he walked with you into the restaurant, and as he opened the door for you all he could think about how he was the luckiest man on earth.

there was no way he was letting you again. you were incomparable. chemical.

[hairmetal666]

Steve has a problem. Not a big problem--not an Upside Down-sized problem--but still. A problem. In the form of Eddie Munson. And not the person Eddie Munson, who is second only to Robin in the hierarchy of Steve's heart, but his feelings in regard to one Eddie Munson. Namely, his enormous, devastating, gay crush on the guy.

And he knows, okay, he knows Eddie is gay, but that doesn't mean he wants Steve. Eddie is probably into other metalheads or dnd nerds. What could Steve, with his sports and his polo shirts, possibly have to offer?

He's coping, though. Or, at least, he thought he was until the Family Video phone rings and Jonathan invites them to the New Year's Eve party he and Argyle are throwing at their new apartment.

"We have to make a no-date pact." He tells Robin as soon as the phone is back in the cradle.

"Or you could just ask Eddie."

"You could just ask Nancy." He raises an eyebrow.

She lets out a slow breath. "Yeah, okay. No-date pact. I'm down."

It's just as easy to get Nancy and Eddie on board. Nancy just laughs and says "yeah, like I'd bring a date to the party my ex-boyfriend is hosting with his new boyfriend. How you do you even start to explain that dynamic?"

And Eddie snorts right in Steve's face (it's not cute, it's not), says, "Right, cause my dating pool in Hawkins, Indiana is just ripe with guys who want to ring in the New Year with me."

Steve wants to say that he would be that guy, happily, giddily, but he can't risk blowing up his second most important friendship like that, not when Eddie's never given a fraction of a hint that he wants Steve too.

But that's his problem solved, right? The four of them aren't bringing dates. Easy-peasy.

Unfortunately, Steve's life hasn't ever worked out like that, and the party turns out to not be only their little end of the world crew and a handful of people Jon knows from his grocery store job, but an actual motherfucking party.

It takes almost ten minutes for him and Robin to navigate through the sea of strangers to find Jon and Argyle handing out solo cups in the kitchen.

"Who are all these people?" He shouts over the pounding music, nothing like Steve's ever heard.

"Argyle got a job at the record store down the street," Jon yells.

"Co-workers." Argyle nods. "And a few of their friends."

"A few, right."

"The more the merrier. Right, my dude?"

"Sure." Steve takes a cup. "You seen Eddie around?"

"Living room, last time I looked." Jonathan answers.

"See you around?" Robin asks.

"At least meet up for the ball drop," Argyle answers.

They push their way into the cramped living room, and Steve searches for that familiar cloud of hair, the ripped black jeans. It takes a minute just for the sheer amount of bodies pressed into the small space, and when he sees him Eddie's--

He's standing against a wall, next to the stereo (of course), but there's someone with him. Someone who is tall and leanly muscled in a way that Steve isn't. Someone with long hair pushed back from his forehead. Someone with facial piercings in places Steve didn't even know you could pierce and tattoos and a chain hanging from his worn blue jeans and a bandana in his back pocket, just like Eddie.

And Eddie he's--he's gazing up at this dude with clear stars in his brown doe eyes, body angling towards the other man like he can't help but push more into his orbit.

Steve turns hard, Robin colliding with his side. "Steve, what the--oh."

"I hate New Year's Eve," Steve sighs, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. It's always been the kind of holiday that is high on expectation and low on follow-through.

"C'mon, I think I spotted Nance over by the bedroom."

He lets Robin guide him across the room, steadfastly not looking back at where Eddie is very obviously finding himself a date. It's okay, Steve reasons. It's okay because that was obviously the kind of guy Eddie would be into it. He knew he had, like, no chance. He shouldn't be disappointed. He shouldn't.

The evening slips away in the shove of people, in the solo cup that manages to always be full in his hand, and he tries as hard as he can to ignore the way Robin and Nancy start sharing the same space.

So much for the no-date pact. He would laugh if a sort of deep loneliness wasn't seeping into his bones.

There's a girl, though, across the room. She's in a short dress and glances at Steve from under hooded eyelids. He could make a move; could have someone to kiss at midnight; have someone just for the night. But then--his heart makes a pathetic patter--Eddie.

Eddie who is practically in that stranger's lap.

He goes out for a cigarette.

When he comes back inside, it's five minutes til midnight and Nancy and Robin are dancing slow and sweet to a song that is neither.

He's happy for them, almost incandescent with it, but the loneliness sinks deeper, reaches marrow, especially after he fails to find Eddie in the crowd.

Steve thinks it might be time to give the whole failed endeavor up for good, but Jonathan and Argyle, both in tiny 1987 novelty top hats, appear at his side.

"Stevie-boy!" Argyle bellows. He lifts Steve at the waist, twirling him, and Steve laughs despite himself.

"Keeping busy?" He asks.

Jonathan pounds him on the back, just a little too hard.

A guest yells from deep in the apartment, "one minute to midnight!" and the music turns off, the TV tuned to Dick Clark and turned up.

Nancy and Robin find their way over, Robin mouthing "sorry," on her way. He pulls her into a side-hug; he'll never begrudge her any happiness, even on his worst day.

From across the room, there's a crash, a short yelp, and then a familiar head of fuzzy brown curls makes its way to them.

"Sorry, sorry." Eddie apologizes as he shoves through the other guests.

"Hi, guys!" He beams at them, cheeks flushed. Steve looks away so he doesn't have to think about how beautiful Eddie is; about how he's not the one who made him blush so pretty.

The countdown on the screen reaches 30 seconds, and the party goers start chanting.

"What happened to--?" Steve can't help but asking.

"Psh, that dude? He's a punk. Plus, I couldn't imagine ringing in 1987 without you guys by my side."

Steve blushes and rolls his eyes. "Sap." He knocks his hip into Eddie's.

"You love it," Eddie wraps him in a loose hold.

The count is down to 10, the ball almost dropped, Jonathan and Argyle and Nancy and Robin making soft eyes at each other.

"What's going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?" Eddie knocks his head gently against Steve's.

"It's nothing."

"You're pouting." Eddie mimics him with a poked out lip.

The count is down to 5.

"Fuck, I just--I wanted to have someone to kiss at midnight, you know?"

The ball drops, the year changes over, the room cheers. His coupled up friends cling to each other in soft, joyous kisses.

Eddie's eyes flick to their friends, to the guests, all kissing and embracing and celebrating, then back to Steve.

With two careful fingers, Eddie lifts Steve's chin, makes it so he can't look away.

"Fuck it," Eddie says. He leans forward, kisses Steve with soft authority.

And Steve just--he just fucking--crumbles into it. He makes a soft noise, curls his fists into Eddie's t-shirt.

Eddie's hands work their way into his hair, pulling him closer. Steve goes eagerly, crushes their bodies together.

They kiss and they kiss, and it's already so far from a friendly New Year's kiss, but then Eddie's tongue swipes into Steve's mouth, and the kiss breaks.

"Um," Eddie says.

Steve can't respond because all his focus is on not giving into the weakness in his knees and collapsing to the floor.

"I've wanted you to do that all night," Steve says.

"Oh." Eddie's face blossoms into a slow smile. "Me too. A lot longer than that, actually."

It's Steve's turn to smile, and he does, so hard it hurts his cheeks. "Me too."

Eddie presses their foreheads together. "Happy New Year, Stevie."

Someone starts singing Auld Lang Syne loudly and off-key, but they're quickly drowned out by a chorus of accompanying voices.

"Happy New Year, Ed."

Steve pulls him in for another kiss. 1987 is already shaping up to be the best year of his life.

[thepixelelf]

and the universe said,

07 - "bro, chill"

genres/tags: soulmate au, idol au, comedy, romance, dumbassery relationship(s): ot13 x reader chapter warnings: coarse language. kithing. a liiitle svt on svt violence note: ik it's been a long time please be nice to me <3 (this isn't edited... I'll take a look at it when I have the time)

When soulmates are suddenly thrust upon the world, you are one in a million who wishes they weren’t – and that’s before you meet the person (people?!) making your life much harder than it needs to be. And before someone asks you to sign an NDA.

series masterlist

prev ⭒ chapter seven (4.0k) ⭒ next

“Where are they?” Myungjun asks as soon as Jihoon and Junhui enter the room they agreed upon.

Junhui braces both of his arms on the back of a chair. “What do you mean?”

“Your soulmate—” Cutting himself off with a sigh, Myungjun pinches the bridge of his nose and answers his own question. “You didn’t bring them.”

Yejung, who was sitting at a table with her laptop, shuts it with a frown. “Why not?”

Junhui shrugs. “I’m just here because Jihoon dragged me out.” He shifts between looking at the three other people in the room. “You guys know I just met my soulmate, right? I don’t like not having them here with me, either.”

“Well then why didn’t you—”

“They don’t know.” Jihoon cuts off Myungjun’s words, then pulls out a chair and drops himself in it. He stares at a random spot on the table. When he doesn’t elaborate any further, Yejung sends a furtive glance Myungjun’s way.

“Don’t know…” She leans her forearms on the table and scoots her chair closer. “...what? That you’re their soulmate? That there’s more than one of you? That you’re famous?”

Junhui snorts. “All of the above?”

At Junhui's quip and Jihoon's continued silence, Myungjun raises a cynical brow.

"You didn't tell them?" Yejung asks, softly shocked. "Why?"

Junhui's eyes skirt to Jihoon; he's unwilling to share his own reasons, though he doesn't quite understand this about himself, either.

Jihoon sighs. "I don't know. It's complicated. Things happened too fast the first time we—"

"The first time?" Myungjun echoes. "So you've been with them multiple times."

“Don’t say it like that.” Jihoon almost pouts, but the facial expression just makes him look angry. “Look. I ran into them when the vocal team was on the way to that radio show. We’d stopped by a cafe and there wasn’t much time and I was so out of my mind that I—” He cuts himself off. “It doesn’t matter. I got their number, and then they left. I asked to meet today and we did. Jun was already there for…” With his arms crossed, Jihoon looks over at Junhui, remembering that he still doesn’t really know what Junhui was doing at the same cafe you apparently frequent. Is this the same cat cafe Junhui is always talking about? “…some reason. Then someone started singing, and they told us their soulmate is stupid and annoying because their mark…”

“It’s not like ours,” Junhui finishes for Jihoon, though this only deepens the confusion written on Yejung and Myungjun’s faces.

“If it's not like yours, then how do you know they're your—”

“It's them, Hyung.” Jihoon can't help noticing the hopelessness in his own voice. It's you. He knows it's you.

But you don't know it's them— him.

And he's not sure you want to know.

“Their mark, like, grows,” Junhui explains. “Ours just stay on our hands, but when one of us sings, the notes go all over their arms and neck. Maybe other places — I don’t know — but they obviously don’t think it’s either of us since we weren’t singing when their mark did its thing.”

“So…” Myungjun crosses his arms and taps his finger on his bicep. “They don't like their mark.”

Junhui doesn't nod right away, but he does eventually.

Myungjun turns to Jihoon. “And you think that means they don't like you.”

Groaning and rubbing his hands over his face, Jihoon doesn't dignify that with a response. “Even if they did like their mark, it’s an insane situation. Thirteen soulmates? They’re gonna run for the hills when they find out.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Yejung says, to which Jihoon gives her a dry look and Junhui’s eyes light up. She clears her throat. “We just need to find a way to calmly inform them of the situation — preferably in a safe, comfortable environment.”

Myungjun recognizes a Yejung Game Plan brewing when he sees it. “Basically, what she’s saying is…”

“Let me talk to them.” Yejung opens her laptop again and begins typing away. “We just need to go about this in a calm, logical manner.” She gives a little nonchalant wave of her hand. “This’ll be easier than a design meeting.”

⭒

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, arms crossed, legs too, as you stare down at the shiny black credit card lying there between you and Heejun. His position mirrors yours, head tilted while he studies the card.

“It could be fake,” you say. Your knee bounces up and down, up and down.

Heejun lifts his head to give you a look. “Why would it be fake?”

“He said he doesn’t believe in banks.”

“It doesn’t look fake.” Heejun reaches out and takes the card, flipping it over in his fingers to read the back. “Looks like any other credit card. We should test it.”

You frown. “How?”

“Uh,” Heejun speaks like the answer is obvious. “Buy something?”

Okay, it is obvious, but the idea doesn’t sit too well with you. “Isn’t that stealing?”

“He gave you the card.”

“Yeah, but the police don’t know that,” you argue. “If I got charged for fraud, it would be his word against mine— no one would believe coffee guy just handed me his black card.”

Without moving his head, Heejun glances up from the card to look at you. "Why would he lie?"

"Um, because he already has? Who knows— maybe this card is connected to illicit activities and he planted it on me to implicate me."

“Which he would do because…?”

You throw your hands up in the air, then let them drop emphatically at your side. “I don’t know! Why did he do any of what he did?”

He raises a brow. “Because he’s a weirdo who likes you?”

“Okay but have you ever given your credit card to a person you’ve only met twice?”

Heejun’s shoulders rise in a shrug. “I’ve wanted to.”

“Seriously?” You can’t imagine your friend going that gaga over a crush, but then again, there was that girl in fourth grade whom he gave all his choco pies to. Heejun loves choco pies.

“Mine would decline though. It wouldn’t exactly impress.”

You lightly shove his shoulder. “Oh come on, it wouldn’t decline.”

“It would if they went over the limit. People only give people their credit cards for expensive stuff. You know that, right?”

The black card gleams up at you, almost tauntingly.

“Expensive stuff like what?”

He shrugs again. “Like a car?”

“You’ve been watching too many CEO dramas.” You exhale and place both hands on the floor with a pointed slam. Standing, you pick the credit card up and brush imaginary dirt off your pants.

“You won’t be so sarcastic when Park Seojoon tells you to keep that thing.”

You roll your eyes as you toss the card into the same trinket dish you keep your keys and other miscellaneous things in. “Isn’t that guy like six foot?”

“So was Huijun,” he counters.

“So are you. Is that all it takes to be a CEO nowadays?” you joke, pulling out your phone. “Height?”

Heejun scoffs, then frames his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “That and my devilish good looks.”

“Please.” You tap on a notification from an unknown number. “If that were true, you’d be the one handing out black…cards…”

At the way you trail off, Heejun furrows his brow and walks over to you. “What’s up? Did you fall for another online scam?”

Not this again. “Okay, first of all, that was not a scam, and I did not fall for it—”

“You didn’t fall for a not scam?”

“Shut up. What do you think this means?” You turn your phone towards him, and he takes it from your unsteady hand.

He reads aloud. “‘Hello, this is Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment.’ Did you apply there?”

“No,” you say, then shake your head and wave your hand. “I mean. I don’t know. Maybe. I applied to like five hundred places. But this isn’t that. Keep reading.”

Heejun takes a breath and starts reading like he’s holding a new edict. “‘It has come to my attention that you are in possession of one of my coworker’s bank cards.’ Oooooh, you’re in trouble.” He drags out the last syllable. “‘Please meet me at…’ whatever building, numbers numbers numbers… ‘so I can retrieve it. Please reply to this number for more information, and thank you for your time.’ Hm.”

“What do you think… am I getting arrested?”

Lowering your phone, Heejun gives you a seriously? look over it. “The cops are texting criminals now?”

“So you agree I’m a criminal.”

“You get annoying when you’re nervous, you know that?” When you roll your eyes, Heejun mirrors the expression and pokes your forehead long enough that he pushes you backward. “Look bub, you wanted to give the stupid thing back without using it, and now the opportunity has been handed right to you.” He waves your phone in the air like evidence. “The only question is why coffee guy didn’t just text you himself.”

You cross your arms. “Maybe he doesn’t like me as much as you thought.”

“One more self-deprecating comment out of you and I’m posting those pictures from your twentieth birthday.”

A gasp wrenches from your throat. “You wouldn’t!”

⭒

Joshua Hong doesn’t think he has that many unread messages on his phone.

He looks down.

Oof. 682.

Well, it’s not his worst.

Notifications fly by at the top of his screen.

[vernon] where is this guy

[chan] hyung this is important!!

[wonwoo] when have we known that guy to answer anything

[soonyoung] someone text yejung!!

It’s probably not that important, whoever they’re talking about. His members are likely just freaking out over this whole soulmate thing again.

Joshua lifts his hand and stares at his weird, natural — supernatural — tattoo. He still can’t bring himself to believe it.

Soulmates? Really? In this economy? This isn’t Tumblr.

At least… Joshua looks around the dance practice room… He’s pretty sure this isn’t Tumblr.

His phone rings, which is weird since he always has it on silent. Sliding the answer button, he brings the phone up to his ear. “Yejung?”

“Where are you?”

“The practice room,” Joshua answers plainly. “Isn’t this where we’re supposed to be today?”

Yejung sighs on the other end of the line. “I said in the group chat that we were dealing with soulmate stuff. Upstairs.”

Ah, so that’s what has everyone in a tizzy. “Alright, okay. Where am I going?”

“Room eight-thirteen—” He hangs up and starts to pack his things before Yejung can say, “Wait, no, nine-thirteen. We'll start when you arrive. Joshua? Hello?”

⭒

You check your phone for what must be upwards of the fifth time.

Yup, Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment definitely told you to meet her in room 813, and yet here you are. In room 813. Alone.

You shift on the leather couch. It’s a lounge-like room you’re in. You don’t really understand the purpose of such a room in an entertainment company, but whatever. You’re only here to return something you never should’ve had in the first place.

Although…

You turn the card over in your hand, watching the way the fancy lighting bounces off of it.

Why would Jihoon give it to you if he was just going to get it back like this?

Also, now that you really think about it, Jihoon did say something weird when he left yesterday with Huijun. Something about not letting “the rest” scare you off. Whatever that means.

The rest of what?

Or… whom?

You know Jihoon must work for the company in some capacity. The fact that both he and Huijun were wearing masks makes you think they could be artists…

Oh. Duh. Why didn’t you think of this earlier?

Switching apps, you tap the search bar and start typing. Just as you’re done with the last character of Jihoon HYBE, the door you entered through opens. You hastily slip your phone into your back pocket as you stand to greet the person coming in.

“Hello, you must be…” Your eyes scan over his face. He’s… delicate looking, until you move your gaze downwards a little, and his broad shoulders and thick arms are decidedly not delicate looking. “…Shin Yejung?”

You tilt your head. With no mask on the lower half of his face, he seems familiar. Now this guy must be an idol — you probably saw him on the walls when you were making your way through this maze of a building. 

He just raises a brow. “Who are you?”

“Oh, uh…” You stay standing in front of the couch as he approaches you, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m just here to return this.” Lifting the black card up, you hold it out between you and the man. “It’s Jihoon’s.”

“Jihoon’s?” he echoes, then moves to take the card from you, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. 

You both see it at the same time.

His mark, five black lines, clear as day.

Yours, peeking out from where your sleeve is pulled halfway up your hand.

You look up from your not-really-joined hands, then look down again.

No fucking way. 

“Twinkle twinkle, little—” The notes, whatever they are, dance across his mark.

No fucking way. 

You meet his eyes. “...Songbird?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. A few too many seconds.

Then, “So it’s you.”

“Holy—!”

At the same time as you try to jerk away, he attempts to turn your hand over and get a better look. Neither plan really works out. You stumble backwards, and with your hand in his, he gets pulled down with you onto the couch. His free hand shoots out to keep himself from slamming into you, but, persistent as the universe is, your faces end up very freaking close to each other anyway. Warmth from his knee on the couch cushion next to your thigh seeps through your clothing.

He doesn’t move. You don’t either.

For some reason, you feel stuck in place. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but… you just feel like you should be exactly where you are.

You’re almost too close to make real eye contact, so you just watch the way his eyes study yours.

“Songbird?” you whisper, though you have no idea what you’re trying to ask.

He stops analyzing you and finally looks at you. “Yeah?”

“…Are you leaning towards me on purpose?”

His lips (since when were you looking at those?) curl down at the corners. “Are you?”

Slowly, like your mind is trying to catch up to your body, you shake your head. “No…”

He drifts closer. Or you do. Or you both do.

Or something.

Your lips brush over his, and you feel just as much as you hear him whisper. “Then neither am I.”

In the span of a second, his free hand moves from the back of the couch to cradle your jaw, his thumb grazing gently just under your ear. He kisses you, lips moving over yours in a way you’ve felt before, but also in a way you’ve never felt before.

It’s strange.

Not bad strange, but strange in the way that it feels like you’ve just put the last of the groceries in the fridge. It’s like folding that final piece of laundry. Like coming home to the bed you made when you left in the morning.

It’s… satisfactory?

But that’s not the word people normally use when they think of putting their tongue in someone else’s mouth, right?

You’re running out of breath, but Songbird is insistent, and so are his lips, which you find yourself unable to get enough of. He pulls back for half a breath, registers your kiss me again or so help me facial expression, and dives right back in. He’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and you’re soulmates and…

Wait.

Soulmates?

“Wait,” you say, though it comes out more like, “Mmaem” Climbing both your hands up his — whoa — strong arms, you cup his cheeks in preparation to push him away, but he seems to like your touch. He covers the back of one of your hands with his warm palm, and he hums in a way that is not PG-13.

The sound has you melting, unfortunately.

Not for long though.

He’s ripped from you just as quickly as he fell onto you, pulled back by some guy with fluffy black hair, cozy attire head to toe, and… shit, a you’re in trouble glare the likes of which you’ve never seen before. He’s not even looking at you, yet you feel scolded.

“Yah!” he yells at your soulmate, who’s now on the floor. Then, after glancing at you for half a second and apparently finding zero more words to say, he shouts at him again. “Yah!”

Your soulmate opens his mouth, but then he turns to look at the now-open door, which leads you to do the same. A mob of prettyboys stands just outside, some with their jaws dropped and some looking like murder just got legalized and they’re on the prowl.

Someone’s despondent voice shouts, “Hyung!”

You feel like hiding under a blanket. Before your flight instinct kicks in, though, you recognize two familiar faces. “Jihoon?” His eyes meet yours when you say his name. “Huijun?”

One of the many boys among those you don't recognize echoes, “Huijun?” while sending him a weird look.

Someone pushes through the crowd — more like slinks through, occasionally nudging one of the other guys out of the way. His eyes stay firmly on you as he approaches, but you find no fear rising despite that. For some unknown reason, even as this completely unfamiliar man strides over to you with a frankly alarming amount of eye contact, you feel… safe.

Or at least, something close to it.

He kneels in front of where you're still seated on the leather couch, hand resting mere centimetres from leg. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice slightly nasal, but so, so gentle. 

“Uhh…” Self conscious, you wipe at the corner of your mouth with your sleeve. You spot your soulmate catch you doing so, and a look of hurt crosses his face. His own reaction, though, seems to startle him, and his hand rises to gently prod his shiny bottom lip with one of his fingers. He looks confused.

Well, that makes two of you.

Taking in the man right in front of you — pretty, lithe, concerned for you despite his unfamiliarity — you fail to answer his question. “Are… you Shin Yejung?”

He lets out a laugh, relieved, maybe, that you're not not okay. “Jeonghan,” he says simply.

You nod. “Jeonghan.”

At your voice echoing his name, the man’s eyes light up. “Yes?”

“Oh, uh…” You weren’t trying to call on him for anything, but as you study his gaze, you find yourself lost in his confident ease. Something in his eyes says that he knew this would happen.

Maybe not this, exactly — your soulmate has found a spot on the floor and has not stopped staring at it, while the rest of the strangers are still watching you — but taking up the same space as you, facing you, smiling at you with a soft quirk at the corners of his lips.

“Ugh!” A woman’s exasperated voice makes you look up at the crowd by the door. “Get— out of the way, you… ugh—” She breaks through, pushing aside a tall guy who looks like he’s about to cry. “—you men!”

Stumbling to her feet, she rights herself and brushes her bangs out of her face with a huff. “Now, what is—” She spots your soulmate still on his ass and mutters something you’re pretty sure can’t be aired on any broadcasting network. “...my life.”

Your eyes meet hers as she takes another breath. “Please tell me you’re Shin Yejung.”

“Yes, we spoke over the phone.”

“Thank god.” Shaking off all the weird feelings you’d accumulated in the last — what? Two minutes? — you stand from the couch and sidestep Jeonghan. The black card fell at some point during that lapse of judgement (aka kiss), so you swipe it up off the floor and hold it out to her with no preamble. “I swear I’m not a stalker fan or anything. And I didn’t use it, so…”

You glance over at Jihoon, whose expression gives off an oncoming panic. Is he scared to see you? Why? Huijun looks just fine, happy even, with you here. You can practically hear the ‘hello’ he wants to say out loud.

You clear your throat. “Anyway, um. I didn’t mean to, uh…” As you nervously cross your arms, you nod towards your soulmate. “I’m his— I mean, we are… sorry. This is… I wasn’t exactly expecting to find the person who’s…”

Maybe you shouldn’t say you’ve been annoyed by your soulmate since you got your stupid mark. At least not while he’s in the room.

“That’s actually what I brought you here to talk about,” Shin Yejung tells you, a bit like a doctor who’s about to deliver the bad news first. She doesn’t even take the card from you. “Would you like to take a seat?”

You scrunch your eyes shut for a second with a little shake of your head, trying to manual reset your brain because clearly it’s still muddled. “Sorry, what? You want to talk about…?”

The mob of men in the room get hidden from your vision as Yejung strategically places herself between them and you. “Soulmates,” she says.

You look down at the black card, then back up at her again. “Soulmates.”

“Yes. Your soulmates. I was hoping to talk to you alone first.” She sends a pointed look at the men behind her. “But it’s not exactly easy to get these guys to lis—”

“Sorry.” You wave a hand in the air to get her to stop, unable to comprehend any of her words after— “Did you say my soulmates? As in… mates, multiple? Mates with an S at the end? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

Remaining calm while your mind spins, Yejung nods. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

“Know what is a lot to take in?”

Yejung opens her mouth to answer, but a voice blurts out behind her, “We’re your soulmates!”

Maybe you haven’t known him long enough or talked to him that many times, but you recognize Jihoon’s voice, and something in your gut suddenly grows sharp. Not painful, but begging for you to feel it. Yejung shifts so your field of view is once again filled by men too pretty to be all in the same room. Jihoon’s standing there, fists clenched at his sides, out of breath for no discernable reason other than…

We’re your soulmates.

Seeing your hesitation, Jihoon huffs and tears a bandaid you never really noticed off the back of his right hand. Even before he completes the motion, you know what must be under the bandage. He holds his hand up, though, and the evidence is very near damning.

Next to him, Huijun smiles and lifts his arm, pointing to his own five lines with his opposite hand. 

Most of the guys behind them show you the same thing. Five lines on the smooth backs of their hands, near the base of the thumb. Dear lord, you don’t even know how many of them there are.

The angry one who pulled the man off of you earlier, at least, just looks lost, like he once had control and now has none. Relatable.

You stumble back a bit. Instinctively, you say, “Songbird?”

Though quite a few of the men seem to perk up at the nickname, only the one you already gave the moniker to truly reacts. Your soulmate — god, one of your soulmates? — looks up at you from the floor and answers, “Yeah?” before realizing he’s even doing it.

“Never mind,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “Ms Shin?”

“Yes?” She steps closer, a worried look on her face.

Jeonghan, too, moves toward you with a similar look on his face.

You try to take a steady breath and fail. “I think I’ll take that seat now.”

Swaying backward, your body falls onto the leather couch. 

You hear approximately ten panicked shouts as you go down.

prev ⭒ chapter seven (4.0k) ⭒ next

new chapters for atus are not on a schedule nor guaranteed. there is no taglist. thank you for reading!

[rninies]

✮ silly love

౨ৎ scaramouche x reader. fluff, gn!reader, scara's a tease here lol, modern!au — wc: 647

notes. scara fic for my bday :3

“so, what's going on between you and scaramouche recently? you guys seem to have gotten close all of a sudden.” one of your friends suddenly asks and you choked on the french fry you were eating, quickly drinking some water.

“what?”

“you heard me.” your friend gives you a knowing smile. “what’s going on between you and scaramouche? last i heard, he hates talking with people and now he’s all sweet and cute with you.”

your face turns red. “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about. besides, he’s opening up to more people! it’s not just me he’s talking with.”

your friend hums. “mm, then why is he walking this way with a scowl on his face?”

“what-?” you turned your head and they were right. scaramouche is indeed walking here with a scowl on his face. “scara? what’s wrong-”

“i thought you promised we were going to eat lunch together.” scaramouche cuts you off swiftly, sitting down next to you and placing his tray on the table. your friends could only watch in amusement as you tried to find an excuse to calm scaramouche down.

“w-well, i couldn’t find you when class ended! i didn’t want to sit alone like a loser waiting for you to come.” you said with a nervous laugh at the end. “besides, aren’t you bored eating with me every single day?”

“who said i would get bored of you?” scaramouche replies, grabbing a french fry and eats it. he looks at you with a confused look on his face. “why would i get bored of you?”

“you’re saying that as if you have a crush on me.” you let out a laugh, doubling over, smacking your hand on the table as if you said the funniest thing in the world. when you don’t hear a snarky remark from scaramouche, you stop laughing. your friends whispered to each other and quietly left the table, leaving you and scaramouche alone. “you-”

“i’m going to need you to stop for one second because i just find it so incredibly rude that you think i’m not head over heels in love with your stupid, oblivious ass.” scaramouche glares at you, obviously upset. “are you a brick? because you’re dense as fuck.”

your mouth hangs open, still clearly shocked from the sudden confession. “you- what?! when did you start having a crush on me?”

“do i have to explain in detail why i’m in love with you?” he asks, pushing his tray forward. he places his elbow on the table, his hand supporting his head. “well? are you just going to continue to gape at me or are you going to say anything else?” you instantly snap back into reality, clearing your throat.

“ahem,” you fiddled with your thumbs, nervous. “i thought you were the type to not fall in love with anyone.” you avoided eye contact, looking at everything except scaramouche.

scaramouche raises his eyebrows, obviously amused by your nervousness. “what, am i not allowed to have feelings? am i just a puppet to you?”

“okay who said-” you lift your head only to bump your nose against scaramouche’s. you stopped what you were saying, eyes meeting his. scaramouche’s lips slowly turns into a smile and he eventually lets out a laugh, quickly snapping you back to reality. “stop distracting me!”

“what do you mean?” scaramouche asks in a teasing tone. “i have no idea what you’re talking about. me? distracting you? doesn't sound like me at all!”

“haha fuck you.” you glared at scaramouche, picking up your tray, preparing to leave. “i’m leaving. have fun eating alone.”

“wha-” scaramouche quickly gets up, following you. “hey you haven’t replied whether you like me back or not!”

you turned back, giving him a cheeky smile. “you think?” you winked and turned your back to him, not giving scaramouche a chance to reply.

he scoffs. “this brat.”

[emphistic]

Can't Relate to Desperation

A/N: requested by anon — i apologize for how long this took; this was fun to write

— just a heads-up: this is preschool!Sukuna

“—I was wondering if you could help me with a little favor.”

“Sure, shoot.” Your friend was surprised to see Sukuna — out of all people — approach them, but they didn't show it.

“Y/N’s birthday is pretty soon, and I don’t have any ideas on what to get her.” Sukuna had known you for a long while. But that didn’t mean he knew what you wanted for a birthday present. I mean, he obviously knows your likes and dislikes. Your hobbies and pastimes. Your favorite colors, foods, drinks, movies, even. But none of those gave him an idea for a meaningful birthday present.

“Ohh, yeah. I'm getting her a matching pajama set! Because we’re going to have a sleepover after her party.”

Sukuna mentally raised a brow at that, he thought you guys were already planning on having a sleepover. And he most definitely did not remember inviting anyone else to the sleepover.

“I didn't ask.” Sukuna wanted to get this questionnaire over with already, and go back to playing with you on the swings or something like that.

“Hey! That’s not nice. I’ll tell the teacher.”

“Can you help me or not?”

“No, because you’re a meanie. And meanies don’t deserve my help.” Your friend crossed her arms and turned away from Sukuna, emitting a little ‘hmph’ sound.

“Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Can you just help me?” He couldn't believe he just apologized to someone other than you.

“Fine,” your friend huffed out, turning back around.

All the while, you watched this exchange happen from afar. Earlier, you were back in the classroom, digging through your backpack to find the necklace you had purchased with your early birthday money from your parents. You had planned to give it to Sukuna, but it currently looked like he had acquired another friend.

And, what made it even more disappointing was the fact you spent at least ten minutes looking for him. You waited outside the restrooms, searched the playground, dug through the sandpit — in case he got buried, and even checked the cubbies. Then you took a lap outside, and found him talking to another girl, who happened to be your [second] best friend — (Sukuna being the first).

The smile plastered across your face immediately dropped, and so did the necklace in your hands.

It’s not like Sukuna wasn’t allowed to have other friends, it’s the fact that he doesn't — by choice, obviously — except for you. And it's been that way, ever since you complimented his hair, saying, “I love the pink! It is my favorite color,” which was contrary to many of your other classmates. Most kids actually made fun of him for it, albeit Sukuna would always glare in their direction and the laughter and teasing would stop in an instant.

You couldn't believe your eyes. He usually ignored people who tried to talk to him and pushed aside those who wanted to make friends. So why was he suddenly talking to your friend? Was he trying to replace you? Did he get bored of you? Why were they talking in such a secluded area behind the garbage cans? Was he trying to hide all of this from you?

You wiped your soon watering eyes with your sleeve, grabbed the necklace off the ground, and quickly ran in the opposite direction.

Coincidentally, as soon as Sukuna got all the information he needed from your friend, he saw your figure turning around. Why were you here? He thought.

“Thanks.” Sukuna ran away from your friend, and as soon as he caught up to you, he said, “Hey, where are you going?”

“Nowhere.” You didn't turn around to face him, continuing to run away.

Sukuna came to a halt, staring at your back. What's your problem? Sukuna decided it was probably nothing, and that you just wanted some alone time, so he left you to your alone time and resorted to playing in the sandpit by himself. But it didn't feel the same as when you played with him. The sand was too warm, the sandcastle was off-center with the hills made of sand, the birds’ singing was too loud. Nothing was right.

You had to admit, avoiding Sukuna was like avoiding the sun. You could hide out under roofs and loiter inside the restrooms, but you had to get out eventually. And eventually you did; recess had ended and you had to get back to the classroom to continue your lessons. And who did you sit next to? Take a wild guess.

When you sat down in your seat, you scooted your chair as far as possible away from the boy beside you — who stayed still, utterly confused at your actions, and wondering why the hell you were being this way.

Then, your class was assigned a group project. Sukuna turned to you, expecting the two of you to pair up, but to his surprise, you asked another classmate to pair up instead.

Okay, he thought. Maybe you just want to get social with other people; that's fine. That's normal.

What wasn’t normal was the fact that you continued to blatantly ignore the pink-haired boy even at lunchtime.

Sukuna asked you his usual question, “Do you want to share my juicebox?” And, thank Heavens, you finally looked him in the eye. But then you flatly said, “No,” before turning around and starting to eat your own lunch.

Sukuna frowned. “What’s your deal today? Are you allergic to apple juice now or something?”

“No.” Going back to what you did earlier, you didn't face him this time, choosing to eat your sandwich in peace.

Usually, you gave him the crust of your sandwiches to eat, because you didn’t like how they tasted, and he did, but you decided against that today. Which was a shame, Sukuna was looking forward to eating your sandwich’s crust.

“Geez, okay. Be that way, I guess.” Sukuna stabbed the straw into his juicebox and drank. But like the sandpit, it just wasn't the same.

This continued all day. And I mean all day.

Sukuna was starting to get real upset. This frustrated him deeply. He swore that if you kept on avoiding him and running away every single time he tried to approach you, he was going to end up with white hairs at the age of four.

Did you not want to be his friend anymore? Did you finally grow to dislike his pink hair that you once loved so much? He hoped the answers to those questions were a definite ‘no’.

He hoped the answer to those questions was a definite ‘no’.

Finally defeated and having given up on his searching for you all over school, he walked to the playground, hoping that swinging would clear his head. And God, he was so thankful he did just that. Because upon entering the play area, he found you, already sitting on the swings and swinging sadly, by yourself. You were swinging sadly on the swings, yes, indeed you were.

It was quite an amusing sight, to anyone who didn’t know the context. But Sukuna did, to an extent, at least. He knew you were upset, and that the likely cause was him. It was always him. Always. Good or bad, happy or sad, he was always the cause, for you. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, right?

Your head was low, focused on staring at the ground beneath you as you swung back and forth. Sukuna thought you looked cute like that — your braids dangling in front of your face, as you basked in the sun’s rays.

But then Sukuna remembered the task at hand, and made sure to approach you with caution and much needed confidence [in himself].

When he got closer to you — only a few feet apart — he quickly realized why your head was so low when you raised it to look at him, tears in your doe, yet angelically pure eyes.

He cleared his throat. “Y/N. What’s . . . wrong? What’s upsetting you? . . .Is it me?” He whispered the last part, to the point it was barely audible; but you heard him. You always did.

“Why don’t you go and talk to your other new friend, huh?” You spat out, stifling a hiccup as it came.

“Wait—what?” Sukuna’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Don’t play dumb. I know what you did. I know what you’re doing. You can replace me with whoever you want, I don’t care, not anymore. Now go away so I can play all by my lonesome.

“Y/N, I’m not replacing you. I know you’re a dummy sometimes but. . . Where’d you even get such a ridiculous idea?”

“Oh, so I’m the dummy?” you retaliated.

Then it hit him, you were referring to earlier this morning, when he was talking to your friend for advice on what to get you as a birthday present.

“I—you’ve got it all wrong, Y/N. All wrong. I wasn’t, I’m not, and I would never ever replace you. So get that stupid idea out of your head already. I was just asking her for help to . . . get you . . . something — for your . . . birthday, that’s coming up soon.” He didn’t want to spoil the surprise, but if it would make you feel any better, he couldn’t care less about keeping a silly little secret.

“Oh, Sukunaaa! You could’ve just asked me!” You jumped off the swings, swiftly wiping your teary eyes dry, and tackled Sukuna into a hug. The two of you fell into a giggling mess of tangled limbs on the ground.

And to your surprise, the following week, Sukuna gifted you a necklace at your birthday party. It was a cheap, dainty necklace, that much was obvious. But opening the heart charm revealed a poorly taken, bad quality, photo of you and Sukuna both. You two were smiling like idiots, embraced in a hug, and you recognized the picture to date back to when you visited Sukuna at one of his basketball games. The first game of his that you went to, actually.

The cherry on top was the fact that the necklace he got you was the same necklace you were planning on giving him before you saw him talking to your friend last week.

But, ah, it was whatever. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Taglist: @beyond-your-stars @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk @lillycore @deepchromatose @yinyinyinyinyinyin @fivehoneyharg @desihopelessromantic @taiyakii @hannas16 @acroso @msvalsius @call-memissbrightside

[mxtantrights]

Hello there, ‘tis I again! Soo happy you enjoyed the boxer!jason request!! I know, i love him too :)))

Today i bring forth another boxer!Jason ask, maybe you introduce him to your friends and they can’t see past the fact he kinda looks like a brute (even tho he’s such a big softie, i truly believe this man reads romeo and Juliet while waiting to get on the ring), and so at the end of the night he’s feeling insecure cause he could see how your friends looked at him and he starts wondering if they are right and you deserve someone who’s softer and more approachable. And obviously reader shows him just how amazing he is!!

Today i yearn for some good hurt/comfort, if you couldn’t tell lol

Hope you have fun writing this one!! Marvellous works 🩷🩷

Everything goes right before the two of you get there. Thats how Jason knows something is gonna go wrong at this hang out. You told him all week that if he felt like not going, you could cancel. But he didn't want it to seem like he was blowing your friends off. So he trudged through.

He trudged through and is sitting side by side with you in a booth. And three of your friends are crowded into the other side of it. They've had a couple of drinks before you came. You weren't really in the mood to play catch up so you stick to your one while Jason goes dry because he's driving.

They have conversations about the recent news, the latest gossip, and then they ask about your life. Particularly your life with Jason. You start gushing about him, as if he isn't there, and tell them about how you met and how he treats you.

"This guy? This six foot tall, three hundred pounded brick wall?" one of them asks.

You scoff, "How he looks has nothing to do with how he treats me."

"Yeah, but doesn't he-don't you box?" another one of them asks him.

Jason clears his throat and sits up straight. But you notice it. You notice how he is trying to make himself smaller. He did it at the very beginning of your relationship, to make you less scared. You talked to him about it when the two of you got closer, and you haven't seen him do it since. Until now.

"I'm a boxer, yes. But I don't bring any of that home with me." Jason answers.

"Isn't it hard though? When you're angry? I mean who's to say you won't-" the third friend starts.

Hell. This has to stop.

"Enough." you speak.

They all look at you, at a loss for words. While it's true the four of you grew up looking like people who were afraid to tell others no, and looked like doormats, you were far from that person. Those days are over.

"I'm not gonna let you speak to him like that. He has been nothing but kind and open with me, and not that it's any of your business, but he has never laid his hands on me, or raised his voice." you say.

Then you're getting up from the booth, holding your hand out for Jason. He looks between you and your friends and then he's getting up from his seat. He takes your hand in his.

"He's my boyfriend. I want him in my life and I wanna be a part of his. So either you get that or you get lost." You put finally.

You turn around and walk right out the door with Jason. Jason who hasn't said a word yet. Jason who is holding onto your hand in a way that tells you he's not completely paying attention.

When the two of you cross the threshold of the doors, you squeeze his hand.

"Baby?" you ask him.

Jason looks at you then. Like everything is coming back into focus for him. He has a sad smile on his face.

"I'm sorry." He says.

"Don't ever be sorry for being you. If my so called 'friends' couldn't see past what you look like and what you do for a living then they don't need to be my friends." you explain to him.

Jason shakes his head, "You've known them longer than me. It's not fair that-"

"Jason Todd, I am not willing to give you up. For anyone. Ever. You got that?"

Jason lets out a small sigh. "Okay."

You let go of his hand to hold out your arms. He pouts a bit before stepping closer to you and wrapping his arms around you completely. You nuzzle into him more.

"I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you. I hope you know that." you add on.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"I swear it." you answer.

a/n: thank you so so much for sending this in! <333 I love some good hurt/comfort too!! I hope you like it!!

[empresskylo]

would you do headcanons if price was readers boyfriend?! 🫶🫶😮‍💨

��� yuuhhh i gotchuu 🫶

⋆｡°✩ CONTENT WARNINGS | afab!reader, she/her pronouns used, feminine pet names used, smutty content at the end

cod masterlist | main masterlist

♡ such the gentleman. he asked you out on a proper date when he realized you both were feeling something for one another. even tho it’s really hard to do/find the time whilst working, he managed to do something cute for you.

♡ possessiveeeee! even before you were dating, when he knew he liked you, he’d act all possessive over you. all the other men knew to stay away from you or they’d get on price's bad side (they’re so dramatic). so even now, he likes to have his claim over you and makes sure everyone knows you’re his.

♡ that doesn't mean the men didn't tease him a lil bit--and by men, i mean gaz. he would team up with you a lot, or be a lil extra touchy with you in front of price, just to see him get pissed. but price couldn't really do much about it because you two weren't dating and you didn't even know he was into you like that. ♡ gaz looked at you, smirking, and you felt one of your eyebrows raise. he walked closer to you and decided to help you get situated for your upcoming mission. he was giving you a hand in securing your tactical gear, making the process go faster, when price approached. "I think she's got it." gaz looked up at him and gave him a knowing smile. "just trying to speed things up, cap." price's jaw tightened, having no choice but to keep moving unless he wanted to explain just why he was annoyed at gaz doing something so innocent as helping you.

♡ speaking of being possessive, he is also very proud to be with you. he doesn’t find the need to keep your relationship a secret even if he knows people will judge you both for it (you’re so much younger, he’s your superior, etc). he wants everyone to know.

♡ and he’s not afraid of some pda. he’ll give you little kisses randomly that catch you off guard (especially if you’re a soldier under his rank). there have been times when the others teased you about it. obviously, price didn’t care, but you always got flustered. “i’ll be back at the barrics,” price directed to you and soap who both gave him a curt nod. price leaned down towards you and before you could question him, he placed a kiss on your lips. he smirked when he pulled away, your eyes wide, your face warming. price turned to leave and soap burst into a fit of giggles. “ugh, how old are you?” you asked soap irritated, but your cheeks were inflamed and your heart was racing with something similar to embarrassment. ♡ he’s possessive, but not in an over-the-top way. like he’s not gonna freak out if he sees you talking to another guy, or if you’re wearing something skimpy. my guy is secure in himself (maybe even a little too much sometimes) and he knows no one is quite as good as him. he doesn’t worry about you leaving him.

♡ uses all the pet names for you. you were honestly impressed he managed to find so many to call you. love, doll, baby, sweet girl, baby girl, princess, lass, honey, babe, little one, brat, pet, kitten (you may have threw a shoe at him when he called you that), queen, lovely, sweetness, sweetheart, sunshine. the list goes on.

♡ he also began to call you such random shit that makes you laugh. munchkin, cutest lil lady, little foot, shorty, pipsqueak. (basically anything silly that gave off dad energy)

♡ keeps polaroids of you in his wallet <3

♡ had your name engraved in his favorite knife. also has your name engraved on a simple silver bracelet that he always wears.

♡ speaking of jewelry, he got you a locket with a picture of the two of you in it. you gave it to him to wear once when he was gonna be away from you for quite a while. he never took it off.

♡ he likes to get you flowers all the fucking time. roses, peonies, tulips, the whole lot. you’ve run out of places to put them.

♡ has been known to squat when he sees you getting tired and refusing to move until you get on his back so he can carry you.

♡ whenever he wraps his arms around you--usually when he’s spacing out--he pulls you into his chest and rests his chin on your head. his fingers will fiddle with the hem of your shirt and give you goosebumps at the tiny tickles on your skin.

♡ really likes to cuddle. he’s always reaching for you when you sit or lie down together. he wants to pull you into him. he likes to be the big spoon. you always wake up tangled in each others arms.

♡ he always lets you wear his clothes. he actually prefers it when you do. you sleep in his t-shirt. you’ll wear his hoodies. if it’s cold out he’ll take his coat off and wrap you in it. or sometimes he’ll let you wrap your arms around him and then he’ll wrap his coat around the both of you.

♡ he always falls asleep first. he'll have you pulled into his chest as you both watch tv and honestly, like 10 minutes will go by and you'll say something and he wont respond. when you tilt your head up you notice he's already out cold.

♡ and even tho he's asleep, like a superpower he can sense when you move away from him. so if you try to get up, his grip on you tightens and he'll pull you into him, rolling over with you trapped in his arms.

♡ he is always up first too. and he will often times bring you breakfast or coffee in bed. if he has to leave before you, you'll wake to find a hot coffee or tea sitting on your nightstand waiting for you.

♡ he is obsessed with your hair. he's always stroking it, or tucking it behind your ear. he likes to run his fingers through it when you're cuddling or when you're hugging him tightly. he loves when you let him wash it too.

♡ you asked him to brush it for you once while you were getting ready one day and he was just standing there watching you. he did so and was very gentle and took his time. ever since then, he loves when you let him brush your hair. it's such a random but intimate act for him.

NSFW CONTENT BELOW

♡ pleasure dom! he is super dominant in bed but is also really in tune with your body and making sure you're always enjoying yourself. he gets off by getting you off.

♡ he’s really good at making you come. like, you'd think he made it his life's mission to make you feel good. and seeing you in pleasure is what always gets him going. he cant finish unless he watches you finish first.

♡ he’s so good at what he does that he’s been known to get you off over your clothes. it takes him no time at all to make you come if he wants. usually he likes to drag it out tho. and he likes to overstimulate you.

♡ nights will oftentimes consist of you fully naked while he fingers you, having already orgasmed once, and him still fully clothed. something about that power dynamic drives him crazy.

♡ he softly degrades you. “look how fuckin’ desperate you are for me, love” “this what you’ve been thinkin’ bout all day? my fingers thrusting inside you, hm? nothing else going on in that pretty little head of yours.” “oh, com’on princess, you know you have to come at least twice before i’ll give you my cock. so are you gonna be a good girl and come on my tongue one more time? yeah, i know you can handle it.”

♡ likes to hold your hand during sex. he’s eating you out? his hand is laced with one of yours. you’re sucking his dick? he grabs your hand and traces patterns aimlessly, trying not to come too fast. he’s fucking you missionary? either one or both of his hands are locked with yours. he’s fucking you from behind? he’s pulled you up against his chest, covering your hand resting against your stomach with his own.

♡ he likes when you give him blow jobs. and he enjoys praising you during it, watching as you clench your thighs from his panting words.

♡ you’ll have his cock in your mouth and he’s muttering how good you feel. he hunches over, his arms lazily resting over your shoulders, his forehead resting against the top of yours. he’ll groan and grunt, “fuck, baby, that feels so good.” “god, don’t stop, love.” “look what you do to me.” “i’m gonna fuck you so hard after this, baby.”

[antianakin]

I hope this doesn't come off as a knock on the Jedi - because that's sure as hell not my intention - but I do sometimes wonder what could convince a parent to hand their young child over to them. Like, I get that the number of Jedi is miniscule compared to the expected population of the galaxy, and this whole ask is likely just the result of my modern, western, nuclear family-based upbringing. But there are times when I can barely see such a thing happening at all. I mean, if you're a Jedi Seeker, what the hell are you supposed to say to get a mother to willingly give you her infant child?

Again, I do hope this doesn't come off as a knock on the Jedi and their methods.

Maybe consider that the Jedi never seem to be actively going out there trying to convince people into giving up their children. They primarily seem to discover children on their own or who are in bad situations, or the parents call THEM of their own volition and the Jedi simply respond to the call.

You can also look at TPM and the way Qui-Gon handles it with Shmi. Now obviously Shmi and Anakin are in a somewhat different situation than most, given that they're both slaves, which would probably make Shmi's reaction to the offer different than those of regular parents, but Qui-Gon treats her as an equal to himself and as an authority regarding Anakin. He respects that authority by speaking to SHMI before he speaks to Anakin, by asking Shmi different questions about Anakin's past and his powers. And it's Shmi who picks up on what Qui-Gon is carefully NOT saying and asks if Anakin could become a Jedi. And that question lets Qui-Gon know that Shmi isn't against the offer being made to Anakin, so when he makes it official, he speaks to ANAKIN directly. But even after that, he still seems to respect Shmi's authority and her place in Anakin's life when Anakin turns to her more than once.

Shmi seems to primarily just want a better life for Anakin. Even without the slavery situation, she seems to recognize that Anakin's abilities mean that he has the opportunity for a specific career path if he wants it and she chooses to give him that opportunity because she never wants to hold him back. She recognizes that it would be cruel to deny him the opportunity simply to keep him with her.

So it's possible some parents probably view it the same way, that they're giving their child the opportunity for a better life than the one they can offer themselves.

Other parents, like Ahsoka's, seem to view being a Jedi as something of an honor. Even though they CAN give Ahsoka a good life, they recognize that Ahsoka has perhaps a greater destiny that they shouldn't stand in the way of and are HAPPY when Ahsoka shows signs of Force sensitivity. It's not just an honor for Ahsoka, it's an honor for her family and the entire village that she has the opportunity to become a Jedi. The other thing to take into account with this scenario is that the Jedi are sort-of seen as following a call to destiny of sorts, and there appear to be communities who understand that better than most, which means they're likely more inclined to let their child follow that call if the signs make themselves apparent. Groups with their own Force sects (like Lasat, Kel Dor, Chalacatans, etc) might be some of the ones more likely to understand this, which is why we see some of them with multiple family members in the Order at the same time.

These seem to be the most likely options for why a parent might give their child to the Jedi even if they love the child and would otherwise want to keep and raise them. There are also likely some parents who simply don't WANT a Force sensitive child for whatever reason, or parents who just take the first opportunity to offload an unwanted child when it presents itself. Not every parent is a good one, obviously.

I've seen some people argue that Force sensitivity might be something very difficult for a non-Force sensitive parent to deal with, and so they give the child away because they ultimately decide that they cannot appropriately raise a child with powers they cannot control. I don't really buy into this one because neither Luke nor Leia are raised by Force sensitive parents and there doesn't seem to be any issues with control there that we ever see or hear about. But it's POSSIBLE a parent might believe that they couldn't manage a child with Jedi powers and give them up on that assumption, even if it isn't true.

So, yeah, there could be any number of reasons a parent might choose to give their child to the Jedi, even if they love the child and would otherwise want to raise them. It isn't a choice that's going to be for everyone, obviously, and the Jedi have an entire list of people who have either said no or maybe/not yet that they keep in the Temple as a record. So some parents DO say no and choose to raise their children on their own even if the opportunity to give their child to the Jedi is made available to them. Or they simply need time to make the decision or want a little extra time WITH the child before giving them to the Jedi even if they know that that's ultimately what they're going to do.

I don't think the Jedi ever say anything to "get" a parent to give up a child they love. That's never their goal. Qui-Gon talks to Shmi about what Anakin's powers are and how they work, he tells her what her options are, and then leaves the rest of it up to her. All he does is give her more information to work with and an opportunity to act on it if she so desires. That's it. I can't imagine any other Jedi doing any more than that unless the situation between the parent and the child was particularly dangerous somehow and even then, I imagine there are lines they'd try not to cross. The whole episode where we see Cad Bane pretending to be a Jedi in order to convince the parents to give up their children shows us that the parents really DON'T expect the Jedi to do this kind of thing and feel perfectly entitled to say no when it happens.

It's not a choice every parent is going to make, and that's fine. It's not a choice that everyone even needs to UNDERSTAND, necessarily. Different people are going to have different ideas of what's best for their child and how to go about providing that. One parent might feel like giving their child away IS the best thing they can do for their child, even if they could give that child a wonderful life. Another parent might feel like that's the worst thing they could do to their child, even if their situation isn't ideal. These parents are likely to never understand the decision the other one made, but they're making decisions out of the same desire to protect and care for their child. Both are entirely valid choices and there isn't necessarily a right or wrong choice in this situation and that's what the Jedi would understand. All they're there to do is offer information and the opportunity to both parent and child, nothing more, nothing less. What the parent (and the child if they're old enough) does with that is entirely up to them.

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

MODERN!ANAKIN SKYWALKER who's got a bit of a situationship with you. It's not like him, he's very new to it all and its rules, which means some key details get lost in translation with him. For most, the "talking" stage consists of the ability to still see other people during, keeping your options open so to speak. For Anakin, he expects a sort of unspoken faithfulness he had no reason to define until now.

Now, as he stares at two words. "she's busy." A text he's been deliberating over for an inappropriate amount of time. What could possess another person to answer your texts for you? A glance to your contact name confirms it, just in case he was losing his mind. He kinda wishes he was. He taps your name, and calls you. Three rings. An answer on the other line, that is most certainly not you, invades his ears.

"Yo," the deep voice says and Anakin doesn't say a word as he hangs up. Without a second thought, he pulls up your Snap Map which you've stupidly left on. You do that a lot. Sometimes he checks on you only to see what you're up to. Some days he watches your little Bitmoji happy on it's map at that little cafe you like, and he calls you to see if you'll tell him the truth of where you are.

He gets in his car, and tracks you down.

His fingers drum against the steering wheel, just like his fist drums against the front door when he gets there. It shakes the whole fucking house. He takes a step back, resting his hands on his hips, and his tongue forms over his upper lip.

The door opens, and he comes face to face with the guy he presumes texted him, and answered the phone. This is his place. "Can I help you?" he questions with an attitude Anakin doesn't fucking care for at all.

"I don't wanna talk to you, I wanna talk to her." Blunt as ever, Anakin comes off as unstable to your companion, who obviously bucks up in your defense.

"The fuck? No. What do you think this is?" he responds, and the escalation of raising voices causes you to recognize who your friend is talking to. So you come downstairs, and see that familiar head of golden curly hair.

"Anakin?" you question in disbelief, slowing your descent down the stairs. At your arrival, Anakin's attention completely shifts onto you.

"Hey." He nods up. "We need to talk." His finger points to the space in front of him, as if calling you over like a dog. Oddly and subconsciously compelled, you make your way closer to him. Your friend's arm rests on the door frame, cutting in between you two. Apparently he didn’t want Anakin slipping inside. You only notice how much taller he is compared to your friend. If he wanted to, he’d put him on his ass with a well-placed one-handed push. You try not to think about that now as you approach, standing directly behind your friend’s elbow.

“What the hell are you doing here?” At the end of your sentence, Anakin’s massive hand snatches your upper arm, and your friend goes to separate the two of you with a commotion of “woah, woah!” You appease him, tell him it’s alright, that you’ve gotta take care of this, and allow yourself to be drawn away from the door step and closer to the street.

Once he has you where he wants you, he releases you, and you jostle from the loss of support. That hand wipes down his face, the most irritable you’ve ever seen him, and he gestures to you as he steps closer, “If you’re pulling this shit, let’s just call it.” he tells you, dismissing entirely the existence of the man who owns this house.

The crease in your brows deepen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—“

“You do, and if I’m competing with other guys I don’t want any fucking part in it.” The towering figure before you stoops to get eye level with you, “Either get smart or fuck off, alright?” You hate to say that his low voice sends shivers down your spine.

His direct ultimatum makes you indignantly blink at him, taken aback at his sheer tenacity as you weigh out the options. He doesn’t give you enough time, scoffing at you, and turning his back on you. As if he could be so bold as to expect to be the only one you’re talking to, expect to treat you this way.

And yet, somehow, you end up back at his place. Impossibly fat cock driving into your insides as he picks you up by your hips into his thrusts. Knelt onto the bed, he rocks forward, while your cervix is getting bruised into submission. You squirm, arching your back off the bed with your pretty legs stuck straight into the air. “Who’s fucking pussy is this, huh? Who’s fucking pussy is this?” Skin smacks skin, harder than before. His tongue forms over his upper lip, brows pinched in focus as he fucks you like he means to beat you into the shape of his dick.

You don’t even hesitate. “Yours!” You whimper. “Yours, Ani, all yours.” You’re lifted almost entirely off the mattress, he straps his hands over your thighs to keep your ass pinned to his abs that sheen with sweat. Cunt stuffed to the brim as he relentlessly bullies it, creating an empty fucking vacuum that screams at you every time he pulls out. You really are fucking obsessed with this entitled behemoth of a man and what he can do to your body in a few strokes.

“That’s fucking right, baby, and don’t you forget it.”

[runningfrom2am]

leveling the playing field XII

summary: with nowhere else to go after getting caught cheating to help lucy gray, you both make some desperately stupid decisions.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.2k

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. do they love each other or hate each other? who knows (we do, kind of). use of a derogatory term (pr*stitute) implications and mentions of abuse, so read with caution!! also a little bit of swearing but that's neither here nor there. oh, and manipulation (both of them lowkey)

masterlists // nav // requests

a/n: nothing much to say other than thank you guys and i hope you like it :)

series masterlist

"Coryo!" You grin, running out of the house and down the front porch steps, throwing your arms around his shoulders as soon as you can reach him. It had only been a few days since you'd seen him, but you had to do what you had to do. Truth be told, you did miss him, though.

He chuckles as he catches you, carefully letting you down after a moment. "Hey, Y/N/N, how's it going?"

"I'm good." You grin, turning back at the sound of people laughing inside the house. "You have to come in to meet Ash. He's gonna come with us today, and Lucy Gray is packing a picnic! It's gonna be so fun."

"Who?" Coriolanus asks, but you're already gone, heading back up to the house. An uneasy feeling settles in his gut as he follows you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he enters the home. The kids are trying to gather things into bags, and Lucy Gray is packing some food to bring with the group out to the meadow.

You, on the other hand, are wrapped around the arm of a boy who looks like he belongs in the Capitol Zoo. "Coryo, this is Ash. We met at the Hob the other night." You explain, looking between the two of them as Coriolanus clenches his jaw.

"Nice to meet you." He says through gritted teeth, reaching out out of habit to shake the boy's hand. He's got dark hair, and somehow darker eyes. Immediately, he doesn't trust him.

"You too, man. Love the peacekeeper getup." He chuckles, shaking his hand briefly and Coryo quickly recoils to wipe his hand on his pants.

"Oh, Coryo is a peacekeeper." You explain, smiling up at Ash as he drapes an arm around your waist.

"We're in the business of trusting those monsters now?" Ash asks, somehow maintaining a lighthearted tone. Like it was a joke, like Coriolanus was nothing more than his position.

"Only a couple." You laugh, shocking Coryo completely. Not so much as a word in his defense while this district trash said such horrible things about him. He was back to not even being able to recognize you. "Coryo is my best friend. We've known each other since we were kids. Sejanus too."

Best friend... That's it?

"That makes sense then." Ash nods, and Coryo stands up taller as Ash not so subtly sizes him up.

"You know, Sejanus has been awfully chummy with Billy Taupe and his friends. Ash is one of them." You say to Coryo quietly, taking up the rear of the Covey as all of you walk out to the meadow behind the house. "Have you noticed?"

He hums in acknowledgment, thinking it over. "It is odd." He agrees. He has noticed your mutual friend sneaking away on any nights out they could spare, and just generally being more cagey than usual. And it makes more sense that his name would mean anything to your new friend.

"Have you asked him about it?"

"No." He shakes his head. "You should, though. He trusts you more."

"That's not true." You laugh. "You are his best friend, after all."

"As are you." He raises an eyebrow at you.

"Oh, please. He throws that term around too loosely." You roll your eyes playfully.

"And you don't?" He asks, obviously referring to how you called him your best friend earlier. It's working. This was evidence that referring to him that way was driving him crazy- you had him wrapped around your finger, and you loved the feeling.

"Nope." You grin, bumping him with your shoulder. "Have I told you the haircut is really working for you? Because it is."

"Thank you. It wasn't by choice." He explains, smiling at the compliment but shrugging it off.

"I figured." You laugh, reaching up to run your hand over his shaved head. "I miss your curls, though..."

"Y/N! Come here!" Ash calls from up ahead, walking backward now as he waves for you to join him.

"Coming!" You call back, immediately ditching Coryo to catch up with him.

Coryo cringes at how his boots sink into the dirt and how you let Ash yell at you like that. Like you were a dog. You'd hardly known the guy for a few days and he's already talking down to you, Coryo is appalled at your taste. You run up to Ash, immediately reaching up and sticking your hand in his unbrushed hair. If Coryo was a brunette and didn't shower ever, that's probably what his hair would look like. It made him nauseous.

The following night, after Coriolanus complained endlessly to you about the birds he had to spend most of his days trapping, you had a stroke of absolute genius. He really, really hates those birds, just as much as you can tell he already hates Ash.

As the sun is setting over the field surrounding the hanging tree, you tell Lucy Gray you're going for a walk, and off you go into the woods with only your mind to keep you company.

They'd set so many traps it was unbelievable, and a good amount had trapped some of the songbirds inside. They were beautiful creatures, timid, too, for birds who were typically so vocal. They were products of the Capitol, so that would only make sense. You were careful not to make a sound as you opened every trap you could reach. You could just hope that by the time Coryo and his group arrived in the morning, they hadn't been trapped again.

You knew this was likely considered treason, interfering with government projects, but you didn't have a whole lot to lose, and seeing the frustration on Coryo's face when he ranted about how stubborn these birds were made the risk well worth it. It wasn't the revenge you were used to doling out to people who had wronged you, but you had been working on changing, after all.

After setting free no less than twenty birds that blew your hair back out of your face as they shot out of their cages, occasionally thanking you by singing your footsteps back to you or clawing at your arms, you made your way back to the street to head back to Lucy Gray's home.

You sucked your teeth over the stinging in your skin from the small cuts and scrapes that nnow littered your forearms. You suddenly understood why Coriolanus hated the creatures. They were beautiful singers, but clearly so inconsiderate. They'd be trapped again anyways, you were just delaying the inevitable to piss off your friend. They got scratches on you, but your people would still win the war.

You lift the excess fabric of your skirt to pat the beading and drying blood off of your arms as you walk. The town was quiet, only a few people scattered around very rarely. Either homeless or drunk, minding their business as you silently made your way down the dimly lit streets toward the seam. You recognize you're almost home when you pass the Hob, through the alley where Coriolanus graced you with his subpar apology. Squinting toward that same back exit as the door creaks open, you move across the alley to hug the opposite wall as you walk, trying to mind your business.

"Yeah, okay. I'll arrange for that. Thank you, yeah. We'll work it out. I promise." Was that... Sejanus? Your theory is confirmed when the speaker steps out into the alley. It was quiet, a weeknight. If the Hob had been open, it was deadly quiet by this hour.

"Sejanus?" You call out, speaking without thinking.

The boy jumps, slamming the door behind himself and looking toward you quickly. "Y/N? What are you doing here?" You can see the panic in his eyes as you get closer, tucking your bloody and exposed arms behind your back.

"Just out for a walk. I wanted to look at the stars." You nod up to the unpolluted and clear sky to accentuate your point. The sky didn't look like this at home. "What about you?"

"Oh! Uh, same." He lies. "It sure is beautiful out tonight."

"It is." You agree, looking up at the stars for a beat while you cross your arms over your chest in the silence. "Who were you talking to?"

As he panics you try and tuck your arms back once more, the stinging of movement reminding you of why you hid them in the first place. "Just, uh, no one. Myself."

You hum in response. Sejanus made his fake story hard to believe. "Why don't you trust me?" You ask, tilting your head at him. "I feel like after all we've been through, you should trust me more."

"I do trust you." He replies quickly. "It's less about that, more about... I don't want you to get involved. It's better for you."

"Is Coriolanus involved?"

"No. No, he doesn't know anything. Same as you."

You nod slightly, looking him up and down. "Well... If you need help or you're in a tough spot, come to us, okay? There are few people you can trust out here. We have to have each other's backs."

"No, no, it's not like that." He assures you. "But okay. If I need help, I'll ask."

You smile. "Well, you better get back. Don't want to get caught out so late."

"You too, Sage."

You chuckle, giving him a quick wave as you walk back away from him.

Even in the dim lighting, he could see the marks across your arm that you tucked away with your turn, sauntering away casually in the direction of your current home on the Seam.

Coriolanus was walking a beat alongside the market almost a week later, the one his bunkmate usually took, but today he was too hungover to crawl out of bed. Coryo didn't have the stomach to watch you drool all over that district boy today, so he decided to just take the shift for his new friend instead of bothering to see you. Maybe, this would result in Beanpole owing him a favour anyway, and that was always nice to have.

It was a Thursday, so not all that busy at the market. It was mostly just mother's gathering food and supplies, which left him incredibly bored for most of the morning. He was wallowing in his self-pity when something finally drew his attention. Your laugh. He would know it anywhere. He scans the street again, posture straight as he tries to track you down, which doesn't take long.

Of course, there you are with your new friend, his arm over your shoulder as you hold his hand against your chest. God, Coriolanus hopes you don't spot him. He looks straight ahead, chewing on the inside of his cheek and wishing he could disappear. You were torturing him, the fact that you couldn't see that, or you just didn't care, was driving him insane. It was worse than if you had just stayed in the Capitol.

Now, he can't help but focus on your voice on the mostly quiet street.

"No, I know!" You giggle, looking sideways at Coriolanus who stood at the edge of the street. You're sure by now he had seen you. You didn't know he would be here, normally he wouldn't, but it makes the task of agreeing to spend time with Ash more bearable. At least it was for a reason. "I've never touched a mandolin before, how could they expect me to pick it up in one night?"

"Well, I'd sure be surprised if you could. No one learns that fast." Ash replies, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You hate it, you want to shove him off and hit him where it hurts, but you can't. At least Coryo was here to witness it.

"True." You nod, walking with him slowly past the stalls, browsing at some of the small trinkets and goods they had. It seemed to be all random things, which was foreign to you. Back home, every store had a purpose, even after the war the Capitol held onto this sophistication. "This is so pretty!" You smile, spinning out from under his arm to get a closer look at a dress someone had made. It was shorter than your skirt, typically one that would be worn by a child in this region, but it was oversized enough that you could wear it and it would land mid-thigh.

"How much is this?" You ask the woman sitting behind the wooden table, holding up the dress that she had clearly made.

"Forty." She answers, nodding to you. "It's steep, but I put a lot of work into it. It'll last your daughter a long time."

"Oh, no." You giggle, shaking your head. "I was thinking for me." You say, lifting part of the fabric to admire the stitches.

"For you?" Ash asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Yes, what do you think?" You reply, holding it up in front of you. "I like the red accents. It's beautifully made."

"You'll look like a damn prostitute," Ash replies without missing a beat. "That's what I think."

You bite your lip, face going red as you look down at it draped against your body. You're not sure if it's from anger or embarrassment. You sigh, folding it up again and turning to the woman who looks shocked. "I'll take it." You smile suddenly, placing it back down while you dig out some cash from your pocket, handing her fifty. "And don't worry about making change, I just hate carrying coins around."

"Thank you, dear. You enjoy." She smiles gratefully, taking the money and tucking it away in her pocket. You nod at her, and before you even turn around with the new dress under your arm you feel a firm grip on your skin, yanking you away from the stall and into a side street.

"Hey! Let me go!" You shout, trying to peel Ash's grip from your arm where it's digging in so tight it's already flushing the areas and opening your healed scratches from the birds, smearing the drops of blood across your skin.

"No, you listen to me." He says, dropping your arm in favour of pointing a finger right in your face as you're backed up against the wall. "If you're gonna be my girl, I'm not letting you walk around like some kind of whore. Do you understand?" He says, clearly fumingly angry by now.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "You don't scare me, you're a district-born loser with no fucking job! How dare you try and tell me what to do with my-"

You're cut off when he smacks you. You take a shaky breath, instinctively holding the side of your face where his palm made contact. You feel your confidence faltering with the heat pulsing under your skin, and with your eyes closed in this back alley, suddenly you're back home. But you're not. You're not home, and he's not your father, and here, you're free. You're gonna kill him.

You open your eyes and stand up straighter, looking him dead on as your chest heaves with anger. You shove him back, pulling your arm back in his moment of shock to take a proper swing at him as he scrambles to push you back up against the wall. In your rage, you failed to account for the fact that he was much bigger than you.

"Hey! Back off her! Now!" Coriolanus shouts, clicking the safety off his gun before Ash can lay another hit on you, gun aimed unwaveringly at the boy as he quickly walks toward the two of you.

Ash panics, and you feel this as the forearm he had pressed up against your throat, pinning you to the wall loosened its hold and you shoved him off just in time for Coryo to push his way between the two of you, the barrel of his gun now inches from Ash's nose.

He raises his hands in surrender. "Hey, we're cool. I didn't do nothin' to her."

Coriolanus is fighting every urge to just pull the trigger on the loaded weapon in his hands. For you. For this asshole hurting you, for touching you, for the crime of even looking at you, he should do it. He breathes heavily, every muscle in his jaw constricted so tightly he's sure it'll ache for weeks.

You watch over your friend's shoulder, watching the gears turning in his head. Do it, you want to tell him, but even in your anger you can see that's irrational, so you keep your mouth shut.

Coryo sighs, lowering his weapon to use it to gesture to the street. "Get out of here." He mumbles, deciding to let him go. "And never so much as look at her again, understand?" You're almost a little disappointed as Ash spits on the ground at your feet, starting to walk away when Coryo turns the gun faster than you can process and jabs the butt end of it into Ash's face. A chilling crack echoes out against the crumbling walls surrounding you and he hits the ground, unconscious with an obviously broken nose.

Coryo is panting as he turns back to you, quickly throwing the gun back over his shoulder. "Are you okay?" He asks, reaching out and holding your shoulders, hands running down your arms quickly to look over the injuries. "Did he do this to you?" He looks over the scattered cuts and scratches. He could tell they were healing, and they were inconsistent with what could be done with a blade or a man-made weapon, so he deducts quickly that you must have fallen into the wrong bush or something. Maybe when you were gardening.

You shake your head quickly, eyes locked on the boy on the ground.

"Hey, no, look at me. Are you okay?" Coryo asks again, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. He nods expectantly, waiting for you to answer.

"Yes. Fine." You whisper shamefully, giving a slight nod under his gentle hold.

"C'mere..." He mutters, pulling you closer to hug him. He sighs, holding the back of your head and gently smoothing down your hair. It shocks him when you start to shake, trying to muffle your crying in the fabric of his uniform. He shouldn't have waited so long. He took his eyes off you for less than a minute to maintain his own sanity, and this is what happened.

You knew you were safe with Coryo, this was your fault for straying from that over some petty anger. He had betrayed you, sure, but he told you it was because he only wanted to help. If you had listened, none of this would have happened. You should have known he was right. At least he hadn't abandoned you, he'd even saved you. You were lucky he was even around.

"He hit me." You sniff through sobs, gripping tightly onto the back of his grey uniform. "I didn't, I don't know why, I-"

"Hey, hey, hey..." Coryo shushes you, pressing his lips to the top of your head. "I've got you. You're safe now. I'm here."

"I'm sorry..." You sniff, overtaken by the foolishness of your own decisions. For denying your feelings for him in a way that only resulted in hurting the both of you.

Coryo has to fight back a smile as he takes in the familiar scent of your hair. "Don't be." He whispers, kissing your head. "I'll always protect you."

You nod against his chest, locking yourself firmly into his grasp. Even as your blood dried and stuck to his coldly grey uniform, you found it hard to let him go.

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[sunderwight]

Headcanon/Theory/Concept/Etc Concerning Dragons in the World of Ice and Fire:

The ancient Valyrian blood magic system for taming dragons does increase the general affinity of those of Valyrian descent for dragons. In this case, the general affinity is non-specific. Because Valyria was a slave empire and most menial tasks were handled by members of the lower classes, a lot of dragon handling and care (feeding, cleaning the pits, assisting in training, etc) like what we see the servants of the Dragon Pits in canon doing, would have still been handled by slaves and servants in Valyria itself. If you don't want to be constantly replacing staff all the time, and losing experienced/skilled personnel to random fits of dragon temper, it's best if all if your people have some affinity for dragon handling regardless of rank. So whatever the Valyrian blood mages did, they did it to the whole populace.

But then, how to ensure that only your upper classes are actually taming and riding dragons? After all, you're a slave owning prick who doesn't want your staff stealing dragon eggs to raise in secret and use as part of some violent uprising against you. You'll want some kind of security measure to make that less feasible.

Enter the weird and (in the future) inscrutable "dragon affinity" system. The blood mages find a way to basically encode certain types of dragons so that they will strongly favor specific bloodlines. This system, in turn, is passed among the dragons themselves via their bloodlines. Which basically binds certain lineages of dragons to certain lineages of Valyrian houses. Like say you have Ancient Targaryens living in their Valyrian holdings, and they have Balerion's grandma in their dragon stables. They want to make sure that none of their slaves can steal any of her eggs and eventually become a dragon rider. There's no 100% foolproof method of doing that, since dragons are still somewhat inscrutable. But, you can drastically decrease the odds of success by making Targaryen blood significantly more appealing to Dragon Meemaw and her offspring. As a bonus, this also makes it less likely for the rival dragon riding houses to claim another house's dragons, too.

But there's a bit of a flaw in this system (which is probably the only solution that can be deployed by use of blood-related magics): noble houses tend to intermarry. Obviously, there are a distinct lack of political advantages to marrying commoners, so the Valyrian dragon riding houses would have preferred to marry among themselves and/or powerful foreign rulers. But this means that after a certain point, everyone is related. The magic doesn't care about surnames or paperwork, it cares about blood. So let's say you're Ancient Dragon Lord Targaryen and you marry one of your younger kids off to a different dragon rider house. Their kids are, genetically, still as Targaryen as your direct heir's kids.

So after a while you're still locking out the slaves and servants from being able to tame dragons, but you're not locking out your rival houses. You're losing that perk. Which may not seem all that important at first, but as we witnessed with the Dance, civil wars between dragon riders can get extremely messy, and a lot of it can often come down to posturing about who has the most and/or strongest dragons. So it probably wouldn't take long before various dragon riding houses were wanting to ensure that their dragons were restricted to their actual house, and that their rivals couldn't sneak in and reduce their dragon numbers by claiming dragons from their stock. (You'd think containing the dragons might solve that, but dragons are a bit hard to contain, really.)

Hence, the rise of inbreeding. You try and make sure your house's main lines especially have a higher percentage of "Targaryen" blood, and that none of your rivals have any of it either. The downsides of incest are perhaps mitigated by the same blood mages who have been influencing things from the beginning, perhaps magically tweaking your genetics to reduce the odds of complications, and researching more ways to refine this blood-based system of locking others out of ever accessing your power.

But I imagine that the system required maintaining. There are still going to be times when it's more advantageous to form alliances than to keep your dragons strictly controlled, after all, not to mention limits to how much inbreeding you can do even with magical intervention before shit's getting very Habsburg on you. Not to mention the dragons themselves can be tricky to control, and are less liable to understand the political motivations for not mixing their bloodlines with the perfectly attractive dragons several caves over, who belong to your rivals. Luckily, with Valyrian blood mages still around, you probably just need to pay through the nose to get someone to swing by every few generations and update the blood-based security codes. So to speak. Renew the magic binding your people to your dragons to account for all the drifting genetic nuances. So you don't necessarily need to be wedding siblings to one another every generation.

Except, after the Doom, all those blood mages are gone.

So on the one hand, the Targaryens no longer need to worry about rival dragon riders. Because they're (mostly) all dead. But on the other hand, there's no way to update the bloodline passwords on your dragons now. With each passing generation, you're going to lose some of your advantages for controlling them, unless you're inbreeding at a level that is going to severely limit your ability to make alliances and is going to, you know, completely fuck with your family dynamics for all foreseeable generations. Plus, since you're not a blood mage and this situation is kind of unprecedented, you probably don't really know how long the magic will be able to hold out against the variables of increased genetic diversity over the years. If you "thin" your bloodline too much, how long before you've got basically zero advantages in taming dragons compared to everyone else? Conversely, if the magic is really strong and remains true even through dozens of generations, does that mean you're granting the same advantages to every house you marry your extraneous kids out to over the years? Does a Baratheon have the exact same capacity to tame a dragon as a Targaryen?

So your choices are basically to let it go, to try and retain control over the dragons via culture and influence and knowledge instead of blood purity and incest, or, double down and prioritize power and control above all else and retain whatever you can from the old blood magics by committing to an unhinged level of inbreeding. And then just tell everyone else that it's totally normal for Valyrians and you're an exception to all the usual rules against marrying your siblings, it's a cultural thing, and totally sell that because 1) it's kind of true and 2) anybody with the authority to call you out on exaggerating has just met a mysterious-yet-fiery end via the Doom.

Basically, you consign your descendants to generations of dysfunction and insularity that is guaranteed to alienate them from any of the nearby cultures they might assimilate into, in exchange for increased (but not total!) control over all hypothetical future dragons. Then you destroy a lot of information about dragons so that it can never be stolen, so that no one else can ever learn that taming dragons without your blood is still entirely possible, just harder and more dangerous. (Then you spend the Century of Blood embroiled in a civil war where you kill off most of your dragons, but uh that part wasn't planned, probably.)

Anyway that's why I think the Targaryens are Like That, and why the dragons of the Dance get tamed in the way that they do. Seasmoke likes Addam because he's kin to Laenor, even without the Targaryen blood, there's enough Velaryon blood in the current Targaryens to make him familiar regardless. Sheepstealer and Nettles (should that happen at all like it did in Fire and Blood) just bonded the normal way, without the blood magic advantage. Generations later, Targaryen blood still yields an edge in interacting with Dany's dragons, but it's just that -- an advantage, not a requirement.