#It's been three years and still pisses me off that i allowed him to do that to me

[snootchie-bootchies]

I can't believe I allowed myself to get played by a musty dusty and broken dude 😭😩🤬

[ctrlhope]

The Pitfalls of Silk (m)

synopsis: The winter gods are out to get you. That could be the only possible explanation for the series of bad luck tumbling before you— tropical vacation cancelled, snow locking you inside. Hell, even your shovel broken in half has got to be the gods playing some sort of trick on you. Pulling you along, making decisions for you as they guide you along the red string of fate. Guide you towards the very spider that found his way into your basement. Allowing him to fall into your heart all the same. -> apart of the rest, relax, reserve series

p.jimin x f.reader

⋆𐙚┊: wc: 20.0k

⋆𐙚┊: genre: hybrid au, soft yandere, soulmate au, romance, fluff, smut, v light angst

⋆𐙚┊: content: spider hybrid!jimin (cobalt blue tarantula), human!reader, soft yandere jimin, dom!jimin, power imbalances, blood, blood kink, injury, mates / mating, stupid misunderstandings, reader is rlly bad at feelings, heat/rut cycles, jealousy, biting/marking, jimin has fangs, brat taming, light subspace, bondage, fingering, breeding / breeding kink, unprotected sex, cumplay, overstimulation, manipulation, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of venom, honestly rlly soft- jimin is just a little off his rocker, so many mentions of the word silk, jimin is soft for reader but also a little perverted freak <\3

⋆𐙚┊: notes: AHHH it’s finally here!!! I’ve had such a bad crush on spider jimin for such a long time. Creating his character over the years in my head— how exactly this type of hybrid would function was so fun for me. This fic (& the others that follow) has been spurred on by my special interest in arthropods so I hope you end up loving this jimin as much as I do <33 mwah I kiss u guys

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The weather has grown cold, too harsh for anyone to live outside— survive. Burly temperatures tumbling through the air in icicles, the entire world painted in white.

While the city was still busy, your quaint neighbourhood had gone completely quiet. Everyone huddled inside, trying to keep warm while they sipped on cocoa. The worst blizzard in generations deciding to tumble through on the exact weekend you were meant to go out of town. Meant to be enjoying a tropical beach with the best of your friends!

But nooo, all of the planes had to stay grounded and you had to be stuck in your house with nothing but chilly embers decorating your fireplace.

You were pissed about it all, to say the least. Annoyed that your vacation had to be cancelled, annoyed at the fact you couldn’t stay warm in the slightest, annoyed that you had to be shovelling snow out of your driveway right now.

Well, attempting to shovel snow would be a better way to put it. In theory it seemed like the right thing to do– try and get your car out just in case, start to clear a path for when you’d finally be able to greet the outside world, triumph over whatever winter gods are trying to keep you locked in your home.

In reality, you could hardly move– three layers of pants, two coats keeping all of your joints locked down. God, and the snow. It was coming down way too hard, piling up faster than you could brush it away. Hurting your cheeks with the freezing temperatures, making your bones throb with want to go back inside.

It is safe to say that you did not succeed. That was an easy enough conclusion to come to with the two halves of your snow shovel in your hands. Eyes staring blankly at the object with utter… you don’t even know the word.

Cheeks flushed red with cold, head lifting to the sky as you blink. What the fuck! How shitty can your shovel be! What the fuck is wrong with the snow!

Okay, maybe you did buy it at the dollar store. But that isn’t the point! Where has quality gone in our nation! Caring about the consumer! Yeah, that was never there to begin with! But still! You like to think that there's a point in that somewhere!

The snow falling on your skin feels like the sky is laughing at you, mocking you. It probably is. Cancelling your trip, forcing you to stay at home into the lonely confines of your small neighbourhood.

Yeah, the world is out to get you, you’ve decided it.

A grumble leaves your throat in annoyance, quiet cusses leaving your lips as your legs try to waddle themselves inside. Layers of clothing restricting every movement you make, joints feeling stiff and bones feeling cold. You are no more than a penguin, are you?

“Stupid fuckin’ shovel, stupid fuckin’ snow…” You huff, slamming the thick oak door behind you. Hoping, in a way, that you could pretend none of the frost was there in the first place.

It’s not that you hate snow– of course not. You don’t like to hate much of anything. But when it’s this deep, this thick, you can’t help the sour mood you fall into. Can’t help the sickly feeling in your gut that it has somehow wronged you simply for existing.

Whatever, not that it matters much. You aren’t mother nature. You can’t change it or your now cancelled– most likely non-refundable plans.

What you can change? A nice warm pizza in your tummy.

You hum to yourself, tapping off your boots before ridding yourself of them entirely. Soon follows your jackets, puddles of water quickly forming on the floor where it falls. Snow melting much too fast now that it is in the warmth of your home.

You stare at it in spite, another way mother nature has wronged you today.

You know what? No, not your problem right now. That is a problem for you later today! The wood would be fine. And if it isn’t?

…

You groan, throwing your head back as you move to the bathroom. The battle of opposing forces inside of your head has won again– being responsible, doing the right thing.

Your hand snatches a towel, “Stupid shovel… stupid snow…” You huff, kneeling on the ground to wipe away the liquid that pooled.

You hang the towel back in the bathroom for it to dry before finally making your way to the kitchen. To finally make the frozen pizza you want– no deserve! Yeah, you’ve had a hard day today, being an adult is too hard sometimes. You deserve a little treat don't you?

Feet scuffling against the floor, fluffy socks dragging along the surface allowing you to quickly slip against the tiled floor. Your hips sway, a quiet hum leaving your lips as your hands move diligently, efficiently. Placing the pizza in the oven, setting the timer, flipping the switch on on the kettle.

Everything happens with practised ease. With movements that leave no room for error. Careful, efficient, the way your parents always taught you. The right way.

If you do everything correctly, things will never go wrong. You’ll never have to worry. When everything is in your control, everything is perfect and content.

It’s too bad the right way never accounts for things out of your control. When the world causes you to tense and get annoyed– when it doesn’t behave the way it's supposed to, like you want it to. Just like stupid shovels and a winter storm no one predicted.

But hey, at least you still have power. Your backup generator is there if you need it. Can still watch your dramas and eat warm food. Keep yourself sane while the insane persits just outside of your door.

Lonely, lonely, lonely winter storm~ whatever shall you do~

Your head begins to sing to itself while you wait. Maybe you already were going insa–

Bang.

What the fuck was that?

Your eyes instantly dart to the basement door wide with fear– the source of the sound.

A crash, a quiet cry, a scurry all sound in quick succession. Too loud to miss. Too loud to ignore. Too distinct to place on anything else.

You know winter noises. The crash of shutters against the window, the influx of snow on glass. The beating of hail against the roof or the creaking of pipes chilled from the cold. The noises you just heard? None of the above. They couldn’t possibly be. They weren’t. They were too… too…

Human.

Shit, shit. Is someone in your basement?! Oh god, oh fuck.

The room, it freezes over.

Your pulse starts to race– hairs raise, stand on end. Breath filtering through your nose as you start to panic. Fingers grip the countertop as you try to ground yourself. Try to figure out a way to escape this.

If horror movies have taught you anything– it’s how to run. Grab everything you can, high tail it out before you become victim to the unknown lurking just below the surface of your floorboards. Before you can be possessed or worse, chased down by some mass murdering clown.

That would be the smart thing to do– the wise thing. To get out of your house as quickly as possible, call the police to investigate it for you before you have to become the ‘final girl’ of a movie franchise of your own.

But the storm, the storm would never allow for the right thing.

The police would never make it in time, the roads far too hazardous to truly reach you. If they did, you would already have frostbite from the cold outside by the time they made it. You might be worse off than before–

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. The reasoning formulated in your head as you grab a broom from the closet, slowly make your way to the basement door. Completely ignoring the nagging feeling in your gut, the one that tells you that you actually want to travel down the stairs. A string tugging you along a path predetermined, forcing you to forego anything you had thought before.

No, your line of reasoning had to be the object pulling you down those stairs, creaking with every slow, nagging step that you take. It could never be curiosity, a want to understand the unknown guide leading you astray from the dirt road you’ve taken time and time again.

The right road that would lead to the right solution is all but forgotten in this moment. Only adrenaline spurring you on, fingers clenching and unclenching around the broom handle in your grip. Fingers tied so tight around the metal that your knuckles may as well be white.

You're terrified– scared out of your mind. The only noise passing through the drums of your ears is your own pulse, the accelerated beat of your heart as you try to clear the fog that dances over your brain. Fear must be clouding your judgement, making you follow it blindly into the light; well, dark.

Your breath leaps from your chest in short pants, eyes haphazardly harding around your form as you make it to the bottom of the stairs. Something is keeping your legs moving when all your brain wants to do is turn back and run. Call the authorities like you should be doing instead of risking everything to satiate the incessant need pulling at the back of your skull. Acting on instincts alone, allowing the string of fate to tug you around the corner. The urge to investigate is stronger than anything you had ever felt before. Anything you’ve ever wanted to feel before.

He sees you before you see him.

“P-please..” The quiet, almost non-existent voice sends a chill down your spine. One you were not expecting in the slightest.

Terrified, panicked. Shaking like a leaf, eyes welled with tears. It’s almost like he knew you were coming down all along, just… didn’t know what to do about it. Too scared to move, too scared to hide. Too scared to do anything but sit there and wait.

Just as petrified as you.

Nothing about the scene before you is making much sense at all. Not to you, at least. Why is he so scared? Why is he in your home? Why isn’t he doing anything but sitting there with pleading, helpless eyes? You try to take everything in, try to fit the pieces of the picture together.

Basement window opened slightly, just enough to allow the man— was he a man? To climb inside. Pretty blonde hair completely dishevelled on his head, grime coating what you know would be such pretty locks. Eyes with double pupils brimmed with tears threatening to spill at any second. Pink plush lips quivering with worry, fangs biting into them so hard you fear they may bleed. No, they are bleeding.

He is definitely not a man. Nor is he a beast. An intoxicating swirl of the two combined into a species of hybrid you’ve never seen before.

The first thought in your head is one it shouldn’t be. One that makes your heart stop for entirely different reasons than before. Makes you drop the broom in your hands, allowing it to fall to the ground with a clatter. Defences dropped completely in the face of the stranger before you.

He only flinches at the noise, blood covered hands reaching in panic to cover his all too sensitive ears.

Any worries have left you– something seeded deep within your soul tells you he isn’t a threat in the slightest. Not to you, at least. Never to you. Maybe it is the same string as before pulling you along. Pulling you to what destiny has provided.

He is absolutely gorgeous. Even with the grime and his pale complexion from the cold you can tell that easily. He might just be the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, and you find lost in yourself what to do about it.

What is anyone meant to do when a drop dead gorgeous hybrid enters their home in the middle of a blizzard? Just as scared as you were moments before? Looking like he might freeze to death if you don’t–

Holy shit he must be frozen solid.

It’s only then that you come to your senses, your eyes racking over him once more as you take in all of him for more than just the beauty he brings.

His clothes are thin– far too thin for this weather at least. Tattered on the edges, few stains spotting the fabric, though its clear effort was spent trying to get them out. Your mind wants to wonder why he would worry about that, worry about making himself appear presentable, but raking your vision down you know there is no time for it. Not with the blood on his palms or the red of his flesh.

Your body moves quicker than your brain can think, crouching down in front of him. Noticing the way he flinches once more, the fear in his eyes more palpable, hurting worse than a gunshot wound.

The constriction of your chest is dumb, or at least it should be. Feels almost benign, unfounded. You just met him, you're scaring him, but for an unexplainable reason you wish you could take all of his worry away just for that moment. Make him feel a little better, a little warm. A little safe.

“It’s okay… it’s okay…” Your voice mumbles, trying to soothe him or yourself, you’re not entirely sure.

“I-I’m sorry… pl-please don’t.. It’s just so cold… Please…” He begs, though neither of you are sure what for. Not to hurt him, not to send him back outside. All you know is the tears that now flow from his eyes, cresting along his cheeks, dripping to the floor.

“Not going anywhere…” You hope your voice sounds stronger than you feel, hope he can’t hear the way the strings of your heart break, hope he hears how much you care in your tone all along, “Trust me a little okay…?”

You know your words mean nothing, that it might have been an impossible task for him to do so. But you had to try. Had to hope.

It should be hard for you to trust him too, it should be hard to rectify your fear in the face of the one who had caused it. It isn’t the right thing– none of this is the right thing, but it all just comes too easily. Compassion, caring takes over the anxiety too easily. Too brilliantly to do anything else other than care for this hybrid that has wound up at your door.

He was just a scared hybrid doing whatever he needed to to survive. Terrified out of his mind that he would freeze or starve out there– probably had no burrow or… you’re not sure, honestly, what his home might be like. But no home nevertheless. You could never just send another person out there to die.

He stiffens as you reach out for him, gently take his hands in your own. They feel like ice, frozen solid. You don't want to acknowledge what could have happened to them if he was out there any longer.

Without thinking you raise them to your lips, blowing on them as best you can. Trying to do anything to get the blood flowing again before you take him upstairs. Warm him up properly. Make him feel like more than a snowman once again.

You don’t notice the way his form completely loses all stress as you touch him for the first time, speak to him the first time. He feels transfixed on your voice– it had to be too sweet to be real. But you were too focused on your mission. Too focused on making sure the man who has broken into your home is okay to notice the way his lips part slightly at your tone.

You don’t notice the way his breath hitches, the way all of his hair stands on edge as a current runs through his body, breathing life into every pore he possesses. Nor the way his eyes widen, losing their will to cry as he stares at you.

Don’t notice the recognition on his face.

You don’t notice a lot of things he does that day. Too focused on getting him into a warm shower– one he was very confused by, you might add. Too focused on getting a warm meal in his belly. Too focused on getting him in nice, clean clothes. A set that will properly keep him warm.

You could worry about other things later. But this felt right. This felt like something you were always meant to do. Or maybe that was just the size of your heart talking– you could never be too sure. But you liked to think it was the former. Liked to hope that Jimin, who you later learned was a spider hybrid, was always meant to come tumbling through your window, into your life for good.

The days that follow are easy– falling into a rhythm with him, taking care of him is just too simple. As basic as breathing, maybe.

Though, it hasn’t exactly been hard with how much he sleeps. How deep he’s nestled in your bed, blankets piled on top of him to drown out any chills that may attempt to slip into his bones. It’s almost like hibernation– if you could describe it. Re-building his energy, making himself feel strong again before he faces the world.

You can’t blame him, honestly. Not after everything he’s been through. Only god knows how long he had been out there. How long he had to brave the snowstorm, the cold weather that previewed it as well. You would probably do the same thing. Hide yourself from everything that hurt you.

Most days you wish you could be doing the exact same thing as him. Hide under a pile of blankets and forget the rest of the world exists. But the voice of your parents would always nag you out of it, force you to be human with the rest of society because it's the right thing.

You humph, gently placing a plate of food on the bedside table. Let him occupy your room for as long as he needs, preparing meals for him even though he never touches a bit of it. It’s the least you can do with his condition.

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to stop someone's pain so badly. You hope you can by just doing small things like this. You sigh, heading for the door once again. Another day on the couch.

“Human…?” His voice is quiet, almost non-existent as he calls for you. Cracking slightly, the first time he's spoken in days.

You quickly turn to face him and almost want to fall to your knees at the sight. Fluffy blonde hair peeking from just below the covers, doll eyes peering at you while the rest of him stays hidden beneath the surface. Does he know how destructive he is?

Wait, no. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about this. He’s letting his defences down, actually talking to you. Stop it.

“Hmm?” You gently call back, glued to your spot in the doorway. You don’t know what he would do if you moved, how startled he may be because of it. You want to talk to him– to find answers.

“What time is it…?” He slowly asks, pacing his question. You notice a slight lisp behind his words– how much of an effort he puts to cover it up.

“Mmm.. about 1? I made myself some lunch so I was just stopping by.” You explain, trying to justify your presence in the room.

“Oh.” He looks beneath the blankets, eyes darting around the room, “Okay. Thank you.”

It seems neither of you are great conversationalists, awkward air passing between the space left between your bodies. You don’t blame him. You don’t know what you would be thinking, feeling if you were in the same place as him. If you didn’t really know what your fate was going to be.

“How are you feeling?” You ask quietly, playing with your fingers to distract from the nerves that you feel. As much as you want to jump, pin him down and ask every single thing your heart begs for, you know that isn't the right thing to do. You know you should be slow, careful with this. At least, that's what the articles online have told you.

“Better…” His voice comes out smoother this time, finally coming out of sleep as he sits up in the bed. Gently taking the plate into his lap, scrunching his nose. “It’s not cold in here like out there.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself. He seems so relaxed, so at ease. Not scared in the slightest of you or what you may do. You forget all about the fact that you should probably be scared of him too.

“Not really,” You smile gently, eyes glancing at the window as he starts to eat, “I was really worried about you, scared me bad.”

You don’t see the flush that covers his cheeks.

“I-I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to… your window was the first one I could get through and I knew I couldn’t take the storm anymore so I–”

“Hey, It’s fine.” You turn your attention back to him, “I’m just glad you’re okay, yeah? It must’ve been terrifying out there.”

“It was.” He doesn’t hesitate in answering in the slightest, eyes serious as they focus on you. They’re beautiful, really. His eyes.

“I’m sorry…”

He shakes his head, “Not your fault human, I left the reserve. My fault.” He tells you in earnest, wanting you to believe it with every piece of your soul that you could never do anything to hurt him, “Come sit?”

The question is quiet, but you oblige nonetheless. Legs moving you slowly, perching at the end of the bed to face him. Kicking your legs slightly as you stare at the pattern of your sweats.

“The reserve?” You ask, turning slightly to face him. His face is suddenly smiling, nodding at your question. He must like the place a lot, see it as home for him to become so excited.

“Yeah! Where I live,” He explains, continuing to shovel food into his mouth as he speaks, “They say humans can't hurt you there, you get to hunt like in the wild too.”

He hums, content in talking about the one place he has ever found comfort in, found friends in. You can’t help but smile as he speaks, too.

“Yeah? It sounds really nice.” He’s nodding his head once again, as quickly as he can.

“There are lots of other arthropods to play with there. Lot’s of food. Sometimes the humans that visit will give you some too, but they’re normally scared of me.” He suddenly looks serious, eyes coming to meet yours once again, “You’re not scared of me, right?”

You jerk your head back, brows furrowing together in confusion. How could someone be scared of someone like Jimin? You’ve only known him for a matter of days and you doubt that you could ever be.

“Of course not.” You tell him, gently reaching a hand over to place on his knee. He doesn’t flinch away like you expect him to. “You just needed some help, we all need help sometimes.”

He smiles, the serious demeanour retracting from his face in an instant. Back to smiling down at his food happily. The silence doesn’t feel as awkward anymore, at least you don't think it does. It makes you happy, stretching on as he continues to eat like a man starved. He probably is, days of not eating and only sleeping.

“Why did you leave it?” You tilt your head, staring out the window once more. Few snowflakes trickle against the blue sky, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I figure if we’re going to be together through the storm–”

“You’re not gonna kick me out?” His face is awestruck, fork dropping to the plate in surprise. What is he talking about? Kick him out? In this weather?

You quickly shake your head, hand slowly pulling itself back from your knee. He whines in protest, quickly trying to force himself back under your heat. The touch of your hand warmed him up more than anything else in this room– more than the blankets, more than the heater or the warm towels.

His hand tangles itself with your own, pulls you back to his covered knee. Keeps your hand in place with his own while he uses the other to eat. Good. This is better. He likes it when you touch him. The way your small hand feels wrapped in his own.

Makes the tips of his fingers tingle, warmth spread throughout his skin. This is right. This is good.

“Why would I kick you out?” You ask in disbelief, either unnoticing or uncaring to the way he holds your hand– he’s unsure. Not that it matters much! “It’s too cold for anyone out there. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

He smiles, the pit of his stomach only warming more at your words, “Good.”

“We have to wait for the snow to melt to drive you ba–” He cuts you off once again, not wanting to think about going back. At least not without you.

“My friend Taehyung leaves a lot,” He begins to explain, fingers squeezing your own as his palm lays heavy against the back of your hand, “He always talks about how fun it is. All the cool things he gets to see, you know?”

He places his plate to the side while he talks, licking one of his fangs gently. You don’t want to think about how handsome he looks while he does such an action.

“So I wanted to try it out, but we’re not really supposed to leave, you know? ‘Cause then we’re not protected.” You nod along, “And I don’t really have wings to fly out so… I had to wait until they weren’t really paying attention.”

“And that just happened to line up right before the snowstorm was supposed to hit.” You finish for him and he nods, looking down at his lap, “That has gotta be such shitty luck, Jimin. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not, you just wanted to go out and experience new things and you almost ended up dead.” You frown at him, trying to get the man to understand the gravity of what may have happened. He simply shakes his head, plush lips tilted into a small smile just for you.

“I said it’s okay.” He tries to make you believe it, leaning closer. Feeling nothing like the stranger he was only days before. “I got to meet you, so it was all worth it.”

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Jimin has a mate that he’s going to be with someday. Someone he’s going to fall in love with. Someone he’s meant to be with, be happy with for the rest of his life. Someone that isn’t you. You really need to accept that and move on from this stupid fucking crush you’ve developed. One that will amount to nothing but heartbreak.

All hybrids have them– Jimin is not excluded from that. You know it’s true. Know it’s so true that you can hardly breathe but he just makes it so easy, too fucking easy to fall for him.

He takes care of the house, cleans it for you whenever there is a mess. Does the dishes after dinner. Takes out the trash. Tells the spiders in the yard not to mess with you– okay, you’re not entirely sure he does that last one. But he is adamant he can speak to them, and who are you to rain on his little spidey parade.

As the seasons change and the months pass, he only makes it easier and easier. Fitting into your life like he was the only piece missing. Filling in all of the bits and pieces you never knew you needed, wrapping silk around your heart and pulling it tight before you could ever think about letting him go.

Even as the months heat and his deep blue roots grow out from his bleached hair, he has no desire to the place he once called home. The reserve quickly pushed aside every time you try to bring it up. Saying he likes it better here, that this is now his home.

To be honest, nothing makes you more happy. Nothing in the world could possibly make you feel better than Jimin. His little webs he places in the corners, the soft way he clings to you when he becomes needy, the way he likes to show you any bugs he catches before he eats them. You’re not sure you could continue in your life without it.

Yet still, still. You’re not sure if this is right. The right thing, the right way to go about it all.

You often fear that you’re keeping him from what he really wants, if he actually wants to go back but feels indebted to you in some way. If that’s the only reason he actually sticks around.

You worry you’re being selfish in that regard. And then once again you find yourself spiralling into the void of questions you could never have answered. Feelings that will always be unaccounted for because Jimin has a mate.

Or at least, will have one. Someday. And you’re not sure if you could handle that day coming. Not in the warm heat of spring, flowers blooming alongside feelings for an arachnid that has entered your life.

One that has no intention of leaving your side anytime soon, if he has anything to say about it.

But nothing, nothing in the world could prepare you for this. What could prepare the thrum of your heart or the butterflies in your tummy? You never expected him to hold you this close, keep your body pressed against his own in the small space of the coat closet. Keep his face tucked away in your neck, whining in pain at something you could never think to discern.

So quickly you were pulled away, without a second to waste you were dragged onto his lap. One second kicking off your shoes, covered in mud from gardening, the next a hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you into the dark confines. Only Jimin there to cover up your scream, lips delicately pressed to your ear uttering a quiet please. Voiced laced with a whine so pained you couldn’t help but join him without a second to spare.

A thought to think– a debate on whether this is right to do or not, for yourself and your own heart.

“Min? Min, what’s wrong?” It’s the only thing you can think to ask, pulling him away from your neck, making his head face your own. Hands gently cupping either cheek as your eyes attempt to make out the features of his face.

It’s too dark, you can’t see anything. The only answer he gives is in the form of a pained groan, not even his eyes reaching you through the darkness. You start to panic, feel the nerves along your spine light up in trepidation.

He’s hurt. He has to be. What happened? Is he okay? He’s never acted like this before. Not with you. Never before has he seemed so hurt, so dishevelled save for the night you first met him.

Just before this the two of you were gardening, mid-morning sun shining bright overhead. A light breeze passing through the trees keeping the two of you cool. That was it! He only went inside a few minutes before you, a few minutes alone and he was already hurt this bad.

Oh god, you never want him to hurt. To be in pain. It hurts your heart just as bad as it hurts him, if not worse.

You’ve fallen a lot farther than you thought.

“Min, let me just turn on the lights okay? Let me see what’s wrong.” You try to coax him, try to kneel from his lap to reach the string above you. Panic flooding through you as he keeps you snug, keeps you from helping him.

You stop your struggle, veins running cold as he lets out a sharp, violent hiss. A sound he’s never made before, never dare uttered towards you– around you in general. It leaves you nervous, scared for entirely different reasons than before.

But one thing is clear from the way his fingers dig into the skin of your wrist almost painfully. The same wrist that was reaching for the string. He doesn’t want you to turn on the light.

“Okay…okay I won’t…” You tell the arachnid, slowly lowering yourself back onto his lap. Letting go of the struggle, letting go of the resistance. It isn’t what he needs right now, isn’t what he wants.

His grip loosens, arms returning to their place around your waist. Holding you close. Keeping you in his arms. His face nuzzles back into your neck, inhaling deeply with every breath he takes. Smelling you. Imprinting the memory of it in his brain.

“What if I use my flashlight…? Would that be okay?” Once again, the response is a much short, quieter hiss. A lot less defensive, angry than the first. Just a sign of dismissal.

“Okay…” You say quietly, bringing one arm behind him to gently run through his hair. Scratching his scalp in a way that always has him preening, “Can you please tell me what's wrong? So I can help…? Please…”

Your voice is quiet, almost a beg as you ask him. He squeezes your body tighter in response. Would’ve basked in the tone you gave him if not for the pounding behind his eyelids. Still, he knows if he’s going to get you to stay, he has to talk. No matter how much it hurts.

A whine leaves his lips, nose running along the column of your neck as he tries to scent you, “Hurts.”

He answered, his voice shaky and quiet, but it gives you nothing.

“I know Min, I know…” You hush quietly, trying to consol something that you do not have the answer to. Your other hand slowly starts to soothe up and down his back, trying to relax the poor boy enough to speak.

“The light. Hurt eyes. Head Hurts.” He gruffs out, burying his face into your skin to block out any other source that he could.

Your lips part in a soft ‘o’ as the picture becomes clear to you. Staying outside too long, helping you in the garden had come at a cost to the poor spider in the form of a splitting headache.

How could you have been so dumb to let him help you? The articles you’ve read, the pieces you’ve tried to put together to understand the man in your life– they told you as much. How delicate some species' eyes could be but… Jimin never seemed to have that issue before. Never mentioned it, anyway. He doesn’t mention a lot about himself.

You frown.

“Min, I’m so sorry…”

He only grumbles in reply, blunt nails digging into the back of your shirt to keep himself grounded. To keep his head from pounding any louder.

“Let me– Let me go get you some Ibuprofen, yeah?” You hope the sound of your voice isn’t making everything worse. If it does, he doesn’t say anything, only shaking his head, burrowing it further under your hair.

“Just… stay.” He sighs in defeat, shoulders relaxing as he holds you close. He doesn’t need medicine. He doesn’t need anything else. He just needs you. Why can’t you understand that?

“I’ll–” You breathe, trying to force the flush of your cheeks to disappear. He can see in the dark, you know that much. You wouldn’t want him seeing this. The effect he has over you. Doesn’t he know how dangerous he is?

“I’ll stay.”You sigh in defeat, unaware to the pride that blooms in his chest at the battle won. The quiet chirp from his throat that he has you here, with him. Where you’re meant to be.

Hours pass just like that, just the two of you wrapped in each other's arms. No words spoken but quiet requests to know the other is okay. That the other is safe. Even as your muscles begin to cramp, bones start to become sore you don’t dare to move. Don’t dare to do a thing when you are the only one that matters to him right now.

Jimin makes it so easy to pretend.

Especially as his migraine begins to lift, as the conversation between two souls becomes more frequent. As he moves your body to the side so your head can rest against his chest. As his fingers smoothe over the skin of your thigh, rubbing gentle, comforting circles into your flesh.

“And then Namjoon, you know how bad a flyer he is, ran straight into the director of the park. Made her spill her whole coffee all over.” He smiles to himself as he tells the story of the bee hybrid, eyes heavy as he looks down at your form. So cute and small, “and you know what he said?”

You shake your head, “what?”

“‘You need some honey?’” He recites, dipping his voice in a deeper octave to mimic what you can only assume to be Namjoon’s. His voice falling into quiet giggles, you quickly follow suit. Laughing at stories of friends, feeling at home in the dark closet.

You don’t care how long the two of you have been in there. Only that he isn’t in pain anymore.

“I’m glad you’re okay now.” You tell him, eyes feeling heavy, the soothing tremor of his voice vibrating in his chest making your head start to fog. Inklings of sleep slipping into your frame. Head lulling back against him, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

He nods, his throat constricting at just how perfect you look there, fingers teetering on the brink of digging into your skin once more. “Feeling a lot better… my vision is still a little spotty but it's okay.”

You pout. He has to hold back a coo. Too cute. Do you even know how cute you are when you get like this? Probably not.

“No, it’s not okay. I should have known. Told you to go back inside so you don’t get hurt. I don’t like it when you get hurt.”

His heart pounds once, twice before he releases a shaky exhale. Do you know what you do to him when you talk like that? When you show him just how much you care?

The level of restraint he has, it has to be impressive. If he was Taehyung, he would have taken you right there. Wrapped your arms in webs so you couldn’t move. Mate you without a second thought.

Seriously, what did you think you were doing? Talking to him like that? Making him feel like he’s going insane, a few short strings from breaking free and just taking you to his nest. Keeping you there.

You can’t say things like that to him. Not with how innocent you look, with how terribly he already wants you.

A harsh breath comes out of his nose as he forces the thoughts away. He’s not Taehyung. He’s not going to take you for his own selfish desires alone. No, he’s going to keep lulling you into his web like he knows you want. Knows you need. Keep being a good little spider for you.

“I should have told you.” He says quietly, lips coming down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, “Couldn’t have known my species is sensitive like that.”

You hum in quiet annoyance, “Still… read online about some glasses that can help some insects manage light… should have bought them.”

A courting gift? No no, you don’t know what that is. No matter what his spider screams he knows that isn’t true.

He sighs, he needs a distraction. Something to calm the voice in his head screaming at him to kiss you.

Your leg kicks out gently as he starts, feeling like nothing but a feather tickling across your skin. Gentle silks laying across the surface from his wrists, spinnerets hard at work to produce the webbing he places on your thigh.

He huffs quietly, a smirk of a laugh coming out as he moves your leg back, “Tickles?” He asks, an amused lilt present in his voice. Oh god, he’s going to start teasing you again. He loves teasing you.

“What are you doing?” You ask quietly, eyes glancing down to where his fingers move expertly. Thread after thread moving through his fingers, decorating your skin as he draws pictures. Paints flowers, sunsets, anything he can think of really across the canvas of your thigh.

“Just drawing… calms me down.” Marking you, claiming you. Showing every other arthropod that this one is his, this one is Jimins’. Well, at least for the next 3 days when the stick wears off. “Do you want me to stop?”

A tingle runs through your spine as he works, eyes not able to leave his hands for even a second. Your stomach swarms with what has to be a hive of bees, your core bubbling with something you don’t want to describe or think about.

You just hope he can’t smell you. Can’t hear the race of your heart, the increase in breath. The flush on your cheeks that travels all the way to your ears.

He can.

“N-no… It’s okay. I want you to feel better so… do what you need to do.” You mumble, trying to get your feelings to calm down before you fully lose it.

You have to buy those glasses.

Being a spider is just too difficult!

At least that’s what Jimin has told you time and time again over the past 8 months you’ve spent with him. Cold, icy months blossoming into the summer heat with him by your side. With him making residence in your home, cementing his place in your life without any regards for going back to his original home.

It’s too hard for him out there anyway! People at the park think you’re scary so they won’t give you any snacks, security removes your webs when they become too prominent around the landscape. Something about having to “give other spiders a chance” and them “taking up too much space.”

Can you believe them?! All the time and effort he put into his pretty webs, gone in a flash! The strain the sun caused his eyes, the pounding headaches he endured stringing up pieces of silk along the trees, creating a beautiful orchestra of white to claim his territory.

Thank god he doesn’t have to deal with that anymore, at least. Ever since you bought him those sunglasses, making webs outside has never been easier. Catching prey so much easier than ever before.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the sight of him eating the bugs he catches, but who are you to yuck his yum? You know all of the things he’s had to endure as a spider. Everything he’s convinced the world hates him for simply based on his breed alone. The least you can do is show kindness around his diet.

That’s how you end up rubbing his back in soothing circles time and time again, fangs piercing a stuffed animal or piece of fruit– anything he can get his hands on really, as he whines, flinches as he spits out all of his venom.

His venom is one of the worst things he’s had to deal with, you’ve learned. It builds up behind his teeth, waiting to be used on a waiting victim when there is no such thing. No exit point for the liquid to flow.

His fangs begin to ache, begging to pierce something just to release all of the pent up tension in his gums. It hurts too bad, too much to just keep it inside. So once a month, you find yourself in the same position, trying to help him relieve the aggression with soothing, gentle words as he spits the venom out in a way you can only imagine is unsatisfying. Leaving his fangs sensitive and achy for days to come.

In general, his fangs seem to be a point of special contention within the hybrid. They’re too pointy, cause too many issues. The extended canines digging into his plush lower lip just a little too hard making every movement just a little too uncomfortable. God, and he has to worry about brushing them to perfection– keep them pretty for his mate.

At least, that’s what he tells you.

The rest of the world hurts him. You don’t.

Today especially. At least that's what you can assume by the stretch of his arms, the whine bubbling from the back of his throat. His arms reaching for your form, beckoning you, calling you to join him on the couch. All worked up, acting like a wounded puppy that needs nursing just to get your attention.

It always works. Always will.

Some would say he’s become more pushy— more desperate for your attention, forcing it from your grasp without realizing it yourself. That’s what your friends have told you. How easily you fit into the palm of his hand with no more than a simple gesture coaxing you forward into his sweet embrace, never noticing the glares he sends others who enter your home.

No, you would deny all of it. Listen when he tells you that you don’t need your friends anyway. It just feels so good to be needed by him, wanted by him in a way you can never have him. In whatever way he’s willing to give.

r weakness than ever before. No matter how much you’ve tried to avoid it, how much you’ve tried to do the right thing and shove the stupid, pesky feelings down, he’s managed to twist himself into the confines of your heart. Filling a deep hole inside with his pretty silks and crooked little teeth. Takes up a lot more space then you’d ever be willing to admit. Not to him, anyway. Not when he could find his mate any day now.

You’ve been thinking about it more and more lately– the prospect of his mate. It’s difficult not to when he treats you so kindly. When he creeps in your bed at night to cold you, when he reaches out for your comfort alone. When he graces your neck with his fangs his lips–

You drop the dishes back in the sink, shoving your thoughts back into the deep dark recesses of your mind. Maybe if you can be his comfort for now, that will be enough. Even if it isn’t right.

Maybe that’s just how far you’ve fallen, how much he’s tangled you in his embrace. Not that it matters much, you smile all the same. Abandoning your task on only his third whine and fourth dramatic roll of the night. Giving in is so easy when it’s him.

But! It’s a new record for how long you’ve held out! Even got two stomps out of him. You should be proud of yourself.

Maybe you are, though it's for different reasons entirely as Jimin grabs at your wrists, pulling you down beside him. Nudging his face into the crook of your neck with a quiet, pained whine.

You like to ignore those other reasons. They’ll only hurt more if you face them head on. But it's hard to, so hard when he’s this close. When he’s holding you like you may just be the very thing from shattering his world apart.

Or maybe you’re over thinking things.

Yeah. It’s probably that.

“Y/n…” You feel his lips ghost your neck as he whines, wiggling slightly in discomfort.

His duality is always impressive, has been making your brain go a little haywire since he first moved in, since he became more comfortable in your presence. Letting you see him for what he really is. Always playing so cute, so pliant when he needs something– attention, food, for you to just give in and give him what he wants.

Other times he acts as if he could be the reincarnation of Arachne herself. Beautiful, deceptive. Terrifyingly aware of how attractive he is to the human eye. You think he does it on purpose. Likes to see your head spin as you try to keep up with which apparition of Jimin you will experience that day.

He doesn’t know how dangerous it can be, especially for you. How easy it can be to believe that it's real and not just the flirt of his personality. At least you have cute Jimin for now. It’s a little easier to manage.

“You okay Minnie? Something happen?” Your arm reaches up for where he clings to it, fingers gently petting through his fluffy blonde hair. The action seems to soothe him, make him almost pur from the feeling of your fingers alone. Make him feel the slightest bit better from whatever might be irritating him.

He forces his wrists onto your lap, nuzzles his face further into your neck. Inhale all the scents you have to offer. Let you see the issue of spiders.

The tiny holes of his spinnerets come into view, red and inflamed. Shit. They have to be hurting. The skin jutting out slightly more than it should be. Pretty strings of silk hanging in a messy manner. Clogged glands always hurt. Always make for issues.

You frown at the sight, delicately taking his wrist into your hand, looking at it closer. No, not too bad you have to take him to the doctor… you can handle it fine. But it won’t feel good, it never does. Dummy must’ve gotten too excited while webbing up the basement again, got his poor spinnerets working too hard. Overproducing silk to the point it has nowhere to go.

“Min!” You whine, already grabbing a pair of tweezers from the side-table– you’ve learned it’s always good to have a pair on-hand. “I told you that you gotta be more careful!”

“I know!” He hisses almost pathetically, “Just got ahead of myself!”

His voice is no more than a grumble, turning his head away from you yet not pulling away in the slightest. Pretending he hates when you scold him, when you show just how much you care about him.

You pretend it isn’t cute in much the same way.

“Always end up getting ahead of yourself,” You sigh dramatically, acting as if having to take care of the arachnid bothers you more than it actually does. Truth be told, you don’t care in the slightest. Who knows, maybe it even makes you preen in delight.

Feeling wanted as your fingers try to be as gentle as possible while removing the silk. Pulling out the little pieces strand by strand, work out the knot it's made under the skin to try and bring him some relief.

Though, no matter how careful you may be, he still flinches in pain all the same. Trying to cover it up like it was nothing, like every poke and prod doesn’t hurt. Like he can be tough under your gentle hands and pained gaze. He knows it has to be done and no matter how much you hate to see him in pain, you do too.

The dull ache will grow worse and worse, could even turn into an infection if you don't handle it as fast as possible. Worst case? He may have to have his spinnerets removed completely. A fate that feels worse than death to a spider hybrid– or so you’ve read at least.

Soon after he came into your life you did everything in your power to learn as much about his species as possible. Scoured webpage upon webpage, blog post on blog post, youtube video after youtube video. Even went down the sticky threads of a reddit rabbithole to try and learn everything about him.

The only thing you found: how horrible arthropod hybrids are treated in your society. Either sold at auction for absurd prices or cast aside completely depending on how “inhuman” they look. How they are used as tools to show wealth or are discarded from the rest of the world completely. The notion alone had pissed you off to no end.

Jimin was a member of the latter group– or at least that’s what you assumed. From behind no one would be able to tell he was any less than human. His lack of multiple limbs or fluttering wings left him to the devices of the reserve. Probably cast aside, dropped off by the people that raised him for not providing anything that went along with their definition of ‘value’.

Your eyes pinch into a quiet glare. They’re just fucking stupid. Anyone could see that Jimin is perfect. Anyone could see that he did not deserve the treatment he's received, nor deserved to be in the state he was in when you first found him.

And while you’re glad he didn’t end up with anyone else, still didn’t end up in an auction house like many others had, you hate them for thinking they could define his value. That they could define him for more than what he lacked. He still has beautiful fangs. Still has beautiful eyes and his natural cobalt-blue hair. He is still perfect to you.

A sharp hiss leaves his lips, arm attempting to jerk back from your hold as your grip tightens just a hair too hard. As you accidentally tug on a far too sensitive part of the knot. Getting a little too lost in your head while your fingers pick away diligently. Trying to ease the pain as fast as you can.

“Human!” He whines, quickly shushed by a flurry of apologies leaving your mouth. Face flushed, panic in your eyes as he admonishes you.

Once again you’re reminded all too well of how far you’ve fallen for him. Heart racing, brain yelling at itself for hurting him.

It’s dumb, you know that. Everything about the schoolgirl crush you’ve formed on him is. But it doesn’t stop the frown on your lips, the gentle rub of your fingers into his skin as you try to make it up to him.

A quiet grumble leaves his lips, heart hurting at the little dejected expression you wear. He forgives better than he forgets, moving his arms back to the pillow propped on your lap, allowing you to continue your work.

A pout stays on his lips as he watches your hands move. Watches the way the tweezers move under the thin layer of skin. Watches the way you move softer now, taking your time with him. Trying your utmost to not hurt him again.

To you it feels far too intimate. To him, it leaves him almost feral.

“Been working really hard on them lately, haven’t you?” Your voice sounds, trying to distract him or yourself from wandering thoughts– you’re not sure. He’s almost clean– almost all better so you can stop playing nurse. Get a warm washcloth to soothe the skin, take away any ache that lasts from the overused glands.

He nods, “Autumn is coming up…” He mumbles, the words leaving his lips in almost a shy fashion. Like it’s a secret that isn’t a secret at all in the coy fashion he knows you adore.

He knows all too well all of the things that make your stomach flutter. Listens to your heart beat like it’s his favourite song, the flush of your cheeks his favourite painting. Every little twitch of your lip or tap of your feet he catches with ease. You are his favourite everything.

You’ve become far more interesting than any book, far more gorgeous than any actress. Learned to read you better than yourself.But he supposes that would happen to any hybrid who had to wait as long as him, endure as much as he has.

Humans are tricky things, you know? You have to wait and wait and wait just for them to finally give into what they really want. Play the long game to win a prize at the end like he wants, deserves.

He’ll win it soon. August.

“Mmm? Having a contest with the house spiders or something?” You giggle, an effort to try and keep the atmosphere as light as possible. Try to distract from any pain he may be feeling at the moment.

Jimin is convinced he can speak to them– the house spiders that you allow to stay in the corners of your house. Another one of Jimin’s pitfalls that you couldn’t help but wonder into. He claims that they’re his friends, that he talks to them all the time. You, on the other hand, are unconvinced. They probably just use him for food!

“How did you know?! Who told you!” He gasps in mock surprise, head dipping low to rest on your shoulder before he continues, “No, not this time…they all know I would win anyway.”

“I know you would,” He doesn’t allow you in the basement to look at them, at least he hasn’t in the last month, but you’ve seen plenty strung around the house. Dotted in the corners of each room, his way of claiming territory. “You’ve always got such pretty silk.”

His face flushes– he knows you can’t see it. It’s good if you don’t, better if you have no clue how much your words affect him. Exactly how much those words mean to him.

Hopefully you will soon enough. Hopefully, if things go according to plan, you’ll know a lot of things. But right now you just need to stay a little clueless. Just for a little longer.

That’s what he promises to himself.

“What’s happening in autumn then?” You ask, finally pulling the last bit of silk from his left wrist. Both finally clean, finally working like they should be.

Taking each wrist into one of your hands, your thumbs find the openings to the spinnerets. Fingers rubbing gentle, soothing circles into the flesh. Your version of a little makeshift massage. One that always causes him to fall apart under. Spine slumping, mouth parting slightly as he watches your fingers work. His brain going a little empty along with the soothing motion of your fingertips.

Another thing that you don’t understand the intimacy of. The extent of what your touch means to him. How terribly it makes him want to bite you.

His voice is a pitch lower than before. You can’t help but notice the way his breath stutters in his throat at the gentle movement of your thumbs. The way his pupils expand ever so slightly. The way he leans into your touch, avoids eye contact at all costs.

You can’t help the blush that dusts your cheeks, the flutter of your ribcage. The way you keep going just because you know it’s making him feel good.

Stop it! You’re thinking in a bad way again! It isn't right! It’s just from the massage, the relief after his spinnerets are cleared! God, you can’t think about him like this. Can’t do this to yourself! Calm down, seriously. None of this is a big deal.

You know he can hear fast your heart is beating regardless of the argument going on inside of your brain.

“Autumn is mating season.” Your thumbs stutter.

Oh. That is something all of the articles definitely neglected to tell you. They didn’t tell you anything about… that aspect of spiders. Not that they explained much to begin with but certainly nothing about breeding.

You can’t help the way your grip tightens, trying to find purchase– stability at the revelation. Heart thrumming in your chest faster, more aggravated than before. The chill that travels down your spine with the hum of his voice so close to your ear.

Can’t help the sinch of jealousy that finds you either.

Fuck, you hate that he’s smirking– without even looking at his face you can tell! You know he can hear the exact pitter-patter of your heart, any little sound or smell you let out he can easily pick up. Knows your exact emotions before you know them yourself.

“Ah… I see.” This topic really shouldn’t make you so embarrassed! Pull yourself together!

You know that all hybrids have a cycle they go through. Heats, ruts, anything in between. You knew that when Jimin came into your life he would be the same! Knew there would be a time when he’d have to lock himself in the basement, body flooded with hormones. The pretty sounds you’d have to block out filling the house.

But still, because it’s him, you can’t help the nerves that arise from your core. The realisation that it would be coming sometime soon.

If you’re going to make it through you’d have to invest in some soundproof headphones. For your own sanity.

“Mmm?” He smiles, voice sweet and saccharine. Away with the pain of existing also left cute Jimin, leaving a deadly predator in its wake. One that likes to taunt and tease you while acting as innocent as an angel.

Leaves your brain confused, floundering trying to keep up with his deceptively sweet tongue. Doing it all just to get a cute little reaction out of you.

Guess he picked up on the exact little whirlwind of your mind, “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed…”

“Shut up!” You whine, trying to stand from the couch so you can retrieve a washcloth. Try to avoid the way your heart is going to pound out of your chest, the way you know you’ll fall farther into his clutches.

His arms lock on firm, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck to rub his cheeks against your skin. Scent you just like he does a million times a day claiming that it's necessary. Spiders smell so much less than other hybrids– he has to do it or else.

Or at least that’s what he says– you think that it’s another lie.

“What!” He laughs, “Not like I’m saying anything dirty, it’s only natural.” He chides, sliding back against the couch, pulling you into his side with ease. Slotting you in like you’re meant to fit there, not whatever mate he meets in the future.

Your brain yells at itself. You know how dangerous that line of thinking is.

“Unless you want me to be dirty? I could if I wanted, you know.” He smiles as innocently as a wolf, fangs oozing with confidence behind them.

“Oh my god!” You sigh dramatically, putting on the front you always do when your heart feels like it may just explode. When you feel like digging an early grave because Jimin knows exactly what he’s doing.

You simply roll your eyes, “And I could punch you in the dick if I wanted to, you know?”

His laugh is always so pretty, boisterous yet still as light as air. Head tilting back, his neck on display as he chastises you for the empty threat. One you both know won’t come true, at least not right now.

He smiles, a gentle kiss being placed on your forehead as he urges you to stay. Promising he’ll be a ‘good little spider’ so you don’t have to worry about him. The implication of snacks and movies making you stay. The way he pouts when you tell him you’re not buying anymore BugBitez™ until the end of the week confirming that this is where you need to be right now. That it’s right.

It’s almost too easy for him too. Everything is too easy for you when it comes to Jimin. He claims the exact same.

Or at least, that’s what he mumbles in your ear now. Arms wrapped around you as tight as he can manage. Movie nearing its end with Jimin on the cusp of consciousness, you having lost the plot of it a long time ago.

Something about Aliens? Cowboys? Mothman? You couldn’t even hope to guess. Not when his breath is in your ear.

It’s hard to focus when he’s so close like this. When he’s saying pretty words that could get you lost in your fantasy over and over again. Making him harder and harder to give him up every moment that passes you by.

“Got lucky with my human.” He mumbles, half asleep, face buried in your hair, “Really good human.”

His lips move so lazily when they speak. Fangs running across the surface your skin like they have a mind of their own. Never daring to pierce the surface. Never daring to bite you for real. No matter how bad he really, really wants to.

How bad he wants to mate you. Make you his pliant little prey– see if the rumours about what his venom does to humans is real.

Your breath stutters but you pay it no mind. Trying, begging your eyes to remain focused on the movie. To ignore how deceptive sleepy Jimin is. Tomorrow, he will act as normal. His words will carry no weight.

He isn’t your boyfriend. You aren’t his mate. You two are just friends sharing a house.

Feelings you have no right to have are forced down over and over again. It seems like it's become a daily occurrence– a pattern of habit you have no hope in breaking. The love piling behind your eyelids means nothing when the person he is meant to be with could be around any corner.

But it’s getting harder. Too hard to hold them back and restrain yourself. Especially on nights like this when it feels like fate that the two of you met.

Thinking back on that fateful day now, all of those months ago, you’re sure it had to have been. Maybe the winter gods (if such a thing existed) decided to shine their light on you; to make the blizzard a little less lonely. Make your life filled with long days and even longer nights just a little bit brighter.

Or maybe they hated you and wanted you to suffer.

Wanted you to live a life knowing your affections will never be reciprocated, knowing that Jimin has a fated one out there somewhere just waiting for him. Knowing that it isn’t you. Cursing you to a life of watching Jimin fall for another.

Thinking becomes so hard when it’s about Jimin. When it’s about the man who made you so far into the pits of hell that you don’t think you’ll ever crawl out.

So instead your fingers simply squeeze his hand. Rub gentle, soothing circles into the skin. Care for him like you’re meant to instead of thinking about what the future may hold. What will happen when he does find his mate. What they might be like, what they might dress like, if they’ll have to move in here, if you’ll have to watch him fall in love over and over again every single day.

You think you might hate them.

You sigh.

No, that wouldn’t be fair. Could never be fair to Min. He deserves happiness. He deserves the world whether or not you’re a part of it.

You hope he isn’t able to pick up on the changes in your scent.

“Mmm mm, got lucky with you Min.”

August 11th.

A beautiful dream shattered by the incoherent nightmare that is your spider pacing around your room. A pillow pulled to either side of your head, doing everything in their power to drown out the noise as an audible groan leaves your lips. His nervous prattling too early in the morning for your liking.

Any other day it would be fine, you would think that it’s cute. The way he worries his lip between his teeth. The way he gently bites down on the pad of his thumb, one arm crossed while the other soothes the skin of his chin.

Any other day you’d sit in bed, listen to him. Mock him slightly with how much worry runs through his body.

But he isn’t talking about his mate any other day, is he? No, it seems that the occasion has been saved for this morning. His head running a mile a minute, losing all composure he once had before. Losing his very sense of self as anxiety courses through his veins.

“What if it isn’t good enough? I need to present it to her soon. Need to make sure everything is perfect for her.” Apparently he had met her. When? You have not a single clue. Jimin hasn’t left the house in weeks other than to go hunt bugs and to go to the grocery store with you.

“What if the web isn’t big enough? She might not like the style either…” He grumbles, eyes locked on the carpet as he moves back and forth across your room, “God and what if she hates the food… No, no you know what she likes.”

“Jimin, she’ll like everything. It will be fine.” You groan, sitting up in bed to face him, voice gruff with morning air.. You don’t want him to be in here, talking about this. Talking to you about this. Shattering your heart every second that passes by.

You knew it would happen someday, you really did. You tried to do everything right. Tried to pretend reality wasn’t creeping through your windows with every second that passes by. Try to ignore the impending sense of doom that covered your skin.

Did everything right only to end up failing once again due to the rations of Park Jimin.

You try to look at him through the fuzz in your eyes, sleep still trying to force you back into its clutches with everything that it has. Try to see what he is doing– understand what he is saying. His voice continuing to speak yet not fluent enough for you to actually understand. His body twitches ever so slightly, head jerking as his teeth dig deeper and deeper into his thumb. It was almost like you weren’t even in the room– not to him at least. Lost within the tangles of his brain.

Pulling himself deeper and deeper into the recesses of his mind, spiralling out of control of everything that seems rational, everything that he is meant to do or meant to say. It’s almost like he isn’t in the room at all. Isn’t pacing along your floor, surrounded by your scent. Comforting his inner spider before it loses control entirely with the hormones that rush through his veins.

August 11th. The date was circled 5 times on his calendar– red exclamation points, doodles scattered across the stupid day. Yet now, for the life of him he can’t seem to remember why. He can’t seem to remember much of anything though, so that isn’t a surprise. Only his web. The gifts he’s prepared for this day. Yeah. Those are the only things he can seem to think about.

A hand lands on his shoulder– one that isn’t his own. Who’s touching him? He isn’t sure. Isn’t sure of much other than the smell combing through the room that becomes sweeter and sweeter by the second. Honey he is unable to resist.

Especially with how soft the hand is that touches him. How gentle it is on his shoulder, his pace back and forth falling just so he can revel in it. Understand it.

“Hey Min.” Oh. It’s you. Your voice coming through the fog. Your voice startling him from the dream.

Gorgeous, gorgeous you.

Mate.

“It’s gonna be okay, yeah?” Why do you sound sad? No, maybe it’s distressed. His face falls.

No, no, no. You shouldn’t be sad. You should never be sad. You should always be happy with him. You should love him. His love should make you whole. Your love makes him whole.

Wait, does he have your love yet?

Now he isn’t sure.

All he knows is that he should. You should. He should wrap you up in his nest, hold you close until you feel nothing but him. Don’t think about anybody else. Look at anybody else. You should always be happy and safe. Happy and safe with him just like he feels with you. Has always felt with you.

More than that stupid reserve. More than his webs back there. It was fate that brought the two of you together, right? Right? So he should be allowed to indulge just a little. He should be allowed to let go of this stupid, fucked up play he’s been putting on for so long. He should be allowed to do whatever he wants.

The reserve always taught him he was a wild spider, you know?

Wait, spider.

Spider.

His rut. That’s what’s coming today. That’s why the day was circled. That’s why Jimin isn’t acting like himself. That’s why his spider is itching, clawing to come out to play. Why he so desperately wants all of you to himself.

He hasn’t even presented his web yet.

He tilts his head at you, blank eyes staring down into bright ones. Ones that hold his entire world at your fingertips.

“There he is.” Your smile is almost blinding. Makes his head pound just like the sun's rays.

That’s right. That’s why he needs to keep his composure. To keep that smile on your lips. To keep you happy. To keep you falling in love with him slowly the human way. The way he knows you’d prefer. Knows you adore every second of.

He isn’t Taehyung. He isn’t Taehyung.

The human way is better. Better at keeping you pliant. Better at keeping you happy. Better at keeping you unafraid.

He hates when people are scared of him. Hates when people flinch with every movement he makes. Hates when people can’t just love him like he so craves. He’s still a hybrid. He still wants love. He was bred for it just like the rest of them.

So when you came into his life, so gentle and caring despite the palpable fear that scented the air– weighed it heavily, it sparked light behind his eyes. When he felt you touch him, felt the sparks dance across his flesh and allowed himself to inhale once more. When there were no traces of fear within you, only the scent of his mate. His eternity.

He knew he had to do the right thing. Had to make you love him the human way. Had to make you fall for him, endure the wait. Endure the daily struggles of his instincts just so you would never be afraid of him. The end would be worth it.

He would never let you fear him even at the cost of his own sanity.

Because he isn’t Taehyung. He’s Jimin. He’s a good spider.

“You need to be careful Min…” You tell him quietly. Your voice is the only anchor to his shaky world. The light brought him back from the edge over and over again today.

He needs to leave your room before all of his planning goes to waste. Calm himself down. Present to you his web and all of his gifts so you can accept him properly.

“Your thumb… it’s bleeding honey…” He tilts his head again, inspects your hands as they move closer. Tries to force lucid thought from behind his heavy eyelids as you touch his skin directly.

Tries to ignore the throb deep inside as you gently remove the finger from his lips. Pull it away from the fang that was piercing him. The sting of the bite.

He hadn’t even noticed it.

He watches as a single drop spills from the abrasion. Slipping down his finger. Feels the way your hands come up to cup his cheeks.

Leave. Leave. Leave.

The way your thumb comes to his lips, worry etched across your features as you swipe away any remaining blood from his lower lip.

Leave. He needs to leave.

He isn’t sure how your finger ends up in his mouth. His plush lips wrapping around the digit, tongue curling around your flesh as he licks away the red spilled. Sucking on it gently as heat curls in his stomach. His eyes half-lidded, staring into the recesses of your very soul.

A groan passes through him at the taste of your skin. How sweet you are against his tongue. Do you even know what a vixen you are? What a tease you’ve come to be over the past 9 months?

No. Of course you don’t. Not with the blush that rushes to your cheeks. The stutter of his name that passes through his lips. The questions that you ask– what are you doing? Wh-why?

He wants you to be quiet. To enjoy you for all it’s worth. Enjoy everything you have to offer.

The command is silent– no more than the press of his bleeding thumb to your lips. The demand that you part them for him. To clean that wound that you unknowingly caused.

A hand on your cheek directing your head back. He’s been a good little spider, you can be a good little girl too, can’t you?

You are.

“J-Jimi–” He slips it inside, resting the pad against your tongue. Holding it in place. Asking, begging for this one little thing from you. You don’t mind, do you? You’ve always made him feel better before. This is no different, is it?

And so you do.

He watches the way your eyelids fall, your lips close as you begin to gently suck against it like he so craves. Like he desires down to the very cells that make up his body.

To imagine it’s his cock instead. Gently fucking into you over and over again, teaching you how to take his it how he likes. How he knows you’ll like. You’ll love everything about him. You’re meant to. It’s in the fabric of your DNA and soon it will all be his. Right after he shows you his–

Shit.

He needs to leave.

Got carried away in his fantasy. In pretending again.

His rut is coming too fast, too strong now that he finally has his mate in his grasp. He needs to leave. He needs to calm down so he can go this properly.

He leaves you on the bed, more confused and distressed than when he first entered. Annoyance hovering over your entire wake in a blanket of unrest. One that you know will not ease your soul for the rest of the day.

The spider has locked himself away. Hiding from you. Keeping himself in the basement, door locked, shutters drawn to drown out any sense of you that may be persisting.

You, on the other hand, have had nothing to do but stew in your own emotions. Think about every little decrepit detail that occurred hours prior. Edicting yourself to only address him by spider even in your thoughts.

It’s spiteful, sure. But it’s the least he deserves, you know? After everything he’s put you though– pulling you along like a little puppet on a string. Making you sit idly by for him to give you any lick of affection he’s willing to part with. Making you feel special, like you're worth something every second that he gets only for him to remind you with too much familiarity that he isn’t yours to have.

He woke you up, told you about his mate, looked at you like he was going to fuck you, and made you suck on his finger only for him to leave? The sheer fucking audacity of this man.

You’re sick of it.

Sick of having to force everything down because you know it isn’t what he wants. Sick of falling in love with him every day. Sick of having to play house. Sick of not having him. Sick of being playing the lovesick fool.

So, into the novels you fall. Into alternate worlds that are far better than your own. Displacing yourself into new habitats, new environments to escape the confines of the four stuffy walls that surround your body, head, and heart.

Into a world where it’s okay to fall in love with whoever you want. Where it’s okay to feel wanted. Where reality can be shut away by your headphones and a good snack. Where you can ignore the body approaching behind you. The tap on your shoulder.

You try to, honestly. And a good attempt it was.

Keeping your grip firm on the pages, nails digging into the paper below. Breath in your lungs held as if doing so would keep him away. Eyes tracing the pages over and over again though reading nothing. Attempting to appear as if you didn’t notice him at all.

Maybe he would leave, that was your biggest hope. Take the headphones placed firmly over your ears as a loud, obnoxious hint. That he would see you’re not interested and retreat to his basement layer to plot on the next way to torture your heart.

He doesn’t. He never would.

His frame comes to kneel in front of you. To stare up at you with those big brown doe eyes that you know you could never escape. Placing a gentle hand on your knee, trying to get you to see that he is there. That he wants to see you.

You see his lips move, though ignore entirely what they say. Letting out a huff, turning your body away from his own. Continuing to mindlessly stare at the pages even though their contents holds no meaning in this moment. No real value.

His forehead drops to your leg, a sigh leaving his throat. Words mumbled from his lips you’re unable to make out– not that you would want to hear them anyway.

Maybe it’s a temper tantrum of sorts. Giving him a taste of his own medicine. To feel even a pinch of what you do. He probably never does.

Your fight is a good one. It truly is– at least you think so. But it all comes tumbling down the second his lips press against your knee. His hands reaching past your iron grip on the book to hold your own.

You will always fall to the likes of Jimin.

Especially when you see his lips mouth the word please. His brows crested with worry, his lower lip quivering in worry. Fangs biting the surface to try and soothe the nerves he feels.

Any sense of foreboding he held earlier, gone. The tick of his shoulders, the cold, blank stare of his eyes vanished. Your Jimin, the one you’re used to, in love with, rising to the surface again.

You’re unable to fight against the plea, no matter how much you want to. Unable to fight against him.

“What is it.” Your voice is harsh as you remove your headphones, setting the book to the side. Much more than it appears he’d like it to be if the flinch of his neck is anything to go by.

“I…” Words feel lost in his throat, but he forces himself to continue forward, “I have something I need to show you, human…”

Why is he acting so weird? Acting like earlier never happened? He seems nervous, almost petrified at your reaction. As if anything you say could break him entirely.

You don’t understand it at all. Anything about this situation, really.

“Okay…?” You watch his face carefully, trying to reason. To figure out why exactly the air seems so heavy. Why this situation feels so tense. “Show me then?”

“I…You have to come with me?” It sounds like a question, his face flinching at his own words. He’s meant to do this perfectly. Why can’t he seem to get it right? Why can’t his instincts help him with this? “Like, I can’t bring it up here… I need you to follow me?”

“Huh?” The quiet breath leaves your throat as your features pinch.

He quickly tries to explain further, trying to help you see through the worry on your face, “Not far I promise. Just to the basement, yeah?”

Your head jerks back in surprise, “You never let me go down there.”

“Yeah but…it’s special this time.” Oh.

It’s almost as if the pieces click together on their own. Your brain drawing conclusions, making decisions for you despite the obvious staring right in your face. His mate is probably down there. Wants you to meet her.

You can only sigh, accept your fate for what it is. Follow the boy with the string to the basement once again, just like the first night he came tumbling into your life.

“Okay.”

He holds your hand as you walk.

Holds it as if his life depends on it. As if it’s the red string of fate that has tied your two bodies together for the rest of eternity. As if he might die the second you two part. As if you might run away the second he lets go.

You never do, never try to run away from him. You’ve tried to run away from your feelings for so long. The least you can do is see through to the end of them, right? That would be the right thing to do. The dignified thing instead of trying to throw a tantrum on the floor.

The walk to the basement feels like the longest in your life. A marathon you have no training for, no experience with tugging you along. Silence extended for miles along each creak of the floorboards, each set of the dim stairs.

Jimin left the lights off, dusk settling along the horizon not long ago. Only distant flickers from the basement coming through as you make your way down. Candle light in the distance lighting the way.

He doesn’t say a thing as your feet reach the bottom of the stairs, toes cushioned by soft silk lining the floors. He doesn’t have to.

It’s beautiful. That’s the only way you can describe what he’s turned the basement into.

Beautiful silks cover every waking surface– the floors, the walls, the ceiling all lined in brilliant patterns of white dancing across the surface. Creating stories as if they were living themselves.

You wish you could stare at them. Admire them for the rest of your life. Decipher each piece laying, coating the surface. Envisioning the world through the eyes of Jimin. Through the world around him.

Webs cross from floor to ceiling, taking space over the room. Intricately laid in patterns you are more accustomed to with spiders. Webbed hatching sectioning off parts of the space, acting as furniture for the bug to rest on.

As your eyes scan the room, you finally find what you think has to be the most gorgeous web in the world. Sitting in the far right corner of the room stands a nest that takes up the entire corner. The effort it took to make it clear in its craft. So soft, so comfortable.

You almost want to curl up in it yourself.

Illuminated by only the glow of candle light, Jimin does nothing but watch as you take everything in. Watch as your face changes into that of euphoria. Mesmerised by everything he has worked so hard on, everything he’s done just to impress you.

You turn to face him, staring at him with nothing but wonder in your eyes.

“Jimin, this is– fuck this is incredible,” Your voice is breathless, cut off by how overwhelmed you are with everything. With him. “This must’ve taken you so long, it’s so beautiful. Oh my god, how did you–”

He can’t take it anymore. Can’t take it now that he has you here, has you in his web. Now that he can keep you in it forever. Complimenting him. Completing him. He needs to finish with the rest of this fast. Before he does something he’ll regret. Before he finishes showing you how good a mate he will be to you properly.

He tugs you forward, practically puzzling as he tugs you deeper into his room of webs. Expertly guiding you through each one without a second to spare.

Jittery, excited. Feeting rocking themselves back and forth as he sits you on a blanket placed on the ground.

He isn't going to last much longer. Not before his heat takes over. Before he loses his mind at you in the sight of his nest. His mate in his nest. Waiting to be bred. Waiting for–

No, no Jimin. Stop it. Stop acting like a spiderling that doesn’t know what to do with himself now that he has his mate in his nest.

“I…” He takes a deep breath, voice shaky as he tries to calm himself down, “I made us a picnic… I hope you like it.”

His spider hisses at the words, hating having to describe it as something stupid like a picnic. No, it's a nuptial gift. Evidence that he’s a good enough mate. That he’s good enough for you. That he deserves you.

You watch him, watch as he pushes the basket filled to the brim with food over to you. Watch as his frame shakes slightly as he stares at you, fingers tapping against strings of webs closest to your leg.

You can’t help but feel lost. Overwhelmed with affection, but utterly, entirely, hopelessly lost all the same. What is he doing? Why is he presenting all of this for you? Shouldn’t he be doing this for his mate? Isn’t all of this some type of courting ritual?

Oh.

It appears the puzzle you constructed– pieces matched together haphazardly stuck together with glue isn’t the solution after all. Isn’t the reality presented before you know.

You’re… you’re Jimin’s mate?

Your eyes widen, head jerking to meet Jimin’s gaze. His pupils shaky, not daring to leave the surface of the basket. Not daring to move an inch until you accept him.

You’re an idiot.

“J-Jimin a-are we…?” You hesitate to ask, hesitate to break the gentle balance residing over the entire basement.

His head snaps to face your own, eyes plagued with the same blank, predatory look as before.

“Mate.” Deep, harsh, scratchy. His voice makes you feel like he’s going to devour you whole. Like he is the monster waiting in the deepest recesses of your nightmares when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. When in reality he is the very being your soul yearns for stronger than any other.

The revelation, the– everything leaves you overwhelmed. Emotions strung up for the stars, casting aside any comets that tried to hurdle towards the perfect glass encasing this moment. This eternity you wish to live in forever as you finally understand that he wants you just as much as you want him.

You can’t help but grab his cheeks– ignore how venomous he looks, and press your lips against his own. Can’t help the explosion behind your eyelids, the sparks that travel across your skins in euphoric waves. The way your heart swells like a balloon, racing in your chest so fast you fear you may die.

Every emotion you’ve felt that day, every nagging, creeping sensation finding its way into the back of your skull vanishes in an instant. No going back. No orchestra or chorus reprise. No thoughts of not being his mate. You are his mate.

Only him.

Only Jimin.

He doesn’t part with you, not for a second. Not when he finally has you against him. When you so easily rise into his lap. When his natural instincts finally stop screaming at him and take over completely. Kiss you with everything he’s worth. Devour you whole.

His hands find purchase on your hips, blunt nails digging into the skin. Mocking him for not doing this in the closet with you all those months ago. Allowing him to truly understand how good it would’ve felt then. How good it will feel every second that follows.

He thinks you have to be the prettiest thing in the world.

His spider thinks that you need to be bred full of his spiderlings. Fucked so hard that you wont be able to walk– wont be able to leave his nest. That he’ll be able to tie you up nice and pretty, stuff you with his cum over and over again until you’d never even think about leaving.

His spider is winning.

“Min…” Your voice is breathless, trying to keep up with the flurry of kisses he presses against your lips, your face– anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s addicted to the feeling, like he’s making up for lost time.

“Min, I love you.” And just like that, any sanity he has left vanishes.

His spider has won.

Without a second thought you’re lifted from your place on his lap, thrown carelessly into his nest. His nest where you will stay. His nest where he’ll keep you. All thoughts vanished from that pretty little head of yours. Just like it should be.

His hands find the back of his collar, shirt discarded without a second thought on the floor. He doesn’t need it anymore. Not when he has you. When he wants to feel you fully.

You can only stare– fawn at his tan skin. The gentle muscles on display for you. For your eyes only while he crawls towards you. Stalks you just like they might a pretty little butterfly caught in their web. Wrapped in webs and killed without a second thought.

His lips find yours once again. Slotting together, filling the other to make them whole. Dazed in lust and passion, neither soul hoping there would ever be a way out for the other.

Well, there won’t be for you. But that’s okay. You’ll love it. Love every second of it.

He knows it as his fingers dance against your skin. Sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, running with skilled ease up your sides. The chill that racks through your body is evidence enough. The way you so easily allow him to draw your shirt over your head solidifies it. Your shorts follow, making it set in stone.

Your breath comes out in short pants, every slight touch, every little movement sends fire burning through your skin. Igniting you, setting your core ablaze with heat that only he can extinguish.

Fingers gently sliding over your ribs, thumbs coming just blow your breasts to rub circles into the skin while his fangs nip gently into your lower lip. He can’t bite you now. No, after he mates you he can bite you all he wants.

He groans at the thought, hips rocking themselves against your clothed cunt. Allowing you to feel all of him– the press of his cock, the motion of his need allowing you to fall higher and higher into a heaven you did not think possible.

You whine at him to do something, anything. Too impatient to wait any longer. Too impatient to live a second more without something, anything buried inside of you.

His smile is sick, twisted as he reclines back on his heels. Allows himself to get a good look at you.

“Shh, Shh…” His hand cups your cheek, smoothing his thumb against your lips. Pressing it inside with more ease than before. More compliance than before. There’s a good little girl.

“Poor thing is having a hard time, huh?” He mocks gently, hips pressed firm against your own allowing you to feel every inch of him, “Pretty lips all swollen, pussy a little mess from just kissing… mm mm…”

He groans, hand slipping between your legs. What he finds is no more than a mess of a girl. Hips bucking upwards. Slick dripping from your center, panties coated in arousal. Puffy little clit begging for any attention he’s willing to give it.

Without any hesitation his thumb finds your clit, pressing against it without any thought of reprieve. Without any thought to give you any of the relief you crave. You’ve made him wait this long, you can wait a second, no?

He groans high as you buck against his hand, mewl leaving your lips as some sort of plea. Ah~ how cute. Such a little thing so desperate for something, anything that you’re willing to give up your very head in return? How cute! How adorable!

His spider preens. Is almost so belated he doesn’t notice the hands that come down to grip his wrist. Hold him in place all so you can circle your hips against his thumb. Rub adorable little rings into your clit without any help from him. Use him to make yourself feel good.

A coo leaves his lips. Who is he to deny such a pretty little human?

“Ah pretty baby wants to feel good, does she?” He almost giggles at how pathetic you look. How adorably you cling to him. How hard you try.

His arm is ripped from your grasp, pulling back from the very place you desire him most. Where your arousal soaks the cotton of cotton, so palpable he can practically taste it in the air.

“It’s okay baby…” He sees the annoyance in your face, the battiness you hold in your heart coming to light. Excited to tame it. Excited to quell the pretty little devil in his web.

Tie you up. Breed full.

Breed you.

His fingers work fast. Arms are pulled over your head, silks quickly pinning them to the surface. Strings wrapping and wrapping until he’s sure you’re secure. Sure you can’t move.

His hips gently rock against your own, clothes cock pressing against your core. Watching as your hips buck, as you try to urge him closer with a pathetic whine.

See exactly how you struggle against the strings.

Perfect, perfect girl. How did he get so lucky, huh? Can never be sure.

You’re unable to stop the cry that leaves your throat as his hands pull your panties aside, finger thrusting into your wet heat. Filling you up, making you feel a little more whole.

“Min~” The moan of his name is shaky. Every sense you have in overdrive as he works his finger against your walls. Every push inside deeper, harder. Curling against your walls in the exact way you craved.

Pleasure coils in your stomach faster than you thought possible. A second finger joining the first, pumping in and out as he prepares you for his cock. Prepared you to take all of him and nothing less.

He knows you can do it. You can, can’t you?

“Mhmm baby, I know… head a little clearer now, huh?” He chuckles, chastising, “Can only think when you’re full. It’s so cute.”

You whimper at his words, head rolling back as the coil pulls tighter and tighter within your gut. Urging you to just let it snap, feel everything you’ve been waiting for.

“F-feels good…” You mutter quietly, unable to see the haze cloud his vision. The way his amused expression drops into that of a wild animal.

Without any warning his fingers pull out of your heat, body leaving your own entirely as he stands. Grabbing your hips, dragging them closer. Flipping your body over. Setting you pretty on your knees, arms uncomfortable crossed in front of you.

He quickly rids himself of his pants, allowing his cock to spring free from their confines. Head red and messy as it hits his stomach. Angry at how neglected you’ve left him. How desperately he wants this.

You have no way of preparing yourself for the drag of his cock through your lips. The gentle nudge against your clit. Thick head dragging through your folds, spreading your arousal. Mixing it with his pre-cum.

Making you messy. Making you dirty just for him. Making you belong to him.

“Gonna fill my mate.” All humour is gone from the man behind you, as if he is someone else entirely. It’s really too bad your head has a few too many screws loose to care. Care about anything other than the way his firm head presses against your hole. The way his blunt nails dig into your flesh.

“Gonna breed her. Mate her. Make her mine.” It’s almost as if his word is a command. The very sentences he utters become law.

You can only nod your head. Give yourself to the very man that fate led you to all those months ago. “Want~”

The thrust of his hips into your walls is almost too much to bear. A cry leaving your lips as he fucks himself inside in a single thrust. Forcing you to take him to the hilt, to feel all of him stretch your walls. No break. No waiting around.

You’ve both done enough waiting.

It hurts— the burn, as he stretches you full. Presses his cock against your walls making sure your cunt remembers no one but him.

The way he gives no reprieve, fucking into you like an animal starved. Pulling back until only the tip remains inside before fucking himself fully inside once more.

“Min!” You cry, waves of pain and pleasure boiling all the same within your bones. All the same inside of your blurred head, nothing but static and thoughts of him behind the line of your eyes. Slipping off into space as you let cunt clenched pathetically around his cock.

“Good mate, taking me so well. Such a good human.” He groans, hips pulling back and thrusting into you over and over again. Making you fall apart with his pace. Pumping his cock into your pathetic little hole fast and hard. Ruining you for any other man.

Making sure he will be the only one you allow to enter heaven.

Your moans come out wanton, pleaing. Hips start to move back against him, trying to keep up with his pace despite the burn you begin to feel in your tied arms. Desperate to let him know just how good he’s filling you. Just how good he’s making you feel.

“My mate.” His pants come out harsh, breath on your neck as he hovers close. The sound of skin and against skin is the only thing you’re able to hear. The pressure of Jimin’s lips against your neck makes you feel like you’re about to go insane.

He’s desperate to make you fall apart on his cock alone. Pleasure building and building, the coil tight. Ready to snap at any moment. Ready to fall apart at his command.

“Gonna make you mine forever pretty.” His voice is featherlight once more. The switches have you reeling, your brain spinning. “Want that, don’t you? For me to bite you? Mark you up? Breed you full of my spiderlings? Ruin that pretty little head for anything else.”

He sighs, nails digging into your hips where they’re sure to leave bruises. You nod your head in agreement, moans spilling past your lips as his hips change their angle. His cock hitting the spot that leaves you seeing stars on every thrust.

“Say the word and you’re mine.” You feel his fangs against your skin. The harsh drag across your delicate skin. “Forever.”

You can’t take it anymore, pleasure burning through you. Blinding you. Unable to think about anything else other than the rough thrusts of his cock against your walls.

“Please.” It’s no more than a whimper, but he swears it’s the loudest thing he’s ever heard.

His teeth clamp into your flesh— the final thing needed to push you over the edge into bliss. Your body stutters, walls a vice around his cock as the coil finally snaps. Heat flowing through every cell you possess. The only thing in your soul is Jimin.

Your back arches, eyes dotting with black as you allow it to overtake you. Jimin rocking you against him, groaning as he fills you with his cum, painting your walls white. Allowing you to ride out your high with him. Finally allowing the rut to rid his brain for only a moment.

He slowly pulls out of you, panting. Quickly moving to cover your center back up with your underwear. Make sure all of his cum stays tucked away in your pretty little pussy to get you nice and pregnant.

You can only whimper, body twitching at every movement he makes. Worn down your bones— energy sucked so dry you can’t even feel the throb of your neck. Don’t even notice the blood that drips from where he marked you— claimed you in the way only a hybrid can.

All you're sure of is the need to be close to him. Need to feel him.

Is this what he had been feeling all along? Marks were known to do that, to allow you to feel what your mate does. If he had to endure what you’re feeling right now, it had to have been hell for him.

“Min…” you calm his name. Pull him from where he stares between your legs. Where his fingers rub circles into the surface of your underwear, spreading any cum that leaks from your twitching hole.

Within a second he’s at attention, staring at you with all of the love in the world. You’re not sure how you missed it before. How you could have deluded yourself into believing any less.

He pouts as you wiggle at your restraints, silk holding your arms in place all this time. He gently shakes his head, slowly flipping your body back over onto its back. Crawling over you to look at your face properly. Take in your fucked out expression. Ruined his pretty little human. Made her perfect.

“Don’t want to.” His lower lip juts out at you, eyes wide just like a begging dog. “Look pretty tied up in my web. Should stay like this. Forever.”

“I don’t think my job would like that very much.” You giggle, lip pouting out to match his own. He leans down, quickly capturing your mouth in a quick kiss.

Something hard pressed against your leg once more. His hand comes down to guide it against your heat. Rub against you despite the oversensitivity and cum leaking from your hole.

“Then we move to the woods together… I’ll hunt for us…” He grumbles, pushing your underwear to the side once more. Collecting any cum that has spilled out with his cock, gently fucking it back into your cunt with the head.

A whine rips from your lips due to oversensitivity. Pussy sore, aching from what he just put you though. What you aptly begged for. Yet you can’t deny him. Don’t want to deny him with how good it feels to be filled. How addicted you’ve become. Cock drunk.

“Wh-what?” You try to breathe, walls fluttering around his length as he slowly thrusts back inside. Filling you to the brim once again. “W-we can’t do that, Minnie…”

His thrusts are slow, languid. Almost like he’s making love. Treating you with utmost care despite how wrecked your entire frame is.

He is entirely unaffected. His rut leaves him wanting for more and more until you have nothing left to give. Face twisting into confusion at your words.

“Why can’t we? Make you up a nice pretty web… keep you full all the time” He hums against your neck, gently licking at his mark, “treat you like a real good mate, yeah? Fill you up over and over. Will look so pretty with my spiderlings.”

He moans the words, hips speeding up ever so slightly at the thought. It dawns on you that this must be his rut talking. Filling his head with nonsense he knows can’t come true. In a few days when he wakes up from it, he’ll probably pretend he never said anything about taking you to the woods. Keeping you there.

No harm in agreeing, is there? Especially when he makes you feel so good. So happy and full. When it makes him feel just as good. When your head starts to feel fuzzy, the exhaustion weighs heavily on your consciousness. You’re on birth control anyway, it's fine.

“Mmhmm… sounds nice..” You moan quietly, already feeling your second orgasm approaching. Allowing yourself to become lost in the same dream as him. Allowing yourself to fall victim to pretty words and false promises. Ones that he intends to make true.

“Gonna take such good care of my mate.” He groans, face buried in your neck. He feels your walls clamp around him, pulling him in over and over again. Cunt never wanting him to leave.

His hand draws between your thighs, fingers rubbing quick circles into your clit. Neither of you are going to last long. Both too sensitive to do anything but fall into the pleasure of each other.

Pussy fluttering against his cock, head rolling back as your high runs through you once more. White clouding your vision, ears ringing as you are overcome with fire. Drowning in the feeling of his cock fucking you full of his cum once again.

He lets out a harsh groan as he fills you. Breeds you just like a good spider would. Makes you feel complete as he helps you through both of your highs.

Your eyes feel heavy— too heavy to stay open even a second longer. Too tired to stay awake as he pulls your underwear back over your center. As he pulls your body close to his own.

He doesn’t blame you, never could. It must be hard having to keep up with a hybrid during their rut. But he knows you can do it. Knows you’ll do it for him. Especially with the promises you made. The ones you made only to him.

The last words you hear before falling under the veil of consciousness is a simple declaration. One you’ve waited months to hear.

“I love you.”

“Y/n! Hurry up!”

The whine of Jimin’s voice is louder than any car, highway, hell— aeroplane you’ve ever heard, you’re sure of it. The grip of his hand around your own is like iron, tugging you along the worn trail path, trying to urge you faster than your feet will allow.

“I’m going! I’m goin!” You chide with him, giggle leaving your lips at his hurried nature. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the spider more excited. Maybe even more so than when he strokes the bite mark scarred into your shoulder– your permanent reminder that you are his and he is yours.

“Not fast enough!” He groans, head rolling back in annoyance, “The best spot is going to get taken!”

He’s told you about this spot time and time again– excitement palpable with every mention. A beautiful clearing back at the reserve, one that the trees shine perfectly through. The best spot for basking in the whole park, as well as for begging humans for snacks.

You smile at the thought. Following as close behind him as your feet will manage. Blanket and bags of food tight in your grip. After months of paperwork, he can finally return to this place without fear they’ll take you away from him. The mate licence in your wallet proof enough of it.

He finally gets to take you to the reserve– the place he called home for so long before he met you. The place where he first learned how to be a proper spider. The first place he learned to make friends. He’s most excited about the latter part, getting to show off his shiny new mate to all of his friends. The one he caught the human way.

He’s been talking about it for days, since you first brought up the idea of visiting. Of wanting to see where he lived before he met you. Prattling on and on about everything he’s going to show you, how he’s going to introduce you to Jungkook if he can. About the waterfall over the cove that you two can swim in without anyone finding out.

All of it is a dream come true for your little spider. Your mate.

You smile at the thought– how excited he is as he helps you set up the blanket on the ground. As he helps spread food all around you. Body jittery, head twitching at every little sound.

It’s clear he’s going a little crazy with joy. Entirely ecstatic to have you here with him. Sitting across from him on the ground in a way that almost mocks the picnic you had in his basement that night months ago.

Ah, sorry. Nuptial gift ceremony. He liked it a lot better when you called it that.

“Oh! And then, after we eat, I can introduce you to the head of the park! She’s Namjoon’s mate, but she doesn’t know it yet.” He talks to himself, chatting idly about nothing as he presses another strawberry to your lips. You eagerly take it, biting down on the fruit without a second thought.

You cover your mouth with your hand as you speak, “Really? It must be difficult to confess to her, then.”

He nods his head, overexcited as he looks past you into the trees. Nose twitching as he tries to pick up a scent. Yellow tinted sunglasses high on his nose to block any light from hurting his delicate pupils.

You can’t help but think about how beautiful he is. How lucky you are to have him.

His hair has grown out since that fateful day months ago, blonde replaced by a deep blue that puts the night sky to shame. How his frame has bulked out ever so slightly. Pretty tan skin looking more healthy than ever. His head off in the clouds, trying to ground himself so he doesn’t pick you up and drag you off into the woods.

The human way is never easy for him.

“Mhmm… he’s trying but he isn’t very good at it. Doesn’t understand how humans like it to be done…” He mumbles.

“Hybrid’s do it different?”

“Yeah,” He seems a little lost in space, nose twitching harsher as he tries to recognise the exact scent he knows will be coming soon. Jungkook can never hold himself back from a picnic, no matter how far. He just wishes his nose was stronger.

“Hybrids just take their mate right away. Prove they’re a good mate and then it’s done. But human’s you have to teach.” Your shoulders drop slightly, and maybe if it wasn’t for the love you felt for him or the mate mark pressing against your neck, you would have understood the severity of his words. Of teaching a human, tricking them into making them fall.

“Oh…” You pout, head coming down to rest against his shoulder. None the wiser to the meaning behind his words, “I’m sorry… it must’ve been hard for you.”

He only shakes his head, “It’s okay. I just didn’t want you to ever be scared.”

Suddenly, Jimin is standing. Eyes darting across the underbrush that surrounds the treeline. You follow his vision, squinting slightly to try and make out exactly what he is looking at when two antennae pop over the other side of a bush. Twitching, pointing in your direction. Hunting down food as they move closer.

The insect moves close, tilting his head as he finally moves within your line of vision. Mop of brown floppy hair on his head, wide bunny eyes. Twitching nose all the same. If it wasn’t for the lack of ears and black antennae jolting from his head, you would’ve thought he was a rodent.

“Kook!” Jimin’s voice is loud as he quickly run’s to meet the boy. The other looks just as excited, eyes lighting up with stars as his legs take off in the same direction. The two fall into a puddle of laughter and play fighting as they fall to the ground in greeting.

The infamous Jungkook, an ant hybrid– the biggest ant hybrid you’ve seen, mind you. Jimin’s best friend is finally revealed. And you have to say, seeing them together. Watching as your mate attempts to playfully tie him up silks has to be the prettiest sight you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Oh my god, Min!” You laugh as Jimin struggles, the giant ant hybrid easily breaking free from the others strings. Instantly the attention is on you. Jimin leaning back to his heels, head thrown back as he whines.

“Shut up! He’s gotten stronger! My webs hold you good enough!” You continue to laugh, unaware of the ant sneaking closer. His antenna tickling your shoulder as he stares at the food in front of you. Begging for just a little taste to bring home to his colony, a little bit to make the queen happy.

You happily oblige, making room for the two of them to join you once again after their little scuffle. A reunion too cute to not try and remember forever. And just like that, conversation begins to flow easily between the three of you. Almost as if Jimin never left in the first place.

The two of them spend all afternoon catching up– Jimin reciting the story of how you two met, Jungkook opening up about the cute human that’s started to come by the park every saturday. Pulling his antennae down as he speaks, clearly embarrassed. Telling you all about how they met, about the reserve.

“Ah~ don’t mind him. Kookie’s just embarrassed cause he doesn’t know how to talk to girls.” Jimin teases, leaning over to ruffle Jungkook’s hair. His arm tightly wrapped around your frame, holding you close. “Not every day that an ant hybrid has a mate outside of their colony, you know?”

“Hyung! Shut up!” He quickly whines, eyes shooting a subtle glare towards the other. Legs kicking slightly underneath his frame. “You… know what it means… especially cause she’s human…”

“I know.” His fangs shimmer as his hand reaches out to ruffle his hair, “Don’t worry. She’ll wanna be your queen in no time.”

You nod your head in agreement, picking up another piece of fruit and popping it into your mouth. Nothing much to add to the conversation– you’ll never really understand the intricacy of hybrids and how they work. Especially those like Jungkook and Jimin.

Yet, you can’t help but feel at peace with that. At peace with them and this moment. Content with your life, content with your mate and the life you’ve built together. You hope that Jungkook can do the same with his own someday. Build a nice little colony or whatever it is that ants do.

“Mhmm, anyone would want someone as cute as you.” You smile, watching as the ant’s eyes go wide. Blush covering his cheek as he tries to pull his antenna down to cover them. Jimin instantly pounces on the other, starting a new round of play fighting. Laughing about having to defend his mates honour. That she isn’t allowed to look at any other hybrid. No one but him.

You giggle along with them, leaning back from your spot. Taking a mental picture of the scene in front of you. Jimin happy, playing. The sunset over the horizon as the three of you laugh in the woods. As Jimin no longer looks anything like that spider all those months ago.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe you did fall into his trap lined with silk. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even when you wake up in the middle of the woods. When you wake up in a cabin decorated in pretty webbing. When you come to find society is far behind you. When you discover no one else other than Jimin telling you that this is exactly what you asked for.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

⋆𐙚 if you enjoyed this fic, please consider buying me a kofi!

© all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

[nathaslosthershit]

Oh Brother(s)! (LS2) (Leclerc!Reader)

Logan Sargeant x Leclerc!Reader (Part 2 to Red, White, and Williams' Blue but can be read as a standalone) Summary: All Logan Sargeant wanted was a nice and productive conversation with the love of his life’s three annoyingly protective older brothers, was that too much to ask for? Request: Hi Natalia! Finished reading: Red, White, and Williams' Blue (LS2) (Note to self: my official comfort fic🥹), is it okay if I could request a part 2 to it? (If you do part 2’s)? Nothing specific just maybe seeing how they’re relationship is going? (You can add whatever you want to it, but that’s my idea as of now) Thank you!!! A/N: Its my fic and I get to do whatever I want with it so I say Logan Sargeant is happy and employed. I miss him so bad. This was also such a sweet request because I too really like that fic. 

“What are we going to do with him?” Charles asked his brothers, keeping his eyes on their victim sister’s boyfriend. The three Leclerc brothers were standing menacingly with their arms crossed in the living room.

Logan sat in a chair placed right in front of them. They said he wasn’t allowed to stand, and they weren’t going to sit. They didn’t want Logan thinking there was equal power between him and the brothers.

What family was he trying to marry into?

Right, that's why he was here, he came to ask Enzo, Arthur, and Charles for their sister’s hand in marriage. It felt so medieval but they were fiercely protective of her and he didn’t want to give them reason to object at the wedding. 

“Can we at least turn the lights on?” Logan begged.

“If the lights are on you won’t be scared.” Arthur replied.

“No, I think as long as it's the three of you I am talking to, I'll be frightened.” Logan didn’t actually think this, he had plenty of normal, stress free, calm conversations with them but he knew they would get an ego boost at hearing ‘how scared he was’. 

“So, you want to marry our baby sister?” Enzo asked. 

They keep asking that question as if they don’t know thats exactly why he is there.

“Considering I started this conversation off with ‘I want to ask your sister to marry me’ I think that is a safe assumption to make.”

“And you haven’t asked our maman? Why would we say yes when you don’t have the decency to go to the matriarch?” Questioned Arthur.

Logan had to come up with a good excuse for that.

“I had… I wanted to ask you all first, you are her brothers and she respects and cares what you all think. Plus I knew I’d have an easier time asking Pascale than you three.”

“Drop the attitude and maybe we will say yes.” Charles commented.

This was ridiculous, he had been there 45 minutes and still had not gotten an answer. 

“How can we trust someone who doesn’t understand why we are protective of our sister?” Enzo spoke up.

“Of course I understand but this is-”

“A perfectly reasonable response to the question you asked us.” Arthur stuck up his nose as he said this, pissing off Logan even more. All he wanted to do was marry this girl.

“But if you guys keep speaking over me than-”

“Now you are trying to silence us? We are only looking out for our baby sister and you are getting mad?” He could tell that the brothers were mostly teasing him, but he had officially run out of patience. 

“Okay! Thats enough. All three of you sit down on the couch so I can say my speech.” Logan commanded, getting up from his chair as he pointed to where he wanted the brothers to go.

Surprised, and a little intrigued at the outburst, the three sat down with nothing more than a few angry huffs.

“You all have known me as the man who is dating your sister for three years. In all of that time, was I ever rude or disrespectful to any of you?” 

The three monegasques shook their heads.

“Was I ever rude to your sister? Did I ever treat her with anything but the utmost love and care?” 

The brothers shook their heads again.

“So, I have always been nothing but kind and respectful. I have never given any of you a reason to not like nor trust me. I have been faithful and nothing but loving towards your sister. I have a career and a well paying job so you all have no reason to think she wouldn’t be taken care of. What can I do to just have you give me a simple answer?” Logan finally took a breath. He had a better speech prepared, one that had less yelling, but he didn’t have the patience anymore.

The three Leclercs stayed silent. Logan began to sweat. Maybe the yelling wasn’t the most helpful method of asking them for their permission.

He then let out a breath as the three in front of him began to smile.

It was a ‘we are totally fucking with you and are amused by your outburst’ smile.

Fucking hell, he knew it and still let them get in his head.

“Sorry Logan, we couldn’t resist. Had to see where your patience ran out for future reference now that you are a part of the family” Charles laughed while standing up to pat Logan on the back. 

It took a second to register what he said.

“So- so you all agree?” Logan asked, not sure if they were still fucking with him.

“Yes, mate, we knew you were here to ask our permission to marry her the moment you asked to meet up with us.” Enzo replied.

Behind the American, he heard feet approaching and based on the fact he saw all the color drain from the brothers’ face, he knew who it was.

All of the brothers felt their stomach drop as their sister walked into the room. She had heard everything! They had ruined their baby sister’s proposal.

The three boys began to freak out, their made up excuses overlapping with each other making it hard to hear a single word. 

Logan ran up to go hug her, spinning her around in excitement. This made everyone else go still. Why was he not upset? They had just ruined his big moment by being overprotective idiots.

At the confusion clearly displayed on their faces, their sister spoke up, “Logan may have already asked me a month ago, we just couldn’t see you in person until now so we waited to say anything.”

“I also just needed a little confirmation that you three wouldn’t kill me for proposing before I got permission from you guys. Although, to be fair, I did ask Pascale before I did anything.” Logan said

“So it was all a lie? You didn’t want to ask us first because we are the most important people?” Arthur asked.

“Are you guys serious? He has no reason to ask you three idiots first. Or at all! You are overprotective babies.” Their sister answered. 

As the Leclerc boys all spoke over each other for the second time, arguing with their sister's comment, Logan kissed his fiancé, the two blissfully unaware of what the brothers were screaming about.

And far too in love to care.

Part 3 (the wedding episode) coming soon!

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

“Don’t touch me. We’re fighting.”

Quinn pleaseeee 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

I'm gonna put a warning on this because I like it so I don't feel like rewriting it. Warning: shitty relationship with father.

Drabble Masterlist

"Don't touch me. We're fighting."

Quinn didn't seem to care that you were pissed. But pissed didn't even describe the soreness in your jaw from clenching it so tight or the fact that your body temperature was elevated or that all you wanted to do was scream. Glancing over as he stood on the other side of the kitchen island, his face was as it always was calm, his thoughts were probably collected while your brain was firing off things to add to the fire if needed, he looked like he was in control of his body while yours was being controlled by the rage inside you. Looking at Quinn only pissed you off more so you just looked away.

After a minute, you decided it was best to walk away and cool off before you said something you'd regret. Quinn on the other hand, wasn't done fighting he wanted you to understand his point of view and he didn't wanna wait till morning. As you made your way down the hall you could hear Quinn's footsteps behind you.

"Wait Y/N, Let me explain." He went to gently touch your arm in hopes that you would stop walking away from him.

He got his wish, you turned around talking through your teeth you grunted. "Don't touch me. We're fighting."

Quinn has never pulled away from you so quickly before. Even with how angry you were at him it still hurt you how fast he pulled away. Quinn was looking at the floor, for the first time showing emotion since your fight started. "I was just trying to help."

All you could do is sigh. "By telling my father off?" you question defeat clear in your voice. "Quinn I've been over this with you, my family isn't like your family. You can't just voice your opinions to my dad, especially if it's you disagreeing with him or his choices."

Quinn looked up at you finally, he frowned his eyebrows in annoyance but you knew it wasn't at you. "Well I am mad at him. He shouldn't be allowed to talk down to you and blame you for not getting along with your stepmom when all she does is talk down to you. I couldn't sit there and let her talk down to you at dinner. Okay. And I guess I'm sorry for how it came up, but I am not sorry for standing up for you."

"Quinn I know you were trying to stand up for me. But I don't need you or anyone to stand up for me, especially against my family. Okay?" you ask waiting for him to acknowledge you.

"No. I'm sorry because how can you let them tell you that you aren't as far in your career as you should be as if they helped at all with the cost of college. Or the fact that all they did all dinner was telling you everything you were doing wrong with your life?" His tone was accusing and you found yourself taking a step back, your body was exhausted and all you wanted to was get out of this ichy dress and go to bed.

"I don't wanna have this conversation tonight." you begged.

"I just don't understand why do you even keep him around Y/N!"

"Okay since you seem to not be able to understand why I let them talk that way to you let me explain it to you so we never have to talk about this again got it?" you ask waiting for Quinn to nod his head before you continue. "Look my dad might be a piece of shit, but guess what he's my piece of shit father not anyone else's. Everyone always ask me for years 'Y/N if I were you, I'd cut him off why don't you.' For a long time I didn't have an answer for them but as I got older I do and it's this. Because he might be a piece of shit but without him I wouldn't be standing here physically because he is physically half of me. And I know you have lovely parents Quinn and brothers. But not everyone does and I am terrifed that if I do cut him out all the way vs seeing him three times a year like I do now. That one day I will get a call and he will be dead and I will have regret for not at least having him in some capactiy in my life. So because of that fear of regret because I know many people who have it now since their parents passed. I keep him around and if you can't understand that fine, not everyone does."

Taking a step closer to Quinn you add, "but whether you agree or not, you don't get to judge me for the choices I've made when it comes to the relationship between my father and I. Because that is exactly what it is." Pointing to yourself. "It's MY relationship not yours and you also don't get to make it more shaky then it already is by yelling at him in the middle of the steakhouse."

Quinn and you aren't sure how long you stood in your apartment hallway, it could of been seconds it could of been minutes. At some point Quinn looked at you and said "agree to disagree." All you did was nod and you both said true to your word you never talked about your father and your relationship ever again.

[lestappen3]

Crashing Down | Part 2

pairing: Max Verstappen x Wolff!Reader x Lando Norris

word count: +/- 2500

plot: Where reader had a terrible crash two years ago, Lando broke up with her, Toto is back into his scheming ways and Max is just there.

note: thank you for all the love in part 1. I took me a little time to write part 2 and it was supposed to be longer but I felt that the end of this part was a suitable ending so it'd be split into two (lol)

I am not sure of taglists are still a thing but let me know if you want to be updated <3

part 1

masterlist

Unsurprisingly, Max won the first race of the season again. Unfortunately for you, your father kept bothering you about your little scheme on a daily basis. You had hoped he would forget about it, or more cruelly, you secretly hoped the Red Bull car to blow up or turn into a shit car overnight.

But no. Max had to do his thing and win confidently by over 20 seconds. Seeing how he almost flew across the track past you ignited a spark you forgot existed for a split second. As much as you had settled into your new role, position, or whatever you were doing alongside your father, it didn’t quite ease the itch you were having, your need for speed. Your old life as a driver felt like such a lifetime ago. A fever dream. The crash not only shattered your leg but also crushed the dreams that fueled your motivation ever since you were a little girl. You sat in silence, realising that you would never experience the thrill of being behind the wheel again. At the same time, you weren’t sure if you would ever dare to do so. It was a constant emotional battle, one that would keep you up at night.

You turned your attention back to the track when you heard the loud engine noise disrupt your late afternoon contemplation. Lando Norris raced past in his orange-coloured McLaren, skillfully following the racing line around the corner where you were seated. Your attention was fixed on his car. You were watching him become one and the same with his car, which made you feel proud. You had always believed in the McLaren driver’s talent since he entered the grid three years after you did. He approached his racing craft differently. It felt natural to you, like another limb attached to your body. You didn’t need to think, maybe that was your problem. Lando was a lot more precise. Everything needed to be perfect. Perhaps that was his flaw as well.

As you watched him carve through the empty track, you couldn’t help but feel proud of how far Lando had come. But that pride was enlaced with a deep sadness that haunted those feelings every time you stole a glance at him. Every time you locked eyes, it was a reminder of the life you had once been a part of, and now it was a world, a life, you psychically couldn’t touch anymore. And you had to watch from a distance as Lando Norris chased his dreams.

It had been two years since the last time you raced together. The last time you both held the title of Formula 1 drivers, did shoots, did press, and sometimes even pissed off your PR managers. You shared the same dreams, the same thoughts and the same annoyances. You had been partners on and off the track, creating a tough bond to break. It made things easy and challenging at the same time. Your relationship was good. It was still a secret, but you spent the rest of the time together at the race weekends and the days after. You were talking about strategy, which you actually weren’t allowed to, laughing about inside jokes, and being there for one another whenever one of you had a terrible weekend. It felt like Lando and you were invincible until everything suddenly stopped.

No matter how much you tried to deny it, to shake it off like it didn’t matter, there would always be this ache or emptiness of seeing Lando, the boy you once loved, live the life you had imagined for each other. Moments like this, where the roaring sound of a car’s engine at full speed on an empty track where the sun was slowly setting, made you doubt if you could ever adjust to the life you were forced to live.

You were supposed to compete at the highest level, pushing each other to your limits. Win races, perhaps even championships. Go public…

Now, Lando was still competing in races around the world, living the dream you shared from a young age. Meanwhile, you found yourself stuck watching from the sidelines, longing to be out on the same track, the deafening sound of the engine in your ears, but held back by the broken leg, the most significant consequence of your crash.

And then there were the off-track part of your feelings, quite a bit more complicated. Even though you both had agreed to move on, in Lando’s case, pretend like nothing had happened in the first place, you still felt connected to the young McLaren driver. But he was with someone else now. Her name was Hailey. About five-three, just his type. And in contrast to your relationship, where he’d only kept you for his eyes only, she was all over his Instagram story.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, pulling you from your deep thoughts. It was a text from your father: “Meeting in five. Don’t be late.”

You grunted as you struggled to stand up, your hand supporting your knee that had taken a hard blow during the crash. Based on the grunts you were making, people would have assumed you were reaching your forties or worse. It was time to focus. There was no need to dwell on something beyond your control when there was something else you could make a difference in, which was recruiting Max Verstappen to Mercedes. At least this was achievable, you thought, but it wouldn’t be easy.

From being karting friends to training buddies and eventually your biggest competitor, Max has always played an essential role in your career. Regardless of his role on the track, he’d always been a friend off the track. However, lately, it feels like something had changed. Whenever the two of you were together, there was a tension that wasn’t there before, and it was becoming harder to ignore. Perhaps it was because you were starting to feel uncomfortable whenever he was around. After all, you were hiding a secret from him, which was never the case before. Your father had become even pushier since Max won so dominantly in Bahrein. You understood why. It made sense strategically. He was one of the strongest, most driven drivers on the grid, and it would definitely help secure Mercedes’ chances for new trophies in the upcoming years. However, it wasn’t that black and white for you.

As you entered the Mercedes motorhome, you spotted Max in conversation with your father. Max’s tall figure appeared relaxed, his arms casually crossed as he listened to Toto. You paused in the doorway, your heart beating, and you tried to catch your breath. It felt like the clock had stopped ticking, and everything except for Max and you had stopped moving. And then the clock moved at triple speed, but you stood frozen while your hand tried to search for something close by to hold on to. Your hand successfully reached the doorpost of one of the first rooms in the motorhome. Before Max could turn and see you, you took a small step back, pressing yourself against the wall, hiding from the Red Bull boy and your father. A part of you wanted to leave entirely before either of them could notice you so you wouldn’t have to deal with the awkward situation you were about to enter. After everything, the crash, the breakup with Lando, you didn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with this ‘will they, won’t they’ situation with Max and your father.

On the other hand, you wanted to close the distance and join their conversation since they were the people you felt most comfortable with. You knew Max would understand if you explained what was happening, he always did. But you couldn’t lie to yourself, and you had doubts this time. You tried to sneakily look past the wall to the place where both men were still deeply in conversation with each other. Your fingers clenched in a fist as your pulse was quickening again.

As you tried to calm yourself down, you didn’t notice Max glanced up and found you almost instantly. His blue eyes locked into yours a little longer than necessary.

“What are you doing?” Max called to you, an easy smile on his face.

You felt caught as your cheeks turned slightly pink. “I- I-” Before you could answer Max, your father came to the rescue and said, “I asked her to join us.”

Sheepishly, you emerged from your hiding spot, your cheeks even redder than before. You motioned a silent ‘thank you’ to your father for helping you recover from this slightly embarrassing manoeuvre. “What were you talking about?” you asked both men, but your gaze stuck on Max.

“I was just telling Toto how much I’m looking forward to tomorrow. The car felt good today, but I had some suggestions for improvements,” Max explained.

“It’s never good enough, is it,” you teased lightly, trying to ignore the underlying tension.

“Never,” Max replied, his eyes sparkling.

Your father began walking towards one of the conference rooms in the motorhome. Max and you followed him like two lost puppies. When you reached the room, Toto asked you both to sit down.

“As much as I am happy to discuss the upcoming race, I have invited you, Max, to discuss important matters. Particularly for next season,” your father said, his voice firm and his figure straight, serious, and businesslike. Your gaze continued to switch between the two men in the room. Your heart was racing, and your palms started to sweat so much you had to hide them underneath the seat of the chair you were sitting on.

“Max, I know you have been very vocal about staying at Red Bull until the end of your contract. I respect your loyalty towards Helmut Marko, but I think there’s an opportunity that could benefit both of us.” Your pulse quickened even faster as your father explained his plans towards the Red Bull Racing driver. “One of my biggest regrets in my career is not having given you a better deal when I had the chance to. I wish to make it up to you.”

You had to hand it to your father. He knew how to persuade someone to accept a deal. It would have worked for you as well. If you were in Max’s shoes, you wouldn’t have known how quickly to make the switch. However, you were also impulsive and didn’t take the time for important decisions as you probably should at times.

While your mind raced to other places, you could see a flicker of hesitation in Max’s eyes. Mercedes and Toto were prepared to drop their plans for Max and meet his needs wherever they could. The deal and the opportunity were more tempting than anything you had encountered before in your years as a Formula 1 driver. Not that anyone had the guts ever to recruit you as a driver since your future was set ever since you were a little girl. Nonetheless, your father was prepared to lay all his cards on the table. Your father’s plan for Mercedes and Max could change the course of Max’s career.

But for Max, it was more than money or prestige. Of course, he wanted the best car on the grid, but so did the 19 other drivers. Who wouldn’t? For him, loyalty was also crucial, possibly the most important thing. Since his Formula 1 debut, Max has been loyal to Helmut Marko, director and head of Red Bull’s driver development programme. You knew how much that man meant to Max, and convincing him to leave wouldn’t be easy. It seemed nearly impossible, you thought after contemplating it.

As you drifted off again, your father finished his pitch and leaned back into his chair, his sharp eyes on the younger boy opposite him. “Think about it,” he said. “Mercedes is your future.”

Max shifted in his seat, his gaze flicking between you and your father. “I’m not going to lie. It’s a tempting offer, Toto,” he muttered. “But-” You heard him release a deep sigh before he continued, “It’s not an easy decision,” he admitted, confirming your previous thoughts.

You squinted your eyes as you were looking at Max. His conflict was noticeable. You couldn’t read a definitive ‘yes’ or ‘no’ on his face. And you knew him well enough that his loyalty wasn’t the only factor weighing on him. There was something more, something he wasn’t telling you.

“I-” you stuttered, trying to fill the silence in the room that made you heavily uncomfortable.

“It’s as much news to her as it is to you,” your father intervened, “I apologise for bursting in like this, but it couldn’t wait any longer.”

You looked at your father in disbelief. It felt as if your eyes were about to fall out of their sockets, your mouth wide open, and your face red as a tomato. What was he talking about? What was he doing? Who did he think he was, completely disregarding you in this situation and leaving you in an uncomfortable predicament?

Before you could say anything else, your father announced the meeting would end. He explained he had another one to attend. One, you weren’t required to attend with him. Max and you stayed behind as your father left the room. It was silent for a few minutes as both of you contemplated what to say. “Do you want me to leave Red Bull and come to Mercedes?” Max asked, turning to you. His voice was softer than usual.

You swallowed as you nervously played with the sleeve of your shirt. “I don’t know, Max. I don’t think I can make this decision for you,” you replied to him in the same soft tone. “I mean, my loyalties lie to the team. My history was set in stone, and then it all changed. I- I think it’s time to do what you want, damn whatever anyone else is thinking.”

Max rolled his chair a little closer, his eyes searching yours in desperation. “Whatever I want, huh?” His words hung in the air, making it impossible to look away. It felt like your eyes were stuck on his, gawking at him. His words kept repeating in your head as you tried to figure out how to reply. “It’s complicated,” you finally answered, barely above a whisper, filling the silence in the room.

Max’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he would pursue the conversation further. Then he sighed deeply and ran a hand through his messy hair in frustration.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “It always is.”

[scary-grace]

#61 for man door hand hook car door

Hi Scarlett! Thank you so much for the prompt from this list (I'm still taking these!). This one took me a bit but I hope you like it! No quirks AU, fluff, sickfic, totally not inspired by anything happening in real life. 2.3k words.

61) “I’ll pick it up after work.”

Your phone rings while you’re on your lunch break, and you pick it up without looking. “Hey, this is –”

“Kill me.”

It’s your boyfriend. Your boyfriend never calls – only texts, because he needs to edit himself before he sends anything. “Hey, Tomura. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Tomura’s usually raspy voice sounds distinctly nasal. “I was mouth-breathing on you all night. How did you not smother me?”

“Would you have smothered me?”

“No,” Tomura groans. “It wouldn’t be any different than your snoring.”

“I don’t snore!”

“Yes, you do. I like it. It’s cheaper than buying a white-noise machine.” Tomura coughs. It sounds like he’s making an effort not to cough into the phone, but it’s not much of one. “This sucks.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’m really sorry. You wouldn’t have gotten it if I hadn’t made us go to that party.”

“Yeah, maybe not.” Tomura coughs again. “But we agreed. Rules are rules.”

You knew when you and Tomura started dating that he wasn’t much for parties, but he was also able to admit that the occasional party is necessary, and you used one of the three parties you’re allowed to drag him to per year on bringing him to your friend’s engagement party. Said engagement party got a little messy. A little rowdy. A little drink-sharey, which you’re pretty sure is what got Tomura – during some horrible round of mystery cocktail hot potato, he somehow got stuck finishing almost every drink. You helped him out with most of them, but your immune system is bombproof. If one of you was going to get sick, it was always going to be him.

He went to work yesterday, but stayed home today. He was worse this morning than he was last night. “Rules are rules, but I still feel bad,” you say. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Come home and kill me.”

“Other than that,” you say, and Tomura grumbles. “Seriously. Is there something?”

It’s quiet for a second. “Yeah,” Tomura admits. “If you’re not going to kill me –”

“I’m not.”

“Can you grab my stupid prescription? I went to the urgent care and they sent it to the wrong pharmacy.” Tomura’s coughing gets louder, then softer, while you try to avoid saying something dumb out of sheer shock that he’d go to the doctor at all. “It’s far away and I’m tired. Can you grab it?”

“Which pharmacy?” You put your phone on speaker and look up the address. “That’s on the other side of the city. How did they mess it up that bad?”

“Maybe I said it wrong. I forgot my address for a second when I was checking in,” Tomura mumbles. “It sucked in there. It took forever to get seen because there were a bunch of kids ahead of me with marbles stuck up their noses.”

“With – what?”

“Marbles. Up their noses. At a sleepover. It was a dare,” Tomura says. You can hear just how pissed he is about it – or how pissed he would be, if he wasn’t too fatigued to be pissed. “I don’t know why they got to be seen first. My breathing was more obstructed than theirs.”

You try to imagine this – your sick, crabby boyfriend sharing a waiting room with a birthday party’s worth of kids with marbles jammed up their nostrils. It’s hard to picture. “Did you have to wait a while?”

“It felt like a while,” Tomura says. “Wish you’d been there. It would have sucked less.”

If he’d told you he was going, you’d probably have taken off work to go with him. “I wish I’d been there, too,” you say. You lean back against the wall. “I’ll pick it up after work. Is there anything else you need?”

“A cyanide capsule.”

“I don’t think they sell those at the convenience store,” you say. Tomura grumbles again, and you pause for a moment. “Promise me something. Before you kill yourself, at least let me go on a quest to far distant lands to retrieve the cure.”

“I asked you to get the antibiotics, didn’t I?” Tomura’s voice is muffled. “Problem solved.”

“Not just this time. Any time, Tomura,” you say. You and he have had this conversation before, and you’ve gotten better at talking about it. You know his jokes about killing himself are jokes, but you also know they’re a habit, and it’s not a good habit to be in. “Always give me a shot at the quest first.”

“Yeah.” Tomura’s voice is quieter. “You’re busy, right? Go do something or they’ll make you stay later.”

You don’t want to get off the phone, but you do need to eat. And then you need to race through the rest of your work for the day – or do you? Either way, you need to get off the phone. You check the address for the pharmacy one more time. “Okay. I have to go. Just try to rest.”

“I should have gotten you sick, too.” Tomura sounds incredibly mopey, which is what you’d be, if you had the symptoms he’s having. “Then you’d have to stay home with me.”

“Okay, but if I was sick, who would take care of you?”

“Me.”

“You’re also sick.”

“Shit.” Tomura’s hitting his head against the pillow. You can tell by the rustling. “I’m hanging up before I say anything else stupid. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” you say. You hang up the phone. Then you go back inside to talk to your boss.

_________________________________________________________

Tomura shouldn’t have gone to the stupid urgent care. He got the prescription, sure, but it came at the cost of an hour in a packed waiting room, three separate lectures about getting a primary care provider, a cotton swab down the back of his throat to check for strep even though he doesn’t have a sore throat, and a bunch of questions that weren’t even sort of relevant to why he was there. It sapped all his energy and probably exposed him to twenty more diseases than he already has, and he didn’t even get the antibiotics. He had to ask you to get them, and that means it’ll be even longer before you get home.

Tomura’s not an idiot. He knows you don’t have some kind of magical healing powers that can make his headache and cough and congestion go away just by touching him, but he feels better when you’re here, no matter what you’re doing, no matter what’s wrong with him. Tomura’s not an idiot, but he’s also not naïve. He knows he was shooting for the moon when he slid into your DMs. He never expected it to work.

And part of him is still convinced it hasn’t worked, even though you’ve been together for two years and living together for one. It’s not his low self-esteem telling him you’re too good for him – it’s observable fact. You’re smart and hardworking but sneaky about it, so you never have to do more work than you have to, and you’re pretty and cute but you’re also hot, which are things that should go together but don’t go together in real life, and Tomura knows that whenever people look at the two of you together they’re asking themselves the same question. What are you doing? What are you doing with him?

Tomura asks himself that same question every week or so. He still hasn’t worked it out. But he has a feeling it has to do with the fact that he’s able to pull his weight, which he hasn’t been doing since Sunday morning, when he woke up the morning after your stupid friend’s engagement party with an itch in the back of his throat. And then he piled on by making you pick up his prescription. You must be pissed. So what if you didn’t sound pissed on the phone? You must be. Tomura would – no, Tomura wouldn’t. He likes when he can do stuff for you, because it makes you happy, and he wants you to be happy, because he loves you. What is he thinking?

Nothing that makes any sense, so he should probably stop. Tomura brushes the piles of wadded-up tissues into the wastebasket by the bed, then curls up under the blankets on your side. He should get some sleep. It’s just past noon. You’re not going to be home until six. Maybe he’ll feel a little better on the other side of a six-hour nap.

Tomura falls asleep facing your digital alarm clock, so when he hears the apartment door unlock itself and opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the time. It’s not six. It’s two. Why are you home so early? He can tell that you’re trying to be quiet as you take off your shoes. Maybe you’re trying not to wake him, but he’s already awake. He should let you know

“You –” Tomura starts, then coughs. His voice still sounds like shit, so he coughs again, which turns into a coughing fit, and by then you’re in the doorway. He peers at you through eyes that feel blurrier than they should. “You came back early.”

“I really shouldn’t have gone in at all today,” you say. “When I told my boss your symptoms, she sent me home. Apparently I could be contagious.”

You’re smirking a little bit. Tomura has a feeling you did more than just tell your boss his symptoms, but he doesn’t give a shit. You’re home. “I got your prescription,” you continue, shaking a paper bag, “and I got frozen yogurt instead of a probiotic so you don’t have to take an extra pill. I also got fancy tissues – and ingredients for real ramen if you want that and instant ramen if you don’t – and –”

All of that was one bag. Tomura recognizes the other one instantly – it’s from his favorite game store. “What did you do?”

“New headset,” you say. “You keep saying the one you have hurts your head. If it hurts your head on a regular basis, it probably hurts it even more now – and I know the one you want, so I figured I’d get it. In case you felt like gaming at all.”

Tomura should probably say something. Thank you would probably be a good start, but all he can do is stare at you and cough a little bit. You don’t seem worried about it. You duck out of the bedroom, then come back with a glass of water, a cup of frozen yogurt, and a spoon. You set the antibiotics down next to it and head over to the closet to change out of your work clothes.

Tomura tries to pay attention to the frozen yogurt – using a spoon feels like it requires all of his concentration right now – but he can’t stop glancing over at you. You look good in your work clothes, but Tomura likes it best when you’re comfortable, because you always look good to him and when you’re comfortable you don’t waste time worrying about it. It doesn’t hurt that most of your comfortable clothes were Tomura’s clothes at some point. The pajamas you settle on are half-yours, half-his. Your shorts, which Tomura likes because the elastic waistband is easier to get through than a drawstring is, and his shirt, which he likes because you stole it from him within the first month the two of you were dating and never gave it back.

It takes a spoonful of yogurt nearly sliding off the spoon and into his lap for Tomura to remember what he’s supposed to be doing. He shovels in a few more bites of yogurt, then downs the pill and flops back on the bed, just as you get into bed on what’s usually his side. “You stole my spot,” you say. “What’s that about?”

“Your side is better.”

“That’s not what you said when we moved in,” you point out. “You talked a lot of shit about my side being the worst one.”

“It is. Usually.” Tomura doesn’t want to admit this. He feels like a dumbass. “It smells like you.”

You look surprised. “You can smell stuff right now?”

“Only on one side,” Tomura says, and you laugh. You come closer, too, settling down in bed next to him, and wrapping your arms carefully around him. “You sure you want to do this? What if you get sick?”

“You’ll be done being sick by the time I get it, if I get it,” you say. You kiss Tomura’s cheek, then test his forehead with the back of your hand before brushing his hair out of his face. “I don’t think I will. But if I do get it, then you can take care of me.”

Tomura thinks he could do that. He wouldn’t be as good at it as you are, but you’re giving him a really good tutorial right now. He’s paying attention. Sort of. “I’d say I’m looking forward to it, but you’d have to get sick, so I’m not. Because I don’t want you to be sick. But I would take care of you. I want to, but I don’t want to have to, if that makes sense. It doesn’t make sense. I just – fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re smiling at him. “Just get some rest. I could use a nap, too.”

“Yeah.” Tomura wants to talk to you more, wants to hear how your day was going before he ruined it, but now that you’re here, all he wants is to sleep. He sleeps better when you’re here. “Okay.”

The coughing’s not as bad when he isn’t trying to talk. Tomura closes his eyes and slumps against you. “Love you,” he mumbles, and he stays awake just long enough to hear you say it back.

[lilylovestowrite]

AN ECCENTRIC'S ENTROPY ୨♡୧

PAIRING: (Dr Ratio x Professor! Reader)

WARNINGS: Suggestive

SYNOPSIS: For people who get into each other's pants a lot, you sure do know how to piss each other off...

WORD COUNT: 1k

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Entropy: The measure of the degree of disorder within a substance

“Will you stop your incessant whining?” Dr. Veritas Ratio groans, “I’d have thought spending more time with me would have caused your IQ to surpass at least a vegetable.” You roll your eyes and slam your new research paper down on your colleague's desk. 

“If you didn’t want to be surrounded by idiots, you shouldn’t have decided to teach at a university. Even if Stellaron University is prestigious, you’re still teaching barely adults.” You sigh with faux pity. “But I guess you didn’t think that far, poor Dr. Ratio.” Mockingly, you pet his head, the silky locks of violet slipping through your fingers as he grabs your wrist and forces it back on the desk. 

“I’m not reading your paper.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed and a scoff leaves his lips. Even though he looks up at you from his desk, the way he reclines on his chair so casually makes you feel small. It has always been like this. Veritas and his obnoxious attitude driving you up the walls. A prodigy yourself, the pursuit of knowledge has never been a struggle to you. Yes, it was challenging, but that was part of the fun. The thrill of tearing apart a formula and sinking your teeth in until it churns out a set of numbers that you like.  This allowed you to be the top professor at Stellaron for almost three years straight, until Veritas. Veritas, who opposes almost everything that you do, from the way you prefer to use a whiteboard and pen and him a blackboard and chalk. The way your coffee is dark and his is sweetened with milk and sugar to the point it doesn’t even look like coffee anymore. You didn’t have a problem with this until he published a scientific paper which had quoted your own paper published a month prior, and pointed out how it was not mathematically viable. You still remember the smirk he wore on his face when he emailed you the manuscript for peer review, the audacity of this man to ask you to proofread the very paper he dedicated hours to just to prove your own wrong! 

Naturally, your response is to ask him to do the same. But not with one email, but with twenty scheduled emails every other day. Sometimes, you like to add little emojis to the subject of your emails, and other times you embed links into the email that isn’t your paper, but wikihow articles. This pettiness has caused many encounters with him, some ending rather… intimately. 

Of course, Veritas has not proofread your paper, and you don’t expect him to, so he has no idea how much you’ve referenced his paper and disproved it. But you know how much it ticks him off regardless, the urge to tear through each of your arguments, even if logically speaking, arguing with you is  a waste of time. This degree of disorder is what drives him crazy. You sew chaos into his life as he does to yours, and as the entropy of a heating substance increases the entropy of its surroundings, so too does the tension-filled competitiveness from one of you, causes the other to maniacally lust to overpower the other. 

“Come on, read it. I know you want to.” You slide the paper closer to him, your hands sliding across the epoxy finish of the oak desk. “Unless�� You’re scared I’m right.” He stares up at you with eyes the same hue of gold as the award trophies that line the shelves of his classroom, and cocks a brow. He stands up, leaning over the desk and moving his face closer to yours. His cologne almost overpowers your perfume, the musky scent of pinewood and berries he reserves for winter mixing with your vanilla scented perfume, and it sends you into overdrive.

“Oh? I think someone is too overconfident.” He remarks. You’ve noticed that there’s always something up his sleeve, something that he uses at the last minute to defeat you, but you’re getting better at recognising his patterns. And the way his deep voice becomes breathier, softer, akin to a snake’s sinister hiss, you understand that you’ve gotten under his skin. 

“You don’t think enough, Veritas, that’s your writing skills are bare bones and your papers hard to understand.” 

“Shut that mouth of yours.” He grits his teeth further, finally sitting on the edge of his desk and flipping over your paper. You let out a small laugh and sit at his chair. He looks down at you disapprovingly as you do so, but you pay no mind to the fact you’ve sat yourself down on his throne, because your paper will definitely take him down a peg or two. 

“In your bibliography, you spelt ‘accessed’ on your third source wrong.” He points out, taking a red pen from his desk and removing the cap with his teeth, circling the typo as you burn with humiliation. “Oh my, your spacing for the first page and last page are different. How irritating it must be for your readers to be accustomed to one layout and then switch to another.”

“It is just spacing, Veritas.”

“It’s more than that, dear, people like some organisation in their scientific papers. And your way of writing is chaotic! I should have known just by your handwriting and layout in sums.” He tuts, petting your head in faux pity just as you did to him seconds ago.  

“Read the damn paper, Dr. Ratio.” You grit your teeth, now irritated that you’ve dedicated hours and hours bashing him in the footnotes, researching just so he can get a taste of his own medicine, for you to be corrected on your formatting. 

“Patience.” There is something downright Dionysean about his voice, if it were a colour, it would be the seductive shade of red wine, and just as addictive. Addictive like the many times where you two have come too close for comfort, like the one time you two were locked in the storage closet together, and you felt his strong arms encase your body as he helped you push the door open from behind. Or this one time at a work event where he made fun of your table manners and swiped ice cream off of your lips to prove his point. It made you feel red hot, just like the colour of his voice, and the way he acts too hot around you, too excitable. And you wanted more. To make a man who is cold and reserved morph into a competitive beast  raring to go and one up you at every turn is no small feat. The dichotomy makes your head spin, and this side of him only you know wants to make you explore him more. And you know just from the way he cocks his head and slides off the desk, that he’s switching from sub-zero aloofness to scorching hot opposition. 

He grabs the arms of the chair you sit in to push it so far it hits the wall so you are cornered against the blackboard. 

“Actually.” He muses, tilting your head up and sliding your hair to one side. “I want you to read it.” He whispers, breath hot against your ear. “Read it, and I’ll give you,” he encircles your waist with one hand, “appropriate feedback.” 

He hands you the manuscript, and kisses your neck softly. His other hand, now free, unzips your skirt and you gasp as his fingers venture between your legs. 

“Start reading. You’re good at running your mouth, aren’t you? Let’s see how long that attitude lasts…”

[pretty-blkgirl]

Soul’s Desire [Ch. 29]

- Masterlist -

A/N: Contains a written part. There is a TW for this chapter. Scenes of physical assault are present, it’s also a very heavy chapter in general. Please be mindful and don’t read anything that may upset you!!!

~~~~|~~~~

“This is a cute place,” Your mom remarked when you three stepped into the house. Hyunjin was standing close to you, already a little put off by your mother, considering she asked him what business he had been doing at your apartment less than three minutes prior.

When he explained he was a ���friend” of yours, your mom rolled her eyes and told him you couldn’t have possibly had so many friends.

Hyunjin was done with her after that, but you still allowed her in the dorm despite his looks of disapproval.

“Thank you,” You said, “Yumi and Hana decorated it for the most part. They have an eye for-”

“You have no pictures of me and you” Your mom frowned as she looked at the photo wall you and the girls had.

To be fair, there were no pictures of any of you guys’ families. The wall was only meant for pictures of you and the group.

“I have a picture of us in my room” You revealed, “I’ll show it to you”

“I want a picture of us out here though.”

“Let’s go see the picture,” Hyunjin smiled. To your mom, he looked polite, to you, he looked beyond pissed.

You set the food down and took them to your room. After setting your purse down, you pointed in the direction of your bedside table. As you said, there was a picture of you and your mom. It was an older picture, you were maybe one or two years old, but it was a picture nonetheless.

“That’s nice” She mumbled

You took your guests back to the dining room to finally eat lunch. You wanted your mom to leave quickly, you could tell her mood had soured for whatever reason and you didn’t want to deal with that.

As you three ate, she started to get a little antsy, which made you nervous.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine baby” She grinned, but her leg shook violently and she kept looking back towards the hallway.

“You sure?”

“Well” She sighed, “Can I use the restroom?”

“Of course” You nodded, “Do you remember the way to my room? The bathroom is right across from it”

She nodded and stood up, excusing herself and leaving you and Hyunjin alone.

Once he was sure he heard a door close, Hyunjin gave you a look

“I know that’s your mother, and I’d never disrespect her, but… I don’t like her!” He whispered, “I don’t know baby, she just gives off this….vibe. It’s a bad vibe, she seems so spiteful”

You crossed your arms, taking in Hyunjin’s words as you replayed the last couple of days in your mind.

Her whole demeanor just didn’t sit right with you. Either she was too sweet or very passive-aggressive. A few times she swore at you, and you could tell she hadn’t really changed.

At least, she didn’t change enough for you.

“She’s supposed to leave in a couple of days. I think I’m gonna do low contact. I don’t think she grew as a person. It’s like she’s trying to appease me”

You two continued to talk. Five minutes went by. Then ten. Then twenty.

“Why isn’t she out yet?” you asked your boyfriend, who looked just as concerned as you

“Let’s go check on her”

You got up with Hyunjin following close behind. As you walked up to the bathroom, you noticed the door was slightly ajar and the light was off.

You peeked in and didn’t see anyone there.

Then, you noticed your bedroom door was closed. You knew you left it open when you three walked out earlier.

A bad feeling settled in your stomach as you barged into your room.

The first thing you saw was your clothes all over the floor. Your shirts, pants, shorts, and even underwear were scattered everywhere.

Naturally, your drawers were opened, some even fully emptied. Your closet was ransacked and you saw a pile of coats and purses on the floor.

Pieces of paper were crumpled up in a pile, and a dark blue journal was close by, so you immediately knew your diary had been destroyed.

All your posters had been ripped down. All the pictures Hyunjin drew for you were torn apart.

Every love song Han wrote for you that you taped up, destroyed.

Every Polaroid you took with I.N., was destroyed.

The pictures of Soonie, Doognie, and Dori that Lee Know gave to you that featured little words of encouragement on them, were destroyed.

Love poems from Seungmin

Sticky notes with reminders to “keep being cute” or “keep doing well” from Changbin

Origami boats from Felix

And every single flower Chan had ever gotten for you.

He knew you loved roses, and he insisted on getting you real ones even though you couldn’t take care of them.

They were dead and fragile, but you still kept them in a vase just for memory's sake.

Now they lay on the floor. Crushed.

The very last thing you saw was your mother, sitting on your bed, with your wallet in one hand and your debit cards and cash in the other.

“Wow” is all you said

Hyunjin felt your rage build up. The symbol was practically burning a hole through his palm. He knew the other boys could feel it, and they were probably calling and texting you both non-stop.

Your phones were in the other room though, and honestly, you couldn’t give a damn about answering a phone at that moment.

All you felt was pure anger.

All of a sudden you were fifteen years old again, watching your mom demolish your room after she found out you kissed a boy at a school dance.

Then you were twenty, right before you left for Korea, watching her smash every plate, vase, and picture frame she could get her hands on after she learned that you’d be “abandoning her”

You don’t know what set her off this time. You didn’t want to know.

“How could I be so damn stupid?” You wondered aloud, “Why didn’t I tell you to go fuck yourself the moment I found out you showed up at my fucking place of work?”

“Watch your mouth, girl” Your mother snapped, still holding your things in her hands.

“Nah, FUCK THAT. I allowed you to waltz your ass back into my life and this is how you repay me? Wrecking my room? Ruining everything I cherish most?”

You walked further into the room, slowly getting closer to your mother.

Hyunjin knew you were about to do something drastic, so he sprung into action, grabbing your arm before you had a chance to raise it.

Your mom seemingly took this as a challenge. She threw your money and cards down, standing up and getting in your face.

“I read your little diary. I saw all the things you said about me. You think I’m a failure as a mother? You think I don’t give a fuck about you, huh? You called me a narcissistic bitch. I’ll show you a bitch alright”

Her hand raised and she slapped you.

It was so quick, you could barely process what had happened. Hyunjin, though, moved you behind him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He fumed, “Don’t you ever put your fucking hands on her again”

“Please move Hyunjin” You trembled, hands visibly shaking as he continued to yell profanities at your mother.

“No! I’m gonna call the fucking police, you think you’re gonna get away with hitting her? Are you fucking dumb?”

“Hyunjin leave the room please”

“Y/n she HIT YOU! I’M NOT LEAVING YOU ALONE WITH HER”

“Please leave and call Rose. Tell her I need an NDA and my mom on the next flight back home”

He was about to argue more, but you gave him a look so desperate he wouldn’t dare to talk back. Hyunjin begrudgingly left, but made sure to leave the door wide open just in case he needed to rush back in.

When he was gone, you faced your mother.

You loved her.

You loved her so much.

Despite how much she mistreated and hurt you, all you wanted was for her to love you back.

You needed her approval, you craved her attention. But the moment she had the nerve -the audacity- to hit you, any hope for reconciliation was out the window.

“My manager will be here any second. You are going to sign an NDA because I don’t trust you won’t try to make money off this situation. Once you sign it, you will get the fuck out of my house. Someone will drive you to your Airbnb, you will get your shit, and you will go back home. As soon as you’re out my eyesight I’m getting rid of any and every trace of you. After today, you will not be able to get a hold of me again. And I swear to God, if you ever find yourself thinking you’re gonna try and ruin my life any more than you already have, I’ll get a lawyer and sue your ass so quickly that you won’t even have a pot to piss in by the time I’m through with you.”

As if on cue, Hyunjin walks back in with Rose.

“Y/nnie? What happened? I got here as quick as I could- what happened to your room? Is your face bruised up?”

“Do you have the NDA, Rose?”

“Yes, I mean I have a regular one? What did you want one for specifically?”

“What are the guidelines in that one?”

She quickly skimmed through the papers, “The person who signs it can’t reveal any details about any situation that could harm the artist’s reputation or image in any way, with certain stipulations of course”

“Let’s say my mom destroyed my room, hit, and planned to rob me. If she signed those documents, would she be able to talk about it in exchange for money or even…exposure?”

Rose was quiet for a few seconds, finally understanding the gravity of the situation

“No” She finally said, “Not unless she wanted to get a couple of lawsuits”

“What if she made up a story to try and harm my reputation?”

“That wouldn’t be a very smart thing to do, especially if she planned on living a peaceful life”

You wordlessly took the papers and grabbed a pen off your desk, giving both the items to your mom. With a look of disbelief mixed with hatred, she signed the papers and threw them on the floor.

“You were a mistake” She sneered, “I hate you”

You thought your heart would break, you thought you would crumble at her words, but you simply nodded.

“Goodbye Mom”

Rose escorted her out, and you finally started to feel the warm sensation on your cheek.

Your legs were wobbly, and they gave out after a few seconds. Hyunjin was at your side instantly, holding you as you started to sob violently.

~~~~|~~~~

Taglist: @chuuyaobsessed @h0rnyp0t @prttyxbby @yukichan67 @hanniemylovelyquokka @xxeiraxx @loveforlee444 @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @cunninglibrarian @holly-here @galaxy4489 @hyunmikim @yougottobekittenme @hyeon-yi @katsukis1wife @multi-fandom-nightmare @staybabblingbaby @kozumesphone @fuck-you-im-gae @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @champagneconfetti

[girliism]

childhood friends to lovers: patrick zweig x reader. og prompt mixed with this

you and patrick have been best friends since the beginning of time. you grew up and did everything together. you lost your first tooth together (the same one), you guys accidentally got high together for the first time when patrick’s older brother left his brownies on the counter and the two of you ate three each, you even let him convince you to join the tennis club with him. there wasn’t anything you guys wouldn’t do for each other.

your budding crush on patrick was some what of a deep shameful secret you had. it wasn’t supposed to happen but it did. you tried to ignore it, you tried to ignore the way you cheeks would blush when patrick complimented you or how it felt like a war was wagging in your stomach when he even looked your way. the crush only got worse when you impulsively kissed him at fourteen.

patrick had been grounded and not allowed to leave his room but his mom had a soft spot for you so she let you visit him. “hey.” you walked into his room like it was your own. patrick sat on his bed ‘reading’, his left eye had a nasty bruise on it. “how’s your face?” you asked, setting on his bed. patrick shrugged. “it’s fine. kinda itches.” he said, looking up at you. “why would you even attack him? he’s taller than you you would’ve never won.” you scolded him. “i didn’t care about winning ok. i couldn’t just let him say that.” “say what?” you were confused, patrick wasn’t the type to just start fights out of nowhere. patrick slammed his book shut and tossed it away. “just stupid stuff. stupid boy stuff about you and it pissed me off so i hit him.” patrick said like it was nothing. he hit someone for you? “you hit someone for me?” you whispered. “yeah, i mean it was nothing, i’d do it again-” you cut him off by pushing your lips onto his. you’ve never kissed anyone before but what you were doing felt right. you pulled away first and let an awkward silence fill the room. neither of you said anything. your lips tingled and your heart pounded. “thanks.” you whispered. patrick shook his head. “don’t mention it.”

that kiss seriously messed with patrick’s head. he thought his eight year old self had successfully pushed down whatever feelings he had for you, but then you kissed him and patrick wanted you to keep kissing him. except he couldn’t do that, you were his best friend, what if something went wrong between the two of you and you never talked again. so patrick pushed his feelings down again and started dating this girl that liked him.

patrick’s first of many girlfriends. it was pathetic, you don’t think you’ve ever cried as hard as you did when patrick introduced you to her a day after the kiss happened. what’s worse is that she was actually nice and sacrificed her self respect to stay with patrick even after all her friends would make comments not understanding how she could be so chill about yours and patrick’s closeness.

“look at them, his hand is literally caressing her back.” one of her friends pointed out as they watched the two of you from afar. a blind man could see that there was something between you two. every time patrick wasn’t looking you’d sneak glance at him quickly turning away, and when you weren’t looking patrick would sneak a glance at you, his eyes soaking up every little detail about you. she broke up with him that next day.

being friends with patrick during his fuckboy era was hell for you. you were still disgustingly in love with him even though you knew it would go no where, so having to sit through him recounting whatever hook up he had the night before was like a knife to the gut. “the girls i fuck never have good feet.” patrick randomly said. he was sitting on the edge of your bed painting your toes while you studied for the both of you. “what?” you laughed. “i’m just saying the girl i saw last week needed a spa appointment immediately, but you… you have nice feet.” patrick complimenting your feet shouldn’t have made you blush the way it did. “you’re stupid.” you muttered, lightly kicking patrick in the chest causing him to almost fall back but he was quick to grab onto your ankle. patrick’s thumb pressed into the base of your ankle stabilising himself. this chill went through both yours and patrick’s body as your eyes locked. you wanted him to kiss you so badly.

an alarm from patrick’s phone went off snapping the two of you out of whatever trace you were in. you pulled your foot to your chest clearing your throat and patrick got up to check his phone. you played with the corner of your textbook, chewing on the inside of your mouth. “um, i have to go meet this girl, i’ll text you later.” patrick didn’t even left you respond before he was out the door. “bye.” you whispered into your empty bed room.

patrick didn’t leave right away, he stood outside your bedroom door hand gripping the door knob debating if he should go back in or not. he couldn’t, so he let his hand drop from the knob and made his way out of your house and to his car. the whole ride on his way to his hook ups house what had happened in your bedroom, something so innocent and unimportant played on repeat in his head. he put you out of his mind as he parked his car in this girls driveway.”

the second she opened the door her hands began rubbing up his chest to his shoulders. “hi, pat.” she said in a sultry voice and he couldn’t help but think how much better it would sound coming from you. in a matter that of minutes clothes were off and condoms were on. patrick let himself get lost in fucking the girl beneath him, letting his eyes slip closed. the face of the random girl slowly starts turning into your face. patrick was quick to snap his eyes back open reminding himself its was not you who he was fucking, but oh how badly he wanted it to be. his subconscious wouldn’t leave him alone though and next thing he knew it was your name he moaned loud and clear as he came. “that’s not my fucking name.” shit.

patrick barely had his pants on when the door was slammed in his face. he drove home in silence and ignored your calls that night. his mind felt like mush. did he like you? he laid in his bed rethinking everything. i mean, he like the way your nose scrunched up whenever he made an inappropriate joke. he liked how passionate you got about movies, often going on rants all the way home from the theater. he liked your smile and always made sure to tell you cause you hated your smile. he liked how you made him feel. he liked…. he liked you.

patrick didn’t know how to act around you anymore, he wasn’t in elementary school he couldn’t pull your hair or tease you and hope you catch on to the fact that he likes you, so now he was super rigid, instead of holding your hand or throwing his arm around your shoulder he walked with his fist balled at his sides. you of course took notice to his weird behavior, not understanding why patrick who usually knows no boundaries all of a sudden wants to sit at your desk and study instead on laying in your bed.

“alright, what the hell is up with you.” you confronted him. patrick turned around in your desk chair to face you. “what do you mean.” he said slowly. you gave him a look. “i’m not an idiot patrick, you’re being weird, since when do you study.” patrick scoffed. “what? a guy can’t be interested in his schoolwork now a days?” you rolled your eyes. “not when the guy is you, no.” you closed your book and scooted to the edge of the bed to get closer to him. “i’m serious, pat. what’s up?” i’m in fucking love with you that’s what’s up. “nothing, i’m fine.” patrick shrugged. “never been more fine in my life.” he smiled at you. “ok…” you sighed, going back to studying before patrick spoke up again. “do you wanna get high?”

you and patrick laid next to each other on your trampoline in your backyard waiting for the brownies you guys ate to hit. “remember when we got high that one time off my brothers stash.” patrick broke the silence. you laughed as the memory came flooding back. “god, talk about a bad first trip. i though my tongue was gonna fall off.” patrick laughed too. “you threw up all over my kitchen. my mom never wanted to kill me so bad, but she didn’t cause she liked that i took care of you that day, you know cleaning up your throw and all even though i was high out of my mind.” you laughed lightly, staring up at the blue sky, clouds moving and making shapes. “you always take care of me.” you spoke softly. your pinkie playing with his before you fully slotted your hands together, fingers interlocking. “like taking care of you.” patrick mumbled mainly to himself.

you turned your head to look at him. taking in the slope of his nose, how his hair was blowing in the wind, the way his tongue poked out to lick his lips. “hey, patrick.” “yeah.” he whispered. “is it weird that i wanna kiss you?” he shook his head, turning to look at you. “no. is it weird that i wanna kiss you too?” you shook your head “no.” and unlike when you were fourteen patrick was the one to initiate the kiss. it was soft kiss, neither of you rushed through it but patrick did deepen it, bring his other hand that wasn’t intertwined with yours up to rest on your cheek, pushing his face more into yours. you pulled away from the kiss to breathe but kept your forehead resting on his. “that was way better than when we were fourteen.” you smiled, squeezing your hand in his. patrick nodded in agreement. “way better.” he said against your lips before moving in to kiss you again.

[da-rulah]

hi💆

I fucking love your content and I have a little request...

Here me out, Sexting with Mary Goore🏋‍♀️

Aww thank you so much, lovely!! I love that I'm getting Mary requests now, ever since writing my first Mary fic (which I just updated today, by the way 👀)

You want sexting with Mary Goore? Well, this is how I think that would go... fair warning, it's filthy. just as you'd expect with Mary.

GN!Reader, NSFW MDNI 18+

TW/ Fingering, masturbation, nude taking, filming self

(ps. if any artists see this and fancy recreating some of Mary's pics...... y'know, i wouldn't mind that... 👀)

You'd wanted a reaction, but this? This was beyond even what you could have thought.

14 text messages, 6 missed calls, and 2 failed video calls.

All Mary.

It was just a harmless little booty pic, something to tide him over until the next time you got to see your boyfriend. but to Mary it had been the final straw, the last of the sticks to be pulled from his game of kerplunk... And his marbles had been teetering all day, thinking about you, missing you...

The last text really caught your attention, after purposefully ignoring him just to wind him up.

If i wasn't on the road right now ur front door woulda lost its hinges. answer ur fuckin phone.

It sounded vaguely threatening; you liked that.

Sorry, my neighbour's cat needed a bath. A stupid lie to piss him off further. What's up?

What's up? u rlly gonna ask me that? You laughed at your phone, taking a seat on your couch as you waited for the three dots that were ominously typing still. My dick, that's what's up.

Sounds like a you problem. There was a brief pause, and you liked to imagine Mary was staring at his phone with an eye twitching in annoyance.

gonna make it ur fuckin problem, u started this.

A few moments later, you received a picture message; a close up of Mary's hand, donning his signature signet and skull rings, boney and veiny and large, gripping his bulge in his tatty jeans just below his leather belt. Immediately, your stomach flipped at the picture. He knew exactly what he was doing. Game on.

You alone?

Very.

Good.

With confirmation of his situation, you decided to turn up the heat. Resting your phone against a pile of books on your coffee table, you sat on the edge of your couch and removed your shirt. You set the self-timer to 10 seconds, and got into position.

Spreading your legs, you placed both hands between them to 'hide' your core. To show off the curve of your waist and hips, you leaned your shoulders forward, the figure he adored and desperately wanted to touch protruding and accentuated in the position you sat. The mix of skin, but not too much, and suggestion would drive him insane.

Satisfied after a couple of takes, you sent the best one and waited.

On his end, Mary stared at his phone with a twisted smirk, palming the bulge in his jeans. He fucking loved your nudes, always way more tasteful, artistic than previously less imaginative partners. They were always so much sexier than a standard dick pic or titty pic, of which he'd received many of the years.

u look gd enough to eat. u know what ur doing to me?

You giggled at your phone screen, typing out your reply.

no... will you show me?

Oh, he'd love to.

Mary set up his phone similarly to yours, resting it against a pile of laundry at the end of the motel bed he was lounging on. He removed his own shirt, undid his belt and pulled his erection from his confines, allowing himself a few quick tugs to keep the desperation at bay.

Then he set the self timer and leaned back, one hand behind his head and the other holding his erection in plain sight.

When he sent you his picture, all you could think of was crawling up between those skinny legs of his and riding him into the early hours. You fucking missed him. You ached for him.

u see, baby? all u.

This smug bastard knew the effect he'd have on you. He was smirking in the fucking picture. Time to one-up him...

You stripped from your clothes completely, once again setting your phone up on your coffee table. This time, you knelt on the couch with your knees apart, your ass to the camera, and leaned over the back of it, arching your back to show off the roundness of your ass for him.

When you sent it, Mary audibly cursed to himself. God, you looked delectable... he could clearly see your sex between your legs, so clearly aroused and presented to him. If only he were there...

aw baby, u wanna b fucked from behind? u know i'd take you in a heartbeat...

His text had you squirming where you sat, biting your lip as your hand travelled between your legs. With one hand, you typed back a reply.

Love when you fuck me like that... you get so deep, miss that

Mary groaned as he fucked into his fist, uncontrollably at the visions of previous exploits where he'd done exactly as you'd described. This was torture, his hand would never compared to being wrapped up and squeezed by your tightness.

just u wait til i come home...

can't wait... my fingers don't do the job anywhere near as well. you teased, slowly stretching out your hole as you leaned back into your couch, whining at the feeling.

ur touching urself now?

You smiled, picturing Mary's reaction. You could be so cruel, just reply with a yes and leave it to his imagination. But you were feeling particularly spicy today after too long without him.

So instead, you set up your phone again and took up the same position as your last picture, this time hitting the record button. To the camera, you coated your fingers in your spit, sucking them into your mouth before using them to push two inside you, teasing as your digits disappeared.

You whined his name wantonly, your intention to sound like the whore Mary turned you into. He always loved the noises you'd make for him.

The video lasted less than a minute when you cut it off with a giggle, ending on a close up of your smirking face as you'd turned the video off.

Does that answer your question?

Mary lost his mind. How dare you stop the recording. How dare you moan his name like that.

He'd had enough, the teasing too much for him to handle.

Instead of texting back, he instead his the little video camera icon by your contact name, the line ringing a few times as he was met with his own face putting the camera back at his feet, pants now completely discarded in favour of total nudity much like you.

You let it ring a few times, setting it back down against the books and hitting the answer button as you sat back into the couch, legs crossed and hiding yourself from him.

"You get back in that fucking position right now," he told you, voice gravelly and dark.

"Aw, you not gonna say please?"

"No. Get back up on your knees and show yourself to me. Let me see the mess you're making."

You bit your lip and did as he asked, spinning and kneeling back on the couch.

"You know what to do, baby..." he told you, the slick sounds from his end of the call sending shivers down your back as he stroked himself.

You did as you were told, re-enacting the short video you sent him as he watched. Mary guided you through it, telling you what to do, how to fuck yourself for him to his exact specifications. He edged you for almost an hour, and himself along with you.

It always blew your mind how Mary was able to give you the most mind-shattering orgasms, even from hundreds of miles away...

[kanejbr3kker]

Okay I need to vent. This morning I saw this on my fyp:

(btw I'm choosing not to reblog the original post and instead just post screenshots because this is definitely a rant and since the creator and I clearly have different opinions, so I decided it's just better to leave them out of this)

Anyways, I saw this and I got pissed. Very very pissed. And so I spent 2 and a half hours writing a whole three page essay explaining everything wrong with this.

So here it is. (:

First of all, the Darkling does every single thing listed here for Nikolai, excluding cutting people’s fingers off, but he does commit mass murder, which I personally consider to be worse than cutting off someone’s fingers. 

Anyways, let’s first just address Nikolai’s reasons for doing each of these things and then the Darkling’s reasons for doing the same things.

Cutting the fingers off a man: Nikolai was a teenager who wanted to help his incredibly war torn country. He felt helpless, and even once he became a privateer, a lot of people still disrespected him because of his age, so he proved his ruthlessness by injuring one person, so he could help save his entire country. 

Usurping the throne: First of all, Nikolai was second in line to the throne, and after Vasily died, he would’ve been first. Also, the current king was an ignorant rapist who let the rest of the country go to waste to fuel his own luxuries. Nikolai wanted to rescue his country from war and a ruler that was doing nothing to stop hundreds of people (many of them kids) from dying in unnecessary battles.

Lying to Alina/hiding information from her: All Nikolai did was hide his identity from Alina to get her safely away from the Darkling who had just kidnapped her for the second time in less than a year. Kissed her without her consent: Okay, let’s just preface this by saying Malina was what got me hyperfixated on the Grishaverse, so seeing Nikolai kiss Alina did upset me, but he did it spread hope to the Ravkan villagers. They were also already spreading around a fake engagement, so while it was wrong, it wasn’t like he was trying to manipulate her. Nikolai was just trying to make their marriage more believable. (I’d also like to address a scene later in the book where Alina actually wants Nikolai to kiss her, and he says no, knowing that she just wants a distraction and isn’t really in love with him).

And now for why the Darkling did all the same things. 

Trying to usurp the throne: The Darkling hates the king, but not because he’s a terrible person, but because he’s ignorant and the Darkling knows he could be using the Fold to expand Ravka’s power. The Darkling usurps the throne so he can try and take over the country, not because he wants to save it.

Lying to Alina/hiding information from her: Unlike Nikolai, he wasn’t trying to protect her. The Darkling lied to Alina so she would believe that 1) he was in love with her and 2) he wanted to save Ravka. We know this isn’t true. When Nikolai lies, he does it to protect Alina, but when the Darkling lies he does it to manipulate her.

Kissed Alina without her consent: The Darkling tried to convince Alina he was in love with her so she would be easier to manipulate. Alina even says she doesn’t know how he feels about her, and that she doesn’t believe he loves her, but that she wants to be wanted by him. 

And now for everything else the Darkling does:

Mass murder: He destroyed an entire town just to prove a point. 

“Gifting” Genya to the Lantsovs, and then allowing her to be continually raped by them

for years. More than anything else, I feel like this proves just how terrible he is.

Killing his own mother: No explanation needed, that’s just awful.

Threatening to kill Mal to make sure Alina stays in line. He enslaved Alina. He put an unremovable collar around her neck that forced her to do whatever he wanted, and then promised to kill her boyfriend just in case that wasn’t enough.

Using kids as bargaining chips. Using grown people is bad enough, but kids. Sure, they’re Grisha, but they aren’t strong enough to fight back, especially after seeing their captor kill Ana Kuya, who helped care for them while they were in hiding. (Also just felt like adding that Nina was one of the students who he used as a bargaining chip. That’s honestly pretty unimportant, but if you needed another reason to hate him.)

Killing Alina’s mother figure: Again, he did this just to prove a point. He wanted to show Alina that he could hurt the people she cared about, and that was his only incentive.

So that the first 75% of my rant, but I also made the mistake of looking at the comments on that post and added a whole extra page responding to those.

Saying that the same thing can be applied to Kaz is so fucking disrespectful. Kaz is a traumatized teen. Is he violent? Yes. But he only hurts people who have hurt him, his friends, or other innocent people. Oomen nearly killed Inej, as well as the other crows, so Kaz hurt him because he cared about his friends and was mad that they were almost killed. When the Darkling kills people, it’s out of greed for power and the fact that he knows it’ll get a rise out of Alina.

And then this. Kaz calls Inej an investment because he values her. She said four words to him and chose to pay off her indenture. She ended up being not only an incredible spy, but an incredible friend as well. Kaz didn’t need to pay off her indenture, but he did because despite everything terrible that he does, he’s still a genuinely good person, and didn’t want to see a woman being exploited the way she was. An investment is something you value, which is why Kaz calls her one.

Also, Kaz makes a big point of Inej not belonging to anyone. He didn’t force her to get the Dregs tattoo, because he didn’t “want to be the one to mark her again.” He recognized that she was an independent person, and by not making her have the tattoo, he was giving her the freedom to leave Ketterdam when her indenture was paid off. Also, when Inej tells Kaz she wants to leave Ketterdam, he literally buys her a boat so she can leave. That’s not how you treat your property.

And as for the Darkling, he used Alina’s power to start a civil war. What he does is beyond redemption. The Darkling exploits and manipulates women. He abuses and assaults them to reach his own goals, most of which involve destroying the rest of the world so that Ravka stays in power. Comparing him to two kids who just do what they have to to survive is so disrespectful, and clearly you misunderstood the messages of the books if you think that Kaz and Nikolai are the same as the Darkling.

So that's my little anti-Darkling rant. I've already tortured my frienda with this, so if they didn't think I was insane before, they do now lol.

[amhrosina]

Afterglow (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Masterlist // Join My Taglist

a/n: another taylor swift song fic lmfao i just cannot help myself, this one is so angsty i almost felt bad for Matt just writing it (someone pls give that man a hug, he NEEDS one) also i feel so bad about not posting that i didnt even send this one to my beta reader i just posted it and hoped for the best lmfao

Summary: Matt and Reader have an argument that feels like it might be relationship-ending after Matt's hectic lifestyle as Daredevil catches up with him.

warnings: ANGST BRO SO MUCH ANGST, matty really just deserves the world, angry matt at the beginning, soft matt and foggy convo, matt doesn't know how to accept love, super soft matt at the end, some religious imagery i guess, happy ending

-

I blew things out of proportion, now you're blue

Put you in jail for something you didn’t do

I pinned your hands behind your back, oh

Thought I had reason to attack, but no

Fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves

Chemistry 'til it blows up, 'til there’s no us

Why'd I have to break what I love so much?

It's on your face, and I'm to blame, I need to say

The door slammed behind Matt in a fitful rage, and he was so pissed off, so intense in his anger that he wanted to turn around and slam it again, just to lash out a second time. It was so unlike him to be this way, so unlike him to allow the festering wound that was his soul show itself so plainly, but it had been a long night, long year, long life and he was fucking tired.

And you. You. You. You. You’d been caught in the crossfire. 

“Fuck.” Matt breathed, already regretting the argument that he’d started simply because he hadn’t been able to reel the Devil back in after a long night. The tight leash he held on the part of him that he hated, the part of him that you’d never seen because he’d hidden it so deep inside himself every night, was a ghost in his hands. The line between Matthew the person and Daredevil the vigilante had been blurring for months, but tonight was the first time he’d let it slip through the careful facade he’d been constructing around himself. He was a shattered window, ready to break at the slightest bit of pressure. 

The cold sliced into Matt’s skin as he stepped through the doorway at the front of his building, a sobering chill of wind that triggered the memory of your eyes welling with tears. He’d been relentless in his anger, and what for? Because he had a bad night? Because he couldn’t save everyone, and somehow that was your fault? 

Asshole is the word you’re looking for, Matthew.

Matt groaned and pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing Foggy’s number before he could talk himself out of it.

“It’s three in the morning, Matt.” Foggy said by way of greeting, voice still heavy with sleep. “You’re not somewhere dying are you?”

“Only metaphorically.” Matt replied, shuffling his feet. He lowered himself to sit on the stairs beneath him, huffing as his body settled against the concrete. The metal of the railing dug into his temple as he rested his head against it, an uncomfortable reminder that the only person to blame for this was himself.

“You okay?” Foggy’s tone had shifted from a sleepy annoyance to somewhat concerned. 

Matt closed his eyes. He didn’t deserve the love he received from his friends.

“I’m-” He started, but cut himself off when he realized he had no idea what he was going to say. Was he okay? No, he didn’t think so. 

“You’re kinda freaking me out here, man.”

“I fucked up, Foggy.” He deflated as he admitted it.

“With her?” Foggy pressed.

“With her. With everything.” Matt shrugged, blinking away the tears burning the back of his eyes. Your sudden return to his thoughts felt like whiplash, and he couldn’t catch his breath. “She deserves better than me.”

“Matt,” Foggy chided, and Matt could tell he was shaking his head, “Don’t say that. She loves you.” 

“Maybe not anymore.” Matt knew how ridiculous and juvenile he sounded, but the Matthew-Murdock-party-of-one pity party was in full effect, and he was leaning into the sad corner of his being so aggressively he couldn’t stop himself from saying it.

“She loves you.” Foggy repeated. “I don’t think anything could change that. What happened?”

“I had a bad night and yelled at her. It was stupid and I feel like an ass-”

“An asshole.” Foggy finished, and Matt couldn’t stop the chuckle that followed this observation. “Listen, did you tell her any of this?”

“Not yet.” The longer Matt sat, the more he hated himself for leaving. The words he had shouted echoed in his mind. “She should just leave. I’m never going to be able to give her what she deserves.”

“What about what you deserve, Matt?” Foggy asked, heated in the defense of his very best friend, “You deserve to be loved, too.”

Matt sat with Foggy’s statement for a second, letting the love wash over him for the briefest moment. Is this what it’s like for the kind of people who can easily accept the love of others? His body felt warm and fuzzy, an unfamiliar but comforting sensation that had him rubbing the heel of his hand across his chest.

“I should go apologize and hope to God she’ll take me back.” Matt sighed.

“She will, Matt.” Foggy assured him. “She will.”

Matt returned the phone to his pocket and turned, heading back into the place that held his entire aching heart.

It's so excruciating to see you low

Just wanna lift you up and not let you go

This ultraviolet morning light below

Tells me this love is worth the fight, oh

I lived like an island, punished you with silence

Went off like sirens, just crying

Why'd I have to break what I love so much?

It’s on your face, don't walk away, I need to say

Hey, it's all me, in my head

I'm the one who burned us down

But it's not what I meant

Sorry that I hurt you

When Matt reentered the apartment, it had only been twenty minutes since he’d stormed out, but it had felt like hours. You were in the same place that he’d left you - curled up in a sitting position on the sofa - except now your cheeks were coated with salty tears that permeated the air around you. Matt tasted them on his tongue the second he opened the door, a twinge of pain shooting through his chest as he realized just how bad the situation was. You were so deep in thought, cycling through the words Matt had spat at you, that you hadn’t noticed his arrival.

“Petal?” Matt called softly, alerting you to his presence in the room. You startled, turning to look in his direction. The silence before you responded was deafening and anxiety inducing, something Matt had never handled well. He wrung his hands together and took a step closer to you. Finally, you spoke.

“You came back.”

Not a question, but not really a statement either. A simple observation that left Matt stumbling over his words. 

“I uh…never really left. I was just downstairs.” He scratched the back of his neck. “On the steps out front. I didn’t go far.”

“I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Matt’s lip wobbled as he inhaled sharply and asked, “Do you want me to go?”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question. He listened to your answer anyway. He would listen to any words you had to offer, even if they were words that might kill him.

“You said some terrible things, Matt.” You sniffled, sighing heavily as another wave of tears coated your cheeks. “You said ‘If you can’t handle this, I don’t think we should be together anymore.’ And the funny thing is, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be handling.”

“Petal, I-” Matt began, shaking his head.

“No, Matt.” Your voice had suddenly become very firm and very loud, all at once. Matt flinched. “I’m not finished.” You adjusted your body, leaning your head back against the sofa before continuing. “I don’t know who you are anymore. My Matty would never keep things from me or disappear for days at a time or yell at me. The man I fell in love with is missing, and I don’t know what to do to get him back.”

The hold Matt had on his tears was obliterated as you admitted your feelings to him. Warm tears fell down his face, every droplet an admission of guilt. You were right, of course. Matt hadn’t felt like himself in months, and instead of trying to get a grip on himself, he had been leaning into the suit every night, forcing his mind to focus on other things. He always took on the brunt of the pain in any situation - he’d been doing this his entire life - but he had not realized how much of that pain was being transferred to you every time he forgot himself.

“Baby, I’m- I can’t even say how sorry I am.” Matt sank to his knees in front of you, pleading. “You’re right about everything, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be good enough for you or come home to you after work like a normal boyfriend would and I’m sorry for the things I said. I never wanted to hurt you the way I did. I will never, ever, deserve your love.” He swallowed a sob as he admitted what he thought was the truest thing he’d ever said out loud. “Foggy told me I deserve love but I’ve thought and thought about it and I can’t imagine a world where your love will ever feel like anything but a gift to me.”

You sighed again, sniffling as you lifted your hand to cradle Matt’s wet cheek.

“I know I’m fucking it up. I’m sorry I can’t be more. This is all I have to offer, and I know it’s selfish to ask you to keep loving me but I can’t be without you. You’re all I have.”

“I don’t understand, Matty.” You shook your head, furrowing your brows.

“You’re the only thing that brings me home. And I don’t mean physically. You’re the only reason I can find my way back to myself. You remind me of the love the world is capable of. Not even Foggy can do that for me the way that you do. Can’t you see that you’re it for me? Without you, I am just a man walking hand in hand with the Devil. There is no point without you.”

“Matty.” You sighed, caressing his cheekbones as tears cascaded down his face. 

Matt wasn’t sure what he wanted you to say. That he did deserve love, or maybe that you weren’t going to leave him after tonight was over, or maybe anything besides ‘I don’t love you anymore’. 

“Don’t leave me.” He begged, barely above a whisper, so tired of the war raging in his mind. If there was anything he was capable of doing tonight, it was pleading with you for this. Beyond that, he was useless. “Don’t leave.”

“Will you lay with me?” You asked, and Matt nearly collapsed into your hold. It was not what he was expecting, but he would take it. The inevitable self-hatred and doubt about this moment echoed in the back of his mind, but he was ignoring it for once. All he wanted to do was lay with you, so that’s exactly what he did.

Tell me that you're still mine

Tell me that we'll be just fine

Even when I lose my mind

I need to say

Tell me that it's not my fault

Tell me that I'm all you want

Even when I break your heart

I need to say

I don't wanna do, I don't wanna do this to you (Ooh)

I don't wanna lose, I don't wanna lose this with you (Ooh)

I need to say, hey, it's all me, just don't go

Meet me in the afterglow

Matt was on the verge of tears again, lying next to you in the bed that you had shared with each other for so many nights. He was so afraid of losing this, losing you. He wasn’t entirely sure he would survive if you asked him to leave after this. He wasn’t entirely sure that mindset was healthy, either, but that didn’t stop him from contemplating it. He was here, and you were here, and if he was destined to live in this doubt forever, then at least he would die next to you.

Your tears had long dried up, but the ache deep inside you was palpable and overwhelming and he didn’t know what to do. The hand you had led him here with, the one that you still held, the only thing connecting your body to his was his safety blanket. This was what people called a safe space, he thought. For the first time in a long time, Matt began to silently pray.

He prayed for you, and he prayed for himself, and mostly, he prayed for love. He prayed that the night would last forever, so that he could lay next to you for the remainder of his life. He prayed for forgiveness, and begged for yours. He prayed for the strength it would take if you didn’t grant it to him. Because if you asked him to leave, he would. It would hurt and possibly - no, definitely - kill him, but he’d do it, because you deserved that, at least. The possibilities of the night were endless, and that was the scariest thing to Matt. Anything could happen.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, lightly squeezing his hand.

“I’m praying.” He murmured, squeezing your hand back.

“About what?”

“About you.” 

“Oh, Matty.” 

The smile on your face, the steady thump of your elevated heart rate, felt like a win. Comfortable silence overtook the room, and you were so still for so long that anyone else might’ve thought you had fallen asleep, but Matt knew better. You were thinking, contemplating every word that had been shouted, pleaded, and begged tonight. All the while, Matt prepared himself for the worst.

“The sun’s coming up.” You murmured.

“Yeah?” It was all he could muster. Everything hurt, and he never wanted this moment to end.

“Yeah.” You swept your fingertips over his cheeks, following the path of the sun as it draped itself across both of your bodies. 

Matt swallowed, opened his mouth to ask the dreaded question, and then closed it and swallowed again. The gentle caress of your fingers felt like a brand in his skin. Finally, in a thick voice he asked for the second time in a matter of hours, “Do you want me to go?”

“Oh, Matty.” You whispered, tears welling in your eyes, and Matt’s heart sank into the ground below him. He thought he could do this, but he couldn’t. He was just supposed to leave what you had built with him? After everything, he was just supposed to count his losses and move on? No fucking way. His breathing had picked up, and he was so focused on his pounding heart that he almost missed the rest of your sentence. “I never wanted you to go. I just wanted you to understand how lonely I’ve been without you. I’m upset with you, but I’ll always love you, and I’ll never be the one asking you to leave.”

Matt stopped breathing for a moment, soaking in the warm relief as it crashed through him. He didn’t have to go, and you loved him. You loved him. You loved him.

“Are you sure?” He forced himself to ask, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

You let out a small giggle and pressed your lips to his forehead before responding. “Of course I’m sure, Matty. But it has to change, okay? We can’t do this to each other again.”

Matt could hardly believe the words coming out of your mouth. He would do anything to keep you here, holding him, keeping him safe, loving him. Anything.

“I promise.” He murmured, grabbing at your face to pull it closer to his. “I love you.”

He pressed a million kisses into your face until you let out the melodic laugh that he felt he could get drunk on. He would do anything to hear that sound again, to be the one causing that sound. Anything.

-

Tag List:

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[coimbrabertone]

The Best F1 Season For A Non-Contender?

Well, the biggest story coming out of the 2024 United States Grand Prix is without a doubt the Verstappen/Norris thing.

To recap, Lando is coming after Max hard, gets run on the backstraight after run on the backstraight, but keeps going to the outside and can't pull the move off.

Finally, on lap 52, Lando has a good enough run that he's ahead, on the outside, but ahead. So what then?

Well, Max Verstappen is on the inside so he just divebombs to get the apex, goes wide, pushes Lando wide with him, and Lando has to pass around the outside in the runoff.

He's finally ahead.

Except no, fuck you, this is F1 and fun isn't allowed.

So the stewards are investigating this move where no contact was made, nobody got hurt, and there was enough runoff all around to land an Antonov AN-225 in.

And Lando gets the penalty. Lando.

Why? Overtaking off track.

Lando is 4.1 seconds ahead at the end of the race, gets dropped behind Max in the standings, everyone on social media is pissed. Some people - who are wrong - think that Max had the right because he was in front at the apex, others think Lando should've just given the position back and retaken it on track, which probably would've been the smart play in retrospect.

It's also kinda the racing equivalent of cuckolding though, isn't it?

Like, are we really watching for someone to have to give up a position to avoid getting a penalty?

"Ah yes sir, you drove me off track like a prick sir, but here's the position sir, have a good one sir."

Ridiculous.

Anyway, I'm sure this is the 97th different place you've heard about this incident, so I'll leave it there. Instead, I'm gonna talk about something overshadowed by all the petty bullshit going on between these two championship contenders.

And that's the fact that Charles Leclerc is quietly putting together a dream season.

First, he wins the Monaco Grand Prix. Winning Monaco is already a feather in the cap for an F1 driver, but it's also his home race, so that might just be one of the most special wins imaginable. Especially when you consider how miserable Charles' luck at Monte Carlo has been before now.

Then, he wins the Italian Grand Prix in a Ferrari for the second time, no less. He's won his own home race and he's won his team's home race, what more could you ask for in a season?

Well, the first race weekend back from his birthday on October 16th, Leclerc goes and leads home a Ferrari 1-2 at the United States Grand Prix. Now, I'm an American so the USGP is a special event for me - I wrote a blogpost all about its history last week - but I recognize that isn't the case for the Monegasque Leclerc.

Still, a GP win is still an amazing birthday present.

What a way to bounce back considering he was disqualified last year for plank wear as well.

So, that's three wins on the season, each one having something special about it. Does that make it the best season ever for a non-contender?

Well, that's a difficult question.

First things first, what do we consider a contender? In a way, everyone is contending for the championship, so they're all contenders.

Is it a potential shot at the championship then? Eh, probably not, because Leclerc still potentially has a chance at winning the championship.

So how about this: being a contender is having a realistic chance at the championship. So the championship leader and the direct challengers.

This year, I'd argue that's just Max and Lando, since Max has had the best car for years and started the season with easily the best car, while Lando has benefited from a recent surge by McLaren.

For another example, in 2007, I'd argue that Raikkonen, Alonso, and Hamilton were all contenders, but Massa was not.

So how about Massa's three-win season that year?

Well, he won Bahrain, Spain, and Turkey.

Two places without much connection to him, and then a track he already won at the year before.

In that respect, I'd argue 2006 was a more meaningful season for Massa. His first year in a Ferrari, he's far off Alonso and Schumacher, but he takes his first win at Turkey and then gets to win his home race at Brazil, solidifying his position as best of the rest.

Button 2010?

Eh, he's the reigning champion going into a good team like McLaren and ends up dropping away from the championship pack after Korea, and only takes two wins to his name: Australia and China.

I can't think of a reason those races would be special for him.

What about Button in 2011? Is he a contender that year? That's actually hard for me to say. He's second, he was painted as the challenger to Vettel, but he finished more than a hundred points off. Is that much of a rivalry?

Then again, can we really say 2011 only had one contender?

I'm not sure.

Canada, Hungary, and Suzuka are a decent set of tracks if you're gonna take three wins in a season, especially given how Canada went down, with it being Jenson's career drive.

That one could count then, I reckon.

How about further back in history?

What about 1966, when Ludovico Scarfiotti did literally two races - Germany and Italy - and won the latter. An Italian winning the Italian Grand Prix in a Ferrari has got to be special, right? Especially when you consider that this is the last time an Italian won the Italian Grand Prix. Not just in a Ferrari, but at all.

I suppose it's also as close as F1 has ever gotten to that 2006 Valencia Grand Prix in MotoGP where Troy Bayliss returned to MotoGP, filling in for the injured Sete Gibernau at one race at Ducati.

A race with Bayliss proceeded to win.

Troy hadn't won any races in full seasons with Ducati in 2003 and 2004, nor in his partial campaign with Camel Honda in 2005, but he comes back in 2006 as a replacement rider for one race and goes on to win that thing.

It's a wonderful racing moment, and Scarfiotti at Monza in 1966 is probably as close as F1 ever got to that.

Oh here's one.

Jody Scheckter in 1976. The whole world is watching Hunt vs. Lauda, McLaren vs. Ferrari, and here's Jody Scheckter in a six-wheeled Tyrrell casually winning the Swedish Grand Prix, taking four second places, and ending the season as best of the rest.

The Swedish Grand Prix was a great race for these one-off weird winners actually. Scheckter in the Tyrrell P34 in 1976, Jacques Laffite in the Matra V12 powered Ligier in 1977, and of course 1979 with Niki Lauda winning in the fan car.

Ooh, speaking of 1977, I think we have a contender!

...A contender for non-contenders? Yes actually.

Mario Andretti in 1977. He's got the Lotus 78, the first ground effect car in Formula One history, and it's not quite ready to win the championship, but it's still going on a tear.

Winning the USGP West at Long Beach, a home race for Andretti. Then winning at Spain and France, and finally winning the Italian Grand Prix, the other race Mario could call home. That sounds like an awful good season to me, potentially even better than Leclerc this year. He also finished third that year, so it lines up there as well.

How about this? We'll see if Leclerc can win another race or two this year, and if not, then I'll give it to Andretti. 1977, the best championship season for a non-contender.

Feel free to leave any notable seasons I missed in the comments below, I'm eager to hear what seasons y'all can come up with.

P.S

In other news this weekend, we had the Australian Grand Prix in MotoGP. Jorge Martin won the sprint and Marc Marquez the main race. The sprint was pretty uneventful save for a few scary crashes right at the end - particularly Bezzecchi and Vinales in turn one, with both riders thankfully walking away okay - while the race saw a pretty dramatic battle between Martin and Marquez at the end.

I don't exactly cheer for either guy, so it was a bit meh for me, but at least Phillip Island put on a good race.

As for NASCAR...quite frankly I didn't watch this weekend. I was watching F1 and after that I had a headache and I was mad about the Max/Lando stuff, so I just didn't want to bother with it. I hear Logano won though, which means he goes on to the championship four. Cue up the even year memes.

Even Penske tweeted a joke about that.

Penske tweeting jokes. Heh, that's a new one.

[outrunningthedark]

I've seen a couple of posts about this, but this last season has really shown fandom does not really care about Chris outside of Buddie.

Everyone wants Chris' trauma from last season to lead to Buddie, instead of maybe Eddie fixing his relationship with his son.

Everyone wants sassy Chris to point out their friendship could be more, instead of a plot that might actually mean something like one surrounding a teenager dealing with ableism.

They like to scream plot device about Tommy, but that's absolutely what they made Chris.

They like to scream plot device about Tommy, but that's absolutely what they made Chris.

🗣️ SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK, NONNIE! I doubt this is news to very many (if you've been here a while), but I've been Chris. I am Chris. I will always be Chris. So I've always tried to maintain a balance between shipping Buddie (when I was passionate about it) and pointing out moments in the show that speak to the realities of growing up disabled, particularly disabled due to CP. And, you know, I've had a lot of issues with Buddie fandom over the last three-plus years when it comes to how they view and talk about Chris, but I'm with you - This last season? Pissed me all the way off for real and for good. We get a glimpse of a script about a basketball game. And a glimpse of Buck in Chris's room. Not on set. An actual still. And despite these two things definitely not lining up, because a still means the scene has gone through editing and a script means they're currently filming, somehow Buck in Chris's room was supposed to be connected to the basketball game and that was how Buddie was going canon for the big 100! Chris could have been asking for help with his goddamn homework for all we knew at that time and yet all the fandom could think of (and one specific blog comes to mind, a "BNF", ofc) was that it HAD to be about Buck hurting Chris in some way or thinking he'd hurt him (again...because of a basketball game...) and Eddie would save the day, which would then, ofc, lead to Buck ~realizing~ he caught feelings for his BFF. I just. What? That was honest to God the moment where I had to admit to myself that very few actually care about Chris's role in the show and the story outside of how he can "help" Buddie get together. (And then it just got worse. Which, to be fair, I know it always was, I just didn't allow myself to see it because I didn't want to believe that even the people being "nice" to me by sharing my thoughts were doing so because I helped support their hopes of Buddie going canon.)

[canonicallyobserving911]

Buddie: Two hopes for episode 8x6

I've waited for more than 24 hours to post this because I'm still in utter disbelief after Tuesday night. Yesterday, I hoped I'd wake up from the nightmare and realize it was all a dream but it wasn't and it will continue for who knows how long. I'm trying to find silver linings in the one TV show I consistently watch, therefore I'm finally ready to share the only two hopes I have for 9-1-1's season 8 episode 6.

I won't watch live and the truth is I haven't this season because if it's full of more retcons and other nonsensical BS, I need to be able to fast forward through the scenes I don't want to see. Furthermore, my expectations for 8x6 are below the ground and honestly, after Tuesday's election here in the U.S., I have no idea how TM (showrunner) and the network will react or if they'll even try to course correct.

IYKYK there will be challenges ahead for network TV and it's the MAIN reason why Buddie should have gone CANON last season. Also, I've posted before that hiatues don't do them any favors (seasons 6 and 7 are perfect examples of this and that's why they both ended ridiculously), therefore, I'm only hoping for two things.

Buck needs to end whatever the f~ck he's doing with Tonsillitis because 8x5 clearly showed they aren't compatible. There's no need to drag it out any longer and I for one do NOT want to sit through a déjà vu moment that's reminiscent of BT 1.0 only for this BS to last until 8x18. It was exhausting in season 5 and if TM does it, then it'll be history repeating itself. We're literally 5 episodes in and I'm already tired of this season because of the lack of movement with Eddie’s storyline and all this focus on BT instead of it being focused on Buck and his individual journey. It's not ok and it's really pissing me off. Buck needs to stand up for himself and stop clinging to relationships that aren't working. He already wasn't allowed to breakup with T.K. 1.0 because he wasn’t happy, so can he please finally get off the damn hamster wheel? OS deserves better than this and TM (showrunner) should be ashamed at how poorly he's handled Buck’s arc.

Eddie hasn't had a GOOD episode that's been solely about him in YEARS! And I'm disappointed in the fact that 8x6 was supposed to be his time to shine but once again it appears his scene(s) will be relegated to the last 5 minutes of the episode the same way his PTSD arc was handled in 5x13. Therefore, I hope whatever is going to happen with him shaving his mustache will be emotional and meaningful instead of it being handled in a way that's comical like the show spent the majority of the preseason promoting it. TM already spilled the beans about it which minimized the anticipation of it when he told everyone during an interview that it was going to happen only to not speak of it again for the last few weeks. Furthermore, whatever Eddie has to say about his failed marriage to Shannon, it needs to be the last time so it can be wrapped up tonight because there are only so many times she should be mentioned because she's been dead for 6 years and it's time for her to R.I.P. Now, he SHOULD talk about her when he's ready to have an open and honest conversation with Chris like he should have been allowed to do in 7x1. Also, a mention of how Eddie’s going to fix things with Chris needs to be included too because Eddie’s a great dad and I'm sick and tired of them not letting their father and son relationship move forward. Chris has been in El Paso long enough, therefore Eddie needs to travel there to see him and so that he can read his mother the riot act. RG is a fabulous actor and he deserves better. He already had to put up with that raggedy ass "Vertigo" and doppelgänger storyline BS, so can the audience please see some progress in 8x6? The show needs to turn the page on Eddie’s failed marriage once and for all.

Here's the thing, with the Madney storyline, three emergency calls, Buck's conversations with Maddie and Josh and possibly Bobby, all the BT foolishness, Eddie shaving his mustache and Eddie’s conversation(s) with the priest, it’s unlikely there will be enough time for everything and I'd rather see the stuff that matters and that will move both Buddie's and Madney's arcs forward.

Time is of the essence and there are only two weeks left before the show goes on hiatus for who knows how long. Therefore, waiting to make Buddie CANON could backfire and it’s possible they won't get the chance if they wait until 8B.

Just saying.

I'M TIRED AND I WON'T DEAL WITH ANYONE'S BS COMMENTS ABOUT BT BREAKING UP SO, DON'T REBLOG THIS WITH AN OPPOSING OPINION. IF ANYONE DISAGREES THAT’S FINE BUT THEY SHOULDN'T ATTACH IT TO MY POST. THEY SHOULD DO IT ON THEIR OWN BLOG OR GET BLOCKED LIKE EVERY BT STAN. I'M A PROACTIVE BLOCKER AND I DO IT BASED ON FILTERED TAGS! I'VE ALREADY BLOCKED THE VAST MAJORITY OF THEM BUT EVERY NOW AND THEN ONE WILL FOLLOW ME AND I IMMEDIATELY BLOCK THEM TOO.

[givemequeen]

little miss perfect: draco x slytherin!reader

request: draco malfoy x littlemissperfect slytherin!reader and the pair swears they hate each other but at a pureblood party the tension breaks and they end up making out? maybe like blaise or theo or daphne or pansy (their bffs) walk in on them and they’re just like ok at least i don’t need to listen to u guys argue anymkre a/n: i loved this request. might write another draco soon! warnings: sexual tension, make out sesh word count: 1306

Going to this party was a mistake.

You realised that the moment you walked in through the doors and saw Malfoy standing in the middle of the room with a drink in his hand and girls surrounding him. Yet, you still walked in and got yourself a drink and made your way to the dance floor to greet your friends who had dragged you here. Why? Who the fuck knows.

Malfoy was a pain in the ass and despite sharing 90% of your friends, you could not stand him. He was arrogant and snobby, always acting as though he was above everyone else. You never understood why the rest of the guys allowed him to act that way.

"That is just the way he is, honey." Pansy had laughed when you had asked her one day, before turning back to the mirror and putting on another layer of lipstick.

"He's been that way as long as I've known him and, trust me, I've known him for a long time." had been Theo and Blaise's response.

You, being part of a pureblood family, had also known Malfoy for a long time and though he had always acted this way, it seemed it had only gotten worse the older he got.

You were dancing with Pansy and the three drinks you had taken had made you forget Malfoy was even at the party. That is, until his cold drawl came from behind you.

"You call this dancing?" he smirked.

You spun around, skirt swishing in the wind, and scowled at him.

"What do you want, Malfoy? Isn't there some slut out there for you to snog?" you placed your hand on your hip, eyebrow raised in defiance.

"Why would I do that when I could be here, annoying you?" his smirked deepened, intensifying your urge to slap it off of his face. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, I'm only joking."

"You're such a cunt, Malfoy, you know that?"

"Of course I do, how could I not if you keep reminding me every bloody minute?" he clenched his jaw.

"Piss off, I'm dancing with Pansy."

"First of all, you don't own the dance floor and, secondly, there's no way you actually consider what you were doing dancing. Did you fall off a broomstick?"

You huffed and pushed past him, sick of his bullshit.

You needed a break, some fresh air and maybe a fag to get him out of your system. He was always doing this, doing or saying something to get under your skin, to get you riled up.

You made your way out of the common room, away from the deafening music, and up towards the Entrance Hall. Being a Sixth Year had its perks, you were allowed to stay up until later.

As soon as you stepped outside, your regretted not bringing a coat with you. You quickly cast a warmth charm over yourself and though it helped, there was nothing like a good, thick coat to ward off the cold.

Even though you hadn't grabbed a coat, you had grabbed a fag. You placed it between your lips and lit it using your wand, relishing in the way the smoke brunt your lungs. You inhaled that heavenly first puff and closed your eyes as you slowly let the smoke escape your mouth.

You leaned against the castle wall, the stone cold against your bare back, and took another drag, forcing yourself to forget about that git, Malfoy.

"Running away from me, are you?"

Speak of the Devil.

Your eyes shot open and you immedieatly rolled your eyes. Standing in front of you was none other than Draco fucking Malfoy. He, too, had a fag in his mouth and was taking slow, dragged out puffs.

You were about to snap at him, call him names or something, when an idea popped into your mind. You took a long drag and pushed off of the wall.

"You're a bit obsessed with me, aren't you? Following me around and all…" As you spoke, you let the cigarette smoke lazily curl out.

You smiled as you saw the way Malfoy's cheek lit up. But that shocked expression quickly disappeared, immediately replaced by a mischievous grin.

"Lets say I am." he said, taking a step towards you. "So what? You're a fit bird, why wouldn't I be obsessed?"

Your eyes widened in surprise. What the fuck was he saying.

"What is it now, little miss perfect? Cat got your tongue?" he took another step towards you, forcing you to take a step back. You made contact with the stone wall and this time you weren't sure if it was the look in his eyes or the coldness of the stone that made you skin erupt with goosebumps.

"You fuck around, you find out." he was so close to you that you could smell his aftershave.

The atmosphere was charged with tension so thick you could feel it pressing against your skin.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" your fag was long forgotten on the lush grass. "Go away." but even you could tell how big of a lie that was.

He wrapped his fingers around your chin and forced you to look up at him. His grey eyes were penetrating and invasive, and you were sure he could read your mind, sure that he could see the ways you were imagining him on top of you.

"I don't think you want me to go away." he said, his tone made you shudder. His hair had fallen from its carefully constructed facade, now framing his gorgeous, sharp face.

The air between you crackled with a charged energy, and as he held your gaze captive, the unspoken tension between desire and restraint became palpable. You looked up at him, blinking like an idiot, your mouth half-opened, waiting for him to do something, anything.

Then, when you least expected it, he grabbed your face and kissed you, hard. You gasped against his cold lips and his hands went to your waist, pressing you against him and holding onto you like a lifeline. Your own hands flew to his hair, tugging at the strands.

You bit his lower lip in anger, how dare he kiss you so perfectly? But that just gave him the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned as his tongue met yours, gladly giving in. His hand slipped up under your top, quickly gliding over to your left breast.

He squeezed your breast and you moaned, arching your back. His cock was hardening against your inner thigh and you shifted so he would be against where you needed him most. You rolled your hips forward, moaning his name as his thumb went over your hardened nipple-

"Holy fuck."

"Seriously, guys?"

"So, your entire feud was just a lie? You were just horny?"

You pushed Draco away, quickly pulling your shit down to cover yourself. Behind Draco stood Theo, Pansy and Blaise, all with disbelief written all over their faces.

Well, except Pansy, who had a knowing look. She had one hand on her hip and a perfect eyebrow raised in a perfect arch.

"I knew it. Theo, you owe me 20 galleons." she stuck her hand out, a smirk on her face.

"You bet on this?" Malfoy snapped, whirling around. "Can you lot just piss off?"

But he was complete mess and no one could take him seriously; his hair was completely dishevelled, lips red and raw, shirt untucked and crumpled.

No one said anything for a minute until Theo burst out laughing.

"Yeah, mate, we can tell you two are a bit busy." he laughed, his eyes sliding down to Draco's obvious erection.

You couldn't help but laughing as well.

"Well, at least we don't have to listen to you two arguing anymore." Blaise said.