#It's not like she doesn't care. She just has NO IDEA of money

[cat-cryptid]

MADOHOMU HEADCANONS?

All are subject to change, (by you or me) and I probably have more I cant think of rn but here:

Homura only goes to bed after Madoka falls asleep, and Madoka wakes up early cuz Homura snores and talks in her sleep to the point where Madoka can't sleep and just wakes up. (She won't tell her about it, though, cause she knows Homura will stop sleeping to save her ears.)

Madoka and Homura like to cook for each other and take turns every day they don't go out to eat. Homura is an annoying backseat when Madoka cooks, so Madoka will send her on pointless errands to keep her away til she's done.

i think Homura would stay at Madoka's more often than the other way around.

Homura has several part-time jobs to keep her occupied while Madoka is teaching (kindergarten) full-time. While Madoka makes more money, Homura refuses to let her pay for things.

They talk about having kids all the time, and even though Homu doesn't really like the thought of being a mother, she likes to see how Madoka lights up when the idea comes up, and the idea of madoka being pregnant lol

Homura is low-key dramatic when she's sick, so Madoka can care for her while Homura notices Madoka is sick before she does/admits she is.

Homura is a passenger princess, and Madoka is a really bad driver, so Homura lowkey stresses every time they go out long distance (she won't tell Madoka though, cause she doesn't wanna hurt her feelings.)

Homura burns in the sun while Madoka tans (obviously), and Homura doesn't like the feeling of sunscreen, so she chooses to burn unless Madoka and Sayaka hold her down

That's all I have for now, lalalala

I love talking about yuri while on the clock

[thequeenofmyownscreen]

It's intertesting to see subtler moments of Jester having no concept of classes of people who have not the same means as her. The 1st of course was the 'I spent all my money buying dresses for horses', but here we have a simple card game with two farmers, where she proposes right away a bet of 1 gold, which makes them instantly nervous, because it's way more money than they usually play, but it goes completely over her head.

[yeyinde]

my body sleeps on your boredom

SUGAR DADDY!PRICE X READER

18+ | sugar daddy/baby relationship. age gap. (implied) mafia au. dom!Price. (slight) dubcon breeding. breeding kink one so insane you can hear Mormons applauding in the distance. contraceptive control. implied financial control. rough sex. infidelity*. dad!John Price. cheating (not between reader and John). Old Money Rich.

What you have with Price is entirely transactional.

His job—the nuances of which he keeps out of the bedroom, the bed—eats up the bulk of his time, and you—pretty little tchotchke that warms his sheets, keeping him cradled between soft thighs, head nestled on the enticing swell of your chest (weary heads and all, you suppose); a homecoming he can sink his stress into—lap up the scraps.

It's an arrangement that works for both of you, really.

Your rent is paid. Closet bursting with clothing. Always tripping over more shoes than you know what to do with. Food in the fridge. Financial worries are swallowed down quickly when they arise (along with a whiskey-tinged glob of spit when he grips your throat and tells you to open wide). He takes care of you. And you—

You take care of him, too.

a simple creature, really: he just wants dinner on the table when he comes over (home), a pretty thing to stare at while he eats, humming around a mouthful as you prattle on about your day (non-negotiable—his appetite is archaic, oppressive: the man grunts around a piece of meat his woman cooked for him as her bare feet slide teasingly up and down his leg, and she fills the stifling silence with inane chatter), and at the end of the obligatory meal, he gets to vent his frustrations out on the wet, warm embrace of your cunt as it squeezes his bare cock (also non-negotiable).

It's an effortless synchronicity.

When you need money, you send a picture of yourself in lingerie he bought above a coy pretty please, daddy to soften the grump up, and after a few exchanges of him lamenting the unnecessary purchase (a part of you, wishful, idealistic, clings to the idea that maybe he just wants an excuse to talk to you, to let you lap at more of his time than think he can afford to give), he relents. The money is sent to your account. You walk out of the department store with an ache in your belly that no amount of expensive wine or truffle could ever hope of filling and bags dangling on the crook of your finger, and he gets to thicken in his trousers over the idea of spending his money on a pretty little thing he can bury his cock inside of whenever the mood strikes. A patriarchal sort of preening. Masculine ego stroke. The role of a dutiful provider all wrapped up nice under the hum of ownership, sex.

(Then he really gets his money's worth when he bends you over the settee. Bought and paid for.)

And you're fine with it. It works. It makes sense because this is the only way that the two of you, together, do.

He's older than you are (salt peppers his hairline; wisps of smoke slither out of the tips of wry, umbre curls. No laugh lines, but his eyes crinkle when he smiles). He has a career. A good one. The second bottle of Violet Sapphire he bought on a whim for you after you whined about running out of the first (a gift—sales lady said you'd like it, sweetheart) isn't cheap. Neither are the handbags. The Tuscan leather shoes. The teardrop pearls. A good man, too. Upstanding citizen, and all that—

(the thin line of pale, creamy skin against ripened peach: a married man. a crayon shoved in the pocket of his trousers: a father.

blood under his nails. ghosts in his eyes. the smell of gunfire and madness clinging to his skin: a monster, too.)

—and you barely finished community college. Scraped by with a degree you're almost entirely certain he paid for, too. But you get to float around a meaningless job doing empty, vapid things to fill your days when he isn't around. 

(An ornament doesn't serve a purpose if it isn't being gawked at.)

An imbalance, you suppose. Or a ballad: the timeless tale of a stupid, greedy girl sinking her teeth into a grown man's wallet like a dog with a bone. In his hand, the leash. A tug. Be good.

And you are.

You let him slide inside of you as many times as he wants, and pretend the burnished seaglass staring down at you isn't filled with longing. Kneel on your satin cushion at his feet as he stretches out on his throne, and guides your pretty, empty head to his cock. Good girl.

Always.

Even when you shouldn't be. Even when he's gone for long periods of time. don't wait up, peppering the air as he goes. Nothing but an empty bed. Rumpled sheets. The scent of sex and tobacco. Leather and motor oil. Smoke. Sage and stale sweat on your pillowcase. An ache between your thighs. The tattoo of his teeth seared into your skin. An envelope full of cash (just in case). The card he left behind (anythin' you want).

Little tchotchke put back on the shelf. Tucked away so the reason for that pale strip of skin and the broken crayon in his pocket won't ever see you. A dirty secret. Another skeleton in an overstuffed closet.

Predictable, really.

You know your place in his world even if he doesn't say it.

(until he does—)

Just not in so many words—a paradox considering how much he loves to boss you around, growling commands under his breath (on your knees, open up, suck my cock, pretty girl, want me bad, mm, missed my cock inside your cunt, didn't you? show me how much)—in fact, they don't even come from him.

It comes from the pharmacist when you duck inside to pick up your prescription for birth control, and instead of handing it over, he just shakes his head.

"You don't have any refills for this month."

He's gone for two months.

MayoClinic warns that this is the estimated window needed for the hormones to dissolve from your system. The risk of a pregnancy after this, it reads, is likely.

You ponder that in a penthouse suite, sitting pretty amongst shredded wrapping paper. A Dior Turtleneck Sweater wrapped around your throat instead of his hands. An apology—according to the embroidered card, the tight, messy pen strokes mention something about an unexpected business trip.

The return address on the box is in Liverpool.

It's listed for sale on Zillow. The asking price is just over a million dollars. A family home on a vast plot, it reads. Six bedrooms—five in the main home and an additional inside a detached coach house. A gated driveway. A secluded courtyard with a suntrap. Something called a self-contained annex seems to be the main focal point of the sale. It has five reception rooms and a sprawling garden.

Perfect for a family, it adds.

You thumb the alpaca wool on your knit sweater, and wonder if this is the leash being cut—

Or pulled tighter.

He doesn't bring it up.

And so, neither do you.

It sits like an oafish, gaudy elephant in the background as he walks into the apartment, fingers digging into his tie. Ignored. Dismissed. He grunts when the knot loosens. Shoulders falling lax. Calmed without the clench of something around his neck.

You place his plate on the table when he wanders closer, offering one of those simpering 50s era housewife smiles when his big, bearish hand swallows up your waist. The scent of char and gunsmoke clings to his collar when he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple. Acrid. Metallic. Beneath it, you catch stale sweat. Animalic. Unwashed man, leather.

And nothing else.

There's old, greasy sweat on his nose. His hair is slicker than usual. Darker. Blood under his nails. Smoke between his teeth when he hums, offering a low, rasping missed you, sweetheart that scratches along your skin.

He didn't shower before he came to see you.

You hide the notion of it behind your teeth, letting it grace your smile with something that feels less plastic, rigid. More real. Artless. Clumsy. Like the dress he sent ahead of himself and the matching pair of designer heels that still sit inside their box. You'd never wear shoes in the house, but John Price isn't a man who does things in halves.

(a purse sits on the settee: a complete set.)

His eyes are dark—pelagic: the ocean at night; all dark, no stars, moonless—and when he looks at you (in the clothes he bought, in the penthouse he owns, cooking the dinner he wanted), something ripples across the surface. A frisson. Underwater quake. Deep and dark, and darkly possessive. Hungry. 

You like the look on him right now. Maybe even more than anything else he'd ever bought for you, done to you, because Price is, above all else, fundamentally human.

He has rules. Expectations. It's rare he's ever driven by instinct beyond anger—that thrilling thing you'd only ever glimpsed when he peeled back the curtain, tearing the skin he wore with you kneeling at his feet and growled into the phone at whoever stroke his ire. He's controlled chaos. Gruff and uncompromisable.

But the look on his face right now splits that staunch control down the middle until it falls, shattering into pieces at his feet.

He growls m’hungry, sweetheart, and you barely have a second to push the risotto aside before he lifts you onto the table, barely sparing a minute to swipe his hand across the surface, sending dishware and untouched food tumbling to the ground with that same little growl he gave to the man on the phone who disturbed him from the comfort of keeping his cock warmed on your tongue all day long. 

You're laid over the jacket he'd thrown down—rich with gunsmoke, tobacco, and something sharp and metallic—legs squeezed together, ankles tossed over his right shoulder.

It's messy. Artless. All animal despite the cocoon of finery bracketed around you.

Plates shake from the jarring force of his thrusts. Cups tip, spilling your glass of Roumier across the table. Something shatters when it hits the ground. But he doesn't stop. Doesn't even notice the chaos happening around him—as if the world ceases to exist beyond the sight of you taking his cock like a good girl. Spread out for his leisure. His pleasure.

He certainly looks like a hellish king as he stands above you. Towering. Terrifying. One hand wrapped around your throat, keeping you still as he slides his gaze from the tilt of your thighs to the tears puddling in the corner of your eyes as he stretches you open with the thick of him. The other looped under your knees, holding firm. Fingers digging into your flesh. Tight. Rutting like a beast.

There's sweat on his brow. His chest heaves. The hand around your throat slides down your collarbones in a damp spill of heat that makes your toes curl above his shoulder. Rough. Sticky with sweat. With you from when he pried your cunt open on three thick, scarred fingers, grunting at the sloppy mess he found between your thighs. Always so fuckin' wet for him.

It wasn't enough, but you think he likes that. Indulges in something archaic, sinister, when he catches the wince on your face as his too-big cock notches against your too-tight hole. Forcing himself inside with a grunt that sometimes sounds like a laugh when you whimper. When you cry and claw at the sheets and beg for mercy—just a minute to adjust, a second to get used to the burning stretch. The poignant ache when he slides down to the root—so deep, you sometimes think you can taste him in your throat.

He gives no quarter then, and he doesn't now.

Price likes fucking you rough. Edging on painful, bordering on too much. It's the juxtaposition, you think, from the way he treats you like a spoiled little princess who has daddy wrapped around her finger to the dressed up little whore he lays out on a table, bends over a settee, and brands your throat with the clench of his paw as he pounds into you like a beast. A little mean, a little cruel—just enough to balance out the rasp in his voice when he hands you his credit card and says buy whatever you want, sweetheart.

(and miss you, sweetheart—when he's tired and alone and already four glasses of whiskey deep; voice ground down to ash from the cigars he burned through. As soft as a man like him could ever get. Can't stop thinkin' about you, sweetheart. Need to see you, sweetheart. Need your pussy. Your cunt. Your mouth. That tight little ass. Want to fuck your throat until you can't speak for days, sweetheart.

(Want to push m'self so deep inside of you that you forget yourself, love. Forget who you are without my cock inside of you. Can't—can't live without me—)

Ash and soot. The next morning, another ten grand sits in your account. A knife slides cleanly, neatly, into your guts when the accompanying text says for listenin' to the nonsense of a drunk old man. don't take it to heart.)

Balance, maybe.

the thin strip of skin on his finger. the broken crayon in his pocket.

Maybe tonight was supposed to be the end. A clean break.

It makes you wonder if she found out about the tchotchke he keeps in his closet. The pretty little thing he begs to stay when he's drunk and alone, and then rips into pieces the next morning when money is promptly deposited into your account. A cruel-edged don't forget yourself, sweetheart.

But he's snarling as he peaks, grunting above you as sweat drips down his brow, heaving. Panting. Lips twisted up into a snarl. Eyes furious. Mad. His hand is a brand over your mound, possessive as he holds you in his palm, feels the way his cock splits you apart. Owned.

Bought and paid for.

Another grunt, and his thumb dips down to rub at your clit, barking at you to come—come on my cock, sweetheart, need to feel it—until you howl, clenching up so tight around him that it rips a molten, liquid purr from his chest. A throaty moan that breaks you into pieces. Tears the veneer of flesh and bone from your consciousness until your body liquifies, spilling out over the table, mingling with the Chambolle Musigny Amoureuses soaking into your back. Wrapped tight around him, as he batters into you without any finesse. Clumsy ruts. Sloppy. Animal. And then—

His cock swells. Throbs.

Over the roar in your ears, you hear him groan low in his throat, deep and brutal; the rumbling of a well-fed bear burying its dinner in the dirt. It sounds like mine now. Like ain't you, mm, sweetheart? gonna keep you nice and full. got all those rooms to fill, don't we—

wishful thinking.

But he comes inside of you. Bare. Raw. Your hands untangle from around his wrist, palm still wrapped around your throat, and drop down to your belly.

Price sees it and groans—

"that's it, sweetheart—"

(ain't gonna be empty for long.)

He's always had this little fantasy of knocking you up.

Used to growl in your ear about how badly he wanted to see you swell with his babies. Little broodmare he'd keep chained to his bed like a queen. Giving him five sons and five daughters because he could never seem to make up his mind on what he wanted—only that it was a lot.

(An improbable thing, really—he might yank on the leash, but you easily talked him down to four; two boys and two girls.)

He comes back (home) some days with fire in his eyes and sets on you like a man possessed, starved. Smothering you into the mattress with the thick of his body, grunting into your ear about knocking you up. Getting you fat and needy with his babies until you forget what it felt like not to be nursing, to be pregnant.

A terrifying concept. Something that made you rush a little faster to pick up your contraceptives, comparing the pill in your palm to pictures online just to make sure they were the same. And maybe at some point, it just became a game.

He'd press you into sheets and fuck you all day long, making you keep count. Each time he came inside of you was another baby to this empty house. A crazy thing, really. Midlife crisis, perhaps.

But you indulged.

Let him press his hairy, thick chest against yours as he folded your knees up to your ears and pounded inside of your aching, messy cunt, gasping out a tally into his sweat-slicked jaw. Laughed as he kept your legs bent and your hips tilted up, eyes riveted to the split of your sore, aching cunt. Growling an awful amalgamation of primal, masculine satisfaction at the sight of him spilling out of you and in anger at the fuckin' waste.

("gonna plug you up next time," he seethed, two fingers buried inside your bruised hole to stem the flood. "Wastin' it all, sweetheart.")

But that was before.

When he'd shower before he came to see you. Sometimes waiting days after he landed before he was back in your bed, grunting around the idea of another trip you wanted him to take you on, pretending to think about it despite the tickets to Egypt already booked. When he'd play house with you. I Love Lucy on the television, dinner in the oven. His hand curled over your nape as you bobbed your head up and down his cock. A dutiful wife taking care of her overworked husband.

Making babies in the dead of night. When he'd grunt say it, sweetheart into your ear, and you'd beg him to give you another one. Tears in your eyes, lachrymal, as you tried to convince your husband that the baby you put to bed in the empty room needs a sibling.

His hand on the leash, but your voice in his ear—paper soft—pleading don't make our child grow up as an only child, John.

(two weeks in Portofino booked. First class. Luxury resort. A Wolf & Badger swimsuit laying on your bed, one with a gold zipper on the front that he wears out by the sixth day and has to run to town to buy you a new one.)

But that was before. When it was just a rich, dangerous man's fantasy. When you had birth control to keep the unrepentant baby fever he had just a dream. Never a possibility. Never a reality.

MayoClinic says the possibility of conception is high.

The period tracker you glimpse on his phone one evening warns that you have two days before it comes.

When you swallow around the idea of it, half dizzy, half sick (six bedrooms), he rests his hand over your nape, tugging on the leash. His eyes are dark again. Midnight blue, almost black. Hadal.

He keeps them fixed on you. A ravenous black hole. Calmly closing the app as if nothing was wrong, as if he didn’t have your cycle locked into his phone. Rough, calloused thumb brushing over the soft patch of skin beneath your ear. Steady and soothing. Like calming a skittish mare. 

Unflinching. Unbothered. Entirely unconcerned when he kicks his foot over the line of what's expected, what you want, and fucks you again that night, bare. Raw. Groaning when he comes. Huffing into your ear about how he'll take such good care of you—both of you.

And when he tucks a pillow under your hips, you drag your hand down to your wet, swollen cunt in a clumsy, enticing attempt to keep him inside of you until he fills the empty space with the thick split of his scarred knuckles.

A performance, you think, when he groans like you gutted him. Bought and paid for. 

That's all this is.

But he doesn’t book a trip for this performance.

And he's gone when you wake (business, he says, in a messily scrawled note left on the end table), but there's a gift bag on the dining room table, sitting next to the stain you left when he pulled out of you. Dried come. Slick. Tinged slightly pink because he was rough with you last night. Hurried. 

The black box inside is an apology for hurting you even though you know he likes it when his come is a little pink as it leaks out of you. When you wince when you sit, and have to press a icepack against your sore, swollen cunt.

(it doesn't surprise you to find a pack already left out for you. coffee in a pot. breakfast warm on the stove.)

But the next thing he left is the real gift.

Divorce papers—already signed by him, the gold band he never let you see on top—sits on a stamped envelope, awaiting another signature. It just has to be mailed out. When you sift through them, the cause for the divorce is irreconcilable differences.

Balm to the shame is the little fact that he hasn't lived with his wife for the last year. The date of separation coincides neatly with that drunken phone call when he told you he wanted to bury himself so deep inside of you that you couldn't breathe without him saying you could. 

Domineering. Grossly possessive. 

He has you already, but that's not enough. 

It'll never be enough.

("wanna—mm, wanna give you everything, sweetheart. and I want everything, too. every part of you. wanna change your fuckin' name to mine—")

You tap your nail against the page labeled custody agreement, not even a little surprised that this docket has everything outlined, itemised. The table of contents says you'll find the prenup on page fifty-six and the proposed split of assets on page sixty-seven. It's thorough and every bit as intimidating and uncompromising as the man is wont to be. 

He's serious.

And John wants his kid. Non-negotiable.

That, too, doesn't really surprise you. Even when you were playing house, he'd always been a rather doting father—

("I don't want them to just have a sibling," he'd growl, firm and immutable, adding (intractable as always): "I want them to have a fuckin' team.”)

The address he gives for his primary residence, however, does give you pause. Liverpool. Chestnut Avenue, Moor Park. Six bedrooms. A guesthouse. 

The envelope is filled out, too. All it needs is to be tucked inside and mailed out. 

Already separated, his lawyer says, neat and tidy, like everything else in the pages. This was the most inevitable course of action, and my client, John Price, is ready to move on with his new life. 

Ready to move on. You scrape your tongue against your teeth, hand settling over your belly as you think about that. It's just—

He's always been a rather obstinate man. Stubborn. Once he gets his head around an idea, very little can change his mind. You'd seen it countless times before, but never this cold. Callous. 

Dismissive. 

Not to you, anyway. Not that you can remember. It's always been silk sheets, gifts from stores that would deny you entrance based on your credit score alone. A new wardrobe. A new place to stay. And that's—

That's kind of odd, you think. Maybe. 

He cut your lease the day after you dragged him home from the bar, back when he was just a bad choice after a terrible night out. Had the locks changed. A new lease in your hands—in his name—and a key under the mat beside a housewarming gift. An expensive espresso machine that would be a little too bourgeois in Starbucks. A penthouse that overlooks the ocean. Members only. 

There's a valet. A gym. A swimming pool. He joked one night that you'd feel right at home with the sauna it housed. Jus’ like a lodge, mm. 

You're not sure how he knew. It's one of those things that he just does. Like your name. The real one you grew up hearing before you moved to the city and changed it to fit in. How many siblings you have. Your parents. Their birthdays. A gift always sent out in your name, arriving just on time. 

All of your old things were donated. You didn't need them anymore—not when he ordered a whole new wardrobe from Loro Piana for you. Handed you his card and told you to fill the house up with whatever would make you happy. 

(Fitting, you suppose, since you barely have to think about anything except how to make him happy.)

He turned in your resignation less than three hours after you fell asleep on your lumpy mattress, worn out after a night of drinking. A night of him. More animal than man. Too tired to kick him out before you passed out under the weight of him still burying you into the mattress, hips flexing as he fucked you again for the third time. 

(the fourth, fifth while you were still sleeping. waking up to the sixth: him inside of you, a slow grind as he rocks in and out; he's bigger than you. too big. with your thighs wrapped snug around his hips, the top of your head barely clips the ledge of his shoulder. he wrapped an arm around your upper back, the other reaching out, gripping the pillows above you. panting into the thick bed of curls covering his chest as he threads his hand over your crown and presses you tighter against him. groaning into your ear. ducking his head down to rasp out how badly he wants to feel your messy little pussy squeeze him tight—

before he leaves, he hooks two thick fingers inside, and fucks his come into you. makes you come on his cum-soaked fingers before he wanders off with a small smile, the scent of tobacco and sex pungent in the air.)

And the ring—

You thought he never wore it because of some misguided sense of propriety. Decorum. The Madonna—a thin strip of pale skin, waterlilies and cashmere, a crayon in his pocket; tabloids dressing her up as a modern day Diana; a divot between his brow that grows and grows and—

and the Whore—

A penthouse. Dior sunglasses. Cucinelli heels. Colombo jackets. Loro Piana outfits that cost more than your parents make in a year. His credit cards left on your bedside table. Trips in a snap of a finger. Luxury a phone call away. 

(his voice pitched low. a smoldering rasp. stay, sweetheart, don't go. don't leave—)

—the divot melting into a brooding, heated stare. Desire drenched across his brow; want so thick, so palpable, you can feel his need throbbing between your legs. Dissolving into ash after, when he loops an arm under your body, cradling you close to his sweat-slicked chest as he leans against the headboard, smoking a cigar. Basking in the scent of sex. Satiety. Your finger curling around a thick whorl of damp, coarse hair. Content. 

It’s selfishness. Teeth digging into the man, refusing to let go. But beyond that, you know you’re good for him. 

Better for him, you think, and jog the papers on the table, right above that ugly little stain, to neaten up the pile. 

It takes five minutes to slip them inside the sleeve, peel the adhesive off of the sticky tab, and walk them down to the mailbox just outside of the lobby. Five minutes to initiate a divorce. 

If you had any qualms about falling into bed with a married man—not that he really gave you much room to think about it since he never showed up with his ring, just the mark of her around his neck like a noose; a constant guessing game—it’s put to rest when the metal flap snaps shut. 

Shame feels like an elephant. Something in the background. Ignorable. 

And besides—

(you place your hand over your belly and hum)

—you have other things to think about, to worry over, than a crumbling marriage.

He must have gotten the notice that you mailed the documents because a text comes later that night. Simple. Succinct. 

Good girl. 

The elephant slinks away into the moonless night as you pull open the catalogue of engagement rings he left on his bedside table, and circle a few that catch your eye. 

All of them sapphire. The same blue as the broken crayon in his pocket.

(The period tracker on his phone chimes a few weeks later.

You don't even bother peeking over his shoulder to know you're late.

You have more things to worry about, after all. Like moving to Liverpool next week when his divorce is finalised, and planning a wedding for the spring.)

[apatheticsunday]

Henchmen for Hire

AKA "Danny is employed as one of the Rogue's henchmen and he's doing so well at being discrete, none of the Bats even know he's committing crime! (They absolutely know.)" prompt idea!!

Y'know what would make this funnier?? Is if Selina Kyle, Catwoman and hoarder of strays, immediately Work Mom'd this kid.

Imagine Danny gets dumped into Gotham by himself. Except there's, like, no ectoplasm - not nearly enough to sustain his Ghost. So, his Ghost form slowly peters out and he's left penniless and powerless on the streets of Gotham. Obviously, the next step would be to find money. But how?? He can't go invisible, intangible, or Full Ghost to help him out here. And there aren't a lot of stand-up places that hire kids younger than 13, so ultimately he's forced to apply for henchmen positions. He doesn't actually find Catwoman's ad. No, she hears through the grapevine that this actual child is applying to be a drug runner for the Penguin or - oh, shit, the Joker??

Absolutely not. Selina is no saint, but she's not going to let another kid be beaten to death by the Joker. Maybe she talks to Harley and finds out where the kid's going, or maybe she just puts in an ad and hires him on the spot. To be honest, she doesn't really expect to particularly like the kid - she'll have him pick up her coffee or something, pay him at the end of the day (standard henchmen pay periods since it's likely they won't live through the end of the week), and clear her conscience.

Except Danny is a little shit.

Danny, for his part, doesn't necessarily want to be a henchman but he figured it'd be more than getting some lady's coffee, right? He imagined an evil man twirling his extra long mustache and smoking a cigar, or mobsters hunched over a gambling table grunting about... playing cards or something, he doesn't know. Instead Danny's told to pick up Catwoman's dry-cleaning. It's almost an insult when he knows she's planning a heist that includes stealing several very expensive items from a museum during an evening showing. Without him, her only henchman!! (So what if he snooped in her office? It's not like it's ghost-proof; she should've expected Bad Behavior from the Very Bad Criminal in her house.)

Selina finds out very quickly that Danny is akin to a rambunctious kitten chewing through her phone charger cable and clawing at her favorite muslin blanket (the one Bruce gifted her from one of their dates). And she's so exasperated that she agrees he can be involved. But only as a distraction and he's told that he needs to scram once the police come because she's not bailing him out of juvie if he gets caught. (She wouldn't, but she could make Bruce do it. Her lover would take one look at Danny's watery doe eyes and cave like he's already experiencing Empty Nest Syndrome.)

So, Catwoman and her littlest henchman plan to rob the Gotham Museum. She buys him a cat-themed facemask (in case things get sticky and he needs a quick anonymous getaway) like ones from Party City, it has little ears poking out from the top and it's adorable. And then it's go time.

Danny's role is to distract the crowd by pretending to be a lost kid and distract Batman if he shows up. Selina will take care of the rest - disarming the alarms, timing the museum workers' shifts, bribing the West Entry security guard, frame-freezing the surveillance cameras, smuggling in the forgery and smuggling out the original, and - well. It'll be nice not to deal with the Big Bat if he shows up, but Selina is used to doing this on her own.

She should've expected that Danny doesn't do what's expected.

Because Danny does his part as the crying, screaming child whose mother is lost amongst the chaos once the museum's power shuts off. He distracts the guards easily. Selina hides away the art, replaces the forgery on the wall, and goes to find her little stray. And Danny is clinging hysterically to The Batman, refusing to be pried off by security guards and museum workers. He's straight up sobbing. Talking about how he loves Batman and Robin, his family is dead, he wants to be Robin, did you know you should be able to see Ursa Major from Gotham but you can't because of the smog, do you think Poison Ivy can just make a lot of trees to unpolluted the air, Nightwing is his favorite superhero, do you think he'll sign an autograph-.

It's astounding how fast that kid can speak while also smearing green snot onto Batman's cape. Danny proves himself to be even more unexpected when he goes off-script, eyeing her and screaming, "Mom!" And Batman's eyes catch hers. Shit. How can she explain a tiny child calling her mother in front of her lover? That'll be an awkward conversation.

Catwoman doesn't take Danny to outings after that. Instead, she has Harley and Ivy take turns "babysitting" (i.e., using Danny as Batfam distractions) while she's at work, kind of like having the fun aunts take you shopping. Danny can do whatever he wants!! With the exception that he needs to be wearing his cat-mask at all times, to properly conceal his identity (neither woman knows he'd already thrown himself at Batman without his mask).

So, while Ivy is destroying a toxic power plant, Danny is stealing Nightwing's escrima sticks, clinging to him, "accidentally" tripping him, doing the Koala-leg thing. He goes all out when Nightwing actually does trip on him - he shrieks that he broke his arm, which forces the vigilante to pay attention to him. Sobs, clings harder, and endures the trip to the hospital on the back of Nightwing's motorcycle with a shit-eating grin.

Harley is beating the hell out of some of Joker's gang. Red Robin is doing surveillance and coordinating with GCPD so they can get the whole circus to Arkham. Except Danny is calling out where Red Robin is hiding with the glittery pink microphone that Harley bought him (originally to sing Doja Cat and Chappell Roan in her car). Joker gang's priority will always be the Batfam because of Joker's obsession with Batman and Danny uses the distraction so Harley can get a couple good swings of her bat in. He cackles maniacally when he hears a muffled, "C'mon, kid!!" from Red Robin.

And the Batkids are just like, Jesus, this kid is literally a nightmare. But they can't do anything! Are they going do arrest a kid? No. Are they going to arrest Batman's lover? No! So, they're stuck dealing with this.... absolute gremlin of a child!!

Danny, of course, is very pleased. The Bats have no idea who he is because of his little cat-mask, he's getting paid literally several grand per week, and Selina - who he's been living with ever since she realized he was homeless - even got him goldfish!

(Bruce is in his office, eyes crinkling in that iconic Dad-Smile, scrolling through candid photos Selina snuck of Danny's chocolate-smeared face while the kid was passed out on her couch. There's a fake ID under the name of Danny Fenton and several pages of foraged school records in a pile on his desk. Bruce eyes his desk drawer where several emergency adoption papers are tucked away.)

[creatingblackcharacters]

No, That’s Not ‘How Color Works’. - Whitewashing

Whitewashing, as defined by Merriam-Webster:

"to alter (something) in a way that favors, features, or caters to white people: such as a) to portray (the past) in a way that increases the prominence, relevance, or impact of white people and minimizes or misrepresents that of nonwhite people and B) to alter (an original story) by casting a white performer in a role based on a nonwhite person or fictional character"

In fandom context, we know it to include:

Making someone’s skin lighter

Making someone’s hair a thinner texture

Changing someone’s nose to be thinner

Shrinking their lips

Changing the character in their entirety to be someone else

The Normalization of Whitewashing

Remember how I mentioned last lesson that despite the nature of poorly drawn Black characters, most audiences are not turned off enough to discourage the action in professional works? Similar idea with whitewashing. Not the same- unlike the Ambiguously Brown Character, which claims to have plausible deniability, overt whitewashing is usually enough to make fans speak up! But that’s the key word here- overt! It has to be “bad enough” to make enough people speak up, but as we’ve seen many a time, “bad enough” seems to have a much higher threshold for nonblack viewership (sometimes the limit doesn’t exist!)

Some visual examples

This is a link to my personal thread on a Netflix show I was watching- Worst Ex Ever. Now, while the show itself was quite enlightening, there was something I could not get over. I thought I was going crazy. And that was that no matter how dark the person of color would be in real life, the animated portions would draw this light pinkish-brown. Every. Single. Time. It's like they couldn't fathom scrolling down the color wheel. And this is a Netflix original! Netflix has plenty of money for someone to have caught this in creation. But... it was produced. And put out. And they're making more of it.

I asked all of the Dragon Age fans about the series, and uh… I didn’t know things were this bad, guys! Apparently this is a man of color, but it doesn't seem like the creators want you to know that 🤣. Jokes aside, as I’ve discussed before, the noticeable whitewashing- and that was one of many racist things I was told- was not enough to prevent sales... so why would they stop? I can only hope this new game, with all the updates, is enough to turn the tide. But the series has gone on for a while now, that if they’d chosen to do ye same olde… there clearly would not be a lack of financial support to prevent it.

Colorism as a Tool

Even when actors of color are cast, colorism often plays a role in normalizing whitewashing to audiences, even to Black audiences! People think “oh well at least they’re Black!” as if that is the only important part. It is not.

While Aaron Pierre, the actor cast for John Stewart of Green Lantern fame, is a GORGEOUS, STUNNING man, he is not the dark-skinned man that John Stewart is supposed to be and should not have been cast! To me, this is overt colorism, but clearly for many people this is not “enough” to warrant concern or even prevent the casting itself- including the studio behind the movie! Black fans have plead for years for the character of Storm to be played by a dark-skinned, preferably African, woman, and it has never happened.

It naturally happens in fan spaces as well, which is another indicator that colorism as a tool for whitewashing is quite effective for audiences. If I see one more Zendaya fan cast for Kida from Atlantis, I will scream. It’s been happening for years, and I don’t think any of the people who just want to see her and Tom on screen either understand or care that Kida is a dark-skinned character. Zendaya doesn’t look anything like Kida- it doesn’t matter if she’s Black too! Just because someone is Black does not mean they can play every single Black character! I’ve even seen people fancast Emilia Clarke of Game of Thrones fame, to which… I don’t have the words. I can’t fathom what would cause these decisions other than racism.

The Common Excuses

I must be honest. I don’t really feel like re-iterating how certain things are not okay and how to fix them, because I’ve already discussed these things in massive detail. So I’m just going to direct the excuses I regularly hear to my lessons, where you can read up on them.

“Their hair/eyes are like that because they’re biracial so-”

Relevant Lessons: 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 8, 9, 10

There is nothing wrong with having biracial characters with a range of features. I am not saying that! Because yeah, genetics do happen!

But I mentioned this in my last lesson, and I will re-emphasize here, that using biracial identity as a way to whitewash is a sinister form of racism. The intention here- the real intention- is the issue here! The idea that somehow this character can only look the way you want them to look by "diluting" their Blackness… I don’t know how you can explain yourselves out of that one.

You don’t get to use us as an excuse for diversity while still trying to maintain your preference for Eurocentric beauty standards. Black biracial people don’t always look light skinned, thin-haired and ambiguous, and even the ones that do don’t deserve to be treated as your fetish for pretend antiracism. If you just want to draw a white person with a tan, do that. But don’t change a character’s entire look just so you can work in some whiteness. If you want to claim that canon Black character’s mother was white, then I guess they inherited some of her personality because their features should not change.

“It’s my style/It’s the color-”

Relevant Lessons: 3, 4, 10

I hate all excuses for whitewashing, but I’ve grown to despise, hate, abhor and loathe this one the most as I’ve become an artist. I wish there were stronger words to describe just how much I hate the “style” and “color” excuse.

Are style and use of color oft intertwined? Absolutely. I’m not saying they aren’t. But out of everything, there are two things I want artists to understand:

1. Style does not cancel out racism! No style forces you to choose ashy greys and to change peoples’ features. That’s you! If you look at something, and it looks offensive, you change the style. You grow as an artist!

2. “Everyone who is brown will look ashy so I just-” if you recognize that your Black characters look strange in comparison to your nonblack characters, then it’s time to try something else! I don’t understand this sudden need for “realism” when it comes to color and lighting, but not when it comes to hair, for example. No one cares about realism when giving every and all Black characters wavy tresses they probably wouldn’t have, but suddenly milquetoast watercolor attempts at brown and off-putting lighting is “how it works”. That’s not fair.

The color picker is an available tool! I use it often!

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if someone gets the outfit color palette right via color picking, but the skin color is multiple shades lighter. That means they were looking at that character and chose not to proceed.

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if the white characters in the show are completely correct in their palettes. Again, that means they cared enough to look at everyone else… and not the Black characters.

If you use the color picker and the color picked is… disrespectful, you do not have to use that! You can simply choose a better color that is still similar to the brown that ought to be depicted!

“It’s the lighting-”

Relevant Lessons: 4, 5

If your white characters do not shine like snow in the sunlight because of your lighting, then your lighting does not make your Black characters suddenly light tan.

If your Black characters look bad in your lighting of choice- for example, putting a very dark-skinned character in electric white lighting can be ghastly- try changing the intensity or the color of the lighting. DON’T change your character’s skin color!

I'm going to show you some pictures of South Sudanese model Nyakim Gatwech. Pay attention to the choices of light, color, and makeup.

Look how BEAUTIFUL she is! Look at the choices of intensity and color of light, and how they make her look different in each image.

Now look at this image in comparison:

In this image, whoever did her makeup and took this picture did not take into consideration her skin tone. She's also under this really intense lighting. This is an example of "increasing the lighting does NOT make an image "better"". She didn't need to have lighter skin or "more lighting" to look good. She needed BETTER lighting, lighting that worked with HER.

To see this as an example in drawn art, @dsm7 makes an excellent argument for proper lighting and color, why it is an issue to use it as an excuse, and how to solve that problem.

‼️DISCLAIMER FOR NEXT EXAMPLE‼️

Okay. I am about to show y’all a fan-created example from my personal experience. It is a TEACHING EXPERIENCE ONLY. I am not including the artist’s name in this image. It happened a couple years ago, and it’s over- they’ve chosen to be who they are despite me kindly confronting them about it. The only reason I’m including it at all is because I feel like it would be remiss to have such a clear-cut, multi-level example, and not teach with it. That said, no, I am not telling anyone to act out towards them. Again, that is not what I’m telling you to do. The last thing I need is a literal lynch mob of angry nonblack viewership for trying to teach you all, and y’all sitting there watching it happen to me. Every example of whitewashing is not going to be so obvious, but I hope you learn how to spot the examples in the art you see and share.

I'm obviously a Hades fan, particularly of Patroclus- despite my disdain for the lack of effort in his canon character design. So I've seen a lot of things. That said:

“Well it’s just MY design of them-”

Relevant Lessons: ALL

The sepia coloring did not do this. The lighting did not do this. The design is the exact same as the Hades version, even down to the shape of the hair curling in the back. The only thing that is different… is the man himself.

Y'all. Y'all! You CANNOT take a pre-existing Black character and say “oh well this is my design of them” …and the design is of a whole white person. Because if the rest of the fit is the same, and the only thing that changed is the Blackness… Racism. If you’re going to “make up your own design”, then do that!

“Blackwashing”

Speaking of: I’m sure someone edgy out there thinks they’re so smart as they retort to the screen: “but if that’s not okay, then why is Blackwashing okay?” To which I say- shut up. 😐

The “definition” by fandom: making a nonblack character Black, usually an anime character, but characters in general.

Funny enough, the actual definition in the dictionary (or closest to) is “to defame”, in contrast with whitewash (as in whitewashing history). Maybe racist fans ARE using it correctly when they say you’re blackwashing their characters, when they mean you’re making them “less likable because they’re Black now”. 🤔

Anyway: Blackwashing is not real for the same reason reverse racism is not real.

Me painting these characters brown is not going to take away from the fact that there are far more of you in media than there is of me. Me saying that I ‘headcanon a character as Black with 4C hair’ is not going to make the studio go “oh! Well they must be Black with 4C hair now!” Me saying “oh I think I’d like this character better if they were Black” as a beta tester (less overtly, obviously, because I’m not racist!) will never make a studio change that character. Black viewers have minimal value in comparison to the power of the white viewer’s dollar. I could draw white characters Black every single day of every single game media… and they would still produce majority white characters. There has not been centuries- if not millennia, when we consider Jesus Christ himself, even- of purposeful “Blackwashing” with the intent of removing the original ethnicity- and thus importance- of white people. No one has ever been allowed to forget when someone is white. No one has ever been allowed to forget or not acknowledge white people.

How it could be "solved"

Personally, I love Black edits and I welcome them here. I find them creative and fun. But if you really, REALLY didn’t want us to make those edits, then naturally, we need more Black characters in all of our media!

I wouldn’t have to make edits if I saw more of me to begin with in the things I like to watch- but when we have those characters, racists act an ass about them. We’re not allowed to even be present! I’ve seen too many gamer bros mocking the existence of Yasuke in Assassin’s Creed, and he was a real ass man. But if we made a game about African peoples in African societies, how many of the gamer bros would actually play those games? Do you think there’d be as much support, when we hear so much about Black characters that are treated so abhorrently? How many games do we have where people would love their faves just as much if they were Black? I even learned that Solas was apparently supposed to be a man of color. IMAGINE how many people would not have liked that man, with the same exact plot and characterization.

Something I’ve noticed recently: apparently "Blackwashing" is not a thing when White fans “allow” it. Take this recent trend with Miku. International Miku was beloved! But if you draw any other character as Black on any other day, there will be people that are horrid about it. Ask any artist, Black artists and Black cosplayers especially, who’s ever done it what their comments are like. I’ve read entire missives akin to white supremacist drivel on how it’s somehow morally wrong to make characters Black. Meanwhile no amount of “hey maybe you shouldn’t do this” prevented the movie Gods of Egypt from being created, with a cast full of British White people.

Solutions to Avoiding Whitewashing!

1) Using References!!

Do I think you should know what Black people look like? Yes. We’re humans. It’s 2024. Everyone knows what we look like when it’s time to hate and discriminate against us, so you know what we look like when it’s time to love and depict us. If you’re on Tumblr, you have access to the Internet. ESPECIALLY if you’re in the U.S., as Black people are the source of damn near every piece of online pop culture. If you can find my dialect to make my jokes, you can find pictures of me.

Would I rather you use a reference every single time so that you can only strengthen your depiction of my people? ABSOLUTELY.

Anyone on the Internet telling you not to use a reference or that you shouldn’t need a reference? Unfollow them. You don’t need that negativity in your life. Why would you deprive yourself of a tool to create? The greatest portrait painters in history had to look at their subjects! You are not getting paid nearly as much to do this as Hans Holbein, and he had to stare at Henry VIII correct else lose his head- you can pull up multiple references. I’d far rather be judged for using hella references than be judged for being a racist!

Part of the issue is people draw what they’re used to, what they’re comfortable with (thus last lesson). But if what you’re used to is not what someone will look like… That’s not okay. Their features are not the issue, your skills are the issue. Learn! Practice! There is no rush. No one is rushing you to be perfect at drawing Black characters, and no one is rushing you to post them. You can just practice! If you’re not a professional, you can take as long as you need to draw! If you need to draw that piece of hair over and over until you feel like you have down the shape, you do that! If you need to use a tool that would draw the hair for you, you get that tool!

If you want to post, you can say you are practicing! If you make clear you are practicing, then be willing to accept that people may have feedback. I’d far rather deal with someone saying they’re unconfident and practicing, than someone posting a whitewashed caricature and closing their ears because “well at least I’m trying!”

2) Empathize! Care about actual Black people when you create a Black character!

Imagine, if you will, in the Twilight Zone: you went to an artist, and you asked for a white character (I typed in “regular looking white dude” on google). There’s hardly ever any white characters, you’re so super excited about this one! You paid good money, because you’ve seen just how amazing this artist creates! They’re so good at drawing characters of color! But no matter how many times you ask, they send you back an image of… Assad Zaman.

That man might be fine as hell! Gorgeous! Beautifully done! Chef’s kiss. Stunning! But… He’s not white. That’s not what you asked or paid for. You can’t even fathom how they mixed this up, they don’t even look alike! And when you confront them, they gaslight you, they call YOU the issue for not understanding how you can’t tell that this is a white man! They would never get this wrong! They have white friends, you’re the racist! But you’re not stupid, and you have functioning eyes- you can SEE what this drawing looks like! And… It’s not you.

It’s dehumanizing. It’s being told that there’s a “better way” to look like you, and that’s by… Not looking like you. You, as you exist, are what’s incorrect. Your identity is incorrect, not their drawing. It’s better to have thinner hair instead of an afro or locs, it’s better to have lighter skin, it’s better to have a straighter, thinner nose over a round one, and smaller lips.

And what makes it worse is knowing that people who don’t look like you? Probably won’t care. They won’t be willing to see- not unable, but unwilling- that playing with this caricature is harmful, that they’re propagating harm by not acknowledging it. They’re letting you know that your humanity means less to them than the clout received with a whitewashed or half-assed Black character, and that people will applaud them for that ‘attempt at inclusion’. And people will applaud! They will be entertained by the mere performance! And that hurts.

I’m going to say this, and it’s awkward and I try not to say it directly on here, but… Having Black friends and/or being around actual, real life Black people would help. I can tell from some of the questions I receive that Black characters and their traits- especially things like our hair and our cultures- are being treated as… alien concepts. But even if, for whatever reason, you legitimately don’t know any Black people, you do not need to know us individually to care about our humanity as a whole! Even if you do not know we’re there, we are, and we could possibly see your work!

By acknowledging Blackness and making room to understand what it means- and that includes how we can look- you are doing the bare minimum of acknowledging our personhood. If you cannot do even that, you don’t need to be drawing us.

Conclusion

Here’s the thing: if you want to draw a white man with tanned skin, do that. Just do it! You do NOT have to erase me to have more of you! There is not a single fandom where the majority of the white fans ever said “gee, not another white guy!” It simply doesn’t happen. God knows we wish it did sometimes. You will always have an audience for white characters. There’s no danger to any of you of “being erased”.

(Without putting on my political hat, I will say that a lot of white people who consider themselves to be far from white supremacist will express beliefs in line with great replacement theory if you push them hard enough. It is unfortunately not as uncommon an idea as you might think. I would do some self-evaluation.)

People are going to notice that you only ever draw white people, but… To be frank, that has never stopped anybody from being successful. Again, Jen Zee, at Supergiant with the terrible dark-skinned characters… Still has a job. at Supergiant. A professional studio. Dragon Age. Multiple games of consistent whitewashing and racist writing. Still going. If racism prevented creation and popularity, I wouldn’t have to have this blog. Alas, that is the society we currently live in.

But if you ACTUALLY want to depict Black characters, if you ACTUALLY want to do right and be respectful- not because you want the clout, but because it’s the right damn thing to do- then you need to commit! This means drawing them as they are meant to be! Accept that you’ll likely lose some fan base, who was there (whether they were aware of it or not) for the white and lighter skinned characters. Accept that this means that trying to appeal to those people by whitewashing characters is 1) wrong, 2) racist, which is 3) something you chose to do when you could simply have just… Drawn more white people.

I’ll say it again: antiracism is hard. It’s hard doing the right thing in a society that rewards racism so easily. It’s really hard knowing that people will stop supporting you or caring as much about your work when you start including Black characters as actively as you do white ones, especially if you start talking about the importance of it. But in my honest opinion, I’d far rather be someone that cared about others, with genuine fans, than someone that was racist for the fleeting internet clout of strangers. And that may be less ‘hopeful’ than I normally am in these lessons, but… People make choices. And people who have been informed- as you are now- are aware of the choices they are making. It’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers- let’s choose better actions.

[xmoriartea]

SVSSS!Sibling Transmigration AU

Based so very loosely on this glorious art by @nibbelraz

Airplane transmigrates into the youngest infant son of the Shang family (and God damn he deserves better than this System he is their god!! Daddy Airplane?? Heard of him?? These people should not be changing his damn diaper hello??)

Shang Qinghua is already a young disciple when he visits home and meets his little brother for the first time and does no one else see there is something... off about this kid?

He makes regular trips home afterwards, eventually using An Ding logistics to find reasons to be near his hometown more frequently (and really does no one else see this kid is weird?)

Bby!Airplane is just too smart. SQH is convinced he saw the kid make eye contact with him once when he caught him stealing a dumpling behind their mother's back and it was like looking into the eyes of a demon who'd gut him if he snitched and not a human toddler

It doesn't get better as Airplane gets older and SQH hears him muttering about 1. things he shouldn't know at all regarding the sect when he thinks SQH isn't listening and 2. absolute nonsense (what System has done you so wrong didi?? you are four??)

Before Airplane is old enough to reasonably join the sect, SQH brings him back to the mountain anyway. He is fairly certain his brother is a seer and if that's the case, he's keeping the little welp close at hand

Airplane infinitely regrets how much bullshit he made An Ding deal with to ""hand wave lazy writing"" (shut up peerless cucumber!! he was writing porn not project management!!) but even just watching SQH run himself ragged over the peak has bby him exhausted (no wonder he ratted y'all out to the king yeesh)

He spends his early years as a disciple just following SQH and sometimes nudging his gege into record shattering discoveries because SQH will pat his head when he realizes and take him down the mountain for noodles afterwards (gg easy)

Airplane is a proper disciple in his own right in his teens when his notes and his story get jumbled in a way that has him tripping into one of his shixiongs when he hears the rumors - Head Disciple SJ returned to the mountain with a little brother (record screech glass shattering huh???)

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan transmigrated into Shen Jiu's unnamed younger half-brother After finding stability at the sect, Shen Jiu looks into his birth mother, knowing she sold him off when he was a child What he finds in Airplane's unwritten notes is a Fantine-Cosette backstory where his mother, a courtesan, gave him away to a good family after he was born. She sent them regular payments to ensure his care, but only found out when she was pregnant with SY that they had sold SJ off and were pocketing her money Unable to find SJ and unwilling to risk SY, she and the other courtesans raised SY within the brothel SY transmigrates into the body of a child at his sick mother's bedside with a twisted sense of deja vu having just vacated his own deathbed He doesn't know where he is, but if the orphan protagonist can make it to the sect, so can he right? (Transmigrator Halo? System? System why are you laughing??) He's barely into his second teens when SJ finds him. It takes no time at all after learning the truth for SJ to demand SY's guardianship and whisk him back to Qing Ding (See System? He DOES have a Transmigrator Halo, even if it is attached to the scum villain) SY is honestly shocked by how concerned(?) SJ is when packing his meager possessions. (No Jiu-ge (ew) no one has ever harmed him or touched him wtf would make you think they had?? He's baby??) It takes some time for glaciers to melt and for SJ to let SY in, but SY was raised around kind jiejies who taught him to be better than their worst clients and SJ feels safe around this little brat in a way he can't explain (SJ has had SY for five minutes but if anything happens to him SJ is taking out the entire mountain and then himself) YQY has NO idea how to react when SJ first returns with his brother, but he doesn't hesitate to smooth the way for SY's discipleship and watches from afar as SJ begins to finally let someone in, even if it's not him

SQH keeps telling Airplane he needs to work on his muttering to himself, that it's going to get him in trouble (bro you don't even know) but for once it's in his favor because SY overhears him just enough while YQY is sorting his shit out on arrival and suddenly they're just two spidermen pointing at each other on the peak

Cue the shenanigans of two hometown boys who have no bearing on the plot at all and are just along for the ride while their siblings handle the peaks. Anytime Qing Ding and An Ding need to work together on missions, these two volunteer and confuse the hell out of their martial siblings every step of the way

SJ does not trust the little logistics rat anywhere near his didi and glowers like an alley cat anytime Airplane is around (SQH is right, ofc. His brother IS weird and SJ does not trust it)

SQH meanwhile takes note of his weird didi's sudden and first friendship with SY and immediately starts keeping tabs on this kid because clearly Airplane's seerhood has steered him to SY for a reason, must keep note

The first time LQG makes any sort of fuss about SJ going to a brothel, SY forgets everything he's learned at the sect as Little Brother Mode™ activates to defend not only SJ but his jiejies too. (Fists are thrown. Hair is pulled. He might have bitten his shixiong, he can't say. He sort of blacked out for a minute there) Needless to say there isn't a second time and LQG has an hour long argument with his shizun about trying to poach SY for Bai Zhan peak while nursing a black eye (Airplane just side eying the GREMLIN that transmigrated here like bro wtf)

Before LBH even steps foot on the mountain, both their Systems ping about the incoming protagonist and it's not that they, you know, forgot about the story but they were distracted. Between finding each other and actually weirdly coming to care for these NPCs they... lost track of time

But the System pings and LBH enters the scene and SY refuses to let Airplane's work repeat itself (we're making your notes canon bro stfu and follow my lead. (what lead??? what plan??) I'm working on it!!)

It's a 50/50 crap shoot if SYs favoritism of bby!Binghe endears him to SJ or spikes up the resentment, but SY refuses to let harm come to LBH or for SJ to become the scum villain (someone is yelling, it might be SJ, it might be SY, it might be Binghe who doesn't want Shizun and Shixiong fighting over him)

On the other side of the plot, SQH is still a little snitch, even with his didi's visions guiding him to unprecedented success - but it's more than betraying the sect, more than wanting power and recognition. Seers are insanely powerful, highly sought after. Bringing Airplane to the sect protected him for awhile but SQH can't let him become a target. So when the OG meets MBJ, all his calculations come to a single unfortunate answer: throw your lot in with the biggest fish to protect Airplane (no one else can understand how weird his brother is because if they do his brother will end up dead)

Flash forward to when Airplane is squinting at his brother wearing fur collars year round, always running a little bit chilly for unknown reasons but refusing to see MQF about it. Airplane insists on SQH letting him check his meridians if he won't see MQF and SQH relents, puts his wrist in Airplane's hand, and squawks like a goddamn chicken when Airplane yanks his arm and tugs down his collar to reveal the mark of MBJ on his collarbone and SQH is once again met with that dead eyed 'bro do not fuck with me' stare

SQH does not question how Airplane knows, he just insists on Airplane staying far far away from MBJ (he might work for the demon, but he certainly does not trust him)

Of course Airplane defies all reason and knows the exact secret rendezvous point SQH uses (he did not suffer puberty twice to be denied seeing his most precious creation in the flesh, gege) and is spotted spying on the spy almost instantly by MBJ who is just holding him by his scruff and looking between a wide eyed Airplane and a barely-restrained-panicked peak lord like 'why oh why are there two of them'

Cue a full stand off between a demon and peak lord, ice knives at SQH's throat, a blade hovering at MBJ's heart, and Airplane just held like a kitten between them like fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck that SOMEHOW ends with MBJ rationalizing 'ah this weird mouse is important to my viper of a spy - if I want to keep the viper loyal, I will protect this mouse'

Which throws the Sheng brothers into a mess that neither of them know how to deal with. SQH thinks he needs to continue to be excessively useful to keep Airplane safe. Airplane can't let MBJ know he's his brother's best source or the demon might cut out the middle man. (Meanwhile somewhere MBJ just out here planning to court this weird little mouse to tie SQH's loyalties to him)

Whatever circumstances causes the Abyss plotline to trigger, SY 500% throws himself in after Binghe leaving SJ partially feral because his didi is in danger, Airplane CONCERNED, and SQH just casually like 'oh that's why my brother was interested in him, interesting' not at all realizing no, SY is likely just about to become his boss(-brother-in-law)'s boss's consort - whoops! whoops! whoops!

[lina-lovebug]

I'd Fight The Devil

Pairing: Alastor x fem! reader

Background: reader is Lilith and Lucifers oldest, and resembles Lilith more. Lucifer has a hard time bonding with her because of this, and Alastor decides to step in.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"DAD'S COMING?!"

(Y/N) Morningstar, firstborn daughter of Lilith and Lucifer, was currently having a breakdown over the fact that her father was on his way to the hotel.

She'd have no issue leaving, of course, but Charlie tricked her dear old sister into staying by saying she needed help with the hotel. . .and told her their dad was coming when he was two minutes away.

It's not like she didn't miss him, but things became different once their mother disappeared. Lucifer threw himself into his ideas, and (Y/N) tried maintaining their relationship but he couldn't even stand the look of her.

"I'm sorry! But I thought maybe you guys could talk while he's here?" Charlie suggested with a gulp, twiddling her fingers.

"I'm done trying with dad. If he wants to talk, he can come to me," (Y/N) crossed her arms, firm on her stance.

"I never thought I'd meet someone with worse daddy issues, but here you are, cher," Alastor, with his famous grin, looked down at the Princess of Hell. She huffed, not in the mood for his side comments.

"Alastor, please-"

"He's here!"

"-please fucking hide me!" She ran behind him, despite the mass amount of blonde hair making it obvious.

He chuckled.

Honestly, since meeting the eldest Morningstar, Alastor deemed himself her Protector. Not that the girl wasn't capable or needed him persay, but he cared for her. Being on the aroace spectrum, he wasn't plagued by a selfish desire to fuck her, but it was a sweet concern that slowly turned into a need to be near her.

A need to make her his.

"Hopefully he doesn't-"

"Pumpkin?"

"Fuck," (Y/N) silently cursed under her breath before Alastor stepped aside.

"Hey dad," Lucifer felt a pang in his sinister heart at her tone. She sounded uncomfortable and wouldn't even look at him, but he also remembered that he couldn't look at her at times.

It reminded him of happier times.

Times he didn't want to be reminded of anymore.

"So how've you been? Heard you've got a fancy job now. Probably making loads of money, huh?" He chuckled nervously.

"Dad, it's my company. I made it."

And he couldn't even remember that she did that?

Any dad would remember that his child created her own business.

"Ouch."

"And it's got a fucking duck on the logo. God, dad," She rose her voice, "you can't even remember that?"

"I've been busy, pumpkin-"

"Too busy to call? Too busy to even fucking call?!"

Charlie flinched at the harshness in her voice. She's always been a firecracker but she's never seen her so angry.

"I'm not fighting with you, (Y/N)," Lucifer stepped towards her, "why do you insist on fighting? Especially when I'm here for Charlie."

"Oh, you're here for Charlie?" Her horns started to come up through her skin, rolling back like a rams.

Just like her mom.

"I'm not making this about me. I just wish you'd make the effort instead of it having to be me," She missed who he was.

And during this, Alastor could see the pain on her face. She was furious, and rightfully so.

But he let her fight her own battles.

"I'm sorry that I look like mom. Is that what you want me to say?!"

"Yes!"

He didn't mean it. Of fucking course he didn't mean it, but it slipped out.

"Dad! That's enough!" Charlie ran to her, seeing tears well up in her sisters eyes. "How could you say that?"

"Pumpkin, I-"

"Don't," She sniffled, holding Charlie close, "don't come near me."

But he didn't listen.

He hated being the fact that his little girl was crying because of him.

"I think you've come far enough," Alastor spoke, getting infront of Charlie and (Y/N). He is excellent at saving face, so his pure unadulterated rage was hidden beneath his smile.

She hiccuped behind him, sobbing into Charlie's shoulder.

"Don't make me move you," Lucifer glared.

"And don't make me fucking kill you for hurting what's mine."

His voice turned more static-like than before, his eyes a burning red and his horns outstretched. He was a fucking shield for his Princess, and not even the King of Hell could get through. Lucifer recognized this and humbly backed away, retreating with his tail between his legs.

_ _ ☆ _ _

(Y/N) spent the next hour crying in her room. Over the years, she had started to hate herself for looking like her mom, and Lucifers' confirmation only reaffirmed it.

"Need anything else?" Charlie asked her. Although her sister wasn't searching for redemption, she had her own personal room in the hotel.

"Can you get Alasto-?"

A knock sounded at the door.

"Was he there the whole time?" She sniffled, and a muffled "maybe" came through the door.

Her bed was surrounded by napkins that she quickly placed on her bedside as Charlie allowed Alastor inside.

Alone.

The two of them.

Might as well just throw them condoms and say get to it, is what (Y/N) was thinking. She's known about her crush on The Radio Demon for a few months now, having a fantasy dream here and there, but wasn't much of an active person herself.

"Thank you. I know he tried to fix it, but I couldn't stand to look at him," Her puffy eyes made Alastors eye twitch, still a small spout of anger for her father.

"Of course, my dear," He sat himself next to her on the bed.

"Because your father, although the King of Hell, is a fucking coward", is what he wanted to say but kept those words for himself.

"Did you mean it? That I'm yours?" She asked, her hand inching closer to his.

"I never say anything I don't mean, cher," He grabbed her hand, kissed it, and made the she-demon gasp.

"I thought you hated touch."

He chuckled, "Oh, I do, but not if it's you. Your skin is warm, and it brings me comfort. You bring me comfort."

"You'd have me, even if I want to be glued to your side? Even having petty fights with my dad?"

"Darling, I'd wear your skin if you asked."

"Oh, how romantic," She blushed before both his hands came up to her face, bringing her into a needy kiss. With her, he needed to feel her.

Someday, even all of her.

"And I'd eat demons with you," She whispered against his lips.

"Oh my heart may burst, my dear."

Taglist: @lorkai @droopingdatura @tr1coo @randomuser-89 @abbiedail @evelin1o1 @sseleniaa

[hollowstarchaser]

Sorry but this idea that the marauders fandom is "responsible for keeping Harry Potter relevant" is so out of reality for me

the majority of the people that go to give more money to JKR have never read a fanfiction in their lives, and they probably don't even know about what she does on twitter or don't care about what the authors of the books they read do or are just indifferent or hate us trans people so they don't give a fuck and continue to engage with the official world of hp.

I understand wanting to personally step away from the fandom because she's such a piece of shit that you just don't want to engage with anything she started, but to try to guilt trip fanfic authors seems a bit much and also out of anything based in reality as I said... the cultural influence of Harry Potter is not based on the gay fanfictions online, that franchise has whole themes parks for it and a whole TV show that is gonna be promoted heavily, be serious! the problem is not the fanfictions online, she's extremely rich she's gonna keep promoting her works and lots of people aren't going to care about what she does or they may even start supporting the books only because she's transphobic

I feel like instead of trying to shame queer and trans people that write fanfictions and made up their own version of that world and made it the most queer version they could create, we should focus on shaming the politicians and judges that let themselves be bought by transphobic pieces of shit and also those politicians that are not speaking out about it??? while I do think we should absolutely also keep boycotting jkr by not giving her more money and I've been doing this for years since I learned what she really thought, at the end of the day the politicians that make the rules hold the real power and I feel like we get distracted by shaming each other instead of focusing on the main problem which is the governments in power... we should think more about going to protests and pestering THEM with our disappointment

Idk I find it ridiculous to be harassing other queer people because of this, it's just more pointless hate and infighting that doesn't bring anything positive! from what I've seen most of the marauders fans have been actively against her, have not interacted with stuff that gives her actual money and are trying to boycott her by not buying official merch etc etc they are way more aware of what she does than random normie fans that keep buying harry potter themed shit around the world... Exactly because the marauders fans are mostly queer people that honestly made up a whole other universe from what I consider just a smidge of her input at this point. I really don't think it's a fair assessment to say they're responsible or even "the main reason why Harry Potter is still alive"... That's just a lie

[taeghi]

– i don't want to be your roommate, i want to kiss your neck || (m)

heeseung x reader | smut, fluff, angst, PWP lol | roommate + best friend's brother!heeseung

➤ summary : at first, you cursed lee hana for ditching your roomies-forever contract, but now you want to thank her for having such a great idea for her hot brother to move in as her replacement... just as long as she doesn't find out you think he's hot.

➤ includes : warning!cuddling!!!, also masturbating, unprotected sex, fingering, praise, breeding kink ;)

➤ word count : 15.7k (jesus)

minors DNI!!!!

taglist : @iamliacamila @m3chigo @jaylaxies @stellarpsh @noonareads @xrvrqs @enmayz @enhastolemyheart @notevenheretbh1 @jjhmk @heyitsbush @ipoststuffandyeah @seokseokjinkim @capri-cuntz @parksunghoonsgf @hoyeonheeseung @erehkinnie30 @niniissus @janehrt @jenojammin @heerated @luvjongseong @wonniewonwon @loveyrovey @page-odette @slay-you-slay-all-day

lee hana was the best friend you could ever ask for. 

when you met during freshman year of college you knew that you would be best friends forever. she was the missing piece that you were missing in a lot of ways. so, when she asked if you wanted to find a place to rent together you couldn’t possibly turn her down. 

you decorated the apartment you found so that it could be deemed as ‘your shared home’. parts of you both were mangled around the apartment, wherever you looked there were pieces of each other somewhere.  hana’s favourite photography works she’s taken, your ugly wool throw blankets that you insisted on having and both of your dirty dishes piling up in the sink because you both hated doing dishes. 

 though, you both lived wonderfully together. you managed to cook almost everyday regular meals that were somewhat healthy and made sure the other one was getting to class on time. you figured that you would continue to live with her for the rest of your early-mid twenties. 

until she got a boyfriend. 

don’t get it wrong, you loved jay; but you despised him for taking away your perfect roommate. 

you were worried at first when hana sat you down and told you she’d be moving out by the end of the month. her and jay had decided to take their relationship further and she agreed to move into his apartment with him. you knew that your lease wouldn’t end until the rest of the year, meaning that you would have to pay the rent for two people even though it’d be only you living here. which, you did not have the money for as a broke college student. 

“but don’t worry!” hana smiled at you from her spot on the couch when she broke the news, “i’ve found you another roommate who is just like me! so there won’t be any problems.” 

you sigh, because there are usually always problems if hana isn’t involved. meaning, you will most definitely hate your new roommate, hana’s replacement. 

“don’t sigh like that y/n!” hana smacks your shoulder, “he’s seriously a perfect mix of you and i, you’ll like him.” 

“him?!” you exclaim, shaking your head no to the fact that you will have to live with a boy. 

“y/n, just give him a chance! you haven’t even met him yet!” 

you glare at your best friend and soon-to-be-ex-roommate with displeasure at the new information she was laying on you. “but he’s a boy, hana! he’s gonna ruin our woman sanctuary here!” 

“y/n, i don’t think this has been a woman sanctuary since we’ve moved in,” 

“but it could be, if you stay living here,” 

“y/n, i already told him he could have my room, I care about him a lot.” hana juts out her lips into a pout, her pretty features contorting into begging ones as she desires your approval. 

“fine, but i want him to at least try to contain his man testosterone to one room,” you sigh, giving in to your best friend. her squeals reach your ears quickly as she leans over to pull you into a hug. 

“you’re gonna love him! you won’t even want me back as a roommate,”

“who even is he?” 

“his name’s heeseung,” 

“heeseung?” 

“yeah,” hana shrugs casually, “my brother.” 

“what?!” you exclaim at her again. you had never met her family before, both of you growing up in different states made it hard to meet each others. hana was usually private about her family, not talking much about them either way. you were aware that she had an older brother, but you would have never thought that you would come to live with him. “hana, what.” 

hana lets out her familiar roistering laugh at your shocked expression, “i told you he was just like me- and if he’s just like me then he’s just like you!” 

you pout, “we’ll see about that.” 

you didn’t meet lee heeseung until lee hana had officially moved out. he came unexpected, a knock on your door that you couldn’t guess would be him. 

it was the day after you sat on the kitchen stool, a pout on your face as you watched hana and jay  take her boxes to the moving truck. 

“can’t i just move in with you guys?” you whine out to them. 

“aw, y/n,” hana comes over to you, cupping your cheeks harshly together. “no.”  you let out a hmph at her response, making her let out her obnoxious laugh. “i’m still going to see you!”

“yeah, i know, but it won’t be the same,” you shake your head at her. 

though you were happy for hana, it was still hard to believe that you would never be roommates again with her. jay and her made the perfect match, so part of you knew this day would come. the day that you would no longer be able to refer to lee hana as your roommate. so the final goodbye as roommates was bittersweet when hana and her cinnamon scent left the apartment that she no longer called her home. the apartment had an echo to it that night, when you were cooking dinner by yourself- for yourself. 

hana had texted you that she had forgotten a few boxes in her closet, therefore when there was knocking on the door at 8am the next day you figured it was her. you swung open the door, dressed in your loose sweatpants and tank top, ready to tease her for coming back so soon.  

you were not expecting to open the door to see an ethereal man. 

his warm brown, deer-like eyes were relaxed as they met your surprised ones. his said eyes wandered down your body, stopping to stare at your exposed lower stomach from your sweatpants sitting low on your hips. you felt your neck gush with heat as you attempted to pull down your tanktop when you realized where his eyes had been stranded. 

“hi, you must be y/n,” he spoke first, his voice as warm as his eyes. 

“uh, yes?” you respond curiously, your mind still flowing with sleep from waking up seconds before. 

the boy raised a singular key on a chain in front of your face, “i’m heeseung- hana gave me the key but i figured i would knock first anyways.” 

“hee- heeseung, right, um,” 

“so, can i come in?” heeseung smiled at your shocked demeanor. 

“yes! um, of course, sorry- i just woke up.” you mentally cursed yourself for being so bewildered. 

your new roommate stepped in and stopped in the middle of the living room. looking over the place from top to bottom. his eyes were going over every nook and cranny that he could possibly see. when he figured he had seen enough, he turned back to you at the open door and said, “it’s nice in here- really nice.” 

“thanks,” you stated, curious about where he was taking this. 

“i’ll try to keep my man testosterone to my room so it doesn’t ruin what you’ve got going on here.”  your jaw dropped at his words, not believing that hana could’ve told him that you said that. 

“look, i didn’t-” you started, trying to explain yourself so your new roommate doesn’t hate you completely. 

his laugh that is a lot quieter than hana’s, considering that they’re related, rings out in the apartment. you paused for a second to think that maybe you could get used to hearing his laugh instead. “it’s alright, don’t worry about it.” 

“no, really, sometimes i just-,” 

“it’s alright, hana gave me some pre-move in roommate tips, i got you.” 

your demeanor changes as you cross your arms over your chest at the news, “oh did she?” heeseung gives a faint noise of confirmation as he scans the old couch you and hana picked up on the side of the street two years ago, “and what was one of those tips.” 

“hm, that you must have green tea every morning before you can do anything else.” he smiles cheesily at you, “which i think we should get on doing so you’re down to help bring in all my shit.” 

sure enough, you got your cup of green tea, showing heeseung around the kitchen as you did so. he sat at the kitchen stool where you sat yesterday, watching the other lee sibling move all her belongings out.  you tried to tell yourself to calm down as he sat behind you, out of your view. you were not used to having a good looking boy in your apartment. you were glad that you slipped into your room to get a hoodie on before reaching the kitchen for that cup of tea. 

“sorry it’s a mess in here, i didn’t know you were moving in today,” you spoke with your back still to him. 

“really? hana told me that she told you i was coming,” 

you scoff, “of course she did. she always forgets to do as she says.” 

a knowing smile crawls onto heeseung’s pretty face, a smile that seems to be the only thing that gives away he’s related to hana, “i know; i shouldn’t have trusted her this morning.”

“she also didn’t tell me that it was her older brother moving in,” you joke, turning around now with a hot cup of tea in your hand. when he lets out a shocked expression you continue, “i knew she had an older brother, but she never told me your name.” 

heeseung shrugs, “yeah, we’re private like that- i don’t think many of my friends have met hana either.” 

“why not?”

“i don’t know, we’re just like that.” 

you set down your now empty cup, feeling refreshed as the hot tea settles in your stomach.  “right, let’s go get your man testosterone shit.” 

heeseung follows you out of your now shared apartment, smiling to himself as you complain about becoming his personal mover. 

with lee heeseung’s belongings finally all brought into your now shared apartment, you couldn’t help but compare his scent to his sisters. it was similar in a way, the cinnamon wisp of hana’s you became familiar with circled around heeseung, but there was a mix of something sweet along with it. 

the boy didn’t have too many things. a big computer set, a few boxes of clothes and a ton of cd’s. hana’s old bookshelf seemed to suit heeseung’s cd collection easily as there was just enough room for them all to be lined up by genre. you could tell that the remnants of hana will no longer be in your apartment by the end of the day. 

“i think i forgot another box of cd’s in my car,” heeseung said as you watched him unpack from the bedroom’s door frame you were leaning on. “i’ll be right back.” he walks past you, a noise of acknowledgement coming from your throat. 

with the front door closing and heeseung’s brown hair leaving sight behind it, your head turns to hana’s now old room. heeseung’s clothes boxes are stacked up on his new bed. you wonder for a moment what other clothes he wears besides the gray sweats and black hoodie he has on today. then, drooping out of the farthest box on the bed, a white and black flannel catches your eye. before you know it your legs and feet have moved so you’re able to pick up the flannel. the fabric is soft and you instantly smell that sweet scent of heeseung surrounding you. 

“i can put away my clothes myself, it’s okay.” heeseung’s voice speaks from behind you, making you jump and instantly drop the flannel from your hands, back into the box. 

you turn to see him putting the last box of his cd’s onto his desk, his hoodie sleeves rolled up so you can see his smooth forearms now. “right, i know. sorry.” 

heeseung chuckles under his breath as he flips his bangs up out of his face and runs a hand through his hair, “no it’s okay, i just figured you wouldn’t want to touch more of my man testosterone than you already have.” 

your lips purse at him, “yeah you’re right. i can already feel it growing on me.” you make so that your hands are trying to brush something off of you in disgust. 

“well how about you go wash it off in the shower while I make breakfast?” heeseung suggests with a playful smile on his pink lips. 

“breakfast?” you exclaim, your eyes wide. 

“well i would say it is around breakfast time, no?” 

“hana never made breakfast.” 

“what can i say? i’m the better roommate.” 

you crossed your arms over your chest, “don’t push it, heeseung.” you glare at him as you push past him to go to the bathroom. “and I like my eggs over-easy.” 

you hear heeseung’s soft laugh as you close the bathroom door. 

not only did lee heeseung offer to cook breakfast, he is actually good at cooking. as soon as you walked out of the bathroom in clean clothes and the man testosterone on your skin properly washed off, you started drooling at the smell of food. 

heeseung was standing over the stove, finishing up the last of the scrambled eggs he was making. the small kitchen table you and hana bought years ago was set up with plates and cutlery, some fruit, bacon and toast. 

“heeseung, oh my god,.” you say in shock. you would have never imagined that your new roommate would have done something like this. .

heeseung turns with a pretty smile on his face, “sit down, the eggs are done now.” 

in your shocked state you managed to sit down in the chair heeseung motioned to as he filled up your plate with eggs. “why did you make all this?” 

heeseung shrugs as he set the empty frying pan in the sink and sits down across from you, “i mean you let me move in here without ever properly meeting me and then you helped me move in all my stuff, so i figured this was the least i could.” you stare at him in shock and heeseung lets out a quick, dry laugh, “well are you gonna eat it or what?” 

“right! sorry!” you pick up your fork and start to dig in, “it’s just, i haven’t had a breakfast like this in years.” 

“what do you usually have for breakfast then? besides green tea.” 

now you shrug, eyes practically closing from how good his food tastes, “nothing, pretty much.” 

heeseung rolls his eyes, “well that’s not good, we’ll have to change that.” 

“if you make breakfast like this often then you and your man testosterone can stay here for as long as you like.” you point your fork at him with a knowing smile. 

“or until the lease is up in december.” 

“right, or until then.” 

the mention that heeseung nor you wouldn’t be living here together for more than four months suddenly leaves a pit in your stomach that his eggs couldn’t manage to fill as you continue eating. heeseung has already been in your apartment for no more than four hours and you already could not imagine living with someone else. 

besides their smiles, heeseung and hana seem to only have one other thing in common. which is their ability to get comfortable anywhere. 

you had made sure to tell heeseung to make himself feel at home, since it is home now. at least it is for four months. you didn’t want to be those awkward roommates that feel like they have to sneak around the apartment to not piss off the other roommate. 

but, for a moment, you forgot who he was related to. 

so, heeseung made himself comfortable really quickly. by the third week of living together he was already settled in and acting like he had owned the place for years. 

you learnt quickly that heeseung really likes music. his cd collection taking over his room was the first sign of his passion. when he mentioned he is a dance major at your university, it was not that big of a shock to you. you also quickly caught on to him seemingly always having his earphones in, the white cord trailing from his ear to his phone he always carries with him. 

you didn’t mind heeseung’s obsession with music, in fact you found it interesting he could listen to music for so long without a stop. you didn’t think it would ever be a bother to you. 

except for now. 

you are in your room trying to finish writing your qualification letter to the university’s library so you could become a student librarian this year, which you procrastinated so much that you only have two days before the school year starts to hand it. it is like you are having a severe writer's block and could not think of why you should be the one with the librarian position. you love going to the library to study and to read, you spent your entire first year in the library so much that hana said you should just move in there. having this student librarian position would be good for your career as you wanted to become a teacher abroad. 

you were getting frustrated at your lack of writing for this letter when you started to hear music coming from heeseung’s bedroom across the hall. it was loud and it was some aggressive heavy metal music. you take a breath and decide that it’s a sign that you need to take a break from this letter. you push your laptop to the side and lay down, covering your eyes with your arm draped over your face. 

even with your eyes closed you can still see words going across your eyes, not being able to stop thinking about what you could possibly write in your letter. you lay there trying to think of something, anything, but everytime you think you get somewhere it seems to be stupid and then heeseung’s music fades into your ears again. 

when you’ve finally had enough of laying there, getting nowhere with your letter and heeseung’s music having no sign of stopping, you toss your sapphire sheet off of your legs and stand up, beelining it right to heeseung’s door. without a hesitation you knock on his door, and a second later the music stops and it opens. 

heeseung stands in the doorway now, his brown bangs practically stuck to his forehead with sweat and his bambi eyes immediately looking down at your figure. his cheeks are flushed a red hue that almost matches the colour of his lips that are parted as he breathes. but you can’t properly match the colour of his cheeks to his lips because you realize he is shirtless standing in front of you. 

sweat droplets are trailing down his tanned skin like they’re racing each other. his broad shoulders that you couldn’t have stopped yourself from noticing weeks ago are now plain in sight for your eyes to drink in. his abdomen is full of muscles that move with his chest as he practically pants, trying to catch his breath in front of you. 

“what’s up?” his voice successfully breaks you out of the trance you were somehow put in. 

“uh,” you shake your head trying to grab onto all of the thoughts that were filling your head, “i’m trying to write my student librarian application letter and i can’t focus because your music is too loud.” you try to sound as angry and frustrated as you were one minute ago, but your words only come out mediocre when you speak. 

“oh shit, i’m sorry,” heeseung’s hand brushes his damp bangs out of his eyes, his face forming into a sorry expression as he looks down at you. “i was working out because the university gym isn’t open yet– i’ll put my headphones in.” 

“right, okay.” you speak, trying to not focus on the way his muscles flexed in his arm when he pushed his bangs back. 

“good luck on your letter,” heeseung smiles at you and it triggers reality for you as you quickly back up and enter your own room. 

“thanks.” you say to him, closing your bedroom door so you’re out of view of each other. 

you hold onto the doorknob until you hear heeseung’s door click shut and you let out a breath of relief as your body laxes. you climb back into your sapphire sheets, thankful for the coolness of them that will bring down your flushed hot state. 

when you realize your panties are damp against your skin, you make a pact to yourself– and to hana– that there is no possible way you will find your best friend’s brother hot. 

you thought that when school started you would see less of heeseung than you did in the final days of summer, but it seemed that you only saw more of him. you would see him walk past you on campus, never failing to wave at you or call your name. you also learnt that heeseung has a bad habit of skipping classes. so he was home more than you were. the only classes he never skipped were his dance ones, that would go on for hours and leave him to be tired and sweaty when he comes home. 

like tonight, you were sitting on the couch in the living room, your laptop warm on your lap as you typed away at your essay, telling yourself to write just a few more sentences. since you ended up getting the job as the student librarian, you’ve had less time to do school work since you’ve had to run around helping other students in the library. when the front door opens, a very tired looking heeseung walked in, his clothes practically falling off him from exhaustion. 

“long practice?” you ask him absentmindedly, still focusing on your essay. 

“very, long practice.” you hear him respond as the fridge door opens. you hear him shuffle around in the fridge before it closes and he tells you he’s gonna get in the shower. 

the faint sound of the shower running starts and you forget that heeseung is even home as you continue to write your essay. when the bathroom door opens minutes later, you glance up at the time on your computer, seeing it approaching 9pm. 

“wanna watch a movie?” heeseung asks from behind you. 

you sigh, “i really wanna finish my essay, though.” 

heesung comes around the couch and sits on the other side, putting his feet up on the coffee table in front of it, “that’s okay, right? you can do both. plus knowing you, you’ve probably been working on it all day right?” 

“maybe.” 

“well then you need a break.” 

“but i’m almost done, just a few more paragraphs.” you jut out your bottom lip as you look at him for the first time. his hair is wet and it’s falling into his eyes. the sight instantly makes you remember the working-out incident from a few weeks ago and you tighten your thighs together at the mere thought of it. 

“c’mon, watch a movie with me, y/n.” he begs you, “please.” before you can say no he’s reaching over and taking your laptop out of your hands. 

“heeseung!” you whine out, “i’m almost done!” 

the position he was in to grab the laptop meant that he was a lot closer to you than before, his face only centimeters away from yours as he leaned on his elbow on the couch cushion. “please, watch a movie with me.” he mimics your earlier expression of your jutted out lip. 

you sigh, giving into the boy, “fine.” he lets out a hissed ‘yes’ as he sets the laptop on the coffee table and passes you the remote.

you still for a moment when he drops his head into your lap. you’re unsure what to do or say so you try to focus on finding a movie in front of you on the tv. 

“it’s okay if i put my head in your lap right? i’m just so tired.” heeseung asks, probably noticing how stiff your body went. 

“uh, yeah sure.” you say, watching where you place your hands and arms now. you hear him let out a quiet ‘yay’ before he’s telling you to put on a studio ghibli movie.

It was hard to concentrate on Spirited Away at first, with heeseung’s head weight in your lap. you could feel his warm breath on your thigh everytime he exhaled. one of his hands was hooked onto your thigh in front of his face and you could feel him mindlessly tapping his fingers against your leg, probably to some song that is stuck in his head today. you told yourself to focus on the movie and it worked until you stopped feeling his fingers tapping on your thigh. you glance down at your roommate and see that he’s fallen fast asleep on your lap. his damp hair now dry and falling into his closed eyes. his lips are parted slightly as he exhales deep, slow breaths. you allow yourself to take him in for a moment, never seeing him so calm before. 

through his bangs you see that his eyebrows are not scrunched up in their usual frown since school started. you almost instinctively brush his bangs off of his forehead, but stop when you're a mere inch away. roommates should not be affectionate with each other, especially when said roommate is your best friend’s brother. 

haku distracts you again. 

when heeseung moves once more, it’s an hour later when Spirited Away has finally ended, the ending music causing him to stir. 

“damn, i basically missed the entire thing.” he mumbles, sleep laced in his voice. 

“you did miss the entire thing.” you respond, quirking an eyebrow up at him as he lifts himself from your lap. 

“sorry,” he shrugs, “but that was the best sleep i’ve had in a while.” 

“really?” 

“yeah, i’ve been stressed about the dance concert that’s coming up- they put me in charge of a major part of the choreography so, my minds just been on that.” 

“heeseung, what? that’s amazing!”

heeseung smiles at you, brushing his bangs back like you almost did an hour ago. “thanks- and thanks for letting me sleep.” 

“it’s no problem, it gave me more time to think about how to end my essay.” 

“yeah? think you can end it perfectly after taking a break?” heeseung asks with a sly tone.

“just perfectly.” 

since the night heeseung had slept in your lap, neither of you had shied away from little touches of each other. like hands casually sliding over each other’s when he passes you the milk for your cereal, laughing into each other’s bodies, and more naps with heeseung’s head in your lap. 

you told yourself that it’s no different than hanging out with your other friends. that you guys are just friendly with each other. there was no romantic feelings between you and your best friend’s older brother. 

you knew you and heeseung were getting more comfortable with each other, but when he barges into the bathroom while your mid-shower, you had to re-think just how close you two were. 

“sorry!” heeseung immediately calls out as soon as he enters the bathroom, “but i gotta pee so bad and i need to leave!” 

your mouth drops open as your eyes widen. you instinctively cover your body even though the shower curtain is covering you completely. “it- it’s fine.” you hear him shuffling around through the sound of the shower’s water hitting the tub. tyring to ignore that there is only a thin layer of fabric covering your naked body from heeseung’s gaze you ask him “where are you going?”.

“uh, jaehyuck’s having a party tonight and jeongin’s been outside waiting for me for almost ten minutes now and he’s pissed.” 

“oh, ok. have fun.” 

“i will, thanks!” are heeseung’s last words in the bathroom before he’s shutting the door and leaving. 

once you’re alone in the shower again, you wonder what you should do tonight since heeseung’s gone and it’s friday night. you wonder if hana would want to hang out at the old cafe you two used to frequent before she moved out. but the odd’s are low since she’d probably rather go to a bar and “start her weekend off right”. you laugh to yourself as you perfectly hear hana’s words in your head. but still, you figure you would try. 

your efforts immediately fail as an hour later you open the door to hana dressed in her ‘ready for the bar’ outfit glaring at your ‘ready for the cafe’ outfit. 

“no.” hana states as she glances up and down at you, shaking her head. “it’s friday y/n! let’s go drinking! you can study for the other two days of the weekend!”

“ugh,” you move aside and plop down on your couch, hearing hana close the door behind her wander around her old apartment. “i hate going to bars!” 

“yeah well you need to get away from “studying” places every once and a while!” hana’s voice rings from your bedroom. you sit up on the couch, realizing your head was placed right where heeseung’s face was pressed against your thighs a few weeks ago. 

“we don’t have to study at the cafe!” you call back to her. 

“but you’ll be thinking about studying!” 

“i’d probably be thinking about studying at a bar, too!” 

“not if you’ll be drinking and,“ hana’s voice gets clearer as she continues, “wearing this.” 

you turn to look at her as she emphasizes her last word. in her hands is a tight black dress that you have never worn before. it has thin noodle straps and is made of silk. “no.” 

“yes!” hana answers, “and since when did you have such a cute dress?” 

“ugh,” you plop down onto the couch again, “i don’t know, a while ago. it was stupid of me.” 

“c’mon y/n, it’s gonna look nice on you!” hana pushes your legs so she can sit beside you. “plus, i already ordered a taxi and it’ll be here in five minutes.”

“what?” you sit up with wide eyes. 

“you better hurry and get this dress on!” hana grins at you, allowing for you to grab the dress and run off to your bedroom to change. 

hana’s grin doesn’t leave her face, even when you’re sitting across from her at the table in some bar she’s chosen to take you to. since it’s friday night and you live in a popular school town- this bar is practically packed. you glance around nervously, always hating big crowds of people. 

“so, what’s it like living with my brother so far?” hana asks you, sipping her drink through her straw. 

“it’s fine.” you shrug, mimicking her actions with your own drink. maybe getting more alcohol in your system will take away your anxious thoughts. 

“oh come on!” hana exclaims, “this is like the one hundredth time i’ve asked you and it’s always the same reply. and i’ve noticed you never even mention him to me either.” 

“well what do you want me to say? living with him is fine, it’s normal.” you defend yourself, flashbacks of every not-so-normal roommate encounter you’ve had with her brother the past month and a half. 

“well i mean do you talk to him?” 

“hana, i kind of have to, because you know, we live together.” you roll your eyes at your best friend. 

“well what do you talk about?” 

“i- i don’t know! normal things! what’s this all about?” 

hana shrugs and sits back into her seat, “nothing- it’s just ever since he moved in i don’t hear anything about him, like does he even still live there?” 

“yes, he lives there.” you shove her legs with your foot playfully under the table, “and it’s just there’s nothing to say. we’re roommates- that’s it.” 

“so you guys aren’t like, friends?” you think about it for a moment, are you and heeseung? friends? you suppose you see each other at some of your worsts, like right after waking up, or all sweaty from dancing. you share things about your day and food. but those are things that just come with being roommates. so, you shrug. “what do you mean? you’ve lived together for two months and aren’t friends?” 

“well i don’t know! i haven’t asked him if we’re friends or anything- nothing like that has come up!”

“do you guys know things about each other? like share things like that?” 

“yeah, some things.” 

“like do you know who his stupid friends are?” 

you think about it for a second. every time you’ve seen heeseung on campus he’s been by himself. and he’s only briefly mentioned jeongin a few times. so you’ve assumed to yourself that jeongin must be his best friend. “only jeongin. but i’ve never met him or anything.” 

“ah jeongin!” hana nods, “yeah he’s one of the nice ones.” 

you tilt your head, “what do you mean?” 

“heeseung hangs around with the Sigma Fidi guys- the ones that are all born in 2001.” 

“the ones that completely ruined the library last year?” your mouth drops open in memory of how the beloved library- the only place you could find peace- was entirely flipped upside down last year. 

“yep, those guys.” 

“oh my god!” you sat back in your chair in despair, “that took weeks to fix!” 

“i know, i clearly remember how much you complained about it when it happened.” you ignore hana’s playful smile as you try to take in how someone as nice as heeseung could be friends with people who are capable of tearing apart such a beautiful place. “anyways, there’s the yang jeongin guy you’ve heard of. i guess him and heeseung have been friends for maybe ten years now?” so you’ve correctly assumed that they’re probably best friends. “and jaehyuk, beomgyu and theo. there’s more but those are the ones that heeseung usually hangs around with.” 

“and all four of them ruined the library?” you ask hana, still not comprehending it all. 

“mm, i think so.” hana nods, “i never really asked heeseung about it so.”

“oh.” 

the music in the bar is suddenly louder, playing some song you’ve never heard of and are far too busy mentally to even decide if you like the song or not. you would’ve never thought that heeseung would be the one behind ruining your sanctuary last year. even after speaking to him about the library so many times! you remember how distraught your favourite librarian was when you walked in after opening hours. the books were pushed onto the floor and ripped. the tables, walls and ceiling had spray paint all over it. all the flowers that even you watered sometimes were ripped from their roots and dirt was mucked throughout the entire room. not even one bookshelf was together after being stepped on and smashed. you remember how much you struggled to find a calming place to sit at school for months afterwards. 

“what’re you thinking about?” hana asks you, nudging her foot against your leg. 

“nothing.” 

“then let’s go dance!” before you can refuse, hana is pulling you up, leaving your drinks and table behind to enter the very crowded dance floor, pushing your new revelations of heeseung out of your mind, at least for awhile. 

it was hours later, further into the night when you got back to yours and heeseung’s shared apartment. it was quiet and dark, as you expected since it was reaching 3am. your familiarity with the apartment was your only guidance to your bedroom. 

within inches from your bedroom, you heard it. 

a muted moan through the walls. 

your entire body tensed and retracted your hand that was about to touch your bedroom’s door knob. a thump followed by a woman’s giggle from the other side of the hallway made you stand up straight. and then it was clear what was happening in your roommate’s bedroom. 

you never expected heeseung to bring home someone. it was never even mentioned between you two. he’s never even brought home a friend before as they always just wait outside for him. 

a deep, nauseous feeling overcomes you and you curse yourself for drinking tonight. without thinking much- only the vibrant thought of ‘i can’t be here anymore’ flashing in your mind, you turn back the way you came, catching a glimpse of high heels at the front door. you only stop when you’re in the lobby of your apartment. 

the moonlight is filling up the entire room, bringing some comfort to you as tears start to well up in your eyes. you know the reason why you’re crying, but you refuse to accept it and blame it on the alcohol. you sit down on the small couches that the lobby holds for visitors, and accept your fate of sitting here for the rest of the night. 

you didn’t know what to do. you couldn’t go to hana’s because then she’d obviously ask why you're upset. and what’re you gonna say? that you’re upset because you’ve developed a crush on your roommate that happens to be her brother and that the thought of him fucking another girl in your apartment makes you feel like you’re rotting from the inside out? that wouldn’t go well. 

because you know how hana would feel to have trusted you to live with her brother just for you to ruin it all. she was never close with heeseung in the first place, so to have her best friend have feelings for him? it just seems out of the question. why would she want her best friend to date her basically estranged older brother? even after tonight, when she asked question after question about your relationship with heeseung, she seemed off. she seemed like she wanted to know that you and heeseung are just friends. you wouldn’t even put it past her to be secretly happy that you told her everything is just normal roommates between you two. 

if only she knew how not normal it was. roommates don’t sleep with their heads on each other’s laps. they don’t drool over the other when they’re working out. their hearts don’t flip when they see each other in the hallways at school. and they most definitely don’t get upset when the other is fucking someone else.  

you sigh frustratedly, swearing to wipe the last tear off of your cheek and rest your head on the arm rest of the small couch. it’s small enough for your legs to curl up on, but it does nothing from the small gushes of air that circulate your dress-clad body. you fight the urge to go to sleep, but soon give in, the last thought being of heeseung and the unknown betrayal he just carried out. 

when you woke up, the pale moonlight had turned into a warm yellow glow. 

which was being blocked by your apartment’s front desk worker, jongho. you sit right up when your sleepy mind clears and you realize he’s glaring right at you. 

“good morning, y/n.” his monotone voice speaks to you. 

“uh, hi, jongho.” you try to speak cheerfully to distract him from the fact you probably smell like alcohol and are passed out in the public lobby. 

“have a good sleep?” 

“uh, yeah! just wanted to see how comfy these couches are, you know?” 

“no, i don’t know as i would think my own bed would be far more comfortable.” 

you cringe at his words, standing up and avoiding eye contact as he scolds you. “yeah, i should go see just how comfortable my bed is- sorry.” you wave smally at him as you head to the elevator, wanting it to come faster as you could still feel jongho’s eyes on you as he makes his way back to his desk. 

“have a good day, y/n.” he calls out to you when the elevator door closes with you inside. you only then let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding when his cold eyes leave your body. 

out with that breath and in with the thoughts of what the hell you’re about to walk into as the elevator quickly takes you to your floor. you mumble a curse as you see the mess you look like in the elevator’s mirror. scrambling to fix your hair and wipe the fallen eyeliner as walk to your door. 

your quick plan to quietly sneak into your bedroom and act as if you didn’t just freak out that heeseung was having sex with a girl and sleep on a basically public couch all night failed just as quickly as you thought of it. 

as soon as you entered your apartment, lee heeseung was standing at the kitchen island, glaring at you with eyes almost as cold as jongho’s. “where the hell have you been?” your eyes catch the floor where you saw the high heels hours ago and take a mental sigh of relief when you see that they’re gone. she probably walked right past you when you were passed out on the couch. “hello?” 

your body tenses again when heeseung’s tone matches his eyes. his hands stop mixing whatever’s in the bowl as he takes in your figure. 

“i went out, to the bar with hana last night.” you reply, easing off your own high heels at the front door. 

“and so you couldn’t answer a text? i was worried.” 

it’s then that you realized you left your phone in your purse on the couch last night when you came home. mentally slapping yourself. “i forgot it, so i slept at hana’s.” 

“i thought you said you never wanted to sleep in an apartment with jay and hana again?” 

you shrug, not finding any humour this morning. “i was drunk.” 

“ok, well i’m making eggs if you want some.” 

you shake your head no as you whisk up your forgotten purse, “no thanks. i’m just going to go to sleep.” 

“oh, ok.” heeseung’s tone drops, “see ya later then.” 

you’re too upset to respond as you smell a woman’s perfume come from heeseung’s bedroom when you walk past. your bedroom is like a safeway for you as you close the door, your back sliding against it as your knees give up from under you. the events from last night seem too much for your body to take. first with hana interrogating you about heeseung, finding out heeseung’s friends are assholes and then hearing heeseung, your best friend’s brother that you have a crush on, have sex with someone else in your shared apartment. it felt like the world was against you. 

you tiredly crawl around to slip on some sweatpants, throwing heeseung’s black and white flannel that you borrowed to the other side of your room that you stumbled on. when you crawl into your covers, ready for some sleep in your own bed you decide two things : 

you need to make some distance between heeseung and you and 

you’re never going to a bar again. 

the last few weeks of fall in your once sanctuary of a home, turned into an awkward hell. it was easy to distance yourself from heeseung at first from your hours at the library and his hours spent choreographing for the dance concert. the apartment was usually empty until late hours of the night, which were spent solely for sleep until you woke up and left quietly again in the morning. 

heeseung tried to speak to you at first, always asking if you wanted to watch a movie on the couch with him, or if you wanted another bowl of cereal. both things that you used to look forward to with heeseung, but had to turn down for the sake of your relationship with hana and heeseung. everytime you denied, you could see a deeper frown on heeseung’s face when he turned away. 

his efforts to speak quickly faded just as quickly as he was denied. your only conversation was swift hi’s and byes as you passed each other at the front door. when both of you were home, which was rare, both of you stayed in your rooms. 

you distracted yourself in your room with your studying, but hearing his laughter while he played video games with his friends echoing in the walls, only made you distracted with the thoughts of how much you missed his laugh and smile. but those thoughts were quickly fought with the fact that you should not miss your best friend’s brother’s laugh. 

after a tiring day of classes and a shift at the library, you didn’t expect to come home to a bunch of boys lounging around your apartment. you hang your coat at the front door as all of their eyes land on you. 

“hey, y/n!” heeseung’s cheery voice calls from the kitchen. 

“uh, hey.” you respond, a shy smile spreading on your face as you greet everyone. 

“these are my friends- jeongin, beomgyu and theo.” you smile as heeseung introduces them, all of them greeting in response politely. you try to pretend like hana didn’t show you pics of the Sigma Fidi members a few days ago so you know who exactly is sitting in your living room. 

“heeseung you didn’t tell us your roommate was so pretty!” the one with long black hair who you recognize as yang jeongin speaks, his eyes almost sparkling as he speaks. 

“yeah, you really are so pretty!” theo smiles at you. “isn’t she, hee?” 

with the dim kitchen light, you can still see a hint of pink hit heeseung’s face as he continues to pour juice in a cup. “um, yeah- of course.” you felt exposed standing in your own living room and you quickly wanted to get to your peaceful bedroom and away from this group forming. 

jeongin tsks at his best friend’s response, “c’mon heeseung, make it seem more meaningful than that!” 

heeseung stops pouring and looks up at you, taking in your pink cheeks of embarrassment and the cold, fall wind before quickly glancing back to his friends, “she’s really pretty.” 

“that’s it!” theo laughs tossing his head back to laugh at how embarrassed his friend looks. “if you’re gonna compliment someone, you gotta mean it.” 

the apartment goes silent as you try to decipher what you should do next. 

just as you’re about to beeline it to your bedroom after offering a quick goodnight, beomgyu speaks from his side of the couch, “oh and y/n!” 

you turn, forcing an awkward smile on your face, “yeah?” 

“thanks for letting me sleep over a few weeks ago.” his smile beams up at you. 

“you slept over?” you ask him, confusing covering your face at the news. 

“uh, yeah… the night jaehyuk had a party i came back here with chaeryeong and passed out.” 

“the night of jaehyuk’s party…” you speak out loud, trying to comprehend what you were hearing. 

“yeah, the night you went out with hana… i slept in your bed that night, that's why i was worried you didn’t come home.” heeseung speaks up from the kitchen. “i never got a chance to tell you i slept there… sorry.” 

“oh…” you place your hand on your head… so it wasn’t heeseung having sex in his bedroom that night- it was beomgyu, “no, it’s fine, yeah.” 

“are you okay?” jeongin asks you, a worried expression on his face. 

“yeah, i just- yeah i’m good- just a long day so i’m gonna go to bed.” 

“alright, it was nice meeting you!” theo waves to you, which is followed by the other three saying goodnight, too. 

in your bedroom you had to fight the urge to laugh. the amount of relief you had now that you learnt heeseung hasn’t fucked someone. it was laughable how worried you got for something that could’ve been easily avoided. if you had just gone into your bedroom that night you would’ve found heeseung awake in your bed, waiting for your return. the thought of heeseung laying in your bed makes you wonder what he thought of your room. if he liked the smell of your sheets or perfume. if he even paid attention to those details about you. 

the group of boys laughing in the living room makes you move from your bedroom door, suddenly extra ready for bed now that something that has been eating at you for weeks is finally cleared up. you crawl into bed, wondering if heeseung had put his head where yours is, and you wonder if it’s okay to think of your roommate this way. 

soon after, you decided that you can’t avoid heeseung forever, and honestly it was getting tiring trying to stay away from him. so, instead of heading to the library to study for hours after your last class of the day– you headed home. you could feel your cozy blanket on your body the more you got closer to your apartment. you imagined eating a bowl of ramen in bed before taking an afternoon nap as soon as you got home. 

the thought of heeseung being home not in your plan for the day as you assumed he would be at one of his many dance classes, or teaching his new choreography to the other dancers for the concert that was quickly approaching. you wonder what heeseung will say when he sees you home before him for once. you giggle to yourself when you try to imagine the look on his face. 

when you open your apartment door, you quickly realize that the afternoon you had planned was in fact, not happening. the tv was turned off as heeseung sat on the couch. the sunlight from the large window panning onto him as he sat with his back completely against the cushion. his head was tilted back, his brown hair shaggy on his head, desperately needing a haircut that you didn’t want. his brown, bambi eyes were closed and his mouth hung open. 

it only took a second for you to notice the rest of him, his body shaking and panting. your eyes glance down to where his hand was wrapped around his cock. the red tip oozing precum as heeseung continued to jerk himself off. your mouth opened, wanting to say something– anything, but you couldn’t. you knew this image of heeseung would forever be ingrained into your brain, but you can’t look away at how beautiful he looks, with each droplet of sweat catching on the sunlight. 

your body rests on the right side of your body, moving the door an inch– the perfect inch that makes the door squeak, causing heeseung’s eyes to fly open. when they meet you, they widen, curses flying out of his mouth. “oh y/n! fuck!” 

you turn your head, your hand covering your eyes, “sorry! sorry! i didn’t see anything!” you hear heeseung scrambling around, probably pulling his pants up and knocking things over in his surprised state. you felt your heart rate speed up, a feeling of anxiety taking over and you decide that you can’t take this right now and slam the front door after you. you’re practically running down the hallway of your apartment building, taking the stairs down instead of waiting for the slow elevator, needing to get away from this situation fast. because there’s just no way you just watched heeseung masturbate. 

this is definitely not normal for roommates. 

you head to the library and stay there until closing, trying to study and distract yourself from the image you saw earlier. but it seemed like every ten seconds, the thought of heeseung masturbating would pop into your head. 

it was the way that heeseung seemed to be so close to his climax, his low grunts frequent as soon as you stepped in the door. the light sheen of sweat covering his face as he focused on the pleasure he was giving himself. his chest moving erratically as he struggled to catch his breath. he looked gorgeous and overwhelmed at the same time, triggering something inside of you that you’ve never thought of before. 

the more you thought about heeseung masturbating, the more you could feel your panties getting wet. when it was closing time you could only sigh, thinking how now you have to walk home uncomfortably and how this wasn’t the first time heeseung had made your panties uncomfortably soaked. 

you didn’t know what would await you this time you came in the front door, but you were glad that it was dark and silent. no group of boys, no heeseung attempting to cook and no hana who had forgotten something at the apartment again. 

you lied in bed, wanting to go to sleep to forget this long day. but the uncomfortableness in your panties couldn’t go away. there was something swirling in the bottom of your stomach and you knew it was all because of heeseung. 

your hand naturally finds its way in your panties, gasping quietly when you feel just how wet you are. your fingers basically slip through and catch all of your juices. within a second your fingers are circulating your clit in small circles, imagining heeseung was in your bed again, but this time with you. you imagine that he’s whispering for you to cum for him, that he wants to see you cum. you try to imagine what he’d look like laying beside you, watching you pleasure yourself to the thought of him. 

but then it only takes a second for you to give up. the pleasure you’re seeking can only be satisfied with heeseung yourself. your eyes open and you groan out into your dark bedroom, frustrated with yourself and heeseung. you turn onto your side, eyes closing again, but this time for sleep, just wanting to forget this whole day happened. 

you don’t think you were asleep for long when you woke up to a bump. you lay there, trying to listen for another and then you hear your bedroom door open and a whisper of your name. “are you awake?” 

your roll over, eyes squinting as you look up to find heeseung standing at your bedroom door, “yeah. you woke me up.” 

“oh i’m so sorry,” heeseung pouts at you, you hear the slur in his voice when he speaks louder and you catch the way he’s holding onto the door knob tightly. 

“it’s fine– are you alright?” you ask him, sitting up on your elbows now as you take in his composure. 

“mm-yeah. i was just- i’m really sorry- about what happened, uh earlier. and i just-.” 

“it’s fine heeseung, if it's bothering you then we can talk about it in the morning.” you tell him, putting a smile on your face. 

“well, okay, but i, i was wondering if i could sleep with you, in here. i just, yeah.” 

“you want to sleep in my bed with me?” you ask him confused. 

“yeah, i went out with beomgyu and jeongin and i told them and they laughed at me so i drank a lot and now, now i just want to lay with you.” 

you take a deep breath before pulling the corner of your blanket over, “come on.” 

“really?” heeseung asks excitedly. 

you smile at his reaction, “yes, come on, i’m tired.” 

within a second heeseung was lying beside you. there was only an inch of space between your warm bodies. it only took another second for heeseung to roll over and lay his arm over your stomach. he exhales into your neck before he speaks, “i’m so, so sorry for earlier, and for now since im so wasted.” 

you laugh silently, causing his body to bounce from your movements “it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” 

another beat of silence passes between you and you wonder if he’s fallen asleep until he speaks again, “will you play with my hair this time?”

“this time?” 

“yeah, when i was laying on your lap i saw that you were about to, but then you stopped.” 

“i thought you were asleep for that.” 

you feel heeseung smile against your ribcage, “well i was, but i was awake for that part. why’d you stop?”

you shift under him, not knowing how to feel about his observation, “well, because we’re roommates, and i don’t know if roommates play with each other’s hair when they’re supposed to be sleeping.” you flick his forehead playfully. 

“we’re more than just roommates.” heeseung replies, a slight slur onto his words as his lips are meshed against your body. 

“are we?” 

“yeah.” 

you sigh, knowing that you really won’t be able to sleep now, but you need to know, “then what are we?” 

your bedroom goes silent again, but you know heeseung isn’t asleep. his fingers are tracing tapping onto your side and you want to ask him what song is stuck in his head this time, you wonder if it's the song he’s choreographing for the dance concert. 

“i don’t know, but it’s more than roommates.” he finally answers, gulping loudly after he speaks. 

you decide you’ve heard enough for the night then and turn around in his arms so your back is turned to him. he only takes a second for you to get comfortable before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you into his chest. you can feel his heartbeat slowing on your back and you know the alcohol has finally taken over and he’s passed out. 

the final thought your mind gives before your own slumber takes over is that you hope heeseung sleeps in your bed again. 

when you wake up again, the sun is pouring onto your face and your bed is cold and empty. you sigh and sit up, glancing around your room. when your eyes land on your clock you jolt out of bed, realizing that you’re going to be late to class. 

you scurry around your room, picking up heeseung’s flannel that you threw across the room a few weeks ago and throwing it over your tank top. in a flash, you’re out of your shared apartment and running to your class, hoping to not miss something important. 

like usual, you’re headed to the library to study after your long class. thankfully, your professor only gave you a stern look when you walked into class late. you managed to not think about heeseung until your phone started vibrating on the table underneath your textbook. 

“hello?’ you speak into the phone. 

“hey, where are you right now?” heeseung asks you, his voice no longer slurring like the night before. 

“at the library.” 

“right, i could’ve guessed that.”

“hey!” you whine playfully with a pout that he couldn’t see. 

his sweet laughter echoes through the line, “well, i think you should pack up now anyways.” 

“what, why?” 

suddenly your textbook is being slammed shut and lifted up. you drop your phone to your lap, ready to reprimand the person who’s stealing your textbook. but stop when you see heeseung’s cheesy grin looking down at you, “because we’re going home, c’mon.” heeseung turns with your textbook, leaving you to scramble once again and shove the rest of your things into your bag, catching up to him quickly.

before you leave, you catch the librarian giving heeseung a detached expression as she watches him walk out of the library and you gulp, remembering that he and his friends were the ones to disturb it only a year ago. 

when you entered your shared apartment, heeseung finally handed you your textbook back after threatening to throw it if you didn’t hurry up the entire jog home. you’re about to give him a snarky thank you, but stop when you realize the living room is filled with the scent of your favourite food. 

“chinese food?” you question, your eyes landing on the food on the coffee table, plates and chopsticks laid out as well. the couch has pillows and blankets, and the candles that were covered in dust are now lit. “what’s all this?” your eyes are filled with amusement as heeseung takes off your coat for you and hangs it up. 

heeseung shrugs, “i just thought we could have dinner and a movie together, like we used to.” there’s a shy smile on his face as he avoids your eye contact. 

“that actually sounds great.” 

heeseung grabs your wrist, “then c’mon, let’s eat.” 

heeseung sits in his usual place on the couch, lifting the blanket for you to sit down beside him and you start to dig in. he puts on Howl’s Moving Castle quietly and leans back into the couch cushion. it would feel like a normal night between you and your roommate, one that you used to look forward to after a long day of classes, but now, both of you can tell that there’s a heavy burden in the silence between you. 

thankfully, heeseung is the one to break it, “look y/n, i’m going to be honest–,” you finish your last bite food and look over at him, his face curled up with anxiety before he continues, “i did all this as some sort of apology for how things have been these past couple of weeks. and for what happened yesterday.” 

you sigh, “don’t worry about yesterday, i know you didn’t think i would be home because well, i haven’t been properly home in weeks, and that’s my fault.” you shift uncomfortably in your usual comfortable place on the couch and decide to let out what has been weighing you down for weeks. “it’s just- can i ask you something, heeseung?” 

“of course,” heeseung bites the inside of his cheek out of nervousness, “anything.”

“was it you and your friends that destroyed the library last year?” 

“what?” heeseung’s face contorts in confusion. 

“well you know, the Sigma Fidi guys, did they really destroy the library?” 

heeseung laughs suddenly and it makes you whip your head to look at him. anger washes over you as your roommate laughs at you, and you cover your body with your arms, huffing as you let him laugh. “what’re you talking about, y/n? you really think i, or jeongin or even theo! could destroy a library? why would we even do that?” 

“w-well, it was just, hana-.” you stammer out, feeling awful now that you’ve literally accused heeseung and his friends of a crime. 

heeseung laughs again at the mention of his sister, “hana told you that it was the Sigma Fidi guys who destroyed it?” he rolls his eyes at your confirmation nod, “hana always gets the frat’s names mixed up! it wasn’t us who destroyed the library, it was the Sigma Drakos who did it! all the guys born in 2000!” 

“oh my god!” you slap your hand on your forehead as you sit back on the couch cushion. all these weeks of worrying that the guy you had a crush on destroyed your favourite place– just because your best friend can’t remember the name of a frat! you laugh with heeseung now, both of you now realizing how appalling the accusation was. “i’m so sorry!” 

heeseung waves it off, “it’s fine– is that why you’ve been avoiding me? because you thought I destroyed the library? because i really would never do that. especially since i know how precious the library is to you.” 

“well, that’s part of it.” the smile falls from your face as you find twirling your fingers together more interesting. 

“what’s the other part?” 

you gulp at heeseung’s question, not even mentally preparing yourself for your next words before you speak, “i thought- at first– that you had sex with some girl and i heard it, but then it turns out that it was beomgyu! but that set me off because i didn’t think i should be so worried about my best friend’s brother having sex with another girl…” 

your apartment goes silent as joe hisaishi plays in the background. both of you stare off at Howl jumps off with Sophie. you wonder if heeseung will say anything, or if it’s his turn to avoid you for months now. with each burning second of silence, your calm facade begins to fade and your true interior of anxiety starts to shine through. your leg starts bouncing quickly, trying to relieve some of the anxious tension filling your body. could you deal with heeseung avoiding you for months? could you still live in this apartment if he moved out tomorrow? could you manage to see his pretty smile on campus? 

“is that i’ll ever be to you? your best friend’s brother and your roommate?” heeseung finally asks quietly, interrupting Howl’s current dialogue. your leg stops bouncing as he speaks, wanting to hear every word of his perfectly. 

“what do you mean?” you ask warily, not understanding what he wanted to hear. the truth of your real feelings for him? or the safety net of that there’s nothing between you two, just normal roommates?

“i mean,” heeseung sighs and brushes his bangs out of his face, “i mean, i want more than just catching a glimpse of you out the door everyday. i want more than whatever’s been going on recently. i don’t care if you’re friends with hana or not, i just want more of you.” 

the silence between you two continues as you process his words. your relationship with his sister means nothing to him. and you wonder if it should mean nothing to you too when you thought of your relationship with heeseung. maybe it would be okay to be more than just normal roommates with him after all. 

“alright.” you give finally. 

“alright?” heeseung questions you. 

“alright we can go back to the way we were, we can see more of each other.” 

“really?” heeseung sits up from the couch. with your nod, he’s suddenly jumping from one side of the couch to the other, throwing his arms around you. you laugh as you wrap your own arms around him, allowing yourself to be surrounded with his warmth with no worries for the first time. he only held on tighter when he realized you hugged him back. “i’m so glad! i missed you so much! and– oh,” heeseung retracts his body from your own, his hands gripping your shoulders as he looks at you, “one more thing.” 

“what is it?’ you grumble out. 

“we’re having a party this friday.” 

“what?” you jerk back from him, making his hands go limp in his lap. “why?” 

“because exams will be over then! so we should celebrate!” heeseung speaks with an obvious tone. 

you cross your hands over your chest, “is this why you got me chinese food? so i’d be more agreeable to having a party this week?” 

heeseung’s hand scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “well, no, but kinda.” you give him an unimpressed look. “so… yeah? we’ll have a party? please?” 

you give in when he pouts at you, “fine.” and then you’re pulled into a bone crushing hug as he thanks you for ‘being the best roommate ever’. 

“is this my flannel?” heeseung asks in your ear. 

“um, yeah?” 

heeseung only laughs melodically, not letting you go. 

both of you go to bed when Howl’s Moving Castle is over. properly saying goodnight to each other for the first time in months. while you lay down, you wonder how the party will go this weekend. you wonder how hana will react to seeing how close you and heeseung really are. you wonder if she’ll notice that you have feelings for her older brother. 

you try to push those thoughts away as you try to fall asleep for the night, and replace them with the memories you made tonight with heeseung. 

friday night came fast. 

you spent all week studying and then taking your exams, which you think went well. heeseung spent his afternoons practicing for the dance concert, but always made it home early enough to eat dinner and watch a movie with you. it was nice to see him so much again. the bond between you felt closer and tighter than ever before. and the fire in your heart only grew stronger for him. 

little touches of each other grew into subtle hand holding during movies under blankets. his head always seemed to fall into your lap after he was done eating. soft compliments of each other were more frequently exchanged than not, always causing a pink dash to spread across your cheeks. it would’ve felt perfect if there wasn’t that nagging feeling in the back of your head that hana wouldn’t like this. 

hana was in fact invited to the party that you and heeseung were holding. alongside the rest of the Sigma Fidi boys and their friends, and their friends and their friends. you were worried that your small apartment wouldn’t be able to hold everyone. but, even though winter was finally here, and outside was beginning to look like a sheet of white cloth, people went out on your balcony, chatting like everyone else. 

by the time the party was in full swing, you were already feeling drunk. before everyone showed up, you and heeseung took a few shots together. you had to, because when heeseung stepped out of his bedroom, dressed in a nice silk button up, you knew you would be dead meat for the rest of the night. you also couldn’t ignore the way heeseung’s eyes wouldn’t shy away from trailing up your bare legs from the dress you borrowed from hana tonight. 

theo, beomgyu and jeongin didn’t shy away from complimenting you tonight either, like they ever do. but they were definitely more sober than you, and having fun watching you drunkenly talk about the library, living with heeseung and how you miss living with hana. 

“you talking about me?” hana suddenly asks as she appears and sits beside you, jay following her. 

“no, never.” you playfully grin at her, laughing when she gently nudges you. the rest of the boys start greeting jay, who they apparently haven’t seen much of since he’s moved in with hana. “i’m going to get another drink.” you tell hana beside you. 

“i’ll come with you,” jeongin says from across the coffee, you smile and give your hand out, letting him hold onto it to follow you into the kitchen. jeongin and you speak about nothing but everything while you pour each other drinks. he’s funny, and he’s good looking, and you’ve never noticed it before. the dim lights you and heeseung put up around the apartment make jeongin’s eye’s sparkle every time he drunkenly laughs. “do you want to go dance?” you don’t say no when he asks. 

you’re in the middle of your living room, dancing with people who you assume are friends with either heeseung or hana, and jeongin’s grip is tight on your waist. you’re both laughing as you continue to jump around close to each other. you think his cologne smells a lot like heeseung’s. you felt jeongin’s hands slide from your waist to your ass, pulling you closer to his chest and you both continued to dance. 

the music starts to fade out once you realize how close you are to jeongin, and focus on his movement and his laughter that doesn’t seem to stop. you’re both unaware of the envious eyes watching both of you. 

suddenly, jeongin is being pulled away from you, and you stumble a bit to catch yourself since you were leaning so much of your weight onto him. 

“what the hell?” jeongin turns angrily, but stops when he sees that it’s heeseung, “oh, hey. what’s up?”

heeseung shrugs, “i think y/n’s drank too much tonight.” 

“what? no i haven’t!” you speak up with a whine. 

“you only ever dance when you’re wasted.” heeseung points out, and it makes you mentally drunk-check yourself. heeseung pats jeongin on the back, “plus it’s almost 3 so i think it’s time everyone heads out.” you don’t hear what jeongin’s reply is as you turn and look for hana. she’s sitting where you left her not too long ago, but on top of jay now. 

your eyes squint when the apartment’s lights are flicked on and the music shuts off. everyone groans before heeseung’s voice cuts through, saying that it’s been fun, but they gotta go. you wave bye to the people that you recognize. hugging jeongin when he walks past, laughing when he twirls you around, oblivious to heeseung’s eye roll. 

“at least you seemed to have fun.” heeseung’s voice rings out behind you as you shut the door. 

you turn and see your roommate leaned up against the kitchen island, arms crossed over his chest with a displeased look on his face. 

“yeah, i did. and so what?” you huff at him, starting to head straight for your bedroom, “sorry you hate seeing me have fun.” 

heeseung’s hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, stopping you from moving forward, “y/n.” your name sounds so desperate coming from him. “sorry, i didn’t mean it like that- i’m, i’m just–.” 

“just what, heeseung?” you rip your wrist out of his grip. “why can’t i dance with jeongin? and why’d you have to tell everyone i drank too much, why do you even care how much i drink?” 

heeseung’s face drops and it makes you scoff, turning around again to head to your room, “y/n!” heeseung reaches forward, so both of his hands are on each of your shoulder, forcing you to look at him, “please, just let me talk for a second.” 

you sigh, but give into his bambi coloured eyes, “fine.” 

heeseung lets out a breath, “i- i care, because i like you. i like you a lot.” a small gasp leaves your mouth at his confession, “i like that you’re shy when it comes to physical touch, i like that you’d make yourself blind just to finish an assignment– i like how passionate you are about libraries and books and writings! i like, everything about you.” 

your heart started beating at heeseung’s words, a rush of emotions washes over you as you stand before him. his confession has taken you completely by surprise. you had never thought lee heeseung would have actual feelings for you– his little sister’s best friend, and his roommate. 

you felt your cheeks turn pink as you looked into his serious, genuine eyes. you force yourself to respond to him, “heeseung, i didn’t know you felt this way. i wasn’t expecting this at all.” you hear heeseung gulp as his hands start to loosen on your arms. “but, i care about you, heeseung. more than i can put into words. i like you, heeseung. more than you’ll ever truly know.” 

heeseung’s face instantly lit up with your words, his beautiful smile taking up his entire face. “y/n, you seriously mean so much to me, and i, i want to be more than just your stupid roommate.” 

“hee, i want that, too.” 

heeseung removes his hands from your arms and carefully place them on your cheeks, cradling your face, bringing your faces closer to each other. you swallow harshly as your lips brush together for the first time. you instantly feel the connection you thought you had just been imaging soar through your veins. 

time seemed slow in that exact moment. it was just you and heeseung, kissing each other. kissing the only other person who truly understands you and never judges you. the kiss symbolized just the beginning of your relationship with heeseung. 

when you pull away, you watch the adoration fade from heeseung’s eyes, and is replaced by deep lust. the alcohol had finally hit him, and now you could tell he was feeling the same emotions you were. you were needy, desperate and wanted to feel him inside of you so bad. 

with no hesitation, heeseung picks you up, making you squeal out his name as he takes you to your bedroom. he plops you down into your sapphire sheets, making your body bounce slightly on the mattress. 

“god, you have no idea how bad i’ve wanted- needed this,” heeseung says, ripping his silk shirt over his head and tossing it on the ground. 

“oh, i bet i do.” you tell him honestly, knowing that you’ve wanted him since the first day he stepped foot into your apartment. 

heeseung chuckles and smashed his lips onto yours, slipping his tongue so easily into your mouth to explore. your tongues mesh together, heeseung’s hips grinding into yours. 

“why did you never do anything about it if you needed it so bad?” you ask him curiously, his lips trailing down your neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin. heeseung groans into it, his hands rushing up to cup your cheeks again as he looks into your eyes. 

“i didn’t know you wanted it, too. thought you’d always just see me as your roommate or something,” heeseung admits, leaning down to kiss you again. your lips feel swollen from all the kissing, but you could care less, as long as it was because of heeseung. 

“i do want it- i have wanted it.” 

heeseung shakes his head at in you in disbelief, “i’m gonna fuck you so good, y/n.” 

“please, hee, i want it so bad.” you don’t care if you sound desperate, because you are– and so is heeseung. he smashes his lips against yours once more, this time the kiss is just as despeate and needy as you are. his fingers start to pull down the top of your dress, revealing your breasts. 

you can’t stop your head from falling back as heeseung sucks your nipple into his mouth. his tongue starts circling and prodding your nipples. you let a small whine fall past your lips as you glance down at the man. you let your hands trace down his bare back, finally able to touch his skin after months of being teased by it. 

“hee,” his nickname is so soft coming from your lips. he’s always loved hearing you say his nickname, but hearing it as he pleasures you was something he thought he could have only ever dreamed of. 

“such pretty tits,” he mumbles as he presses one last kiss to your nipple before he’s grabbing a handful of your thighs and flipping you over onto your stomach. you squeal out his name at the sudden, forced movement. heeseung pushes up your dress so it bunches at your hips, and pulls your soaked panties to the side. “you sure you want to do this, y/n?” 

you gasp out, “yes, heeseung, please.” 

with your confirmation, heeseung pushes his finger into your wet folds. you both groan at the feeling. you’re so soft and warm and he can’t believe how fucking wet you are. you helplessly whine into your bedroom, your grip on your sheets tightens as he slowly starts to move his middle finger in and out of you. 

“fuck, baby, you’re so tight.” heeseung graosnas his vision is completely taken over by the sight of his finger disappearing into your squishy walls. he wonders when was the last time you’ve been fucked, he’s never seen you with any other guy– or girl. but your pussy is so tight, he conjectured if his cock would fit or not. 

heeseung’s fingers are much more long and slender than your own, letting him reach places you’ve never been able to when you think about him late at night. he slips in a second finger alongside his middle finger, and they both start to massage the pad of your gspot. you slowly feel yourself start to reach your peak so you slip your own hand down to your clit. 

heeseung groans at your actions, watching both of your hands work to make yourself feel so good. he feels himself get harder as your cries increase in volume. both of your hands are moving in sync, your hips are bucking up for more. heeseung wants to see you cum all over his fingers so bad. 

“hee, fuck– so close.” 

when heeseung slips in a third finger you know you’re about to cum any second, and so does heeseung. he feels your walls get even tighter some how and start to pulsate around his fingers. he can’t take his eyes off of the scene in front of him. your fingers wet from rubbing such fast, small circles over your clit. and your juices slipping down his hand from his three fingers fucking inside of you. 

“c’mon baby, cum for me– i wanna see my good girl cum for me.” heeseung coaxes you to an orgasm. your eyes lock together as you hit your high. your body stills as your pussy starts to uncontrollably flutter around his fingers. your cries are mixed with his name, and soft grunts of praise from heeseung. 

heeseung slows his pace to let you breathe from your climax. he carefully slips his fingers out of you, and you wince as your pussy tries to flail against nothing now, so spread open from his fingers. 

you watch as heeseung insert his fingers into his mouth, watching to catch all your juices. his eyes close at your taste, his tongue pressing all over his fingers. 

“heeseung,” you whine from you position on the bed. 

he pops out his fingers as he looks at you, “what, baby?�� 

“please, fuck me. want your cock inside me.”

heeseung bites his lip as he leans over top of you, “you sure you can handle that when you’re already so fucked out?” 

“yes, heeseung, i can, please.” 

heeseung laughs at you, his hand coming down to brush his thumb over your swollen lips, “you’re so polite, baby. how could i say no to you?” 

you relax back onto the bed as you let heeseung pull down your dress and panties and toss them onto the floor. your bare body makes heeseung shiver at your beauty and he can’t take his eyes off of you as he starts to take off his own pants. 

heeseung’s hard, swollen cock springs up and hits his stomach. you can’t help but marvel at it as you take it in. it’s definitely the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen. the small veins that traces up his length to his red tip. drops of precum were already falling down his shaft, and it only made you want him inside of you more. 

“uh,” heeseung suddenly sounds nervous as he looks at you, “do you have a condom?” you shake your head no, “shit, beomgyu took my last ones.” 

you sit up, “that’s ok, i mean. we’re both clean right?” 

“yeah, i am.” 

“and you can pull out?” you tease him gently. 

heeseung rolls his eyes but smiles, “yes, y/n, i can pull out.” 

you try to contain your excitement as heeseung crawls on top of you. you position your legs so they’re encircling his waist. he slowly rolls his hips forward, so the tip of his cock slides in between your pussy lips. 

“fuck,” you let out quietly as his cocks slides so easily between your walls, filling you right up. your breathing is already staggered from the intrusion. you’re fighting for your eyes to stay on heeseung’s as the pleasure already feels too much. 

you manage to watch as heeseung’s teeth are gritting against themselves and his eyebrows are knitted together. he tries to steady himself to ease you into the stretch his cock is giving you. but its hard when you’re so warm and soft, your walls feel like velvet to him. 

when your whines start to pick up, so does heeseung’s pace. your perked nipples are rubbing against his chest with the motion of his hips and the bed. 

“you feel so big, hee, i love it so much.” you tell him genuinely. heeseung leans his head down to press his lips into yours. you try to kiss him back as best as you could. 

your lips are wet and swollen when he pulls away, “your pussy’s gripping me so tight, baby, never wanna pull out.” his cock is hitting your g spot everytime, and you can only loosely smile at him in response. 

heeseung seems to understand you anyways, and starts thrusting into you faster. a loud moan escapes your lips and it mixes with the wet, squelching noises. 

“fuck, listen to how wet you are.” heeseung tells you, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head. “f-feels, so good, baby.” 

your head is thrown deep into your mattress, feeling no control over the rest of your body as you let heeseung pleasure you. “i-i know.” you tell him honestly and breathlessly. 

“wanted this for so long, and now this pussy’s mine, right baby?” his voice comes out in grunts as he matches his thrusts to his words. 

you nod loosely, “all yours, hee. just yours.” your voice sounds nothing like it usually does, and it makes heeseung’s cock grow bigger inside of her. the thought that only him and his cock can make you so drunk turns him on so fucking much. 

both of you can feel how sticky and wet it is where your bodies meet, and it only makes you lust after each other and your highs more. you’re both sweating and can see it drip down his line of abs that you want to lick so badly. they’re strong and prominent from dancing and you can’t help but reach out and drag your fingers down them lightly– so different from how hard and fast he is pounding into you. 

heeseung’s grunts ring in your ear, and you mewl out to him to keep going. 

“yeah? you like how i fuck you, baby? like how my cock streches you out?” 

you nod eagerly, knowing he understands just how you’re feeling. you moan with every thrust he gives you, whines that only edge heeseung to fuck you faster. he wants to hear every moan you’re able to give. 

“s-so big,” is all you can tell him. 

“yeah, think you can feel me in your stomach?” heeseung asks you, moving his hand from your thigh to press down on your lower abdomen. “feel me right there, baby?” 

you cry out his name at the pressure. your hand moves to grip his wrist, “fuck me harder like that, please. i s- so close. please.” you beg him, tasting the climax on your tongue at this point. 

heeseung’s hand lands on her throat, choking her as he starts to use all his force to fuck into you. your body is jolting the bed back and forth as heeseung pounds into you. your whines turn into sobs as you feel your orgasm hit you. your body stills and your lack of oxygen makes your head feel fuzzy as heeseung continues to fuck yu through your orgasm. 

“that’s it, cum on my cock like a good girl.” his voice is in your ear, praising you for squeezing your wet walls around him so good. 

when your orgasm starts to fade and you enter a fuzzy state with your pupils blown out, all you can think of is how badly you want heeseung’s cum. so, with hooded eyes you wrap your arm around his neck so he can look right into your eyes. 

“please cum inside of me, hee. wanna feel your cum so bad.” you whine out to him, lips pouted just begging for him to kiss them. heeseung grunts before he does just that. smashing your lips together as he continues his thrusts of pounding into you. 

“a-are you sure you want me to cum inside?” his voice is breathless when he speaks. he’s too focused on how your pussy is even wetter from your orgasm, and how he could  just slip out any second. 

“yes, hee, please. want you to make me pregant.” you speak before you could even think properly, “want you to fuck a baby inside of me.” 

“h-holy shit.” heesung sputters out, surprised by how turned on your words got him. he never knew he had a breeding kink– and well, neither did you until now. “you drive me so fucking crazy, baby.” your whimpers and moans encourage heeseung to continue. he swears he’s never been so turned on in his life. “g-gonna get your tummy so full, and swollen.”

heeseung’s pace doesn’t let up until he reaches his peak. his hips still as he releases his cum inside of you, his body practically laying ontop of you as you make out. you feel his warm cum fill you up. you continue to makeout until you feel heeseung’s cock completely soften. 

heeseung’s careful to pull out of you, not wanting to overstimulate you. even though he’s gentle, you still squirm as your pussy readjusts to not having his cock inside of you. both of you watch with eager, hooded eyes as his white, cum drains out of you and onto your thighs, making them more of a mess. 

“jesus christ that’s so hot,” heeseung mumbles to himself, choosing to ignore the twitch of his dick at the sight. you giggle at him as you relax back into your sapphire sheets. “i’ll buy you plan b in the morning, i swear.” 

you shrug against your mattress, “i mean it wouldn’t be the worse thing to have your baby.” heeseung stops pulling on his boxers as he looks at you with eyes. “sorry,” you cringe, “i think that was the orgasm bliss talking.” 

heeseung chuckles and leans back over your body from where he stands, “i wanna have a baby with you y/n, but maybe lets wait until we’ve dated for more than an hour.” 

“oh, so we’re dating now?” you tease him, wiggling your eyebrows. 

“uh, i mean, if you, if you want to. you can say no, but i uh,” 

“heeseung,” you place your hand over his mouth, “shut up. yes i’ll date you.” 

heeseung rips your hand off of his mouth and jumps onto you, pressing his lips to yours quickly out of excitement. he starts to press random kisses all over your face and neck, listening to your laughs to tell him to stop, but he doesn’t of course. 

“i’m so happy.” he tells your seriously. 

“me, too.” you smile, but then wince when you try to move your leg. 

“shit, stay here, i’m gonna get something to clean your legs.” heeseung presses a kiss into your temple as he flies out your bedroom door and to your shared bathroom to wet a cloth. 

without the boy in your bed, you easily fall asleep on your mattress. no worries on your shoulders for once as your breathing calms down. you drift off before heeseung can even come back. but, you know he will be. 

the morning sun filtered through the curtains and onto your sleeping bodies wrapped in your sapphire sheets. you realize that your once naked body was no buttoned up in the black and white flannel you stole from heeseung all those months ago when he first moved in. 

heeseung’s arm was wrapped around your core, pulling you into his chest as he continued to sleep. you watch him for a while, not believing that he was finally more than a roommate to you, more than, uh oh, your best friend’s older brother. suddenly, you’re filled with anxiety as you watch the peaceful boy sleep. 

as if he could somehow sense your shift in mood, heeseung’s bambi eyes open and look at you. a soft smile on his lips once he realizes that you’re also awake and still wrapped in his arms. but, his smile drops when he catches the worry that is covering your face. 

“what did we do last night?” you ask him, your eyes search his for help. 

heeseung sighs, his morning voice comes out deep in your ear as he speaks, “nothing wrong, y/n.” his hand comes up and brushes your disshelved hair out of your face, “i like you, and you like me. you don’t regret it do you?” 

you shake your head against your pillow, “no, i don’t regret anything about it or you.” you admit to him, trying to hide the shy smile that plays on your lips for a second, “but what are we going to tell hana, she’s going to be so mad at me.” 

suddenly, just as the sleep was finally leaving your body, your bedroom door bursts open, and lee hana stood there, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“shit,” heeseung grumbled as he looked at his sister. 

“well, well, well, look who’s all cozy in y/n’s bed.” hana’s voice is loud like usual as she speaks. 

“hana!” you sit up on your elbows, “this isn’t what it looks like, i mean-.” 

hana’s laugh cuts you off, “relax y/n. jay and i totally fell asleep in heeseung’s bed last night and i think i heard your little… adventure.” she winks at you, “i knew you two would hit it off eventually.” 

“what were you guys doing in my bed?” heeseung asks, but his question goes unanswered. 

“hana, i, i can’t believe this.” 

hana chuckles and leaned against the doorframe, “well i did warn you that heeseung would be a catch since he’s exactly like me.” she says with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “now, i think you guys are gonna have to resign the lease together before it’s up.”

you and heeseung exchange amused glances, the thought obviously appealing to you. your worries that have been on your mind since the day you met heeseung have now finally, finally faded as hana accepts your relationship. the relationship hana somehow knew would happen before you did. it seemed like your life was taking an unexpected but perfect turn as you laughed and teased hana to go back to her own apartment for once. 

you smile at heeseung, happy that he’s no longer just your roommate, or your best friend’s hot older brother, but he’s your boyfriend. you’re soulmate. your connection, grown through late movie nights, chinese takeout and stupid misunderstandings is strong, and wonderful. 

and you’re so glad that lee hana moved out. 

@ taeghi, 2023. do not repost or reuse in anyway.

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU ENJOY, AS LIKES MAKE IT HARD FOR WORK TO BE SPREAD AND ENJOYED BY OTHERS :)

stay safe everyone :)

[nothanksofficer]

we are all sinners (imagine)

starring: you, remmick, and bo pairing: remmick/reader & bo/reader warnings: slight nsfw, open-at-your-own-risk, dark romance, vampirism, corruption, moral and literal seduction, temptation, sharing is caring(?), reverse harem(ish), hive-mind, manipulation summary: in this world, there is no grace chow. only y/n chow. and boy, does that have consequences word count: 1k+ oneshot ver: 1.0

"because i know everything he knows now. and i want you to let us in there."

"Oh yeah, i know everything now. Even how you like to be licked. I can promise I won't bite too hard."

a/n: pls be kind. this was just a random idea. note that most of the lines are just what i vaguely remember/can find on the original script. for the most part, reader's race is up to your interpretation. bolded lines can be interpreted into any language you want

you are a budding artist who made a name for herself after becoming the town's unofficial sign maker/painter. colors were your art, and its not just how you earned your keep, but it's also how you met bo.

you and bo have been married for almost two years now (sorry lisa don't exist here...yet).

so when smoke comes in one day, asking for some supplies, help, and a new sign in need of painting, that's where you come in

you don't know the twins personally, but you trust bo. and the extra money doesn't hurt for your...future family planning

at the juke club, you and bo are a seamless team, alternating between working and partying. every time you walk by, he's always trying to pull you into his arms. Whether it's for a quick kiss or dance, he never passes on the chance

you briefly overhear the commotion at the door, followed by some singing. after getting a quick peek at the white folk, your eyes meet the banjo player's, who then gives you a wink as bo leads you away. neither of you notice remmick's eyes following you as he does

Remmick first motions at Mary. "How'd she get in?" "She here because she's family." Unconvinced, Remmick makes a show of looking at you and Bo next. "And those two?" This time, it's Smoke who answers. "They're family, too."

later on, when bo comes running over to tell you stack's been killed, you immediately want to leave. you get a really bad feeling and your gut tells you that you can't stay here. after some desperate convincing, bo agrees to get the car

"You wait right here, baby. I'll be right back before you know it," he promises, giving your forehead a kiss. Little do you know, that is the last time you will see your husband. At least the human version of him.

cornbread happens. and stack comes back to life. the entire group has to stop you from leaving to go find bo

"Let me go! I need to go after Bo!" "Careful now. You walk out there, Y/N, you might not walk back in." "I can't just sit here and do nothing! My husband is outside with those—those things!" But Smoke puts his foot down, stopping your argument in its tracks. "Bo can handle himself, Y/N. Besides, you know he wouldn't want to put you at risk either. Bo'd want you here. Inside. Where it's safe."

the group finds the 'dead' body. when sammie and smoke go to throw it outside, remmick's singing and the cheering of former friends and guests, lure you to the entrance, just enough to take a peek. (to your relief, you don't see bo anywhere near them)

after the garlic eating scene, you are left on watch duty at the main entrance. everyone else is resting, or preparing more weapons in the back. you hear gurgling form outside, and out of curiosity, you open the door, only to see cornbread tearing into the 'not-dead' body outside.

you nearly scream to warn the others. that is, until bo appears.

your first instinct is to pull him inside into safety. but...the way he swaggers past cornbread, smiling at you like nothing was wrong, made your heart stop (and not in a good way)

"Hey, baby," he grins, and for a moment, you can almost believe it's actually your husband. Keyword being, almost. "Come on outside. I got the car started for you. Let's go!" "Bo...?" The sound of flesh tearing and squelching makes you nauseous, and you take a step back. Bo frowns, but masks it with a charming smile. "What is it, Y/N?" "Cornbread...he's killing him—" "Oh, don't worry about him, baby. He's just a little hungry, is all," he says offhandedly. "Let's go." Bo winks at you, and you flinch. He's never winked like that at you before. The only one who ever has was— "Come on. I got the car all warmed up." But when you don't make a move to follow, he sighs before sauntering up to the door with a knowing look on his face. "Or...you let me back in there, and we can grab our things and head home?" Bo's eyes flash an inhuman silver as he looms over you from the doorframe. "We can even make a pit stop. Maybe even have some of our own fun on the way back."

when Remmick appears, you nearly sob, realizing this isn't your husband anymore

Still, Bo tries to convince you, nonetheless. "It's better this way, baby. So why don't you go and invite us in?" "You should listen to him, Y/N. Or listen to me. Because I know everything he knows now. And trust me, darling, he really wants you to let us in there," Remmick adds. "That's not true. Bo would never..." "Believe me, baby. I just want you to be free. Like him. Like me," Bo says almost reverently. Lovingly. As if the prospect of becoming one of them was a blessing, rather than a curse. "We can be together again. All you have to do is...Let. Us. In." "Listen to your husband now, darling. Can't you see that he—that we—just want what's best for you?" Despite Remmick's words, you can't tear your eyes away from Bo. "You're not...you're not my husband." Despite the cloudy glow in Bo's eyes, there is no hiding the hurt in them. Remmick, however, only looks at you with condescending disappointment. "Well, that's not very nice of you to say," he tsks. "You did this to him. You...you monster," you hiss. "Me? I just gave him what he wanted. Freedom. A family. In fact, this was his idea, you know. He wanted to change you first," Remmick reveals with a hungry grin. "And who am I to deny him?" "You're lying." "Am I? I know everything he knows. Every little thought. Every single memory. I even know how you like to be licked, darling." Remmick's words shake you. But it's Bo's follow-up that makes you choke. "And we promise we won't bite, baby. Not unless you want it."

a/n: and that's all i have for now. let me know if this is worth continuing. otherwise hope u enjoyed the story

[morlock-holmes]

The Conspiratorial Mindset

So, I've always had a bit of an interest in scams and hokum, and what people call "Cults".

One of the common refrains when you talk about religious Cults is, "If you think about it all religions have beliefs that seem odd to outsiders" and this is true, but as I read more about cults I started to think,

"Wait, a lot of these groups aren't united just by having unusual religious or supernatural views; a lot of them also seem to have matching patterns of behaviors that have nothing to do with belief in psychic space aliens"

I'm talking about things like,

Having a leadership structure which is absolute, where the top leaders cannot be disciplined or even openly criticized by lower members;

Exerting tremendous control over the dress and behavior of adherents;

Telling adherents that outsiders are untrustworthy and that contact with outsiders should be strictly limited and heavily monitored by organizational leadership;

The extensive and common use of shunning and reprogramming in response to violation of any of the above rules.

In some groups, failing to adhere to the dress code and spending a lot of time with outsiders is, at worst, the subject of a few little jabs at family gatherings. In other groups, those same behaviors are treated as Defcon one crises and become the central issue of the adherent's relationship with everybody else in the organization until they can be bullied back into doing the organization's bidding.

It was gratifying to learn that other people have noticed these patterns (Some people prefer the term "High Control Group" to "Cult" because it highlights what the actual problem is)

I am starting to notice similar dynamics in what are commonly called "Conspiracy theories".

The thing about conspiracy theories is... Well, conspiracies exist, and sometimes groups of powerful people get together to do something in secret which would get them in big trouble if they were to do it openly.

But I am starting to notice a particular, I don't know, a particular way of conceptualizing the organization and purpose of conspiracies which is unique to some people and which characterizes the kind of conspiracy theorist who takes Alex Jones seriously.

I kind of think of it as a "Witch-Hunting mentality".

For certain people in more primitive times and places, if they, say, slipped off a ladder and hurt themselves, their first thought would be, "That must have happened because a witch cursed me. We need to find and punish the witch who cursed me."

And this isn't just the attribution of malice that characterizes this idea:

One malicious conspiracy that might make you fall off a ladder is a manufacturer who doesn't care about safety ratings. Imagine that the manufacturer is really deliberately malicious here. A subordinate comes to him and says, "Our ladders can't reliably hold the weight of a person and a lot of them will probably break and cause people to fall and hurt themselves." and he says, "I know that but who cares, by the time people figure it out it'll be too late to get their money back."

That's a malicious conspiracy, but, importantly, if Bob buys a faulty ladder and falls off, the conspiracy wasn't trying to hurt Bob; it merely didn't care whether Bob got hurt.

Now, this distinction doesn't take away the malice and hostility towards Bob, but if you go to the ladder manufacturer and say, "Hey boss, Bob bought one of our faulty ladders, but he's really skinny so the ladder didn't break" the manufacturer will go, "Who the fuck is Bob? And good, that's one less angry person."

Whereas imagine Bob's ladder has been cursed to break by a witch. The witch did it because she hates Bob, and wants him to fall, and if she finds out he didn't fall, she'll go, "Curses, I'll have to find some other way to hurt Bob."

Conspiracy theorists, it seems to me, are far more inclined to conceptualize conspiracies as acts of deliberate malice aimed at them rather than acts of negligent malice.

@loving-n0t-heyting posted this article from the New York Post which contains a good example of what I mean:

“I thought I was on the cutting edge of promoting rights for gay people,” Yang said. “But then I started looking deeper into where this was coming from and who was paying for it, and I started to get very disillusioned...

I assume the people paying for it are LGBT advocacy groups? Did you, uh, not know that the people you were working for were paying you to work for them?

“When you really dig down you can see how much of this comes from documents and plans at the United Nations,” Yang said, referring in part to the UN’s “Gender Equality” initiative. “It’s part of a global agenda to restructure society, re-structure our social norms and the economy,” Yang claimed. “They are undermining the sexually dimorphic nature of reality and breaking down the differences between the sexes to break down our identity. They are constructing identities for us and they want us to adopt them.”

Oh, I see.

This is exactly what I mean. LGBT rights efforts make Yang and others feel disoriented, like society is being restructured and that they are being left behind, like they aren't quite in control of social norms and that stable identity categories can't be relied on anymore.

Now, one kind of conservative might look at that and say, "These are bad second order effects of LGBT people trying to assert their lifestyle in public and that's why we should oppose them."

But another kind says, "These changes make me feel unstable. Therefore, the main purpose of the changes is to make me feel unstable. In order to understand these changes, I need to figure out who wants me to feel unstable and what they would gain from making me feel unstable."

The idea that Yang's feeling of instability is simply a side effect of a series of efforts mainly focused on LGBT rights is incomprehensible. Instead, she believes that there is a series of efforts focused mainly on making her feel unstable, with LGBT rights as a kind of side effect to the main goal of making her feel unstable.

This kind of thing is, to me, a big red flag that indicates that we are starting to float away from reasonable conspiracy thinking into crazy town.

I am particularly curious if folks can recommend any writers or researchers who have noticed this dynamic.

[prettealolilol]

i like to think about the duality of the kids about people shipping Bruce with anyone, because the guy has been elected as the most handsome man in the country for years, has this whole playboy Brucie persona and is often seen with someone at his arms (men and women)

on one side, they'll be like "ew god no, i do not want to imagine dad like-" and "oh my god some people actually ship Bantman and Joker wtf ??" and they'll do their best to filter every social media to avoid any thirsty or shipping content about Bruce

when the press ask them about it, they be like:

Tim : "Would you like it if I asked about your thoughts on your dad cheating on your mom with his secretary ? No ? Then mind your own business." when the dad was in fact cheating with his secretary and now everybody knew because Tim was live when he answered

Jason, pulling out a gun : "i swear to god i'll shoot the next person who asks me this and then i'll shoot myself. Ugh, do i look like i fucking care about the old man's sex life ?"

Dick, smiling uncomfortably : "i don't really live at the manor anymore and i barely see him with my job so you know..." when it has been in fact a week he's been sleeping at the manor after patrolling with Batman

Damian, frowning as usual, looking at the guy who asked him as if he did not have a brain : "Father is careful in not mixing his carnal activities with the family life so i do not have any hindsight on his sex life. i do not wish to know regardless." the journalist is taken aback by the explicit answer of this ten year old, while his brothers are trying not to laugh behind him (Jason was not hiding his snickering)

on the other side, you cannot tell me those guys are not the biggest shippers in the world

like Jason would want Batman to date Wonder Woman just so she could be his step mom. i strongly believe the guy has a ao3 and tumblr account and is very much active on both. he definitely reads batman x green lantern fics just to annoy Bruce (even though his dad has no idea, but still gets shivers when Jason is reading one)

Dick and Duke both ship SuperBat although for different reasons. for Dick, that's his uncle there, he was there when they met and saw them as they slowly became best friends. he strongly believes they are made for each other. Duke just think it would be super cool (no pun intended) if the Superman and the Batman were dating.

Stephanie just likes to roll with it, some days she feels like shipping superbat, others she'll be more into batcat, or batlantern. she's pretty volatile and doesn't really have a favourite, but when she gets into one she's all in. she'll be arguing and insulting people online who disagrees, sharing crazy theories...

Cass doesn't really care, she'll listen to any of her siblings ranting about their thoughts (especially Steph) and juts find it adorable (and funny how much they care)

Tim probably ships superbat because they are completely opposed, and he finds the parallels really interesting. he definitely writes fics (Jay reads his fics and they exchange about it without knowing it's each other)

Damian doesn't really see the point. but he has drawn of few fanart (Jason tried to bribe him with money once and Damian had to remind him of his inheritance) when Bruce benched Tim and him and he ended up drawing some batlantern that Tim printed and plastered all over the manor. Bruce had to restrain the access to the printer (Tim hacked into it the next day)

Barbara, although she doesn't really ship, is the one you go to if you search some content, she'll find you the most heart wrenching, 200 thousand words, slow brun, angst/comfort fics you'll ever read (the type of fic that changes you deep into your soul). she still likes debating with the batkid

Regardless, if there's one things they all agree on, it is Bruceman (love those fics were the batkids just go along with it). like it's hilarious but the fans make some pretty good points and they are in fact impressed. it's also the safest ship as it would not happen in any situations so they don't have to worry about their dad being stolen

[sceletaflores]

A Different Kind of Compensation.

part two!

pairing: mike schmidt x fem!reader

prompt: you’ve been babysitting abby for mike nearly three months now. he constantly apologizes for not paying you yet, you constantly tell him it doesn't bother you. one night he comes back from his shift at freddy’s and has a different idea on how to compensate you for all of your hard work.

warnings: 18+, oral (fem receiving), vaginal fingering (kinda???), munch!mike.

word count: this was supposed to be a short dirty work that somehow turned into a 2.2k monster. told you i love to ramble.

authors note: remember when i said i might write smut if i was just so moved by an ask? well turns out my very first ask moved me. y'all are nasty, i love it. mike, of course, is a munch because why would he be anything else? i never, with a capital N, write smut so please bear with me if it sucks. i hope whoever requested this loves it! i wrote it instead of finishing my scientific article for bio so it better be decent hehe.

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗ ╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

The sound of the front door opening followed by heavy footsteps woke you up from where you were dozing off on the couch. You gazed at the clock on the side table near you and sure enough, 6:10 blinked back at you. Mike was finally home. You heard him shuffling around in the kitchen, most likely shedding his work vest and hanging his keys on the little hook by the door.

You yawned, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes as you sat up on the couch. The blanket you used to cover yourself falling to pool around your waist. Mike finally made his way to the living room, sitting on the couch with a soft grunt. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice rough from lack of use. “Abby eat anything?”

“Yeah, a little,” You mutter back through a barely concealed yawn, head lolling to rest on the back of the couch. “You know how she is.”

He hums in acknowledgement but stays silent apart from that, keeping his gaze trained on the infomercial playing on TV. A comfortable silence settles over the two of you. You sit up even further on the couch, leaning against the arm rest facing Mike. The blue/green hue of the TV bathed him in light, his hair was unruly with curls sticking out at awkward angles. He had deep bags under his eyes. Just as you thought about getting up to take off, he spoke up again. 

“I promise I’ll get you the money,” he says softly, not taking his eyes off the TV, “I…I just need some time.”

You scoff in mock annoyance, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Mike, you know I don’t care about the money. I don’t mind doing this for you.” You reply, nudging his knee with your foot softly then just leaving it perched on his lap.

Mike finally turns to look at you, there's a strange look on his face that you can’t quite place, but you give him a small smile all the same. He stares at you for a few beats, you can practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“You deserve something,” he whispers, his brows furrowed in frustration. “You do so much for me, it’s only fair.” As he speaks, he slowly moves his hand off the couch to your ankle still resting on his thigh, he starts rubbing slow circles over the skin there. His eyes never left yours as he touched you, a very obvious question in them. Asking if you wanted this.

Heat instantly rushed to your belly, cheeks turning a light shade of red at his touch. You’d always thought Mike was attractive, but you never would have imagined he’d want to be anything more than friends. Since he was already so busy with taking care of Abby and his hellish new job.

You swallow once before speaking, your throat feeling dry all of a sudden. “What are you suggesting?” You ask so softly, wondering if he even heard you. Mikes’ fingers stop in favor of trailing his hand up your calf in a featherlight touch, disappearing under the blanket to seek out more of your soft skin. Your heart is beating so fast you think you might die, the sound of it echoing in your ears loudly. 

Mike's big brown eyes stare into yours with a newfound intensity, visibly shocked that you're reacting so viscerally to his touch, his pupils are blown to hell. Chocolate brown being swallowed by black.  His tongue coming out to sweep over his top lip.

“How about you,” he says slowly, scooting closer to you on the small couch. He crowds into your personal space like he belongs there. Mike’s lips inches away from yours. He smells like old leather and dust from being cramped in the security office at Freddy’s. Your chest heaves as your eyes flit back and forth from his eyes to his lips. Seconds drag by like hours as you painstakingly wait for him to finish his sentence. “Stay right there while I make you feel good.” He finally says, his breath fanning over your face hotly. You can’t even speak, afraid of how desperate you might sound, just nodding your head roughly, not looking away from his hungry gaze.

Mike’s hand runs up your leg quickly after you give him the green-light, slipping further under the blanket and higher up your leg until he reaches his destination. He rubs you gently through your shorts, your breath hitches sharply at what should be just a simple touch, but you’re still so worked up from earlier that it feels ten times more extreme. You grasp the blanket still strewn over your lap tightly in your fists, it's the only thing keeping you from seeing Mike’s hand at work between your legs.

Mike reacts to touching you for the first time like he can feel it too. His breath stutters out of his chest, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your already wet folds through your thin cotton sleeping shorts. “Fuck.” He breathes out quietly, so quietly you doubt he even meant to say it out loud. He opens his eyes again, breathing slightly rougher as he stares at you through his arousal induced haze and heavy eyelids. 

Seeing your face must spur him on because he starts rubbing with more fervor than before, his clever fingers applying more pressure making you moan softly. You cut yourself off quickly, eyes darting down the hall to Abby's bedroom door. It's still closed, there's no light leaking through the crack between it and the floor.

"Shit, Mike." You whine quietly.

Mike groans softly at the sound of his name leaving your lips, body trembling slightly with the feeling. Suddenly he wrenches his hand out from under the blanket, and rips it off your lap frantically. You gasp sharply at the cool air breaking through the bubble of warmth the blanket provided, involuntarily closing your legs.

Mike pushes up from his position on the couch next to you, knee walking over so he's kneeling in-front of your clenched thighs. You're still slightly sprawled across the cushions, leaning on the arm of the couch.

"Do you know how crazy you make me?" He asks roughly, putting both his hands on your still closed knees. It takes a second for your brain to catch up to answer him, after a few moments you finally manage a faint shake of your head.

"No?" He asks, tilting his head to the left slightly. "Let me show you then."

Mike grabs your wrist, tugging you closer to him, and leads your hand down into his lap. Your breath catches in your throat when he places your hand directly over his clothed erection, but it gets drowned out by Mike's louder whine thanks to you touching him for the first time. You drag your eyes downward, his dark grey sweatpants leave little to the imagination. He got more worked up touching you than you first thought, if the wet patch forming near the tip of his hard-on was anything to go by.

As soon as you started to rub him with purpose, Mike grabbed your wrist, halting your efforts. "No," He said breathlessly, practically panting. "No, this is for you tonight. Just wanna focus on you."

He let go of your wrist, turning his head in your direction. Both of you failed to realize how close you'd gotten when he dragged you to him. Your noses practically touch when he turns, catching you both off guard. His eyes travel down to your lips, staring at how red and puffy they'd gotten from you biting them to muffle your moans.

"How sweet of you, Mike." You whisper, leaning in just a tad closer. He lets out a guttural groan and closes the distance between your lips, claiming your mouth with his own. He leans forward, gently guiding you to lay back on the couch. His body completely covering yours as the two of you makeout, his arms on either side of your head and his hips slotting against yours, letting you feel the hard length of his cock against your cunt. You moan into his mouth, your hips bucking up to meet his.

Mike breaks the kiss with a whine, trying to muffle the noise by shoving his face in your neck. You bring your hands up to tangle in his curly hair, yanking it roughly as he starts littering kisses all along your collarbones. Nipping and sucking in-between his gasping little moans as you twist and pull his hair in your grip.

He tears his mouth away to stare up at you through his lashes, his lips are swollen and red. “Please,” He gasps out, his hips unconsciously grinding down into your thigh. “Let me eat you out. Please. Tell me I can, say I can.” He babbles, hips rutting faster every second you don’t answer him.

“Yes.” You exclaim as quietly as possible. “Do it, Mike. Eat me out.”

Mike’s whole body shudders at your words, eyes falling closed for a second before he quickly slides down your body, leaving an odd kiss here and there as he goes. He brings his hands up to grip the waistband of your shorts, pausing to take a single steadying breath, then he tugs them down along with your panties and tosses them aside. He stares down at you in awe for a good few moments before he lays on his stomach, right in front of your dripping cunt.

Mike kisses along the inside of your thighs for a bit, licking everywhere but where you want him to the most. “Thank you.” he mutters, tone way too earnest for the situation at hand but you don’t have much time to think about it before he’s diving face first into your thighs.

“Fuck!” You let your voice get way too loud in the quiet atmosphere of the house, but you can’t help it. You didn’t think Mike had lots of experience because of some late night drunken talks before, but he was either lying or holding out. He works his tongue expertly along every inch of you. Every swirl, flick, or suck has you catapulting to the edge way faster than you’d imagined.

It doesn't help that Mike keeps letting out these noises. Small needy whines or deep guttural groans that you can feel. He’s moaning like he’s the one getting head, unashamed and authentic. It’s so fucking sexy.

“Shit Mike, I’m close. I’m so close.” You whisper too quietly for him to hear with his head trapped between your thighs, but it doesn’t matter. Mike brings his thumb up to lightly circle your clit as he laps against your entrance, and you're gone.

Your thighs shake as you release, grabbing on Mike’s hair for dear life as you go through the most intense orgasm ever. He moans into your cunt, working you through the aftershocks. He laves his tongue along you until the overstimulation gets to be too much and you drag his face away by his hair.

He sits up, the bottom half of his face covered in spit and slick. That visual alone is almost enough to get you ready for round two. It’s silent except for the heavy breathing coming from you both.

After he catches his breath, Mike retrieves the blanket from behind his back somewhere to cover the lower half of your body. Your thighs are still shaking as he lays next to you, it’s a tight squeeze but neither of you seem to mind. He kisses the side of your face sweetly, throwing his arm around your waist to pull you in even closer.

You finally regain enough conscience to speak. “Are you sure you don’t want to get off?” You ask, “I mean I can’t feel my legs but I’m sure we could think of something.” Mike only laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Maybe next time, this was about you.” He said, beginning to rub his fingers back and forth on your hip. “Plus I, uh, I already sort of…” He trails off, a flush forming on his cheeks.

It took you a second to realize what he was saying, but when it clicked you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your mouth. You lifted up the blanket covering the two of you, and sure enough Mike had an impressive wet patch seeping through his sweats.

He pinches your hip lightly, offended by your giggling. “Don’t laugh at me,” He complains with a smile, yanking the blanket back up. “I couldn’t help it.”

You stifle another laugh to the best of your ability, though your shoulders still shake ever so slightly. You turn your head to press a kiss to his lips. It’s different from the previous kisses you shared tonight. It’s slower and softer, full of a new emotion that you both feel, but know that it can wait to be talked about later. For now you’re both just basking in the afterglow.

You break the kiss first, pulling back only slightly to lean your forehead against his. You both smile at each other for a second.

“Okay,” You give in, brushing a strand of sweaty hair away from his face. “But believe that tomorrow is all about you.”

[kerink]

i want to talk about this idea the fandom has that curly didn't do anything to help anya. the fact of the matter is, curly didn't do anything to help anya on screen.

when we first join the conversation, anya's already told curly about the assault and is just updating him on her pregnancy status. we're never privy to what that first conversation looked like, what anya said or how curly responded or what decisions were made about it. but given that anya confided in him twice more about the situation (that she was pregnant and later that she had told jimmy), i have to assume his response to the initial assault disclosure was sufficient enough in her eyes that she knew she could continue confiding in him.

this exchange reads to me like "what to do about the assault" has been an on-going conversation between them, but curly has limited options to help her. but if he could figure out something to do, he'd do it.

let's look at the options available:

report it to HR. i don't think this option is very viable for a few reasons:

first, pony express doesn't seem to care about its employees. there aren't locks on their bedroom doors, there's only enough food and oxygen to get them from port to port with no emergency allotment, there are more crew than cryopods, they're not allowed to sleep for more than 5 hours a night, etc. i don't think they would have done anything to support her even if they had reported it.

HR may even blame anya for the assault, they may say that it happened because of something she did or did not do. it's her responsibility to take, not theirs.

second:

(thank you to @mudstoneabyss for pointing this one out to me)

curly needs this money because he's considering changing careers, which is likely to result in a pay cut or some amount of time job-hunting without income. swansea has a family back home he needs to provide for. it's daisuke's first year on the job and what a piss-poor welcome a pay cut would be, and he's an intern so the pay cut may be all or most of his salary. jimmy is living in poverty. anya has no savings.

it's entirely possible anya asked curly not to file an HR complaint not only because it would make her financial situation worse, but because she doesn't want to ask him, swansea, and daisuke to literally pay for jimmy's actions.

third:

even if curly did file an HR report he may have been told to do nothing. it's a long trip and they need all hands on deck to make the delivery on time! productivity over employee welfare. it's his job to keep the peace but keep jimmy working.

given how much stress curly's shown to be under, it can be assumed being captain is an extremely taxing job with a lot of both assigned duties and off-book duties. it may not actually be feasible to run the ship without a co-pilot.

maybe all he could do was talk to him.

2. go to the police. are there even police in space? i have to assume so because the alternative poses way too many questions. so there's space police. curly and anya call them and they come to the tulpar and dock on the ship and do an investigation and what happens to that limited food and air supply? the late delivery fee?

i'm a psychologist and my first psychology job was working as a crisis counselor for my county. my primary job was to sit with rape survivors as they had their rape kits done and support them as they made their reports to the police. this may not be true everywhere or across the board or in this dystopia but in my experience the police won't take a rape case seriously, or will have limited options to prosecute, or maybe won't even take the case at all without a rape kit.

so curly and anya call the police. they're going to have to file with HR too, to let the company know what's going on. and now anya has to pay for an HR complaint, a late delivery, and a rape kit.

is she going to get this paycheck at all?

3. curly acts on his own accord. this is the one that makes the least amount of sense to me, personally.

if curly just beats the shit out of jimmy then what? now jimmy's mad and embarrassed and takes it out on anya. we're going to confront him and risk making her suffering worse?

curly can't lock jimmy in his quarters for the duration of the trip not only because, as i said, maybe having a co-pilot is necessary for the ship to operate, but there are not locks on the doors.

curly can't lock him in the cargo hold because a) pony express would probably be beyond pissed off about that and who knows if the crew's pay would get docked or curly would get fired or if dragonbreath would sue them all for property damage and contamination. b) how do we get food and water to him? let him go to the bathroom? we open the doors and he busts out and who knows how violent he'll be then.

curly isn't going to kill him because a) that's one of his oldest friends, and i don't care what he's done or how angry curly is or how badly he wants to help anya, i really don't think it's realistic to think he'd be able to separate the anger from the love enough to end his life. b) it's cold-blooded, premeditated murder. it'd be one thing if curly caught jimmy in the act and killed him in defense of anya, he could maybe get away with that. but after the event is over? curly's going to jail for that, possibly for the rest of his life. if you worked at the post office and a coworker told you your best friend since childhood raped her are you clocking out and going to his house and killing him? it's not reasonable. i'm also just really floored how often i've seen this option brought up on the "prison reform abolish the police no matter how bad you are you still deserve human rights" website.

i also don't think it's reasonable, realistic, or kind to ask curly to act on his own accord without consulting anya. for curly to go against her wishes or act without her consent, that's further taking agency away from her. that's another man deciding what happens in her life. even if curly wanted to beat jimmy up or lock him away or kill him, maybe anya asked him not to.

so i ask, what was curly supposed to do? what did he and anya explore as options? what did anya ask him to do? we don't know and we'll never know. and that was intentional on wrong organ's part.

i don't say any of this to discount or discredit conversations or explorations or analyses about the role The Boys Club, toxic masculinity, and bro culture play into the plot, themes, narrative, or personal take-away players have. i fully 100% agree with, support, and endorse those narrative because despite everything i just said above, it's also true that curly is partially responsible.

it's true that he was irresponsible and an enabler for helping jimmy cheat on his psych exam, but there's no evidence at all that he's a conspirator to sexual assault and abuse, that he was going to cover for jimmy in a court of law. all he said was they would figure it out, and that could mean a whole lot of things.

i think curly has some percentage of the blame for what happened on the tulpar, i just don't think that percentage is as large of a number as a lot of people seem to believe. i'm not asking that we forgive or apologize or absolve curly, what i am asking is that we try to look at the situation with more nuance and empathy and good faith.

i don't think curly was a bad man or a bro who was ignoring anya and covering for jimmy's actions. but i also don't think he did enough to help her. he was never good at seeing the small details amongst the larger picture. he couldn't see jimmy for the dead pixel he was.

i think curly was sleep deprived, possibly under-fed, definitely overworked, and juggling too many balls with not enough options. i think he made the wrong choice, but i think he thought it was the lesser of the evils.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Okay, your head canons (get it? Am so hilarious) with our dear big tittied viltrumites (Nolan, conquest, thragg. I don't think kregg has such big ones but we love him anyway?) was Amazing, loved them

But they got me thinking about a petvincible harem + the four of them 😮😮. Would it be chaotic asf? Yes, but what's better then like 20+ (I cannot keep track of all the invincible variants, but add your OC ones aswell cause I love them) pairs of man boobies? 4 more pairs of man boobies.

I just really like the idea of them all sharing a tiny three bedroom apartment with a working reader, it makes my little gay heart happy. I also like like the idea of big strong men getting dicked down, can ya blame me?

Thank you for reading my yap session my favorite gator 🤗🤗

I know these men hate to see me comin, they would never know peace.

i have like no gifs i can use for this stuff, so have these ones instead.

what should i call this group? they arent petvincibles, so... viltruwives?

At this point, readers neighbors gotta think he's in some polygamist cult, or that he's in some super kinky relationship, cuz he's got these four massive buff men coming and going. Whys that one wearing so much leather? (idk, I feel like Conquest would think leather is fancy, you can't tell me this guy wouldn't wear cowboy boots) 

Nolan is used to being a husband on earth after having been with Debbie so long. Is he still with Debbie in this setting? Are they divorced? Is it an open relationship kinda deal, and she is also seeing Paul? 

Well, this means Nolan already knows his way around the court. He knows how to clean, how to cook, how to grocery shop and take care of the home and taxes. Hell, hes still making money from the books he ghostwrote or wrote under a fake name, so he's the only one with an income outside of you 

Kregg, I feel would quickly get an understanding of it all, would find a way to fake an identity, get a job, and start raking in cash. Hes crazy smart and all that, and he gives the vibe that he would be lethal in the business world. Homeboy probably works banking or finance. Or some other soul crushing job, where he gets to fuck over other people's lives. I feel he would end up a mean cook as well, after much experimentation. 

Conquest? He gets to stay retired for a while. To just get to live, to experience and feel. Let him pick up hobbies, like gardening or even painting. It looks horrible, but being able to create instead of destroy would give him some kind of peace. I think he enjoys going on walks in the morning, like, walking normally, in his comfortable clothes. Gets himself a coffee, a bagel, sits in the park with his sudoku. Texts the reader good morning, wishing him a good day at work. 

Thragg has the hardest time just being... part of the plebians. He would still see all of humanity as worthless insects, no, lower than insects. But the reader loves humanity, loves earth, so he puts up with it. He wouldn't want to work either, cuz that's for lowlives, but I do think he would end up doing something just out of boredom. I don't know what he would do, but he would have some job where he gets to bark orders, crush other people's hope and wishes, and exert his power. He probably works for the IRS.. 

Methinks reader is just enjoying himself most days. Like, who wouldn't love to come home from a long day of doing customer service, and just being able to literally dive head first into the pecs(tits) of the closest viltrumite. 

Reader will never need a weighted blanket, he can just lay down on the bed, make grabby hands, and whichever viltrumite has the time just lays down on top of him. True peace and therapy trapped under such a large and powerful man. Gets all the stress of the day to melt right off. 

At least two of them would try to talk you into getting a moustache... Nolan would be chill with you getting whatever, Conquest I think doesn't care too much.  

You guys aren't secretive of your relationship, and you become a bit of a joke in your friend group for being such a dilf and gilf hunter. Nobody dares mess with you though, all four of your boyfriends look like they kill baby deer and drink their blood for breakfast.  

Insert them also “working on your stamina” with you, cuz god are you gonna need it. I feel these four can be just as much as all the Marks combined. Age doesn't mean their needs have gone away, and now they actually have an outlet. The Marks are never older than a few hundred years at most (except for emperor mark). But these guys? They've gone thousands of years without just doing it for pleasure and fun (outside of Nolan), so, they got a lot of catching up to do. 

reader has once again saved the universe by being kinda dumb and pathetically cute. build him and his broken dick a statue.

[no-144444]

confronting- o.piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! Skyf1interviewer! reader

summary: a confrontation in a hotel room doesn't go so well thanks to Franco's loud mouth...

part five masterlist

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Entertaining the idea of dating Oscar when you knew you’d be gone at the end of the season wasn’t fair. He deserved someone who’d be there for every race, be there for him. You weren’t that person. You weren’t the person anyone should want, you just weren’t like that. 

Qatar rolled around and Oscar won the Sprint, and he was P3 in the race. You were meant to do the interviews. He knew that. That’s why he frowned when he was met with Jenson’s face at the end of the race. 

“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, not holding the microphone up to his mouth. 

Jenson smirked. “Missing her?”

Oscar nodded. 

“She’s with Franco, he was pretty upset after the crash.”

“Oh,” he nodded, and the interview began. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

It’s not like you were trying to avoid him, it was just… easier that way. And Franco really was quite shaken after the crash, so that part wasn’t a lie either. You just didn’t want to deal with all of the shit the media and people online would give the two of you. You just wanted a nice, clean break from the world of F1, and the people online who shipped you and Oscar would never let that happen. It was upsetting, because he really was a good friend to you, and you thought you were a good friend to him. Maybe it could’ve been something else, if things were different. You sat with Franco, calming him down since he was pretty upset that his second last race of the season was fucked by a silly turn-one incident.��

“What’s going on with you and that model?” you asked. He chuckled. 

“Oh my, you saw it too? It’s so embarrassing,” he sighed. “Even my mother has been asking me about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you laughed at his reaction. “We can talk about anything you want.”

“What’s going on with you and Oscar?” he smirked and your face fell slightly. 

“Nothing,” you shook your head. “We’re friends.”

“Friends?” he pried. “You two seem like more than ‘friends’ to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re not. We’re just friends,” you assured him. 

Franco sat up, leaning closer to you. He was so close his breath was on your cheek, his eyes staring longingly into yours. You knew what he was doing.  “So he wouldn’t mind it if someone kissed you, no?”

You laughed, pushing him back down to his previous position of lying down. “Stop being weird. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He shouldn’t care anyway.”

“Let’s test that,” Franco challenged. “Kiss me in front of him, and then we’ll know. I’ll ask Lando to tell me about it, they’re close, right?”

You sighed, something about it felt a little bit… manipulative. And it’s not like you were looking for Oscar to like you back, he didn’t. That’s what he’d said the last time, it was only a joke, a prank, a mistake. Which was fine with you, of course. It made sense. You couldn’t be there for him while you were supposed to be there for someone else. Someone else on his team. 

Ok, so maybe the move to Indycar isn’t just about Sky starting to cover it. Maybe, they need more European fans, and you have to go over there and sell it to them with a relationship with Pato O’Ward. Maybe McLaren is paying you a lot of money to do that. 

Just maybe though. 

“I can’t do that Franco,” you explained. “It’s not fair. And anyways, I’m kind of… seeing someone.”

“Is it Oscar?!” he questioned. You shook your head. “Lando? Lance? Zhou? Yuki? Who?” “He’s not in F1!” you giggled, watching as Franco freaked out. 

“Who is he?! You have to tell me right now!” he begged, taking your hands. 

“He’s in Indycar, that’s all I’ll tell you,” you smirked and his jaw dropped. 

“Is that why you’re leaving?!” he almost shouted. 

“No! Sky really is just branching out, but yes, it is nice that I’ll actually be able to watch his races,” you chuckled. 

“I’ll miss you,” he frowned. 

“I’ll miss you too,” you chuckled, pulling him in for a hug. “Now, I have to go do my post-race duties, so I’ll see you in Abu Dhabi, alright?”

He frowned even deeper. “Alright,” he mumbled. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me!”

You left the Williams garage with a smile on your face, very much amused by your conversation with Franco. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You pulled up to the media pen, really to meet with Jenson and Nico, your co-hosts this weekend, but they were nowhere to be seen. Regardless, you prepared yourself with the running order. 

Lance, Lando, Max, Checo, Zhou, and Fernando. That’s all you had to get through before you got on a flight to Abu Dhabi the next morning. After another few minutes of waiting, Nico and Jenson showed up, acting slightly strange. They weren't really speaking to you, only with each other. It’s not like they were excluding you, just… not asking for your input. They seemed guilty too. 

Lance, Lando, Max, and Checo were all fine, polite and out of there quickly. Oscar didn’t show up. Unsurprising, as you had been avoiding him. Zhou and Fernando went by in a flash, and you were back to your hotel by 2am. 

When you walked into your hotel, you were not expecting to see Oscar Piastri standing outside your door. 

Holy shit. You were so astronomically fucked. 

“What are you doing here?” you questioned. He turned to you. 

He cleared his throat. He’d been thinking of a response to that question since the second he’d started waiting outside for you. What was he doing? This was insane. His plan was to make you stay, but he was much too upset to talk rationally when he got the text from Franco about you seeing an Indycar driver. Honestly, it crushed him. He genuinely thought you’d liked him. “I wanted to… talk? Or something, just to gauge what the fuck is going on here,” he was getting heated, and you understood he was probably angry with you, and it’s not like he didn’t have a reason. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, opening your hotel room door and letting him inside. 

“You’re going to Indycar?” he questioned. “What the fuck?”  

You gulped, hard. “Yeah?” 

“Why?” he demanded. “What does Indycar have that F1 doesn’t? F1 is faster cars, faster drivers, more money, more races, more countries, more-”

“Oscar! Did it ever occur to you that this wasn’t my fucking choice?!” you shouted over him. Silence. “Indycar doesn’t have Sky coverage, but Europeans are interested in the sport and they need a known interviewer to go there and make it easier to sell it to people, and I got picked. That’s it.” 

“So it has nothing to do with whatever Indycar driver you’re fucking?” he scoffed. Your face fell. Your eyes fell to the hardwood floor beneath your feet. “Yeah, I know.”

Your face soured and you looked up again, offended. Who did he think he was? He had no say in your life at all. You’d hated him for 2 years, and you had no real reason to, now you had one. “I owe you nothing Oscar. I’m an adult in a consenting relationship, and yes he’s in Indycar, is that a crime?” 

“Is that why you’re going over there?” he asked, stepping closer to you. You could cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife. “Or are you running away from something here?” 

“Fuck you,” you pushed him back. This wasn't the Oscar you knew. He was different, angry, mean, and rude. You owed him nothing. “Get out.” 

He nodded, and left without another word. 

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