#THAT IS *MY* NEMESIS!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

hero/villain showdown but one of them has a spontaneous medical emergency and the battle gets put on hold while their archnemesis drives them to Urgent Care

[ahjuummas]

Noona romances should be legally required to have the ML called the FL noona, on the basis that I live for that shit

[thegreatyin]

How did you manage to handle not one, but FOUR separate accounts in fl? I recently made the account for my HD little guy but having to do the tutorial again just seems miserable

there's... weirdly several answers to that question, actually??

a HUGE part of it is due to the way FL is structured. the 10-minute action timer is a core part of the game on a fundamental level, and the fact that i can very easily run out of stuff to do on one character and thus have an excuse to quickly and easily swap to another is just... convenient? satisfying? i'm not entirely sure how to explain it. the fact that i can make progress even while i am fundamentally simultaneously Not Making Progress is like pure dopamine for my freak insane awful little brain. there's just something really pleasing about spending all of my actions pursuing The Goal Of The Day™ on one account before casually swapping to another and doing the same without feeling like i'm wasting time or acting to the first account's explicit detriment. the downtime helps! the recharge time helps! the structure really really works!!

i'm technically only actively playing three, maybe two accounts minimum. the only reason the fourth (the one that'll be my future BaL playthrough) currently exists at all is so i can get his earlygame completely out of the way now and not have to waste time running through it all later, when what i actually want to do is play the ambition i've made myself wait a full year to play. and also getting free goodies as seasonal stuff happens,, something something surprise tools to help us later. the only two accounts i'd say i'm really "actively playing" at the moment are caeru and lark- and of the two, lark takes the most priority, since his ambition is the one i'm currently pursuing in earnest. for a couple months now- despite being My Main FL Character- the scoundrel has actually been pretty inactive on a gameplay front outside of the occasional progression in TLC and discordance content. purely by virtue of having Very little left to do outside of Very long-term grinds and vanities. they're in their "now what?" "now you can start playing the game" era. they've graduated to previous protagonist background cameo in a sequel anime series. they're like the yin FLPC equivalent of red at the top of mount silver. they're Literally just vibing rn. i only keep posting about them regardless because i'm insane and i will never ever ever ever ever let that bat go. but yeah, big TLDR, outside of doing the bare minimum to keep making waves/notability up every week, i'm not actually spending that much time on accounts i'm not currently actively interested in playing. and that accounts for way more gaming spoons than you might think.

i have a virtually lifelong history of playing MMOs, especially and specifically world of warcraft. i was born in the endless grind for useless video game pixel vanities and/or bragging rights. molded by it. you all have merely adapted to doing the same piece of content a pointlessly excessive amount of times for literally no reason besides whimsy and folly. me? i've done my time. i've served my sentence. i've spent weeks doing the original burning crusade netherwing dailies. i've devoted days to running praetorium over and over and over again, back-to-back, nonstop, long before square enix cut it in half and made it NOT take at minimum an hour and a half per run. i've perfected my silverwastes + auric basin goldfarming strategies. i've (almost) crafted dragonwrath tarecgosa's rest. i've killed the sha of anger so many times its dying scream of agony is embedded into the very fabric of my being. ""only"" doing making your name content four times over? that is nothing to me. it means nothing to me. it is so infinitesimal i can do the persuasive seduction quests in my sleep. it's not a matter of handling misery, or having the capacity, or even sighing as i remember the brass embassy raid segment of the watchful questline seriously i don't know why i keep forgetting that exists or what even is my problem with it i just am so consistently mildly inconvenienced by it and its highly specific resource requirements and it is the worst thing ever. maybe i'm just so used to the scoundrel's near-infinite money and troves of disposable items that i've completely forgotten what being poor is like. despite having done that step 3 fucking times now. ahem. anyway. i have transcended the feeble mortal bindings of my resistant-to-grinding flesh and ascended to a higher plane of enlightenment, they may call me insane but they will be the ones left laughing when they see what that "insanity" has wrought, i've usurped them, i've usurped them all-

hacks and coughs and awkwardly clears my throat. i mean. uh. um. Ahem.

the empress' court artistry + tales of the university nerfs helped too.

[manicali]

Wait quick question did you forsee us meeting in a dream?

Yes-ish, but not that particular dream

[happy10thousandyears]

Briefly turning bisexual because one of the 75%percentile British men resembles my fave whom I headcanon as canonically nonbinary a bit TOO much (he's his voice actor. And also sees him as androgynous)

[mspaint-flower]

On the topic of your Nurse Robot propaganda spreading my Discord pfp is inexplicably a fanart of her that I have no memory of ever seeing and I'm not the one who set it.

hJKSFJHSJFKSHKFHBSKJGKJS HELP????^^??^?^?^ HOW DID THAT HAPPEN ................

it's just the spirit of the propaganda you can't escape it

[bam-monsterhospital]

the biggest problem with the warden class in eso is the animal companion ultimate.

the bear.

in a skill line full of morrowind-specific animals. loADED with buggies and classic morrowind staples like cliff racers and netches, zos decided a goddamn boring-ass mamalian normal-world dnd basic BEAR would be a good idea.

not a scrib warrior. not a nix ox.  not even one of those gone-out-of-their-way-to-completely-redesign-to-be-buggy hunger daedra, no.

a fucking bear.

fuck the bear.

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - handle with care

warnings ; oral (f recieving), he hits it from the back, hair pulling, blue collar dick🚨🚨

prompt ; in which your landlord sends an electrician to fix your power, and you end up learning firsthand the magic of blue collar dick.

note ; if you are reading this.. this is a queue’d post while im in MEXICO!!!!! you horny little sluts really thought i would leave you alone for 5 days.. i would never. i figured — hey if i can’t post part 5 of tpod i can at least give a life lesson on blue collar dick, right? backstory here is that the other day my best friend and i had a conversation about our sexy ass landlord and that got me thinking… jungkook..? blue collar..? big dick..? so anyways this is the product of that convo! (and also a standalone one shot bc yall be loving these!)

Later, when someone asks you to recap this story, you’ll say that in your defense, you weren’t expecting the electrician to look like he walked straight off some cringy Pornhub set. You’ll say you just wanted your electricity fixed, not to be spiritually humbled by a man who smells like sawdust and pine.

Your apartment is the kind of place that builds character. And by character, you mean mild trauma.

The kitchen light flickers like it’s been possessed since the day you moved in. The ceiling creaks when your upstairs neighbor sneezes. Your shower only has two settings (arctic and molten lava). There’s a weird stain on the ceiling you’ve been ignoring for three months. And today, of all days, the universe decided to cut the last thread holding your sanity together: the power.

No lights. No working outlets. No WiFi. Which means you’re sitting on your couch, in a hoodie and shorts, trying to hotspot your laptop with 3% battery left while rage-texting your landlord like you’re filing an official grievance with Satan himself.

You immediately text your landlord, fully expecting a five-day delay and a $30 deduction off your next rent.

You: hi. respectfully. what the FUCK is happening?

You: i work from home. i pay rent. i have needs. pls fix ASAP.

He replies five minutes later like he’s doing you a personal favor.

Landlord: sending my guy over. 15 mins.

Your landlord is somehow both your greatest nemesis and your weirdest emotional support system. He’ll ignore three maintenance requests, ghost you for a week, then show up unannounced with a half-eaten bag of Hot Cheetos. You’ve threatened to sue him in writing and sent him a happy birthday meme in the same month. And you’re already halfway into a mental spiral about “his guy” being a 60-year-old with pants that don’t stay up and opinions about the current political climate when there’s a knock at your door.

You swing the door open, fully expecting to see a crusty old man with a clipboard and a wheeze, and instead, you see… (and you’ll remember this moment until the day you die.)

Lip ring. Tattoo sleeve. Tool belt slung low over cargo pants. A black tee stretched across broad shoulders. Jesus Christ, the hair. Dark, slightly shaggy, pushed back on top but long in the back, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that should not be allowed near unsupervised women.

“Hey’,” he says, like this isn’t a pivotal moment in your sexual awakening. “I’m here about the outage?”

You blink at him. You are officially unfit for conversation.

This man has a mullet. A tattooed, lip-ringed, mullet-wearing man is standing in your hallway holding a voltage tester like its foreplay.

Suddenly, your pajama shorts feel too short for this moment. You fumble with the doorknob, “Uh. Yeah. Come in. It’s, uh.. yeah.”

Brilliant. Shakespeare could never.

He steps inside, and holy shit, he’s even taller than you thought. The kind of tall that makes your ceilings feel shorter. The kind of tall where you have to crane your neck just slightly to look up at him, which is offensive because you’re not exactly short yourself. He smells like a mix of sawdust, a hint of pine, laundry detergent, and a 2002 Nissan Altima. It’s oddly specific.

He glances around like he’s surveying a battlefield. “Power cut out completely?”

You nod, shuffling behind him as he moves farther into your apartment with the kind of confidence like he’s somehow been to your home before. His boots thud across your hardwood floor, scuffed and loud. The tool belt clinks. His shirt rides up when he stretches his arm to check something near the ceiling and there’s a flash of golden skin and low-slung cargo pants and—

You’re not doing well.

He pops open the panel in the ceiling like it’s nothing. “Y’all been having issues with this before? Flickering? Dead outlets?”

“Sometimes the kitchen light hums like it’s possessed,” you say, which you regret immediately. “I mean, not literally possessed. Not like.. haunted. Just… you know. Buzzing.”

He chuckles. It’s a low, gravelly sound that sinks its teeth into your spine and doesn’t let go.

“Probably a loose connection in the junction box. Nothing too crazy,” he says, grabbing something from his belt that you will now dream about tonight. “You work from home?”

You nod again, helpless. “Yeah. Marketing.”

He glances back at you. “Tough with no WiFi.”

You turn around under the guise of “letting him work” but really just to text your roommate, Sana, with trembling fingers.

You: help. our power went out and the electrician we got sent is so hot

You: he has a MULLET. a mullet, sana. he said “junction box” and i almost moaned

You hear him grunt softly as he stretches to reach something and you nearly drop your phone.

Sana: SEND A PIC RN

You sneak a glance back — he’s perched on your step stool, arms flexing as he reaches into the ceiling. His hair is curling perfectly at the back of his neck, a little messy from the heat.

You don’t send a pic. You can’t. It feels criminal. You feel like you’re watching live porn with consequences.

Then he speaks again, casually. “You smell something burning last night? Or anything weird before it cut out?”

You nearly say “just my ovaries,” but God reaches down and slaps your mouth shut.

Instead, you clear your throat. “Nope. No sparks, no smell. It just… died this morning.”

He nods, focused. “Might be a fuse then. I’ll check the basement in a sec.”

He drops down from the stool with a casual thud and wipes his hands on that rag in his back pocket. That ass, that rag. This is no longer an apartment. It’s a crime scene.

You glance up just in time to see him walking toward your front door, lifting the back of his shirt to wipe his forehead. You black out for a second.

You: he just wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his shirt. i saw ab muscle. like cut definition. i think it smiled at me.

Sana: you need jail or a CONDOM stat. get his number???

You’re halfway through typing “I don’t even know his name yet” when the front door opens behind you, and you almost launch your phone across the room like it’s a grenade.

He steps back into your apartment with that casual, unbothered energy he’s so good at carrying. Hair slightly damp at the edges now, cheeks pink from the walk up your stairs, tool belt still jingling.

“Basement breaker’s fine,” he says, brushing his palm down the front of his shirt. “Might be a wiring issue. Gonna check one more thing.”

You blink. Nod. Attempt human speech. Fail. “Cool. Yeah. Check… stuff.”

Christ. You sound like you learned English from Duolingo five minutes ago.

He smiles then, actually smiles. Full teeth, little bunny front ones peeking out. His lip ring glints as he does it, and your brain goes completely static for a second.

“Want some water?” you blurt, and immediately hate yourself. “Or iced tea? Or, whatever I have in the fridge that isn’t expired?”

He huffs out a little laugh, shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks, sweetheart.”

You freeze like you’ve been slapped by a porn star. He walks past you again like nothing happened, reaching for something in his tool bag, completely unaware that your soul just evacuated your body.

You unlock your phone immediately, fingers trembling, and text in all caps.

You: HE CALLED ME SWEETHEART.

You: arrest him. make him marry me. i don’t care just make it LEGAL

You barely get the message out when he turns slightly and casually, and says, “So… you live here with your boyfriend, or…?”

You blink hard.

The question hangs there, just slightly too relaxed. Like it’s not loaded with potential. Like it’s not every Wattpad plotline you’ve ever read come to life in front of your half-broken Ikea bookshelf.

Your brain short-circuits harder than your kitchen socket. Is he flirting? Was that… are you being flirted with? It’s been a minute. Like, a long minute since you’ve had someone show genuine interest in you. You can’t tell anymore. He could be asking because he needs to know whose ass he’s about to get chewed out by if he knocks something over, or because he’s just curious.

You manage to croak out, “Just my roommate. Sana.”

He nods and doesn’t press. He lets out a low, distracted, “Hm,” like that’s useful information. Like it slots into place somewhere in his head and he’s okay with it.

You, meanwhile, are mentally drafting a will because you’re not sure your heart’s going to survive the rest of this visit.

He leans over your couch armrest to reach the outlet near the floor. His cargo pants pull slightly tighter around his thighs and you look away so fast you give yourself whiplash. You try to look normal, like a woman who isn’t catastrophically horny over someone adjusting your voltage.

You: HE ASKED IF I HAD A BOYFRIEND

Sana: I AM SCREAMING. I’M IN LINE AT TRADER JOE’S. OFFER TO MAKE HIM LEMONADE OR SIT ON HIS FACE IDK CHOOSE FAST

He stands back up, wiping his palms on that stupid fucking rag again, and glances over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t take much longer,” he quips with that lazy, dangerous smile.

You nod, eyes wide, pretending you’re normal. “Cool. Thanks. No rush or anything. It’s not like I need power to… survive.”

He quirks a brow at that, like he finds you kind of funny, or kind of tragic.

You sit on the couch, phone hidden in your lap like it’s a shameful secret. He crouches near another outlet, testing something with one of those little gadgets that beeps and blinks.

“So, marketing,” he says over his shoulder. “Like… ads?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah. I work for a beauty brand. Mostly social media, some campaign strategy. Lots of pretending I know what I’m doing and hoping the algorithm doesn’t hate me that day.”

He chuckles. That low, amused sound that makes your toes curl. “That why you’re so good at talking?”

You freeze. “What?”

He glances back, smile creeping in slow and lazy. There’s an unfortunate amount of sarcasm behind his tone. “You seem to stumble a bit over words.”

You blink again, officially out of working brain cells. “Sorry. I—I can stop. I don’t mean to be annoying, I just—”

“I didn’t say it was annoying.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it. He crouches lower again, tapping something against the outlet. But you hear it anyway and feel it, low in your stomach like a dropped elevator.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, blessedly interrupting the moment before you combust.

Sana: girl. do i need to walk around the block or are you gonna fuck him. be honest.

You bite your lip so hard you nearly draw blood. He straightens up, wiping his palms again. “So do you like it? The job?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. It’s… stressful. But fun, sometimes. I guess,” You scratch the back of your neck.

“You good at it?” He grunts out, looking for something in his toolbox.

Your mind blanks. “What?”

He turns to look at you full-on now, arms crossed, shirt clinging to the curve of his shoulders. “Marketing. All that stuff. You good at it?”

You let out a nervous little laugh. “I mean, I hope so. I’ve been doing it for a few years now, and nobody’s fired me yet.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His tone isn’t aggressive. It’s low and relaxed. But something about the way he says it makes your pulse skip.

“I… I think I am,” you say, slower this time.

He nods once as if that answer pleases him. “You seem like you’d be.”

You’re gonna die. You’re going to actually die. This man is being nice to you, and it feels like your body isn’t prepared for that level of stimulus.

You glance at your phone again.

Sana: WHY ARE YOU TAKING THIS LONG TO RESPOND??? IS HIS DICK OUT. BLINK TWICE

You look back up and he’s leaning against the doorframe that divides your kitchen and living room now, arms still crossed, lip ring catching the light. “So your roommate…?”

You nod, trying not to choke. “Yeah. Her name’s Sana. We’ve lived together since college.”

“She at work?” You swear he looks at your legs in your shorts, but could also be wishful thinking.

“Not right now. She works night shifts at the hospital 15 minutes away from here.,” You twiddle your thumbs in your lap.

He hums, still watching you. “So you’re here all alone today.”

It’s not a question. It shouldn’t be hot. It’s just a sentence. But, the way he says it? The tone? The slight lilt at the end, like it means more than it says?

You let out a strangled sound that you hope reads as a laugh. “Yeah. Just me. Alone. In this… apartment. Where you are. Currently.”

He tilts his head, smiling again. “You’re kind of funny for someone with no electricity.”

You hesitate. Then, blurting before you can stop yourself, “And you’re kind of cocky for someone who still hasn’t turned my lights on yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly appearing. “Hm?”

You shake your head way too fast. “I mean—just—like, you’ve been here for a bit now and you’re fixing my power and it is taking quite long, but I promise I’m not mad about it.. I’m sorry.”

He lets out a real laugh this time. Full, low, and stupidly hot. He pushes off the wall and walks back toward the kitchen like he didn’t just wreck your central nervous system.

You take another breath and text Sana.

You: he’s flirting. he’s literally flirting. i want to crawl inside the oven

Sana: girl. jump on the counter and say “while you’re fixing things, i’m also broken.”

Almost like he was trying to prove a point to you, the lights come back on with a quiet click, a whirr of electricity humming back to life through your walls, and you swear the sound might as well be a death knell.

He steps back from the panel in your hallway, tapping the side of it with a knuckle like he just fixed your entire infrastructure. “There we go,” he says, “Should be good now. Might’ve just been a loose connection behind the breaker, it’s common in these old buildings.”

You nod slowly, like you understood a single word of that. All you really heard was competency and your brain whispered: breedable.

“That’s… great,” you reply, way too softly. “Thanks.”

He wipes his hands again on that same rag and starts packing up his tools, metal clicking together as he slips things back into place. His forearm flexes with every movement, tattoos shifting across his skin like they’re in on the joke.

“Need help with anything else?” he asks casually, not looking at you as he zips up the tool bag. His voice dips slightly.

Your heart stutters. You should say actually, yeah, my back is acting up and I think the solution involves that couch and maybe you using me like a handrail. But instead you go, “Nope. That’s all.”

Your phone vibrates against your thigh, dragging you back to earth.

Sana: have you ever heard of blue collar dick??? this is ur chance

You squint at that text, thumbs pausing mid-reply.

Blue collar dick.

The phrase unlocks something buried deep in your brain. A memory. A TikTok you watched half-asleep one night at 1:37AM, under the glow of your LED lights, while eating dry cereal out of a mug. The girl had looked straight into the camera, wide-eyed and deadly serious, and whispered: “Blue collar dick is not just a concept. It’s a lifestyle. It’s the kind of unholy grip someone develops on you after a man with calloused hands and a union paycheck fixes your sink and rearranges your soul in the same afternoon.”

You’d laughed. Scoffed, even. How dramatic.

He zips up the last pouch on his tool bag and stands tall, glancing toward the door like he might head that way but he doesn’t. He stays.

He rolls his shoulder a little, absently adjusting the strap, and you watch his fingers drag across the curve of his neck.

“You think everything working alright?” he asks, voice low and unhurried like he’s trying to fill the silence. Like he knows you’re still stuck in some sort of horny trance and he’s being generous enough to let you catch up.

“Yeah,” you say, breathier than intended. “Power’s on. Looks like the WiFi is back. I can check if my laptop came back to life.”

You gesture toward your computer like it matters. Like any of that is worth focusing on when he is standing six feet from you.

He hums, looking around your living room where you’re still on your couch. “Place is cute.”

You blink. “Oh. Uh. Thanks. It’s… falling apart slowly, but charming.”

He doesn’t really acknowledge that. “Anything else broken in here?” he asks, stepping away from the wall a little. “Leaky faucet? Shaky table leg? My dad taught me how to fix a ton of stuff, I’m pretty handy with anything. You want me to check something else?”

Your mouth opens and closes. Your brain struggles to find the words, and the words you want to say are not coming out easily, so you just respond with, “No. I mean… no, I think we’re good. You fixed the lights.”

His eyes flicker and stay on you just a second too long. Then he shifts slightly, sets the tool box down again with a thud, and stretches his arms overhead like he’s got nowhere to be. Shirt rides up just enough for you to see the line of his waistband and the shadow of toned skin beneath it, and you almost bite your tongue off.

“You sure?” he asks again, tone casual, almost amused now. “You looked kinda… bummed when the lights came back on.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No. I wasn’t.. I mean, not bummed. Just surprised. Happy. Grateful. Electrified, if you will.”

Electrified. You’re going to throw yourself off the balcony.

He laughs again, and you swear it vibrates in your chest. “I could hang out a sec,” he offers, and it’s not subtle anymore. “Just make sure everything stays stable. Sometimes the lights will turn back off randomly.”

Everything’s stable, you repeat in your brain like an idiot. I am not.

He’s leaning one shoulder against the wall now, lazy and relaxed, eyes still on you like he’s just waiting to see what you’ll say next.

Before your brain can stop your mouth from doing anything reckless, you blurt out, “Have you eaten?”

His brows lift. “What?”

You clear your throat. “Lunch. Have you had any?”

He tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your mouth for one half-second too long. “Not yet,” he says, “Didn’t get the chance.”

You nod like this is normal. Like offering sandwiches to electricians with tool belts and stupidly sexy mullets is part of your daily routine. “I can make you something if you want.”

His mouth curves, slow and teasing. “Yeah? You feed all the guys your landlord sends over?”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly eject from your skull. “Only the ones who save me from having to live in darkness.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Then yeah. I’m kinda hungry.”

He walks over to where you’re sitting, drops his bag beside the couch, stretches with a casual groan that shoots straight between your thighs, and flops onto your couch like he’s done it a hundred times. Like your couch is a perfectly acceptable throne for his man-spreading, bicep-showcasing, very-much-staying presence.

You twiddle your fingers, “If i make you food, it’s only right if I get your name.”

Smooth. Real fucking smooth.

“Jungkook,” He looks over to you, trying to bite back a grin. “And yours is [Y/N], right? Saw it on the assignment sheet.”

“Cool,” You gulp down some saliva that was lodged in your throat.

You march to the kitchen like a woman on a mission, flinging the fridge open with the determination of someone prepping for an exorcism. It’s not that you want to impress him. It’s just that… okay. No. You do want to impress him. You want to serve this man a sandwich so good he files a formal complaint against your thighs for being too far from his face.

You find good bread. Not the sad white slices. You find turkey. Cheese. Lettuce that isn’t slimy. A tomato you aggressively pat dry with a paper towel like a psychotic housewife. You toast the bread and add a little mustard. You even cut the sandwich diagonally, because if you’re going to be delusional, you’re going to be domestically deranged about it.

Your phone buzzes for the billionth time.

Sana: DID YOU FUCK HIM YET

You ignore her. You grab a little paper plate with a cup of water and a napkin and present this meal like you are some Michelin chef. You walk it out carefully, feeling like you should have a white linen apron and one of those vintage Coke ads playing behind you.

“Damn,” he says when you hand it to him, voice warm with surprise. “You really went all out.”

You shrug, trying to act chill. “Just a sandwich.”

He takes a bite and groans.“No, this is next level. Wife-tier sandwich.”

Your face goes hot. You sit down beside him on the couch, one cushion away, legs crossed, heart racing. You grab your phone and finally reply to Sana before she drives to the apartment and physically removes you.

You: sana i need you to take a lap. actually take a five-mile lap. this house needs to be mine for two hours minimum.

Sana: i will literally be gone until sunset

You set your phone down and glance at him again. He’s halfway through the sandwich already, clearly enjoying the hell out of it, crumbs on his fingers, lip ring glinting as he chews.

“So,” you say casually, “how’d you get into electrical work?”

He swallows, wipes his mouth, and shrugs. “Started out helping my uncle with his crew back home. Learned enough on the job that I stuck with it. Took the exam, got certified, picked up my own clients.”

“That’s hot,” you say before thinking.

He pauses, blinks, then smirks again. “Yeah?”

You want to shrivel into the cushions. “I mean, just like the hands-on thing. Fixing stuff. Being good with your hands.”

He glances at you, faintly amused. “It’s a bold choice… Flirting with the guy who knows your wires inside out better than you ever could.”

You’ve made your decision. You’ve committed to the bit. You’re going to have him. You don’t care how. You don’t care if it’s a terrible idea. You’re already halfway there, and if blue collar dick is a myth, you’d like to be the one to confirm or deny it firsthand. You smile, tilting your head. “I like living on the edge.”

He finishes the sandwich and sets the plate on your coffee table with a little sigh. “Damn. Guess I should’ve been in this line of work sooner.”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at him through your lashes like you’re not actively in the process of losing your mind.

He shifts slightly on the couch, one arm thrown casually along the back cushion, knee brushing yours now, and your whole body tightens at the contact. You look down at his hand, rough, calloused, fingers spread just enough to imagine what they’d feel like anywhere else.

Focus. Focus.

“So,” you start, aiming for casual but landing somewhere around unhinged, “do you, like… do this for a lot of people?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fix electricity?”

You laugh too fast. “No! Well, yeah. I mean. Yes. But like… do you do this for one person a lot? Regularly? Like… someone special. Like a client. A consistent client.”

He’s still watching you, brows slightly raised, clearly trying to follow your logic. “Huh?”

You look down, embarrassed. Shit. Too subtle. You double back. “Sorry, I meant… like… is there someone who, you know, gets their power fixed all the time? Like a… girlfriend?”

Oh my god. Girlfriend. You say it like you’ve never spoken English before, like the concept of casual inquiry never existed.

His lips tugging up like he knows exactly what you’re asking. “Nah,” he replies. “No girlfriend.”

He reaches for the glass of water you’d set on the coffee table earlier, and you watch his throat work as he takes a slow gulp. His lip ring catches the light again, and your brain completely flatlines.

No girlfriend.

No girlfriend. That’s… fine. That’s great. That’s also dangerous.

Your heart is pounding so loud in your ears you barely register that he hasn’t looked away. When he sets the glass down again, his eyes don’t drift back to his phone or the room or the vague distance.

They stay locked on you.

You shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of how close you’re sitting. His fingers are still relaxed against the couch cushion, a breath away from the curve of your shoulder.

“Should I expect a full background check with your next outage?”he says, voice low now.

You’re officially in the danger zone now with no intentions of stopping. “Already ran yours. Five star reviews all around. “

He chuckles, quietly. “I’m honored.”

Your breath catches. It’s a small sound. Barely audible. But his gaze dips lower at the sound of it, flickering between your mouth and your throat. He doesn’t hide it anymore. There’s no playfulness left.

“Stop staring” you mutter, trying to keep your voice even.

He lifts a brow. “I’m not.”

“Are you… thinking about kissing me?” This is worse than that one time in 10th grade when you got put in a closet with your crush and you practically slammed him against the door begging him to kiss you.

However, Jungkook doesn’t smile or smile. His gaze lingers on your lips still like he’s counting the seconds. “Would that be a problem?”

Your stomach drops. The air between you turns solid. “No,” you say softly. “It’d be the opposite of a problem.”

He doesn’t move right away, or lunge and lean in. He lets the silence fill with heat, with potential, like he wants you to feel the choice stretch out and make sure you want it just as much as he does. (Is he insane? Of course you do)

You want him to kiss you so bad it’s physically painful. Every nerve in your body is waiting for it, screaming for it, for the weight of his hand on your jaw, the feel of his lip ring pressing into yours.

You inch just slightly closer and your knee brushes against his fully now. Your face is tilted up toward his without even thinking.

“Are you gonna?” you whisper, voice barely there.

His eyes flicker again and then he smiles. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He leans in, not in some clumsy rush. He drags it out just long enough for you to feel your whole body tense with anticipation. His hand finds your jaw first, thumb brushing your cheek, fingers curling gently under your chin.

And then his mouth is on yours.

He kisses you like it’s his job, like he’s done this a thousand times but still finds something new in the shape of your lips. His mouth moves with intention, none of that awkward fumbling, none of the soft, shy hesitation. It’s confident. His lip ring drags against your lower lip and you actually whimper, because of course he knows how to use it.

He groans low in his throat when your fingers knot in the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. One hand slips around the back of your neck, the other finding your waist, pulling you across the couch and into him like he can’t stand even a breath of space between you.

He tastes like faint mint and the sandwich you made him. Your legs shift, tangling with his. His hand is already on your thigh, rough palm skimming under the hem of your shorts, gripping hard enough to make your breath stutter into his mouth.

You gasp when he bites down lightly, but enough to make you feel it. He soothes it with a kiss immediately after, dragging his mouth down your jaw, and murmurs into your skin, “You’re a good kisser.”

You could die. You could die right now and it would be worth it.

You tilt your head back to give him more access, voice breathless. “Yeah? You’re not so bad yourself.”

That earns you another groan, this one deeper, more possessive. His hand slides up your side, under your hoodie, fingers grazing bare skin and making your back arch instinctively.

He kisses you again, messier now and wetter. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing. His fingers sink into your thigh, pull you closer until you’re practically straddling him on the couch and you feel him, hard beneath his cargo pants, pressed against your hip like a threat.

“You sure you don’t need anything else fixed?” he murmurs against your mouth.

And all you can do is nod, eyes heavy, hands trembling against his chest as you whisper: “Hmm. I think my body is out of order. Needs fixing.”

Big hands grip your thighs, and with one swift, greedy motion, he’s pushing you back into the couch cushions. You land with a quiet gasp, hair fanned out, lips swollen, hoodie riding up over your stomach.

He’s hovering, body caged above yours, weight pressed into one arm braced beside your head, the other skimming up your waist and dragging your hoodie even higher. His silver chain dangles loose from his neck and every time he leans down to kiss you again, it smacks against your throat, cold and heavy, sending a shiver straight through you.

He groans when you arch up into him, letting your hips roll slightly, needy and desperate, and he feels it, feels how bad you want him and how worked up you are.

His bicep flexes beside your head, holding himself up so he doesn’t crush you but you kind of wish he would. You let your hand drift up, fingertips grazing the muscle slowly, shamelessly.

Holy fuck, he’s strong.

Strong in the way that makes your thighs press together, that makes you want to find out what else those arms can hold you down against. You squeeze just a little, test the resistance, and he grins against your lips.

“That’s what you’re thinkin’ about?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth to your neck now, teeth grazing your jaw. “My arms?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your brain is literally melting.

He licks a stripe up the side of your throat and bites, just enough to make you whimper, and the damn chain swings again, cold against the same spot.

“You like that?” he asks, “Hmm?”

You nod frantically, whining. You’re gone.

His hand slides down to grip your thigh again, hiking it up around his waist, and the angle has you gasping. His hips dip into yours just enough to make it obvious: he’s hard, and he’s not even trying to hide it now.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” he mutters, biting your earlobe. “Since you fed me and everything. Feels only fair.”

You nod again, breathless. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing yours. “Been thinkin’ about kissing you since the second you opened that door.”

His hands are already slipping under the hem of your hoodie, thumbs dragging across the skin of your waist as he mutters, low and sinful, “Lift your hips for me.”

You do instantly and he slides your shorts down so slowly it feels like punishment. They snag slightly at your thighs before he gets them off, flinging them somewhere over the armrest, and then he just stares. Lets his eyes drag from your knees to the place between your thighs like he’s about to pray and commit a felony in the same breath.

You’re not even fully naked, but you already feel exposed. Every part of you twitching with anticipation because the way this man looks at you? It’s like he already knows what you taste like.

He lowers himself, right between your knees and spreads your legs open with two hands and drags your body closer to him.

“You’re already shaking,” he whispers, lips brushing along the inside of your thigh. “What’s got you so worked up, sweetheart?”

You want to answer. You try to answer. But then he presses a kiss right above your knee, then lower and lower. It’s like he’s savoring every inch of you, kissing a trail up your thigh like you’re dessert and he’s been starving all day.

When he finally gets to your underwear, he lets out a low hum.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, thumb dragging along the edge. “You’re soaked.”

You choke on your own spit. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, and looks up at you, eyes dark. You’re propped up on your elbows, watching him like you’re in a live-action fantasy, because that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Gonna take these off now,” he says, almost too gently.

You nod like a bobblehead. “Please.”

He tugs them down painfully slow, and when they slip off your legs and drop to the floor, he doesn’t even hesitate. He just dives in.

Tongue flat, broad, ruthless against you, dragging through your folds. You jolt, hips bucking off the couch, and his hands immediately slide up to pin you down, fingers bruising your thighs as he holds you in place.

He moans into you, tongue curling, lips wrapping around your clit with slow, maddening pressure. The suction makes you cry out, hand flying to grab at his hair, soft, messy strands you curl your fingers into.

“Fuck, J-Jungkook,” you gasp. His grip tightens on your thighs in response. He flattens his tongue again, licking long and slow, nose nudging against your clit just enough to make your legs shake. Then he shifts, tilts his head just slightly, and flicks the tip of his tongue in tight, fast circles.

You swear you see God.

He doesn’t stop, and it’s obscene how good it is. You can hear it. Mapping out every flick, every swirl, every suck that makes your thighs twitch and your head fall back in helpless, high-pitched whines.

He’s so good at it, it’s almost infuriating. Like he’s been training for this specific moment, like he knew your body before you ever laid eyes on his goddamn toolbelt.

“Shit,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the edge of the couch like you’ll fall off the earth if he keeps going.

He pulls back barely, enough to murmur against your soaked skin, “What’s that, sweetheart?”

You look down at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and the sight makes your stomach flip.

His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, locked on yours with zero shame. His lips are wet, his lip ring gleaming, his chain dragging down your thigh. His hands are still gripping your legs tight. “You’re already shaking,” he taunts, “You gonna fall apart before I even get my fingers in?”

You let out a sound you don’t recognize. Your hips buck without permission, trying to chase more friction, more pressure, anything, and he laughs.

“Thought you were gonna take it,” he mutters, kissing your inner thigh again, right where it’s already slick. “Thought you were tough.”

“Jungkook,” Your voice breaks.

“Yeah, baby?” he smiles, “Want more?”

You nod frantically. “Please. Please, please.”

“Mmhmm.” He drags his tongue back up, slow and torturous. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want—” you gasp as he suckles your clit again, just hard enough to make your legs spasm. “I want your fingers please. I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, way too calm. “You’re gonna. Not done with you yet.”

He slides one hand down between your thighs, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, slow and unhurried. You feel the first press of his fingertip at your entrance and it’s over.

When he finally pushes in just one thick finger, your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. It feels so good, too good.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he notes more to himself than to you. “Fuck. Gripping already.”

He curls his finger and you practically wail. You slap a hand over your mouth but he sees it, and then lowers his mouth back down to your clit like he’s starving for it.

His tongue and his finger move in tandem. Circles and pressure and heat all at once, building you up, pushing you higher, dragging desperate sounds out of you that you’ve never made before.

“Jungkook, fuck, please,” you sob, grabbing at his hair. “Please, I need—”

“You need what?” he murmurs against you, adding a second finger slowly, the stretch perfect, his mouth never leaving your clit.

“I need, need to cum, please—”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours as his fingers start to fuck into you even deeper, “Not yet.”

You’re near tears at this point.

He flattens his tongue and moans into you, and your hips jerk off the couch. Your hands are clutching at him now, your stomach tightening, thighs trembling around his head as he talks you through it.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he exhales, eyes locked on your face. “All needy and loud. Fuck, baby. I could eat you all day.”

You’re so close it hurts. He can feel it, the way your walls clench around his fingers, sucking him in.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice hoarse against you. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

And you do, embarrassingly hard. It crashes over you like a power surge, hot and fast and blinding. Your hips jerk, your mouth drops open in a silent cry, and you’re cumming so hard you forget your own name.

He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, until your legs are shaking uncontrollably and you’re pushing at his shoulder with a broken gasp.

Still, he doesn’t let up. His tongue is relentless, fingers even more ruthless. You’re sweating, teary-eyed and so close you’re practically vibrating, when you finally snap.

“Jungkook,” you moan, throat raw. “I need you to fuck me. Please. I can’t—“

That gets him to cease. He pulls back, mouth soaked, lip ring gleaming. His hand lingers between your thighs for a second longer before he pushes himself up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting.

You reach up, fingers clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down so you can kiss him. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it just makes it worse, makes you needier.

He stands up, stripping down as fast as humanly possible. The black tee comes off first, revealing a chest that’s all muscle, abs that flex when he tosses the shirt aside. Then the cargo pants get shoved down, and…

Holy fucking shit.

It swings free and heavy into his palm, and you gasp.

That’s what they meant by blue collar dick. Thick, veiny, the prettiest goddamn cock you’ve ever seen. Long, curved just right, flushed and leaking at the tip as he wraps his hand around the base and starts stroking himself, slow and lazy.

He tilts his head back with a low groan, lashes fluttering, chain swinging over his chest and you just stare.

You’ve seen good dick before. You’ve had great dick, even. This is different. This is the kind of dick that installs central air and breaks bed frames. The kind that fucks through creaky floorboards, says “good girl” like a prophet, and pays in cash everywhere.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still jerking himself slowly, eyes dark as he looks down at you. “You want it, baby?”

You nod like your life depends on it. “Please. Need it so bad.”

He doesn’t waste another second. “Turn over,” he says, voice commanding. “Face down, ass up. I want that spine arched.”

You scramble to obey, flipping onto your stomach, shoving your hoodie up out of the way. You bury your face in the couch cushion, arms stretched forward, hips high in the air and the sound Jungkook makes behind you is inhuman.

“Fucking hell,” he licks his lips, hands gripping your hips, thumbs spreading you open. “Look at you.”

You feel him line up behind you, thick head sliding through your slick folds, teasing but not pushing in yet, and your whole body twitches.

“You’re perfect like this,” he says, one hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades until your arch deepens. “Back all pretty, ass in the air, soaked for me. Fuck, baby.”

He leans forward, voice rasping hot in your ear. “You gonna take it for me like this, yeah? Gonna let me fuck you nice and deep?”

You moan out, whimpering into the pillow. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Atta girl.”

He pushes in slow, allowing you to feel every inch. You feel the thick, burning stretch of him as he sinks in deeper, splitting you open around his cock. Your breath catches on a whimper, eyes rolling back as he fills you.

“Fuuuuck,” you choke out, voice strangled. “You’re so big.”

Behind you, Jungkook lets out a guttural groan.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still sliding in, forcing your walls to open around him. “That too much for you, baby?”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe, cheek pressed into the cushion. “No, no, it’s so good, just, fuck—”

He bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, and you swear you see stars. You’re so full it’s almost unbearable, like he’s in your stomach, You’ve never felt anything like it; your walls clenching, dripping, pulsing and he’s barely even moved yet.

He pulls out halfway and slams back in, then does it again… and again… and again.

His pace is brutal, deep, pounding thrusts that send shockwaves through your spine and bounce off the walls. Skin slapping, the obscene wet squelch of your cunt sucking him in over and over, the couch creaking beneath you. You’re a full mess under him, and he’s moaning now too.

“Fuck,”Jungkook growls behind you, breath ragged. “You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me?”

You do. The sound of your pussy squelching around his cock is loud, echoing with every thrust as your juices coat his length and drip down your thighs onto the couch cushions below.

“Fucking soaked,” he growls again, hips snapping into you.

His hand finds your hair, grabbing a fistful at the base of your neck and pulling. Your head lifts from the pillow you grabbed from nearby in a panic, back arched to its limit, body bent like a bowstring as he fucks into you harder now that he has you right where he wants you.

“Taking it so good, baby,” he pants, yanking your head back just enough to make you moan. He keeps pounding into you, dragging that cock so deep it feels like he’s carving himself into your soul, keeping your head held high by your hair, whispering filth that makes your legs shake.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” he growls, tone thick and mean. “Wanna fall apart right here on my cock?”

You’re shaking too hard to answer, all that’s coming out are some babbles you nor him have any energy to interpret. Somehow, your brain flashes back to that fucking TikTok. That girl that described “blue collar dick” like it was some natural disaster.

Now you’re living it.

You’re bent over on your own couch, spine arched, tears in your eyes, unable to even think as Jungkook wrecks you with his cock and whispers filthy praise in your ear like it’s his job. This is blue collar dick. This is the goddamn thesis statement of that TikTok. You’re going to send that girl flowers.

“Please,” you cry, “Please, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” he pants, breath hot against your neck as his fingers reach down and work your clit cruelly enough to keep you from tipping over. “That desperate for it, sweetheart?”

You nod, choking out sobs, your body twitching around him, clenching hard enough that he starts to fall apart.

“Fuck,” he groans, cock twitching inside you. “You’re so tight. Keep squeezing me like that and I’m gonna cum before you do.”

You moan loud into the pillow, your whole body wrecked and burning, still locked in this purgatory he’s created, his cock fucking you deep and hard, his fingers rolling over your clit with precision, holding you right there.

“Say it,” he growls, “Tell me how bad you need it.”

“I need it, please, I need it so bad. I can’t, I’m so close, please let me cum.” Your self -control has exited the apartment.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he grits out behind you, “Fuck, baby, feel how tight you are? How bad your pussy wants to cum for me?”

You can’t answer. You’re drooling into the pillow, gasping, your body jerking with every thrust like you’re being electrocuted.

“Let go,” he groans, voice shaking. “You’re gonna cum for me now, yeah? Go on, baby. Fucking cum.”

The second his thumb presses tightly just right against your clit, you shatter. It hits you like a wave. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, back arching so hard it lifts your hips even higher as your orgasm rips through you, hot and overwhelming. You scream as your pussy clenches around his cock, pulsing and gushing as you cum so hard your vision goes white.

Your arms give out completely. You collapse forward onto the couch with a breathless sob, ass still arched up as your cunt throbs around him, wetness dripping down your thighs in sticky trails. Your face is buried in the cushion, your legs are trembling.

“Oh my fuck,” Jungkook groans, “Just like that. You feel that, baby? Feel how good it is when you cum on me?”

He curses, pulls out fast and you let out a weak little cry at the loss, at the ache he leaves behind.

But then he’s jerking himself over you, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, wrist snapping fast, hips stuttering as he pants over you, chasing his own high.

His head tilts back, bottom lip tucked under his top teeth. A deep, broken moan is ripped straight from his chest as his hips twitch forward and he spills across the curve of your ass in thick, hot ropes. His chain swings with the motion, clinking gently as he fucks his fist through it, painting your skin in messy, perfect streaks.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he groans, his eyes squeezed shut. “You’re… fuck, baby. You’re unreal.”

You’re too far gone to speak.

You stay face-down on the couch for a full minute post-impact, naked and glazed like a donut.

Jungkook exhales somewhere behind you, like he too is processing the life-altering events that just occurred in your living room. You hear his body move as he leans back, chest rising and falling, the distinct sound of a man who just came so hard he forgot his social security number.

There’s cum on your ass. Your hair’s stuck to your cheek. The throw pillow has a bite mark in it. You are not well.

You finally lift your head a fraction of an inch. “I think I just met God.”

Jungkook lets out a soft, post-nut laugh. “Yeah?” he rasps. “Tell him I said hi.”

You look over at him from where you’re sprawled out on the couch, now on your stomach. “…So do I owe you money, or…?”

He snorts. “For what?”

“For fixing my power?” You say it like it’s obvious.. which it should be.

Jungkook leans over and smacks your ass, casual, affectionate. “Nah. This one’s on the house.”

Eventually, he helps you sit up, grabbing the nearest clean towel in your bathroom like this is all completely normal. You look at each other and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry or call your landlord and thank him for being so aggressively useless.

You’ll deal with that later.

Right now, you accept the towel, take a shaky breath. You blink at him, dazed, legs still jelly. “So if I break something else… just a hypothetical, should i call you..?”

He smirks, tugs his pants back up without bothering to button them, and says, “Depends. If you break something else, I expect a personal invitation. No middleman this time.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[killa-cookie]

how wwould the beast cookies react to gluttony reader wanting to eat them simply out of adoration but doesn't want to kill them so they resort to things like biting or sucking

I'll be calling this one a lovesick gluttony

A bit suggestive in a way..?

Oh how you ADORED (beast)

You just wanted to worship them, embrace them, maybe even try a little bit of them.. Would they be sweet? Spicy? Sour? Oh how you wanted to find out

REACTIONS

-

MYSTIC FLOUR

Oh my, when you were Temperance she knew you had at least some feelings for her... But now you have no self control, so you're just now ranting to her about how much she was so dear to you... She's enjoying the attention though. She finds it a bit endearing that the light of gluttony would hold back just for her.

If you bite her playfully, she'll let you be (as long as you don't actually bite her, but if you do she'd heal herself and probably send you somewhere you can eat as much as you want)

Don't. Lick . Her. She tastes bland anyway.

- you two were just chilling in the ivory pagoda, her listening to your rants as always. Your rants were rather interesting, they would always change topics at random times.

As she was peacefully meditating while you were talking to her, suddenly she just felt some sharp teeth digging slightly into her arm. She looks down to see your not so innocent face just nomming on her.

"...What is it are you doing dear?

-

BURNING SPICE

Holy shiagut he is SPICYY AFFFF

He's flattered, you ease his boredom whenever you try and bite him... (Definitely when you lick him augrhrhiej) he also laughs when you pull back from how spicy he is.

To be honest, he finds it cute that you bite him out of adoration. Although he knows that you can't handle his damn spiciness, he still kinda wants you to bite him more (think of this in the way you want to, or not.)

I'd advise you not to lick him, If you do the spiciness gets to you even more.

- you two were resting on a couch he had in his temple, he was ranting about the chaos and destruction he had caused. And slandering golden cheese cookie.

You were listening intently to every word he had been saying, not a single letter forgotten. You had thoughts racing in your mind, what would my dear taste like?

As he was ranting, he paused as he felt a mouth running along his arm. You were just kinda trying to get a taste of him. And shit he was spicy

" what darlin'? Too hot for ya?"

-

SHADOW MILK

Since canonically, gluttony still hates the shit outta this man... They would try to eat him out of anger, and spite.

But his lovesick fantasies THINK you're doing it out of adoration. But even though he thinks that he is not letting you near him. He's seen what you've done to other cookies. You would be trying to eat his legs and he'd be like -owhh you love me smile you wanna eat off my legs-

- you hated him so damn much, you don't remember why, but you just hate the hell outta this guy.

You were visiting the spire of deceit, just needing to give some things to him. And maybe try to eat some bits of him, does his hat taste good? Probably not

He sees you and immediately rushes to you. He's saying hi and all those cutesy shit, it was annoying you. Especially those dang nicknames of his.

You charge forward and try to bite his head off, but he quickly retreats back.

"Awhhh, do you adore me so much you wanna get a taste of me? Nom-nom nemesis over here showing their love in such bizarre ways!"

(Bizarre?.... ( jotaro menacing menacing(

[champagnedstappen]

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader. This is a simple Christmas blurb. ;)

Perhaps his skin becomes so much lighter is because the colour of snow. There's theory where someone's skin is usually getting more light if the background is also light and not dark. Maybe the theory also works on him. Because in your eyes, he looks more... How can you say it? Glowing mayhaps.

You look at him thoughtfully, when you thought this man couldn't be more fine, then he always proved it. Clearly this is one of his moments. He looks at you, abandoning his skiing pole on the ground full of snow. You're shivering, sure you're using many layers, but holy shit, you're not used to cold temperatures. Clearly will never be.

"Mon cœur... Are your still shivering?" He asks. You are about to scoff, not enjoying any questions from him while he asked it with hint of humour—the urge to laugh at you, you can see it on his eyes, you know him too well anyway.

As he try reaching you while walking, leaving his pole with his friends—having conversation about skiing you clearly don't understand about, you're kicking some of the snow on the ground. You should be enjoying the trip. Last year, Charles tried to get you on board on the trip, but failed at the attempt since you were so against the cold temperatures, knowing how bad you can be.

You snap jokingly, well you can't be mad at him nonetheless. "What do you think, Leclerc?" At that, he laughs and finally standing in front of you. Hands on your waist, creating some patterns you don't really pay attention to in this situation.

"My love, I'm not laughing. I'm fully concerned," he continues. Making his face to full acting, trying to look like he's not going to make fun of you. Yet his eyes are soft, looking at you like you're his favourite person to be with, like you're all that matter. Making you knees buckle.

It's your turn to laugh before sighing. "I don't know why you asked me to be part of the trip. I can't even do anything, I'm only slowing you and the guys."

His green eyes—which you've noticed since you first met looking straight at you. There's some frowns that you hate so much. During the season, you knew how much pressure he had. Ferrari battling for the World Constructor Championship added to his shoulder, making it a cherry on top, you'd say.

After Abu Dhabi, his mood worsened. Loosing the title to McLaren certainly made his mind wander over something not certain and useless in your perspective. He kept blaming himself, thinking all What-Ifs, if only he did this, if only he didn't, if only he was better.

You hate it. You think his frown and depressive stare are your biggest nemesis. Something that you wish Avengers could fight like when they fought against Thanos.

You remember those days where you couldn't attend the Grand Prix, having jobs you needed to be at, he called you after the free practice, qualifying, hours after race—especially after bad results, he tends to be alone after bad race, not wanting to throw some tantrums or putting his anger at you. It leaves some bad spots on your emotions, seeing him so sad and blaming himself adding your personal problems with the sports.

You just want this trip to be his healing list. You don't want to worsen his days by making his holiday worse than ever.

Yet he shrugs it off. "Baby, what are you taking about? I only agreed to this winter trip so we can have our time together. If you didn't agree, I wouldn't too. I'd rather stay at home, maybe doing something funny while decorating Christmas tree with you, ma chérie."

These are the moments where you are sure that before you meet him, you never understood the situation of love. Back in the days you only think that love was impossible for you. Because in your mind, you thought, what could be love from you? There's nothing special. You're just... You. You're no model, you're no extravaganza, you're... No special.

But then there's interesting Monégasque who does anything to make you feel loved. Who's every actions makes you like you're everything. Who's actions are calculated, proofing how he would do anything for you.

Just, maybe, if you are loved too after you met him.

He continues. "We can stay in any city that you want. Summer, winter, any season doesn't matter. And like other every cities than exist in this world, there is city in my heart where you are its only population."

"Oh, Charles Leclerc. You're a fucking simp. Now teach me."

Yes, this moment definitely on your 'He's the proof where I am loved too' list.

"و في قلبي مدينة كُل سُكانها أنتي.'

"And there is a city in my heart where you are its only population." By Mahmoud Darwish.

[revelboo]

gonna call you Alexander Hamilton the way you write, it may be short form but you're still cranking it out and maybe it's just my burnout talking but holy shit it's impressive

That’s one of the advantages of so many storylines going at once. If I’m stuck on one, I just swap to a different one

Bad Idea Pt 13

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• Shoulder against a wall, he shudders and presses his servos to his side, feeling the warm energon there as he tries to gauge how bad the damage is. Hadn’t expected to be ambushed by the two Wreckers. While he’d done more than his share of damage to them, they’d wounded him. An opponent actually landing a blow on him a surprise, because how long has it been since that’s happened? Knows it’s because he was distracted by you. His processor circling back, wondering how far he’d have gone if Lazerbeak hadn’t stopped him. Can feel the drone’s worry now, wanting him to go see Knockout, to go to medbay. But he just wants to return to his own quarters and deal with his injuries himself. To see you.

• Lying flat on your back, staring at the ceiling as frustration still hums through you, your head turns when the door opens. Smile faltering at the energon slicking his side, running down his leg and on his servos. “You’re hurt.” Rolling to your feet, you run to the edge of the desk as the drone detaches and flies to perch on the back of the screen on the desk, optics glowing as he glares down at you like this is your fault and you ignore him. Hands reaching up as Soundwave slowly bends down until you can lay your palms on his visor. “What happened?” You demand, knowing he can’t or won’t answer even as he leans down to touch his visor to your forehead, a tendril hooking around you to lift you as he lays back on his berth and settles you on his chassis. “Why aren’t you in medbay? Why isn’t he in medbay?” Now you’re glaring at big bird as the big metal turkey flares up his plating in offense.

• Servo reaching to carefully brush your hair from your face and to affectionately pat your head, he relaxes. Knows he needs to deal with his wounds, but just wants to rest. Can feel your anxious worry spilling into him where you’re touching him and he reaches a tendril up to drape against your back and gently encourage you to stretch out on him. Shuddering as the contact strengthens until your mind sings through his, alive with worry. When he’d taken you, it was more curiosity than anything else. Wanted to figure out why he couldn’t shut out your thoughts, but now he’s not sure he could recharge without the awareness of you humming through him, without the warmth of you against him. Even when he’s elsewhere on the Nemesis, he’s constantly reaching out a thought for you. Needing to feel you.

• Tendril firmly pinning you in place, there’s no getting away unless he lets you. “Can you please go to medbay?” Because you know you can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. But he’s hurt and seeing that twists unpleasantly through you. Hurts you, because you care about him as strange as it is. At some point, you’d started missing him whenever he leaves. Looking forward to his return and greeting him. Those little brushes of his tendrils or his servos so gentle, like he’s constantly reassuring himself that you’re still there. He’s a quiet presence that’s always near, making himself felt if not heard. “Who’s going to take care of me if something happens to you?” You ask, changing tactics. And his helm tips down to look at you, tendril sliding against your spine before he finally loops it about you, moves you, and stands. Graspers brushing your cheek as he heads out the door and you hope he’s listening to you. Taking care of himself for once, because someone needs to and you’re too small to do it.

• Moving back through the halls of the Nemesis, he heads for medbay. Has he ever willingly gone to be repaired before? So used to looking after himself, but hasn’t been able to deny your request. Your worry bothering him, making him want to soothe it away. Aware that his fixation on you, is becoming dangerously close to an addiction to the feel of those soft hands reaching for him, the feel of your emotions cascading through him. Wanting all of it and to demand even more, to take everything you’ll let him have and never be satisfied.

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[wolfythewitch]

hello wolfy. i am here once again to share knowledge on odysseus in hades 2. holy shit. you can go to the hot springs with him (and nemesis and moros) https://www.thegamer.com/hades-2-hot-springs-romance-fan-service-bath-salts/

This is so funny why is he so up and in my personal space. If I can see the pores on your face you are too close. You may not rest now there are monsters nearby

[dragqueenstarscream]

10, 14, and 16 for the lovely tfp Starscream? With a cybertronian reader, if you need specifics

anything for my favorite bird!

10 - compliments are the big one. you could compliment him on literally anything, and he'd file that shit away for the next time he's alone and wishes you were there with him.

apart from that, gentle touches also get him going. he's so used to megatron's roughness or the ferocity of battle that the first time you handled him more gently while interfacing for the first time, it caught him off guard. but holy shit, he loved it. they don't have to be as overt as interfacing, but holding servos, resting a servo on his pauldron to make sure he's ok, brushing dirt from his wings... they make him fall harder and harder for you.

14 - starscream is typically very cautious with intimacy aboard the nemesis. having relationships onboard, while not explicitly forbidden, is heavily frowned upon, and it's a great way to get megatron on your case. it's why knock out and breakdown usually get up to shenanigans when they're off the ship.

that being said, he's only ever been caught once. he was getting himself off to the thought of you when someone rudely walked in on him, which made him squawk in surprise and fall off the berth as he tried to cover himself up. thankfully, it was just knock out, who did tease him relentlessly for it, but didn't tell megatron about it. he's no snitch.

16 - his wings would be the most obvious answer. that's not a starscream thing, that's a seeker thing. still, a great way to get his engine purring is to massage his wings when they're sore. he's putty in your servos at that point.

apart from his wings, though, i'd have to guess his neck. to me, he seems like the kind of guy who whimpers if you lick/bite his neck, especially right at the base where it meets his shoulder. if you bite his neck during interfacing, don't be surprised if he starts kicking and clawing at the berth.

[fandomsmadness]

Lost my old account so repost of

TBHX episode 2 rant

First of all this series has got to STOP FUCKING WITH MY HEAD LIKE THIS. AAAAAH

Second I'm low-key disappointed that the last ep cliffhanger was a fakeout but I hold out hope that it's X messing with "Nice" or something (anything, except "it was all a dream") because if it was a real fakeout that's so lame and why would anyone do that??

Pinning my narrative hopes on this guy rn fr.

But reasons (or lack thereof) for cliffhanger aside, Moon was a lovely character this episode and it was quite a treat to watch. I think at least half of us suspected that she was a contract girlfriend but letting her real personality be so contradictory was so lovely, and just emphasizes the tamping down of individuality in this world. It was also a treat to watch Lin's image of her being shattered but him liking the new one anyway.

Moon's backstory and how she came about her powers was also very intriguing, but the commentary has now evolved directly to hit the fans of idol/fandom culture. Moon is literally tied to Nice by her powers themselves because of their belief in the perfect couple, and the AO3 girlies must relate to Ms J now, who tried all the classic #AO3 moves - close proximity, forced marriage, and if you squint, there was only one bed. There was even a love triangle! We really have to wonder about the role we play as rabid fanbases and how we affect real people living their lives. Overall, her character had a good resolution. Bit of a Megamind way to go, but it was particularly neat that Nice asked everyone to wish for her freedom.

But back to the love triangle, this was heartbreaking because what do you mean his rival was his best friend, they work for the same company, he was forced to be a nemesis to prop up Nice, and he wasn't even told that his best friend supposedly killed himself???

The implications of heroes and villains going up against each other in a fake fight to milk the masses is... a lot, and the real world commentary is damning. I really wish this will be expanded on in future episodes because holy shit.

Other thoughts, music is still great and I love how they use hero powers to transition animation styles. NOW WHERE IS X AND EVERYONE ELSE??

Oh that's right. BEING WEIRDLY FISHY AND FORESHADOWY IN THE END CREDITS

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddiemas Day 5 - Grumpy vs. Sunshine

pairing: pre-steddie | word count: 830 | rated: T

“Ugh this is the worst, why is everyone playing Christmas music already? First Melvald’s, then Johnston’s record store, now even the damn arcade is playing this god-awful music.” Eddie grouses, flinging a hand toward the ceiling in general.

“Oh, I see,” Steve laughs, following slowly behind their herd of nerds at Eddie’s side, “It’s fine if I decorate my whole house already, but god forbid anyone else start celebrating?”

“Duh.”

“And why’s that?”

“‘Cause I actually like you, obviously.”

Steve’s heart squeezes in his chest, but he continues to rile up the other man. “Got it, got it; so you don’t like the record store anymore? Don’t like the arcade anymore?”

“I see where you’re going with this and I’m not falling for it. Yes Stevie, Johnston’s and Hawkins’ only arcade have fallen completely out of favor with I, Eddie Munson, for the rest of my days.”

“Okay, so leave.” Steve deadpans, having expected this outcome.

“Also, a declaration like that only works with your full name, Eddie.” Dustin calls back to them.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up you dork.” Eddie waves him off, then changes gears, “So, Steven, what frivolities shall we partake in whilst our hellions engage in their own chaos?”

Steve huffs a laugh, “Okay, okay, hold on, give me a second to try and figure that one out.” he says, pretending to sort through Eddie’s words as if he hasn’t spent enough time around the lot of them to understand what he’d said immediately... “I was going to hit the pinball machine, how about you?” “Ooh perfect!” Eddie rubs his hands together as if that’s something he should be mischievous about. “That SOB S.O.H. is going down today, Stevie. I can feel it.”

So, Steve watches Eddie cajole and smack and tilt and praise the Star Wars branded machine in one of the far corners of the place for the next hour, never getting close to his “sworn arch nemesis” S.O.H.’s high score on the machine. 

“Damn that jerkward!” Eddie complains, kicking one leg of the machine in frustration after his last quarter is gone.

“Jerkwad?” Steve splutters, “No ‘Terrible Archduke bent on World Domination’? ‘Hellbound scum of the earth’? ‘Rancid-breath-having Satan’s-asscrack-smelling bitch of the highest degree’? C’mon man, Eddie Munson can hurl better insults than ‘jerkwad’.”

Eddie just stares at him, mouth agape.

“What? You act like I’ve never spent time around you, Eds. Now get out of the way,” he nudges Eddie out of the way of his machine, and drops a new quarter into the slot. “It’s my turn.”

For the next four hours, Eddie stands rooted to the spot as he watches Steve use a whole three quarters on the machine. The first two times, he beats Eddie’s score, then his own again, stealing the second place spot first from him, then from himself, entering E.M. into the machine each time. 

The last quarter however, the longest game he’s seen yet, Steve manages to beat S.O.H.’s high score. 

“Holy shit!! Steve, you did it! Take that you sonofabitch!” he exclaims, pointing accusatively at the small display scrolling “NEW HIGH SCORE!” in orange letters across it. “You gotta actually put in your initials this time, Stevie.”

Steve just gives him a crooked smile, then shrugs, turning back to the machine to enter an S, an O, and a H into the field.

“No..No, Steve! You can’t let that asshole take the credit! That was your win, Harrington! That wa—” Eddie cuts himself off in realization.

Steve’s still smirking at him. “Yeah, Eds?”

Asshole.

“Hey Steve?”

“Yeah, Eds?” he repeats.

“What’s your middle name?”

Steve grins wider. “Otis. Why? What’s your middle name, Eddie?”

The bastard.

“I…hate you.”

“Aw c’mon Eddie, don’t be like that!” Steve laughs, following him back through the arcade and out the front door.

“I don’t wanna talk to you, I don’t wanna look at you, I don’t wanna—oh gOD fucking damn it!!”

There’s snow falling softly to the wet cement at his feet.

“It’s snowing.”

“Yeah, Steve, thanks for pointing that out.”

“You’re welcome, Eddie.”

Eddie shoots him a glare, only to find the smug bastard smiling at him still. His cheeks are flushed, there’s big clumps of snow in his hair, and he looks so goddamn pretty it hurts.

“Awe, sweet! Snow!” Lucas’ exclamation from behind them breaks Eddie’s reverie of Steve’s unfairly attractive face.

The rest of the party troops out from behind him, each expressing their own excitement about the weather. 

“Oh gross, it’s snowing.”

“Thank you, Mike,” Eddie agrees, pointing at the teen, “At least someone here has some sense.”

There’s a sudden warmth over his shoulder as Steve leans close, “I’ll get you to like Christmas somehow, Eds.” The warmth is gone just as soon as it arrives, Steve peeling away nonchalantly to give him a quick wink before starting to herd the cats.

As improbable as that is, Eddie can’t help but believe him.

steve being a whiz at pinball comes from this post by @findafight

other parts! Pt. 1 (Day 1) | Pt. 2 (Day 2) | Pt. 3 (Day 5) [YOU ARE HERE] | Pt. 4 (Day 6) | Pt. 5 (Day 7) | Pt. 6 (Day 11) | Pt. 7 (Day 13) | Pt. 8 (Day 18) | Pt. 9 (Day 21) | Pt. 10 (Day 25) also on AO3! this year

[marisandini-chu-blog]

My self-indulgence reaction for To Be Hero X Episode 2:

I watch this literally after the first episode. I AM STILL REELING!

Oh, new character. Are you here to stay or are you a one-off?

Lin Ling is obviously having nightmare... SHE'S STILL ALIVE?!

WHAT?!

I swear, don't you go around playing with my feelings here!

Oh, okay. So I was right with the whole fake dating thing.

YES, GIRL! FUCK SHIT UP!!! DO NOT TAKE THIS LYING DOWN!!!

Ngl, I'm vibing with Lin Ling. We're both just falling in love with Gremlin!Xiao Yueqing in real time

For real though, we all deserve to have a someone who will look at us the way Lin Ling look at Xiao Yueqing.

NOT HER BARBEQUEING ON THE PIANO AKSBDJSHAKSH

OmG that's so cuteeee! Lin Ling and Xiao Yueqing are actually getting along! The food fight was adorable. Their laughters were precious. URGH, THEY DESERVE THE WORLD!

Miss J, do you happen to be a romance fan? Because I swear I see this troupe from somewhere...

Holy shit?! Her power warps according to people's belief?!

Okay, okay, hold on. Shit, this is such an interesting implication. It's one thing for fans to fantasize and ship idols. After all, it's supposed to be harmless right? What people imagine should not have had impact on the idols, right?

But in this world, there's a fascinating consequences when your fantasy can warp people's ability and image. Like, I'm pretty sure few fans wanted Xiao Yueqing to have her power tied to Nice. They love her travel blogs after all. It's not like she can't travel and be a power couple at the same time.

Like, what a world to be in where the people don't even know how much impact their belief and fantasy manage to influence the heroes' lifestyle.

And it's not like Xiao Yuenqing can correct them because how can she? How do you convince people to stop believing when the Power of Belief and Trust is literally the source of their power.

Okay, I'm done. Back to the reaction.

One month without the internet?! I could never!!! These people are stronger than me.

But freaking hell, clean youself up, you pigs! You're all adults here! If you can order takeaways, then go and buy yourself some ingridients! I refuse to believe there's no kitchen!!!

Lin Ling! Stop shooting arrows into my heart!!! You're such a sweetheart

For real, I absolutely love what he did with the swing, and they way both of them seem to become genuine friends and enjoy each other's presence.

I'll be honest, I can't say I ship them though. The circumstances doesn't create a healthy relationship for them, but in any other setting, I would totally support them!

Just let them be happy with each other, that's all I'm asking.

Heck, Lin Ling. Go travel the world on your leave and bring Xiao Yueqing with him. If she can't travel where she likes, you go where she wants to go then!

Aaaaw, they went for the marriage. Hope they can be bestie along the way!

A wedding crasher? Awfully convinient but makes sense someone with a vendetta would do that.

"I WANT YOU, NICE" ummm

"You didn't reply my text, my emails, or call me back!" UMMMMM....

"Xiao Yueqing is after Wreck, and Wreck is after Nice. Isn't usually the reversal?" UUUUUMMMMMM?!?!?

I'm sorry... did Nice's ex crash the party?

Wait, is Nice's ex his nemesis?!

What sort of enemy to lover shit is this?!

THE NEMESIS IS A HIRED ACT?!?!

This episode is like someone put all the most popular AO3 troupe in a blender, and manage to make something coherent.

I'm honestly impress with the writing. Despite how fast-pace it is, I can still follow the story

YEAH!!!! LIN LING ADVERTISEMENT EXPERIENCE IS SAVING THE DAY AGAIN!

I'm sorry, I just love it when people's past experience can actually make a difference in a story telling. It makes it that much more compelling in how that Nice can't be replaced by anybody else in the narative

I'm sorry Miss J, but why the hell is your company have an easy time to fake someone's death, not just once but twice?!

Ummm, is this something I'm supposed to take at face value as 'comic logic' or is this not a BIG RED FLAG?!

It should not be this easy to fake someone's death, I swear. The paperwork it would take!!! And does Xiao Yueqing not have anybody who would miss her?! She should not be this on board if she does???

"I know his punch better than anyone" Bro, why is every line you spout is the gayest shit I've heard.

I'm not complaining, but how does one manage to do that with every single line he has?

HOLD UP?! ARE THEY FRIENDS?! ARE THEY ACTUALLY CLOSE?! I WAS HALF JOKING AKSHSJAGAJAHBVNVMVKVK

How does every line Wreck said manage to make this situation even more complicated than the last?

Xiao Yueqing, I love you. But that guy looks ready to kill a bitch

ANIMATION CHANGE LET'S GO!!!

Finally, some Xiao Yueqing action! And she's such a badass.

Once again, I love the creative directions they took for the action sequence and choreography. Animation could only do so much without those two. The way the characters manage to work seemlessly together is also a plus. I love they have that much trust.

Not Xiao Yueqing opening a portal behind her without looking. What a powermove.

Shit, the more we get to know the people around Nai Si. The more we get a better idea for why he wanted to throw himself off the roof. His manager sees him as a product. His "girlfriend" curse him for existing. His bestfriend is forced to fight him and take away his dream of becoming a hero.

And Nai Si can't complain because he's Nice. He's supposed to be the perfect hero.

It's one thing to wear a mask around the crowd

It's another thing to be all alone when the mask is off

Oh wow, Xiao Yueqing "death" actually makes me tearful. That's so good. The way she makes a farewell to Lin Ling was as much as we say goodbye to her. As short we've known her, the show manage to make us want to see more of her. The fact that we might never see her again is, in a way, a bit like death.

Especially for Lin Ling. Not only will he say good bye to his idol. He's saying goodbye to a friend. To the one other person who knows him as Lin Ling and not Nice. Once she's gone, she'll take a bit of his piece with her.

Good writing (I almost wrote nice writing). Nothing much else to say.

AKSGDJSHSJDHDB OMG LIN LING GAVE HIS GIRL HER WISH?!?! I CAN'T WITH HIM!!!!

BE FREE, GIRL!!! YOU HAVE THREE YEARS WORTH OF JOURNEY WAITING FOR YOU!

Oh, hell naw. This asshole again? What's he up to now?

Lower ranking than 249 doesn't make much of a difference, dude.

Ooooooooh, a glimpse of ths evildoer at work. This is getting interesting

Phew, I have a more of a reaction in me than I previously thought. There's so many things I want to question and want answering.

What's with Xiao Yueqing's death at the end of last episode? I refuse to believe in shock value. It came out of nowhere and placed way too deliebrately. There wasn't even a transition or visual change to clue the audience that it's not real. And this show has clearly made a point to be very detail and nuance in their visual story telling.

That death is real. The question is; what undid it?

The doom yaoi is so fast in this episode, it passed by us before we could even go on board.

My favorite thing about this episode has to be on how it manage to subvert the "One Bedroom" troupe. One of the reason why that troupe is so popular is because in any normal circunstance - and given the choice - the heroine would never stay in the same room.

Which is the point of the troupe, to give the characters the opportunity to jumpstart their relationship by being in close proximity.

So TBHX says, "Well, let"s give her the choice" and not surprisingly, she went exit stage right 😂

Which makes her death that much good and bittersweet. Because at the cost of maybe never seeing her again... Xiao Yueqing gets what so few heroine manage to have: the choice to leave the narrative.

Episode 1 React

Episode 3 React