#The same damning rule they are accepting of!

[abyss-seer]

This is soo true. That's why I hate tarot reading at times. Its a fun activity and many spiritually attuned people do give good advices including me but its the way we frame the sentence and give those words out. This art requires a lot of empathy and acceptance not projection which is straight up what many astrologers and tarot readers do. This is one of the initial reasons why I was so scared of doing readings at start. As someone who has been projected a lot on in my life. It scares me, the amount of belief this tarot readers and astrologers emphasize on this art just to keep their business going as if there's no other way. Their behaviour can be straight up so imposing, I really wanna cry when I say this. This is so bad and harmful to impressionable minds. That's why I consider religious and occultic views as harmful to children. In my opinion teaching religious rules as a set of rules to children is a far more intelligent option than telling them this God or that God or this rule or that rule is good or bad to impressionable minds, especially in religions where polygamy and intolerance towards different types of people is encouraged. The religious views that shaped our culture are really ancient. We should state them as some rules and inform them that we are of this abcd religion hence "our" rule till the time they grow up and form their own moral compass and become understanding enough to understand what is good or bad for them. I don't like to endorse cult like mindset of any religion.

"Take only what is good, and leave the rest, that's the exact reason why these are things of past"

Keeping tradition alive doesn't have to mean placing cult like impositions. Its more about enjoying every good experience life has to offer.

I still remember so many astrologers coming to my house, calling me arrogant, for no fuck reason just because I am an Aries, now that I have grown up and studied astrology myself. Wtf them for imposing things on a small 10 year old to keep their business alive. After reading so many charts from so many different clients, I understand that the energy of a said astrological sign can manifest in different ways. Having that intuition and concise to give out knowledge is important.

That's do not take an advice of a tarot reader or a astrologer. You know what's best for you. Sorry not sorry but as a tarot reader myself no matter how many people tell me that I am in the wrong, do not take anyone's advice about your own life. Like literally if you feel like getting an advice from someone, ask the people who know everything about your life. I hate handing out advices. I would rather write a whole damn paragraph and you take advice from what is being told to you in your tarot reading session or astrology session. Its like you will know what to take from a reading rather than someone telling you what to do and what not to do. Its the same way you take advice from strangers, take the idea not literally every single word that is being said. Tarot readings or Astrological Reading aren't something like doomscrolling where you keep on soaking in literally anything, any bloody damn little label that is being thrown at you.

Stop labelling yourself with more labels. You don't need that. Try to understand the way the energy is manifesting for you. Like literally stop taking it word by word especially from astrologers and tarot readers trying to impress this information on you. Stop being a canvas for their projections.

"I don't like the way you talk to me , saying you can talk to me, however you like, I know that ain't right. I don't like the way you talk to me"

I don't like the way some people on internet use divination to talk to me. NO! Iam saying NO to them and I think you should too. My spirit is saying no to them, then why do I need to take advice from someone who is screaming at the top of their lungs through my screen. Fuck them! I don't like them, screw them. I won't like them or their energy.

Don't take energy of people who constantly disrespect you while taking from your energy. This is really bad. A tarot read is a recreational read, for entertainment, enlightenment and many a times for spiritual purposes. Don't come to occult thinking its all about finding out who your love is, its more about finding yourself, getting insights on your journey. Your advice may not always be what the tarot reader says, it might be what the "cards" are saying to you. Trust me, my love, your messages aren't always there where you seek it, its there where your path takes you towards.

Don't take the disrespect. Your advice is what new things, new perspective and ideas you get through a tarot read. Not the literal advice everytime as per their sayings. Please my loves. Don't let someone project on you 🧿

Keep safe take care

one thing i will say is to NEVER take advice from anyone who hasn't lived a day in your shoes.

its very easy for people to dole out well meaning advice about what you should do or shouldn't do when their life experiences have been entirely different from yours and they miss the whole context of who you are and where you come from

some people simply find it hard to grasp that some options are simply not possible for you and that things that seem "doable" to them are things that require A HUGE STRETCH of the imagination for you

when we talk about empathy, what we fail to take into account is how we need to factor in how someone is shaped by their past experiences, not just blindly "being nice" to someone. some things you will never understand (and consider that your good fortune) and the LEAST you can do is not be an asshole about it. not everything is easy for everyone. and its not because theyre stupid or weak, its because they havent benefited from the kind of privileges that you have.

[basicallyjaywalker]

*cracks knuckles* well if I'm gonna work on my OCs and now that someone's reminded me how actually tragic Echo is

Let's talk about Jasmine and her relationship with Echo

I feel like they would get really close if they ever met. I think Julien would tell Echo about her in a way he wouldn't tell Zane because he was scared Zane would tell others someday. Echo won't ever leave the lighthouse, so he can't tell anyone. He would know about Julien's other child, but he would figure it's Zane, the one he replaced. When they meet, once they figured out they were related, I think Echo would realize and want to tell Jasmine what he knows. Julien wanted to know her but couldn't. He left her because it's what was best for her. I think Echo would want to imagine Julien left him for those kinds of reasons too.

I think they would bond over being abandoned by Julien. Jasmine before she was born, Echo long after. I think they'd each envy each other, in a way. They both resent him (even if they won't admit it), but Jasmine resents him never being there. Echo resents him being there so much, only to leave him. Echo would fill in the gaps for Jasmine on who he was, while Echo is more eager to hear about the life Jasmine lived in the wide world, especially on her own.

I think they'd have a super close bond, I think they should visit Jasmine's home and have a snowball fight, I think she should take him to Borg Industries and watch Echo go starry eyed at all the cool technology, I think Jasmine would help replace his rusted gears and wires with ones that won't deteriorate as easily, i think she'd teach him how to garden and befriend animals and i think echo would be so thrilled to get away from the sea

I think if Echo and Jasmine ever got to meet, they'd find a comfort in each other and a confidant about some of their issues that no one else could provide

[24kmagiic]

There's a nuanced scene in Sinners that I'd like to point out that may explain why Smoke didn't just throw Cornbread the money instead of placing it directly into his hand.

I'm barely old enough to remember the conversation my elders had about how exchanging money between races was a thing. Whether it was an actual written law or just a punishable social no-no, it was unacceptable to place money directly into the hands of white people.

For black people, we had to set the money on the counter so that they could pick it up, and for white people, they would purposely ignore our outstretched hand to place the money on the counter. A silent way to draw the line in the sand.

In the south, especially, it became an encoded social construct, long after the Jim Crow era, that a particular generation would still abide by these rules. My grandma would refuse to shop in places if the clerk refused to take money from her hand. Additionally, if she had to accept cash, she would demand that they place it in her hand. I've seen her and my mother refuse money if they didn't give the respect they demanded.

As a kid, I thought it was silly, but as an adult, I understand that it is a sign of respect or disrespect.

With all that in mind, no, Smoke wouldn't dare throw money at Cornbread because it was utterly disrespectful to do that during that era. Smoke was operating within the boundaries of their social customs, and as a black man, wouldn't dream of disrespecting another black man that way, accused vampire or not.

In today's society, think of the scene in ATL where Big Boi said "Oooh shit! That was so disrespectful. You done hit me in my mouth with some got damn money." Big Boi, also from the south, improvised that line, and I'm willing to bet cash that he was taught the same customs. That "oooh shit," was my exact reaction when I first saw that movie.

Additionally, I'd like to add that I appreciated the sentiment behind this interaction because you can see Smoke battling internally with whether to throw the money for self-preservation (no one would have blamed him) or to place it in Cornbread's hand.

Watching that scene, I thought of Cornbread's family and how Stack showed up to present a better way of life. I thought of how Cornbread was out there that night because he believed in Smoke and Stack's vision. And how he'll never return home to his family. And how Smoke, with all of this in his mind as well, saw past the threat of Cornbread potentially being a vampire and saw Cornbread (for the last time) as his friend.

So as a parting gesture, Smoke placed the money in his hand. Even if it meant going down with him.

[satellite-evans]

his person

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: you are lando’s person <3

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

If you asked anyone — anyone who’d known Lando even half as well as the world thought it did — who his best friend was, the answer came easy, automatic, like muscle memory.

Max Fewtrell.

It was almost too obvious. They’d been inseparable since their karting days — the kind of friendship that was stitched together with inside jokes, shared playlists, matching scars from dumb teenage stunts, and years of standing side by side through wins and wipeouts. They were co-founders of Quadrant, partners in crime both on and off the track, the human embodiment of controlled chaos whenever a Twitch stream went live or an Instagram story popped up. If you ever bet on who knew Lando best — who could read him like a page out of his own life — your money was safe on Max.

But if you asked Lando — really asked him — his answer wouldn’t even take a breath.

“It’s her,” he’d say, soft but steady. Certain.

“It’s always her.”

You.

The girl who had known him before the podiums, before the fame, before the world chanted his name like a stadium-wide heartbeat. The one who saw through the swagger and the quick wit, the one who called him out when his ego got a little too comfortable, and who held him up when the weight of expectation became too much for one pair of shoulders to carry alone. His girlfriend, yes. But more than that. His person. His safe place. His best friend in every sense of the word.

And God, Lando could never seem to shut up about you.

It was an unspoken rule among his circle — one that started as eye-rolls and playful jabs but eventually softened into quiet acceptance. Your name had a habit of slipping into conversations without warning, as if his mind couldn't help but orbit around you even when you weren’t there. His engineers learned to expect it, Max would mock him with exaggerated groans, but none of it ever stopped him.

“Mate, we asked about tire strategy, not your girlfriend,” his race engineer would tease over the radio mid-practice, when his focus momentarily drifted.

And Lando, without missing a beat, would just laugh — the kind of laugh that sounded like pure ease, like home.

“Same thing, really,” he’d reply, grinning under the helmet. “She keeps me grounded. Technically part of the setup.”

On race weekends, it didn’t matter how chaotic the paddock got, how many fans called his name, or how tightly his schedule was packed. His eyes would always search the crowd — cutting through the noise, the flashing cameras, the blur of faces — until they landed on you. Like some unspoken radar tuned to a single frequency.

“There you are,” he’d mumble every single time, pulling you into his arms, cameras be damned. “Took me forever to find you.”

“You walked straight toward me, Lando,” you’d laugh against his chest, your voice the one sound that always, always managed to quiet his racing thoughts.

“Still felt too long,” he’d whisper, pressing his lips to your hair like that simple touch could steady the adrenaline still roaring through his veins.

You weren’t just the girl he loved. You were his favorite adventure. His co-op player. His partner in every messy, beautiful, unfiltered part of his life. Nights were spent tangled together on the couch, feet tucked under each other, controllers in hand, or phones abandoned on the table as you scrolled through old memes, trading soft jokes and lazy kisses. But the best part was always the silence. The ease of it. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling, because being with you — just being — felt like the world had finally clicked into place.

And when the world outside got too loud — when the weight of expectation grew heavier than a leaden race suit, and headlines tried to script his story before he even had a chance to live it — it was always you he turned to.

“Do you think I’m doing enough?” he asked one night, voice quieter than the hum of the television, exhaustion settling deep into his bones after another long, hard-fought weekend. His head rested on your lap, and your fingers moved through his curls with slow, absent strokes — the kind that said I’m here, without needing the words.

“You’ve always been enough,” you answered, not even hesitating. “Wins don’t make you, Lando. You do.”

And something in his chest softened — like your words had reached places even his own self-belief couldn’t always touch. He looked up at you then, eyes warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact way you said it, the exact way it felt to be loved by you.

“See, this is why you’re my best friend.”

You smirked, playful but sincere. “Oh, I thought it was because I make better toast than Max.”

“That too,” he grinned, and it was the kind of grin that reached his eyes — the real one, the one that didn’t need cameras or podiums. “But mostly because you’re the only person who makes this whole crazy life make sense.”

And you always would.

Because even on the days when the world felt like it was spinning too fast, when the pressure of living under a microscope crept too close, you were there. Not with solutions or speeches — just you. Existing. Holding space for him the way only you could.

You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers slow and familiar. “You know,” you murmured, “I don’t think anyone will ever understand you the way I do.”

“I don’t want anyone else to,” Lando replied, quiet but sure. “They’d get it all wrong.”

There was a pause, but the comfortable kind — the kind that wrapped around you both like a blanket, no need for more words. His hand found yours, thumb absentmindedly tracing circles against your skin, the rhythm steady, grounding.

“You’re stuck with me, you know,” you teased, squeezing his fingers gently. “For life.”

His lips quirked, soft and lopsided. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s exactly the plan.”

Race weekends always had a way of making that feeling even stronger — like the noise and the speed and the stakes only sharpened the way Lando looked at you, like the world could be spinning at 300 kilometers an hour and still, his attention would only ever settle on you.

You stood by the garage, tucked slightly out of the way, half-hidden behind a stack of equipment cases as the paddock moved around you in its usual, barely controlled frenzy. Journalists darted between interviews, chasing headlines with mics stretched out like fishing rods. Cameras tracked every flicker of expression on every driver’s face, lenses hungry for a story in a single glance. Engineers, crew members, mechanics — they weaved through the maze of people like clockwork, hands full of telemetry sheets and radios, their minds a million miles away, deep in calculations and split-second decisions.

And then, there was Lando.

The second his eyes found you through the blur of it all — the sponsors, the fans, the pre-race nerves knotted beneath his skin — everything else seemed to fall away. His entire posture shifted, tension melting from his shoulders as that unmistakable, boyish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. The smile that wasn’t for the cameras, or the sponsors, or the sea of people waiting for autographs — the one that was just for you.

Like clockwork, he jogged toward you, cutting through the paddock like gravity had decided to rewrite the rules, yanking him toward the only place he ever really wanted to be.

“There’s my good luck charm,” he greeted, voice bright but edged with exhaustion and adrenaline — the kind that no amount of coffee or sleep could fully shake before a race. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, the contact lingering longer than it probably should have given the dozens of eyes watching, but Lando had never cared much about timing when it came to you.

“You should probably be focusing on the race,” you teased, fingers finding the zipper of his suit, giving it the lightest of tugs, grounding him even as the rest of the world tried to pull him in a hundred different directions.

“I am,” he replied, tilting his head slightly, those warm eyes locking onto yours like they always did. “You’re the best part of it.”

And the way he said it — soft, steady, without even a hint of his usual playful sarcasm — left no room for superstition or charm. Just the truth, plain and simple.

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his balaclava, adjusting it slightly before your thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw, a familiar and quiet ritual between the two of you — like you were handing him the last piece of calm before the chaos.

“Go win,” you murmured, your voice low but sure. “I’ll be right here.”

“You better be,” he said, stepping backward, reluctant but smiling, his eyes still drinking you in like he could store the moment away for later. His race engineer’s voice crackled over the comms, pulling him back to reality, but even as he turned to go, he glanced back — once, twice — like the distance between you was the only thing that ever felt wrong.

And when he finally climbed into the car, helmet on, gloves tightened, visor down — the world might have narrowed to tire temperatures and corner speeds, but you were still there. A fixed point. The face he’d always find, whether he crossed the finish line first or not.

Later that night, long after the champagne had dried on his race suit and the headlines had already written their version of the day, you and Lando found yourselves right where you always seemed to end up — curled up on the hotel balcony, wrapped up in a blanket you’d stolen from the foot of the bed, legs tangled together like the world didn’t exist beyond that little pocket of quiet.

The city stretched out below you, lights blinking lazily in the distance, but neither of you paid them much attention. His hand rested on your knee, your feet propped comfortably in his lap, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your ankle — like his body hadn’t quite figured out how to sit still, even if his mind finally had.

For a while, you both just sat there, letting the silence settle. It wasn’t awkward or heavy — just easy. The kind of quiet that only ever existed between two people who didn’t need words to fill the gaps.

But of course, Lando couldn’t resist breaking it.

“You know,” he said eventually, voice light but thoughtful, “it’s kinda ridiculous, isn’t it?”

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What is?”

He let out a soft, amused huff, like the thought had been bouncing around his head for hours. “I spend all day surrounded by thousands of people — cameras, fans, the whole circus — but the second I step out of the car, the only face I ever want to find is yours. Like some lovesick golden retriever.”

You snorted, nudging him with your elbow. “You? A golden retriever? Please. More like a raccoon hyped up on energy drinks.”

He laughed, head tipping back slightly, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair, but still. You’re basically my human GPS at this point. Doesn’t matter how big the crowd is, somehow I always spot you first.”

You tilted your head, playful but sincere. “Maybe I’ve just trained you well.”

“Oh, definitely. Pavlov would be proud.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess that makes two of us, though. I could be anywhere — grandstands, the grid, the middle of a fan mob — and my brain’s only ever tuned into you.”

He grinned at that, the kind of grin that was all soft cheeks and crinkled eyes, and for a second the teasing dropped away, leaving only something honest and quiet between you.

“God, look at us,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “Disgustingly sappy.”

“Max would be physically ill if he heard this conversation.”

“Max would disown me,” Lando agreed, lips quirking. “But he already knows I’m screwed when it comes to you. No point in pretending.”

You stretched your legs out, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You’ve been screwed since the moment I stole your fries that one time, haven’t you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head like the memory was still fresh. “That was the moment. I knew I was done for. Anyone who can steal the last fry and not feel guilty? Dangerous.”

You grinned, leaning your head back against his shoulder, your voice soft but full of playful affection. “And you let me do it anyway.”

“Let you?” he scoffed. “I offered. You just didn’t hear me over the sound of your victory.”

You both sat there for a second, wrapped up in that perfect kind of comfort that came from knowing — truly knowing — you belonged exactly where you were.

Then, without looking away from the view, you murmured, “You’re my person, you know.”

He glanced down at you, his hand finding yours under the blanket, fingers lacing through yours with a quiet certainty. “You’re mine too. Always have been.”

You turned your head, catching the soft, lopsided smile on his face — the one that always gave him away no matter how hard he tried to act cool. “I hope you know I’m keeping that in writing. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice lower, softer now. “Because I wouldn’t know how to be me without you.”

You leaned into him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear, and let the moment stretch. No flashbulbs. No roaring engines. Just the two of you.

And it hit you all over again, the same simple truth that always seemed to sit quietly at the center of everything: You weren’t just his girlfriend. And he wasn’t just your boyfriend.

You were each other’s person. The constant in the chaos. The soft place to land. And the best part of every single day.

Always.

[rpwprpwprpwprw]

jungkook in multiverse: fanfics recommendation 💌

Your neighbour? Spiderman? Best friend? Husband? Idol? Your dead ex? Yeah, he can be that guy.

ps: thank you authors! love you guys. so much. your stories means the world to me <3 (like this is art piece! no joke

jungkook masterlist.

🌟miss taken by @junghelioseok | fluff | smut | teacher!au | single parent!au | e2l | completed

summary: you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience.

my review

🌟clandestine by @junghelioseok | smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au | completed

summary: forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

my review

🌟 see both sides like chanel by @michuga | best friends to lovers, sexual tension, fluff, reader is a little absentminded, jk is a damn tease | completed

summary: your best friend, jeongguk, has only ever dated boys. unbeknownst to you, (he was also into girls).

my review

🌟 LATE NIGHT KOO 01:15 by @guksfairy | dabble, jungkook x reader | completed

my review

🌟 dream encounter by @michuga | jungkook x reader | completed

summary: you meet the man of your dreams. literally.

my review

🌟 heartwave by @chrrybbmb | spiderkook!, spideyjungkook, spideykook, spideyjk, spideykoo, spideyjk | ongoing

my review

🌟 i love you — a compilation by @kissforyouu | compilation of cute, funny and delicious stuff | completed

my review

🌟 peach and vanilla lip balm by @httpknjoon | genres | fluff, crack,  secret relationship au, established relationship au, friends to lovers au | completed

summary: No kissing rule was made between you and your secret boyfriend when he learned how you got your lip balm. But can Jungkook win in this rule he probably brought to himself?

my review

🌟Third Time's the Charm by @jjungkookislife | ex-boyfriend!jungkook x ex-gilfriend!reader | genre: crack, exes to lovers | completed

summary: Jungkook will do whatever it takes to get you back.

my review

🌟Inevitable by @ahundredtimesover | Genre/Tags: exes au, parents au, baseball player!JK; angst, fluff, smut (18+) | completed

summary:  You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

my review, my review, my review

🌟to be loved is to be seen by @twilghtkoo | pairings. idol!jungkook x reader | genres/aus. fluff, established relationship, idol!au | completed

my review

🌟 checkmate by @kookie-krumbss | genre : fluff, angst and smut | pairing : photography major/ bartender jungkook x econ major/ accountant reader | ongoing

summary: It's been 5 years since you've last been on the dating app - checkmate. The premise of the app is quite simple: enter your bucket list, and the algorithm finds your best mate to check off your bucket list goals. With a free premium pity membership given by the app, maybe its time to hop back onto the dating scene.

my review, my review

🌟está dañada by @aquagustd | genre/rating — R | angst, fluff, smut | neighbor au, slow burn, singer!JK | completed

summary: life through the eyes of someone who watches you fall apart and helps gather the shards of your heart, only for you to make the same mistake time and time again, but he refuses to accept the truth because to him, you’re infallible.

my review

🌟 the jeons (gym daddy) by @justarkive | family!au, non.idol jungkook, girl!dad jk, fluff | ongoing

summary: a collection of chaotic family drabbles. thats it.

my review

🌟Blame Morpheus for your sins by @voitier | [mini-series!] friends to lovers, college au | ongoing

summary: 𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... you and jungkook had been attached by the hip since you were little toddlers learning how to live in your own bodies, which led you two to spend most (if not all) of your life together. one weird dream makes your whole view about your best friend change. how will you live with that?

my review

🌟the lunchbox delivery by @jincapableoflove | genre: househusband! jungkook, corporate office worker! reader, established relationship, flufff | ongoing | drabble

summary: jungkook, your soft yet badass househusband, goes on a city-wide mission—apron and all—to deliver the lunch you forgot in your morning rush.

my review

🌟shameless by @kooktrash | genre/au: gym instructor!y/n x jungkook. infidelity au. obsessive [she/her. afab] yandere | completed

summary: unsatisfied with your current relationship, you find yourself swept into an affair with a regular at your gym. it turns out he’s not the sweet, charming man you fooled yourself into believe he was but for some reason, you keep going back to him.

my review

🌟long way home by @sparklingchim | genre: dilf!jungkook, friends to lovers | tropes: single dad jk, boxer!jk, !angst! | completed

summary: jungkook's life makes an 180 degree turn when he's suddenly a single dad and while you're trying to help him come accustomed to the new circumstances, your long-standing friendship takes new turns as well.

my review

🌟Assistant Boy by @httpjungkookcom | Genre: assistant boy!jungkook x desk receptionist!reader, smut | completed

summary: Summary | sitting pretty at a desk all day gets boring, dealing with minimal tasks and check ins. you're unbelievably excited when a new assistant joins the office. and said assistant is a pretty boy with an even prettier personality.

🌟 lovenotes by @voyter | neighbor au. secret admirer koo | completed

summary: trying your hardest to avoid valentine’s day, you suddenly find yourself at the center of it when a secret admirer starts leaving notes at your door.

🌟 Baby Girl by @euno11a | Pairing: DILF!Jungkook x PreSchool Teacher!Reader | ongoing

summary: You always gave yourself one rule, never fall for a single dad. It would be messy and you’d never be his number one. So why did your favourite kid’s dad have to be so hot?

🌟 Broke Boy, Fake Girlfriend by @aajjks | genre: 18+, crack, roommate au | fake dating \ completed

summary: Your annoying roommate, Jungkook’s shameless fake dating act goes hilariously wrong when he thinks he can charm you into paying for his café splurge, but you turn the tables with some dangerously sweet flirtation.

🌟Dentist appointment by @hellokittykookies | genre: fluff | completed

summary: you’re scared of the dentist and jungkook comes with you to cheer you up. Unexpected words come out of you after the appointment.

🌟Instagram by @jeo9n | genre: fluff, slow burn, friends to lovers | ongoing

summary: you’ve been texting jungkook on instagram non stop ever since he opened his account as a joke. but what you didn’t expect was for him to actually text you back.

🌟NO NUT NOVEMBER by @voyter | boyfriend!jk | completed

summary: jungkook and his friends are all in on the internet's most ridiculous trend: no nut november. but you’re determined to make your boyfriend lose — and you know just how to do it.

🌟Introvert by @avianyuh | completed

summary: Jungkook is an introvert. He enjoys seeing his friends, but he hates having to leave the house. When Jimin throws a birthday bash, Jungkook being one of his closest friends feels obligated to go. He has his whole night mapped out. He'll greet Jimin, eat some food and then leave once he's made small talk with the other guests. But when the party makes a detour and hits the club, Jungkook is plotting his escape route. Or at least he was until he met you.

🌟Winter things by @girlygguk | genre fluff, smut | golden retriever bf x black cat gf, long distance established relationship | completed

summary: it’s jungkook’s favorite time of year and the only thing on his list is you. getting to finally feel you, see you, meet you outside of his computer screen. now it’s happening. and, god, you’re even prettier in person.

🌟Hot Eve by @aajjks | smut, ex!boyfriend!jk | completed

summary: getting fucked raw by your ex boyfriend stuck in an elevator on Christmas Eve.

🌟NOT JUST ON CHRISTMAS by @girlygguk | genre established relo, college au, fluff, smut | pairing nerdy!jk x gf!reader | completed

summary: he's the first boy you've ever brought home for christmas. jungkook's nervous. you're horny.

🌟Inkling by @gguksgalaxy | AU: Tattoo Artist ›› Genre: Smut / Angst | completed

summary: Jungkook is your brother’s boyfriend’s co-worker, they own a tattoo and piercing parlour. In other words, he’s tall, gorgeous, has his passion literally etched into his skin, looks incredibly good in a man-bun, and is semi-unattainable for you. Why? Well…you’re not entirely sure but him ditching right after a very heated make-out session sure isn’t a good sign. His extremely poor mood the next week sure isn’t either, but the only way to fix it is to face the beast head-on. Right?

my review

🌟Better Than Him by @margotw10bis | roommate!Jungkook x reader | Genre: fake-dating; romance; smut; one-shot | completed

summary: When your boyfriend cheats on you and decides to bring his lover to the wedding you invited him to, you take vengeance by pretending you have a new boyfriend: your hot roommate.

[muqingslover]

Hi! If you're open to requests, what would you think the lads men (or just one guy of your choice!!) would do in the following scenario?

They are out with mc when they run into mc's ex, and mc's ex says, "Damn, your taste in men changed a lot" in like a condescending manner. (Or something along those lines)

I hope you have a great time!! I love reading your stories!!

[ Thank you for the request! <3 I did a little of everyone so enjoy! ]

"Your tastes sure have changed since the last time I saw you." is the first thing that actually catches his attention during the otherwise boring conversation.

Sylus is not an overly jealous person simply because he is very secure of his love for you and how good he is to you. The only thing your ex does is greatly amuse him because the difference is too great to even be considered fair.

"Naturally. You surely don't expect someone to eat trash forever, do you?" He would answer for you in a smooth voice while he towers over the both of you with that confident expression of his on his face.

He feels almost sorry for you, who had to make do with such men, but, not to worry, he's here now and he's not going anywhere.

Taunting his jealous side is the same as playing with fire while knowing you're going to get burn.

"Is that the type of guy you prefer?" He'd ask the second the two of you are alone again. His hands pin you to the closest surface so you're unable to run from the conversation and he keeps his face very close to yours to watch for even the smallest reactions "Do you like him more than me?"

My advice? Say no as quickly as possible and give him a kiss to shush him otherwise you're in for the long, loooooong haul. Xavier is not easily soothed once he's worked up and he WILL hold grudges.

The next time your ex shows up he is quick to cut the conversation before they can even get a good morning in and makes it clear you belong to him now.

"What did you just say?" His head never whipped back faster mans almost twisted his own neck.

Arguably the most aggressive per se because he's SO obvious. To him it's just staggering you ever went out with anyone else, especially a thing like that, and that it's here, again, approaching you. Does it not see him? He's right there for god's sake!

"She's on duty so she can't talk to you right now. Or ever." He'd grab you by the shoulder as he sized the guy up and down with the most condescending and judgmental look on his face before scoffing. what a diva

He'll nag at you later for being "distracted while on the job" and say you're supposed to pay attention to him at all times otherwise how will his dear bodyguard protect him? Please be more mindful!

It was a school reunion party when your old high school sweetheart came up to the both of you.

"Oh hey, I remember you! Weren't you the guy who got kicked out for cheating on his graduation exam?" He says with an innocent grin on his face knowing full well the guy is a deadbeat and making sure others heard it too.

It's canon he kept track of all crushes MC had while growing up and I'm sure he goes out of his way to show you their bad points so you won't even consider looking their way.

In some cases, Caleb had to get rid of them by manipulating things behind the scenes if they didn't take the hint and this one was one of those cases.

The guy was struggling with his grades and who is he to deny a helping hand? All he did was slip the sheet of answers to the test without anyone knowing, it's not his fault if the idiot accepted it knowing it was against the rules. Such an angel, isn't he.

This interaction will lead to him being even more territorial around you and he wants you to just stay home with him where it's safe. Pretty please?

He will step in if they are bothering you by pretending he needs your immediate help in the office but otherwise Zayne merely listening in the background.

Once they're gone the silence is so loud.

You can basically feel that he's bothered by something, but he won't open his mouth even if you ask him about it because it's 'petty and childish'.

"Are you happy with me?" He'd eventually ask you after stewing in his own thoughts for the day. What if your tastes hadn't changed and you were just too nice to tell him he's not doing enough? That he is not enough.

Please reassure this sweet man that you're happy in the relationship. Especially so if your ex is the type that is super extroverted and easy to get along with since that's one of the points he struggles with the most.

The problem goes away on its own after some good quality time together and affectionate words.

[an0n12345]

"I KEEP FALLING ASLEEP DURING MY METHOD, WHAT DO I DO????"

Literally nothing. Whether you want to induce pure consciousness or shift, falling asleep during your meditation/method is not a big deal. You're the one who's making it a big deal. You might think you've "failed" because you fell asleep and woke up in your "o/r". But the only reason you failed is because you're letting yourself fail. It's all about your damn mindset don't make this harder for yourself when it doesn't even need to be.

In my opinion inducing pure consciousness is even easier through sleep, because you're shutting down your physical senses. All it takes to wake up in pure consciousness/I am/void state/god state/quantum field/universal mind (they're all the same fcking thing just with different labels), is to believe that you will. Belief is the key. Don't get frustrated if you don't get it the first day, you are literally reprogramming your mind from the nasty limiting beliefs that are holding you back, cut yourself some slack. It's literally just changing your mindset, it's all what it is. I don't care how you do it, journal, affirm, visualize, meditate... who. cares. The point is that you do SOMETHING that works for you that'll help you shift your mindset. You never shift your reality, you shift your reality BY shifting your mindset. Got it? Mind over matter. You're above your physical reality, so act like it.

With shifting it's the same. Just believe that you'll shift and you will. It really is that simple. And if you don't shift that is completely fine, don't get mad at yourself or your 3D. You did everything correctly, just keep up the good mindset and the 3D has no choice but to manifest your belief. Notice how I said belief and not desire? Well the 3D does not care what you desire or what you don't desire, it just materializes what you accept to be the truth.

And sometimes you accept that you don't have your desire, which is why you "need" to manifest it, which is why it's not there.

This is the cycle.

Break it.

Have it in your mind RIGHT NOW. DARE to think that you have what you want right now. I know it might sound unbelievable , but remember, you're the boss. You make the rules. So make rules that work in your favor!??

Also, you guys do know that.... sleep methods exist, right...???

[swagathaharkness]

the final trial forced agatha to accept that nicky's death was never rio's fault. sometimes, boys die. agatha never would have kissed rio, showing that she chooses death, without first realizing that.

now that agatha is a ghost, which we know rio will despise, it sets them up for more deliciously antagonistic interactions BUT it also sets them up for healthier interactions than they've had in centuries. when we see them again, their interactions will likely take on a lighter, more playful tone than anything we've seen so far.

because agatha no longer blames rio, and rio was able to take agatha willingly instead of giving her 'special treatment' that would reveal its own cost sooner or later, they're now standing on more equal footing with one another and each is able to see the other more clearly. of course they still have centuries of emotional avoidance (mostly on agatha's part) to sift through, but their main problem was agatha blaming rio for something rio couldn't help, and rio trying to protect agatha from loss by bending the rules for her but really only delaying the inevitable.

agatha needed to accept that rio's role is indiscriminate, and rio needed to accept that agatha is mortal and therefore subject to the same natural laws as any other human. this new level of mutual acceptance brings down a HUGE emotional barrier to their eventual reconciliation, and is a damn good development for agatha's show to conclude with.

toxic yuri soulmates who will always find their way back to each other as their shared love forces them to slowly let go of the beliefs that drive them apart and become less toxic brain go brrrrrrrrrr🤯

[see-arcane]

It was 1838 when the Great Death came to Wisborg, Germany. The last of its victims went willingly, bartering her body and blood to destroy a monster and protect her beloved.

Said beloved dies the same morning, though his body lives a while longer. Every day of breath and food is a loss. But he cannot end himself. Not after all she gave to ensure his safety. So the dead man sits in his living skin and follows the rules of maintaining it. Days to weeks to months to years.

There are very few of the latter, as it happens. The doctor will pen something down about a weak heart. Perhaps a belated demise caused by braving so much ailment in that cursed year. In truth, he knows the heart was not weak, but broken. Grief is a poison and it took the young man away before he ever reached his third decade.

Time passes.

In England, a boy and a girl fall in love. There is a connection that is both immediate and startling in its joy—as if they had known each other before and lost sight of the other in a crowd.

She is a cunning and insightful soul, brimming with a vision that she knows instinctively to dub mere ‘intuition.’ Somehow there is an older wisdom in her young head than there ought to be; she knows it is vital to be proper. To be upstanding. To not let the world catch wind of her being anything too outré. Little wonder she goes on to teach in etiquette classes.

He is a fellow apparently born to the flotsam and footwork of property law. For reasons he can’t name, he comes near to tears at how benevolent his employer is. Has been since he was a boy, all but the young man’s second father. A man the youth can trust and wishes to impress just as much as he wishes to build a future for his fiancée. He would do anything for them.

For her.

Anything.

And so, when work calls him up out to the Carpathians, he stifles a sudden inexplicable spike of dread. As does she. It is only nerves. Only worry over such a long distance to travel. He will write, of course. It will be a grand adventure. And it will help them, won’t it? Of course. Of course.

He has such queer dreams en route to the castle.

Is it his voice he hears screaming in them? Is it his love’s?

(Turn back turn back the Scholomance had many students and though they died they still walk TURN BACK—)

He arrives at the castle. The Count is there to meet him.

Hell begins.

It stretches for months. It bleeds from one season into the next. Briefly, so briefly, it seems there is an exit before them in the shape of friends and knowledge—the Devil can be beaten!—but he wants to send his love away, out of the monster’s reach…

Too late.

(Again. Forever too late.)

Blood on her lips and welling from her throat. Her scream is of the damned. God Himself burns her; marked for all time—

(All lives.)

—as out of Heaven’s reach.  

“Unclean! Unclean!”

(No. No!)

He witnesses the gallant oaths their friends make. Of course, of course they will slay her in mercy. It as God wills. As the Devil wills. As she, his love, his martyr Maiden to Death’s callous aim, wills. How lovely that they are all in agreement.

(Again.)

No.

No. It is as simple as that. No. No. No. He does not allow it. Does not accept it. He will sell himself if need be.

But not before he collects the Count’s head.

And look—look—look—

(LOOK!)

—a miracle: he does it. He and the American feed their steel into the monster and the monster crumbles just as the sun dips low. The American collapses, death pooling in him as—

(LOOK LOOK LOOK)

—the young woman, purged of the Count’s venom, comes to their side, whole and alive and weeping at the sacrifice. When the couple’s child comes, he will wear the names of all who aided them, but always with the American’s name at the top. The boy is very young and so may still lay between his parents, sleeping in the nest of their arms. In the warm quiet, the young man and the young woman stare into each other. Their lips smile and their eyes run.

“I feel as if this was where we were supposed to be.”

She doesn’t ask what he means.

Instead, “Where we left off.”

He nods and brings his brow to hers. In their arms, their child hums and clings in his sleep. They spare a hand each to rake his hair. The others weave tight, anchoring.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

It is the truth. As it ever was, as it ever is, as it ever shall be.

[michanvalentine]

Of course, Astarion wants to ascend. He wants it so much, it’s as clear as day. He has never hidden how much he ideally likes the idea of power—to elevate himself from his current position, to ensure his safety, to bend others to his will (instead of being the one who is bent). And if he can also walk in the sun and never feel the hunger pangs again, even better!

But let’s not forget that Astarion has a limited worldview. Cazador himself says it in one of his confrontations with Tav/Durge: "He is afraid. He is afraid because all he has ever known is you and me, and without us, he is nothing."

Astarion does not have a well-developed sense of self, and by default, he also lacks many of the skills that a well-adjusted adult should possess. So, to navigate life, he can either rely on the worldview presented by Cazador (power, power, power, and more power—to place himself above others) or the one offered by Tav/Durge, assuming they are a heroic figure. Otherwise, the only perspective left is that of power, and Ascending becomes almost natural in an evil playthrough (which I myself did in my villain run). Ascending Astarion in a good playthrough, however, seems completely contradictory to me, but whatever…

Let’s not forget that power is not Astarion’s driving force—power is only a means to an end. His real driving force is fear, as both Cazador and Scleritas emphasize. He would do anything to feel safe (like becoming a half-Illithid if scared enough by Tav/Durge—even though he rejects that idea with every fiber of his being, and yet…). The scene with the dryad, Naoise Nallinto, in Astarion’s origin run makes it crystal clear: when she uses her power on him, among all the possible choices (wealth, respect, power, etc.), Astarion’s personal wish is to feel safe, not power—even though power is explicitly one of the options. But it’s not his!

Oh, and Astarion himself spells it out, right before the final decision between Ascending or not. His exact words: "One final thrust, and I'll be free of you. I will never have to fear you again. And if I complete the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone. Ever."

Everything revolves around fear, which is once again emphasized in the insight check—where it becomes obvious what is driving him and what is simultaneously holding him back from making a rational decision. Because while it’s true that he wants to ascend, he also wants to redeem himself. Well yes, it's shocking, folks, but two completely opposite desires can exist within the same person. They're called internal contradictions, and we all experience them every day or almost ("Oh, damn, I want to go out with my friends tonight, but I also want to just lie on the couch and watch TV").

Let’s not pretend this character is one-dimensional and that all these dialogue lines don’t exist when discussing Astarion. Of course he wants to ascend—he wants it so badly. The point is understanding why he wants it. And then questioning whether giving in to that fear is truly worth it, considering the consequences and what he would be giving up (because even Ascending comes with its own sacrifices, and I’m not even talking about his soul or the 7,000 people).

That’s why, if they choose to, Tav/Durge can intervene and make him reflect on the alternative (which, depending on how you play your Tav, could have been introduced to him from the very beginning of the adventure—it’s not something that just comes out of nowhere, unless you’re playing completely incoherently).

And it’s Astarion himself, in one of the most beautiful dialogues in the entire game, who explicitly states this lesson he has learned. When Durge is overcome with despair and fear—just like him—and tries to end the relationship, Astarion says: "This little adventure of ours has taught me that we can't let our lives be ruled by fear, or else we'll never truly live."

He has understood. He has grown. He has accepted that uncomfortable emotion and has decided not to be consumed by it—to choose for himself without letting fear dictate his actions. And I couldn’t be prouder of him.

One last thing, because I’ve seen it repeated a lot on social media: Ascending is not Astarion’s lifelong dream—it is Cazador’s dream. Astarion didn’t even know this kind of ritual existed until five minutes before it happened, so no, Tav/Durge is not cruelly ripping away his lifelong dream just for the sake of moral superiority. And above all, they are not forcing him to give it up—but I’ve already talked about this before, and I’m not going to repeat myself.

[marsian-tango]

Yandere Alien

Part 1

Yandere! Alien who’s been living with you for a few months now. It’s not easy living with an alien. You two are from completely different worlds, it’s a massive cultural shock for the both of you. He keeps talking about you being his betrothed, he can’t keep his hands to himself, and he just keeps trying to—what? Court you? Seduce you? You don’t even know anymore. This whole situation is just too weird.

Yandere! Alien who barely lets you out of the apartment. You’ve tried explaining to him that you can’t just stay home all the time, no matter how much he begs. You have a job, you need to go there sometimes to get money and provide for the two of you. Cause you know damn well he can’t go and do it himself. But he eventually accepts it, with a lot of tears involved in the process.

Yandere! Alien who has a phone now. You thought that the best way to check on him in case he does anything stupid is with a phone, and this also allows him to still be somehow connected with you, so it’s a win-win. But now you have to endure the hundreds of messages that he sends you throughout the day! He sends you memes that he finds funny, long paragraphs saying how much he misses you, a link to an ‘Alien x Reader’ fic—wait. What? This is how he spends his free time? Why is he even reading that?

Yandere! Alien who enjoys the midnight strolls that you take with him. You always show him new places, and never fail to make sure that it’s safe for him. He loves seeing all the bright neon lights, the big parks that are filled with colorful flowers and trees, and playing with the stray cats from the alleys you pass by. It’s very peaceful and intimate. Romantic even. He wishes he could take these same strolls during the day. It’s so unfair, he just wants to go out with his future spouse in broad daylight, that’s not a crime! Would people really get that freaked out if they saw him? Really? He’s just a chill guy! Sure, he may have antennae, gray skin, and pointy ears. But he’s just like everybody else! Here, check him out. You’ll see just how much resemblance he has with male humans.

Yandere! Alien who’s been courting you ever since he met you, and you still haven’t reciprocated his feelings! He’s starting to get a bit impatient. He’s pretty sure he has seen every single rom-com there is, so why isn’t it working?! He cuddles you every night, makes you breakfast in the morning, he greets you with a kiss on your cheek when you come back from work. Ugh! He even ripped off his tracker chip from his body so no one on his planet would find him! Should he start courting you the way they do on his planet instead? You want him to behead your enemies and bring you their skin?

Yandere! Alien who on one hand knows that he can’t stop you from having friends and hanging out with them. But on the other hand he wants to stab them for taking you away from him. So he does the only logical thing, he breaks the one rule that you’ve asked him not to break. He leaves the apartment to stalk—make sure you’re okay! Can you blame him though? Those ‘friends’ of yours are a bunch of creeps. C’mon, why would a stinky human male hug you? That guy is probably trying to court you—why are you hugging him back?! No, nop, absolutely not. He cannot stand for this.

Yandere! Alien who carries you in his arms the second you get home, bringing you to your bedroom as you yell at him to let you go, kicking and pushing at him to try to break free. He ignores your failed attempts and mutes out your confused pries, finally letting you down on your bed. He pins you down to the mattress, getting on top of you to prevent you from escaping his hold. He’s tried so hard to show you just how much he wants you, needs you. You’re his savior, the person who takes care of him day after day. So why do you let other males get so close to you? But…this is on him. Perhaps he should’ve been clearer on his intentions, more assertive on his feelings. Oh, this has gone too far, he has to let you know exactly what he wants. There will be no doubts of his love for you when he’s done. He’ll make sure to show you all the love he has for you.

Yandere! Alien who caresses your skin so softly, as if he was afraid it would break. His hand creeping up under your shirt, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. You hope that you’re somehow misinterpreting the situation. You never thought that his approaches would’ve ended up in…this. All those times his hands grazed your waist when you passed by. When his touch would always linger a little too long. You didn’t think it would get to this, and look at you know.

Yandere! Alien who has kept you so busy ever since you met him, that you never had time to go on dates or meet new people. Now that you think about it, it’s been a while since you’ve relieved some stress. You certainly wouldn’t mind receiving some well needed attention. So…you can either let go of your common sense and enjoy yourself—with the knowledge that you’ll have to deal with an alien being ten times clingier than before and who will probably take this as your consent to getting married—or…just stick to your lucidity and turn him down…

Yandere! Alien who makes you forget you ever had common sense in the first place. C’mon, you have the right to have a good time, you’ll deal with the consequences later! So just lie down, relax, and let your lovely alien please you the way he knows how. That website he’s been watching has taught him all he needs to know about it. It really came in handy in the end, huh?

Yandere! Alien who will make you see stars.

Here it is! Part 2! I didn't think that the first part would get so many likes, so I kinda had to improvise this one. I know it's shorter than the first one, I just wanted to post something, anything. So I came up with this. I hope you like it. Thank you so much for all the support. Writting sure is difficult, but I really like it, and your support insipires me! Kisses <3

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

I can stay silent no longer. Viktor and big tits. Guys.

Viktor can't stop looking at your tits, and he’s trying oh so very hard to not be obvious about it, because of how embarrassing it is. He's doing his best to stay respectful, but his eyes constantly drift downwards whenever you move and your bust shifts or bounces. He can't even focus on his notes when you're standing nearby, the calculations in his mind gone in a puff of smoke every time you pass by him.

More often than not, he finds himself staring at the way you rest your chest on your desk to help with your back pain; whenever you look up and catch him in the act, his cheeks get so red he has to hide them underneath his hands. He pretends he's deeply focused on reading the book of ancient runes in front of him, but in reality, he's been stuck on the same sentence for the last half an hour.

An insubordinate, nasty little voice in the back of his head whispers that he could help you: he knows a lot about back pain after all, doesn't he? He could be so good for you, if you only let him touch you…

The worst is when you come to ask him questions, just slightly pushing your tits against his back to lean over his shoulder; he can't count the number of times it's almost made him fall over in panic (excluding the times it has actually landed him right down on his ass). It’s gotten to the point where he has to excuse himself to the restroom for a few minutes at a time, just to remind himself how to breathe and to make sure the tent forming in his pants is fully dead and gone.

If his pride doesn't kill him first, with how flustered and unnerved you manage to get him by simply existing in the lab, then the constant, awkward falling at your feet like an enamoured fool surely will.

For your birthday, he ultimately decides to get you a nice, fancy jacket to put on top of your blouse while you work. Lab assistants aren't supposed to wear these, usually: they're reserved for professors and their own assistants. But it closes right where that damn, one little button stretches the fabric to its very limits, creating a large opening that leaves nothing to his already very active imagination. No one would fault him for bending the rules a little if they had any idea of the struggle of completing a single task around you in that forsakenly translucent top.

It's not a perfect solution, by any means, but he hopes it'll at least allow him to start thinking in his own damn lab again. Just a temporary fix, until he gets his feelings for you under control. You seem delighted by the present, so he figures he's fixed the issue in a relatively acceptable and satisfactory manner.

The next day, you show up with the jacket.

Only the jacket.

You've discarded the white blouse, and there's nothing but your bra underneath the piece of clothing he naively thought would solve all his problems. There’s now nothing stopping him from fully, openly gaping at your exposed chest every time you bend, or lean forward even slightly.

He's made it worse. So much worse. It's quite possibly his biggest failure as an inventor, because he's effectively trapped himself into getting a full face of your tits every time he even glances in your direction.

Viktor has engineered his own fucking demise with nothing but a jacket.

Next time, he's simply going to get you a full-body suit to wear around the lab; you know, as a safety precaution, for wielding sharp tools and participating in dangerous experiments. He wouldn't want his most efficient assistant to get hurt in a preventable work-related accident, after all.

It’ll protect him and his dwindling sanity far more than anything else, but you really don't need to know that.

[zqxouii]

biker!geto x librarian!reader (f!/afab!) | warnings : mdni 18+

biker!geto, who's a damn hottie, what was he doing at a fucking library? shouldn't he be out there messing up with the cops, breaking headlights, or traffic rules instead of rotting here at this dead silent place?

— "evening, missy."

biker!geto, who's eyes have been locked in yours ever since he stepped into the library, walks over from shelf to shelf, what's he upto now? another one of his prank maybe?

— " well, miss bookish, if you’re so smart, how about you explain why I can’t seem to get you out of my head?"

biker!geto, (get a load of this) who placed this bet to make you fall head over heels for him, grabbing every little thing to talk about, only to flirt right after?

— "miss lit, shouldn't you try hanging out with me instead of wasting your time here reading your remeo and juliet the 100th time already?"

biker!geto, who seems to get the idea that you're atleast, are a tiniest bit in love with him as catching you staring at him from so afar, isn't anything else.

— "c'mon, don't be shy miss know-it-all, why not join me at the local bar?"

biker!geto, who's eyes light up after constantly trying to grab your attention is now annoying the fuck outta you, as you had finally accepted his invite. riding his bike felt like flying to you, to be honest, but also free at the same time?

— "yep. that's the kinda girl I like."

biker!geto, who got you all drunken now, begins with his actual plan. he brings you to a private room where he strips every cloth off him in front of you only to add to the fire and get you on the bed already.

— "let the night begin, shouldn't we, miss?"

biker!geto, who's way of fucking hit your sweet spot would make your eyes roll all the way back with every thrust, how he'd suck on your nipple so oddly perfectly, or mark your neck as if he owned you.

— "didn't know that booky ladies could fuck so good."

biker!geto, who made sure that every droplet of your cum on your folds was licked clean, your body was well marked to show the world who you now belong to.

— "everything that I own is yours now, darling."

© zqxouii — the storyline belongs to me and I do not consent anyone to translate, repost or rephrase my writing on any other platform so I expect you to respect my boundaries.

[venomvalley]

Do you accept requests? If so, I thought of a fic where Sevika teaches the reader how to play that card game she plays so much, and then the reader ends up getting addicted and keeps begging Sevika to play with her

TWO OF A KIND

sevika x fem!reader | 2.6k words

TAGS: mentions of drinking and smoking. this is actually cute

NOTES: im so obsessed with this request u have no idea thank u !!!! btw i have no idea how the card game works so uh

“No, not that one. This one.”

You're ready to flip the damn table, cards and coins and all. With her lack of patience and her proficiency at the game, Sevika proves time and time again to be a horrible teacher. Especially when there's real money on the line.

You fight against the arm slung around your waist to turn and glare at her, the lights of The Last Drop bathing her in soft, orange-toned shadows. “Sev, you just said that these two make a pair.”

“Save those for when you have a better hand. Your cards are shit right now.”

The man across from you, rosy-cheeked and burly, exhales a wheezing laugh. One of many bar regulars that she often plays with, empathetic to your newborn-gambling plight. “Aw, cut the poor woman some slack. She's learning.”

“Well, she needs to learn faster.” At the smack you give to her thigh, she peers down at you, plush lips stretching into a grin. Teasing.

"One of these days, I'll beat you. Mark my words."

Another one of the men leans forward with a toothy grin, canine freshly missing after that fight in the alley last week. "Let's bet on it."

Sevika shakes her head as a cheer echoes around the table. "No. No betting. She's cost me enough money already."

You fidget in her lap as the men grow rowdy, slapping the table with each chant of BET! BET! BET! BET!

"Sevika's just scared I'll win," you yell over the chaos, drink sloshing over the rim of your glass and onto your pants as the man to your left jostles your shoulder in excitement, shoving you a bit too far. If not for the arm around your waist, you would've sprawled out onto the floor.

It doesn't scare you, but it startles you. Makes you gasp in surprise—

The air ices over when a prosthetic hand clamps around his wrist, and he hisses a pained breath through his teeth but doesn't attempt to pull away.

You tap her on the shoulder, cards bent between your fingers, explaining to her that you’re fine to no avail—it’s about the principle. The other men lean away from the building chaos, glancing back and forth between each other.

Well. Game's over.

"What's the number one rule when she," a nod of her head to you, "plays with us?"

He gulps, eyes flickering down to where she holds him. "No touching."

"Exactly." She releases him with a huff, pries the cards from your hand before bending them back to straighten out the crease down the center. "Next time you forget, I'm taking your arm home with me."

Gods, being on the receiving end of her anger must be terrifying. Something you've never had to worry about—usually, the confrontations start because of you. People getting a bit too handsy, making comments she doesn’t appreciate, swearing threats of harm to spite her.

She’s protective of you because she has to be. Still doesn’t talk about the incident on your birthday two years ago, and definitely doesn’t want a repeat.

"Won't happen again," he says, voice small and wavering. Poor man might piss himself right in his chair.

She gives him one last glare before turning back to the table, eyes landing on you, then spreads out your cards directly in front of your face. "Now, where were we?” . . . The weeks continue on much the same. Every weekend, she takes you to the bar to play with your group. Sends you to fetch drinks for the table as she deals out the cards. Tugs you into her lap with a hand around your waist. And you get better with each game, more confident in your decisions as time goes on.

Today is different, though.

You play most of the game on your own, only seeking her knowledge on terms unfamiliar to you. She corrects you in certain rounds, namely the effectiveness of your strategy, but gazes down at you with pretty eyes filled with pride each time you seek out her validation.

And you find yourself genuinely enjoying the experience. A fun way to socialize, good competition, flexing your brain power. The money aspect doesn't personally interest you like it does her, but you understand why she loves playing so much (and you're a lot less sulky about all the times she stayed out late at the bar).

The others go easier on you once you win your very first round with minimal influence from Sevika. The drama from last month is long-forgotten as they cheer in celebration, one of the men leaving to buy your favorite drink as a reward.

Like always, she takes the first sip when he hands it over. You had asked her about it a few weeks back, and she simply shrugged and said, 'I don't trust anyone with you,' the absolute sap of a woman. Every time she's done it since, you like to think of it as her showing her love. A running theme in your relationship: show don't tell. You've always appreciated her approach to things.

But it isn't until late into the night when the game begins to heat up that you get your very own seat, shoved right up against hers. A first for you, a clear sign of your improvement. Finally part of their little group instead of being brushed off as Sevika's decorative lapdog.

Except now, you play against her in earnest. Your first tried and true test. No hints, no help, just the knowledge you've absorbed thus far. You do better than expected. Drop out in third place with her scraping up a win.

This is when your obsession officially begins.

A few months go by, and you find yourself spending more time at your little table in the corner of the bar. More time without her playing alongside you. The guys welcome you with open arms when you stroll through the door by yourself, and you can almost smell her influence. Must've given them a stern talking-to on one of the nights you didn’t feel like playing.

Tonight, though, she accompanies you, only hours back from whatever run Silco sent her on. You had begged her to come with you for the perfect way to end out the week, a good bonding activity, she owes you after being gone four days.

(”Fine. I'll go, but we aren't staying long.”)

And tonight, it happens. You finally win.

Ignore the fact that the whole table is piss drunk, Sevika included, and it's been a solid month of frustration and tears and perhaps a tantrum or two, but you finally did it. By a landslide, to boot.

She pulls you into her lap with a chest-rattling laugh then kisses you hard and messy on the cheek. “That's my girl!”

You soak up her praise and the resounding group's cheers like a sponge, ears flushing with heat, and throw your arms around her neck.

The next morning, she asks about who won the final game, pouting over a piece of toast from the headache thrumming through her skull.

“I did, actually.”

A raise of her eyebrow. “Don't remember you drinking.”

You sputter, brows furrowed in offense. “So? I still won.”

She shrugs, mouth splitting into a teasing grin. “Whatever you say.”

“I did.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

“You're an asshole.”

And yet you press a tender kiss to the top of her head as you pass by the table.

.

.

.

Sevika is gone again, and you need a change of scenery. Your new destination? A club a long ways away from her apartment that she's mentioned a few times before, with a rumored underground lounge perfect for one thing: card playing.

Alright. Well. You've been here for a while longer than you intended, but what else is there to do in the Undercity besides sit at a bar, go clubbing, and eat? (A bit oversimplified, but the general point still stands.) And none of those things are fun when she’s off risking her life at some warehouse or dock or sketchy alleyway.

So you need a distraction, and nothing fills your dopamine tank like winning. And you've done a lot of it over the past two days, to the point where you’re starting to believe that some of the men sitting at your table have a losing fetish.

Or maybe you’ve just gotten that good.

However, the fun stops when a pair of boots pound down the steps into the small room you reside in. The air thick with smoke, three sets of tables and occupied chairs squeezed as close as possible to make room for a small bar and a jukebox.

Sevika ducks through the cramped doorway with a determined furrow to her brow, and you've never felt terrified of her—the sharp search of her gaze—until now.

“Oh shit!”

You shove your chair away from the table and crawl beneath it, knocking your shoulder on its edge. Through the throng of seated legs, you spot her walking around the room, pausing every so often to no doubt ask about you.

She wasn't supposed to be home until tomorrow.

On the other side of the table, the face of the woman you’ve been playing with comes into view. “What the fuck are you doing? We're on the last round!”

Slowly, Sevika's boots move closer to your table, and the scrape of chair legs spins you around. You lock on to her shadowed form, bent uncomfortably at the waist just to pin you with a disapproving glare.

You immediately start begging. “One more game, please—”

“No. I'm cutting you off.”

You crawl out from beneath the table with a frustrated growl, shoulder tender with each movement. “I'm on a winning streak!”

“You haven't been home in two days. Where the hell have you even been sleeping?”

You don't even ask how she knows that. If a rat so much as shits in the street around the Lanes, somebody runs to tell her. Of course your little adventure would trigger alarm bells (namely because you can’t be bothered to go anywhere too far).

Yeah, this is admittedly very odd behavior from you.

The man to your left raises his hand, belches, then almost topples over onto you. “We got an apartment in the next building over. Our girl's been crashing on the couch.”

She slams a hand on the table, knocking over the remaining glasses still filled with liquid (some of which ends up on your favorite pair of pants). Points a murderous finger at the man with an adorable, pouting frown. “First of all, there is no our. And you—” she rounds on you so suddenly you jolt, then grabs you by the arm, “we’re going home.”

A wave of protests echo around the table, and it takes only a single scowl from her for them to concede.

She leads you out of the room and up the steps, eerily silent the whole way.

Once you step out onto the street, she starts on you, furrowed brows hiding the fury in her gaze. “What the hell were you thinking? I was—” she pauses, chin dipping toward her chest for a moment before she looks at you once again. “You seem to forget who I am. Who you are to me.”

Worry leaks through her pores, radiates from her in waves, and she tries to stay calm, to shove the feeling down, but the glimmer in her eyes gives her away.

Any other time, you would comfort her, but your hackles raise at the implication. “That goes both ways, you know.”

“It's different. You know that.”

As if you don't worry yourself sick every time she walks out the door. You fucking love her. How could it be any different? Capability means nothing in the face of statistics. And statistically, there’s always a chance she doesn’t come home

“Why, ‘cause I'm weak? I've lived here all my life, same as you, Sev. You act like I'm incompetent.”

Anger burns hot in your gut, and you turn on your heel to storm off. Up ahead, there's a split in the road that goes either right or left, and you bank on the latter.

A short ways behind you, she calls, “Wrong way, honey.”

You whip around to give her your meanest glare, a sunstorm surging inside you at the sight of her smug grin. Beautiful asshole.

“Thanks,” you spit, leaving her in the dust as you walk as fast as your legs can carry you.

Except you don't. She gives you space to cool off, but the thump of her boots still echo off the pavement. Close enough to look out for you. It's sweet and it shouldn't be because you're angry at her, which pisses you off even more. She's so hard to be mad at when she’s all concerned and protective and soft with you.

Upon realizing that you're totally, completely lost, you stop long enough for her to catch up, and her form quickly appears in the corner of your eye.

“You done sulking?”

All it takes is a glance at her relaxed face and a heavy sigh from your lungs for the remaining upset to dissolve. Because you love her, and you don't like being angry. “Yeah… Sorry for being an asshole.”

“Apology accepted.”

With a scoff, you slap her hard on the ass, quick enough to pull away that her hand just barely misses your wrist. “You're the bigger one, though.”

The startled glare on her face makes your future punishment worth it. She'll catch you unawares, maybe not today or tomorrow or even a week from now, but she'll eventually give as good as she got.

And then the surprise fades away to something tender, face softening.

“I'm sorry, too,” she mutters. “But you know how I am. Can’t protect what I can’t see.”

With an aching chest, you bring her hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the scarred ridge of her knuckles. “Apology accepted.”

The walk home after that is long and quiet, her hand in yours warm and comforting. By the grace of the gods, your outing ends peacefully for once, and spending time with her in such a simple way is a huge plus after being apart for so long (two days—psh).

Once you near her apartment, she finally speaks, a hint of irritation woven between the words. “So. Did you at least win anything?”

You perk up at the question, a toothy smile sore-ing up your face. “Oh, did I?” With a tug to her hand, she stops. Crosses her arms, expectant (and you absolutely don't pay attention to the delicious bulge of her bicep). “Let me show you.” You reach beneath your cloak, and from the pocket of your pants you pull out a hefty coin purse. One she immediately eyes with a raised brow. “You see this?”

“I see it.”

“Who knew that guys around here paid extra to have their asses handed to them by a pretty girl?”

She tries to suppress her mirth. Really, she does. But there's no mistaking the twinkle in her eye or the wide grin that stretches her lips.

“Yep.” You nod, chest puffing with pride as you wield the bag like a prized trophy. “I'm taking my woman out for a night on the town.”

“Not tonight, you aren't.” She rolls her eyes, dragging you along with a warm hand between your shoulder blades. “That was fucking stupid, by the way. Sleeping on a stranger's couch?”

“To be fair, he forgot to mention that he has a wife and kid.”

“That doesn't matter.”

“She fixed me breakfast, Sev.”

“I fix you breakfast.”

“Yeah, but mom breakfast tastes different.”

She heaves a resigned sigh and runs a hand over her tiny ponytail. “I've created a monster.”

[twstowo]

Kissing Their Foreheads [One Final Forehead Kiss]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: You kiss their foreheads.

♡︎ Includes: Third Years

[First Years]☆[Second years]☆[Third Years]☆[Here]☆[Extras]

After your long journey of kissing each of your friends, you find yourself in the same spot where you had found Ace at the beginning of the day. The spot is empty now, Ace long gone after his pitiful display. You only wanted to give him a sweet forehead kiss! Why did he even have to behave the way he did? Couldn’t he just have accepted your affection?

You sit down on the bench, the soft evening winds caressing your skin. The moment feels peaceful as you finally stand alone at the end of such a busy day.

You are aware that Ace knows about your little adventure; not long ago, you sent him a message, and no one is surprised he ghosted you! You were inches away from blocking him! No! Maybe you should tell Riddle about the rule Ace broke last week! So many good ideas, but you simply roll your eyes at his behavior. It’s almost the end of the day; you shouldn’t be getting worked up after him.

“Henchman! I have been looking for you the whole day!” You hear Grim as he jumps on the bench. You watch him as he complains about the lack of cans of tuna, and then you remember the most important thing. Something you should have thought about long before.

Grim, he hadn’t received a forehead kiss yet! How could you have been so blind?

“WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU-” As you take hold of his face, you give him a forehead kiss, a well-deserved one.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

“For how long are you going to stare at your phone?” Deuce’s voice comes from behind Ace. In fact, he had been staring at your message for the longest time ever with an annoyed expression. He knows that at this point it just looked like he had ghosted you, but he simply didn’t know what to answer. “Just tell them that you liked their forehead kiss!”

For more than Ace wants to snap at Deuce and tell him to shut up, he knows that he is right. At this point, he is the one acting like an idiot. He sighs as he slowly starts typing, but everything he writes sounds way too sappy for him. There is no way he can send any of those messages.

Ding!

He hears the message sound as an image pops up in front of him. It’s you hugging Grim and below the message reads: ‘My favorite forehead kiss!’

As slowly as possible, he closes his phone and lowers it down. “That damned cat…”

“You lost to a cat??”

“SHUT UP, DEUCE!!”

@hotaru57 @takimarasukido

[nayaesworld]

Dominion

—

A/n: Chile they drunk and crazy…

Assassin!Terry Richmond x Black Reader

Warnings: Slight smut, mentions of murder, gun usage

Summary: Feared and respected assassin Terry Richmond had found his slice of heaven within the hell that was his life. She was his home and his cleansing from the blood that soaked his hands and soul . An elusive minx that he sought out time and time again to stake ownership over and consume.

—

Fleshed out. Consumed. And drunk on his presence was how you loved to spend your time. The overwhelming feeling of being owned like a pet and fucked like a goddess. There was no in between—no confusion. He made sure of that the first time he had encountered you out in your natural habitat. A mysterious little siren that had weaved yourself into his mind and body without even having to lift a finger. He recognized you for what you truly were, after all that was his job. He monitored people; honed in on his targets and let them get free and reckless. Then he’d strike like a tightly coiled rattlesnake and throw you off your axis and into a deep dark abyss.

There was no throwing you off though. You welcomed his bite—welcomed his darkness. It was enamoring and bold like the ink filled tattoo sleeve you softly caressed on stormy nights. The two of you balanced each other out like a perfect divine match sent from heaven. Your bright welcoming feminine energy balanced his dark standoffish brooding. You didn’t play games and you had always been vocal and up front about what you demanded from life—we only had one after all, but he made you play anyway. Made you feed into deep dark kinks and fetishes you thought only played out on television. Made you explore parts of yourself you had locked away after deeming those parts completely unrecognizable from the front you put on in your day to day life.

Were you ever really living life before he came and wrecked you? Were you actually the girl you tried so hard to hold onto? You slipped into a constant struggle of identity crisis after identity crisis—how did he know you better than you? And he was no help in such matters. Cooing and coaxing you into the next thing and the next thing. Breathing an air of influence into your willing bloodstream. Maybe you were a willing participant though. You were playing into his game right now. Scantily dressed and severally buzzed as you pulled down your skirt for the millionth time that night. Two hands high above your head, one accompanied by a sweet little drink that had your nerves going haywire. Your hair sticks to your sheened skin as your head thrashes to the thudding bass flowing through the walls of the club. Your choker rattled around your neck like a bell on a pampered kitten and that’s when you saw him.

A mere flash of hulking black circling you but never getting too close. He’d weave himself through the crowd flashing hungry glances at you. A hot beach babe stuck in the ocean with Jawz— and no amount of swimming and thrashing would save you from his bite. You would bare yourself to him and tell him your deepest darkest regrets and secrets and he would do the same. Constantly changing whatever views you thought you had on him; always pushing you and testing your limits. He made sure you knew early on that he was only good at being bad; but you accepted him anyway. Because nobody was perfect but what the two of you had was damn close.

You threw back the rest of your drink and sat the thick glass on a nearby table before you sauntered away. Past him and past his heavy energy. Your frizzed hair catching on his lip as you zipped by him in a hurry. You planned to go off script tonight and lead by yourself. Even when he held the leash, barked the orders, and ruled this part of you with an iron fist. You fluffed your hair and reapplied your gloss in your compact mirror. Turning it just slightly as your caught the beautiful sinister face of Terry—a true hunter and assassin. Top of the line and well built to disarm and defeat; except tonight maybe that would apply to you. You felt free and reckless and your body vibrated with anticipation of what this night could be—who you would be after it.

Your brown eyes blinked and searched the room slowly. Men were easy to come by and he had long made it clear that death was the only thing that could separate the two of you. This was built on true carnal desires and lust that would put the porn industry as a whole to shame. True yearners—true lovers. He watched you from a distance, picking apart your every move and trying to gauge your next one so he could intervene. He was always ten steps ahead and your competitive nature had begun to bubble to the surface—you wanted to be ten steps ahead for a change. Wanted that power even if it was not for long. Wanted him to feel like he had lost by your hands for once.The mixture of hookah and regret lingered in the atmosphere of the buzzing club in a vicious intoxicating haze.

You were sickly sweet and you knew it. Young and hot with a penchant for true raw sex appeal. You fluffed your hair again before you found your target—he would have to do, and you weren’t sorry for what you knew would happen to him. Your head tugged back as a handful of your hair was gripped into a tight hold. You weren't able to turn as you felt his grip tighten on your lower back.

“Try me. Set me off in this fucking club and you’re gonna regret it. Do what I think you’re about to do and I’ll paint this whole damn club red.” His hot breath made the hair on your neck rise and it sent goosebumps down your arms.

You thrusted your ass into his crotch before turning to face him. He was such a pretty man and equally dirty hands just added to that appeal. “What am I doing baby… it’s no fun when you don’t play my games. Be a good sport and support your woman’s rights and wrongs.” Your plump sticky lips placed a hot kiss onto his lips before you strutted away to create hellfire.

Terry knew something was off when they’d made it to the club. Her energy was off and her over affectionate touch was just a smoke mirror for what she actually had planned. She wanted to go off script—be the leader for once. Why should he go easy on her when she knew his pressure points..knew what drove him clean up a wall? And why would he spare the less than man that currently dragged his disgusting hands up and down her exposed belly. Slipping dangerously close to her warm tight pussy.. his pussy. The gun on his waist gleamed under the lights, itching to be used. Whispering and coaxing him to lay down the law, to soothe the tingling in his hand because he’d never gone a day without gripping steel. Never went a day without asserting his dominance in this world; and he wouldn’t start tonight.He had no plans to claim a life tonight but you made sure to change his mind. And you would come to regret that, and maybe deep down inside you already were.

Long muscled legs and quick paces put him right in the face of the man who dared to touch and grip on his woman. The KDS9c was light in his hand as he held it up to the man's temple; cameras and witnesses be damned. “Hands off her or I will blow your shit all the way to Antarctica.”

—

Terry winced slightly and shook his bruised bloodied hands before opening the car door for her. Bloody hands or not he was still a gentleman. Her ever perceptive eyes seared into his skin attempting to melt his hard exterior and read his mind. But he wouldn’t fall into the trap of pretty eyes tonight, he wanted his lick back. His body was heavy with anxious energy as he slid into the plush leather seat of his matte black Porsche 911 GTS, the engine of the car barely heating up before he threw it in drive and raced out of the parking lot.

His headlights beamed on the empty highway as he pushed the turbocharged engine to the speed of light. To say he was driving fast would be an understatement and when he met her eyes that were glued to the speedometer he knew he was back on top. Knew that the once fierce stalking leopard was now nothing more than a scared little house cat—and he was the dog that would chase her up a tree.

“You scared sweetface?” The teasing smirk on his face did little to calm down the anxious flutters in her belly as he continued revving the engine. The usually endearing nickname now taunting her.

His hands slithered between her legs, creeping closer and closer to what she knew was bare skin. Panties didn’t belong with the outfit she had on tonight. So she went without them. “You want me to believe you’re scared when you’re this fucking wet..please don’t play right now!”

She was having a hard time giving a fuck about anything right now as his fingers wiggled deeply inside of her. Coaxing forward more of her sweet essence and sending her eyeballs right into her socket. His expensive leather seats became victim to the sugary sweetness dripping from her. Her legs widened and thrown about the console to let his fingers carve out heaven inside of her.

“Pleasee Terry…you’re not deep enough. The guy in the club promised me more than this he said-“ you were cut off by the harsh screeching of his tires on the road. Turning your head quickly to look at him because he must be out his goddamn mind.

“Terry what the fuck! Are you trying to kill us?!” You were sure you had whiplash at this point and the thought of a sore aching neck had your anger soaring.

The car was stopped smack dead in the middle of the highway. Horns blaring as rightfully angry drivers whipped around the two of you in a fit of rage. Terry said nothing as his knuckles gripped the steering wheel. Whitening under the harsh grip.

“You know sweet face..there isn’t much you can say or even do that puts me on edge like this. That makes me want to draw blood and commit mass murder. But when you mention someone else touching you..breathing the same air as you. Yeah it gets pretty damn hard not to let those thoughts consume me.”

“ Why do that huh? Why would you want my mind filled with those thoughts…you wanna see me suffering. Wanna watch me fight through my instincts.”

He turns to glare at you with cool eyes and a smug look on his face, shoulders bunched with tension as he tries to make sense of your defiances. Your hand reached out to his face in an attempt to get him to slip up—one little smirk or smile that would let you know you hadn’t fucked up as bad as you thought, a sign that you had gotten off scotch free. But instead he snatched your wrist and held it away from him, halting you from slithering your way back into his good graces.

“I’m not sorry Terry..but you’ll forgive me anyway.” You planted a kiss to his nose before you turned your head forward to peer out of the windshield as the car began to move again.

“Neither am I for what I’m about to do, sweet face.” You didn’t dare ask him what he meant. And you would not dare admit the adrenaline rush that was flowing through your veins.

Only he could keep you on edge like this. Teetering on the cusp of insanity and desire—just like him. Better than any drug and sweeter than any top shelf liquor. Money couldn’t buy it and you weren’t willing to come off of it. Some would call you crazy and deluded for thinking that this was love; rather than a strange loophole of euphoria that had you tightly bound by the heart and mind. You would go anywhere with him, be anything for him; because he’d do the same—he had done the same.

__

Even under the pitch black sky, you knew where the two of you had arrived. You had accompanied him many times. To watch him work, muscles squeezing as he let off round after round into targets. A quiet focused face with laser eyes that only made him a superhuman with a gun. He had trained you as well. The time spent with him here became bonding sessions for the two of you as he taught you the ins and outs of his life. How to disarm a target, how to break a gun apart into a million pieces and put it together again. How to shoot to kill. Headshots only.

“You’re quiet..what happened to going off and being ahead of me? I thought you knew me baby, you wanna be opinionated any other time so speak.” His large muscled body moved to stand in front of you. His intoxicating cologne pulls you from your blended thoughts.

There was never any smoke and mirrors with Terry. He was as upfront and honest as you’d wanted him to be, so being here at the warehouse with him wasn’t anything out of the ordinary and yet it didn’t quite fit into the night the two of you were having.

“I’m here to be punished I’m sure…which in that case we might as well have went home. It just seems like you want to throw me off. I won’t be falling for it tonight Terry so you might as well get whatever this is out of the way and quickly; I’d like to go home.”

His brows raised at your know-it-all tone. You had put your own foot in your mouth plenty of times when it came to him. Your mouth constantly writing a check your pussy would have to cash later on—his favorite form of payment. He reached out to caress your cheek, a soft and sweet gesture unlike the dark thoughts that clouded his mind. He had trained you, yes but he would always remind you just how easy the hunter could become the hunted.

It was more than evident that you were confused about being here especially after what had transpired back at the club not even an hour ago. He had a lesson to teach you and putting you back in your place was important to him. Important to the natural cycle the two of you had fell into—a mere perfect yin and yang.

“You know how much I love you right…know that nothing could separate us. But that mouth of yours…you should learn to watch it. Let’s go.”

She obeyed him and walked closely by his side, goosebumps running up and down her exposed arms and legs. Her eyes adjusted to the bright lighting of the building allowing her to take in the familiarity of it all. Guns lined the walls all around her. Every brand she could think of her man had hanging up. From Beretta to Ruger. Smith & Wesson to Benelli. He had enough artillery to equip a small army and this was his playing ground.

The island in the middle of the building kept his favorite brandy and whiskey stocked. You watched him curiously as he poured another shot and threw it back, grunting to himself at the burn from the aged whiskey. He seemed mildly on edge and when you began to walk towards him a sly grin covered his handsome face. What game was he playing at?

He sat the glass down with a heavy thud before he circled you. Your head swiveled to keep an eye on him not because you didn’t trust him but because you were beginning to realize you needed to be on your toes right now. He stops behind you and throws a heavy arm over your chest, your head leaning back slightly against the bulging bicep.

“Terry what are-“ your sentence is cut short as he shh’s you. His breath warm with the smell of alcohol makes you wrinkle your nose.

“Look around sweetface. You and me we living life, baby…we’d pay our lives for each other and even still—death wouldn’t separate us. No Bonnie and Clyde. Just me and sweet face on some Tony Montana shit.” He plops a wet kiss on your neck before he pulls away. Giving you the chance to finally turn and face him.

Arms out and wide he spins in a circle before turning back to you. “Pick your poison baby. Revolvers only. We got a lethal date with destiny tonight—let’s hope we win.”

You had no time to be confused and afraid. Not when the chamber of the Smith & Wesson Model 648 was loaded with a single bullet and not when Terry was your target. Russian roulette, lethal indeed. And what hung in the balance other than you and your lovers life? A proposal. Marriage. He was convinced that if the both of you survived this he would be worthy enough to be your husband. Destiny be damned.

“Go ahead baby you get first go. I trust you.” He stood there arms crossed behind his back and eyes focused. He only saw you.

“Terry…I don't trust myself. Bu-but I love you and I wanna see this through. For us.”

The first click of the gun damn near throws you into a panic attack. No bullet and Terry isn’t hurt. His turn. He walks over to you and the gun is now in his hands.

Your eyes flutter shut as he holds the gun up. If it was your time to go at least it was by the hands of the man you loved. CLICK! You began to breathe again.

“Destiny favors us my love.” A quick peck to your forehead and now it’s your turn again. But you knew you weren’t out of the woods just yet. The gun had to go off eventually.

You hold it up. Breathe even as you inhale and exhale in an attempt to slow your beating heart as it thudded against your ribcage. CLICK! In the green yet again.

“Do we call this cheating death if we both make it out? Or are we both just so twisted up in our love that we’d do anything to prove it to one another? Great questions for a different night I suppose.” Your words swirled around in your head and you forgot all about the gun being pointed at you. CLICK!

“We’ll call it whatever we have to. I got you the perfect ring sweetface..it’s your favorite ring design. And you know me, money never meant shit when it comes to making you happy. I’m gonna put it right here.” He brings your ring finger to his lips and presses a delicate kiss to it.

Emotions flooded you and before you knew it the click you had familiarized yourself with was now a loud bang. A strangled sob leaving your mouth because you knew this time a bullet was lodged somewhere in your love. The gun goes off, but your loves brains aren’t splattered on the wall of guns behind him.

You run over and squat near him, hands running over his chest quickly and frantically searching for the gun wound. His hands grab your trembling ones in his and you focus your eyes on his. He was ok. You’d only shot him in the shoulder.

“Guess we’re getting married baby…I always said I’d marry a woman who knew her way around a gun.” His out of breath laughter warms you and you throw your arms around him pulling back slightly when he winces.

“Destiny fulfilled Mr.Richmond.”

—

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