#They say rap's changed

[nightguide]

a'khair, even Ruby Rose (OITNB) cannot escape her own personal dialogues now that she cannot look at his gayz that he cannot even try and make her do it anyway

[greetings-inferiors]

The "big three"'s opinions about trans people:

Drake: Doesn't see trans men as men, so uses being less masculine than a trans man as an insult (family matters)

J Cole: Only sees people as walking genitals, so says no matter how much a trans man says he's a man, he still has a vagina so his manhood is invalid (Pi)

Kendrick Lamar: We as a culture see femininity as a weakness, which is a big problem, because it leads to us welcoming trans men and shunning trans women. If a trans woman says she's a woman, why shouldn't I believe her. If a trans man says he's a man, why shouldn't I believe him. I've lived around trans people nearly all my life and they are some of the most important people in my life. When people use religion to justify their hatred towards trans people, I speak up in defence of my trans siblings, humanity is more important than religion. I also recognise that I've not been a perfect ally all my life, I've made jokes and used slurs that I didn't realise the harm of, and this realisation will lead to the emotional climax of my album (auntie diaries)

Can you tell which one is my favourite?

[youreyeson1y]

never thought i'd hear chk chk boom be played at our school field on the speakers but we gone done it lol

[isacksteban]

in not ur oomf this it tiktok im not ur bestie idk you

[michdoodles]

Can’t believe Shakira invented the concept of having very few brain cells left… back in 1998

[mixtapedoh]

bts bias order go

omg marry me ♡♡♡♡♡. LINDSAY DON'T LOOK AND DON'T @ ME

namjoon -> hobi -> yoongi -> jin -> tae -> jungkook -> jimin

✩⡱ send me a group and i'll tell you my bias order

[tuxxydo]

PvE for overwatch is cancelled and i’m lowkey ecstatic cus i was dreading how they were gonna portray ramattra and null sector and just the whole omnic racism plot in general...

[painandmovies]

Idk, to me the whole newwave of people fighting against a silly trend to point out an issue or make a political statement is more annoying than the thing people are talking about itself. Obviously Kendrick is not some political activist [that's his musical brand, but actively doing so..probs not] to be praised for pointing out the obvious or seemingly withholding bomb drops for his musical benefit. Obviously, there is a genocide going on; that's not new (also the conspiracy theories really are getting out of hand). Anyone that seriously thinks 1 man in the rap industry has the power to take down a pedophile (allegedly allegedly) is seriously living in a fantasy land. The wild thinkpieces on music like it's a war in need of rebuttals for your 'lead the rebellion' stance are crazy to me and more focused on than something that could be important to matter. It's not that serious; it's just fun.

[good-to-drive]

Honestly my favorite arc in any artform is "fuck my life" to "fuck everybody who ever made me hate my life" to "oh fuck it was me, I was the one who was doing that"

[toerrishumansodont]

feel like im going crazy listening to the new linkin park stuff.... even aside from the new singer, why do the instrumentals suddenly remind me so much of godsmack lol

[teaboot]

Things you can do as a security guard instead of acting like a dickhead: a vent post disguised as advice

Offer alternatives: IE, “Sorry, nobody’s allowed to hang out over there, but we have seats over here you’re welcome to use”. I recommend getting familiar with local parks, public seating, free food programs, outreach, mobile aid, etc., just in case those are needed.

Be polite: IE, “Excuse me, sir”, “I beg your pardon, miss”. This should go without saying but everyone deserves dignity.

Avoid phrasing requests as orders: IE, “Don’t stand in front of that” VS “Excuse me, could you move a bit to the side?”. This works best with an explanation, like, “There’s a sign behind you”, or, “you might get clipped by someone”. This helps communicate that you are asking for a reason, not just throwing your weight around. If you don’t have a reason, rethink whether or not you need to be doing anything.

Avoid directing blame or fault. Don’t say, “The owner says you gotta go” when you could say, “I’m not supposed to let people be here for X period” or “do X thing”. Again, try to have alternatives ready so people can use other resources or do something else instead of just abruptly changing plans.

Come from a place of compassion whenever you can. People are gonna tell you to get rid of the crazy screaming guy. They say that because they’re frightened and don’t know what to do. Your best approach is, “Hello sir”, followed by, “How are you today?”, “how’s it going?”, “are you doing alright?”, etc., depending on what the person is ACTUALLY doing / saying when you get there. You can offer help from there if needed, or leave them alone if they’re not in danger or a risk to anyone.

Remember you’re not a cop. This can mean whatever you need it to mean. For me personally, that means that with incredibly rare exception (like trying to sell to kids, contaminating other’s food or drink) I won’t report you for drugs. If I find you doing drugs on my site I’ll tell you a different place where you can do them instead and ask you to do them there. I have interrupted drug deals to ask the client and the salesman to both kindly move 15 feet to the left, I’m not kidding, I do not care.

Know who you can throw under the bus. Sometimes you gotta enforce rules and be the bad guy and if that’s the fault of some dipshit in a suit 200 miles away, you can say that. Sorry man, I can’t let you park your car on the lawn. I know you’re not hurting anyone and frankly I think lawn culture is stupid but there’s other parking stalls and if my boss sees you I’ll get a write-up for not doing my job. Shit sucks sometimes but if it wasn’t me telling you it’d be the new guy, and between you and me he’s an idiot and he’ll probably just report you to bylaw.

Don’t just act like you’re their friend, genuinely try to be a good friend. If you know that someone is doing something that will only result in a bystander phoning police, don’t let them go down like that. Let them know, “hey man, you seem like you’re having a shit time and I get it, I’ll do what I can, but we gotta have this conversation somewhere else ‘cause we��re freaking out the old ladies.”

Swallow your tongue. You can’t fix the world. People are gonna bitch at you about communists and 5G and gangster rap ruining the neighbourhood, that’s just part of the deal. Nod along, remain neutral, shut down any hate speech, redirect if you can, and keep a limit in mind where you’ll have to shut things down.

Accept that sometimes there are no solutions. Yes, that angry guy who blasts music will be back tomorrow. That homeless woman who asks you to help her find her dog that she hasn’t had in 30 years will ask again, and yes, you’re still going to take a description and promise to keep an eye out. That kid who smokes crack behind the building has been clean for a few weeks and still stops by to say hi, and you hope he’ll get his life together and be happy, but he also might relapse and OD before he hits 25. Sometimes you just have to do the best you can, even if nothing is guaranteed.

Be kind to teenagers. Being a kid is hard, and everyone’s on their ass all the damn time for everything.

Remember that the vast majority of bad people aren’t bad, just unhappy. The guy who keeps showing up drunk and puking on the carpet is unhappy. The lady who bitches about the service every single time and keeps coming back anyway is unhappy. The guy who leaves trash everywhere is probably unhappy. If they were happy, maybe they’d do better, but they’re not, and that’s kinda sad. You don’t have to let them get away with their shit, but they probably aren’t actually a worthless human being either.

It doesn’t matter if 12 is true or not. You need to believe it or you will become a harsh and bitter person. Look for evidence that people are not terrible and invent it if you have to

Don’t let yourself become a bastard

[ssorenz]

WHY SHOULD I BE SAD? (WHEN I COULD JUST FUCK HIS DAD!) ★

ꨄ syn. after your ex-boyfriend cheats on you, you show up at his house only to find out his bum ass isn't there. buuut his dad is, and you see the perfect opportunity to get back— its time for you to move along, goodbye!

ꨄ feat. dilf! kento nanami + fem! reader, pwp, piv, unprotected sēx, improper use of a tie, oral f! receiving), age gap, pússy whipped nanami, choking, hairpulling, voyeurism. mdni.

wc. 3.5k

you knock. three sharp, deliberate raps against the door, knuckles grazing the oak.

the porch light flickers overhead, buzzing lowly as it throws shadows across your bare legs. the hem of your pink velour shorts rides high on your thighs, paired with the matching jacket, zipped halfway down to show a sliver of the white tank top underneath.

you shift your weight to one hip, arms folded tight across your chest, blowing a lazy puff of stray hair that stuck to your glossed lips.

pathetic. you think, glancing around the quiet streets. your (ex!!) boyfriend— still living with his parents like the immature man child he is.

some things just never fucking change.

you shift, scuffing the toe of your sneaker against the welcome mat. welcome, it says in clean, cursive letters. bold of it to assume.

you’re ready to just turn your ass around, already thinking how you were too pretty to be standing on the porch like this for a man who can’t even keep his dick to himself— before the door opens with a soft, weighted click.

and instead of the boy you were verbally (and probably physically) going to skin alive, you got his father.

nanami kento.

he stands framed in the doorway, still in half his work attire. the sleeves of his white dress shirt are pulled up to his elbows, the worn fabric stretching a little too tight over the muscle of his forearms. a navy tie hangs loosely around his neck, brushing ever so slightly against the center of his barely exposed chest.

his honey blonde hair is combed back, a stray hair brushing over the rim of his glasses. he blinks at you once, slow, and you can’t help but blink right back.

he’s hot— hot in that “pays his bills on time” kind of way. in that “he’s obviously bee-keeping age” kind of way. you can clearly see where all the good genes went— definitely didn’t stick with his son.

figures.

“can i help you?” he asked, voice worn around the edges, dragging low across the quiet between you— like he’s been talking all day but you’re the first thing he’s actually looked at.

“i was, uh, looking for your son,” you shrug, voice bittersweet. “but i guess he’s out. . spreading whatever new std he picked up this week.”

nanami’s mouth twitches, not enough to be a smile—not enough to be anything actually, but you still catch it.

“he’s not home, i’m sorry.” he finally says, exhaling through his nose, the sigh barely stirring the thick air between you.

“yeah, me too.” you scoff softly, letting a dry little laugh slip free past your lips before you can stop it.

nanami sighs, glancing out at the empty, paved street, then back at you— standing there in your tiny pink jacket, breath fogging in soft little puffs in the cold, evening air.

and he knows he should shut the door.

tell you to go home, and stop bothering him with his son’s antics.

but instead, nanami looks at you one more time, and the words are already out before he can take them back.

“come inside,” he murmurs, and you blink up at him, surprised. your lashes catch in the dimmed lighting, lips parted because, not gonna lie, you really expected him to scold you for showing up on his doorstep at this hour, not invite you in.

he creaks the door wider with one hand, not moving otherwise.

an invitation, plain and simple— yours if you want it.

and you do.

because why the fuck not.

you step past the blonde man, slow enough to feel the heat of his chest. his cologne hits you next, clean with a weight of something smooth, oaky, the kind that just smells expensive.

the door clicks shut behind you, a low, weighted sound as the house hums low around you — dim lamplight blooming gold against taupe walls, books stacked in corners, the edge of a dark whiskey bottle catching the faint gleam from the kitchen counter.

“can i get you something to drink? wine?” nanami’s voice cuts into the quiet, and you flick your eyes toward him.

his hand curls casual around the fridge door, rolex crowned wrist flexing as he reaches for a bottle without even needing to look.

“what, no vodka shots?”

“i have better taste than that.”

he pours slow — the maroon liquid threading ribbons into thin crystal glasses that catches lamplight like it’s flirting. the air shifts when he crosses back to you, glass dangling easy between his fingers, the stem catching a smear of light as he offers it out.

you take a small sip, the wine breathing sweet against your tongue. it's much heavier than what you're used to, warm enough that it drips slow down the back of your throat and settles thick in your stomach.

you hum low without meaning to, the sound slipping out sticky and soft. nanami sinks next you on chocolatey leather sectional, the seat creaking quietly under the shift of his weight.

“i'm sorry, again.” he says softly, his thumb drags absent over the rim once before he speaks once more. “that boy. . . he hasn't been the same since his mother’s been gone.”

“oh.” you lower your glass, words feeling awkward and clumsy on your tongue. “i’m sorry for your, um, loss.”

and nanami chuckles— the kind you’d expect to hear floating down the halls of some members-only country club.

“she’s not dead— she left. divorced me after she decided marriage vows were more of a suggestion.” he leans back, raising the crystal up his lips.

you laugh before you can stop yourself — the wine buzzing a little low in your veins now, loosening your mouth, making you just stupid enough to flirt with the edge of it.

“ohh,” you purr sweetly, a little slur of silk in your voice. “so you haven’t gotten laid in a while, huh?”

nanami chokes.

no, like actually chokes.

“w-what?” he croaks, brows pulling inward sharply as his glasses shift down the bridge of his nose.

“gootteeenn laaiidd,” you repeat, dragging the words slower this time.

“like, you know, having intercourse.” you have one hand vaguely in the air, wrist limp. “fucking, if you will.”

nanami exhales sharply through his nose - you’re really starting to give him a run for his money right now. “i know what getting laid means,” he mutters, tone clipped. “m’not that old.”

a brief silence drapes itself between you— not cold, yet slightly singed around its edges, tensed. after what seemed to be the longest three seconds of his life, nanami finally speaks.

“no. i, uh. haven’t been active— sexually.”

you burst out laughing, wine nearly sloshing over the rim of your glass. “oh my god,” you wheeze, setting down your drink before it spills over. “this isn’t a doctor’s office. we’re both adults here.”

“are we really?” nanami mumbles, umber eyes skimming over your doubled-over state.

“uh, i’m twenty, mind you.”

“that’s comforting.”

you shrug, one leg curling up beneath you as you swirl whats left in your glass, the liquid painting lazy rings up the sides. your head is lighter now, the warmth of it blooming low in your stomach, buzzing under your skin.

“you don’t have to be embarrassed.” you murmur, head tilting slightly as your gaze drags across his frame. “it’s juust. . . been a while, right? doesn’t have to stay that way.”

you don’t look at him after that. not right away. just take another sip— letting the remainder of the wine coat your tongue and melt there while your words hang.

nanami doesn’t speak at first. doesn’t blink. hell, doesn’t even breathe.

but you feel it. the way the air shifts. the way his eyes remain hot on you. like he’s trying not to picture anything he shouldn’t— and failing miserably.

you’re half his age— he could be your father, for crying out loud!

“you’re drunk.”

“a little,” you admit breathily, voice slurred around the corners like the alcohol is speaking for you. “not enough to lie though.”

his jaw flexes.

visibly.

nanami’s voice drops lower, steadier.

“you’re my son’s girlfriend.”

“ex-girlfriend,” you correct him. “very important prefix.”

“semantics,” he mutters.

“legalities,” you shoot back. “pretty sure that contract expired the second he chose to be community dick.”

and nanami just huffs, closing his eyes, as if you’ll vanish if once he reopens them.

you don’t.

his jaw ticks again— slow.

“you— you shouldn’t be talking like this,” his voice rasps, eyes darkening— not dramatically, like in the movies, but in that slow, irrevocable way. “flirting. with me.”

you blink up at him, doey eyes feigning innocence with such a foxed grace. “awe, why shouldn’t i, mister nanami?”

and uh,

being slumped over his couch not even five minutes later with your legs hanging daintily over his broad ass shoulders definitely wasn’t on your list of possible outcomes.

“k-kennnn,” you whimper, hips rolling up into his face without thinking. your body moving on instinct now. “oh my god—”

his name rolls of your tongue like pure honey. your hips buck into his face, reflexive and greedy, spine arching off the couch like your entire body was trying to climb into his mouth.

“you taste,” he breathes, voice ruined, mouth glistening with the evidence, “so divine.” his lips kiss the words right into your sobbing cunt, a sticky whisper smudged against your folds.

he’s drenched in your dulcetly sweet juices — mouth and chin glazed in spit and slick. there’s drool trailing from the corner of his mouth, pooling where his lips suck around your clit. it’s loud — shamelessly wet — the kind of messiness that echoes off the walls, mingling with your gasped mewls and broken pleas for more.

you're throbbing so much it aches. your legs can’t even stay open on their own— and they don’t have to, not with the way nanami’s palms are splayed into your inner thighs, keeping them spread wiiiidee like it’s his job.

like this is what he clocked out for.

you fist a hand in his hair, yanking him closer and he moans. actually moans into your cunt.

low and guttural, breath catching sharp in his throat as he sinks deeper into you. his tongue licks a wide, deliberate stripe up your cunt, lathering his entire mouth in the wet sheen of your sweetness.

and god, he’s drunk on it.

like he’s starved, but determined to savor every lick, every suck, every trembling twitch of your hips beneath his tongue. nanami wraps one arm around your thigh, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch, and stays there — nose pressed deep in your crevices, tongue flicking in tight circles, sloppy little suctions in between.

the last time he's eaten pussy like this, was what? back in college? almost two decades ago. yet it's like fucking muscle memory for him, like he's got PTSD.

“that’s it,” he rasps, voice muffled and wrecked, “don’t run. let me taste you, baby.”

your jaw drops. nothing comes out.

because how exactly are you supposed to say even a word with his tongue dragging figure eights over your clit? with his lips sucking bruises into your inner thighs between every flick? with his hands branding their grip into you every time you squirm?

his lips latch around your clit, sucking slow, heavy pulses while the flat of his tongue rolls wide circles around the swollen bud. his head shakes side to side, desperate now, messy, loud slurps filling the room.

you gasp sharply, hips jerking, thighs trembling around his head. “kento—i’m getting clooseee.”

the heel of your foot presses down against the middle of his back, urging him closer, guiding his mouth deeper into you. he groans again, a low, hoarse sound that makes your stomach tighten.

“hah—not yet, sweetheart,” he mutters into your pussy, words muffled by the wetness slicking his lips. “wanna enjoy you a little longer.”

he coaxes softly, voice low. “h-hold out for me. can you do that, pretty girl?” and you nod frantically, even as your body is begging for release.

“atta girl.”

nanami smiles against your cunt and you can feel it—the gentle curve of his lips pressing against your slick, tickling where he’s sucking and licking you raw. his hands stroke soothing down the backs of your thighs, holding you still, thumbs drawing slow circles into your skin.

his tongue flattens again, and you could've sworn you felt him drawing a slow, dragged K against your clit.

he’s just lost in it. in you.

completely, hopelessly enthralled.

you whimper, breath catching in your throat, fat, wet, tears finally pooling at your waterline before streaking down the flushed heat of your cheeks.

“k-kentoo,” you mewl softly, voice sticky with need, breath coming out in short little pants.

“go on,” he cooed softly. “cum for me, sweetheart. wanna feel it on my tongue.”

coiled tight, ready to snap. but his hands stayed firm on your thighs, his tongue pressing a slow, deliberate stroke over your wetness.

your release hits you violently, crashing over you like a rogue wave and you nearly sob. your toes curl into the soles of your shoes, thighs clamping around his head as your hips bucked against his mouth.

your body spasms in a wild, uncontrollable rhythm, slick soaking nanami's chin, his lips, his tongue—and he just took it. drinking you down with soft, broken groans, never once letting up as he licked you through every little tremble.

“that’s it,” his breath is warm as it's breathed against your core. “good girl.”

your body was still trembling, slack with aftershock when nanami finally lifted himself from between your soaked thighs. he wiped his mouth once but it did nothing— his chin was still slick, lips swollen and glistening, the faintest tint of pink glossed from where he’d devoured you.

his hands swept possessively down your sides. palms wide, calloused fingertips dragging over the curve of your waist as he guided you forward.

you gasp softly as he flips you onto your belly, nudging your hips up. your limbs felt weightless, pliant with a deep fatigue.

your knees slide against the leather, the couch creaking beneath you as he arranged you just right—in your hands and knees, back arched, ass lifted.

the cushions dipped behind you, a subtle shifting of weight as nanami knelt up. you hear the slow, metallic “zrrpp” of his zipper lowering, noticing his belt didn’t jingle. 

he’d probably already undone it while his mouth was still between your thighs.

a soft breath hisses through nanami's nose as he fists himself behind you—stroking, just once, the wet sound slick before he presses forward.

“breathe in for me,” nanami enticed, voice steady, one palm braced warm at the small of your back.

his other hand guided himself to your entrance, the tip nudging sweetly between your sobbing folds. “just a little more, sweetheart.”

he eased forward, thick inches dragging into you, stretching you inch by staggering inch.

and it ached, yet in the sweetest way—your hot, slicked walls hugging him so tight, making him curse low under his breath.

“there you go,” he murmured. “such a big girl.”

he wasn’t too long, but god, did his girth make up for it.

a thick, weighted base broad enough to stretch you wide already, the head flaring just slightly as it breached you.

by the time he bottomed out, you were trembling beneath him, hips flush, his pelvis pressing soft against the curve of your ass. stretched full. he paused, both hands gliding down to grip the lush swell of your hips.

his hips drew back, the broad head of his cock dragging slow and heavy along your sensitive walls, before rolling forward again with a deep, deliberate stroke.

“s-sooo, hngh— big,” your voice broke into a sob as your fingers curled into the cushions beneath you. your ass bounced back against his waist, cunt snug around his cock as your moans pitched higher.

the silk of his tie—still looped loose around his own throat, slid free with a soft whisper of fabric. nanami tugged it off carefully, slipping it around your throat instead. the silk hugged the delicate line of your neck as he tied it loosely, gathering the longer end in one hand.

“just so i can hold you steady, heh,” he whispered, almost like he was reassuring himself more than you.

“look at you,” nanami panted softly. “so pretty on my dick— just, hah, imagine what my son would think.”

his breathing was ragged now, heavier with each roll of his hips into yours. the tie pulled snug against your throat every time you rocked back. the next thrust was deeper this time, angling up just right as it punched a sob out of your throat.

“he didn’t know what he had,” he gritted out between strokes, the words dragging rough from somewhere deep in his chest. “i-idiot—threw away something this perfect.”

and if you didn’t know any better, it almost sounded like nanami was angry— jealous even. like the thought of you being mistreated was something he just couldn’t fathom.

his free hand dropped to your waist, steadying you as his rhythm began syncopating. the fog on his glasses was nearly opaque now, slipping low on the bridge of his nose.

and then—

your phone buzzes, followed by your tinny little singsong ringtone, the screen lighting up bright in the dim lighting of the room.

[incoming facetime: 🗑️]

you dazedly blink, barely able to register it through the heat and the fog filling your head.

“p-pick it up,” nanami murmured behind you, voice low, steady, almost too composed. you barely had the coordination, fingers fumbling for the phone. your thumb dragged across the screen, and his face filled the camera.

red. wild-eyed. breathing heavy.

“where the fuck are you? you think this is funny? i’ve been texting and calling all night—”

your face was all he could see at first. hair sticking to your damp temples. your breath shaky. eyelids heavy, barely open.

“answer me,” he barked. “are you with someone? don’t fucking lie—”

you smiled. slow. coy. “oh, i’m with. . . someone.”

“who?” he demanded, voice cracking. “tell me who it is right now, or i swear i'll be both of your asses!”

you tilt the phone. just enough.

the camera catches nanami in his perfect, damning glory— broad chest flushed with exertion, work shirt still open, tie wrapped snug around your throat. his hands heavy on your hips, muscles flexing beneath skin as he fucked into you.

your ex’s jaw dropped. “wait. is that—” his voice pitched. “is that my dad?”

you smiled wider. teeth flashing.

“what the fuck—are you out of your mind?! psycho bitch, you’re fucking insane—”

click.

call ended.

“he’s gonna lose his fucking mind,” you whispered, giggling into your own shoulder.

nanami chuckles deep and out of breath. “let him.”

you feel the way his strokes start to grow heavier, a tremble blooming deep in his thighs, hips snapping forward with less precision now.

nanami’s breath stuttered, grip flexing hard around the tie as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded to your pussy.

“i’m—ah, i’m not gonna last.” he husked, his hips jackhammering into you languidly, making you feel the full thickness of him with every stroke. your slick gushed every time he bottomed out, wet sounds shameless in the otherwise quiet room.

he was so painfully close, yet he wanted to savor this moment. wanted to have this memory seared behind his eyelids long after the night was gone.

your cries were turning breathless, slurred, the pleasure cresting sharp, almost unbearable as you felt that tightness coiling in your stomach once again. “k-kento, please—can’t—”

“don't hold back,” he husked, his breath catching in his throat. “you earned it, sweetheart. let go.”

you nodded frantically, unable to form anything coherent as your release slammed into you hard. violent. white flashes of pleasure detonating in your stomach and ripping through your body.

“fuckfuckfuckfuuck— ” your lashes batted, tiny choked whines spilling from your mouth as his cock twitched deep inside you, swelling thicker, the heavy weight of it pressing into every sensitive nerve as your walls milked him greedily.

nanami's hips faltered, pace stuttering into a sloppy rhythm as he scrambled, releasing the tie from around your throat with a quick, careful tug as he pulled out.

before you could even whine, you feel the heavy weight of his cock dragging up—resting thick and flushed against the dip of your spine.

his breath is broken into low moans, and you barely had a second before the hot, sticky ropes of his release spilled across your back, striping messy against your skin.

just in time.

nanami’s head bowed, blonde strands falling loose from where they’d slipped behind his glasses. you could feel the tremble in his thighs, rolling through his entire body as his climax overcame him.

and for a moment, all you could hear was both of your breaths—deep, messy, syncing. the air smelled like sex. musk. your juices still wet between your legs.

he lingered there for a second longer, hips pressed forward, until he finally exhaled slow.

“shit,” nanami muttered breathlessly. “did i— was that too much?”

his voice cracked gentle now, worried.

your laugh came out light, breathless, sweet—finding his worriedness nothing short of sweet. “no. not at all. felt so good.”

he hummed, quiet relief softening the crease of his brow as he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the back of your neck.

“but i guess uh, father’s day is ruined. oops.”

@ssorenz™ do not, copy, repost or translate anywhere without my knowledge.

[harbingerofwhump]

Do people realize that you can. Not enjoy rap music because you just don't generally enjoy it? Y'all know you don't have to try to construct some Progressive Leftist Justification (that really just ends up being racist) for not enjoying it right? The style can just generally... not appeal to you? And that's fine?

[n00dleb0yy]

I'm sorry what

[celestial-kestrel]

It's that time of year again where Mari Lwyd starts to be talked about and shared around and an INCREDIBLY misleading post gets shared a lot. As someone who grew up with Mari Lwyd I wanted to clear some things up.

Also hello, if you are unaware who Mari Lwyd is. This is about the Welsh tradition of the horse skull who visits houses during the Christmas to New Years period in Wales asking for alcohol.

First off and probably the most important one:

Mari Lwyd is not a cryptid!

I can not emphasise this enough. She. Is. Not. A. Cryptid. There is no story or mystery about a ghost or zombie horse roaming the Welsh valleys. She's not even supposed to be a ghost or a zombie. It's just a horse skull on a stick with a guy under a sheet. She's a hobbyhorse and a folk character used to tell Welsh stories and keep songs alive. When people spread the misinformation that she's a cryptid, it's the equivalent of saying Kermit the Frog is a cryptid.

She is actually only one character in a wider cast of characters who go door to door or, in more modern times, pub to pub. The cast of characters can change town to town and village to village but there are some common ones I see time and time again. The Leader, the Merryman, The Jester and The Lady are just some I see regularly. Punch and Judy used to be more popular a few years ago but I haven't seen them in a while as their tradition has mostly fallen out of popularity. In most cases, almost the whole cast will be played by men. Even the characters are considered and referred to as female. Though this again depends and varies by which group is partaking in the Mari Lwyd tradition.

This point also goes onto my second point,

Mari Lwyd does not rap.

I think this comes from a very common misunderstanding of what rap is vs spoken word. Rap is a very specific style of music originating from the African American communities of the USA and has it's own structure and motifs unique to it. It's a lot more complex than people give it credit for as a style of music and just flippantly assign anything similar to it as being rap. If someone is talking fast or reciting poetry, it is not rap. Or anything that is an exchange of words between two people is not a rap battle. Mari Lwyd does not do rap, actually something that gets left out of these posts is the fact Mari Lwyd does not even speak. It's actually the Leader, who does all the speaking and song based banter between the house/pub owner for entry. Mari Lwyd just clicks her mouth, bites people and bobs her head around.

I think Mari Lwyd is a really beautiful and unique part of Welsh culture. She's not actually as wildly celebrated as a lot of the posts make her out to be. Actually, I think most Welsh people themselves learn about Mari Lwyd through the internet as well. Her popularity is increasing thanks to the drive of local groups wanting to keep the traditions alive and a renewed desire to document Welsh traditions before they're gone. Which is why it's such a shame that she's turned into something she's not to earn horror points on the internet. I think this is why it bothers me so much to see the misunderstandings of the culture and the folk tradition. Mari Lwyd's origin is very hot debated as well as how long it's been going on for. But I think it's thanks to a lot of traditions like this that the Welsh language and our stories weren't lost forever. Welsh culture is recovering as is the language. But it's still in a very fragile place. I think it's why it's important to document and correct information when it's spread.

Anyway, if you want to see the tradition in action, here's a lovely video from the Cwmafan RFC going to one of the pubs for charity. It includes the song exchange with the pub owner for entry and the whole pub singing and joining in once Mari Lwyd and the rest are inside.

As well with another video from St Fagan's showcasing the more traditional and door to door form with the larger cast.

[murderofravens]

DUSK TILL DAWN

pairing: hwang inho/young-il/frontman x fem reader.

part: 1/3 [finished]

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, inho is in his late 40s) slowburn. oral fixation. thigh riding. plot with porn. yearning. sexual tension. canon compliant. slight infantilization. no y/n used.

summary: he promised that you will make it out alive. he will make sure of it, no matter what it takes.

word count: 6.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

please ignore any mistakes.

as you wipe the blood from your face, the reality of your situation sets in. you never thought you'd get used to the smell of blood— much less the sight of it. or the texture. and now you're covered in it. the white of your uniform splattered with crimson, the metallic smell of it almost overwhelming. in a situation like the one you're in, you can only laugh. the mere sight of blood used to make you feel faint; make you want to throw up because you're squeamish. now you're covered in it from head to toe.

it's not yours. it's of the people they shot dead during the second game.

you barely remember how you made it out alive. the second one was all thanks to your team— thanos and nam-gyu were the closest to your age, and teaming up with them worked in your favour. your age and gender was a liability to the others, but they were kind enough to take you in. or perhaps they were thinking with their dicks. would it really matter either way?

but with the way they act, you're not sure if you want to continue being in a team with them. especially since thanos keeps trying to woo you with his poor rapping skills. they're way too loud and reckless for you, and you're scared they might get you killed. they're not willing to give up the game anytime soon, either.

then there's the first game— you're alive, because of 456. that crazy man who supposedly had played the games before. if it wasn't for him pulling you behind his back, you would've left the premises in a cardboard box. especially because you fucking sneezed as soon as the doll turned back.

since then, you've decided you don't want to play this game anymore. 456 has been desperately trying to change the other's mind— but they're greedy and insistent. you pressed the cross for his sake, and for the others, and for yourself. hell, you can live in debt, but what use is that money if you die trying? you're not that much of a hard worker. you value your life above anything else.

you walk over to their team— 456, and his two loud team members. another man is sitting there— player 001. the one who ruined your chance of going home on the first vote. he seems ordinary, but you know of him because you saw him beat the shit out of thanos. that was another reason you decided to abandon that team— you could not be seen with a bully, or a loser. as you approach him, you give him a slight nod of acknowledgement, which he returns. you turn your attention to 456, and thank him profusely for what he did for you. he's kind, you'll give him that. you like kind people.

"if you don't mind me asking—" a voice interrupts, and you look over your shoulder. it's player 001. he looks at you curiously. "how old are you?"

"old enough." you retort cheekily. he doesn't look amused as he cocks his head to the side.

"i'm curious as to why a little kid like you would compromise herself for money."

that shuts you up. you're offended, to say the least. who is he to call you a little kid? the entire team also looks on, seemingly baffled. the question makes sense. you're sure you're the youngest out of all players. and people can tell because you look it too. you don't really know how to respond, so you just look on with a frown, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"forgive me—" he lets out an awkward chuckle, "i didn't mean it the wrong way. i'm just worried."

you give him an uneasy smile, rubbing the back of your neck. the others go back to their conversations, and you shrug. he shoots a glance towards gi-hun before sitting back down and shifting slightly, as if making room for you. you take a seat beside him. there's silence before he glances at the symbol on your jacket— the cross.

"i'm sorry." he says with a small smile, looking straight ahead, "you wanted to go home but you had to continue because of me. i put a kid in danger."

"i'm not a kid," you huff softly, straightening up, "i'm twenty. but yeah, you should be sorry."

you give him a small smile to ensure he knows that the last line is lighthearted. he seems to understand and returns it.

"dont worry about it," you sigh, fiddling with the zip of your jacket, "im sure you had your reasons. just like i have mine for coming here."

"and your parents?" he asks. he's so polite, it warms your heart. polite and soft spoken. and visibly tough. probably some officer, you think, judging by his skills you previously saw.

"that's what i need the money for." you sigh, leaning back against the bunker. "i need enough money to establish myself. continue my studies. bring my mom and my sister to come live with me. settle off my father's debts because he's a coward who decided to pass down his sins onto his daughter."

he raises his eyebrows, and you take a sharp breath. there's a moment of silence between you two— you think for a moment, and feel your eyes get slightly glassy. you're not going to cry in front of a stranger. you put on a brave face. "if i die here, my mother—"

he stares at you silently, before putting a comforting hand on your shoulder, interrupting your cursed sentence. "you'll make it out alive."

the doors open, and the staff comes in again. they reveal the number of players left, showcase the money that each person would get, and then the voting starts again.

this time, player 001 doesn't disappoint you. he goes first, and clicks on the cross. the hope it gives you eventually shatters as more and more players begin to vote in favour of continuing the game. you see 456 get increasingly agitated as he begins to make his way towards the front of the crowd. before he can speak, he's interrupted.

001's voice rings out loud and authoritative, and worried. he reprimands the voters in favour, calls them out on their selfishness.

"we'll all die if we keep playing!" he chastises the crowd urgently. "you have to survive first, or there won't be a next step—"

"there's no next step for us!" he's interrupted by player 100. a stout old man who had been at odds against 456 since the start— you remember him having 10 billion won in debt. it makes you snicker. he eggs on the crowd. "with that money, we won't be able to pay our debts. we need to play one more game, then the money will increase to 240 million. with that we can pay atleast a little of our debts! isn't that right!?"

"you're going to die trying!" you snap, making your way to the front of the crowd. you glare at player 100, at all his little supporters cheering at the back. "your greed is going to get you killed. how can you be so confident to say that you'll survive the next game? what if you die?"

"you shut up, young lady!" he hisses, mouth scrunching bitterly. "is that how you speak to your elders? your brain is too small to comprehend real life problems. we can't continue with our lives with that little money!"

"continue your lives?" a laugh bubbles out of your throat. "look at that greying head of yours, you barely have a life ahead of you! why don't you let us live ours?!"

that seems to have ticked him off, because he quite literally turns red as he takes a threatening step towards you.

"what did you just say?"

"i said—" you step forward, shooting him a challenging glare, "you're too old to be playing children's games. vote wisely and let us go home."

he lets out a snarl before trying to lunge at you, but you're pulled back as player 001 steps between the two of you. like a wall. he looks at the old man, eyes cold, his voice low. "that's enough."

since the incident with thanos, nobody has really tried anything with 001. it's obvious enough they're intimidated by him, and they don't want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. 100 doesn't either, with the way he collects himself and steps back, embarrassed. you look over 001's shoulder, make eye contact with the old man and shoot him a taunting smile. you know it's childish, but you've resented him from the start.

before the old man can say anything, player 001 drags you to the side where you can't argue with people anymore. and the voting continues.

"you can't talk to people like this," he says lowly, gaze focused on the crowd. staring at something that you can't figure out. "you never know what they might do."

you huff bitterly. you know what he means.

"i don't care. i fucking hate bullies."

"potty mouth." he chastises, but theres a smirk on his face. he's teasing. you chuckle.

"remember you need to get out of here alive." he repeats, looking at you with an intensity that is almost terrifying. "you can't do that if you keep this up."

"jeez, okay dad." you joke, rolling your eyes. your words make him smile lightly.

"thanks for having my back there." you tell him sincerely. he looks at you for a bit before nodding in acknowledgement.

the voting ends, and they announce that the games will continue tomorrow. it makes your heart drop.

that night, you feel uneasy when you try to sleep. your clothes stick to your skin, and the side of your face keeps itching. with an irritated grumble, you get off the bunker and walk over to your new friend's side. you squint your eyes before looking for 001— and when you find him, you gently shake him.

"are you sleeping?" you whisper.

he opens his eyes, wincing slightly before sitting up. his voice is hushed as he responds, "not anymore. what is it?"

you bite your lower lip nervously before reluctantly asking, "will you go to the restroom with me? i'm kinda scared to go alone."

he blinks at you, confused. you continue out of sheer desperation.

"those guards just stare weirdly with their weird little masks and it makes me nervous." you hope your voice doesn't shake as you speak. "last time one of them kept knocking on the door while i was in the washroom and it just— scared the shit out of me. and my face is itching and i really need to go. please?"

he listens patiently. for a moment you think he'd decline but he just sighs and nods, and you cheer just a little as he steps out and follows you to the door. you bang on it, loudly telling the guards that you need to go. one of them opens the sliding window, and then immediately opens the door. it makes you feel strange, because usually it takes a lot more effort to convince them. either way, you're grateful.

you know your better option would've been to take one of the girls with you, but the sad fact is you haven't had the chance to get friendly with any of the female players yet. and for some reason, player 001 makes you feel a sense of safety and security that is almost strange— you feel at ease around him.

"i'll be in the men's room," he tells you, and you nod. he shoots a glance to the guard standing outside the women's restroom before walking away. you quickly go inside, and the first thing you do is splash water on your face.

you quickly clean the blood off your skin, holding back the urge to cry. you scrub at your cheeks till you're sure you can scratch the itch away for good. your nails dig a little too deep, and a little blood oozes out of the scratches on the side of your face. you clean that too, and then try to scrub the splatters of blood off your t-shirt. it's white, and you have no soap— so the stains remain. a faint reminder. you take your time, and anticipate the knocking— but it never comes.

you look in the mirror, at your tired face and sunken eyes, before giving yourself a nod and stepping out. 001 is waiting for you outside, looking to the side. he gives you an odd look as you step out, before walking alongside you.

"are you alright?" he asks gently, concerned. kind as ever.

you look at him again, give him a nod. "thank you."

when you two reach the room, he returns the smile with one of his own.

as you make your way to the bunker, he grabs your shoulder, "why don't you start sleeping on our side?" he says quietly, "join the team. there's a bed near mine. you won't feel so scared that way."

you blink, trying to see his face in the darkness. the offer is enticing— and most of all, it warms your heart.

"really?" you ask hopefully.

"really." he says kindly.

you follow him to the bunker, and he covers the railing with his hand to avoid you getting hurt as you bend down to get into the bed. he looks at the slightly wet patches on your shirt— blinks before getting a bedsheet and putting it over you. "get some sleep. we got a game to play tomorrow."

you smile softly at him. as he turns to get into his own bed, you grab his hand. it's warm against yours— big and rough. you don't allow your mind to drift that way. it's not right. he looks at you, gaze questioning.

"thanks again," you say softly, "it means a lot to me."

he leans down a little to ruffle your hair before going back to his bed and laying down. you close your eyes and drift to sleep— unaware that he stays up, thinking.

breakfast is boring— bread and milk. you sit on the bed, scowling. player 456 is surprised as he sees you there, before you two share understanding smiles. you bow a little and he bows back before going along with his friend. 001 comes to sit by you then, munching on his own breakfast.

"i miss home," you mumble, "how am i supposed to survive on just this? it's not even chocolate milk."

001 laughs, "don't worry, you can have whatever you want once you get out of here."

"will i?"

he looks at you, raising his eyebrows. you take his silence as a cue to continue, "im scared i'll die in here."

he looks down, before shifting to be closer to you. "you made it this far, didn't you?"

you look at him, voice getting shaky. "and what if i dont make it till the end? what if i die here and my family thinks i abandoned them? i don't want to die. i haven't even lived my life yet."

his expression is hard to read. "you'll make it out of here alive," he tells you with conviction, "ill make sure of it."

your lips wobble as you stare at him, and he smiles before poking you in the nose. "finish your food. you need the energy for the next game. we'll make it out alive, then we'll try to get the voters on our side and go home. sound good?"

you snort, rolling your eyes before nodding. "sounds good."

he gives you his bread then, tells you to eat more. when you protest, he sends a warning glare your way— the one with a quirked eyebrow and a knowing gaze. you roll your eyes, and happily eat it.

you were hungry. perhaps he can tell things like that. you're just grateful.

today, you decided to be a little rebellious. when you first joined the games, you used to spend a long time in the bathrooms— analyzing, looking for a way out. during that time, you'd discovered that one of the screws in the ceiling vent was loose. you hadn't really bothered checking it before, but since it's daytime and you have some time before the next game, you decide to explore.

your hairclip works— the screws were not tightly fixed, so it unscrewed easily. you'd contemplated checking it out last night, but you didn't want to take any risks, especially since player 001 was with you. so now whatever you do, the responsibility will be yours.

when the bathroom gets empty and all the women leave, you pull it down and try climbing up. it's moments like these that you can pride yourself on your agility— work that usually required two people, you could do alone. with one leg on the flush and the other on the top of the cubicle, you climbed up, scratching the side of your arm slightly before finally getting in the vents. you groaned to yourself, and then started crawling inside. there were two ways to go— you chose the left one. you looked down, trying to understand the layout of the place where you were practically held hostage. you keep crawling, making sure not to make too much noise before finally seeing a place through the gaps that you hadn't seen before— you carefully remove the screws and pull it apart.

the place looks empty. the walls are all sorts of pink and green. you put your head down and look both ways, seeing a door at the end of the hallway. carefully, you climb down and lower yourself to the ground with a thump. your shoulder hurts a little. you stand up, and aim for the door. as soon as you begin walking, you hear footsteps. it's as if someone splashed cold water on you— you realize the grave mistake you just made. guards walk here with guns, and you made the impulsive decision to explore a dangerous place like this by yourself?

you look around, running towards the other end of the hallway. the footsteps get louder, and as you look over your shoulder, something grabs you. out of reflex, you go to scream, but a hand clamps down on your mouth, and your back collides with a hard chest.

"shh, it's me." the voice hisses. your wide eyes look up, scared, before realizing who it is.

player 001.

your chest heaves as you break out into a sweat, a tear rolling down your cheek. he keeps you in a tight hold, looking to the side, your breath dampening his hand. the footsteps suddenly become faint, as if walking away. your breaths sync together, and after a moment, he relaxes.

he takes his hand off your mouth before harshly twisting you to face him. his voice is hushed but angry, "what were you thinking?!"

"what are you doing here?" you whisper shakily at the same time.

"everyone was back in the room except you. i came to find you!" he chides, eyes hard. he shakes you slightly, "do you really plan to get killed like this? is this how you want to die? can you go one moment without being a reckless brat—"

his words make you want to cower in on yourself.

"i wanted to find a way out." you try to sound assertive, but your voice betrays you. your words come out panicked, "I wanted to help and— fuck— i got you in trouble too— you shouldn't have come looking for me! fuck— how are we gonna make it out of here?"

he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you tiredly. "the game is about to start. we'll mix in with the crowd when they leave, i doubt they'll notice."

"are you sure it'll work?" you ask. you hear a faint announcement. the game is about to start.

he looks up at the speakers, alert. he grabs you tightly and drags you away with an air of confidence. "let's go."

you don't encounter any guards on the way back. it's strange, but you figure it's because they're all preparing for the next game. player 001's plan worked, because you two mixed in with the crowd, and the guards didn't notice. one of them turned back to look at you, and you panted, staring back at him. your heart raced, but you felt the presence of 001 next to you, and you felt at ease again. the guard looked away.

"i told you to stop being reckless." he says quietly, looking at 456 and 390, before looking back at you. your legs hurt from climbing so many stairs. "what would you have done if they found you?"

you swallow the lump in your throat, staring up at him intensely, eyes glassy. he saved your life. "i guess you stopped that from happening."

he clenches his jaw, his gaze flickering up and down your face before looking away. "i won't always be there to save you."

you look away, heart dropping. "thank you, 001."

"call me young-il."

you look up at him, blinking back tears, quirking an eyebrow as you two walk. "only if you allow me to add 'sir' at the end of it."

he chuckles, eyes crinkling. he has such a nice laugh. "why's that? respect?"

you nod, giving a little bow. "respect is very important in my culture as well. so thank you for saving my life, young-il sir."

he grins a little and pats your head. you thank him again, and decide you like him enough. so you tell him your name.

he tests it on his tongue, and you quite like the way he says it.

the next game had to be the most terrifying so far.

it was called mingle, and you had to run to the rooms in groups according to the number announced. things like these were where you got scared— where you had to group with people. in dangerous situations, you know people usually only look out for two types of people— themselves, and the ones dearest to them.

you were not dear to anyone here. you really should've interacted with more people.

the platform rotates, before the number is announced. six. your eyes widen and you frantically look around, but young-il is faster. he grabs you and drags you to the room with the rest of the team. you pant as the 30 seconds pass, and then look out the window in the door to see how many people were left— quite a few. your eyes widen as the red guards move forward with their guns raised.

young-il leaps forward and covers your eyes with his hand before pulling you into himself as the gunshots ring out— you flinch and shudder at every single one, breathing sharp and your entire frame trembling violently. when there is silence and the doors open, you look up. young-il gently lets go of you, looking around. he's panting too, and you look at him with the most crushed look on your face before he meets your gaze. he can tell what you want to know— why would you do that?

"you shouldn't have to see all this." he says quietly, adjusting his jacket and putting a little distance between you two. 456 pats your shoulder and makes sure people are okay before moving out. you just look at young-il for a while, but he simply looks around, seemingly lost in thought. as if fighting a war within himself. you wish you knew how to reassure him like he did with you, but you realize you barely know anything about him.

the entire floor is painted with blood. the sight makes you want to vomit. you walk carefully, but your foot slips in someone's blood and you begin to fall over. 456 catches you. "are you alright?"

instinctively, your gaze tries to find young-il but he's standing away. his head is lowered.

"yes, thank you." you give 456 a smile, before assuming your place on the platform again.

you play a few more rounds. you're lucky enough to have someone to team with each time— young-il and 456 don't let go of you even once. but then the voice runs out again, and they announce the number 3. this time, 456 is dragged along with the old woman and her son. you look around frantically, and meet young-il's panicked gaze with your own. you begin to run towards him, but two people grab you and drag you towards one of the rooms.

thanos and nam-gyu. you shriek at them, clawing at their arms and trying to run back out. what if young-il doesn't make it? what if something bad happens?

this time, you have no one to cover your eyes or ears. thanos and nam-gyu talk shit within themselves, and you look outside the little window, flinching with every gunshot ringing out, trying to pinpoint if it's young-il's body falling to the ground. you can't help the light sob erupting from your throat, and thanos chooses the wrong moment to come bother you.

"watcha looking for, señorita?" he laughs, poking your side, "is it your old man? did he finally—"

you turn to him and punch him in the face. he falls back and groans dramatically, rubbing the blood running down his nose. nam-gyu rushes to his rescue, giggling. they're both high as a kite. the doors open, and you rush out before they can bother you further.

you look around. 456 is with the rest of the team, but you can't find young-il. frantically, you look towards the dead bodies, heart pounding against your chest and head throbbing. suddenly, there's cheers from your team, and you look up to see young-il walking over with a bright grin on his face.

you don't know what compelled you to do it. you were acting on your emotions— overwhelmed by the relief you felt on the sight of his face. before you can even stop, you're dashing towards him and crashing into his body, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

he's shocked, that much is obvious by the way he tenses slightly. but then he returns the hug, wrapping his arms around you and placing one hand on your head, gently patting. "i told you we'd make it."

you choke on a soft sob, nodding, burying your head further into his chest, as if ready to climb inside him, "i thought you—"

he shushes you softly, voice gentle as he runs a hand through your hair. you can feel his heart racing against his chest too. you wonder if it's for the same reasons as you. "i'm okay."

you wish the game ended there. but there was one more round to go. as you rotated on the platform— the moment you were dreading finally happened as young-il predicted it. the number announced was two.

you were ready to die there. things seemed to happen in slow motion— 456 took his best friend 390, 149 was dragged by her son. you didn't get the chance to see who took who next, because young-il had grabbed your hand and was dragging you towards one of the rooms. there were only fifty rooms— the first one you two got to was taken. he dragged you to another with a mere ten seconds left.

you sighed in relief as you got in, before seeing another man was already there. he was shaking in fear, and you jumped at the harshness of young-il's voice when he ordered him to get out. when the other player refused, young-il lunged at him and put him in a headlock.

your eyes widened and you stepped forward, panic stricken but he looked right at you and called your name, "close your eyes!"

you flinched. you looked at the man, then at young-il, before squeezing your eyes shut. you slid to the floor, pulling your knees to your chest as soon as you heard a 'crack' before opening your eyes.

the player was dead. young-il cracked his neck.

the timer finished at that exact moment, and young-il crawled over to you before pulling you into his chest. the gunshots rang out, and you flinched, sobbing.

young-il killed someone.

"i had to do it," he whispered against your hair, holding your head against his chest, "we both have to make it out alive. i had to do it. you know that right?"

you wanted to believe him, you really did. but in that moment, you felt scared of him for the first time.

the doors opened, and the game finished.

while you wanted to revel in your victory, the incident during mingle had rattled you to your core. the others checked up on you, especially 388 and 456. young-il maintained some distance. you could feel like he thought it's what you wanted. but you could really use his comfort. you just don't know how to talk to him again without being nervous. you force yourself to relive your previous interactions with him— he's still the same young-il who has saved you and comforted you countless times.

he did what he had to do to ensure your survival. that wasn't something you could hold against him. not when both of your lives were on the line.

the voting this time was just as challenging. you made your way to the front of the crowd, praying that they'd choose wisely this time. you need to go home.

one of the players in the old man's team showed you the finger before clicking the 'o' button. the action made your eye twitch, and you grit your teeth before straightening up to attack that guy and scratch his face off, but a hand to your chest held you back.

if looks could kill, young-il's glare could've sent that guy home in a body bag. as the votes in favour of continuing the game increased, you pushed his hand off you and addressed the crowd, "have you all lost your fucking minds?!"

their chitter chatter stopped and they looked at you. you clench your jaw, "after losing so many people out there you still want to play? what the fuck is wrong with you people? are human lives that invaluable to you?"

player 100 steps forward, insufferable as always. "don't you see how much money we're getting for each person? it could settle our debt! we can't give up after how far we've come."

"you're gonna die!" you snap, pointing at him, "you could take this money and go home and be happy instead of risking your life for something that is not assured to you! why won't you listen?! i want to go home!"

the others in favour of terminating the game start chanting with you, a string of 'i want to go home' echoing across the room.

player 100 glares, urging his own team to chant against you. he looks towards young-il, yells something along the lines of, "look after your fucking kid!" before the barell of a gun presses against the back of your head. the whole room freezes, and so do you.

"disruptions against a democratic vote will not be excused." the robotic voice calls out. for a second you think this is it. you look at young-il. if you die here, you'd prefer the man who saved your life to be the last person you see. he glares at the guard, his jaw clenching. the guard lowers the gun and steps back and you let out a breath of relief.

you immediately saunter over to him, gritting your teeth. the vote is a tie— and they announce the next voting to be held tomorrow.

456 says there's about to be a fight. the rest of the team got busy setting up a barricade— and you didn't get the chance to talk to your player. you knew his concern though, when he made sure to especially hide your side of the bed with two mattresses.

you play with the hem of your shirt as you sit in your bed by your lonesome. your food sits by you, untouched. you dont feel like eating. the weight on the bed shifts, and young-il appears into view.

"you're not eating."

you swallow the lump in your throat. "i don't feel like it."

he contemplates, eyes lowered before he looks at you again. "im sorry you had to witness that. I don't want you to be scared of me."

you want to cry. "im not." you whisper, "you.. you had to do what you had to do. to save us."

he blinks, nodding.

"back there, i thought that was it. it's over." you chuckle bitterly. "but you saved me again. you acted on impulse. i could never resent you for it."

your eyes are bloodshot as you look at him again. fat tears roll down your cheeks, and he frowns. he sighs before leaning closer, brushing the tears away. "why are you crying?"

"i wouldn't have survived this far if it wasn't for you." you whisper, voice cracking. "promise me you wouldn't abandon me. promise me you won't die."

his gaze softens. he's silent for a bit, his hand coming to rest on your knee, "i promise."

you sniffle, wiping your tears away. a small smile appears on your face, "i punched thanos."

"thanos?" he frowns, confused before raising his eyebrows in recognition, "ah, the loud kid with the purple hair?"

you nod proudly. "he said something like 'did 001 finally die?' so i punched him."

he laughs heartily— face scrunching cutely, eyes crinkling. he shakes his head fondly before ruffling your hair again. "attagirl."

it makes you blush slightly and you smile, looking down at your lap. he grabs your dinner— the roll sitting next to you and unwraps it, taking out a piece before holding it out, "eat."

you snort before leaning forward and taking a bite. he looks at you for a while with that faraway look in his eyes, before wordlessly continuing to feed you the rest. the words go unsaid. 'what are we doing? why are we so comfortable with each other?'

some sauce sticks to the corner of your mouth. he raises his hand to hold your chin, his thumb gently wiping it off. your breath hitches.

neither of you protest when his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, gaze focused on it like he's hypnotized. he's thinking, mindlessly feeling the plush texture of it.

you've always been impulsive. especially in situations where you shouldn't be. it happens so naturally— how your lips part just slightly. and maybe he's impulsive too, because his thumb slips inside, and his breath hitches as soon as your lips wrap around his thumb.

his gaze raises to meet yours— and you blink almost dazedly. his thumb presses down on your tongue, and he calls out your name in the softest voice.

"i'm too old for you." he whispers, shaking his head in disapproval.

your eyes flutter, and you lean forward, grabbing hold of his wrist. he pulls his thumb out, and you almost whine in protest. to your utter delight, he replaces it with two of his fingers, and your eyes almost roll back as you crawl forward till you're situated on his lap, mouth stuffed with his index and middle finger. you suck on them enthusiastically. they're long and thick and perfect and you don't want them out of your mouth ever again. it elicits a soft moan out of him— and if you could put that sound on repeat for the rest of your life, you'd be happy.

he pulls his fingers out and grabs the back of your head, pulling you close till your foreheads press together. you try to lean forward, to capture his lips with your own. he chuckles slightly, eyes closed, playfully rubbing his nose against yours. you whine.

"so impatient." he whispers, and then his lips are colliding with yours. it would be embarrassing if someone were to catch you two like this— more so for him than for you. thankfully, the others are busy strategizing for the night, and are not looking for either of you.

you moan softly and he bites down on your bottom lip, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth. it's desperate and reckless and so full of spit— it makes you whimper into his mouth and he pulls you further into himself, as if telling you to shut up. his experience is obvious in the way he kisses, and you follow his lead. unknowingly, your hips start gently grinding against his thigh, and he lets out a soft hiss. he pulls away slightly, strings of saliva connecting your mouths. he licks it away.

"come on, sweetheart," he whispers, one hand coming down to help your hips grind against his thigh, "make yourself feel good— that's it, that's my good girl."

you moan softly, and his free hand clamps your mouth shut. he speeds his movement, clenching and unclenching the muscle of his thigh, guiding your hips to move faster against his lap. it's been so long since you've masturbated— and this is unarguably the hottest situation you've ever been in, with the hottest man you've ever seen. so you're already close. you cry out into his hand, your voice muffled. he understands what you mean and lets you move on your own speed then, pulling your head into the crook of his neck as he whispers soft words of praise into your ear.

the moment he calls you his good girl again, you cum. he muffles the sound with his hand, squeezing his eyes shut before he looks at you intensely. you collapse against him, slightly sweaty, your hands holding onto his shoulders as you cling to him. he runs his hand through your hair, breathing sharply. it's a small moment of bliss in the hell you've found yourself in.

soon, the lights go out, and dread settles in your stomach once you feel his body tensing. player 388 pulls one of the mattresses back slightly, hisses a quick "get under the bed!"

and the next game begins.

A/N: this was incredibly fun to write. i love writing him a little soft and fatherly, so deal with it. i might write a part 2 for this, if anyone wants that. this idea has been in my head for a while. i love him so, so much. this fic is my baby and i truly hope you guys like reading it as much as i liked writing it.

tags! @carolinevoight @lovers-roq @wildtigerlili @menabuser16 @deadlyobsessivfennec @watasinekoru @hanakokunzz @cowuies