#This is all Honda's fault

[waru-chan8]

I need Honda and Mooney to close their line ups because that is blocking Moto2 grid.

Like D'antic and Master Camp both want Fermín but he won't say anything waiting for Mooney, and they are waiting for Honda. And Honda is refusing to make a decision until Mooney have a replacement.

Also Master Camp is interested in Alonso if they can't get Fermín.

Peak of Silly season

[ensigntii]

CRIES IN NO VCR THAT CAN PLAY JAPANESE TAPES AND NO STORAGE SPACE

(Anyone want to lend me the €350 + shipping and import taxes for them anyways? /j)

Yoinked from this listing on Neokyo

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[anaon-ash]

☠︎︎🕸𖤐 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𖤐🕸 ☠︎︎

𝙃𝙖𝙢𝙯𝙖𝙝𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙓𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧! 𝙩𝙤𝙭𝙞𝙘 𝙚𝙭 𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝘼����

Contains: Explicit language, Gaslighting, Use of pet names, Use of Y/N, Drugs/Alcohol, Smut (Established Relationship obviously)

Summary: Hamzah sits outside of your house at 2am and texts you from a text now number (you blocked him lol). He asks you to come outside and invites you over for a drink and a blunt and to talk, but you know exactly where this is really going and you fold anyways.

Authors note:THIS IS SUPERR LONG so im sorry, i was rlly scared to publish this as this is my first written work on tumblr so i really hope you all like it and let me know how you feel about it! enjoy it, freak

The quiet rumble of the engine of Hamzahs car reverberates throughout the silent neighborhood in the early hours of the night before it stops in front of your house. He picks up his phone and navigates to the text now app, his finger hovers above it, unsure if he should go through with his intentions tonight.

You and Hamzah struggle staying away from each other, you dated for 2 months before you had your first of MANY breakups, on and off. He was toxic, and that brought out the worst in you. It felt like it impossible to go a week without arguing and you could never really pinpoint if it was your fault or his, he’s a manipulator, possessive and controlling of you and you hate it. You hate that you can’t do anything, you hate that somehow ALL of your friends are bad for you, you hate how he talks to you, you hate how he hurts you and does something that makes it ok then you forgive him just as quickly as it happened. And you especially hate that you know all of this and somehow you keep falling for it.

That’s why you weren’t surprised when you heard a notification that woke you up at 2 am.

————————

Unknown Number

“Come outside.”

“Who is this?”

“You know exactly who this is, come outside y/n”

“I just want to talk.”

————————

“Oh my fucking god.”

You set your phone down and ran your hands through your hair, balling your fists up in the strands. You dont know if you can forgive him after what happened in your last argument that led up to yet another breakup.. And honestly…You dont know if you can take this splitting up and reconciliation cycle anymore either.

You drop your hands to your sides and sigh loudly.

“If i go out there… it’s going to be to end whatever we have going on… i can’t do this anymore.”

You sit up and grab your phone, sliding your feet into the slippers by your bed, they were soft and provided you something to use to ground yourself.. to remind yourself that this time, isn’t going to be like the last times..

You take a deep breath and walk downstairs, grabbing your house keys from your coffee table and softly closing and locking the door behind you. Stepping outside you feel the cold breeze of the beginnings of a blizzard.

It was dark, only the light from the lampposts outside and hamzahs headlights were visible. Slowly You began to walk to his car, psyching yourself up into being strong and setting boundaries for once.

You lightly tap on the window, and hamzahs gaze meets yours, the corners of his mouth pulling into a smirk before pressing the button to unlock the door.

“Hey.” his voice calm and laced with something softer than normal. “Hi hamzah.” You reply stedily, closing the door and plopping down into the seat.

You missed this car, it was an older beat up red honda with lord knows how many miles on it and lord knows how many memories. The cloth on the seats were covered in burn holes from all of the joints and cigarettes smoked in it, and it smelled like those same cigs poorly covered up by one of those little trees you put on your rear-view mirror.

You look around and you can still see the reminants of the stickers you put on his dash and notice he still has the poloroid picture of you and him still on his sun-visor.

Both of you sit in silence for a moment, simply taking each other in, he’s wearing black sweats and a stupid hoodie with the words“nap queen” on it. His hair is just finally starting to grow out after he shaved it and bleached it blonde, its definitely one of his best looks.

“How are you..?” He finally asks after a pause “Hamzah. please.. I came here to talk and talk only. Don’t try to make this into something it isn’t.” You cautioned, sounding more like you were trying to convince yourself more than him.

“I didnt want to feel like a divorced couple begrudgingly speaking to each other over the shared custody of their kids” Hamzah chuckled

“I was hoping this could be casual and we could maybe smoke a little” he smiled before pulling a joint and mini bottles of alcohol out of the middle console “And I have some shots too if you’re down.”

“I dont know hamzah..” You mumbled “Come on y/n.. This doesn’t have to be hard.” He pleaded, slightly tilting his head to the side and gazing into your eyes “we can take it easy..”

He was so good with his words, so good at convincing you of anything..

You bit the skin off your lip and looked away at the ground and thought about his proposal before you hesitantly agreed. “Fine. But im serious. im only here to talk about what happened and…”

You clench your jaw before stopping yourself from speaking.. There’s no way you can tell him you want to go no contact right now right off the bat.. Maybe after a joint and a few shots you’ll have a bit more courage.

“And?” he questioned. “Nothing.” You stated, before you took the 2 mini bottles of fireball from his hand and downed them, his eyes widened and looked at you clearly shocked “okay! yeah! that works.”

He quipped, placing the joint between his lips and lighting it cautiously. The lighter illuminated his features with a soft orange glow, highlighting his plump lips, his sharp jaw, and focused eyes. He takes a few puffs trying to get the ember to catch before handing it to you and placing his hand non-chalantly behind the headrest of your seat.

Hamzah watches intently as you take your first toke and inhale, the smoke filling your lungs almost without any control before you exhale, coughing and gasping before you grab the nearest room temperature half dranken waterbottle in his cupholder and guzzle it down.

You could see hamzah stupidly grinning in your peripheral vision at your reaction and you couldn’t help but to crack your first smile since you entered his car.

You felt the tension you first had, start to dissipate and the energy of the space changed into something else, something more relaxed. The weed and the alcohol were combining into something beyond you.

“There you go.. that’s the pretty girl I know..” Hamzah softly spoke, there was a permanent smile etched onto your face and you didn’t even realize it..he reached out and lightly took the joint from your fingers, your hands slightly grazing one another.

in your excited state, it felt like lightning, all your senses were amplified by 100 and you could feel.. everything. your ankles slightly exposed from your pjs, the breeze of the heater, the texture of the armrest, and hamzahs scent, you felt so much all at once, and you didn’t know how to handle it.

Hamzah puts the joint back into his mouth and takes a few more puffs before rolling down the window and putting it out on the outside of his door, You hiss at the temperature change, the harsh wind numbing the tips of your fingers and chilling the front of your face.

“sorry..” he replied, a lopsided grin tugging on the corners of his lips as the effects begin to take hold of him as well

“M’k lets talk…” You say, trying to remind yourself why you’re here. “More casual now.. according to your wishes.” You say sarcastically

“Yes.. more casually now.” He quips back “First… I wanted to say that im sorry for our fight.. And im sorry for the way that I talked to you.. I should’ve listened to you. And im sorry for lying to you too.. I wont even try to defend staying out so late and not telling you where I go, and im sorry for taking advantage of the trust you had for me, I never purposely wanted to hurt you princess..” he confessed, and without warning you feel the corners of your eyes start to sting and then start to well up with tears from his words.

“You mean the absolute world to me and no late night out or time with friends can ever compare to how much i value you, you’re an amazing woman and im only rough with you because I love you.. I love you so much and I can’t help it, I can’t help how selfish I am..how much I need you.. I promise it was a stupid mistake ill never make again. I can’t lose you.” Hamzahs hand reached out to your face, his calloused touch sending shivers down your body and a familiar heat beginning to build within yourself. “Give me another chance.. Just one more… I wont hurt you like this ever again.” Hamzah pleaded, wiping the tears from your eyes.

You could barely think anymore.. the combination of the alcohol and weed, his words and his touch, it was all so overwhelming, your heart is racing and your whole body felt like it was vibrating, you knew this was just another apology, the same ones he gives just before doing the same shit again a couple of days later, but its almost as if your mouth seemed to speak before you could think, or maybe… You believed it.

“Okay…” you say nearly breathlessly, both of you sat in silence, just staring at one another, all that you could hear was the music softly playing from the radio and the combined sound of you twos heavy breathing.

His hand moved down to your jaw, his thumb grazing over the soft skin of your lips, dipping slightly into your mouth before spreading your spit over them, and you cant help the groan that escapes your lips, every single touch feels like fire on your skin.

Hamzah noticed your desperation and stifles a chuckle, teasingly, he brings his lips to your cheek, moving down to place kisses along your jawline. You inhale sharply at the sensation, his mouth moving down to your neck, where he started to suck and nibble on the sensitive area, leaving searing marks in their wake, a slow gentle exhale escapes your lips.

Hamzah pulled away, admittedly looking very different, he was completely focused on you, his heavy-lidded eyes filled with an animalistic, desperate energy from your body responding to his touch, he wanted to consume you, to explore every little bit of you, and he didn’t need to tell you he did.

“C’mere..” he mumbled before his lips crashed against yours, both of you moaning into the kiss.

His hands roamed your body like they were trying to memorize every inch of your skin, it felt like lava against you, your spine arched as you took in the taste of weed and his mint gum and his cologne invading your senses.

His teeth grazed your lower lip, biting it and taking it in his mouth as you suck on his upper lip, your tongues danced together, fighting for dominance, and your hands began to wonder too, making their way to the growing bulge in Hamzahs pants.

you palm his errection from the outside of his sweat pants, feeling him taking in a shaky breath from the new-found friction.

“F-fuck.. your hands feel so much better than mine.” He whined against your lips, his hips lifting to meet your touch as his grip on your waist tighten.

“Yeah? you like when i touch you like this?” you whispered.

“Mhm” Hamzah managed to barely hum. “God i missed you so much..”

You giggle at his admission and suddenly stop moving your hand.

“Wh- whyd you stop?” he looks at you with desperation.

“Lets go to the back..” a sultry smile playing on your face, as you turn to climb into the back, you feel a sharp slap across the soft of your ass which earns him a yelp.

“What was that for??” “For making me lose my self control.”

Smirking, you plop yourself down into the seat and wait for hamzah to meet you, after he climbs into the back he pulls you onto his lap and grips your waist, pulling you down onto the tent in his pants, rocking your hips back and forth and his meeting yours trying to find a rhythm.

The both of you are trying not to lose control, slowly grinding yourselves onto one another, hamzahs breathing becoming more unsteady as quiet curses flow from his lips.

“Mmhm baby.. you’re doing so good for me.. just like that..”

His soft praises filled your stomach with butterflies and made you bite your lip.

Your next kiss was sloppy, messy, and desperate, the drugs were making even just grinding on one another feel so so good, you both moaned into eachothers mouths as he guided you to move quicker and with more pressure onto his dick.

He tugged at the waistband of your pjs before pulling down, practically trying to rip it off of you.

“Take these off, now.”

You obliged and lifted your legs up, not even bothering to take it all the way off as the fabric pooled around one ankle, and Hamzah took his off just as quickly, leaving the only thing separating you two being thin pieces of fabric.

You felt your own slick leaking through, coating his clothed cock as you throw your head back.

“There.. you.. go… does my big dick feel good on that pretty.. clit of yours?”

he managed to choke out through groans of pleasure.

“Y-yes.. fuck- yes Hamzah..”

“i can’t take it anymore i need to be inside of you, you’re soaking my Cock.”

He roughly grabs your ass and digs his fingers into the fabric of your underwear before ripping it off of you and roughly pulling his cock through the hole of his boxers, he sits you down on it and moves your hips forward and backwards.

You feel the heat radiating off of him as you slide along his member, the feeling of it rubbing against your clit was almost enough to make you cum on top of him.

“fuck- i can’t- its too much..” you cry out

“you can take it..i know you can.. i know it feels good, i know….”

“i need you so bad” You pant.

“Then watch it go in.. inch by inch, baby.”

He aims the tip of his dick up to your opening and slides it slowly in, it’s a tight fit and you can feel him filling you and stretching out until you reach the base.

Both of you sigh at the feeling of shared pleasure, his eyes are unfocused, glossy, breathing ragged, and he’s holding onto you tight.

“Wait.. wait..dont- oh god..don’t move, i’m so close already- i didn’t think you would be so tight..” he confessed

You wait a bit before you slowly start to ride him, adjusting to his size every movement is hitting your g spot in just the right place, Hamzah pulls you close and raises your shirt up to take your breast into his mouth, sucking on your nipple as he thrusts into you.

You scream out in ecstasy, unable to form a sentence only letting out lewd sounds.

“Does this feel good?”

“Hah- ah-“ You nod your head yes

“Use your words baby.. tell me how good i make you feel..” Hamzah groaned

“I-cant… think..im so- im gonna-“

“cum for me.. cum all over my dick princess, it’s all yours, i’m here..”

And with that, you lose all sense of control and the coil deep inside of you finally gives way as pleasure overtakes your body, your walls flutter and tighten around him while a cry escapes your throat.

You throw your head back and dig your nails into his chest and he simply holds you tighter as he fucks you harder and nears his climax

blinding white pleasure engulfs your senses and you can’t control your legs closing tightly to try to stop the overstimulation, but that only fuels his aggression as he forces them open with his free hand and starts to rub circles around your clit with his thumb.

“mhm- fuck- good girl.. take this dick..” he curses under his breath “you’re making me feel so good…im getting so c-close..”

the rhythm you two managed to create became staggered, as his hips lagged behind, his breaths became shallow and quickened and you knew his peak was coming quickly

“y/n- i can’t.. i-im cumming” hamzah moans before he cries out, cumming inside of you and pumping thick ropes of cum along your walls, coating them white with each twitch.

You both ride out your climax before collapsing on one another, chests heaving and basking in the after sex glow, while the sounds of the radio comes back into focus. Hamzah rubs the small of your back slowly, some time passes in silence of catching your breath before you break the silence.

“We cant keep doing this.”

“Why not? it seems to work out just fine every time” He smirks

You roll your eyes and sigh knowing you’re never going to escape him.

I hope you guys liked it! please leave your thoughts in the comments and of course any feedback, i’d love to know what i could change ! 😸😸 also let me know if you’d like shorter or longer stories too!!

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 24 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Spoiled beyond his wildest dreams, Bradley tries to take some time to appreciate everything he has on his birthday, but it can be hard to contain his excitement.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, lactation kink, body image, oral sex, anal sex, DILF Roo

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley was eager. He didn't want you to know how eager, but he was sure it was obvious by now.

"Your cheeks are pink," you whispered, cupping them in both of your hands as he buckled you in. "Did all the dancing and hot sauce get to you?"

"Something like that," he murmured, kissing you so thoroughly, you gasped when he pulled away. The look you gave him beneath the dome light was indecent as he dragged his hand up your body and between your breasts so he could stroke your chin and your perfect cheek. Oh, you absolutely knew why his face was flushed and his hands were so grabby. But it was your fault anyway.

"Should we head home for the night?" you asked innocently.

As if you hadn't been talking about how your ass was all his since this morning.

Fuck. Every year, you gave him the most perfect birthday. When he turned thirty-six, you took him to La Jolla, and he couldn't wait to take you back there next week when your parents came out to watch Rose. Last year when he turned thirty-seven, he fucked you so hard in the backseat of your wretched little Honda Civic, he totaled the thing. At least you got pregnant with Rose that night.

And this year, he got to spend the evening reminiscing and enjoying the company of his wife and his daughter. He couldn't even remember how fucking bad every other birthday was between the year he lost his mom and when he turned thirty-five right before he met you. Since then, he'd been treated like a king. Today was no different. Tonight would follow suit.

"Yeah," he grunted, "let's go home."

The drive back to Coronado was mostly quiet while Rose slept. You had your hand on Bradley's thigh, and he had his hand on top of yours.

"You're excited," you whispered into the darkness. "I can practically feel your anticipation, Roo."

"Oh, fuck," he groaned. He was a complete mess for you tonight, and you knew it. He might as well just say it, but he didn't want you to think you didn't satisfy him all the time. He ran his left hand over his face when he stopped at a red light. "I'm really horny, Sweetheart. Somehow you know just what to do that's going to make me go wild. You've always known."

He could feel you preening next to him as the light turned green, and he hit the accelerator. "I like making you excited on your birthday."

"You do this to me every day," he insisted.

A few minutes later, he was rushing Rose inside in her car seat, and you were locking the door behind him. "I'll put her down in her crib if you put Tramp outside?"

You were already heading for the sliding glass door as you said, "I'll meet you in our bedroom."

He grunted in response, unclipping Rose from her carrier and depositing her gently in her crib. "I'll come back to change your diaper," he promised, straightening out her outfit. 

He needed to calm the fuck down, because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. But when he walked into the bedroom, you made eye contact before pulling your dress over your head and tossing it onto the floor.

"You're killing me," he groaned, already working at his shirt buttons as you climbed into bed in your matching red lace bra and thong. He wrenched the fabric over his head and nearly fell down as he tried to take his shoes and jeans off at the same time. 

Just as he was about to dive in bed after you, he watched you hold up your hand and whisper, "Go get the lube from the bathroom drawer, birthday boy."

Bradley felt dizzy as he turned toward the open doorway and dug around inside your drawer until he was rewarded with exactly what he needed. Armed with the water based lube and a massive boner, this time he did dive into bed with you. The bottle came to rest next to your head, and you giggled as he dipped down into a push up to kiss you.

"You are eager."

"There's no point in lying, Sweetheart. I am fucking eager." 

It was almost better that this was a rare occurrence for him, because he just knew how good it was going to be as you tilted your chin up to kiss him. He could feel your hands on his abs before they slid inside his underwear. His eyes fluttered closed against the feel of your fingers teasing him, and he whispered, "I'm already turned on. Let me turn you on, too."

As he worked his way down your body, he felt your hands on his face. "Don't look at my belly," you whispered, pushing him further down toward your pussy.

"I like your belly," he grunted, pulling your underwear down so he could get to your tattoo and kiss you everywhere. "I like everything about you. Why do you think I'm so turned on?"

"Because you're about to have anal sex."

"With my wife." Bradley's lips skimmed your pussy as he spoke. "I'm turned on, because I've been thinking about you. And how fucking hot you are. And about the fact that you trust me not to hurt you. And how you let know every intimate inch of your body."

"Roo," you whimpered as he licked your pussy before kissing you there.

"I don't really care if we have anal sex tonight or never again," he said, looking up your body and meeting your gaze as your fingers gripped his hair. "But don't act like the mere notion of me getting to explore and enjoy your body isn't going to drive me wild. You know me. You know what you do to me."

He watched your lace covered chest rise and fall as you sighed deeply. Bradley took your thighs in his hands as you spread your legs wider for him. "I want you to enjoy every inch of me."

He ran his nose through your slick warmth, kissing you everywhere while he said, "You're absolutely fucking perfect, Baby Girl."

-----------------------------

You weren't expecting to feel emotional tonight, but while your husband ate your pussy, leaving you a squirming, writhing mess in the middle of the bed, your heart skipped a beat as you replayed his words. 

I like everything about you. Why do you think I'm so turned on?

He told you so frequently that he thought you were perfect, and you kind of felt perfect as you sucked in deep breaths in nothing but your red bra while he gave you an absolutely killer orgasm.

"Oh god," you whined, your right heel digging into his back as he sucked on your clit and hit that mind-blowing spot inside you with two firm fingers. Bradley knew just what to do because you'd willingly let him explore your body to his heart's content for years. And you wanted him to have more, because you knew he'd give you more in return.

When your back arched off the bed and you came for him, you saw colorful stars at the edge of your vision. It was just that damn good. It took you a few seconds to catch your breath, but when you did, you rolled onto your stomach and looked back at him.

"It's your birthday, not mine," you whispered, and he raised one eyebrow before crawling until his body was covering yours. "Why am I the one getting all the orgasms?"

"Because I love you," he replied, kissing your cheek. You could feel his erection against the back of your thigh, and you wiggled your rear end against him until he groaned. "If you keep teasing me with that thing, I'm going to make a mess all over you."

You didn't try to hide your smile as you said, "Go ahead and make a mess inside me. Just go slow so it doesn't hurt."

His dark eyes widened a bit. "In your ass?" When you nodded, he asked, "Are you sure?"

"I'm absolutely sure, birthday boy."

But he didn't jump right to it. He carefully unhooked your bra and slid it down your shoulders so he could kiss the full expanse of your back. "You're so fucking soft," he whispered. His lips and mustache left your skin extra sensitive as he sucked along the back of your neck until you were moaning his name. "That sounds so pretty." Then you felt his hands rough against your ass and your thighs before he made himself at home, lapping at your pussy from behind. You knew you were still wet, and he used your slick to coat up your asshole with his tongue, big hands gripping you.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, and you groaned a garbled answer letting him know that yes, it did. "Want me to keep going?"

You could feel his finger at your opening, and you whimpered. "As long as you use the lube."

He did, and he worked at you for a while, never rushing you to the next stage before you were comfortable. His fingers were thick, but you knew how big his cock was, and you balled your fists up in the sheets and got onto your knees when you were ready for him.

The stretch felt good. Bradley's body behind yours was like a dream, and his voice in your ear as he pushed himself incrementally deeper made you relax. "Jesus Christ," he rasped. "My god, Sweetheart. Oh, fuck." His lips were on your shoulder, and then his face was tucked against your neck as he whined softly, chest heaving against your back. You felt almost too full as his hips met your ass. "Am I hurting you?"

When you wiggled in response, Bradley's nose dug into the side of your neck, a string of expletives flowing from his lips. "It feels almost good," you promised. "Like I couldn't be more full."

"If I move, I'll cum," he groaned. "But I really, really fucking want to move."

You rolled your hips against him, and it didn't hurt, but now his forearms were shaking, and his knuckles were white, and you knew how hard he was trying to keep himself still. "You can thrust slowly."

He did. He gave you three long, languid thrusts where you felt every bit of him, and then you knew by the sounds he was making that he was almost there. One more wiggle from you, and he was up on his knees with his hands gripping your hips, filling your ass with his cum.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he crooned, withdrawing himself inch by inch until you heard him say, "that's so goddamn pretty." His fingers were smoothing along your pussy up to where you could feel the mess he made on your skin. "What a perfect ass."

Then he was a fatigued mess, sprawled out on his back on the bed, pulling you closer to him. "Happy birthday," you whispered, and he looked up at you with pink cheeks and wide eyes.

"I am so spoiled by my wife."

"You are, Roo. It's insane."

---------------------------------

After a quick trip to the nursery to change Rose into a sleeper, Bradley coaxed you into the shower with him where he took the time to clean both of you up. "It's almost midnight, Daddy. Did you enjoy your day?"

"You know I did. It was absolutely perfect."

"There's cake for you in the kitchen."

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you still talking about your ass, or..."

"Actual cake," you told him with a laugh. "I baked it the other day and then hid it." He honestly didn't know how he deserved to be treated this well, but he always tried his best to do the same for you. He was too in love not to.

You definitely seemed to be less self conscious now as he ran his hand down your belly before using it to give you a soft smack on the ass. "I would love to have any and all of your various types of cake." He leaned down to kiss the tops of your breasts. "Rosie will probably wake up soon wanting to eat. That's literally the only thing holding me back from going to town on these bad boys."

Your laughter filled the room. "I think you've just about reached your treat limit for the day. But the cake in the kitchen is lemon."

"My favorite," he whispered, kissing your lips. "You're the best."

Once you were both towel dried and dressed for bed, Bradley scooped you up and carried you into the kitchen. "A year ago, I was fucking a baby into you."

"You fucked a baby into me, and you fucked up my car beyond repair. That was a big night for you, Bradley." When he set you down on the counter, you yelped.

"What?" he asked as you cling onto him instead.

"My asshole is sore," you whispered, eyes wide.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

You smiled which made him smile. "I just wasn't expecting it," you said with a laugh as you slid down his body until you were standing. "It's not terrible. Kind of a nice reminder of your birthday present." You reached for the lemon cake which had apparently been hiding with the pots and pans for days when you gasped. "I forgot! I got you another present."

Bradley watched you run into the spare room at the bottom of the stairs, and a moment later, you returned with a gift wrapped in red paper with a silver bow on it.

"Before you open it, please remember that you did ask for this."

Curiosity got the best of him. The day was already too good to be true, but when he tore into the paper, he knew what it was almost immediately. "Another sexy calendar," he moaned, and then his eyes bugged out. "A pregnant, sexy calendar."

"That's what you wanted," you repeated when he looked at you. "I had the photographer take them before you met me at the beach for maternity photos."

He absolutely did remember asking for it, but he couldn't believe you actually did it for him. January was a photo of you in your red bikini, pregnant with Rosie, hand resting on your belly. February was you wearing some kind of flowy dress that left nothing to the imagination. March was you in your unbuttoned jean shorts with your hands over your breasts, adorable bump front and center. April had you in a top with your tits practically spilling out of it.

"Incredible," he murmured, mesmerized by May where you were playing in the water in a wet, white tee shirt.

"You like it?" you asked as you sliced up some birthday cake.

"It's fantastic," he groaned when he got to June. It was a close up of your face and tits in that same wet shirt. "Holy hell." You were holding out a forkful of cake to him. "Are you going to make me a sexy calendar every year for my birthday?" he asked before taking the bite which melted on his tongue.

"Only if you're very well behaved. Those things require me to muster up every fiber of my courage, and I swear the photographer works some sort of magic to make me look so good."

"You always look that good, Sweetheart. If you check the photo gallery in my phone, you look just as hot in every photo in there as you do in the calendar pictures. You look that good right now. And you looked that good at the hot sauce restaurant. And you looked that good with my cock in your ass an hour ago."

Once again, he had you preening before him as you fed him more cake. "If you insist, Roo."

"I insist. I look at you more than anyone else does. I've got to be some sort of expert." He took another bite from the fork. "This is incredible. Thank you for everything today." He propped his new calendar up against the backsplash, open to June. 

"Just make sure you put that away before my parents get here on Sunday," you said, tossing the fork into the sink and wrapping your arms around his waist.

"Right," he replied. You had him so excited about Father's Day and his birthday, he almost forgot they were flying in. "I'll put it out with all my workout gear tomorrow," he promised. "And you better start packing for La Jolla."

"I'll just throw some stuff in a bag before we leave on Thursday," you told him with a shrug.

"But I want you to make sure you pack all of your sexiest outfits. You always look good no matter what, but I love peeling that stuff off you."

You buried your face against his chest and whispered, "Okay." He could tell you were smiling just as Rose started crying.

"Midnight. On the dot," Bradley groaned, leading you backwards through the kitchen. "That kid is punctual."

You leaned up and kissed him, "I love you, birthday boy."

"I love you, too," he said over the sound of his daughter wailing to be fed. His past three birthdays were each more exciting than the last. He had no idea what else could be in store for him, but he wanted all of it.

---------------------------

On Sunday, you sat down very gingerly to enjoy brunch with Maria and Cam. You were still sore from Friday, and then last night, Bradley spanked you for being sassy. It wasn't entirely your fault you accidentally called him Daddy while you were FaceTiming your parents. He was using his commanding voice, going over the schedule for the upcoming week. You didn't think your parents even heard you say it, but you happily accepted your 'punishment' in the form of Bradley's hand on your ass and his cock in your pussy as soon as the call was over.

"Your parents are coming out today?" Cam asked, snapping your attention back to the last bit of your avocado toast and mimosa.

"Yeah. They're staying with Rose for a few nights while Bradley and I drive up to La Jolla. I won't be at work on Thursday."

"Bob and I are going away for Independence Day, too," Maria said dreamily. "He's taking me to Santa Barbara."

"Fuck you both," Cam grumbled, biting into some cinnamon toast. He chewed obnoxiously as he said, "I wish I had a hot aviator. I'll just be at home alone, watching Marvel shows and trying to feel something."

"I'll send you a postcard," you told him, giving him a loud kiss on the cheek.

"How's Rose?" Maria asked, ignoring Cam's comments completely. 

"Adorable," you sighed. "You'll get to see her when Bradley picks me up to head to the airport." 

No sooner did you mention your husband and daughter, and then they appeared. 

"Hey," Bradley greeted your friends, leaning down to kiss you with Rose in his arms. He was wearing his aviators low on his nose, and he looked so good.

"Hi," Cam mumbled, and you could tell how badly he wanted to call your husband Lieutenant Commander Mustache. Maria on the other hand popped out of her seat to get to the baby.

"She got big," she said, scooping her out of Bradley's arms. "Such a big girl now."

Bradley eyed you over his sunglasses, and his smirk reminded you of last night. "We need to leave soon. They land in less than an hour."

"It's my turn to pay anyway," you said, digging in your wallet for some cash before Bradley handed you his credit card.

"I really hate you at times," Cam murmured, and you had to stifle your laughter.

"I only have love in my heart for you."

He rolled his eyes, but both of you were stifling your laughter now as Maria continued to bounce around with Rose. Eventually you signed the slip and handed it back to Bradley along with his credit card. "I'll see you both at work tomorrow," you promised, picking up your bag as Bradley took Rose back from Maria.

When you walked out of the restaurant, you saw several heads turn in your direction as women stared. "Everyone is looking at the DILF," you whispered.

"Where?" Bradley asked in confusion, looking around with his brow furrowed. 

"I'm referring to you," you replied with a laugh as you walked out toward the red Bronco. He rolled his eyes but put a firm hand on your waist.

"Hang on. I want to buckle you in after I put her in her car seat."

So you waited until he was ready before climbing in the passenger seat, and then he pulled the seatbelt across your body before giving you a kiss. "Thanks, Roo."

He kissed your lips and the tip of your nose. "Let's get to the airport. Last time, their flight was early."

It was smooth sailing down the highway, and Rose was asleep by the time the Bronco was parked in the garage where she was conceived. Of course Bradley made a comment about it as he very carefully scooped her up again.

"Do you want to use the stroller?" you asked, but he immediately shook his head.

"I like carrying her like this."

"I know you do," you said, heart melting as you watched him kiss the top of her head. "I just thought I'd ask."

He carried her with both hands, and you tucked your arm around his waist as you headed inside and looked for their baggage carousel number. "This way," he rasped, and you followed him to the far end of the area. You snuggled in against him while you waited, and Bradley kissed the top of your head this time. "I cannot wait to get you in that fancy hotel room and have you all to myself."

You tilted your face up toward his and kissed the corner of his mustache. "Just so you know, my asshole still hurts."

"Fuck, Baby Girl," he grunted. "You always do this to me. You always say or do something to get me all stirred up right before your parents arrive."

You were about to tell him you had no idea what he was talking about, but you heard your mom calling your name. And when you turned, she was rushing toward you with your dad in her wake. "There they are! Oh, and look how sweet Rose looks!"

Bradley glared down at you, and you bit your lip and smiled up at him. "I'll make it up to you in La Jolla."

------------------------------

Happy birthday, DILF Roo. If you have an idea for something BG can do in La Jolla to "make it up to him", I would love to hear it. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 25

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[adrienneleclerc]

Is it possible to request a Lando one were his girlfriend is a well known voice actress that does video games and anime?

Hello, I will TRY, sorry if this took me a while, if it’s short, and if you don’t like it, but I really hope you like it

Girlfriend Reveal

Pairing: Lando Norris x VA! Reader

Summary: Lando Norris fans lose their shit when they find out he’s dating Y/N L/N, the voice of Tohru Honda from Fruits Basket

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: i had to google animes I knew and see if the years coincided, I did my research.

Lando and Y/N met when she was recording the voice of Black Cat in the new Spider Man 2 video game and he was helping design the black and neon yellow suit. They have been dating for a few months and Lando was streaming with Max.

“Oh fuck!” Lando screamed at his computer screen before there was a knock on his door. “Baby, come in, you don’t have to knock.” Y/N opened the door and walked through

“But You’re streaming, i didn’t want to interrupt. I bought us spring rolls and I got myself some seafood pho, which is delicious, might I add, I’ll be in the kitchen.” Y/N said before walking back out and that’s when his comment section went crazy with fans asking who was that.

“Oh, that was my girlfriend, she’s cute, isn’t she?” Lando asked the chat. “Let’s see what you guys are saying, ‘are you dating Y/N L/N?’ Yes, yes I am, our relationship is growing strong. ‘Did you know she’s a voice actress?’ Of course I knew, that’s how we met, she voices the black cat in the new Spider-Man video game. She’s very talented actually, it almost doesn’t sound like her.” Lando laughed at his little joke. “Um ‘where is she?’ She’s in the kitchen, eating her food. Baby, my fans want you, they keep asking questions about you.” Lando said.

“Let me eat my pho and I’ll come back with the spring rolls.” Y/N said. 30 minutes later, Y/N came back with a plate of spring rolls. “Hey, LN4 nation, how y’all doing?” Y/N asked the fans, while Y/N took over Lando’s stream, he was happily eating the spring rolls they ordered. “‘Am I working on anything new?’ Well not really, I haven’t been called to dub another anime, maybe they’re waiting until the anime is done shooting for me to dub, I don’t know. I could be part of a new animated Disney or Pixar movie, I don’t know.” Y/N kept reading the comments until she landed on.. “‘Can you say a line from Fruits Basket?’ Yeah, i Can do that, let me just.” Y/N cleared her throat. “Yeah, I totally Can, i just need to get better at the whole breathing part.” (I looked it up on TikTok) Lando out down the tray of spring rolls.

“My beautiful girlfriend, the voice of Tohru Honda.” Lando said clapping and imitating the cheer of the audience.

“Ha ha, thank you. It was very fun dubbing the voice of Tohru. Sorry to take the attention away from you, Lando.” Y/N apologized, kissing him. “Did you eat all the spring rolls?”

“Of course not, I left you like 7.” Lando said.

“Alright, I’ll just be right here.” Y/N said, sitting down on Lando’s bed to view his stream.

“I’m back you guys. Yes, I know, Y/N is amazing, I haven’t watched Fruits Basket but I will soon, when Y/N isn’t there, obviously.” Lando said, Y/N chuckled. “Well, darling, hope you’re happy, my fans like you more than me.”

“It’s not my fault your fans like anime.” Y/N commented

“I know, I know.” Lando replied.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m your biggest fan.” Y/N said.

“Thanks, darling.” Lando said before returning to his stream.

The End

Hope y’all liked it!

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Feelings and Faults (Wolverine)

Description: Logan loves Y/N but she’s too caught up on the past.

Word Count: 1,020

Requests: Hi I was just wondering if you could write wolverine x reader smut where he is in love/obsessed with her and she has feelings for him but doesn’t acknowledge it because she doesn’t think she deserves to be loved which could be down to past trauma (it’s up to you) but then they confess their feelings inspired by the scene in the Honda Odyssey just without deadpool please it’s okay if not

Author’s note: I didn’t see the smut part until I went to post so that’s not part of the story. But I hope you like it!

She sat in the Honda Odyssey with a drink in her hand. She never really was one for drinking but times like these it was needed. Everyone was either inside planning the attack on Nova or by the fire drinking. She was in the car, alone in thought. Not realizing that she had someone that could never look away from her.

Someone that loved her and wanted to be with her even though she had fault in that. After losing Erik she never felt like she could be loved again or deserved it. But Logan adored her and wanted her forever. In his universe Y/N and Magneto were the happy couple that he let get killed. He always adored her but could never have her.

Now, she didn’t have Magneto in her life anymore and he wanted to be the one to fill the void. He could tell that she beat herself up over it and the blame was on her. Whatever happened between them, he would never believe that she was fully the one to blame. She deserved love and happiness, even if she couldn’t see it.

After his talk with Laura he walked over to the car that he knew she was in and got in the driver side. She looked over at him and saw a bottle of whiskey in his hand and smirked. He was definitely one for drinking. But she couldn’t blame him. “How did I know that you were in here?” He asked and she shrugged. “Despite what Wade says, I think the Honda Odyssey fucks hard.” She said and that made him chuckle.

Wade hated this car but Y/N liked it. “I also didn’t take you for drinking.” She smiled at him and held up the drink, “Cheers to that. I never was a drinker but after things go south it’s nice to have one.” He watched as she chugged the rest of her drink and held out her cup to fill it up. He gladly poured her another glass. “So about the fight earlier-” “Don’t mention it. He’s fine.” “I’m talking about you. Us.” She looked over at him, “What’s there to talk about? You’re right. I beat myself up over a guy that probably never gave a shit about me.” He felt guilt for saying that to her. “In my universe, you guys were married. Had kids even. You two were in love.” She rolled her eyes, “And let me guess we died?” He nodded and cleared his throat, “Yeah. It was awful. I constantly think back to that night and it haunts me.” “It was probably meant to be.” He looked at her, “What do you mean?” “I’m not meant to be happy in any universe.” He wanted to roll his eyes at her and her stupidity but he kept going, “No. That’s me. You sit here and act like nobody loves you and you’re alone but that is fair from the truth.” She looked at him as he finished off the bottle.

“Y/N, In my universe I was in love with you. I wanted you so bad but Erik beat me to it.” Her eyes widened in shock. His words repeating in her head. “The first second I met you I felt it all come back. Only this time Erik isn’t in the way. It’s you.” She chugged her drink before she could get out the words, “What?” It wasn’t a question of her asking him to repeat what he said or that she couldn’t hear him. She simply could not believe the words that left his mouth.

“Don’t act like nobody loves you and doesn’t care about you. I do! And I always will.” She stared at him with wide eyes. Sure, she had some feelings for him but she beat herself up after what happened with Erik. “You’re drunk.” She stated and he laughed. “Unbelievable. I pour my heart out to you and you tell me I’m drunk?” She didn’t know what to say to him at this time. “Y/N, Erik was a fucking idiot for not loving you and trying with you. You’re amazing and beautiful and only a dumb fuck like him wouldn’t see that.” Her eyes filled with tears, “You can’t mean that.” She whispers and he sighs, “Well I do. And if Wade wasn’t there earlier than maybe this would have come out sooner.” She turned away from him and sighed.

This couldn’t be real. There was no way he was telling the truth. Was he? She looked up at the top of the car, “The Magneto that Cassandra killed, that was mine.” He turned to look at her, “The TVA had got him before I could save him. I feel like the biggest fuck up about it. It wasn’t that he didn’t love me or wanted to be with me. It was never known but we had something special.

That’s why I was so nervous about coming here. I was so scared that he wouldn’t want anything to do with me and hated me but he’s dead. That’s worse than him hating me.” She was pouring her heart out to him. “I want to believe you, Logan. But I don’t know. After seeing you and you helping us I realized that maybe Erik wasn’t the one for me and that I could have another chance at happiness.”

“You can. I’m right here.” She turned to look at him to find that he was already looking at her. Maybe it was the heat of the moment but she really wanted to kiss him. As if he was Charles Xavier and could read her mind, he leaned in and kissed her. She kissed back and maybe it was the drink or the kiss but she felt herself calm down and realize that this was meant to be. “Erik wasn’t your fault sweetheart. You are not at fault for that. You deserve love and all the happy things in love.” She felt herself smile at his words. “Thank you, Logan.” she whispered and he smiled. “No problem, sweetheart.” He said before they locked lips again.

[mothercoconuts97]

I'm probably sooo late to the party on this but it occurred to me in the shower and gut punched me so now everyone else has to know about it

So obviously I'm a big Deadpool fan. Adore the comics, love the movies. Was super excited for Deadool & Wolverine, obvs. Fully expecting to cry my guts up in the theatre like I did for Deadpool 1 & 2. I really really enjoyed it (and the Honda Odyssey scene haunts my sex dreams) but I didn't get that same emotional reaction.

This scene here, in Deadpool 2? Fucking wrecked me. Every time I watch it, I sob. Wade goes through so so much to get Vanessa back, he loves her so much that he would travel through time for her. I can't overestimate how much this affects me; my wife and I even had the MTV Unplugged version of A-Ha's "Take On Me" as our first dance. It's our song, because Wade and Vanessa's love is as strong as ours.

I went into DP&W ready to sob if they took Vanessa away from Wade again. But they didn't, because that's how the movie starts. Wade's already lost Vanessa, and not because some bad guy took her away. It just...ended, like even the best relationships do. I didn't like that. How could Wade go through all of this, over 2 movies, to be with Vanessa, just for it to fall apart? (It may not help how strongly I identify with Wade and it seemed like they were saying my relationship too could fall apart one day through nobody's fault but mine, but that's another issue)

What finally snapped into place in my brain today is that, in DP&W, Wade's role is changed.

He still does the hero thing, naturally. But this time it's Logan who is risking it all to save Wade. Logan tears through a fkn steel door to get to Wade, to try help, or at least not let him die alone.

For once, Wade has someone defying impossible odds for him, he has someone risking their life for him. That's probably never happened before, at least for Movie Wade. Finally, someone is trying to save him, someone thinks he's worth saving (if we're working under the assumption I'm self-inserting here, we can agree that my trauma minefield of a brain didn't even see that as an option)

So, I left the cinema happy with the film, but a bit underwhelmed with the emotional climax. Wade kicked ass as usual, but he didn't squish my heart like a mushy tomato as he did before.

It took a loooong time but my brain finally caught up. I got the gut punch. Now I need to watch it again and be prepared to sob my eyes out

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

50 Shades of Red || Chapter 1

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

summary: A reimagining of 50 Shades of Grey, featuring a healthy, consensual relationship and safe BDSM scenes. And lesbians, of course. Wanda meets Natasha, and their captivating story begins.

content warnings: none

word count: 4.9k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

Chapter 1

Wanda frowned, running her fingers through her hair. The auburn locks mocked her, laying over her shoulders as she ran her eyes over them. There was something wrong, whether it was the curls or the style, Wanda couldn’t tell. Whatever, fuck her hair, and fuck her roommate for getting sick. 

A groan sounded out from the other room, and Wanda let her frustration slip away. It wasn’t Kate’s fault for getting sick, but it just so happened to be at the most unfortunate time. Really, Wanda should be studying for her finals, her textbooks laying open on the kitchen counter. But instead, she was here running her fingers through stubborn hair and mentally cursing out her roommate as she searched for a hair tie. 

The only thing that would save her appearance now was a ponytail, high on her head. Anything to give the illusion of confidence. At least her slight curls would give her hair some dimension. 

Sighing, Wanda let herself look away from the mirror, catching a glimpse of dark circles under her normally vibrant green eyes. Were her cheeks more hollow than usual? She couldn’t tell, but judging by the way her stomach rumbled, she knew she had forgotten about eating in favor of studying for the past few weeks. 

Swiping some concealer under her eyes, Wanda dabbed the product into her skin as she walked towards the living room. Kate was a good roommate, always cleaning up after herself and offering Wanda ice cream after every failed date she went on. But truly, she’d chosen the worst time to get sick. Wanda had volunteered, of course, but interviewing some rich multi-millionaire was not high on her fun list. 

“You’re a lifesaver, truly,” Kate mumbled, her flushed cheeks appearing over the arm of the couch. She’d been running herself ragged, trying to write papers and organize some questions for this interview. It was at Romanoff’s Global Enterprise, a special section for the school newspaper. Goddamn Kate and all her extracurriculars. Now, instead of losing herself in textbooks and notetaking, Wanda was driving 165 miles into Seattle in her shitty old Honda. 

Evidently, the CEO she was meeting today was an enigmatic and charming woman, one of the youngest millionaires in the country. Natasha Romanoff. God, even her name sounded rich. 

“I’m so sorry Wanda,” Kate’s voice was raspy, and Wanda filled a glass of water for her. “This interview took me months to get, and by the time I would be able to reschedule, we’d both be graduated. You know I’m the editor for the newspaper, I can’t give up this opportunity. I’m not even kidding, it's the chance of a lifetime.” Her eyes were wide and red-rimmed. Even though she looks like she’s on death's door, Kate still manages to have flawless skin and long, flowing hair. Wanda feels a pang of sympathy, bringing the glass of water over and swiping a bottle of NyQuil from the counter. 

“It’s okay, Kate. I promise. Take this and go the fuck to bed, you look like you’re seconds away from passing out.”

“Fine, but here are the supplies you’ll need,” Kate reaches for her bag, pulling out a recording device and a printed stack of questions. “Just hit record and ask all these questions, I’ll transcribe everything later when this fever goes away and I can finally think straight.” 

Wanda suppresses the wave of panic that rises in her, taking the questions and recording device with slightly trembling fingers and tucking them safely in her messenger bag. She wouldn’t do this for anyone else, only Kate. 

“Go to bed, I’ll be fine,” Wanda says, her voice not sounding as confident as she’d like. 

Giving her a knowing look, Kate shuffles off towards the bedroom, a blanket wrapped around her. “You’ll be fine, just ask the questions and that’ll be enough information to get you through the interview. And Wanda,” Kate pauses at the door, her tired gray eyes finding green. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’d better get going,” Wanda smiles, her hands shooing her roommate through the door. “It’s a long drive, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Good luck, you’re my favorite roommate.”

“Kate, I’m your only roommate.”

—

The drive is easy, not many people are up this early. The trees whizz past, Wanda’s foot never leaving the gas pedal as she makes her way towards the city. She doesn’t have to be at the interview until two this afternoon, but there’s something intoxicating about driving 15 miles over the speed limit on a bare highway. 

Pictures of a tall, curved glass building float through Wanda’s mind. She was certain that the pictures of Romanoff’s Global Enterprise on Google didn’t compare to the actual building itself, and she brushed off the waves of anxiety building inside her chest. 

It’s a quarter to two when Wanda pulls her car in front of the building. The reflective glass stares down at her, the top of the building too high to see without craning her neck. Large lettering spells out Romanoff above the entryway, and Wanda feels her fingers trembling as she hands her keys to the valet driver. Honestly, a valet driver? How much more over the top could this day get?

Walking into the lobby, Wanda hears the muted click of her low heels as she tugs her dress shirt down. A tall blonde woman walks towards her, a smile plastered on her face as her eyes rake up and down Wanda’s body, no doubt judging her outfit. The woman looks pristine, with a slicked-back ponytail and a subtle hint of mascara. Her blazer is sharp and tailored, and Wanda fights the urge to tug her dress shirt again. 

“I’m here to see Ms. Romanoff, my name is Wanda Maximoff,” The statement comes out as more of a question, and Wanda blushes under the scrutinizing look the blonde gives her. 

“One moment, Ms. Maximoff,” the woman says, her perfect brow arching slightly as she appraises Wanda one last time before turning her attention to the large iPad in her hands. She swipes a few times, a small smile gracing her features as she finds what she’s looking for. 

“Ah, Ms. Bishop was expected, but I see that was changed last minute. Right this way, Ms. Maximoff,” the woman turns, walking confidently towards the elevators. “If you could sign this, please.”

The blonde hands Wanda the iPad, and she quickly signs her name. It looks illegible, and Wanda hopes her signature isn’t going anywhere except to the security office for verification. She fights the urge to fix her ponytail, her eyes landing on the blonde woman’s slicked-back hair tied high on her head. Maybe a quick tightening of her hair tie wouldn’t hurt.

“Press the button for floor twenty.” The woman turns, catching Wanda’s hands as they shoot down from adjusting her ponytail. A graceful smile spreads across her face, “Have a good interview.”

Wanda thanks her, accepting the badge the blonde hands her. It has the words VISITOR stamped across the surface. Awkwardly adjusting the badge until it’s pinned to her jacket, Wanda scoffs internally. As if anyone in this building didn’t already know she was only a visitor. She might as well write the word on her forehead to go along with her outdated shoes and slightly too-large jacket. 

The elevator ride is quick, shooting up towards the twentieth floor smoothly. Wanda is greeted by the sight of yet another pristine, clean lobby. Another blonde woman sits behind a desk, quickly rising as Wanda steps out. 

Running a hand over her hair, Wanda reaches into her bag. She’s never felt self-conscious about her hair before, but after seeing no less than five impeccably dressed blonde women, she can’t help but think she sticks out like a sore thumb. 

Pulling out the recording device and the slightly crumpled stack of questions, Wanda curses herself for not researching Ms. Romanoff. The woman could be ninety years old for all she knew. She hadn’t searched up her name at all, and fights the urge to smooth down her shirt as she glances towards the receptionist. 

The upcoming one-on-one interview looms in the front of her mind, nerves causing her fingers to systematically rub the pages in front of her. Wanda hated attention being focused on her, much preferring the anonymity of a group discussion or a crowded room. Sitting on hard white leather chairs and staring at the city skyline from a large floor-to-ceiling window was not something Wanda would consider as a happy place. 

Wanda wonders if Ms. Romanoff insists on all her employees being blonde as yet another smartly dressed woman appears from around the corner. The blonde’s eyes glance towards her, doing a subtle double-take before smoothly stepping towards her. 

“Ms. Maximoff?”

“Yes,” Wanda hopes her voice isn’t trembling too badly. 

“Ms. Romanoff will see you shortly, can I offer you a refreshment? Coffee, tea, water?”

“Water is fine, thanks.” Her throat is suddenly parched, and she takes the cup from the blonde woman gratefully. 

“She will see you shortly.” The woman says, a small smile plastered on her face as she turns and walks towards the desk. She sits next to the other blonde woman, her attention focused on the computer before her. Wanda wonders if she should call them Thing One and Thing Two as the clacking of a keyboard fills the empty, sterile feeling space. 

A door opens, a tall man stepping through as he chuckles at something. He bids a brief farewell, barely glancing at the blonde woman, who Wanda notices has jumped to their feet in his presence. They seem nervous, one woman ushering the man towards the elevator while the other hurriedly gestures for Wanda to stand. 

“Ms. Romanoff will see you now,” she says and pushes Wanda towards the open door.

Wanda walks through the door, one hand gripping the recording device and the other holding the stack of papers close to her chest. She steps through the door, catching a glimpse of a large office with floor-to-ceiling windows, before she promptly trips. 

Her palms catch her, the papers flying from her hands as the recording device clatters to the floor. Fuck. This was a terrible first introduction. 

The sound of heels steadily approaching reaches Wanda’s ears, and she feels her face burning as she scrambles to pick up the items now strewn across a polished marble floor. Bracing herself, she manages to glance up. 

“Ms. Bishop,” A long-fingered hand is extended. “I’m Natasha Romanoff, are you alright?”

Holy shit. Wanda finds herself speechless, her lips parted as her mouth hangs open slightly. She quickly gathers the rest of the papers, gratefully taking the cool hand with her own as she stands. 

Ms. Romanoff is absolutely stunning. There are no words to describe her, and Wanda feels herself taking in the woman’s appearance. Long legs and a tight, black pencil skirt, an hourglass figure that means this woman spends countless hours in the gym, and a dark green button-up shirt with just enough buttons undone to show the barest curve of her chest. Blinking, Wanda feels herself flushing further, the sight of Ms. Romanoff’s rolled-up sleeves and bare forearms sending her head spiraling. 

“I’m okay,” Wanda manages, feeling her breath catching. She finally manages to drag her eyes toward Ms. Romanoff’s face, finding the barest hint of a smirk and kind, vibrant green eyes. She’s mildly surprised to see dark red hair, and she suddenly doesn’t feel as out of place as she did before. 

Looking down, Wanda startles at the sight of a hand still outstretched. She takes it, shaking firmly as a spark of something runs through her fingertips. It travels down her spine, filling her with warmth. 

“Um, it’s actually Wanda,” she begins, flushing under the sharp eyes that remain locked with hers. “Um, Maximoff. Wanda Maximoff. Kate, I mean Ms. Bishop is sick so… here I am.” She concludes lamely, the barest hint of amusement in Ms. Romanoff's eyes. 

The silence stretches, and Wanda finds herself speaking again. “I study English literature. With Kate, I mean um… Ms. Bishop. At school. Our school, Washington State. I hope you don’t mind that I’m here.”

“I don’t mind.” is all Natasha says, and she gestures towards a leather L-shaped couch. “Would you like to sit?”

This office is far too big for one person, a large desk near the center of the room. Wanda assumes it’s Ms. Romanoff’s. She walks towards the corner of the office, large glass windows extending around the couch and a few comfortable-looking chairs. There’s a dark mahogany desk, with enough chairs to seat a dozen people all around it. She wonders if Ms. Romanoff ever leaves this office, and takes in the minimalistic artwork hanging on the walls. 

“The table was handmade by a local artist,” Ms. Romanoff says, her head tilting when Wanda looks back at her. She flushes, knowing that the woman had been watching her look around the room. 

“It’s beautiful,” Wanda murmurs. “Seemingly ordinary resources crafted into something exquisite.” 

“I couldn’t agree more,” Natasha agrees, her voice low and sounding like melted butter. Wanda finds herself blushing at the sound. 

Distractedly, Wanda sinks onto the couch as Ms. Romanoff gracefully sits on one of the black leather chairs across from her. Her fingers fumble, dropping the recording device onto the wood roughly. The blush must be semi-permanent at this point, spreading across her cheeks and over the tips of her ears as she turns the recording device on. Finding the first page of questions, Wanda realizes that she never read the questions in advance. 

Off to a great start, then.

“I apologize,” Wanda lets a hand run along the side of her head, a ghost action of tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m not really used to this.”

“Used to what?”

“One-on-one interviews, they feel oddly intimate. I’m much more acquainted with blending into the wall in a crowd.” 

“Take all the time you need,” Ms. Romanoff says, a small smile on her face. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Do you mind?” Wanda gestures towards the table, “I would like to record your answers for my roommate, I mean… Ms. Bishop.”

Ms. Romanoff smirks widely at that, amusement dancing on her flawless features. “You already started recording, now you’re asking for permission?”

Is she teasing? It sounds like she’s teasing, but Wanda is too flushed with embarrassment to really place the emotion behind Ms. Romanoff’s words. The woman takes pity on her. 

“I don’t mind.”

“Did Kate, uh… Ms. Bishop explain what the interview was for?”

“Yes,” Natasha settles into her seat, a faint look of boredom overtaking her face. “This interview will be placed in the school newspaper as a feature article since I will be the featured speaker at this year's graduation ceremony.”

Oh. Kate had forgotten to mention that little detail. Wanda hoped the surprise at the news wasn’t showing on her face. 

“Oh, good,” Wanda cleared her throat. “In that case, let’s begin.”

“Yes, let's.”

Is she… teasing? Again? Wanda feels as though she’s been thrust into an alternate dimension. She sits up straighter, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to look more confident than she is. Professional, that’s what Wanda is hoping to achieve. 

“You’re very young to have amassed such an impressive empire.” The words feel almost monotone. Scripted. “To what do you owe your success?” Wanda glances up, and Natasha’s smile falls into a vague look of disappointment.

“In short, business is all about people. I excel at knowing what makes a person tick, and I am an excellent judge of character, Ms. Maximoff. I know how to inspire, and most importantly, how to incentivize.” Natasha’s dark green eyes lock with Wanda’s, pinning her to her seat. “I believe that I must know every detail in order to achieve success, knowledge is power after all. I make my decisions based on logic, not feelings. In short, I know people. I know how they tick, and I know how to inspire them.”

“Well,” Wanda flounders, the answer sounding rehearsed to her ears. God, this woman is arrogant. “Maybe you’re just lucky.”

A startled look flashes across Ms. Romanoff’s face, surprise appearing in her eyes momentarily before it’s brushed away. “I don’t believe in luck, Ms. Maximoff. I believe in my own abilities, and I believe in the team that surrounds me. I select only the best to work for this company, and that is the reason for my success.”

“You sound like someone who is obsessed with control,” the words escape Wanda’s mouth before she can restrain them. 

“I exercise control in all things, Ms. Maximoff,” Natasha says, not a glimmer of humor in her words. Her steel gaze locks with Wanda’s, impassive as she watches Wanda flush again.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Natasha continues as if she never heard Wanda speak. “Immense power is only acquired by those who are convinced that they have the ability to control the things around them." 

Immense power? Yeah, total control freak.

“So you believe that you have immense power?”

“I employ over fifty thousand people, Ms. Maximoff. I am responsible for all of them. This responsibility gives me a certain sense of power. If I decided that a department wasn’t needed one day, such as a social media section of my team, hundreds of people would struggle to find a replacement job. So yes, I have power.”

The complete lack of humility and apparent empathy causes Wanda’s mouth to open, her lips parted slightly in disbelief. 

“Is there a board you answer to?”

“I own this company. I don’t answer to anyone.” Ms. Romanoff raises a single eyebrow. 

Wanda feels herself flush yet again. If she had done any research, she's certain she would have known the answer to that question beforehand. She changes the topic. 

“What are your interests outside of work?”

The sharp curve of Ms. Romanoff’s eyebrow suggests that she knows what Wanda is doing, but the woman answers the question gracefully. 

“I have many varied interests outside of work,” Natasha’s tone is bordering on playful, the slight curve of her lips almost teasing. 

“Well, what do you do to relax?” Wanda asks, rephrasing her question. For some reason, the previous answer sent a flush down her spine. 

“Relax?” Ms. Romanoff sits back in her seat, the heat of her gaze never leaving Wanda’s. “I engage in multiple physical pursuits. I’m a wealthy woman, Ms. Maximoff, I never tire of looking for hobbies.”

Not knowing how to respond, Wanda glances at the next question. 

“You invest in engineering, why?”

Ms. Romanoff’s response is quick and practiced. “I enjoy the creation of things. I like knowing how they work, what makes them tick. How to build and create. I enjoy the process of creating something, adjusting to flaws, and perfecting things.”

“That sounds awfully sentimental.”

“Does it?” That damned subtle smirk is back, and Wanda looks down at the page in front of her. “There are many who say I don’t have the heart for sentiments.”

That makes Wanda look up. There’s a curious expression on Ms. Romanoff’s face. It disappears before Wanda can decipher it. 

“Would your friends say you don’t have a heart?” Fuck. That wasn’t on the list of questions. Kate is going to kill her. 

“Why would you presume they say that?” 

“I assume they know you well, and you’re easy to get to know…” Wanda responds, her heart thudding. 

“Well,” Natasha leans forward slightly. “I’m a very private person, Ms. Maximoff. I go to great lengths to ensure my privacy is well maintained. There is a reason I don’t often give interviews.”

“Then why did you agree to this one?” The question escapes Wanda’s lips before she can stop it, her curiosity taking over.

Natasha leans back, crossing a leg delicately over the other. “I’m a generous benefactor to your University, and in all honesty, Ms. Bishop was extremely insistent. She was relentless in her communications with my PR and assistants, and I admire her motivation.”

Fully aware of how tenacious Kate could be, Wanda curses her out mentally. Instead of studying for her finals, she was sitting in this cold, expensive office and interviewing a successful, rich woman not much older than her. 

Wanda glances at the next question. 

“Do you have a philosophy you live by? If so, what is it?” 

“It's not so much a philosophy as a guiding principle. As Carnegie said, ‘A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.’ I like control of myself and those around me.”

“You sound like the ultimate control freak.”

Ms. Romanoff smiles sharply, a dangerous look appearing in her eye. “I suppose I am.”

Swallowing, Wanda feels as though the woman seated across from her is talking about something else entirely. She can’t quite pinpoint what it is. It frustrates her to no end, but Wanda just shakes her head and continues with the questions written before her. 

“You were adopted,” Wanda pauses, this information is a surprise to her. She risks a glance up. Ms. Romanoff’s face is impassive. “How do you think this shaped the person you are today?”

Biting her lip, Wanda hoped she didn’t cross any lines. Ms. Romanoff doesn’t seem to be offended, but her brows furrow slightly. 

“I have no way of knowing, Ms. Maximoff. My adoptive family is all I’ve ever known.”

“How old were you when you were adopted?”

Natasha’s lips curl into a wry smile. “That is information available by public record.” Her tone is stern, her words sharp. Wanda immediately flushes, feeling like hitting her own forehead against a solid surface. Repeatedly. 

If only she’d done some research ahead of time. Well, no time to dwell on the past. Wanda speaks quickly, suddenly wanting this interview to be over. 

“Does your family life encroach on your work?” 

“It does not.” Ms. Romanoff’s tone is flat and hard, her response quick. 

Wanda feels red-hot embarrassment slink down her spine. She should have looked over these questions ahead of time. Curse her inability to think ahead. She barely glances at the next question before the words are spewing from her lips. 

“Are you gay?”

Ms. Romanoff blinks. Wanda feels her eyes go wide, darting down to the paper in front of her. Why the fuck is that question in here? Why didn’t Kate warn her, or… matter of fact, why did Kate think that was an appropriate question to ask?

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t…” Wanda trails off, her flush returning. “I didn’t know that was a question. You don’t have to answer that, I’m sorry. Let's move on.”

“I am.”

Wanda’s head shoots up so fast she strains a muscle. It shoots painfully down her neck, but the only thing she’s focused on is the dark green of Ms. Romanoff’s unwavering gaze. 

“You didn’t write these questions.” It’s a statement, and Wanda finds herself nodding. 

“Like I said before, my roommate was supposed to interview you today. These are her questions, for our school newspaper.” Wanda feels her fingers clenching the paper. She hopes she isn’t thrown out of the office. She couldn't bear the shame and judgemental looks the blonde assistants would surely send her way. 

“Are you also a part of the school newspaper?”

“No, I-” Wanda falters, wincing at the dull tone in Ms. Romanoff’s words. “Kate asked me to come since I’m her roommate. She had no other options.”

“That explains a multitude of things,” Ms. Romanoff’s voice is quiet, her eyes boring into Wanda’s.

A soft knock sounds out, the door swinging open as blonde thing number one steps into the office. Wanda immediately resents her presence, a strange atmosphere encroaching on the space she was occupying. 

“Your next meeting is in five minutes, Ms. Romanoff,” The assistant says, not sparing a glance towards Wanda. 

“Cancel it, we’re not done here.”

Wanda looks up, her hands already preparing to sweep the recording device into her bag as she makes her escape. The assistant is gaping, her eyes flicking between Wanda and her boss. Natasha raises a single eyebrow, and the assistant bows her head slightly before leaving and gently shutting the door behind her. 

“I hope I’m not taking up valuable time,” Wanda says, her hands still hovering over the recording device. 

“You aren’t. Besides, I want to know about you.” Ms. Romanoff tilts her head slightly, her lips turning up slightly. “It’s only fair, after all.”

That damned flush makes itself known once again, traveling over Wanda’s cheeks and down her neck. She folds the corner of her paper, the crease sharp beneath her fingers and she bites her lip briefly. 

“There’s not much to know, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Ms. Romanoff’s eyes are sharp, assessing. “What are your plans after graduation?”

Wanda recognizes the escape for what it is and seizes it wholeheartedly. “I don’t have any plans, I’m too focused on exams at the moment.”

“I see,” her voice is low, her posture relaxed, and her eyes piercing. Ms. Romanoff uncrosses her legs slowly, leaning forward slightly. “We offer an excellent internship program here.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, Wanda smiles slightly. “I’m sure you do. Although, I’m not sure I'd fit in here.”

“No?” Her head tilts again, green eyes unwavering. Wanda feels trapped suddenly, the weight of the woman’s gaze pinning her to the couch. She lets out an uncomfortable cough. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” The statement is evasive, but Ms. Romanoff answers without hesitation. 

“Not to me, it isn’t.” Her gaze is heavy, eyes all-knowing and locked on Wanda. There’s a new sort of tension in the air, all traces of awkwardness gone and replaced with something heady. It’s making Wanda’s head spin, and she breaks eye contact with some effort. Reaching towards the table, she turns the recording device off, placing it gently into her bag. 

The tension breaks, Ms. Romanoff standing slowly as Wanda shoves the papers into her bag. 

“Would you like a tour?”

Wanda pauses, her hands stilling. Why is she asking that? Isn’t she the CEO of the company?

“I’m sure you have many other important things to attend to, Ms. Romanoff. Besides, I should get on the road before it starts raining too heavily.” Wanda glances out the window, taking in the dark clouds on the distant horizon. 

“You’re driving back to campus today?” Ms. Romanoff sounds almost concerned. Wanda tries not to stare at her in shock, blinking quickly. The woman clears her throat, an authoritative tone taking over as she speaks. “Be careful.”

“I will. Thank you for the interview.” 

“The pleasure is all mine,” she says, polite and dismissive. 

Wanda stands, closing her messenger bag. She takes in the woman in front of her, letting her eyes glance over the impeccable outfit the woman has put on. Truly, she should be taking notes on how to dress in a business formal manner, and she’s got the perfect model in front of her. Blinking that thought away, Wanda takes in the small smile creeping onto Ms. Romanoff’s face. 

“Until we meet again, Ms. Maximoff,” she holds out her hand, gripping Wanda’s fingers in a gentle yet firm hold. 

Will they meet again? Wanda can almost guarantee that they won’t, but something in Ms. Romanoff’s eyes tell her differently. She shakes it off, labeling it as nerves running rampant through her mind. Of course, they wouldn’t meet again. A classic case of a rich, hot CEO meeting a poor college student, their paths crossing once and never entangling again, akin to a set of perpendicular lines. 

“Ms. Romanoff,” Wanda nods slightly, letting the woman walk her to the door. 

Opening it wide, the woman holds out a hand. A small smirk graces her features. “I am averse to my guests tripping more than once in my presence, and I’d like to ensure your safe journey from my building, Ms. Maximoff.”

“Well,” Wanda flounders for a moment. “That’s very considerate of you.”

At least someone is amused, Wanda thinks as she steps through the door. She considers shooting a victorious glance back at the woman, but decides that the action would be too childish. 

Evidently, Ms. Romanoff doesn’t often escort her guests from her office, judging by the surprised looks the blonde assistants shoot their way. It all seems quite suffocating for a moment, and Wanda takes a deep breath. 

A hand on her shoulder halts the escape she is about to make. The warmth from Ms. Romanoff’s firm fingertips sends something intoxicating through Wanda. She hopes the ensuing shiver isn’t too obvious. 

“I have to swipe my card for the elevator to work on this floor,” Ms. Romanoff explains, pressing the down button. 

Of course. That makes sense. Then why is her hand still resting on Wanda’s shoulder? 

Almost as if she’s reading Wanda’s mind - or maybe her body language - Ms. Romanoff releases her hold. Her fingers linger briefly, tracing briefly over her arm as she fixes Wanda with a look. 

The elevator doors open, and Wanda gratefully steps through. Turning, she sees Ms. Romanoff leaning casually against the wall. The sight is attractive, and Wanda finds her eyes lingering on the exposed forearms crossed in front of her body. 

“Wanda,” the woman says, a goodbye, but without a note of finality.

“Natasha,” she replies. 

The doors close.

Next Chapter

---

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[le-chevalier-au-lion]

nearly, nearly, nearly: dovquez [t]

@dovquezdecember + near

“Dovi!” Marc says clumsily, flashes him a grin—sun-bright, shameless.

Andrea is thinking. He was nearly a champion this season. Nearly, nearly, nearly. But it wasn’t so close at the end, -37 points, and the entire ocean between Marc making a miraculous save and him screaming on the gravel trap.

His fingers spasm around his empty glass, just once. Andrea is acutely aware of the camera glares, of way, way, way too many people around. Too soon to get another one, and the one after that. The frizz of alcohol is heavy in his stomach, leaden.

Marc makes a noise—impossible to make sense of. Andrea blinks, remembers he should answer him any time now. His tongue is stuck on the roof of his mouth, but it isn’t Marc’s fault that everything had to go right today and nothing did.

He drops whatever he was planning on saying. Marc brandishes his own champagne flute, takes Andrea’s empty one for himself. It’s full—lukewarm prosecco, sure, but it’s full.

Andrea—against his own will, let it be said—laughs.

Marc’s eyes go round, shiny. His hand comes down to cling to the sleeve of his suit, where it falls half an inch too long. And he sways towards him, chest brushing against the side of his arm. Andrea cups the small of his back, raises his eyebrows.

“The drinks aren’t good enough for you to be drunk already.” He prods—harmlessly, his voice pitched low.

He could be drunk on everything else, though. His podium, his sixth championship in—God—eight years, Honda delirious over their golden boy.

Marc bats his lashes coyly, pretends to think. “It was a good dinner, don’t be mean.”

It was, is the thing. He stopped counting after the fourth course, the tenth FIM/Dorna exec with a polished smile that congratulated him on a clean, sportsmanlike dispute—probably having the time of their times that it didn’t end in death threats and a sports court.

Andrea snorts. “Drinks are still shit.”

For all that Marc says don’t be mean, the corners of his lips are trying to quirk up again. Just as cruel.

And when he catches Andrea looking, Marc ducks his head away. Tries to hide it.

He’s so—he’s a sharp, shameless little thing. Hurts to cradle him close, cuts his palms to gory ribbons. Andrea clings, anyway. The party has dulled to a trickle of I wish it was me that barely registers. He fancies he can spot the place where Marc kissed the tower on his mouth, his teeth—like Raphael’s blessing.

His stomach rolls with champagne, too little food he wasn’t feeling up for. Sizzles.

“It was a good season, too.” Marc speaks abruptly but quietly. The cut of his jaw turned bullish, stubborn.

He can feel the tension pressed on his side. It’s not even like gearing up for a risky overtake—Marc throws himself into those with wild joy, again and again and again. This is measured, strained. Marc’s spine grows rigid where he’s touching.

Andrea hums. “Are you going to say you’re sorry?”

Marc’s expression slackens, softens with confusion. “What?”

“You look like you might.”

“For winning?” Andrea nods, stares at him expectantly—wills his face to stay flat and unamused and is only mostly sure he succeeds. Marc purses his mouth, lets him catch a hint of teeth and the downturned curve of his lips. “No way.”

And listen—

Andrea shakes his head. He feels that gold-tinted lightness filling the insides of his chest. Maybe he’s drunk, four glasses catching up like outbreaking himself into a highside, but it’s easier now than it was a couple minutes ago, when the champagne tasted stolen, tasted like trackside dust and a mocking round of applause in his garage.

“You are horrible.”

He watches it happen in real time, how Marc pulls a face, how his eyes flutter to look at him and then away.

People call him brutish, impulsive—it’s not true. Just because he was born without a sense of self-preservation doesn’t mean he doesn’t think. Marc is a shrewd thing. Calculating. He wonders what he was trying to find with that look.

But he’s probably a little drunk himself too, or Andrea wouldn’t have caught that minute flinch in his expression. Marc is too opaque for acting mistakes these days.

It is the thing about Marc. Andrea doesn’t know if he’s bracing for a slap or it never coming despite how much he wants it to.

“I don’t think you mean that,” he says—petulantly, imperiously.

Very, very deliberately.

Andrea smiles, squeezes his back. “I do, I do!”

“No, you don’t.”

He does. But Marc is horrible like a tricky corner, or a bull charging in a bullfight. Predictable only in how it scares you shitless no matter how many times you try it. Horrible in that clammy fear you’re going to be swept along. Fucking fantastic when you conquer it—if you do.

It’s there anyway, of course, red-hot, that frustration—the shame in the gravel, in the garage. But Andrea tries to get angry only about things he can control.

Marc winning isn’t personal, is it.

He takes a breath, lets that awkward silence wash over him, over them, releasing that aimless frustration knot by knot. Marc fidgets against him, rehearsing taking a small step to the side, away from him. Andrea considers for a moment, half of one—doesn’t let go of his grip on him, on the fabric of the back of Marc’s suit.

There are cameras, still. Too many people. It’s none of their business—

This is, Andrea reasons, nothing worth hiding.

“It was a good season,” he says, gently—either an agreement or a concession.

Marc relaxes a fraction, does his best to tuck himself against him no matter that he’s a couple of centimeters taller. Finally, finally, he looks at Andrea straight on, with his usual hungry shamelessness, eyes huge and liquid on his face.

“You looked like you were having fun.”

“Here and there,” Andrea shrugs, isn’t even a bit surprised when he feels Marc’s fingers slip under his shirt to hold the jut of his wrist. “I had this pest bothering me.”

He is surprised at how hot those tiny points of pressure feel. His pulse drums against the thin skin of his wrist.

Marc bristles, indignant. “You ambushed me this whole year!”

Here and there, when he could, when he managed to make it work. In Austria, Japan. Andrea made himself steady as a metronome, harmless until he wasn’t—he wasn’t going to outcrazy Marc anyway, might as well try something unorthodox.

“You weren’t very angry about that from what I remember,” Andrea replies mildly. Mock-dry.

Marc nudges him with his shoulder, tries to scowl but melts into a loud, honking chuckle. It’s evidently, incredibly disarming. “Fuck off, I was! You always knew what I was going to try next. I thought you were going to drive me crazy.”

“Not even you can win them all.”

Marc grins—shiv-quick, self-satisfied. He looks like he’s winning this one, whatever this one is. “I can try.”

Andrea is thinking—it isn’t self-pity this time. Feels about just as dangerous. Marc’s touch is insistent, makes him fidgety all the way to the bone. He isn’t even the slightest bit innocent himself either—hand splayed on Marc’s back, the tip of his little finger reaching suspiciously lower than it was a moment ago.

He swallows. Marc tracks the jerky move of his throat, stares at him through his lashes. It is as shameless as it is—unfortunately—effective.

“Aren’t you going to ask if I enjoyed myself?” There’re nails biting into his forearm lightly. A smirk—broad, pink-lipped.

Cocky little bastard, isn’t he?

“You still are.”

Marc preens, forgets—for a slip of a second—to keep his cards close to his chest. Everything about him becomes bright enough to blind, to cast spots in his vision like he’s staring into the sun. He is horribly easy to like, to forgive.

Even through the stab of the annoyance, the tangle of thorns wrapped around his throat that Andrea has to name envy. Even when he wants to shake Marc by the shoulders—don’t you know? Don’t you see what you are? It never sticks. Marc is that dangerous in close proximity.

Looks eager to prove that he is, too. He shifts his head from one side to the other, gauges the crowd. There’s this focused frown on his forehead. Andrea knows him well enough to brace himself. Realizes—too late—that there’s no bracing for an inspired Marc.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” He pauses, bludgeons on when Andrea doesn’t immediately reply. “I want to.”

Christ.

Christ on the bloody cross.

He doesn’t know why he expected Marc to be subtle or careful, but still.

Andrea sputters out a cough, laughs. He can hear the strain in his voice—the complete fucking disbelief. “What? Here?”

It is a yes by any other name. Marc shrugs, chuckles—he’s an insolent thing, fingers straying playfully over his arm, looking so very sure of himself. Of getting what he wants, always.

Smug.

“Why not?” He asks, eyebrows wagging. It is ridiculous. So is the rush of fondness in his chest. The fishhook tug of Marc’s tongue flashing over his teeth.

Andrea isn’t—usually, he amends—so reckless.

“You’re insane.”

Marc stares at him, shark-eyed, unblinking. It slices through him cleanly like a hot knife, like Marc on a left-hander circuit. “You keep saying that.”

And yet goes unsaid.

He breathes in, a little funny, constricted. His fingers spasm on Marc’s back, cling to the smooth downiness of his pressed shirt. Want jolts through him like touching a live wire—he isn’t thinking. It’s the easiest thing in the world to move his hand, eyes on the party that feels like his burial.

Marc chokes on a noise when Andrea untucks his clothes to reach the skin of his back, when his thumb digs into one of his Venus dimples.

“Alright,” he mutters, soft.

The room melts to nothing around him, a kaleidoscopic blur of color and people he doesn’t care about. Marc’s head is bent, tucked close to his own—an inch closer, and they’ll be inside each other’s skin, breathing the same air. Andrea can only think about the pinkness of his mouth—how near it is.

[whimsimille]

THICKER THAN BLOOD

Chapter 2: "Come home to me, darling."

(Jeong Jin-Man x fem! reader)

"Why are you leaving so suddenly?" You questioned, your voice bouncing off the tapestry that adorned the living room wall of your quaint shared apartment and the oak bookshelves filled with classics.

The comforting aroma of a simmering homemade tomato sauce filled the air, mingling with the sound of sizzling pans and the rhythmic chopping of crisp, fresh vegetables on the polished granite kitchen countertop. 

Dressed in a worn-out apricot apron adorned with faded sunflower prints, your hands were occupied with diligently kneading the carefully prepared pasta dough for your dinner, a recipe passed down from your Italian grandmother.

All of a sudden, the living room's normal sounds—the soft purr of Gunpowder, his gray cat curled up on the plush Persian rug, the low drone of the television playing the evening news—were replaced by an eerie silence that made your skin crawl. 

On turning, you noticed Honda in the midst of rushing preparations for departure. He was hunched over the suede couch, lacing up his sturdy boots, his face etched with stern concentration. Against the dimly lit backdrop of the room, his figure blended seamlessly, rendering him no more than a transient silhouette.

"Where exactly are you off to? And what's the urgency?" You signed, your hands dancing in the air while you leaned against the wooden door frame. A knot of unease formed in the pit of your stomach at the sight of his hasty departure.

His gaze met yours, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips as he signed back, "I have to go. Jin-Man needs me. I can't disclose more for your safety. You know how it works."   

He continued to pack his bag—a small duffel made of worn leather with patches on the corners and straps slung over one shoulder. As he did so, you caught sight of an old photograph falling out of the side pocket; it was of you both from what looked like a summer festival years ago, grinning widely under colorful umbrellas while balloons swelled around you both.

"But can't it wait until tomorrow? Is it really necessary to depart on the day that we get back together after several months?

The worn-out leather of the couch groaned under his weight as he rose, his tall figure casting a long shadow against the faded brown wallpaper. 

Moving towards you, he avoided the cluttered coffee table littered with dog-eared magazines and discarded newspapers. His leather jacket, draped over the back of a nearby armchair, was quickly pulled on, the rusted zipper scraping against the silence of the room.

"No, it can't wait. But I'll be back in time for dinner. I promise." Even as he used a gentle swipe of his thumb to remove a stray splotch of tomato sauce from your cheek, his smile never left his face. “When I return, we can lounge on the couch, munching on popcorn and be engrossed in those old Hollywood classics you're so fond of. You can also show me your progress with that hacking project you've been working on. Maybe try not to fry the motherboard this time?"

"First of all, you better keep that promise. Second,  I’ll hold you to it. Third, for your information, that was a one-time thing!"

"First, I will. It's a promise. And second, I remember it being a three-time thing." He chuckled, his laughter warm like a summer's day.

"Shut up. But tell me, why the secrecy? Why can't you share what's happening? Jin-Man usually keeps me in the loop when a mission comes up.”

Despite your persistent questioning, Honda remained resolute, his face as unreadable as a closed book. He gently loosened your grip on his arm. "Stop nagging me like Mama would. I can't divulge any details. It's not safe. But I need to go. Jin-Man needs me. Don’t you have any government sites to hack? Or do you plan on crashing our systems again?"

"Stop it, douchebag. You're being reckless. We need to tread with caution, especially now more than ever. You know that. And that was not my fault; their security was just… upgraded."

However, he simply shook his head as he smiled at your pout, pulling you into a warm embrace. The cold, hard metal of his brass knuckles, concealed in his pocket, pressed against your side. A chilling reminder of the danger that lay ahead. Yet you refrained from voicing your fears, choosing instead to hold him tight, the rhythm of your heartbeats synchronizing.

"Alright," you conceded, swallowing your protests, "at least take some food with you." Gesturing towards a Tupperware container on the table, filled with steaming eggs and a side of kimchi jeon—both staple dishes in your shared meals.

His eyes softened at your concern, and he took the offered container, pressing a quick kiss on your forehead before making his way towards the entrance.

As he neared the door, a rush of childhood memories invaded your mind. Sometimes you stayed up late whispering secrets under the covers; sometimes you felt his pain even when he was miles away, and sometimes you both fell off your bikes and ended up in the emergency room with scraped knees. They dubbed it the twin instinct, but to you, it was a lifeline, a warning system that alerted you when Honda was in danger.

"Honda, wait!" You called out, your voice echoing off the creaking wooden floorboards. 

The desperation in your plea stirred Gunpowder from her sleep, her tail twitching softly against the worn-out rug as though caught in a dream of chasing unseen mice. Honda turned, his hand still on the doorknob, his eyes questioning in the pale afternoon light filtering through the gaps in the old blinds.

A knot of guilt twisted in the pit of your stomach, threatening to crawl out through your lips and fill the room with its bitter taste.

The two of you were caught in a moment where petty bickering had canceled all the plans you had carefully added to your shared agenda. Your hands, once intertwined in unity, had become unglued from one another, your fingers now tangled in the strands of hair sprouting from your head. The hateful words you once spat at each other—words that had plunged through the gaps of your milk teeth—had turned into a somber reality. It suddenly seemed oddly appealing to consider dying in order to keep him around.

"I...I love you, brother," you admitted, the words feeling foreign yet so right. It was something you should have said a long time ago, after your parents' deaths, when it was just the two of you against the world. But you had always been afraid—afraid that admitting your fears would make them real.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he nodded, an unspoken understanding passing between you two. "I love you too, sis," he signed before stepping out into the afternoon, leaving you in the silence of the empty apartment.

While life in the apartment carried on around you—the stove still burning, the TV blaring the evening news, Gunpowder curling around your ankles, licking your calves—you felt tears springing up in your eyes as your thoughts raced.

Come home, Honda. Come home and tell me everything about your day, from the way the sun glinted off the skyscrapers to the way the coffee tasted at your favorite café. Come home and argue with me again, about trivial things like who left the lights on or whose turn it was to do the dishes. Slam your bedroom door like you used to when we were teenagers and stomp around the house in Dad's old boots.

Come home and laugh with me, share those terrible inside jokes that only we understand. Handle your knife in the wrong way, the way you used to when you're not on a mission, when you're just my brother and not a covert operative. 

Come home and hold me again while I cry in your lap about the girls and boys that shattered my heart. Come home to fix the TV you always mess up with those greasy fingers of yours, leaving stains on the remote.

Scream at me if you need to; let out all that pent-up frustration that I know you keep bottled up inside. 

Come home and tell me how you always manage to burn the pasta, making it stick to the pots. Come home and let me nag about your messiness, about the dirty socks you always leave on the floor and about the dishes in the sink. 

But most importantly:

“Come home safe. Come home to me, Honda. Please."

2 months later

Late afternoon light filtered through the window, casting elongated, capering shadows across the glossy surface of your living room's hardwood floor.

Finally, after a whole day cleaning the place and trying to make it more child friendly, you were curled up in the embrace of the vintage couch and a soft, threadbare blanket, a relic from your childhood, was wrapped snugly around you, providing a comforting barrier against the creeping chill.

You idly stroked Gunpowder, who was as much a part of the family as any human member. Her fur was coarse, yet soothing under your fingertips.

Gunpowder was the only other living being that missed Honda as much as you did; her amber eyes held a profound sadness that echoed your own. You were grateful that Jin-Man let you take her from the animal shelter.

She didn't deserve to be alone, not when she had already lost so much.

With the monochrome scenes flickering against the brick wall, the contemporary television set in the room's corner was showing Casablanca.

Nonetheless, your mind was elsewhere, lost in a world of thought, meandering through a labyrinth of candid memories as your eyes were glued to the window, drinking in the expanse of the verdant family farm outside.

In your hands was your favorite cat mug, the one with the chipped ear and faded paint, a sentimental relic from your college days.

It was unusually quiet, the usual cacophony of farm life replaced by the relentless drumming of rain.

Not only was Ji-An nowhere to be seen, but Jin-Man's rusty truck had vanished from its customary location beside the red barn.

A glance at the old, ticking clock hanging on the wall—16:00, way past the time Ji-An usually got home from school—made your anxiety spike.

Just as you were about to pull on your trusty yellow raincoat to go look for her, you saw Jin-Man's truck pulling up the gravel driveway. He got out of the truck, his jacket hanging haphazardly off his broad shoulders, and his jaw clenched in a way that set off alarm bells in your head.

You quickly signed , "Hey! Old man! Good afternoon to you too! Where's Ji-An?" as he stomped past you, heading straight to his office. But he didn't answer; he didn't even spare you a glance.

Following him, you tried to make sense of what was happening, but he closed the office door right in your face. You were left standing there, frustration bubbling up inside you, a sense of foreboding making your heart pound in your chest.

As you paced around the living room, worry gnawing at you, the front door creaked open. Your heart leapt at the sound, and you turned around, expecting to see Ji-An, safe and sound.

But what you saw made your heart drop.

Ji-An walked in, soaked to the bone and covered in mud, carrying her pink backpack—the one her mother had bought for her last Christmas. Her uniform was clinging to her small frame, her hair plastered to her forehead, but she didn't make a sound. Not a sob, not a whimper.

Seeing her, you rushed over, dropping onto your knees to be at her level. "Ji-An, sweetheart, what happened? Why didn't you come home with Uncle Jin-Man?" you asked. A flutter of panic seized you as she remained silent, her eyes downcast. "Did something happen at school? You can tell me. I'm here for you."

“I need a bath, Noona. I don't want to talk about it right now. Is that okay?”

You looked at her for a long moment, the sight of her shivering form causing a lump to form in your throat. Her hair, previously neatly braided, was now a mess; the ties you had made for her earlier that morning were nowhere to be found.

"Yeah… Of course, baby," you reassured her, offering a weak smile.

With a sigh, you slowly rose to your feet and gently took her hand, leading her to the bedroom. You could feel her fingers tremble slightly in your grasp, her small hand cold and damp from the rain.

You then went to the bathroom to prepare a warm bath for her. You quickly grabbed a fresh set of clothes for her—a soft purple cotton t-shirt and a pair of comfortable cartoon pants that had cute little teddy bears printed on them. You placed them neatly on the bathroom counter, within her reach.

Once the bathtub was filled with warm water and a generous amount of bubble bath, you helped her undress the wet clothes sticking to her skin. 

While Ji-An enjoyed her warm bath, Gunpowder sat in front of the bathtub. Her amber eyes were focused on the bubbles, her tail twitching with curiosity. Every now and then, she would bat at a stray bubble, her paw slicing through the air with a fluid motion as if it were a game.

With Ji-An safely in the bath and the clothes inside the washing machine, you then went to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner. Using cookie cutters, you shaped the food into fun shapes—a star-shaped sandwich, fruit cut into the shape of animals, a bowl of soup with alphabet pasta. You even managed to make a small salad; the vegetables were bright and colorful. It was a small gesture, but you hoped it would bring a smile to Ji-An's face.

Throughout the days you've been living in this place, you've tried countless times to make Jin-Man and Ji-An eat at the same place, to share a meal like a family. But Jin-Man always avoided you and Ji-An like you were viruses, always eating small things before burying himself on the couch while watching movies all alone or in his office working with Pasin. It was frustrating to see the distance between them, but then again, it wasn't your job to force conversations and lovey dovey moments.

Once the food was ready, you set the table and then sat down in front of Ji-An, waiting for her to finish her bath. She emerged a while later, her hair damp and her cheeks flushed from the warm water.

Gunpowder, having finished her bubble play, twined around Ji-An’s legs as the child sat at the table. You both sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the gentle hum of the washing machine and the occasional clink of cutlery against plates.

Then, to your surprise, Ji-An was the one to break the silence.

"Today, I waited for Uncle Jin-Man to come and pick me up from school. But he was late, and it started to rain. I decided to walk home instead."

You watched as she continued to sign, her hands moving with a quiet determination. " I was walking in the rain when I saw Uncle Jin-Man's truck. He slowed down, but I didn't want to get in. I was upset with him. So, I continued to walk, even though it was raining hard. Uncle Jin-Man stopped and waited for me to get in, but I didn't."

“I wanted him to come out and apologize, to tell me he was sorry for being late. But he just accelerated and went away. I was so angry, Noona. I wanted him to understand how I felt and how it felt to be forgotten."  

"It's okay, baby. It's okay to feel upset. But remember, your uncle loves you very much. Sometimes, adults make mistakes too."

Shortly after dinner, you decided it was time for Ji-An to learn a new task: cleaning the dishes.

Filling the sink with warm, sudsy water, you showed her how to hold the scrub brush and guided her hand to clean the surface of the plates with gentle but firm strokes. You made sure she understood the importance of removing all leftover bits of food and how to rinse each dish thoroughly under the running water.

"Remember, Ji-An, cleaning is also a part of cooking. Once you're done eating, always make sure to clean up after yourself. It's not just about keeping your area clean, but also about respecting the people who will use the kitchen after you. See, we're not just cleaning up our mess; we're also preparing a clean space for the next person, " you signed, watching as she absorbed your words and continued washing the plates carefully under your watchful eye.

When you were done and completed with the task, you noticed that the sky had completely darkened, the bright hues of the day replaced by the deep blues and blacks of night. You gently dried Ji-An's small, pruney hands with a plush, soft towel and led her towards her bedroom. The room was bathed in the warm, cozy hue from the night lamp sitting on her bedside table, casting playful shadows that danced on the walls.

You tucked her into her bed. The fluffy comforter was pulled up to her chin, and you couldn't help but laugh at the way Gunpowder jumped onto her lap, purring contently.

"Noona," she signed, her eyes wide and luminous in the dim light, reflecting the soft glow of the night lamp. "Can you tell me a bedtime story? "

"Of course, sweetheart. Do you have any particular story in mind?" You asked, settling yourself comfortably at the edge of her bed, your hand gently rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"No, you choose, " she shrugged, her small body snuggling deeper into the warm covers.

You mulled over her request for a moment, your mind flipping through the pages of the countless stories you knew. Finally, one came to your mind. "There's a sad yet beautiful story from my hometown about two squirrels. They were mates—lovers for life and the town's favorite pair of animals. They were seen everywhere together, always chattering away in their own language, their tails intertwined. "

With each word, you painted a vivid picture of their life together. You told her about the female squirrel's illness and the male's devotion and his refusal to leave her side even in search of food.

As you narrated, you noticed Ji-An's eyes welling up with a faraway look. She interrupted you multiple times. "Why didn't the male squirrel eat?" "Why didn't he find another mate? " "Do all squirrels do this? "

You answered each question patiently, explaining the depth of the squirrel's love and the depth of his grief. You told her about how the male squirrel mourned for his mate, returning to their empty nest alone each year.

As you reached the end of the story, you noticed Ji-An's eyes growing heavy. Her questions became fewer and farther between, her chest moving slower until she slept. Still, she was twitching ever so slightly, hands closed and then jerking open in a rhythmic pattern that spoke volumes.

In an attempt to provide some comfort, you laid down next to her, being careful not to jostle her too much. You wrapped your arm around her small form, pulling her closer to your warmth.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of yellow and red. The hyena. It was lurking in the corner of the room, its eyes gleaming malevolently in the dim light, eager to haunt you too. You didn't even turn to look at it. It was there, but it wasn't real. You knew it.

"Goodnight, Ji-An," you murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead, placing her bunny toy in the place where you'd been seconds before. "Sleep tight, sweetheart," you added, stroking her hair soothingly. "Noona's here. You're safe."

You switched off the night lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the window.

As you left her room, you closed the door gently behind you, leaving the hyena and the remnants of your past locked away.

Easing back into the worn porch chair, the fabric of Jin-Man's purloined shirt fluttered against your skin in the cool night breeze. A stolen moment of solitude, with nothing but a half-burnt cigarette for company. 

The embers at the tip flickered, casting an eerie glow in the darkness. Drawing the cigarette to your lips, you inhaled, letting the sharp tang of nicotine coil around your senses and momentarily dull your worries. 

Eyes shut, you allowed your thoughts to drift to the intricate web of coding and changes you had to make in Murthehelp.

The only sounds were the distant hum of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves under the night sky's vast expanse. Yet, this tranquility was abruptly shattered by the encroaching sound of hushed footsteps gradually growing louder. Your eyes fluttered open to see Jin-Man standing before you, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the cigarette nestled between your fingers with a look of distaste as if you had the devil's hands between your lips.

A chuckle escaped you; the sight of Jin-Man, usually so composed, visibly irked by the cigarette, was enough to momentarily diffuse the tension. "Insomnia again?" you asked, flicking the ash off the cigarette with your thumb.

His hardened gaze didn't waver as he retorted, "I was waiting for you to come to bed."

You shrugged nonchalantly. Since your suicide attempt, Jin-Man has taken it upon himself to keep a watchful eye on you. The concept of solitary sleep had become foreign to both of you.

“What's eating at you?" he asked, his gaze softening slightly.

"Why did you abandon Ji-An at school?" 

"I got tied up and lost track of time," he replied, but his excuse fell on deaf ears. You scoffed at his words, well aware of the truth. He hadn't forgotten; he probably thought leaving Ji-An to trek home on her own would toughen her up.

"That's a load of crap, and you know it," you retorted, stomping out the cigarette under your feet. "Do you think making her walk home alone in the rain is going to make her stronger? Is that your grand plan?"

His silence was a response in itself, resonating in the quiet night air louder than any words.

"You are unbelievable, Jin-Man," you muttered. The scent of fresh paint and pine filled the air. It was a far cry from the gunpowder and blood that once filled your memory. But you couldn't help but crave it sometimes, even if it meant pain. Pain meant life; it meant survival. "You keep pushing her away relentlessly, like a stubborn child refusing his vegetables. You're so preoccupied with making her tough and resilient that you forget she's just a child. She needs your love and your understanding. You forget that she can't even communicate normally and that her aphasia is only getting worse! You don't even let me talk with her teacher, and don't pretend I don't know about the bullying she's enduring at school! We're not in Babylon , Jin-Man! We're in a small town where everyone knows everyone else. For heaven's sake, grow up!”

He retorted, his voice sharp as a blade, slicing through the heavy silence. “You should be more concerned with managing your own aphasia and PTSD. Ji-An’s not your responsibility. She's not related to you by blood. Drop this saintly act of playing mom. We're not her parents. This isn't a dollhouse and we're not Ken and Barbie.”

"Act? I kept Ji-An alive after her parents died! I trained her to communicate again! And even though it's hard, I've made her eat properly and taught her how to brush her teeth and do her homework again! I've been here for her every step of the way! You just... sit in your office or hide in your room!"

His jaw clenched tightly before he spoke again. "You think that's all it takes? Just feeding her and teaching her sign language?" He spat out angrily. The tip of his tongue traced his bottom lip as he continued speaking harshly, "It's not enough! She needs discipline! She needs structure!"

You shook your head violently. "She has enough structure! She needs us, Jin-Man! She needs our support, our guidance. She doesn't need a soldier; she needs a parent!" 

His face tightened, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. 

"Are you that afraid to care for someone, that afraid to love again? Are you hiding behind your uniform, your duties because you're too scared to face your own feelings?"

"Don't play with fire. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I do! And do you think Jin-Suk would like to see his daughter being trained as a warrior rather than growing up as a normal girl?" you challenged, your voice echoing with the strength of your belief.

The mention of his brother struck a nerve. A flash of anger crossed his stony features, and before you knew it, he was charging at you like a wild animal. 

Suddenly, Jin-Man's hands shot out, pushing you roughly against the wall. Your back slammed into the gnarled wooden planks, the splintered texture scratching against your skin. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through your spine, causing you to gasp as the wind was knocked out of your lungs.

"Why are you doing this, Jin-Man?" 

In response, his large, calloused hands wrapped around your throat in a vice-like grip, cutting off your airway. His fingers pressed against the delicate skin of your neck, the strength in his hands threatening to crush your windpipe. It felt like you were sinking into an abyss, the darkness of his rage engulfing you, making it impossible to breathe.

You clawed at his hands, desperate to pry them off. But his grip was unyielding; his hands felt like iron bands around your neck, tightening with every second that passed. As you gasped for breath, your vision started to spin, the edges blurring as black spots danced in front of your eyes. Your lungs felt like they were on fire, screaming for air.

Panic surged within you, a tidal wave that threatened to consume you. Time seemed to stretch, each second feeling like an eternity as you struggled to draw breath.

Finally, his grip loosened just slightly, allowing a sliver of oxygen to rush into your lungs. You gasped; the taste of air was like ambrosia—sweet and life-giving. Coughs racked your body as you struggled to regain control over your breathing, your throat raw and your chest heaving. The salty tang of tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision.

But you refused to back down, to give in to the fear. You locked eyes with him, defiance burning in your gaze. "Go ahead, Jin-Man, continue," you spat out, your voice raspy from the assault. "Kill me. But know this: my death won't change the truth.”

“Jesus, you're so weak, girl.”

A chuckle found its way through your bruised vocal chords. “Yeah? Wanna see who's weak then?”

Summoning every iota of your willpower, you retaliated against his suffocating hold. Your fingers clawed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin as you strained against his formidable strength. 

After a fierce and desperate struggle, your adrenaline-fueled power seemed to catch him off guard. With a sudden explosive kick, you managed to wrench yourself free, pushing him violently away from you.

Caught off balance, Jin-Man stumbled backwards. His feet skidded across the wooden floorboards, and his body crashed into the pot of vibrant lilies you had carefully chosen from the local market to adorn the porch. The pot shattered on impact, fragments of terracotta scattering across the floor, intermingling with the uprooted flowers and loose soil.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The only sounds were the soft rustling of the brutalized lilies and the quiet patter of dirt falling onto the floor. But inside? Inside of you, the hyenas laughter echoed through your mind, mocking you for getting what you deserved—too used to chaos and violence.

The sight of the destruction seemed to snap Jin-Man out of his rage-induced stupor, his furious gaze softening as he took in the aftermath of your altercation.

"I'm done," you said, breaking the silence. "I'm done with this, Jin-Man. I'm done with your anger, your stubbornness, and your refusal to let anyone in. I'm done with the constant battles, the endless wars. I'm grabbing my stuff and leaving."

“Y/N…” He trailed off as he grabbed your arm roughly, pulling you around to face him. Your bodies were just inches apart now, his breath hot on your cheek as he pleaded silently.

“Don’t. Just shut your mouth and let me go. I'm not your Barbie, right?” Each word was punctuated by the bitter taste of blood as you absentmindedly touched your raw throat.

“You can't sleep alone.”

“I'll manage.”

“You can't remember when you last ate.”

"I'll set a reminder.”

"You can't drive without crying."

"I'll get a taxi."

"Ji-An needs you."

I need you.

"She needs you more."

"And you, Jin-Man," you added, the sting of your words sobering the air. "You need to realize that before it's too late."

----------------

April 3:

"Are you serious? Did I actually have to buy another chip to send you messages? You know, the store owner looked at me like I was crazy."

1 missed call from Ahjusshi

April 5:

"Ji-An keeps asking for you. She asked me to tell her the story about the couple of squirrels. You know, the one about their endless love and devotion."

2 missed calls from Jeong

April 7:

"Pasin showed me the link to the site. It's pretty quick and easy to access. Even an old man like me can make requests for guns, right? Technology these days, eh?"

April 11:

"She asked me to put on Casablanca. It's one of your favorites, right? I remember Honda telling me that you're addicted to Hollywood classics.”

“Gunpowder keeps sleeping on your side of the bed. I hate it.”

3 missed calls from Jeong Jin-Man, son of a bitch

April 22:

"I have a mission for you. It's critical and requires your skills."

"Can you come home so that we can discuss the details? There's something about it I can't trust in a message."

8 missed calls from the son of a bitch

“I guess I will ask So Min-Hye to replace you then. I know you wouldn't want that."

May 7:

“Ji-An's teacher told me that you visited her today. Did you really make two boys eat dirt by grabbing her money?”

“I could've helped.”

May 9:

“Went to the market today and heard Kyung Soo say that you're a good kisser. I had to stop myself from laughing."

“I heard from the locals that he went to the hospital after being knocked out. Strange, right? Or should I say, expected?"

May 16:

"Gunpowder brought a dead bird into the house. I think she's trying to replace you as the hunter of the family."

May 21:

"I saw a girl at the market wearing a dress you would like. It had sunflowers all over it. Made me think of you."

"She was about your age, too. For a moment, I thought it was you ."

-------

As Jin-Man speeds in the direction of Ji-An's school, his heart pounds against his ribs like a war drum. His knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his forehead slick with beads of sweat. He curses himself silently, berating his own negligence.

How could he have not noticed that Ji-An hadn't come home?

The typical view of the small city blurs past him, the houses and trees merging into a hasty collage of colors under the evening gloom. The town's bakery, the park where the children play, and the old library all blur into indistinguishable shadows. But he barely registers any of it. His mind is filled with vivid images of you screaming at him for this oversight.

He imagines your small fists beating at his chest, your eyes—those captivating eyes that he secretly admired—flaring with anger and worry. 

“How could you forget her again , Jin-Man? She's just a child!"

The guilt, like a ravenous beast, gnaws at him, driving him to press the pedal harder. The old engine protests, its roar echoing through the tranquil evening. 

Suddenly, he remembers his phone.

Snatching it from the passenger seat, he dials your number hastily. The line rings once, twice, thrice, but there's no answer. He fumbles to leave a voicemail, his voice shaking slightly as he speaks into the device. "Hey, I… messed up. Ji-An... I… Just call me back.”

The voicemail ends with a beep, leaving Jin-Man alone with his thoughts and the eerie silence of the empty road. He tosses the phone onto the passenger seat, his eyes never leaving the road.

Nearing the school, his eyes flicked to the digital clock on the dashboard—it read 19:00, the hour when the last echoes of childhood laughter usually fade away. But now, the school grounds were eerily silent and deserted, a stark contrast to the daytime symphony of playful shouts and laughter. The playground, usually a vibrant hub of activity, was painted with somber shades, the swings swaying lightly in the breeze, their squeaky chains the only sound piercing the silence.

As he swung into the school's parking lot, a small figure suddenly sprang from the shadows, frantically waving his arms. 

A boy was shouting, his voice hoarse and strained, as he pointed towards the grimy basement door at the rear of the school building. "She's locked there!"

Without a second thought, Jin-Man abandons his car, leaving the engine running as he sprints towards the basement door. The door is locked, but within, he can hear Ji-An's voice, her pleas echoing through the desolate night. 

"Jeong Jin-Man! Jeong Jin-Man! Jeong Jin-Man!" she is calling, her voice scratchy and strained, likely from the first use of her vocal cords in months.

Frantically, he scans his surroundings. His eyes land on a fire safety box nearby. Inside, he spots a hammer. 

With no time to spare, he smashes the box, glass shards raining onto the worn-out asphalt. He grabs the hammer, using it to break the rusted chains and unlock the door. 

In a final heave, he throws the door open, revealing Ji-An inside. Her cheeks were flushed red from crying and her eyes were brimming with a mix of relief and fear.

She doesn't waste any time rushing at him, her small fists pounding against his chest. He doesn't move; he doesn't try to stop her. She's screaming at him, her words punctuated by her furious hits: "Why did you take so long? You promised you were coming back soon! Why did you arrive so late? Why did you let her go? Why did you let Noona go? Why? Why?"

He could only look at her, absorbing her words and feeling each syllable like a physical blow. Her pain, her anger, and her confusion were all directed at him. 

Then he did the only thing he could think of—the only thing he thought you would have done in this situation. 

He pulled her into a tight, protective hug.

For minutes, he doesn't say a word until he grabs her, holding her close.

Turning to the boy, he nods, "I'll give you a ride home."

The journey to the kid’s home was silent, save for the muted hum of the car's engine and the occasional rustle of cloth against leather. 

Ji-An was huddled against the passenger seat, her body trembling slightly. Noticing this, he pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around her small frame in the same way he did for you.

After dropping the boy off and Ji-An finally falling asleep, he drives aimlessly. The city lights flicker past in a hazy blur, their glow casting fleeting shadows on his face. He thinks of you—your laughter, your anger, and your determination. It's strange, he thinks, how the absence of someone can fill a room, a house, or a life.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sudden ringing of his phone.

Glancing at the screen, he sees your name flashing. He hesitates, his thumb hovering over the decline button. 

But then he remembers how things used to be and how it felt to hear your voice without the weight of regret and guilt. He misses when your name didn't make his chest ache, when it was just a name he heard now and then but held no significance to him.

He yearns for the days when he didn't know you, when his eyes didn't instinctively scan every room he entered in hopes of finding you there. He misses the sight of you standing among strangers, wearing that ridiculous skirt he used to tease you about but now finds himself missing.

He finds himself longing for the mundane details. How you'd take off your shoes at the front door, placing your keys with care in the small glass bowl on the corner of the kitchen counter. How you'd drape your coat over the back of a dining room chair, your socks left at the foot of the bed next to the sleeping cat.

He misses holding back your hair as you succumb to the side effects of your PTSD pills, your body rejecting the chemicals meant to help you cope. He yearns for the times when you would climb under the white blankets with him, forcefully opening his arms to encase you between them.

He misses how you would place your legs on top of his and let your hands wander to his waist and chest. He misses hearing you say, "I missed you," telling him about your day as you would slowly drift off to sleep. And he longs for the times he would secretly kiss your cheek softly before he inevitably had to leave you for work.

He misses when you were simply strangers—not two people who act like strangers in public but once knew each other better than they ever knew themselves. He misses the simplicity of those days and the innocence of not knowing what it felt like to lose you.

Because, in the end, when the lights are off and his eyes flutter shut, the back of his mind always whispers your name, calling out to you like you are the only place he was ever meant to call home .

When he finally decided to answer the call, he placed the phone on the dashboard, the worn leather creaking under the weight. He switched to speaker mode, the familiar chime filling the small space of the car. 

"Hello?"

Tinny and distant over the phone speaker, you responded almost immediately. "You left a voicemail. What happened?" In the background, he could hear the faint, unmistakable sound of a lighter flicking open and the soft hiss of a cigarette being lit.

"Your voice sounds rough," he commented, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a touch of humor. "How many days have you been communicating only with sign language?"

"Shut up, motherfucker. What about Ji-An?”

"I…" he started, faltering. The words he needed to say were stuck in his throat, like a bitter pill he couldn't swallow.

“Look, Ji-Man. I have nothing to do with you anymore. I’m calling you back because you sounded like a wounded little bitch and you said her name. Drop the show and spit it out.”

“I failed again, okay?" The confession spilled out of him, the words tasting like defeat. But he couldn't stop there; he had to finish what he started. "But, look, Ji-An spoke.”

He could almost hear your sharp intake of breath and the sound of the cigarette being hastily put out in the background. There was a long, drawn-out silence, the kind of silence that spoke volumes. He could imagine your surprise—the way your eyes would widen slightly, the lit cigarette forgotten in your hand. But when you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, filled with a strange mix of relief and trepidation.

"She spoke?"

"Yes. She called out to me. She used her voice, and she spoke."

"Look, I'm not going to pretend that everything is okay between us," he continued, his voice gruff, "But I'm also not going to pretend that we don't have a shared past. One that involves a little girl who misses you."

"You're such a bastard. You know how to manipulate me using her," you snapped, the sound of a chair creaking in the background signaling your agitation.

"Maybe, but it doesn't change the fact that Ji-An misses you. And you miss her too, don't you?"

A silence followed his words—not an uncomfortable one, but a silence filled with unspoken words and a shared history. And then you sighed, a deep, heavy sigh that echoed with the weight of your unspoken thoughts.

"I do miss her. But you, Jeong Jin-Man, are a pain in my ass.”

He couldn't help but chuckle at your words. "I've been told that before."

"I'm sure you have."

Another silence filled the line, comfortable yet heavy with years of shared experiences.

"By the way," he added, his voice softer now, "the key is still under the cat statue you put by the front door. You can drop by anytime."

"I'll think about it. But don't expect me to come running back, Jin-Man. We're not the same people we used to be."

"I know. But we're still us, aren't we?"

"We're something ," you admitted, a sigh slipping past your lips. "But I don't know what that is anymore."

"Neither do I. But maybe we can figure it out together, old lady."

"Old lady?" you scoffed, a hint of amusement in your voice. "Coming from a man who's 10 years older than me."

"Years are still years," he teased, a smile playing on his lips. "But whatever we are, Y/N, whatever we become, you're still… something to me. And so is Ji-An. Remember that."

"I will. I will, Ahjusshi."

[callmrmorrow]

let’s talk about… POOOOOWERPLEX

(spoilers for invincible s3ep6 below, discussion of guilt/grief and death, all invincible-standard topics)

this motherfucker is a point of contention for the whole invincible fandom. do we love him, do we hate him? is he righteous or is he a hypocrite? at what point does the victim become the perpetrator, and is said point when he charbroils his loving wife and child while trying to kill his mortal enemy? is it even all his fault, or is his wife an instigating jane clone from breaking bad who egged him on? and most importantly… how the fuck did the GDA not clock that their new lab worker had loved ones lost in the chicago disaster? give him a psych eval or two, cecil!

also, if he’s so powerplex, how come i can understand him?

okay, all jokes aside, i think powerplex, or scott duvall, if you’re a friend, is a fascinating character. at the beginning of the episode, his formal debut for the show, he’s hanging out with his sister and her niece, gretchen and jessica respectively (another breaking bad nod). we see that his powers are based on transforming impact into electricity, but only in really small bursts. this brings up a fun idea in the invincible world, of natural-born supers who aren’t strong enough to make it big. does the GDA have a file on these guys, or do they spawn in at unpredictable rates within the human gene pool?

it’s super clear that jesse — sorry, scott — loves his family, and it becomes even more clear when they fucking die right in front of him. his entire revenge arc is based on pure misinterpretation and a salt shake of idiocy, because he assumed that invincible holding the severed arm of his (adopted?) sister meant he had torn it from her shoulder socket. easy to misconstrue in the haze of destruction, but really, you can’t tell me that working at the GDA for 1-2 years wouldn’t make you privy to how the fight really went down. short of invincible’s secret identity, of course. fallacy in the writing, and it really would’ve been better if his wife, becky, worked at the GDA instead and got the supplies for him.

also, his wife was 100% egging him on. couldn’t tell you why, maybe she has a power (com)plex herself. she seemed to have her fair share of hate for invincible and the hero system in general. one of the themes of the episode is indeed power, and how it translates into whether or not you deserve to live. the viltrumites are founded on this ideology, mark’s ability to survive is based on his power, but… what if you’re just a normal guy like scott duvall?

“why do you get to live when so many others died? what makes YOU so special?”

this puts me in the mind of deadpool and wolverine’s honda odyssey scene — not the sex allegory — but the part where wolverine is chewing out deadpool and about halfway through his spittle-flush monologue, you can tell he’s talking more about himself than the man he’s castigating. part of scott’s issue is MAJOR survival’s guilt: he only survived because he went to get a coffee. the people he loved, who took care of him all his life, the kid who adored him and whom he really seemed to treat like his own daughter, died and he lived.

half of the issue isn’t even invincible. it’s powerplex himself. this guy probably wishes he died with them. chances are his rage was redirected towards invincible when its initial source was genuine grief and potentially self-hatred. he threw the entire rest of his life into killing invincible, to the point where he arguably faced a mental sunk cost fallacy. i’m sure he did learn that invincible was a victim, but at that point, he’d already poured so much into this that he couldn’t just give up there and then. also if omni-man, the real perpetrator, was gone, then this was the next best thing. his power emulates his own mentality — a very popular thing in this show. his power translates physical impacts — pain — into power, and his story is about how violently and wholly that pain explodes out. even after he burns his wife and child to a crisp, which is arguably the point where he should’ve been like “fuck, stop fighting, it’s so over and this time it’s my fault,” he drives that shock (pun here) outward towards mark again.

aside: why is mark getting packed the fuck up by powerplex? you could ascribe it to his own guilt and perhaps a desire to pay a physical reparation for what he did to scott’s family, and all the other’s families. or you could chalk it up to plot relevancy, where it literally has to happen in order for becky and little baby boy whose name i forgot to die.

and when mark is speaking to scott in prison, he totally fumbles the “let me comfort you, bro” ball. but it is not [title card]’s fault! powerplex’s complex stops him from taking blame for his own actions regarding his wife and son, so he’s only going to be more furious with mark. he pins blame on an external source, and i’m sure this was a learned habit, probably from his wife (i do hate blaming the woman but she did really show some markers of an instigator here. wish that wasn’t the case but it is). i like that the invincible show/comics address the sheer destruction that follows these powerful, high-octane fights, because the s1 finale really was just omni-man showing mark how insignificant we humans are.

“he can’t keep getting away with this!!”

tldr: no, you’re gonna go back and read that.

[elysptical]

-

Mingyu shows contempt for your new boyfriend. He usually is at least trying to hide his feelings but lately he’s been off his fucking rocker.

The way he was pulling apart “Nathaniel”s every idea and showing everyone just how much power he has.

“You’re being childish”, is the only thing you say over the phone and he seethes through the receiver. You were right, but the sounds of, what he could only assume is, your lover in your kitchen cooking with cookware he bought for you…he was gonna be sick.

“Look I gotta go is that all?”, he huffs over the phone. If you wanted to play stupid he could be stupid too.

“Wanna see what I bought for my first holiday with Nathaniel?”, the name just tasted sour in his throat.

“-too late I’ve sent them..have a great night.”

You were never solely his, this he understands. She treats you like a dog, following her around salivating for any signs of affection. And she thrived on that, using it to get off, literally and figuratively.

“Fuck.”

He loved this game today though, cause you brought it all to the table with the tightest orange bikini in your way to big bathroom mirror he helped install. (Mingyu has always been a reoccurring figure in your life.)

He hearted the picture and threw his phone against the bed. Maybe he should just take a nap and this will all go away. Even though it’s his fault you’re here to begin with.

He finally gets a real chance and he blows it like a bad romcom and then with busy schedules weeks go by…then a month or two. And now Nathaniel is giving you okay sex in a house five blocks from his penthouse. Why was the universe so cruel?

He could cancel his meeting with Forbes tomorrow and really get you out of work. Maybe see the South of France? Nice? Damn the way your ass would look in a tiny french dress.

He sends a rushed email to his assistant’s assistant and gets on his softest slippers. The power-house engine in his european sports car roars to your place in minutes and hushes when he parks and books it to your front door.

You own a condo in a gentrified building and the doorman has seen his face more than his own. His foot taps on the way to the sixth floor before the ding signifies his arrival.

Your door is covered in the cutest pink wallpaper and trimmed with decorations left over from Valentine’s day. He bangs on the door and the voices behind the door get closer then die down. There is some yelling and the door flies open out trotting an angry little Nathaniel to what he can only assume is his shitty honda across the street.

“Stupid bitch-“ he mumbles away and Mingyu is left to face you in the doorway. Body covered in a plush lilac robe.

“You wanna go handle that?”, his eyebrow cocks down while he leans his arm above you both.

“Shut up”, you turn around and sigh into your home, “You coming in or what?”

[bvidzsoo]

Forget-me-not

⫿Illegal racer!Mingi⫿

TW: cursing, unprotected sex

Word count: 4,7k

A/N: Well yeah...this is Mingi's fault for posting those freaking pics and my fault for getting inspired at the most random ass times. I know I'm not the greatest smut writer, but don't take my head off for it, thank you. Your feedback is very much appreciated!

⭒Toge racing: 1-1; lead driver <--> chase driver

⭒Sprint: race has more drivers

⭒Dig: refers to all participants toeing a line, aligning the front tire of the vehicles, after which all vehicles race from a stop to a prearranged point

            My car came to a screeching halt as I slammed on the brakes, which were new. I got them changed a week ago, I have fried the old ones off after the toge race I pulled off in the mountains. My jaw was set tightly as I took in a deep breath, long fingers tightening against the leathery wheel.

“What are you doing—”

“Get out.” I snapped; eyes focused on the road ahead. The other female in the car gasped quietly before I heard her huff in annoyance.

“What did you just say?”

“Get out, Jennie.” I snapped more aggressively this time as my head whipped around, shooting dagger at her. She looked incredulous as she didn’t make any moves to get out of my car. I wasn’t having it anymore; I just couldn’t focus with her around.

“Are you seriously kicking me out of your car when we’re one block away?” She hissed, lips pulled into a snarl, making me smirk at her in annoyance.

“Yes, I am.” I told her, leaning back in my seat, “Get. Out.”

She didn’t have much of a choice as I glared her down, Jennie’s fierce eyes staring back just as harshly while she bit her lower lip. It didn’t take long for her eyes to fill with tears, which were faker than the eyelashes she had on, and I just rolled my eyes before she finally undid her seatbelt and grabbed her purse aggressively.

“I can’t believe you!” She screamed as she threw open my car’s door, making me hiss when it cracked open loudly, “You’re seriously throwing me out of your car on a deserted road in the middle of the night?!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have fucked my fiancé a week before our wedding, cousin.” I hissed at Jennie, who was also my cousin, as I revved the engine of my 3gen burgundy Honda Prelude. The car was a gem and I cherished it dearly, taking more care of her than I have ever taken care of myself.

“I told you he was—” Jennie started shrieking as she slammed the car’s door shut, her window having been rolled down, but I quickly pressed the button to roll it up and sped off, not wanting to hear another sound coming from her mouth. It’s not like I dropped her off miles away from the car meet, she was just a block away. She should be thankful I even gave her a ride after everything she made me go through not even four months ago.

I thought Jennie and I were like sisters, always there for each other no matter what the matter was. We could talk about anything and discuss all of our issues. I confided in her when problems arose with my fiancé, and her advice had been the best, it helped our relationship…until it completely shattered. Until she went and slept with San like he wasn’t engaged to me, just a week away from his own wedding. She would’ve been the bridesmaid, but there was no wedding to be held. I called it off the second San drunkenly told me about his infidelity, and I also took all of my stuff and moved out from our shared apartment. Indeed, it was a rash decision, in the spur of the moment as my head was coated with anger, hurt and betrayal, but I couldn’t stand to see his face for even one more second longer.

The small house I rented out wasn’t in the best part of the city and it was far from being luxurious, but it worked for now. It felt cozy and the neighborhood was quiet…unless Song Mingi was out and about, keeping everyone up on the street with his obnoxiously loud Dodge Challenger. The car was a specimen, however, truly rare as it was well kept and had zero flaws. Mingi took great care of it and never failed to show it off. Even if it was in the middle of the night, when people were trying to relax and sleep as he didn’t seem to care. Whether he had just come home from racing or God’s knows from where or he was bringing girls over and showing off…he’d keep the engine running for at least ten minutes before he finally shut it off. Mingi and I had known each other for more than a year now as the both of us go to the same car gatherings and do the same illegal street races, and even better than that, we’ve raced each other countless of times already. There was only one problem with him and that was his obnoxiously large ego. His car was good, he was a skilled racer, and he knew he looked good. So, all three combined made him an insufferable jerk and I couldn’t stand being around him for more than five minutes. Imagine my shock when I moved in across from him, his car being the give away of who my neighbor would be for an undetermined time. And what made it even worse…was his bedroom facing the main road whereas it was my living room facing it, and Mingi seemed to not know the concept and usage of curtains. Whether he didn’t do it purpose, seriously have major doubts about that, or it was on purpose, it seemed to be his habit to strip naked and change in front of his windows. He never gave it away that he knew I could see him, so out of embarrassment, I never brought it up to him. Not that this would ever be something I would talk to him about, I try to stay away from that prick as he gets on my last nerve. But some things were inevitable and I would be lying to myself if I said his body wasn’t perfect from top to bottom.

I rolled down both windows of my car as I turned down the usually deserted road, which was now filled to the brim with cars on both sides, creating a pathway in the middle. People were swarming between the cars, looking at them and talking to each other. Some were even fighting, needing to be separated as I slowly rolled down the pathway, nodding my head at the familiar faces as they sent waves my way. My arm hung through the window as I steered with one hand, headed to my usual spot. People who were regulars in the illegal races had their own spots and were paid fairly better than the newcomers. Which meant it was totally worth it to race…unless the cops caught you, it was game over then. I put my car in reverse as I carefully parked my car, Soonyoung cheering loudly from the side as he watched, gaining more people’s attention. I rolled my eyes at his theatrics. Soonyoung and I have met three years ago, at a race where we both drifted off into the ditches. Unfortunately his car suffered unfixable damage, unlike mine. The Universe must’ve been on my side that day, because I was convinced I was going to die, yet here I was…unmarried and completely miserable as I plastered on the most genuine looking fake smile on my face that I could.

“Hey, buddy!” I greeted him as I got out of the car, knocked breathless when Soonyoung’s best friend raced towards me, colling into my body and lifting me up into a hug as he started twirling me around aggressively. I had to hold onto his body out of fear of scratching my own car and Soonyoung’s purple Subaru BRZ as my legs gripped around Wooyoung’s waist tightly.

“You made it!” He shouted into my ear and I cringed, crying out as he abruptly stopped, giving me whiplash, “Soonyoung said you were coming but seeing the time—I thought you changed your mind.”

“I didn’t,” I breathed out as Wooyoung finally released me, only for Soonyoung to engulf me into a hug; they both knew I hated hugs, yet never stopped tackling me into one, “But my mother made plans for me and forced me into picking Jennie up—”

“That bitch!” Wooyoung called out at the same time as Soonyoung went off saying, “I thought you were past the age where your mother tells you what to do.”

“Yeah, okay,” I shrugged, pushing my hands into the pocket’s of my leather jacket, “I didn’t know until I got there, Soonyoung, and yes, Jennie is a bitch, Wooyoung.”

“She is! Oh, my God, how dare she still face you after everything she’s done?!” Wooyoung seemed to be annoyed all of a sudden as he huffed, making Soonyoung glance at him. His eyebrows were furrowed as he nodded in agreement. They both hated my cousin, rightfully so, and I did too.

“She still blames it all on San—”

“Bullshit!” Soonyoung suddenly exclaimed, his face pulled into a scowl, “Where’s she anyway? I don’t see her in your car.”

“I kicked her out a block away.” I couldn’t help but giggle as I told my two friends the shit I pulled off. In full honesty, I really couldn’t listen to her ramble on about her apparently picture-perfect life anymore. I hated her guts, I really did. After she ruined my life she had the nerve to rub hers in my face? I don’t think so, not anymore at least; I have made myself very clear after the ugly hysterical fit I had at my mother’s. Soonyoung and Wooyoung shouldn’t have cackled as loudly as they had, palms pressing against their mouths as they congratulated me for being a bad bitch. I wasn’t, I was simply triggered and still hurting.

“You’re iconic, love.” Wooyoung said as he reached out and touched a wavy strand of my hair. I wasn’t planning on dressing up tonight, but something pushed me to do. It’s been too long since I have looked put together, I have missed feeling beautiful and desirable, “And you look absolutely amazing.”

“Thank you.” I bowed playfully as Soonyoung grinned, bumping his shoulder against Wooyoung’s.

“Dressed up for a certain someone to see?” He teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“As if!” I exclaimed and rolled my eyes, knowing very well Soonyoung was referring to Mingi. No, that prick deserved none of my attention or effort, “Before you can spew out more nonsense, I’ll head over to Hongjoong and enter my name in the race.”

“Oh!” Wooyoung exclaimed with excitement as I walked out from between my car and Soonyoung’s, “Which one are you entering?”

“Which one should I?” I stopped to think for a moment as a wicked grin crossed Soonyoung’s features.

“Do the two blocks drifting one.” He instructed with a glint in his eyes and I narrowed mine at him, wondering why he had that face while suggesting such a mild race. Wooyoung glanced at our friend for a second before realization crossed his features and he giggled into his palm, avoiding eye contact with me.

“Fine, but I have a feeling I shouldn’t trust the two of you…” I muttered as Soonyoung and Wooyoung high-fived each other and sent a wink my way, turning their backs as they went to join their other friends once I took off.

My strides were long as I was headed towards the front, where the checkered flag was being waved aggressively, the path having gotten narrower as I was forced to push my way through the crowd. People were loud around me as they cheered for the driver of their choice, egging them on to show a better performance, to win. Four cars were lined up at the starting line, about to start a Sprint. Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s right hand and who handled the races in this part of the town, went and checked on every driver before he walked up to the front, standing in between two cars, holding the checkered flag as he raised his hand. People started shouting like crazy as Seonghwa started counting down and then, dropped the flag, the cars shooting off one by one, each fighting to win the race. I recognized one car, Choi Jongho’s, he was a newcomer but he was rising in the ranks rapidly, creating a name for himself on these streets. Hongjoong stood to the side, leaning against a pole as he was counting the money in his hands, smirking at Seonghwa as he approached him once the coast was clear of any speeding cars. I watched the two as I approached them, Seonghwa talking to Hongjoong softly as the shorter one reached out for his waist with one hand, placing something in the taller one’s back pocket with his other hand. I raised my eyebrows at them as I came to a stop in front of Hongjoong, Seonghwa’s mouth closing abruptly as he stopped talking. Apparently I wasn’t allowed to know what their conversation was about.

“Oh, hey.” Hongjoong’s demeanor changed as he greeted me with a friendly smile, “You’re racing tonight?”

“I sure am.” I said with a grin and Seonghwa took out a small notebook, eyebrows furrowed as he searched for a pen.

“Which category?” He asked as he finally found it and watched me expectantly. I was feeling like going for a Dig tonight, but I remembered what Soonyoung had told me.

“Drifts, the two blocks one.” I said casually, making Hongjoong look up. He looked a little bit surprised as he shared a look with Seonghwa, one which I didn’t understand. But Seonghwa just hummed and jotted my name down in the notebook before he looked up.

“The usual sum?” I nodded and handed them two stacks of money as Seonghwa jotted down the amount, Hongjoong taking the stacks from my hand with a hungry glint in his eyes. I lingered for a second as I wanted to ask who I’d be racing against tonight, but I changed my mind and thanked the two instead as I walked back to my car, deciding that I wanted to live dangerously tonight. Not knowing my rival made it more satisfying when I would win, not having made a strategy for myself beforehand as I didn’t know who the person would be and their driving style. My mind and body craved for the little adrenaline racing infused into my bloodstream and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the prize too.

             Of course, I should have known by Soonyoung and Wooyoung’s giggles that they were setting me up. Losing tonight was as possible as winning, really, it would be about who was more skilled and faster. I watched Mingi’s black 2000 Dodge Challenger pull up to the start line, front tires on the line just like mine. The rumble of his car’s engine was already a tell-tale sign of whom I’d be racing tonight, and I couldn’t help but curse as I saw Wooyoung and Soonyoung high-five each other on the sidelines before showing me a thumbs-up. I could only scowl at them as Seonghwa walked around, gathering money as people made bets on who would win this time. Mingi’s window was rolled down and I saw movement from my peripheral so I looked over lazily, raising an eyebrow at him as he waved his ring clad fingers at me in a mocking way. I rolled my eyes and rolled down my own window, Mingi’s mouth already opening to speak up.

“Evening, doll.” He called over the loud crowd and rumble of our cars engines, “Fancy losing tonight?”

“Don’t get too cocky now, Mingi.” I plastered on a fake smile, “I might smoke you out.”

“I have to admit your ass is pretty fine—” He paused for a dramatic effect as my jaw clenched, knowing well he meant it both ways; car’s and my ass, “but I don’t plan on looking at it for too long tonight.”

I chuckled and pushed my wavy hair behind my shoulders as I leaned over the middle console, my low-cut top not leaving much to imagination, “I would hate to kick you off your high-horse, sweetheart, but your Dodge got nothing compared to my Honda.”

“I thought I have showed you my skills countless times, doll.” The way Mingi caught his lower lip between his teeth shouldn’t have made my stomach flip, but I couldn’t help it as my eyes remained fixed on them. Then, Mingi suddenly smirked as if he could see even from the distance where my eyes were fixated and he lowered his sunglasses slightly, leaning over his open window, “You seem to have forgotten, let me remind you tonight.”

My skin got covered in goosebumps at the offer in his tone, knowing damn well what he was talking about. And it wasn’t about racing anymore. But I wouldn’t let him know how quickly his words could make my body react, therefore, I just leaned back in my seat and started revving the engine of my burgundy car, smirking at Mingi as a displeased look crossed his face. I rolled up my window as he started revving his, Seonghwa having made it between our cars with a flag in his hands. He grinned at Mingi before looking at me, earning a firm nod from me. I decided to take a peek at Mingi swiftly, wondering how he could still see and drive while wearing sunglasses at night, but I quickly pushed all thoughts away as Seonghwa’s hands raised. I gripped the steering wheel tightly with my left hand as my right went to grip the gear stick, eyes set on the road ahead. My left foot was on the shift pedal and the second Seonghwa released the flag, I kicked into action as I shifted into first gear and shoot off, leaving Mingi in a dust behind as I worked my way up through the gears, focusing on the road only, familiar with Mingi’s driving. Beating him tonight would be a piece of cake.

            The windows were fogged up and the leather was scrapping against my knees painfully as I panted, eyebrows scrunched together as I tried to find the perfect rhythm. Mingi’s calloused hands were gripping my waist but he wasn’t doing anything, he was just watching me with an open mouth, leaning forward to press his reddened lips against my flushed skin in no time. He would grunt from time to time as my hips moved up and down, his dick deep inside, hitting every sensitive nerve I had as his tongue licked against my collarbone before I felt him sucking. The small top I was wearing was of no-good use as Mingi’s right hand came up to grope my left breast and I whined as my thighs were starting to strain. It wasn’t a surprise that I have ended up in Mingi’s car not long after our race, which he had won this time, panting and on top of him, desperate for my own release as Mingi didn’t do anything, as he tortured me longer than it was necessary. Mingi’s lips trailed upwards, kissing and biting the skin of my neck before he kissed behind my ear, making me whine as I fastened my pace. A low groan left Mingi’s lips as his nose pressed against the skin of my neck, his hot breath hitting my skin uneven.

“Fuck, I can’t take this any longer.” I panted out, hands tangling into Mingi’s black hair as he slightly pulled back to look up at me. His pupils were blown and his eyes were hazed over with lust, yet he still managed to smirk as his hands went around my naked waist and grabbed my bare ass, helping me out as I moaned loudly, going faster with Mingi’s help. My walls clenched down around him and in response Mingi cursed quietly, biting my neck as his fingers dug into the flesh of my ass, soon enough his body leaning back into the leather cushion of his passenger seat. My arms went to hold onto the headrest of it, whimpers getting louder as my lower region burned, desperate for a release after so much teasing and edging from Mingi. His grunts were constant as I gyrated my hips more frequently, my lower lip in between my teeth as suddenly Mingi hit the sweet spot, making me stutter out a gasp as my walls clenched down around him.

“Fuck.” He cursed in a low rasp, hands releasing me as his hands raised behind his head, eyes shut close for a second, “Fuck, tell me I’m better. He could never fuck you like this, doll.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I went down on his dick again, but missed the angle I have previously found. My brain was in a haze, and I didn’t want his words to register as I continued chasing for an orgasm, but Mingi just wouldn’t shut up, “San could never make you feel this good.”

My body stiffened and muscles contracted as I was snapped out of whatever euphoria I was feeling at the moment, face contorted into disgust as I threw a glare at Mingi, “Why the fuck would you bring up my ex-fiancé during sex, Mingi?!”

Mingi gulped as he opened his eyes, forehead covered in a sheer coat of sweat, “Why? Are you not over him yet?”

I hated the arrogance dripping from his voice, the way he was looking at me, with such superiority, as if he was better, “It’s been four months, only. Would you be over the person you’ve loved for six fucking years and were meant to get married to?”

“I certainly wouldn’t start mopping about it during sex with another man—”

“You brought him up, he wasn’t even in my mind.” I snapped as we remained unmoving, Mingi’s hands latching onto mine against the headrest as he squeezed them.

“He better not be while I have my dick inside you, doll.” Mingi rasped and I scoffed, leaning closer to him, our lips almost touching.

“You sound an awful lot like you’re jealous, sweetheart.” I whispered against his lips before I licked his lips, Mingi’s eyes darkening for a second as he shifted underneath me. He only moved slightly, but the burning and yearning was back as my eyebrows furrowed, “You talk too much. Shut up and fuck me brainless, Mingi.”

“Gladly, doll.” Mingi whispered as he suddenly thrusted upwards, making me yelp in surprise as he suddenly started moving. He wasted no time as he moved fast and sharply, slamming back in before I could even meet his thrusts. My head fell back as I braced myself against his shoulder and neck, mouth open as whimpers kept falling and falling. Mingi’s length reached places nobody’s had before and with his precise and sharp thrusts my thoughts were slowly becoming incoherent again. His face was contorted into pleasure as his eyebrows pulled together, a moan slipping out every now and then as his left hand pushed against the roof of his car as his right hand came down to grab my hips and maneuver them to his liking. The fire was quickly building up in my stomach now with his continuous thrusts and it was starting to get harder and harder to focus on anything else but on chasing my own release. Mingi suddenly leaned up and circled his left arm around my torso as he flushed our bodies together, pivoting his hips up at a relentless pace, making me keen against his ear as my fingers tangled into his hair tightly. Mingi moaned loudly and fucked me harder as I moved messily against him, toes curling from the feeling.

“Fuck, Mingi—” My voice broke off into a loud moan as he finally found my sweet spot again, walls clenching down on him tightly. Mingi gasped and pressed his tall nose against my collarbone as he hit the spot again and again, his moans strained as I screwed my eyes shut, moving my hips in time with his, my hand coming down between us to rub circles against my clit.

“Doll—” Mingi groaned as my muscles tightened, so close to releasing finally as I threw my head back, Mingi’s name falling off my lips in whispers and broken moans. I could feel Mingi twitching inside me constantly and I knew he was close too as his breathing got even more uneven and arms tensed against my body as he leaned back, suddenly holding my jaw, making my eyes snap open, “Look me in the eyes.”

And so I did as I rubbed against my clit faster, Mingi’s thrusts wilder as his hand slipped from my jaw to my neck, putting the right amount of pressure against it. My lips fell open and in a few more desperate thrusts, I was coming undone against Mingi as my body tensed up and spasmed in his arms, moans spilling from my lips until I couldn’t breathe anymore, Mingi’s long fingers cutting off my air. My body shook as euphoria washed over every sense in my body, skin on fire and stomach coiling as I came down crashing hard, ears ringing before I could finally breathe, sputtering nonsense against Mingi’s lips as I fell forward, pressing my lips against his messily. He still hasn’t released yet and as my body went mush in his arms, he continued fucking up into me, head falling back as his moans grew loud. My lips sucked against the sensitive skin of his neck as my body ached from being used too much, but I knew he was close and I wanted him to fill me up.

“Mingi—” I moaned out in pain as my walls felt abused by Mingi’s relentless and messy pace, but when we made eye contact he knew what I was asking of him. His face contorted into pleasure once again and he bit his lower lip and whined as I clenched my walls around his dick, his hands coming to hold onto the headrest as his hips stuttered, stomach stiff as he came too, spilling inside me his warm seed. My stomach twisted at the feeling and I watched Mingi as he panted loudly, pressing his head into the headrest harshly. My right hand cupped his jaw and he lazily blinked his eyes open, watching me with clear eyes. A small smirk crossed his lips as he grabbed me by the nape and pulled me down, our lips meeting for a kiss as we both opened up, tongues meeting in a hot frenzy. I could feel my face heat up as Mingi’s tongue explored my mouth, slowly and sensually, making my skin tingle again as I pressed closer against him, kissing back with the same fervor as he was. He still hadn’t pulled out and I could finally feel the strain in my thighs as everything caught up with me at once, the yearning of my body. I could never get enough of Mingi, but I never allowed myself to think too hard about it. Mingi licked into my mouth with finality, sucking on my tongue before pulling away, a small string of saliva snapping as he went and sucked on my lower lip, making me push him away when he bit down on the soft flesh harshly. He seemed pleased with himself as he trailed his hands down the sides of my body, gripping my hips steadily.

“Wanna go for another race?” He asked seriously and I looked at him with an incredulous look.

“To lose more money that would go to you?” I asked with a scoff, making Mingi smirk as he lightly squeezed my hips.

“So, you do admit I would win again?”

“Don’t think you’re too special,” I rolled my eyes as Mingi smirked, “I’m just too spent after our little session…”

“Poor you,” Mingi mocked and pursed his lips, “Here I was, feeling like going for a second round…”

“I can’t feel my thighs anymore, forget it.” I snapped and made to finally get off him, but Mingi didn’t let me as he smiled, batting his eyelashes at me like he wanted something.

“And if we go home?” He asked airily, jutting his lower lip out, “Will you let me fuck you into the mattress?”

My jaw almost fell open, but I managed to stop myself as I tsked, smirking at him, “Can’t get enough of me?”

Mingi smirked and slightly raised me up by the waist, making me gasp at the friction, “Apparently I can’t.”

I chuckled as Mingi leaned up to peck my lips before lifting me off himself, an unfamiliar glint in his eyes which told me the rumble of our cars engines wouldn’t be the only thing keeping up our neighbors tonight.

Masterlist (divider)

[moonshynecybin]

sorry what exactly happened in Argentina?

repsol-ariel did two gifests about it here and here and the race is actually online 4 free HEREE but as vale says in that podcast, marc made a stupid tire choice and vale passed him, then marc got a lil overzealous tryin to catch him again and crashed out pretty hard. now where vale and i disagree in terms of interpretation of these events is uh. notable. because vale seems to think that marc gunned it on the inside (not pictured in the gifsets but they DO make contact right before that, 45:37 is the timestamp on youtube) so he could divebomb vale and knock him out of the race on purpose. like a nascar bump and run. which um no i dont think that is correct my man. in fact i think that is somewhat unhinged ! like the contact/crash is marc's typical slightly criminal overeager bully-on-track behavior and IS marc's fault imo but like marc is being the same bitch he's always been. brother it happens. vale's statement also. interestingly 2 me. sounds a lot like what pecco said about alex a couple weeks ago. funny, that !

but fr its essentially the first sign of on-track tension between them for the 2015 season, and also pretty emblematic of marc's season as a whole. The 2015 honda had a difficult, unforgiving chassis and marc crashed a lot more than normal (part of which was him trying to override it), which along with some injuries pretty much took him out of title contention for the year (the yamaha was also just really good ! vale and jorge were slayingggg). but vale being like YEAH marc tried to KILL ME and then KISSED MY ASS for the rest of the year despite HATING ME for the rest of the season is like. a really crazy thing to say to me because the NEXT RACE was jerez 2015, where he made a bunch of tongue in cheek gay sex jokes about him + marc AND was just generally VERY sweet the whole time ! like he was pretty concerned about marc's hand injury! (links HERE and here and here and theres more i cant find but crucially its all initiated by VALE. not marc) so i think there's some realllll confirmation bias coloring his memory here because as we know if vale hates your ass he'll just cut you the fuck out. and he demonstrably hadnt done that yet. like look at this image. look at the person fujoing out in the back. this was two weeks after argentina !!!!

[silveryhill]

F1 RACING, 01.06.2001

Murray Walker's interview with Alain

The last is the inevitable one, Ayrton Senna. But before you answer, I want to tell you a little story. One year at Monaco, I waited four and a half hours outside the Marlboro motorhome to do an interview with Senna. The two of you were having a debrief. When the door opened, the first person who came out was you. I said: "You've been in there for four and a half hours. What on earth do you talk about for all that time?" You said: "Well, Murray, we talk about this and we talk about that, but I do not like to be the first to leave!" Did that sum up your relationship with Ayrton?

Yes and no. The team were very professional. Everything we could get from each other was important. If you left too soon, you would miss learning something.

But the way you said it, I had the impression that once you left, Ayrton would say, "And put another two pounds in the tyres."

We were very professional. Even when we had the big fight. It was a funny situation because we only talked to each other in the briefings. There, it was like we never had any problem. We were sharing set-ups and things on the car. I promise you – and I don't know whether the same is true for him – that I never, ever lied to him.

As someone who had enormous admiration for Senna, I never forgave him for lying about Japan in '90.

The only problems I have today are Imola '89 and Japan '90. I really suffered over them. Everybody lies in life, but when you lie for your own benefit... I suffered a lot. I almost stopped at the end of '90. For a few days I wondered whether it was worth carrying on, especially when I saw the comments in the papers that it was almost my fault! I remember one of the Honda engineers coming to me on the evening of the race and saying, "We have looked at the telemetry. It is unbelievable, Senna stayed absolutely flat until the impact." I thought, "Shit." Why didn't the truth come out? Living with that was very difficult. You must understand that Ayrton's motivation was to beat me. All he wanted to do was beat me. Being world champion was one thing, but that was almost second to the challenge of beating me. I was his obsession. As soon as I retired, he changed totally. We talked on the phone as if we had been friends for a long time. After I stopped, our new relationship made me forget about everything else. I remembered only the best of Ayrton and not the worst. It's like in school.