#alSO YES THIS BETTER NOT BE GOODBYE FOR REAL

[autoauthor]

Story Idea

Okay so, this one I've put a lot of thought into so I'm gonna put a lot under the read-more in case anyone's willing to actually wait for it to be written up.

So, the premise is that the Senju are a clan of monster hunters in the modern day. They deal with ghosts and cryptids and the like but the most dangerous are demons. Tobirama is one of their best field agents. However, after his fiancé was tragically killed by a demon, he blamed himself and began taking missions like he had nothing more to lose.

If you've been paying attention, you can probably guess that that fiance was Izuna.

Actually, before Izuna died, Tobirama had planned to stop taking such long and/or dangerous missions so the two of them could build a life together. He was going to step back into more of a mentor role.

He really only has one goal in his life now. To kill - not banish - the demon that killed his fiancé and finally set his soul to rest.

Read more if you don't care about *spoilers*

So, Tobirama hears about some sketchy stuff going on around his would-be brother-in-law and goes on what should be a rather minor mission.

Or it would be, if the culprit weren't a demon wearing the face of his former lover.

Of course, he does not take this well and attacks - only for it to be revealed that the demon is in fact Izuna. Madara somehow managed to summon his now demonic soul.

This version of Izuna does not remember anything about his life. Reminders such as his name, engagement ring, etc cause him physical pain. He wants to hurt but also wants to be near Tobirama instinctively. But he also realizes as a fledgling demon he's wildly outclassed so heès afraid of him too.

Tobirama, logically, should banish Izuna back to the demon realm. At the very least he should bind Izuna under his command so that he has control over him. He does not do that.

Instead he makes a subservient contract like the one Madara has. He also lies to his brother and the Senju about the situation.

EVEN MORE SPOILERY (BE WARNED)

So Izuna's death was a conspiracy of the Senju elders who wanted to keep Tobirama under their thumb. Izuna leaned this before his death so a huge motivation for his demon is an intense hatred towards the Senju. But he has no memory of why.

Tobirama and Madara take it to mean he did blame Tobirama for his death.

[unrelatabledude]

god okay i want to shit post and make jokes about tags and also talk about alkaloid in the dungeon meshi au so lets do the jokes first

(tags from @/mutsuowo)

(tags from @/agried thank you for ur thoughts sm sm i really appreciated them)

The original idea for alkaloid is kinda the idea of.... Kabrus party a secondary group of adventurers led by Hiiro and people he met to go pick up Rinne and take him home. But I had kinda zero'd into the Canary influence and liked the idea of Mayoi being this tracker Canary who terrfied people and then you talk to her and shes like. screaming and crying. Aira was originally going to be a half-foot bard and he still could be! A lot of this stuff is up in the air and unsure. Tatsumi was Kaname's school friend either way and is pretty well known around the island. Himeru goes out of his way to avoid him and I think Tatsumi maybe isnt fully aware of what went down in there. I think he probably got teleported out sans a leg or something and when seeing what he assumes is "Kaname" he feels too guilty to speak up for him until the Canaries roll around again looking for him.

It is also a cute idea for Aira to just be a guy though. Maybe he writes a column for the paper about the dungeon and the adventurers. I feel bad because I probably dont have huge ideas for people!! So really I just want it to be fun.

[actuallyitsstar]

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw + 5, 12, and 24? (Ok, that's all😆)

✨ send me a number and a character! ✨

5. what's the first song that comes to mind when you think of them?

when i first started writing time takes no prisoners i had like, VERY RECENTLY seen tgm for the first time and i didn't rly have much of a playlist to write to. it was kind of like 4 songs on loop lol. i've already talked to you about this song but by sheer force of pavlovian conditioning, it's got to be kids by the midnight. however, since that's not new information, i'll share a runner up instead that was also on that playlist of like four songs when i first started writing ttnp: everything i own by bread. the one big thing mav and bradley have in common with each other is their grief, and originally i added this song to the playlist with mav in mind, but after hearing it all the way through again i decided this was very bradley coded.

it does really make me think of bradley about mav during the fight, like, a lot (nobody else could ever know / the part of me that can't let go. and also is there someone you know you're loving them so / but taking them all for granted? you may lose them one day / something takes them away / and they don't hear the words you long to say).

there's also something to be said about goose and the inescapable trauma of having a dead father that everyone else seemed to have a bigger piece of than you, and the way goose's memory was taught to bradley through the people he still had (mom, mav, the flyboys) and their memory of goose's love for them. in a way, it means goose really did teach bradley to go all in on the ones he loves, doesn't it? he got that bradshaw over-protectiveness from his mom, and from goose, too, even if he learned it second hand. (you taught me how to love / what it's of / you never said too much / but still you showed the way / and i knew from watching you) but it also reminds me a lot of his grief over losing his mother (you sheltered me from harm / kept me warm / you gave my life to me / set me free).

and i think these (losing goose, losing carole, then losing mav) really are the three most defining events in bradley's life, and that bradley is a very all-or-nothing sort of person. if he's in your corner, he's in your corner (phoenix for example, mav later) and if he's not, you're enemies. (hangman. mav during the fight). so, i think the concept of giving everything you own for someone is very him <3 and he's been burdened with so much loss. i think he is that desperate and that lonely. he did kind of try to give everything for mav, didn't he? he was willing to die for him. he was in mav's corner all along <3

12. what's a headcanon you have for this character?

idk if this is a hot take but bradley is like...... just a little bit of a himbo. he is moving through life at his own pace and he is overthinking everything with all that anxiety, but not in a practical way. this man uses 18-in-1 toiletries exclusively and does not have a skincare routine. i don't mean like, oh, he doesn't use serums. i mean he's in the shower like 'oh the runoff from this combination shampoo-conditioner-body wash-shaving gel will get my face clean so i don't have to bother with washing that separately'. this man shakes the excess water out of his hair and is lucky enough to be blessed with his mother's curls, so it just sort of.... dries in a shape. he has never intentionally styled it. he does not understand why learning this frustrates people like phoenix and hangman immensely.

he can make eggs and toast and a grilled cheese and heat up a can of soup but that's about it, and it's not because carole didn't try to teach him- but when he was little he had too much energy to stand still and pay attention in the kitchen, and when he was older and shouldering more responsibility, she was too sick to teach him. he makes a mean box of macaroni and cheese. he would know. he's only eaten like 10,000 of them since leaving home ajdhfjfhg.

24. what character from another fandom reminds you of them?

aaaaaa this is a very tough question actually, i don't know if i really have a good answer for it. i almost skipped this one because my answer will be very imperfect, lol, but i have a very very basic option that came to mind and i'm just going to run with it and highlight their (arguably few, though notable) similarities:

this is andy travis from the very old and obscure tv show, wkrp in cincinnati.

some of the information i am about to share about him is disputable because they're a little vague about his backstory but i used to write for this fandom a lot so i Have Decided What's True lol

he's a huge perfectionist, overly cautious until he gains confidence in his abilities and relationships later in the series, and also is actually very caring and friendly. much like bradley, if he is in your corner he's in your corner and he's doing whatever he has to for you. if he's not in your corner- you're enemies.

unfortunately he's not very much in his own corner and he doesn't place much value on himself outside of his accomplishments.

he is an orphan who was raised by his aunt and uncle instead. he wanted to do something with his life that they felt was risky and didn't really want him doing, but he was determined that it was the only thing he wanted in life, and he measures his worth as an individual by practically making himself sick with the effort of succeeding.

he's also a himbo with accidentally perfect hair who doesn't understand why people think it's frustrating that he lives like this

he also canonically exercises and punishes himself in other ways instead of actually dealing with his emotions (rooster doing too many push ups on the tarmac 🤝 andy going for runs after work even tho he hates it because hes upset at himself for having no life ot successes)

idk the similarities probably stop here tbh this is the only other overly perfectionist orphan i have ever written for so my pickings were slim ok 😭😭let's not talk about it too much akjdhdjfhfhjf

[sourappl3s]

•°. *࿐ Simple yet full tutorial on how to manifest your dream life!

I will mention everything in this post! so if you comment something like “can i still manifest—“ or “how do i—“ it will be ignored! everything in this post goes by MY beliefs, you don’t have to change what you believe in! just understand these are what i’ve grown to believe/know. Enjoy the post! (also i’m not changing my theme i just think these colors go with topic i’m talking about. I WILL be a bit passive aggressive in this post so try not to get butt-hurt! i’m very straightforward with it.

╰┈➤ Step 1: Bury the old you for good. say goodbye to the old you.

are you the person who was, over-consuming information? couldn’t get off of tumblr because you assumed you needed to find more?, are you the person who keeps saying “i’m finally starting this time” just to get consumed by doubts and play the old story ONCE again?. are you the person who sobs in their room bed-rotting reading success stories so it can give you that “motivation”? oh but how you wish that were you? are you the person who keeps falling back into the old cycle?, are you the person who keeps thinking they need to be specific about their desires because you think if you aren’t “specific enough” you won’t fully get what you want? are you the person who keeps dwelling on the 3D for validation when they clearly know thats not what they’re supposed to do but continue it anyway? if you said yes ANY of this which i’m sure you did, then congratulations you made it to the right stop! because i’m here to burn that version of you. from now on you will become a better version of yourself, you WILL change self and you have absolutely no choice but to follow along with that fact. starting TODAY, THIS SECOND, NOW, NOW, NOW, NOW. you are no longer dwelling on the 3D, you are no longer the person who “just can’t do it”, you are no longer the person who “can’t manifest”. you are no longer the person who over-consumes. you are no longer the person who doom scrolls, you are no longer the person who isn’t trusting of themselves. YOU ARE NOW A CHANGED PERSON. you will promise to yourself RIGHT NOW that you will never dig up this old version of you again. you will promise to walk by faith and not by sight, you will promise to trust the unseen, you will promise yourself to win. burn and destroy the shovel that you’ve constantly used to dig your own grave that prevents you from success. you will win in this lifetime and the next and forever. your promise has been sealed, don’t break it.

╰┈➤ Step 2: Make your own rules in your reality.

if you understand, you know law of assumption is basically about making assumptions and you make assumptions EVERY-SINGLE-DAY 24/7. so use the law of assumption to your advantage and don’t feel guilty about it either because this is YOUR reality! nobody has a say in what rules you’re not supposed to have. make it fun for you. for example; You assume everything you do is the right way. then by LAW, BY LAW! everything you do is the right way, wether that be, making assumptions, persisting correctly, living in the end correctly, being in the wish fulfilled correctly. EVERYTHING YOU DO is the right way to do it because thats YOUR rule you decided to have. you wanna assume another rule? okay make it. decide thats your rule and live your life following those rules you make. you are LIMITLESS, don’t punish yourself because you make rules that maybe seen as crazy or too egoistic. this is your personal journey so don’t feel obligated to tell anyone you don’t wanna tell them. you are above everything. nothing exists outside of you.

╰┈➤ Step 3: Decide.

decide, decide, decide, decide, DECIDE. decide you have whatever it is that you want that you have it NOW. thats all you have to do to literally win. there really isn’t much about this topic because you decide every day. to get what you want is to simply decide you have it now. don’t say you don’t know how to decide because thats bs, you know how to decide you’re just scared you’re deciding the “wrong way”. hence to why i said “You assume everything you do is the right way. then by LAW, BY LAW! everything you do is the right way, wether that be, making assumptions, persisting correctly, living in the end correctly, being in the wish fulfilled correctly.” decide you make decisions the right way. and there’s literally no right way to make a decision but some of you are a bit dense (no shade!) but some of you need to have a feeling you’re doing something “right” so you can feel successful. please stop over complicating the simplest things. you’re grown so act like it, we shouldn’t have to keep spoon feeding you.

╰┈➤ Step 4: For the last final time surrender to imagination.

imagination is the only reality, it’s literally everything, the inner world (4D) is everything the outer world (3D) is just a reflection. in imagination you can be EVERYTHING if you wanna be the girl/guy who’s better than everyone at everything then you can be that in imagination, wanna be richer than elon? then you are in imagination, wanna have elsa’s powers? then you have it in imagination, wanna be a vampire? then you are in imagination, wanna switch lives with someone? then you’ve switched lives with someone in imagination. once you experience it in imagination then IT IS DONE. ITS MATERIALIZED, you’re not waiting for anything anymore because it already happened. all your focus goes to the 4D (imagination). i didn’t say ignore the 3D keep taking care of yourself but i just want you to understand your success is inevitable! once experienced in the inner world the OUTER WORLD, is automatically doing its job to reflect that for you. so why are you constantly getting mad at the 3D for doing its job? it reflects what you consistently put your awareness on it reflects what you claim to have in imagination, it reflects everything you make natural to yourself. a’lot of you are hellbent on trying to get results in the 3D. you have results already in the goddamn 4D. stop waiting for something you already have. its not coming. it’s already THERE. you HAVE it. creation is finished. so surrender to the 4D, fall in love with imagination. if you have it in imagination you have it now, nothing can take that away from yourself unless YOU say you don’t have it anymore. quit giving yourself mixed signals. this isn’t one of your situationships. this is YOU we’re talking about. don’t be a loser in your own reality.

╰┈➤ Summary.

this is your final push. you can manifest absolutely anything, you are not limited to anything, circumstances do not matter, THEY NEVER DID, always pay attention to what you tell yourself, you’re in control of everything. don’t withhold yourself from success, because if you won’t do in this reality you will never win. besides in that other reality you’re the worlds most handsome/beautiful person ever. you’re also on your 3rd world tour rn! and jeez are you rich, you made poor elon musk cry! must be nice being you in that other reality! identify with it. ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“Feeling lonely, hm?”

The hero didn’t burden their head with turning towards the voice. They weren’t in the mood for cruel charades.

Instead, they stared at the TV they hadn’t turned on in over a month and debated if not showing up at work would cause any huge conflicts.

Probably.

They closed their eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’re ignoring me,” the villain’s voice purred. “Me.”

“You’re not real, so it’s my obligation to ignore you,” the hero said. They stared at their hands and couldn’t help but feel like their physique had changed. They didn’t seem to be as muscular as before. They didn’t seem all that healthy either.

“Not real, huh?” The villain walked towards the hero’s armchair and let themselves drop lazily. “Now that’s a bit unfair.”

“Yeah,” the hero said. They stared at the coffee table with the empty coffee mug. “Some things have been pretty unfair.”

“I thought you were supposed to ignore me.”

“R-right.” The hero looked away and once again, their heart got quite heavy. They couldn’t sleep at night, that was one of the more annoying things. Eating was also difficult, working was…unbearable. They couldn’t think straight.

And above all those hallucinations…their eyes went back to the villain who was stretching in their chair.

Usually, those hallucinations made one mistake. Or better, that part of the hero’s brain that was responsible, made a mistake. Mischaracterising the villain in such a way that the entire illusion shut down entirely.

The hero hadn’t told their doctors about their imaginary nemesis. But that was mainly because the hero would probably not be allowed to work as a superhero for a few weeks.

They clenched their fists, dug their fingernails into their own flesh.

“You look troubled,” the villain said. “Are you eating enough? You’ve lost weight.”

“I’m fine,” the hero whispered back. They looked up at the ceiling.

“You miss me.” Every single time. The hallucination said that every single time. The hero turned their gaze towards the villain’s image and stared.

“Yes, I do. So what?”

“Most people feel some sense of accomplishment after beating their enemies,” the villain said. They put one of their thighs on the other. “And two months is quite enough time to find a new enemy worth your time.”

The hero’s eyes widened.

“I don’t want someone else. And I…technically, I didn’t defeat you. I didn’t kill you, I didn’t arrest you. You just…” The hero’s throat burnt like acid and their bottom lip trembled. “…you just died.”

They swallowed the pain and leaned forward.

“Just wish I could’ve said goodbye,” they mumbled. This time, the hallucination didn’t answer. “That wasn’t fair. Our relationship didn’t deserve that end.”

“I didn’t think you’d care about the end,” the villain said.

“Isn’t the end the most important part?” the hero asked. The taste on their tongue was extremely bitter and they knew it didn’t come from the coffee they had finished an hour ago. “Either way, you are haunting me. So, I guess once again I get the worst of it all. You got the easy way out. As always.”

“Haunting you?”

“Yeah.”

“You must really like me, then,” the villain said. They chuckled sweetly, like they had whenever the hero was embarrassing themselves. For some reason, the pit in the hero’s stomach grew, that unsettling feeling spread.

The hallucination had never been cruel enough to laugh. It was such a wonderful sound that even the hero’s lips curved into a smile.

“Yeah, can you blame me? I must’ve fallen a few months ago.” Suddenly, the hallucination was quiet again.

Their eyes met and for a second, the hero swore it was the real villain in front of them. They tilted their head.

“You never mentioned that.”

“Too afraid of rejection, I suppose,” the hero answered. They shrugged. “Any rejection would have been better than this, though.”

The hallucination got up from the chair and slowly walked to the couch where the hero was sitting on.

“I would have never rejected you, you dense…” The hallucination was even capable of blushing. The hero frowned. “Whatever.”

Ultimately, the illusion grabbed them, sat down on the hero’s lap and kissed them.

It took the hero a few more seconds to realise what was really happening.

[angelhyun]

partition - ljn

[a/n]: yes, i got the title from the beyoncé song LOL enjoyyy ;)

pairing: bodyguard!lee jeno x afab!celebrity!reader

[wc]: 3k

-> cw: smut, car foreplay, oral (f receiving), fingering, come eating, slight degradation and voyeurism (18+, mdni)

prelude: It's hard to keep your composure as a celebrity, especially when you're constantly surrounded by your bodyguard, who is everything you want in a man and more. He's quiet, protective, and professional, but you're positive that all he sees you as is a spoiled brat. There's no way he'd be into that...right?

part 2: here!

It’s late and you’ve just finished up your photoshoot, changing out of the uncomfortable dress the brand had you model in. You’ve been tirelessly tugging at the zipper for the past few minutes, but it just wouldn’t budge. You were considering yanking it down, but you didn’t want to risk destroying the dress. You break it, you buy it, and you knew you never wanted to wear this thing ever again. 

Frustrated, you peek out from behind the curtain, seeing all of the makeup artists and staff occupied with tidying up. “Shit…” you whisper, more than ready to step out and inconvenience them. Finally, your gaze meets your bodyguard’s–Lee Jeno. He was leaning up against the wall in his suit, also quite tired, but he perked up once he caught hold of your gaze. His eyebrows shot up in concern as you beckoned him over, but he obliged nonetheless, taking long confident strides in your direction.

You found him so hot. Too hot to be real, quite frankly. His captivating features and Superman-like build had you in a chokehold, and it pained you that you couldn’t act on it, afraid he’d freak out and quit his job. Then you’d be stuck with some other lame bodyguard who definitely wouldn’t be as likable as Jeno was. Looks aside, he was a great guy and excelled at his task—keeping you safe.

Your eyes widened slightly when you realized he was now standing right in front of you, trying his best to keep his gaze lowered in respect due to your slight indecency. “Need anything, Miss?” he asks, his deep voice slightly quieter than usual. He was always a bit timid, but usually had more conviction when he spoke. You guessed it was due to the circumstances at hand. “Yeah, actually. This damn zipper won’t budge,” you whined. He was used to this, knowing you were a very high maintenance woman. Though, he never complained. “I’ve been tugging on it forever, I swear this is the last time I’m coming here. Could you please help me?” 

He swallows as you turn around, the zipper already halfway down your back, but trailing lower than he anticipated. He clears his throat, knowing he had to stay professional. “Of course.” he replies, his hand hovering over the middle of your back. He inhales, grabbing hold of the metal, tugging it down in one slight movement. 

“Oh,” you say, embarrassed. “Guess it likes you better. Thanks.” you wallow in self-pity at that lame joke you used to try and break the tension that was most definitely one-sided on your end. He simply nods and walks away, leaving you to finish changing. You close the curtain, internally tweaking out over how his touch lingered on your lower back. You were definitely wide awake now. Using this newfound energy–or adrenaline–you finish getting changed and gather all of your belongings, saying goodbye to everyone you worked with on set.

You walk out of the studio with Jeno by your side as always. He walks you to your car, well-equipped with a personal driver of course. You watch as he quickens his pace once you both approach the car, opening the door for you. Maybe chivalry isn’t totally dead. You manage to thank him quietly with a small smile despite the awkwardness that occurred only moments prior as he shuts your door, walking around to the other side of the vehicle, sliding in next to you. 

He signals the driver to pull out of the lot, knowing you both had a decently long ride back to the hotel and it was already quite late. You couldn’t stand the silence, moping in the newly installed leather seats which were your signature colour, of course. Turning to Jeno, you meet his gaze–him already looking at you with dilated eyes–catching both of you by surprise, in which he responds by quickly looking away. You try to hide your smile, deciding that the earlier tension you felt in the dressing room was definitely reciprocated. 

“Did you enjoy the shoot?” he asks, his deep yet sincere voice once again breaking the silence. You liked the quiet confidence he had. “It wasn’t too bad. I liked the environment, the staff, the line–well, everything but that last dress." you laugh softly, purposely bringing it up again in hopes of getting a reaction from him. To your surprise, his lips twist up into the hottest smirk you’ve ever seen. He looks back at you, a glint of something foreign in his eyes. “Really? I thought it looked great from where I was standing.” he compliments, and you feel those damn butterflies again. 

“Me or the dress?” you decide to match his subtle flirting, not missing what was the opportunity of a lifetime to you. “You in the dress.” he answers smoothly, maintaining that eye contact. You could already feel your arousal dampening your panties with how he was practically eye-fucking you in the confined space of the vehicle’s backseat. “I mean, it was pretty but it was also really uncomfortable. I’m glad you were there to help me out of it.” you add, truly testing the waters. How he replied to this determined everything.

“Anytime.” he answers nonchalantly. “What?” you question, voice steady. “I said, anytime. It was my pleasure.” he repeats. Oh, that was it. You knew what you wanted and you were going to get it now. He also knows you. Staying by your side practically every waking minute of the day has its benefits, and he can tell you’re ready to jump his bones. Seeing your face when he lets your hookups in and out of your room let him know exactly how you look when you’re needy, and he’s getting hard from the way he can practically read you like a book right now. That’s how he knew exactly what you were about to do. 

“Driver���” you were cut off by Jeno unbuckling his seatbelt, leaning over the console to press the button to roll up the partition himself, as you were about to instruct the driver to. He leans back in his seat, looking at you with his eyes glazed over. Recovering from him practically reading your mind so accurately, you look at him in a slight daze, snapping out of it when you see him pat his lap. 

You immediately unbuckle your belt, straddling the man you’ve wanted all this time. His big strong hands immediately find place on your hips, pulling you in closer to him. He leans in, breath fanning against your ear, making your heart beat faster. “I know you like to have things your way all the time like a little brat, but that’s not how I operate, princess. I’m gonna give you all I got, and you’re gonna take it, okay?” he asks, his voice rasps with need. Your mouth goes dry, but your panties are quite the opposite. 

“What happened to that big mouth of yours? So quiet, I’ve never seen you like this. You’re usually so loud and verbal with all your other boy toys, what happened now?” he taunts, shocking you to your core. You didn’t know he had such a mouth on him either, but you weren’t going to take it for granted. Your arms that were draped over his shoulders grip his broad frame tighter, moving yourself against his lap impatiently. He lets out a soft groan at that, giving you a look that could kill. “Oh, you wanna be naughty now?” he asks lowly. 

You shake your head, unsure of what to do or say. Most men you’ve slept with would’ve been inside of you by now, driven by their desperation, wanting to live out their fantasy of fucking their favourite celebrity. Jeno taking his time with you was so new and it had you practically malfunctioning, already dumbed down by a dick that wasn’t in you yet. You lean into his touch as he gently cups the side of your face in one of his hands, understanding your inner turmoil. “I just want you to let me know you really want this too. Just one word, princess. Just say yes.” he says softly, but almost desperately, his desire seeping through his words.

“Yes.” you say almost instantly, and his lips are on yours. He kisses you with pent up frustration and lust that he hid out of respect for you. Knowing you felt the same way all this time was an additional turn on for him, his hand travelling up your side to grab the back of your head, deepening the kiss. His lips were relentless, bottom teeth sinking into your plush lower lip. You get the memo and immediately part your lips, allowing his waiting tongue inside. 

You breathe through your nose as you kiss back, getting sloppier now as your tongues collide. You tug at the hair on his nape, eliciting soft moans out of him that you swallow up. You abruptly pull back for air, smirking as you see how swollen his lips are, slightly tinted from the lip products you previously had on. “You’re a mess.” you muse, panting for air. “You’re one to talk,” he quips back with a lazy smirk that makes you want him even more, wiping the mix of your saliva off his lips. “I’m not finished with you.” he practically growls.

You respond with another grind against his hips which he retaliates by grabbing hold of your hips again in an attempt to halt your movements. He begrudgingly fishes for his phone out of his pocket, drawing your attention once more to the large bulge straining against the material of his dress pants. He always looked so sexy in those suits of his, all dressed up, looking his best just for you. He checks the time, sighing. “We’re about 5 minutes away from the hotel.” he says bitterly. “I don’t care. I can’t wait,” you beg. “I need you, Jeno–” he shuts you up with another chaste kiss. “I know, princess, I know. Don’t get all whiny on me again.” he warns.

“But I know you like it when I do that. You practically admitted in.” you remind him, to which he scoffs, looking away as if considering your words. “Alright, I’ll give you my fingers for now, but you have to stay quiet. Don’t wanna alert the driver with your pretty moans that are meant just for me, right?” he teases, but you nod, desperately wanting something to fill your drenched core. “Then,” he continues “when we reach your suite, I’m gonna fuck the brattiness out of you.” he whispers into your ear, nose dragging along your cheekbone. “How does that sound, pretty girl?” 

You respond by kissing him again, moaning into his mouth, then remembering his request. You quiet down, parting from him as he pats your thigh with a knowing smirk. “Goodness, what would all of your fans think, knowing that this is what their favorite celebrity is up to. Little Miss Perfect is about to get finger banged by her bodyguard in the back of her car. Imagine the headlines.” he taunts as you bury your head into the crook of his neck. He holds the back of your head gently to comfort you. “Don’t get all embarrassed now, pretty. You’re lucky these windows are tinted.”

He finally starts his venture into your pants, the thin material providing him with easy access. He slides his large hand down, cupping your clothed cunt with it. “Fuck, you’re already soaked.” he grunts, voice filled with arousal. You feel his fingers rubbing against your clothed clit, already writhing in his hand. “Jeno!” you whine. “Shh, I know, baby. I know. You need to be quiet, remember? We don’t want the driver exposing our dirty little secret.”

You only grow wetter from his words, feeling as if you already came. You start to impatiently buck against his hand, trying to get any form of release you can. He responds by gently smacking your mound, earning a whimper from you. “Impatient princess. The only reason I’m giving in is because we’re short on time, but you’re getting punished later.” he warns, and you nod, barely registering his words due to your neediness. 

He lifts you off his lap, his strength evident as he lays you down across the backseat. He taps your hip, signalling for you to lift them up as he slides your pants down, peeling your panties off with them. He stares down at the current state your cunt was in, already glistening and dripping with your arousal. “Fuck baby, you’re making me want to eat you out.” he rasps, holding your thighs apart as he really takes in the scene in front of him. 

“Please,” you beg. “Please, Jeno…need you so bad.” you whine once more. At the current moment, whines begging for Jeno were the only words you could formulate. You felt yourself start to leak onto the seats, which he noticed and quickly shrugged off his suit jacket, laying it down under you. “Fuck it.” he growls, diving mouth first into your sopping cunt. Your hand flies down into his hair, needing something to grip onto as he practically devours you. Your other hand covers your mouth, trying to drown out every sound escaping you. 

His tongue parts your folds, licking up from your entrance to your clit, sucking on the stimulated bud. You try to close your legs, already overwhelmed, but his broad shoulders prevent that from happening. He’s relentless as he continues to eat you out, the sounds of him ravishing you filling up the backseat. You silently prayed that the partition was somehow thick and soundproof. 

He moves down to your entrance, tongue fucking you, making you roll your eyes back in total ecstasy. His big nose nudges at your clit with his ministrations, only doubling your pleasure. “J-jeno..” you tremble, words coming out in a whisper turned into a moan. His eyes look up at you, dilated and crazed, not stopping his motions. He was clearly pussy drunk, breathing heavily through his nose, inhaling the scent of your slick while simultaneously letting it be the only thing on his tastebuds.

You wanted to tell him you were close, but he read your mind once again, moving his mouth up to your clit as he slid his hand up from your thigh. The tip of his middle finger circles your tight hole, eliciting a moan from him when he feels just how tight and wet you are. He slowly slides it in, making you gasp into your own hand, still worried about being heard by your driver. 

He starts slowly pumping his finger in and out of you while your walls squeeze him. He’s now placing kisses onto your clit, looking up at your face once more as he adds another finger, sliding his index in along with his middle. You mewl at the stretch, feeling fuller and even closer to coming. He starts mimicking scissor-like motions, wanting to open you up for him even more. You clench around the digits, signalling to him that you were almost there. 

He picks up the pace, tongue giving your clit faster yet firmer kitten licks while he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you relentlessly. He wanted to add another but you were way too tight, which only turned him on even more, watching as your arousal started to coat his fingers in white. He uses his free hand that was on your thigh to hook your leg around his broad shoulders, lifting his face up as he replaced his tongue with his thumb. “Come for me, baby.” he commands, voice horse, the bottom half of his handsome face totally covered in your slick. He’s panting and flushed—looking just as wrecked as you probably do. The sight of the man you’ve been pining over looking this wrecked from eating you out combined with his long fingers pistoning in and out of you was more than enough for your orgasm.

He pushes your hand away from your mouth, replacing it with his lips, swallowing your moans as you come down while tasting yourself on him. His fingers don’t stop, him still rubbing at your clit, coaxing you through your release. You could die happy right now, utterly satisfied just from his hands and his mouth. You could only imagine what he had in store for later. 

You’re shaking, basking in your release as you feel the car stop, suddenly hearing a couple of camera shutters. Jeno breaks the kiss, cupping your face in one hand. “You good, princess?” he asks, and you nod, slightly panicking as you release you’re back at the hotel now. The driver knocks on the partition to signal your arrival and Jeno answers for you. “Just a moment.” he says protectively. He looks down at you with complete and utter care. “I got you, baby.” he coos, sliding your ruined panties back on alongside your pants. It’s uncomfortable, but what other choice did you have. 

You pull out your compact mirror from your purse, trying your best to fix yourself up as Jeno shrugs on his suit jacket. Thankfully, the back wasn’t tainted by your come, leaving only the inside slightly coated. He wipes his mouth and face with his handkerchief, watching you reapply your lipstick, wanting nothing more than to kiss you again.

Once you both look as decent as you possibly can, he exits first, opening the door for you. Your legs were still slightly wobbly, so he steadied you, ushering you inside as you heard even more cameras shuttering alongside questions and shouts of your name coming from the group of fans and reporters lined up outside. You had no idea how they knew you'd be back at this time, but you didn’t care. Hell, you didn’t even care how fucked out you looked.

All you could think about was the massive tent Jeno was trying his best to cover up. You smirk, making eye contact with him as you walk past the receptionist to the elevators. “That looks painful.” you quietly tease, voice hoarse from your earlier activities. “It is. You’re about to make it all better for me, brat.” he sneers as he tugs you into the elevator, not even letting the doors shut before his lips are back on yours. 

Oh well, all attention is good attention in your line of work.

[a/n]: hehehe, need me a bodyguard like that. let me know if you want a part 2 about them getting back into the hotel room ;)

edit: read part 2 here!

taglist (tysm to those who interacted with the preview ♡ as a new account, i truly appreciate it!)

@saranghoeforanton @kiannmarieee @dinonuguaegi

@akaasheesh @w0nuuu

[love-toxin]

Godslayer -> Phainon

(cws: yan!phainon and probably ooc, gn!darling, very elaborate kidnapping, amphoreus story spoilers, brief mild violence, brainwashing, phainon's a lowkey perv, guilt tripping, gaslighting/manipulation, mild nudity) word count: 4.3k a/n: @yandere-romanticaa ding ding! i'm ringing the dinner bell darling <3 (also yes i wrote this specifically bc of u teehee)

“Then it's settled,” Aglaea declared with a disarming smile on her cold lips. “The Trailblazer will remain here as collateral, while you two head back to the stars.” 

Caelus and Dan Heng both looked between themselves, and then back at you uneasily. Not even your own smile could quench their anxieties, but this was a necessary evil that you were willing to lay yourself at the mercy of. 

The demigod leader of Amphoreus didn't trust you nor your fellow Trailblazers, at least not enough to keep your secrets of the worlds beyond the stars to yourselves after your companion's little incident. They needed to return–Caelus for the Stellaron that he housed inside him, and Dan Heng for his lineage, his knowledge and experiences the Astral Express crew needed to continue their venture. But you?

You were an old dog by this point. Too many adventures had left you tired and lagging behind the younger ones, and there was no feat you could perform in battle that the others couldn't achieve ten times over. Your wisdom couldn't touch that of Himeko or Welt, and you couldn't even carry the mood like Pom-Pom or March 7th. After your journey to Penacony, the crew even had the Memokeeper and Sunday to add to their ranks, and the cars were getting busy nowadays. The truth was there even if they didn't want to admit it.

Nobody needed you. They had all grown up and branched out, and your tending wasn't a necessity anymore. And more importantly, Aglaea demanded a peace offering to ensure that the Astral Express would keep the existence of Amphoreus to themselves. Though both boys offered themselves up like lambs, you knew better than either of them that they weren't destined for the slaughter quite yet. 

You ushered them away, kept the goodbyes brief; Caelus took one last photo of you for March, and Dan Heng pulled you into an unexpected hug, to whisper a promise that they would come back for you in your ear. You patted his arm, knowing he shouldn't be deterred lest he be forced to show his real emotions about your departure, and simply reassured him that there was no need to rush. You would be well taken care of, even if at the back of your mind you knew it was in captivity. As the two young men took their leave and watched you disappear as they hurtled back into the sky in their car, the urge to spread your wings and follow them welled up inside you–but it was swiftly and staunchly quelled as you were led to your quarters, where you would while away an unfathomable string of days with a new, hollow world ahead of you. 

Although you didn't know him well, you grew to like Phainon as you adjusted to your new home. 

The white-haired boy was seemingly on the younger side, though he held a calm serenity about him that spoke to years of hard-fought battles. He didn't come to visit often, only on rare occasions, but he brought gifts when he was able and he was a welcome source of companionship, even on days where he was more quiet than friendly. Aglaea's warnings about you ensured that the people of Okhem kept their distance, which was useful to keep your vow, but dreadfully lonely. When Phainon arrived, he would tote along all manner of things to entertain you: a jug of wine, a puzzle box, bits of seaglass to decorate your balcony, bread, salt, things you neither needed nor asked for but he brought nonetheless. He once brought you a kiss on the cheek but you both refrained from speaking about it since–with you hoping it was merely a cultural oddity–and sometimes, he would bring you a little carafe of oil and leave it in some conspicuous place for you to find. 

Why a man as handsome as he was–and a hero no less–would seek refuge with you was…uncanny. Strange. It wasn't as if Phainon had eyes for you and nobody else, in fact he often barely looked at you at all, even when he came knocking on your door. But he was steadily encroaching on what little space you had for yourself, and despite finding it unnerving, you never asked him to stop to his face. You didn't even tell Aglaea about his visits at all, though you were sure she must know. 

It was the day he visited you in your quarters and asked outright if you needed more oil that things finally came to a breaking point. You asked him, point blank, what he intended you to use it for. And his answer was as blunt as you expected it to be.

“For you.” His blue eyes caught the light and shimmered, much like the shallow water of your bath where he was lounging while his clothes hung on the chaise nearby. Most citizens of Amphoreus were free-spirited enough to attend the public baths nude, but to have a man you barely knew strip himself down in your chambers was something else entirely. He did so on rare occasions, yet he still never acknowledged it nor your reluctance to join him. 

The quiet, peppered only by the soft splashes of water feeding into the bath from the miniature fountain, hung like a heavy pendulum that could barely swing. Phainon's crystalline eyes bored into you for once as you lounged stiffly in the chaise beside his belongings, and you felt a distinct shift take over the air. 

“Your friends won't be coming back.” He murmured. He slowly stood from the bench while the water cascaded down his rippling musculature, your gaze averted in an instant despite him making no move to cover himself. He had no reason to be ashamed, but even as he took slow steps towards you–drip, drip, dripping on the marble floor–you steeled your nerves and avoided peeking even out of pure curiosity. Especially because, due to his brazen nature as of late, it seemed as though he wanted you to look. “They will never be allowed to approach Amphoreus again.” 

He didn't need to tell you that for you to understand the reality. You weren't an evergreen adventurer; you were a Trailblazer, a seasoned veteran of the stars, and with the freedom of your exploration you knew fully well the consequences could be as dire as the pain of death. Finally turning your head towards him, you locked eyes with those endlessly blue ones and got to your feet to match him. 

“The Astral Express never abandons its crew. They may venture on, and Amphoreus may crumble while they're away,” A light flickered to life in your eyes that he could see, and his breath hitched despite him being the one that was so bold. “But they'll come back to find me. They always do.” 

“Aglaea's pact stands.” He rebutted, his brow furrowing. “They won't be allowed entry. Even if I have to intercept them myself, I will, under her order.” 

“They don't need your permission.” You answered in kind, reached down to the chair beside you, and threw his clothes carelessly at his chest. “Get dressed, and get out.” 

“Kick me out, and I won't be back again.” Now his teeth made an appearance, glaring scornfully at you in a manner much more akin to a villain than the hero he proclaimed he was. “See how long you last alone. I was doing you a kindness.” 

“Do me a greater one and leave. Your presence alone pisses me off.” 

His breath caught in his throat at your insult, but his anger evaporated as if it were a ploy all along. Phainon suddenly looked frightened, anxious, as if he was hoping his bluff would sow enough doubt in your mind for you to plead with him to stay. Now, he seemed altogether out of place, shifting weight from foot to foot while you made your way out to the balcony and took in a breath of fresh air. 

After several minutes of fabric shifting and the clicking of buckles and buttons, your door creaked open and shut as you were finally left on your own. The polished stone cooled your arms as you leaned against the railing, and peered out over the lively streets of Okhem with a longing ache for home. 

Despite the confrontation during your last meeting, it didn't take very long for Phainon to come knocking on your door again–less than a week had passed since you threw him out. After a few days of him trying to gain entry to your dwelling and being turned away, he started bringing gifts again. Every time you refused them he left them sitting by the door, a pile steadily growing over the days and weeks that followed. 

Aglaea questioned them only once when she came by for a rare visit, but your mild answer at the time seemed not to satisfy her. Even so, she only glanced at the stacks of wilting flowers and jugs of stale wine briefly before attending to the business she had with you. 

About a month had passed since your interaction when you came home to your quarters, fresh off a walk supervised by two guards as per usual, and found Phainon waiting for you on your balcony. He was fully dressed this time, thank the aeons, but the kicked puppy-dog look on his face immediately soured your mood. He held not a flower nor a loaf of freshly baked bread in his hands, but a book. One you hadn't seen in a long time. 

Despite your better judgement you approached the people's hero, and he held out the leather-bound bundle of pages and letters for you to gingerly take from his hands. 

“I found this at the crash site, where you and your comrades first landed.” There was no need to flip through it, you were already readily familiar with this precious treasure. It was your diary, stuffed full of memories from years of trailblazing…it was something you thought you would never see again after losing it in the explosive collision. Your fingers mindlessly traced the etchings in the leather that Welt had spelled out in your name, while the slightly askew binding was the work of March and Dan Heng's dogged collaboration. The pages had been scented with flower oils from Himeko's prized collection and stamped with Pom-Pom's paw print; it was a gift from the Astral Express for a birthday that had long passed, one that marked so many years of adventuring with the steadily-growing crew. It was a memory of happier times, and aside from the lightest bit of scorching around the edges of the cover it was still intact. 

Phainon cleared his throat, having watched you stare down in deep contemplation at the book. “I take it this is special to you?” 

“Yes,” You answered, finally lifting your head to look at him. “I don't know how you found it, or why, but you have my thanks for returning it to me. This is…very special, indeed.” The sickening, hollow feeling of homesickness set in again as you tenderly laid the diary down on your side table to keep it out of reach of any more danger. 

“Well, I brought it as a token.” Phainon declared, and straightened his posture subtly as he clasped his hands together before him. “You have a duty to assimilate into Amphoreus’ culture, but I imagine it'll be difficult if you cannot confront your past, first. Hence why I went out of my way to retrieve it for you.” 

His words put a bitter taste on the back of your tongue. Confront your past? Something about the way he said it, with such imminent finality, put you ill at ease and drew you to turn and face him with half a scowl already brewing. Phainon seemed to sense it in an instant but only appeared more determined. 

“If you think I'll be throwing this into the fireplace, you're abysmally wrong.”

“I wasn't expecting it to be that dramatic,” He sighed, though your stout rejection put a pout on his lips. “But yes, I do think you should get rid of it once you give it one last read.” 

Here we go again. “I have half a mind to hit you over the head with it. Are all the heroes of this world as arrogant as you?” 

“Let me be very clear with you-” 

“Enough of this.” Cutting him off abruptly was the only way you could imagine saving yourself from more of his drivel. 

“-I'm trying to help you!” But he continued, the prim and calm façade cracking as he grew increasingly irritated with your interruptions. “Don't mistake my kindness as anything else! If you just listen to my proposal-”

“Proposal?” You scoffed. “Tell me you mean something else.” 

“What I meant is what I said.” He growled. “You are, by divine rights, mine. You're just fortunate that I possess some self-restraint, and haven't forced you to accept that against your will.”

“Have you lost your mind?” With a shake of your head, you brushed him off conpletely. “What delusion has possessed you to think that I'm in any way yours?” 

“Because I claimed you!” He finally burst out. “When Aglaea told us you would be exiled, I begged her to allow you safe haven. I promised her that if you were here, that if I could keep you, then I would gain the strength to slay Nikador myself–to slay any god that stands in my way!” Phainon's voice rose to a tremoring bellow, his blue gaze nearly bordering on a scarlet glare as his eyes pierced into your very soul. In that moment he was no man, but a terrifying, hysterical beast that roared so fiercely he left the silence shaking afterwards. 

“You aren't here as collateral damage. Make no mistake–you are here for me to claim, as your husband.” His words resonated off the polished walls, overwhelmed the soft bubbling of the bath and the breeze that blew in from the beautiful, blue sky beyond your balcony. 

Phainon’s outburst left you aghast; had he always been such a selfish and arrogant hero, or were you simply blind to it up until now? “I am no such thing, and I never will be.” You seethed. “Get the fuck out of my room.” 

“Fine.” He took several steps forward and latched on to your wrist, his grip so tight it threatened to break you. “But you're coming with me. I've had enough of this charade–I won't entertain your childish rejection any longer.” 

You yanked your arm from his grasp to stumble backwards, and your eyes flicked towards the door. Phainon took a step before you even worked up the courage to sprint, and when you did, he threw his weight into you to take you off your feet with ease, and flipped you down on to the floor, his hand twisted in your hair and your cheek pressed to the cold marble. 

“...I love you, can't you see that? You're the one I love!” He cried out, his knee digging painfully into the small of your back as you struggled. Clearly he took your attempts at escaping him as an insult, and freshly infuriated, he gripped you harder by the hair and pulled you up to meet your ear with his lips. “I need you. I need you, or nothing else matters. I don't care about the gods anymore-” His teeth grazed your ear and he bit down hard, the blood fueling his hunger with the smallest taste of it on his tongue. “-But I need to become one so I can protect you. My world.” 

“You're…You're out of your mind,” Phainon scoffed at your gasp for air, at the insult that you thought would hurt him, and does. “..Your gods are nothing compared to the aeons. You're just a sheltered little boy, you don't scare me.” -Which was a lie, because he scared you–he scared you a lot. 

“You will change your tune with time.” He muttered back with one last dab of his tongue on your bleeding cut. “I tried to ease you into loving me, but you just can't get over that wretched simple-mindedness of yours. We'll have to work on that before the ceremony.” With one last hard squeeze, he finally dropped your head from his grip and let you slump, pained, to the ground. As he stood, you lashed out and tried to sweep his leg out from under him, but he avoided it with ease and just glared down at your pathetic form. 

A soft knock at your door brought the tension to a halt; you raised your head, hopeful, yearning for whoever was opening your door to see Phainon's cruelty and save you from it. The long, white locks of Castorice, the mortician whom you didn't know very well, floated through as she stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. The hope was quick to drain from your spirit as she walked over to Phainon and looked down on you with him, the two of them speaking in hushed whispers with each other without ever sparing you a glance. 

“C-Castorice-” Finally, she turned her icy gaze towards you and stripped away your defenses with nothing but her chilling, near-demonic aura. Your body started growing cold, and Phainon murmured some false reassurance, but you couldn't hear anything but your own heart thumping as the rest of the world froze out of your mind. Eventually, all the connection you shared was the heavy stare Castorice held with you, before she raised a finger and hovered the tip of her nail above your forehead. 

“It will be painless.” She whispered in an echo of a thousand voices. The press of her finger to your skin was unbearably frigid for only a moment–and then, in the silence, your heart ceased its reckless beating in your ears while the world turned cold and black.

“Phainon! Phainon's back! C'mooon, hurry up!”

“Okay, okay!” You laughed as you were dragged along by the gaggle of children at your knees. The kids were high-spirited in the face of any circumstances, it seemed like, but even moreso when their favourite hero was returning from an epic journey. 

Phainon, the white-haired hero of Okhem and beyond, was the subject of many stories and whispers between the people of your city–and for good reason. He was a kind, fair, and loving man who was as friendly as his wit was quick. Even when hanging around Mydeimos, who was a characteristically brutal man with a near-nonexistent sense of humour, Phainon could make light of any situation and see the good in any person he met. 

It was no secret that he was popular with the ladies too, for all those reasons and even more. You could go to any corner of the city and find a man swimming in muscles, you could find confident men and smart men and ones who were as handsome as the gods themselves. But Phainon had every piece of that puzzle and it made him irresistible to just about everyone that met him. And of course, that included you, too.

You had a special connection with Phainon that, despite contradicting your rather simple existence in Okhem, acted as a source of jealousy for the hero's other admirers who hoped to be noticed by the endlessly charismatic (future) godslayer. Before you'd settled into your life in the city, something awful had befallen you that, to this day, you had no memory of. In fact, your memories from before the incident were all bleary and incomprehensible; your first moment of waking up had been spent in agony, your body aching as you'd been caught and wounded in the midst of a skirmish with Nikador's forces. In the fire and chaos that ensued, you were certain you were going to die, frightened and alone. But before you could, a man with snow-white hair had appeared and slayed the enemies pursuing you–and from that day on, it was history. 

Phainon had been your hero when you needed him most, and now, you had a second chance at life because of his bravery. As the kids dragged you to the bathhouse, you stumbled somewhat but still maintained your cheerful demeanour–it was only when you got to the top of the steps that the waterfall parted on its own, and the man himself stepped out like a god emerging from a sacred lake. The kids rushed him, he laughed and humoured their excited questions, but through it all he had his attention focused on you until he could manage to part the youngsters and make his way to where you stood. 

“I missed you,” He grinned, and leaned in to kiss you on the cheek. You'd always thought it was an odd greeting for friends, but once Castorice gently informed you that it was simply the custom of Phainon's people, you accepted it without batting an eye. “I hope the children haven't worn you out while I've been gone.”

“You worry too much.” You returned his smile and patted one of the young ones who hadn't left your side, her eyes wide and sweet as she clung shyly to your leg. Phainon had helped you get a job working with the children of Okhem as their mentor, and as tiring as it could often be, there was no greater sight than seeing the new generation flourish under your care and gentle countenance. Besides, Phainon took so well to the little ones–you had no doubt that fatherhood was one of the many goals he strived for. 

“May I have a moment alone with your teacher, little one?” He knelt down and asked her kindly, his confident yet gentle tone easing her off of you while you directed her to go play with the other children in the baths. Phainon was quick to lead you away from the other admirers fiending for his attention around the entrance to the bathhouse, into a quiet alley where few people would eavesdrop on your conversation. From his sleeve he produced a small, yellow flower, and your cheeks warmed as he delicately pressed it into your palm as a gift. He always brought home little trinkets like this, and you treasured each and every one of them as they granted you a lingering sense of nostalgia. 

“Oh, this is lovely, Phainon.” You sighed with reverence, clutching the flower to your chest. “Thank you. I hope you didn't strain yourself just to get a gift for me, you know you don't have to.”

He shook his head with a chuckle. “It's because I love seeing how happy they make you. I love yow grateful you are for my gifts..” He trailed off and stared deeply into your eyes, a question pressing at his lips. “I have something to ask you, my sweet.” 

“You do?” He nodded. Phainon plucked the flower from your hands and tucked it behind your ear, before taking both your sweaty palms in his and getting down on his knees.

“You see, I…I've been in love with you since the day we met. Since the first moment I watched you stagger out of that ship-” Wait…what? “-I knew you were destined to be mine.” 

“You..?” As tempted as you were to ask what he meant, what ‘ship’ he spoke of, you let him continue. And how fortunate it was, as Phainon took it as a sign that his wooing was in full swing, and beamed up at you with the most glorious joy.

“Yes! Yes, I do. I want only to give you a comfortable life–I want to part the clouds so the sun shines on you always.” With your encouragement he climbed to his feet to meet your gaze. He was friendly, and jubilant, but you'd rarely ever seen him so blindly excited; it was pure and innocent, and as tightly as he clutched your hands and as odd as some of his words were phrased, you couldn't bear to pull away from him during such a crucial moment. 

“I don't…I don't know what to say, I-” Out of nowhere, a cold sense of dread made its way into your heart, and despite your befuddlement as to why it settled there it refused to let up. Your mouth grew drier as you tried to speak, but eventually Phainon helped you. 

“Say yes?” He pleaded with glistening blue eyes, tears threatening to spill against the backdrop of his hopeful smile. “Please?” 

“I-I..” You swallowed the growing anxiety that choked you up, and without words, you nodded. 

“You'll be mine?” He prodded eagerly, and again you mumbled a soft ‘yes’. Phainon leapt to his feet and practically cheered with joy, slinging his arms around you to lift you off your feet and twirl you around. He laughed, and happy tears made their way down his cheeks, before he planted a cool, wet kiss on your mouth that somehow chilled you right down to the bone. 

The guilt, the fear, the unease that grew inside you would all come to a head at some point. But the truth could be so easily twisted, cut up and rearranged to fit the story he wanted to play out. There wasn't any urgency aside from his own impatience, and not a single one of his fellow heroes or the demigods could judge what he did when it propelled him leaps and bounds closer to slaying Nikador. There would come a day when you would uncover his lies, just as surely as the sun would set at dusk and rise in the dawn. 

But what difference did it make? He had so much time to clear your mind to a blank slate, and conjure up a new life for the two of you as many times as it takes.

[seungcheorry]

svt when you tell them "it's getting late, i should probably go home":

seungcheol: "oh, okay. let me drive you home, then 🥰" and expects you to invite him in because he doesn't want to let go.

jeonghan: "do you have any plans for tomorrow?" - if you do, then he's ordering you an uber; if you don't, then he's asking you to stay a bit longer.

joshua: "do you want me to walk you home?" and will insist on doing so, even if you say it's not needed - please, let him spend more time with you!!

junhui: "oh... ☹️" but doesn't say anything to try to make you stay because he doesn't wanna be clingy.

soonyoung: "nooo, let's talk some more, please?" and it's crazy how a tiger can master such pretty puppy eyes so you have no choice but to stay.

wonwoo: he mumbles a tiny "yeah, okay" and then guides you to his car. "what are you doing?" "taking you home, isn't it obvious? 🤨".

jihoon: hates when you say that, starts longing for you as soon as he orders you an uber and then write a song about it.

dokyeom: "for real? 🥺", and then says he'll walk you home. you can try and say he doesn't need to, but it's the only way to make him smile again so you let him.

mingyu: wraps his hands around your arm and pulls you closer. he just keeps walking so you think he ignored you, but then you realize he's starting to walk into your neighborhood. really smooth.

minghao: doesn't fight you, cause you know what's better for yourself. he offers himself to drive you home, shutting you off when you say he doesn't need to. "i want to" - and that leaves you speechless.

seungkwan: "but it's early yet~". he tries to argue with you, pouting when he loses. will definitely walk you home, jokingly picking on you to make you laugh. please kiss him goodbye at the door.

vernon: "you sure?" and if you say yes, he will take the subway with you or wait until you're in an uber; if you look even the slightest hesitant, he will just laugh it off and keep the conversation going.

dino: he's bold, so he will say "you wanna head to my place?" (but also his cheeks are burning, that's why he's not looking at you when he says it). if you decline, he'll order an uber for you and be like "text me when you home".

[hivemuthur]

Hi Anons! Happy Freakday! Taking this amazing opportunity to mingle two into one:

Lips Where Lips Were

viktorxfemale!reader explicit. What's in here? Perverted yearning, panty theft and face sitting :v I'm sure the day was stressful for him :< Never lose sight of your laundry, folks!

word count: 3K

author’s note: I listened to Smoke City Underwater Love. @rennethen beta-read and she was sick doing it so double thank-yous! And as per schedule, I name Fridays Freakdays, and on most of those you can expect some Freaktor action.

—

It wasn’t planned at all when you stepped into the laundry room with a basket full of clothes. Pure coincidence—or call it fate, if Viktor dared to entertain such grand notions when it came to something so utterly embarrassing.

He had just been loading the washing machine, half full with his meagre three white shirts and a few undershirts, when the door swung open. You entered backwards, nudging it open with your ass, your face obscured by the tall basket cradled in your arms. But he recognised you instantly—by the back of your head, the curve of your neck, your ankles. Again, utterly embarrassing.

“Oh my God, are you washing whites? Please tell me you are washing whites,” you asked, not bothering with a hello.

Viktor eyed the laundry in your arms, picking up what you were putting down, but simply replied, “Yes, I’m washing whites.”

"Mind if I invade?" you asked, already shifting your weight forward, basket pressing into your stomach. "I’ve mostly got darks, but I’m running out of underwear."

Viktor swallowed, considering. Having your underwear washed with his­—pretty good. You having no underwear to wear? Significantly better. Being unable to come up with explanation to denying you, he forced a nod, stepping back from his machine as if giving you space might help untangle the sudden knot in his throat.

"Be my guest," he said, voice steady despite the way his pulse stuttered.

You wasted no time, setting your basket down and beginning to sort through your clothes. Viktor watched as you moved, as your hands fished out a bundle of whites and dropped them in beside his. Then, with the ease of someone used to efficiency, you loaded a second machine with your darker clothes.

It should have been a nothing moment—mundane, forgettable. But when you leaned forward, he caught sight of a bra slipping from the heap in your arms, a delicate thing edged with lace, straps tangled. His mouth went dry.

A thought, insistent and utterly filthy, flashed across his mind—quick, scorching, and impossible to ignore. He almost turned away, almost shut the machine door to spare himself from his own treacherous imagination. But then, right there, in the tangle of fabric, were your knickers.

White as snow. Thin as paper. A tiny, pretty bow crowning the hem.

His fingers twitched. Good with his hands as he was, before he could think better of it, before his brain could catch up to his body, he snagged them—swift, seamless, a movement so smooth it almost convinced him it hadn’t happened at all. But the fabric in his pocket was real as day whenever he reached to check if it’s still there.

And now, Viktor has a problem.

He’s thought about returning them—washing them by hand and slipping them in with the rest of your white clothes. He’s also considered getting rid of them: throwing them away, tossing them out the window, burning them—anything that might make him stop. But whenever he comes close, he falters.

At first, just the thought of having a piece of fabric that was so intimately close to you is enough. Clutching onto the last ounces of self-respect he has, Viktor does nothing beyond tucking the knickers into his chest pocket, carrying them close to his heart whenever he feels like it.

The idea nearly backfires when Jayce asks him for a pen—the little metal loop catches on the fabric, almost pulling them out and exposing him for the depraved pervert he is.

From that point forward, Viktor says goodbye to your underwear every time he leaves his dorm. They lay splayed flat on his bed when he returns, and his mind instantly drifts to which parts of you they clung to. The curve of your ass, hugged tightly as you pulled them on. The waistband, with its little bow resting just beneath your belly button. And his favourite part—the delicate pouch fabric kissed by your sweet lips.

Then it happens again that his body overrides his mind’s restraint, compulsive in its betrayal. It’s a compulsion, yes, when his fingers unbuckle the belt, his hand palming his aching cock. It’s compulsive yet again when he undoes his fly, rubbing himself through his boxers, thinking of you. It’s compulsive when he pulls himself out and smears the precum pearling at the tip, pretending it’s your gentle fingers touching his heated skin.

And it’s utterly deranged when he reaches for your panties and brings them to his face. If he could snort it all up, he would. Instead, he holds it against his nose, inhaling deeply, greedily. It’s dizzying—the smell of you, sweet and intimate, proof that this was yours.

His fingers tease the head first, gliding over the aching spot just beneath, and he twitches in his own hand. His mind, corrupt and rotten, throws him the worst of images for this occasion—or the best, depending on how he looks at it. You, bending over, the seam of your underwear glaring at him from beneath your skirt. Your mouth, speaking his name. Then moaning his name as his hand is buried between your thighs.

His grip tightens around his cock. At first, slow, as he breathes in the remnants of you. He strokes himself languidly, knees bent over the bed’s edge, feet pressing hard into the floor. His hips thrust up, chasing more—more of anything to quell the ache inside him, the iron grip that coils low in his belly.

Your name spills from his mouth, ragged and desperate. He imagines you here, above him, thighs caging his head as you press down onto his waiting tongue. The thought alone has his cock twitching in his hand again, and he lets out a filthy groan, gripping himself harder.

And even though shame still lingers somewhere in the periphery of his thoughts, he cannot help himself. He splays the fabric over his face and licks where your lips have been cradled. And kisses there. And takes it into his mouth, sucking on it—the poor substitute for your soft pussy.

“Ah—fuck—” His breath stutters, muscles winding tight as he fucks into his own hand now. Fast and hard. His imagination runs wild—your taste on his tongue, your fingers tugging his hair, the way you’d roll your hips to use his mouth like you need it. He lets himself drown in the fantasy, slutty moans spilling from his mouth so loud he doesn’t hear the knocking. Or the door to his dorm room creaking open. Or the soft sound of feet shuffling on the floor.

You do knock. And you do call out, until you mistake a noise coming from his bedroom for one of pain. You rush in, clutching a shirt he mistakenly gave you with your batch of white laundry to your chest. And then you freeze by the door, when you hear the sound of your own name stumbling from Viktor’s lips in the filthiest, most sultry tone you’ve ever heard from him. Oh—the door is ajar.

Not that you haven’t imagined him doing it. Many times, possibly too many to count. But to imagine it and to hear it—raw and real, seeping into your ears so sweetly—is a completely different thing.

For a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut before holding your breath and stepping in carefully. Viktor is writhing on the bed, unaware, unseeing, his trousers slipped down his thighs, and his face covered with—oh. One hand pushes the fabric into his nose and mouth, and the mere sight has your thighs clenching under your skirt as you step closer, transfixed.

Heat floods your cheeks when your gaze drops to his other hand, to his cock—hard and flushed at the tip, sliding in and out of his grip as his hips thrust helplessly. He looks so absolutely, utterly hot like this, you almost want to let him finish—just to see the vulgar act of him cumming all over his stomach. Until, again—oh. You notice it—the panties are yours.

"Viktor," you whisper, bewildered.

He freezes. "Fuck!" The curse rips from him, loud and raw as he throws the underwear away from him like it burned, rolling onto his stomach with light speed. "Fuck." Again, muffled against the mattress. Then your name, a plea. "I'm so... so sorry."

You step closer, gaze flicking to where the discarded fabric landed. Slowly, you bend down and pick it up between two fingers, holding it up as you muse, "I thought I was missing a pair."

Viktor drops his forehead to the mattress and groans, frustration and shame bleeding into the sound. "I can't believe this is happening, I—"

"For how long have you had them?" you ask. There’s no accusation, only curiosity.

He says nothing. You bite your lower lip, eyes drawn helplessly to the curve of his bare ass, the tension in his shoulders, the way his entire body seems locked in mortification.

"Viktor," you try again, softer this time. "Look at me. Turn over."

"I beg you, spare me," he rasps. "I promise I will apologize properly, but please, please, leave."

But you don’t. You see it now—clearly, undeniably. Viktor has been pining for you as much as you’ve pined for him. And so you dare, your mind stunted with the sight conjuring ideas beyond the realm of reason, as you crawl onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath your weight and you settle beside him, sitting on the balls of your feet. Viktor presses his face harder into the sheets, as if willing either himself or you to disappear. "Please," he mutters, your name a breathless sigh, "this is mortifying."

You reach out, running a hand up his leg, fingertips tracing along the muscle, up to the swell of his ass in a gentle caress. Where you touch goosebumps prickle on his skin and you really, really have to resist the urge to bite on his pale cheek. "Viktor," you murmur, voice coaxing, "please look at me. I beg you."

He sighs into the bed, then slowly turns his head to face you, though he avoids your eyes. His face flushed all the way up to his cheeks, shame bleeding into skin. Swallowing hard, he says, “I am so sorry. I wasn’t… This is not—”

"Hey," you say softly, brushing the hair off his forehead. His eyes squeeze shut at the touch. You shift closer, lying on your belly beside him, and blow gently on his face. A breathy chuckle forces its way out of him, and finally—finally—he opens his eyes.

"Hi," you whisper.

"Hi yourself," Viktor murmurs, calmer now.

"I, uh—" you start, then bite your lip. "Can I… see you?" The words come out shyly, your breath held as you wait for his reaction.

"W-what?" Viktor turns, startled—only his torso, though. His hips remain stubbornly pressed to the mattress, much to your disappointment. His brows knit together as he waits for an explanation.

But you have no idea what to say, so you let your body speak for you. You exhale, closing the last bit of distance between you, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your forehead to his. "Please," you whisper, "you looked so… hot."

Your cheeks scald as you wait for his reaction, but disappointment and fear flee the moment Viktor's tongue swipes over his lips and—oh—he rolls over, revealing his pretty cock to you. It had been trapped in the crease of his thigh, held there by the dampness of his skin, still achingly hard.

You reach for him slowly, and he moans—his brows knitting—before you even touch him. Your fingers, palm facing down, trace over his balls before gliding up, the heel of your hand pressing along his length, your thumb circling beneath the head.

“Your cock is so pretty,” you whisper a quiet praise, and he shudders, pressing his nose into your cheek, his lips brushing yours, mouths hanging open. As your hand moves in tender strokes, Viktor can’t help himself, it’s invitation enough. His fingers tangle into your hair, and he presses his tongue between your lips, kissing you sloppily, desperately. "Oh God, yes," he mutters into your mouth.

The sound alone makes you moan, spurring you to move with more intent. In no time, you have him so worked up that the neglected dampness between your legs almost doesn’t bother you—but then Viktor’s tongue grows more insistent, his hands roam your body, and your hips buck involuntarily. He clocks it immediately, rasping into your mouth, “Sit on my face. Please.”

You choke on a sound between a gasp and a moan, barely having time to process his words before Viktor’s hands find your hips, guiding you forward. He shifts beneath you, pressing his back flat against the mattress, and tugs at you again, insistent and needy. His breath is hot against your skin as he urges, “Come here, please.”

Your legs tremble as you move, suddenly all shy and hesitant. You come to straddle his chest first, but oh, Viktor’s shame has melted into impatience once encouraged—his hands slide up, gripping your thighs to pull you the rest of the way until you hover above his face. His parted lips are so close that you can feel the ghost of his breath and it’s so unbearably warm you barely resist the urge to sink into him.

What’s in front of you, is his cock, still flushed and leaking, laying thick on his navel. Swallowing your nerves, you lean forward, bracing your hands on his sharp hips as you lower your mouth to him, wrapping your fingers around the base. Viktor groans beneath you, the vibration rippling against your skin and you can feel yourself leaking obscenely when he whines out his famous last words—“Fuck, you are so wet,” and his hot mouth meets your sex.

It's a sinful swipe, that first one. Has you gasping and gripping his cock tighter, before you remember what is it that you are holding. Your eyes widen, mouth huffing warm air over his length as you try to regain your bearings. But Viktor is relentless, thorough, as if he’s intent on devouring the very essence of you, memorising every crevice. His hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you down, grinding you against his mouth, burying himself in you.

It’s a thousand times better than a mouthful of your underwear—no comparison, really. Not that Viktor can think straight enough to measure the difference, not when his tongue finds its rhythm, plunging in and out of your hole. His head wrenches back into the mattress, chin teasing your clit, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. And then—he groans, a loud, wrecked sound, because your mouth has just wrapped itself around his cock.

Your lips part around the head, tongue flicking over the slit as your hand works the base, thumb pressing along the thick vein running underneath. He twitches so beautifully under your touch that you pause, pulling off with a quiet pop. Watching him glisten in your palm, this time it’s you who can’t help yourself—you glue your torso to his stomach, bury your face against his cock, and inhale long and deep through your mouth and nose.

Viktor shudders beneath you, a deep, broken groan muffled against your cunt. As if this were a conversation, you moan back, the vibration sending a shudder rolling through his muscles. Emboldened, he buries himself deeper, rubbing his chin against your sweet spot, fucking you with his tongue until your hips begin to move on their own, grinding down onto his face. And you—oh, you take him back into the warmth of your mouth, sinking down past the barrier of your throat. Drool spills down his length, slicking the ridges with every bob of your head.

What was merely an ember when you walked in on him now burns bright and hot in his loins. He snorts up whatever air you grant him between your movements, bracing himself for the blinding twist in his stomach that he knows is imminent. His muscles flex under your hands, and for a moment, he loses rhythm, parts his lips from you—and then he cums with a throat-wrenching moan, hard and heavy, spilling thick white into your mouth. You lick it all up, gulp on it, letting him make as many sounds as he likes, lifting your hips just enough so that your clit stays pressed against his chin.

When his cock begins to border on overstimulated, his hand finds your hair, and he tugs you gently, guiding you back to where you were—pressing you down onto his tongue. And you are so, so close. You straighten, brace yourself on his chest, and rut against him without restraint, dragging yourself over the flat of his tongue.

Viktor groans into you, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you where he wants you, letting you use him, consume him. Heat gathers and pools over in waves, tipping you beyond that edge—your body seizing as a raw, broken moan tears from your throat. With the sight of his pretty softening cock in front of you, his name spills from your lips, over and over, as you tremble and grind against his mouth. He holds you through it, drinking in every last shudder and cry until you finally collapse against him, spent and trembling.

Your ass slides off his face, splayed in front of his very eyes and Viktor suddenly realises something—all this time you’ve had no knickers on. “Why are you not wearing any underwear?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Hmm, I thought I miscalculated, but turns out you took my last pair,” you smirk against his hip where your cheek is cradled. You place a soft kiss there to the peak of his bone and whisper, “You can keep it.”

[mimiyapshard]

Warrior Penelope stuff cause I've been listening to too many EPIC genderbent covers, and I wanted to give my take on it (also cuz I kinda want to draw it one day)

- Ares as Penelope's patron, absolutely! But Ares didn't have a huge cult in Sparta, although he wasn't hated. So my lore take version thing is that ATHENA wanted to be Penelope's patron (she had already an eye on Ody kinda) but Ares saw his chance, got to it first and became attached to Penelope without wanting to admit it, also because she saw the good and useful in him. Athena still watches over Penelope (especially after her and Ares platonically break up, which she finds really stupid) and is the one who does her best to protect Ithaca while she's gone. She's by Ody's side while he misses his wife and is mostly the reason why the Suitors hadn't taken over yet.

- To get Ares to realize his mistake, Athena tricks him into helping Telemachus defeat Antinous in Little Wolf because free bloodshed, only to end up sensitized by Telemachus because holy shit, my friend's son is here almost dying to this ASSHOLE who thinks he's so much stronger than MY friend the queen and even me like who tf does he think he is. Athena makes Ares fucking rational for once. And maybe even Aphrodite, as well, gets some damn sense in his mind like "they love each other like you and I and my girl is doing her best to get home you're going to apologize rn"

- ctimene holds a claymore double her height with no problems

- penelope is more "cold ruthless" than Odysseus, in a way that she's still poised (until the end or when she's really brought to her knees which is disturbing) while doing merciless stuff. She's emotionless a lot more (just on the surface)

- Ares was the one to give Penelope the idea of going to war instead of Odysseus, for obvious reasons. And Pen is really a mastermind among the Greeks ofc

- Ares and Pen fought in their My Goodbye version because she "held back her power while her friends got devoured" "she didn't even fight Polyphemus, didn't even TRY to kill him" "hid behind her wits to get things done". Because when fighting Polyphemus, she knew that if she tried to kill Polyphemus while he was asleep, they'd be stuck in that cave forever (like in the real Odyssey). And knew that fighting while her friends got killed would slow them down and probably get more people dead. And when they ran away, she didn't go back to kill the Cyclops even if she could've because of yes, mercy, but also because she would've awakened all the other Cyclops and sailing away was faster, better. Ares deemed this cowardice. Crazy thing, since one of the most important things to him is courage.

- Ares overstimates Penelope's power. Like, yes, she's exceptional, but still HUMAN. With her limits. He hasn't dealt with a human personally in years so he doesn't understand this, so his expectations are ridiculously high, which ends up breaking Penelope.

- During 600 strike, Penelope can actually breathe underwater and not hold her breath for such a long time and be fine because she's half naiad (yes, they are fresh water nymphs but still). Also this may make her even stronger around water (to a certain degree, she's still very mortal)

- calypso is pansexual

this is already a lot, ill add more when i think about it lol (also if i realize any of these ideas don't make sense)(check reblogs for more)

[midasriku]

THE PROPOSAL ᯓ★ (PREVIEW!)

An exclusive first look into the first instalment in the ‘love from the 2000s’ series, coming to a screen near you! stay tuned!

PAIRING • assistant!haechan x boss!reader

SYNOPSIS • When you, a high-powered book editor, face deportation, you somehow convince your mildly annoying and very much attractive assistant Haechan to marry you in a fake green card marriage. To prove the relationship is real, you both go the mile. The two of you visit his family in Jeju, where unexpected complications, pestering relatives, old secrets and real feelings arise. Will you both make it out with a legal marriage? Or will you have to kiss your sweet life, and everyone in it, goodbye? Stay tuned to find out!

The trip to the district office after work to sort out your affairs went a lot worse than you had initially predicted. After cutting the line (which Haechan gave you an earful for, though you know he cuts the line when getting your lattes every morning), you were then escorted into a district officer’s private room, where he proceeded to question you about your legitimate relationship. He was certain you were lying and tried coaxing Haechan to tell him the truth, judging from his blank expression and constant fidgeting he did the entire time you both were in there. 

Questions upon questions were asked. And you, being as calm and collected as you could be, answered each one with a lie so precise, it had Haechan wondering if you were a conwoman in your past life. 

The district officer turned to your assistant, noticing him adjusting his tie every five minutes since entering the room, and told him to be truthful. Never mind that his boss could potentially be deported in doing so, he never liked you anyway. He never liked the way you told him to dress better the first time you met him. He never liked the way you’d give him all the carrots off your plate, despite him hating carrots as well. He never liked the way you’d fall asleep on his shoulder during long car rides, causing his shoulder to get stiff because he couldn’t move. Or didn’t have the heart to, never knowing why. 

“The truth is, Officer,” Haechan started in a timid and gentle voice. He looked like he was about to cry, or maybe blow up. You couldn’t tell. “The truth is…”

You started getting nervous. Sure, you thought Haechan was going to listen to you. But you also had a part of you, the part that still had reason, that worried he would come to realise the gravity of the situation and throw you under the bus. You looked at him, a slightly pleading look evident on your features. 

He felt your gaze and turned to look at you. He noticed the little scar on your left eye when the two of you got in a minor car accident a year ago. Suddenly, he felt his matching one on the right grow warm. 

“The truth is we’re just two people who weren’t supposed to fall in love. But we did,” he said. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escaped you, and you went back to a neutral expression. He had used the line you fed your bosses earlier today, which made you smile. A genuine one you hid behind your hand, feigning a yawn.

The district officer didn’t look at all convinced, but nodded along anyway. “I assume your families know about this?” he asked. 

You started shaking your head. “No, my parents are dead,” you laughed dryly. “His, however, are not,” you pointed to Haechan, and he nodded. “Oh yeah, they are very much alive. Actually, we were gonna tell them over the weekend,” he said. You recall him telling you earlier this morning about his grandmother’s 90th birthday celebration. 

“Yes, it’s Granny’s 90th birthday. The whole shindig. It’ll be great,” you tried adding on, making it as believable as possible. The officer squinted his eyes and leaned forward in question. 

“And where exactly does Granny live?” he asked you. You blundered, not knowing at all where Haechan’s family lived. “They, um,” you faced your assistant, who was holding in a laugh beside you. “They…live,” you threw your hands up in a huff and gestured to the man beside you. “Why am I doing all the talking? This is your family, baby, why don’t you tell him?” 

The pet name that left your mouth had to have been in the top ten most outrageous things you’ve said. And you’ve said a lot of outrageous things in the three years that he’s known you. Haechan blinked at you with pink lips tied with a smile. 

“Jeju,” he said, not looking away from you. 

It was like the air in your lungs was punched out with a single word. Jeju? In all your time living in Seoul, you had never been to Jeju. Had Haechan mentioned he was from there?

He turned back to the officer in front of him, grinning with a Cheshire-cat-like smile. 

“We’re going to Jeju,”

a/n: WE ARE LOCKED TF IN RIGHT NOW BESTIES

ᝰ.ᐟ taglist open!: @ball-312 @luvhaeli @nctubatu @enhalovie @ilovejungwonandhaechan @eumppapasmom @sundamariis @tiazennie @kongjjen

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Unscripted Undefeated Bracket — Round 5−1

Trish Una (Riley Hopkins and Their Amazing Friends: Interstitial Infinity):

vote for trish una, girl who went to another universe, found out she was fictional / a tertiary character at best in her own story, and decided the proper coping method was to punch a guy to shreds

vote for trish una, girl who looked at carrie from the movie carrie and said "i could fix her"

vote for trish una, girl who fought a bear and won

vote for trish una, girl who put a part of herself into a machine in an attempt to control it and inextricably(?) linked the machine to her soul

vote for trish una, girl who might be the devil

Mod Note: This is only the Trish Una from the podcast Riley Hopkins And Their Amazing Friends. Do not vote on the basis of any other Trish Una.

Spanks Sinatra (Tidal Wave Games Podcast: SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY...)

He/him lesbian drag king Frank Sinatra impersonator

Vote for my sad messed up drag king

Spanks is a he/him lesbian. come on. look at him

Anyway if it's rope/cable play you're into, Spanks has a move for that

Art of Trish Una courtesy of @charaznablescanontoyota.

Art of Spanks Sinatra by @violetfoxsketches.

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Trish Una (Riley Hopkins and Their Amazing Friends: Interstitial Infinity):

Trish Una, from the universe of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, ensures that the hits start coming and they don't stop coming. Trush Ina, from JJBA, fights Rachel from Animorphs and wins. T. Una Sandwich, from Jimmy John's Brash Accumulation, is best friends with Shadow the Hedgehog and she's also my dad. T-Minus Uno, from Chipotle,

She is emotionally compromised and definitely not turning into her father

Trish "is it stands" Una is the type of motherfuckers you need to see to be believed. Trish & Carrie toxic Yuri. Trish the fucking Spirit of justice. Trish is the real one.

Please vote for my close friend Trish Una or else you leave without saying goodbye to her

TRISH "THE MONEY" UNA

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

#is that fucking shadow the hedgehog

yes! he's one of the main party members! listen to intersitital infinity on riley hopkins and their amazing friends!

Trish Una is a girl who is certain she knows what's going on. She shishkebobed Simon from Infinity Train. She is best friends with Shadow the Hedgehog, Mob from Mob Psycho, Alphonse Elric, and technically Shoka Sakurane.

Please vote for Trish she is so so sexy

Trish Una could take over a position of leadership in a preestablished location but could Virtue have a emotionally fraught conversation with carrie white?

Spanks Sinatra (Tidal Wave Games Podcast: SEE YOU, SPACE COWBOY...)

Is too old for this shit (is 30)

When not performing, is drinking. When not drinking, is beating people up for money. When not beating people up for money, is performing. Life is purposefully structured to avoid encountering a thought for as long as possible

Loves to use his fists

Is so tired

This is propaganda for all the female characters. Voters please remember how pretty all women are and factor that into every single vote you make. Thank you.

Don't forget that Spanks' name is Spanks Sinatra ok, this is very important. Appreciate my jokes.

Don't you want to reach over and give him a better reason to turn his brain off for a while?

Spanks self-describes as a "himbo", but he's really not; he's highly intelligent and analytical, with a lot of shit in his past, and at the time you meet him the most effective way he's found to keep his own brain from overwhelming him is by beating it into submission with a life of hard drinking and violence

Important note: Spanks is a woman, he just uses he/him pronouns for various reasons, most of which are that he's a butch drag king.

Also vote for him.

Vote for Spanks Sinatra!!!

Who are you going to vote for: the he/him lesbian who can bench press you, or the tangled bundle of Christmas lights in your attic?

Come ON, you're going to let the he/him lesbian drag king Frank Sinatra who is also a bounty hunter get beat by a pile of cold, unflavored spaghetti??? Seriously?

Audio propaganda with Sammy Sinclair.

Art propaganda of Spanks Sinatra being crushed by Husky, as mentioned in the above audio propaganda.

[dilf-docs]

High Heels, Hushed Whispers

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: a black dress, high heels and a fancy dinner. that's all it takes for you to fall into harry's scheme. or, better said, trap.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, (eventual) smut, foes to hoes, (one sided) enemies to lovers, angst, rich ppl (yes that's a warning), slowburn, reader may be a bit of a cunt (sorry if this x reader fic is mischaracterizing u), ft. dbf!harry (love this trope so much and had to squeeze it in, my bad)

word count: 3,562 words

side note: i'm lowkey crashing out in FOMO so bad bc materialists won't release in my country until july 31th💔 the need to move to US for my master's just to inherit a lifelong debt but never missing out as a cinephile again,,, HhmmM also, streets saying we're getting the gladiator II treatment in the marketing sense💔💔 UGH WHY WON'T YOU CHOOSE BILLIONARE IN THIS ECONOMY? PEDRO PASCAL FACED BILLIONARIE??!! tbh i'm a hypocrite bc if pedro was poor i'd still chose him anyway... this is in honor of materialists NYC premiere today, hope my man goes 🕯🕯

part: prev | masterlist | next

Picking up calls you shouldn't pick up is a lesson you've yet to learn. Damned be your work habits slipping up into your personal life.

"Let's see if I understand" from the other line.

You take a deep breath, pausing. "Yes?"

"You're going on a date and didn't tell me"

You roll your eyes, looking out the window.

"I would've told you if it was a date, Rach"

You were always a good liar.

"At least I could helped you pick your outfit" she whines. "Like old times!"

It's almost as if you can see her pouting through the phone.

"I would've let you" you concede, "but I already chose the dress you gave me last Christmas"

A fine red garment tailored in authentic silk that hugged your body just right.

"Great choice. That's a killer" then, there's silence, followed by a loud gasp that elicits another eye roll from you. "Wait. Don't tell me- You're already there!"

Your lips quirk up in a smirk. "Maybe"

"You are a terrible friend" but Rachel's words carry no real weight. "At least give me a clue?"

You remember the address, marked in the GPS screen in front of you.

"Boring"

"That's not a clue" she huffs, "everything's boring to you"

You look out the window, the mansion coming into your view.

"Extra boring"

"It's a social gathering, then. You hate those" and you hate how much she's right. Probably knows you better than your dad. Yourself even.

"Your silence proves I'm right" and again, you roll your eyes.

"Goodbye, Rach"

"At least find someone to take home. Your house reeks of loneliness"

It's a joke, but there's a weird pit in your stomach when you hang up. It shouldn't matter that much, but you can't keep pretending you are choosing to spend more time at the office, because going back to a place where the only sound is that of your own steps, echoing back to you, the surface and space looking so artificial, like a hotel room, has become some sort of torture.

Your driver, Joaquín, parks right in front of the entrance. Before he moves, you raise your hand.

"I can do this by myself. Thanks"

He knows better to contradict you and you don't know if you are convincing him or yourself.

"Have a nice night, Ms. y/n"

You open the door, sighing as the heels dig into the pebbled road. I'll try.

As he drives away, you can't help but think again what were you really doing here. It's not like you needed the money, so, again, why did you agree? Willingly accepting to help Harry and his friend, people who you could care less, the first even nearing enemy territory. But for some reason, the moment those brown eyes landed on you, it felt like yes was the only correct answer.

"Welcome, Miss. Can I see your invitation?"

You think it's pointless: would you've driven all the way here if you weren't invited?

"Here"

You don't know why but the moment you step in, your eyes search for him, Harry, as if your body moved on instinct. Betraying.

A waiter walks by and you take whatever it's on his tray, downing the liquid with a gulp. Once the small tingling buzz settles into your system, you find that easy practiced smile of yours: cold enough to be polite but not warm enough to be confused for anything more.

"Having fun?"

You spin, dress doing a little reveal of your bare legs, yet he doesn't even look your way, that kind of silent promises and respect faithful men hold onto when they've swore their heart to only one woman.

"I'm trying"

"That's the spirit" he chuckles, lowly. "Is there anything I can do to make your night better?"

You fake a pondering gesture.

"Maybe get you another drink?"

"Thanks, but I want to walk straight when I exit through that door"

"Smart girl" he quips, "but I hope you don't plan on leaving soon"

You take the time to look at him under the chandeliers.

"I have manners"

This man has a kind smile that reaches his eyes, a dark grey but still holding onto a spark for life, not dull at all. His hair matches his gaze, and so does his neatly trimmed beard. His face is aged, probably about the same age as Harry, if you were to take a guess.

"Paul" you recognize. "Paul Lauder"

Lauder offers his hand and a charming smile, like all the men from his circle have been cut from the same cloth: gentleman manners that hide calculating characters. Still, there was something about the man and owner of the house standing before you, that seemed genuine.

"Am I that easy to recognize or has my friend already talked about me?"

A million questions raise through your head. If he was talking about him, how did he know you knew each other? It was a given in your society, yes, but to speak about you both in such friendly terms? Or worse: had Harry spoken of you to his friends?

"Forgive me. I talk nineteen to the dozen"

Your body tenses at just the sound of his voice, and there he is, the man of the hour.

"Harry" Paul calls him, another gentle smile making its way to his face.

"The one and only. Don't tell me you know another one" he jokes.

He still hasn't looked your way, and you don't know why that makes your skin hot.

"You're irreplaceable, my friend"

Now you see why he insisted on helping him. Paul's a true friend: a rare gem, especially in New York's elite.

"This is y/n" Harry introduces you, "David's daughter"

Its only then that Harry looks at you. A fast up and down, barely noticeable, but you were an observer, always. Part of your work and charm, just what made you perceptive and deadly enough. His eyes linger on the open skin, in the cut of your leg, and then move to your face, gaze holding. Daring, almost. And the he chuckles. Harry fucking chuckles, the sound low and grave. A fuzz settles in your cheeks and you choose to blame the alcohol rush.

You desperately wish to know what Harry's thinking.

"Ah. So this is she" a knowing smirk makes its way into his mouth. Then, his eyes widen. "Wait, David? Oh, haven't you grown? Into an extraordinarily beautiful woman, nonetheless. You sure look like your mother"

The compliment feels paternal at best, but a knife slowly twists into your ribs at the last sentence. None of the men seem to catch this.

"She has" and Harry takes your hand from seemingly nowhere, body closer than you anticipated. Grabs your hand and kisses it like he means it. The other man observes it all in silence. "The belle of the ball"

"Except this is my birthday, not a dance" Paul banters, nudging the billionaire gently on his side, as if you hadn't gone completely at loss for words. You hated to be unprepared, yet Harry always seemed to turn you into a house of cards, his wind sweeping you off your feet.

"There's music" Castillo is quick to reply. "That has to count for"

Paul lets out an easy laugh. Then, looks over his shoulder, and you don't miss the way his eyes light up, unaware adoring smile on his face, the rest of the world reduced to a meaningless blur.

"It's my turn, I suppose" you don't understand what he means. "I want to introduce you to my wife"

You see Harry's body tense and smile falter by centimeters, barely noticeable.

So this is it. This is the part where you meet her. Your newest job.

Your eyes follow Paul's direction, only to be knocked breathless.

Her beauty is obvious, insulting even, making you uncomfortable in your own skin. It's in the way she carries herself, smiles all white, her teeth perfectly lined; blinding. Dress ivory and clean, making your red one feel vulgar in comparison.

You wait for the cold to hit you, but when Paul slides a hand across her back, resting behind not to claim nor brag, but to belong and feel her warmth, she smiles, not for the room, but to the man who looks at her like she makes life worth living.

You're confused.

"This is Grace" he introduces her, proud.

The woman shakes your hand. Even her gestures seem the perfect mixture of delicate and proud. You tell her your name and suddenly, she's smiling again.

"Pleased to finally meet you. Harry has talked so much about you"

His stare burns from your side. So he has indeed talked about you before. You decide not to dwelve too much on how that makes you feel.

"Alright, that's enough" he laughs, clipped. A hand slides across your back, and it feels deliberate.

An instrumental cover of an old 90s ballad you can't quite place begins to play.

"This is my favorite" Grace beams, green eyes sparkling with joy.

"I know. That's why I asked it to be played"

She swats his chest playfully while yours aches with a silent press. Grace links her arm with Paul and gives you a goodbye smile.

"I'll leave you two alone. I have an important dance to attend"

Before going, Paul gives Harry one last look, one you can't decipher. Your breath feels oddly constricted.

"Just us again. Is this perhaps fate telling us something?"

You scoff.

"That I should go home"

"Is that so? Didn't take you for a downer" Harry laughs.

"I'm not" you protest like a child, embarrased.

He's enjoying this, by the way he smirks. "I don't believe you"

"I don't care" but you keep looking on his direction.

"Fine. How about this? Give me a dance and I'll believe you"

You face him, annoyed.

"Do you ever stop doing business?"

He just offers his hand.

"Quick. Offer's expiring and everyone's staring"

Harry's right, though. You hate their whispers and looks, so, be it the pressure or way your heart beats when his fingers slip between your own, you concede.

"Just one. You're lucky I don't like unwarranted attention"

He guides you to the center.

"You better get used to it. You're a natural"

The soft strings and notes of a saxophone waft through the air. Grace and Paul laugh somewhere to your side.

"But I hardly know this beauty by my side"

You might break your neck with how fast you raise your view, stuck before on the sway of your feet.

"Huh?"

"Lady in red?"

His hand softly caresses the silk of your dress, like a wind breeze.

"Me?" you ask, voice caught in your throat.

Harry laughs. With or at you.

"No, the song"

That's why it was vaguely familiar.

He quirks an eyebrow. "Don't you know Chris de Burgh?"

"All I know is my feet are killing me"

"So dramatic" yet his voice is soft. As the cello hidden behind drums and bass. Too soft. Stable as the Roland TR-808 drum machine for the drum pattern. Tension hanging like the synthesizer, acknowledged but not spoken of.

Harry had this effect on you. He just brought this side of you, a more unguarded side no one saw or dared to search for. Not even Rachel, who you spoke to. You talked to Harry. Because he looked past your walls. He tried. Took the time to pluck brick by brick. Like it mattered. You weren't New York's most sought-after divorce lawyer nor David Beaumont's daughter, just a girl who tried too much and is tired of doing so, and had finally been seen: the eyebags and the pleading eyes. The yearn for something she would never say outloud, between pride and the refusal to name something she can't even name.

"We always end up dancing" you comment, hand firmly holding his. Because it has become too much, and you'd rather go back to the light swimming than the drowning.

"We always end up doing the same things"

You think about the first time you met him. Not the very first, but the one you saw Harry Castillo for the first time.

It was at your father's fourth wedding, with a woman you can't seem to remember by face nor name.

"I hate weddings" you had said, not expecting to be heard but to be understood; the entlitement of your silver spoon was inherit. You felt as if you were wearing a costume of some sorts: a polished aspect that hid that bitter taste of seeing your father's failure and betrayal all over again, front row. You saw by the corner of your sharp eyes the way Harry tensed, unsure if he should even acknowledge you. So you sat in silence for the rest of the ceremony, answer hanging in the air, and when your father swore an expiring love again, you walked out, not before sparing one last glance his way.

He did too.

It made you falter a bit, unsure, almost tripping on the bench. For a moment, it seemed like he could see what you hid: the light tremble in your hands, the unopened invitations yet showing up at the last minute because you had no one else in this life, and how, despite your cruel jokes and harsh words, your eyes turned glassy when you allowed yourself to look at the bride as a kid looks at the shiniest toy behind the display, forbidden to be touched. For a moment, Harry Castillo saw the little girl who wore the heavy crown of a last name, words and grown face like an armour.

"I hate you"

Or maybe you fear him and the way he picks the scabs of your best hidden wounds, searching for the meaning of you past the shells of healed by force scrapes.

He closes his eyes, feigning hurt. "And here I thought we've gotten past base one"

"I hate you" this time sharper. You wish you could mean every ounce of venom laced within.

"You don't mean that" softly, like his gentle tug on your dress. Like the calm of your storms.

No answer, but the tiniest phantom of a smile graces your lips.

"Tell me about Grace"

Harry's grip tightens on your hands. "What about her?"

"I don't think she's the villain you're trying to make her be"

He narrows his eyes. "Give it a few days. She's just a pretty face"

"You say it like that's all there is"

"No" he's quick to answer. Then pauses, probably pondering. "But it certainly helps"

He looks at your lips. Under the lights, it's hard to distinguish if the red across your face is of anger or just a blush.

"Harry-" you beg without knowing why. A greater woman wouldn't.

"What?" like he's dealing with a naive kid.

"Don't lie to me" you seethe.

Not you. Everyone but you.

The song keeps playing in the distance, yet all you can hear is the ringing of your ears.

"I'm not"

It's pathetic to care this much about someone you claim to despise, finding hurt in a rift across the laces of trust in such strange interwoven bond. A phantom thread.

"Where are you going?"

Your feet develop a mind of it's own. You don't spare him a glance, breathing suddenly a difficult task.

"Outside"

The cool evening breeze hits you. So does the smell of water, the soft sounds of a fountain in the background.

"At least this time it's a garden"

You and balconies. Another of your rules broken. By Harry, again.

"What are you doing?"

You admire his persistance. With shaky fingers, you reach for one of your dress' pockets.

"Thinking"

"It's such a nice evening to be doing that" as if nothing happened.

You roll your eyes, pulling out the lighter with your mother's initials.

"I'm trying to think who is lying to me"

His face falls.

"Y/n" as a warning, maybe a plea. "The answer is obvious. You don't know her, but you know me"

"I don't" you cut, harsh. "As you don't know me either"

You keep saying the same words, as if they were a shield of some sorts, to protect you from falling under his spell.

Harry Castillo scoffs.

"I'm trying, trust me. But you never make it easy" then, his charming smile is back on, slipping on it like a costume of some sorts. Tailored suit: just for him. "Lucky for you, I'm not a quitter"

"Do you have a cigarette?"

His face betrays surprise. Still, he pulls a Marlboro Gold and hands it like a peace offering.

"You said you quit"

The light flickers, smell of nicotine mixed with that of the flowers of the night garden.

You hold his gaze. "I'm not a quitter"

Harry pulls one of his own too. Takes a long drag, tired, before asking.

"Do you want the truth?"

You face him, expression unreadable. A weak smoke cloud billows over your eyes, masking their shine.

"I don't care"

"Don't lie to me" he repeats your words, but instead of the severity of your own, his are laced with benignity.

"I don't care"

"I didn't want to be alone"

You take another drag, silent, wishing for louder words and not spaces of silence that leave your mind restless.

"Harry Castillo, who could buy all of Manhattan, can't find a simple escort?"

He scoffs, seemingly offended. "That's not what I meant"

But not for the accusation at his expense, rather at your lack of (or lack of wanting to) understand.

"Too low for you, I get it. Where all your model friends busy?"

"One, they're not my friends. I can count those with my fingers" he lifts six. "Besides, I doubt twenty something year olds would be friends with a forty-seven year old finance guy"

You take a drag. "What does that make us then, Harry?"

Harry exhales. "We aren't friends"

Your lips curve up. "And two?"

It's his turn to smile.

"I doubt they would choose to accompany me to an old people dinner instead of a night clubbing with their age appropriate friends" he casts you a look, deliberate. "What would you do?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

His smile widens.

"Tricked, but you are"

You smash the half burnt cigarette against a stone statue next to you.

"Grace isn't the problem"

"Sweet Grace may be eleven years younger, and we know what that means in our world, but God, doesn't that woman love Paul?"

You chuckle, lowly.

"Jealous?" you find yourself teasing him.

He casts you a quick look. "Of course I am"

Even if his tone is light and playful, there is a quiet longing laced within. You gulp harshly.

"Why me?"

"Because you're you"

Your heart shouldn't beat this fast. You chuckle, weakly.

"Elaborate"

"Of course you have to know everything, don't you? You can't help but want to understand it all"

You laugh. "Is that so bad?"

"It's very... you"

"Got it. I'm the bad I was asking about"

For the first time, you both join in laughter. It's so easy feeling this comfortable with Harry, you think. Like it's meant to be. All pretenses left behind for a moment of too loud unguarded laughs.

When the laughter dies, he takes one last drag before putting his cigarette out.

"It's because you're the only one who could play along and not make more out of it"

You're not sure you want to face him. Still, you do, offering a tight lipped smile his way.

"Because I'm smart"

"Of course, you're a Beaumont"

A beat.

"You could've told me"

He shots a look your way, eyebrow arched.

"Would've you accepted if I told you the truth?"

You ponder for a moment before answering.

"No"

"Be honest"

"No, but I would've told you to fuck yourself"

Harry smiles. "That's better"

You join him. "I could send a lawsuit your way for lying"

"I doubt that, divorce lawyer"

You let out a dramatic gasp.

"I went to law school. I know this things"

"I'd like to see you try"

"Are you challenging me, Mr. Castillo?" you dare, mischievous.

"Please, don't call me that. You make me feel old"

"That you are"

"You're impossible" he sighs. "Older, then"

The wind blows your hair a little wild. It gets on your face.

"We should go inside" you say.

"Yeah. We should"

You feel a hot rush through your face when his fingers remove the loose strands, touch delicate. His gentle ministrations find a way inside your tense heart, nesting inside in a pulsating soft ache.

He offers his hand. "Dance with me. As an apology"

"That sounds like another favor"

"Yeah. So we get more prying and envious glances thrown our way"

"I feel I'm getting the short end of the stick here"

Harry laughs. "I'm the old man with a pretty lady on my arm"

"The lady in red" and the color matches your cheeks and dress.

"Is dancing with me"

You take his arm. "Lyric?"

"Truth as well"

When you get back inside, Paul's eyes find you soon enough. You try not to think too much about the meaning behind his smile.

"So..."

"So?"

You take his hands first, diving in. They're warm, holding yours back without second thoughts.

"Let's dance"

And you do, trying not to feel special for being the one Harry Castillo chose.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / 🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui @youusunshineyoutemptress @hermionelove @noisynightmarepoetry @ann-gell @suzysface @joelmillerpascal @ennvsco @not-the-teen-witch (comment if u wanna be added!)

[black-pearl-cookie-lover]

My WitchCookie!reader headcanons

Slight Pv x reader

(not proofread)

Tw:theeth rooting fluff

An: i love the found family troupe sosososo much!!

Origin

-The reader used to be a very powerful witch, but also a sweet lady

-she's actually was the one who made gingerbrave! So she's his mother in a weird way?

-she's younger than most witches but incredibly powerful since she's descendes from a family of Infamous witches, which made her a threat to the other witches so they decided to cast her away transforming her into a cookie!

-she starts to wander off as small little cookie with no real plan or destination.

Meeting

-she first meets gingerbrave and his crew early on, she was just wondering all alone muttering to herself.

-she instantly recognized Gingerbrave she could never forget about her own creation!

-however she doesn't reveal herself as a witch and when asked for her name she fumbles and ends up on "Witch [name] cookie" as a name

-being the oldest in the group at that point in time she tries to keep them all safe.

-when White lily joins up too they click well instantly maybe because they are similar(they are both hiding something)

They find out reader used to be a witch

-The reader would probably just come clean about it, it would create a slight tension between herself and Gingerbrave, she'd feels so horrible because she genuinely started to care for him as if he was her own.

-it would take time but slowly they'd accept this part of her story.

-she highkey becomes a single mother of 3

The gang loves their witchy mom

"ehy don't puss yourself too much, being brave is good but there's a difference between that and being reckless."

"sorry mom!"

"wash your teeth before going to sleep!"

"Yeah ok mom." Practically rolling his eyes

Holding back tears "that's the first time you called me that!"

"i didn't mean it Like.. Whatever makes you happy"

"your skills are getting better keep it up!"

"thank you mom!" she's very flushed by the compliment

-She and Pure vanilla go greatly together since they are both nurturing people, well reader is less of people pleasing and more of a 'do what I'm saying I promise I know better' person.

"i love our children more than anything!"

".. Our children?"

"Yes. Our children have a problem with that?"

He'd chuckle "not at all"

She's also very protective of who she calls family you mess with her kids? You can say goodbye to both your hands because they are ending up in her next potion!

She would want to keep the little dough kid from the "my cookie" quest but would have to give up because of how dangerous it would be for the little thing.

(all the beasts would most definely despite her since she comes from the same family of one of the witches who trapped them)

Overall she's mother! That's for sure.

[juniperdugong]

Relationship Quirks 95s ver.

Aka habits I can see the boys doing in a relationship || 95s || 96s || 97s || Maknae line ||

Scoups Calls you his "wife" while you guys are still dating

NOT AROUND YOU... at first but I doubt that the guys wouldn't secretly take video of him whining during practice talking about, "I miss my wife..." all pouty and everything (he saw you this morning), and NOT send it to you.

He's awkward when you bring it up because he doesn't know if you feel that way about the future of your relationship but once he knows you do feel the same way WHEW you do not hear the end of it.

Suddenly, all the reservations he makes are preceded by "Well, me and my wife...", anytime you're brought up in a conversation dude glitches out and HAS to mention you as his wife at least once (especially if it's to someone he thinks might be interested in you), and the yearning only gets worse! He'll leave for tour and after he texts his customary airplane goodbye message to you your phone will be blowing up with texts from the boys complaining about having to hear their leader practically sobbing about how much he misses his wife.

Jeonghan Steals your stuff

Has big "What's yours is mine" mentality, but don't worry! What's his is yours too! He swears it! Despite the drastic difference in how much he's using, borrowing, or straight up taking your stuff...

Let's be clear though, he never takes things he thinks you'll miss and if he finishes something of yours he always makes sure to replace it pronto. If you do get upset he makes a mental note to not mess with that particular item ever again.

Have you noticed a suspicious amount of your clothing (mainly hoodies, hats, and bags) go missing and suddenly see your boyfriend wearing them during a live? Yes. Has there been multiple arguments about this behavior? For sure! Does it absolutely warm your heart when you're at a concert and see a staff member run on stage to hand Hannie his current comfort item (a childhood toy of yours that you didn't even know was missing from your room)? Absolutely, it does. (Apologizes profusely once you find out...doesn't mean a single word of it and you know it because he's giggling the whole time)

Joshua Buys 2 of everything

Since the dawn of your relationship, Shua has gotten 2 of every item he buys. His initial reason was to get to know one another better by trying out things the other liked. This then spiraled to him doubling every single grocery item, clothes he buys, and pretty much anything he orders. Could be an insanely valuable item worth thousands that he's getting paid to promote but if there isn't a matching one for you then it's off the table. And no, he doesn't necessarily want to be "matching" all the time but he likes knowing that you guys could match whenever you wanted to.

He also gets extremely offended if you question why there's so much of everything, seriously he doesn't even want to hear it, like "Because it's ours! And we share! So we need double! Do you hate me or something!?"

"Babe, why do we have so much shampoo..." "I'm promoting it." "There's 2 of every type in here." "Yep." "We don't ne-" "We do need it." "It's too much." "I don't understand what you're saying to me right now."

A/N: The brainrot I have for these men is so real rnnnnn. I just had to separate these by years bc it was getting too long :( I'll have 96s up by today too, so stay tuned for that 96 line OUT NOW!! (Have to do it for my babe Nonu) Reblogs and Comments are much-appreciated lovelies!!

TAGLIST (open): @bemybabiibish

[formulaonecrumbs]

part two: what a bland goodbye.

Lando Norris x secret (ex)girlfriend!reader

part one.

(partially requested) @idkwhatsoever04: I need a part -2 where lando regrets leaving reader and she moves on and makes him regret a lot or whatever the ending you prefer or she makes him work a lot to forgive him

summary: lando regrets letting reader go after hiding her and making her feel invisible. she moves on, but not without heartbreak, self-doubt, and him realizing what he lost too late.

warnings: heavy angst, secret relationship, jealousy, heartbreak, self-comparison/insecurity, regret, implied moving on, no happy ending.

A/N: helloooo low-key i was gonna give them a happy ending cause i love my baby lando and i hate putting him in sad situations but then i had a bad day and needed to take it out somewhere. SOOOO i hope someone cries to this, that’ll always be my aim when it comes to angst 🫶 also yes the title is the lyric from loml, i was crying to it earlier and just felt it was fitting. anywaayysss enjoy, my loves ❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

it’s always after they lose you that they realize you were everything.

lando didn’t expect silence.

he expected a fight. yelling, maybe. tears. a messy conversation that ended with you forgiving him like you always did.

but not silence.

not a blocked number.

not your clothes missing from his flat. your toothbrush gone. the empty drawer where your things used to be. not the absence of you lingering in every space he used to take for granted.

you didn’t leave a note. didn’t text. didn’t even say goodbye.

and for a while, he told himself it was for the best.

he told himself it was just temporary. that you needed space and you’d come back like you always did. that you’d cool down and realize that being private had always been the safer option. smarter. better.

but days turned into weeks.

you didn’t come back.

and he started noticing the little things.

he’d scroll through his camera roll, looking for a photo of something else, and find a video of you laughing instead. blurry. sunlit. caught mid-sentence.

his chest would ache.

he’d walk past a shop and see a display with that sweater you loved — the one you always stole from his closet. the one he found balled up on his side of the bed the day after the call.

he’d see a meme online and his first instinct would still be to send it to you.

and then he’d remember he couldn’t.

you were gone.

what he didn’t see was how broken you were after.

how you cried yourself sick on your bathroom floor the night you ended it. how you stared at yourself in the mirror and wondered what she had that you didn’t. if it was her smile. her style. her body. her confidence.

you picked yourself apart piece by piece, comparing everything you were to amelie — the girl the world wanted for him.

you stopped eating properly. stopped sleeping. everything reminded you of him. the playlist you made together. the shampoo he said smelled like “home.” the inside jokes that didn’t make sense without him.

it wasn’t just heartbreak. it was grief.

like mourning someone who was still out there, just choosing someone else.

but no one saw that.

because just like he kept you hidden, you kept your pain hidden too.

you didn’t want to be seen crying over someone who wouldn’t even say your name out loud.

so you disappeared for a while.

and when you came back, you weren’t the same girl.

you started going out. not to party — but to feel something other than sad. you met new people. you smiled in pictures even when it didn’t feel real.

and then one day… it did start to feel real.

your smile didn’t feel forced.

your laughter wasn’t fake.

and then there was him.

you met someone new. someone who didn’t keep you a secret. who held your hand in public without flinching. who posted blurry pictures of you with captions like “my girl” and “how did i get this lucky?”

he made you feel seen.

and lando noticed.

he saw the post late at night. a friend sent it to him without a word. just a link and a heart emoji.

it was a picture of you — hair messy, eyes bright, laughing into your drink while someone kissed your cheek. the guy’s arm was around your shoulders. your hand rested on his thigh.

you looked happy.

you looked like you’d moved on.

and that’s when lando felt it — the regret.

not the kind that flickers. the kind that burns.

he’d lost you. not just temporarily. really lost you.

and he didn’t even fight for you.

he let you walk away because he was scared of what the world would say, forgetting the only opinion that mattered was yours.

he kept you in the dark while someone else brought you into the light.

and now he was the one watching from the outside. alone. silent. hidden.

just like you had been.

he thought about texting you. a long apology. a plea. something.

but he didn’t.

because he knew.

he could see it in your eyes in that photo — the peace, the lightness, the way you weren’t looking back.

you weren’t his anymore.

and that was his fault.

he let the world have him. but you?

you were the best thing he never had the courage to claim.

THE END :>