#and I wanted to post this set for FOREVER

[tsunodaradio]

pick your poison, babe (i'm poison either way) ⛐ 𝐋𝐍𝟒

♫ and i'll tell you one thing, honey: i can tell when somebody still wants me. come clean.

ꔮ starring: lando norris x dj!reader. ꔮ word count: 2.8k. ꔮ includes: fluff, romance. profanity, mention of alcohol consumption. unspecified monza race win, feelings realization/denial, lando has a crush. title from taylor swift's imgonnagetyouback. ꔮ commentary box: feels apt to dedicate my first post on this blog to the person who introduced me to F1, @norrisradio. papaya forever, baby. this feels like something that could be part of a bigger story, but for now! enjoy a down bad lando. <3 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The Monza podium still feels like a fever dream. The kind of night he should be spending at an over-the-top afterparty, champagne showers and all, with people yelling his name like he hadn’t just spent two hours driving for his life. 

Instead of basking in the glow of P3 with the rest of the grid, Lando finds himself tugging the brim of a McLaren cap lower over his eyes, slipping past the bouncer of an underground rave.

He mumbles something unintelligible when the bouncer glances at him for a beat too long, and the guy doesn’t press. Maybe he doesn't care, or maybe he just thinks Lando’s another kid trying too hard to look mysterious. Either way, Lando is grateful. 

Lando hurries down the narrow hallway, his trainers squeaking against the concrete floor as the bass rattles through the venue like a pulse.He tells himself he’s here for the music. That he’s been desperate for a proper night out, a way to blow off steam without the whole world watching. 

But the truth is, he knows exactly who’s playing tonight. He’d seen the lineup on Instagram— your name sandwiched between two other local DJs— and something in him short-circuited.

You’ve met a couple of times, exchanged a handful of words over mixing decks at a mutual friend’s house party in Monaco. He picked up DJ-ing as a hobby a few years back, a way to kill time between races. 

He had become painfully aware of how much of an amateur he was the moment you’d started playing. You made it look effortless. 

He’d been hooked since.

Not in a crush way, obviously.

That would be ridiculous.

Lando shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and follows the glow of LED lights deeper into the venue. The air smells like sweat and cheap liquor, the crowd a chaotic mess of limbs and blurry faces. People bump into him, and Lando mutters apologies swallowed up by the music.

He clocks you at the DJ booth almost immediately.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he finds you. How his eyes cut through the sea of bodies like they’ve been trained on you this whole time. 

You’re lit up in shades of red and blue, fingers dancing across the soundboard with a kind of swagger that makes Lando want to rip his cap off and run straight back to the paddock.

He tells himself he won’t get too close. That he’ll hang back, maybe grab a drink and nod along like he’s just here for the vibe. But then you glance up from the decks, and your gaze flickers through the crowd like you can sense him there. 

Lando panics, jerking to the side and bumping into someone holding a full cup of beer. “Mate,” the guy groans, shaking liquid off his arm, but Lando doesn’t even register it. 

His pulse is hammering, a bead of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. Must be the heat, he thinks to himself. 

He’s not nervous. 

He’s not.

Lando leans against a graffiti-splattered wall, heart in his throat as the bass thrums through his chest. He’ll stay for a bit. Maybe until your set ends. Maybe until you step off the stage, and he can casually, accidentally cross paths with you.

Just to say ‘hi’. 

Nothing else. 

The beat thrums through the floor, reverberating up Lando's spine like the aftershock of a race. Bodies move in synchronized chaos under the strobing lights, but he only sees you.

You, perched behind the DJ booth, fingers deftly turning dials and sliding faders. Your hair is damp with sweat, the glint of neon catching on your skin. You look like you belong here— like the music isn't just something you play, but something you breathe.

Lando tells himself he’s just appreciating the artistry, the technical skill. 

It has nothing to do with the way his chest tightens every time you flash a grin at the crowd.

His feet start moving before his brain can catch up. He snakes through the crowd, heart hammering harder than it did on the podium. He angles himself perfectly— or so he convinces himself— lingering just by the side of the stage. 

When you descend, your set concluded, your shoulder brushes his chest. Lando executes the most intentional accidental bump in history.

“Oh, shit— sorry!” 

He barely registers your words. The second your eyes meet his, he knows he’s completely screwed. 

Recognition blooms on your face like a firework. When you smile at him, it feels like the entire world tilts.

“Lando Norris?” you laugh, incredulous. “What are you doing here?”

He tugs his cap lower, hoping it might shield him from how devastatingly charming you are. “Just thought I’d check out the music scene,” he lies, his voice failing to land anywhere near casual.

You cock your head, suspicious but amused. “And you just so happened to end up at my set?”

Lando swallows, throat tight. “Just my luck,” he says, the words brittle on his tongue.

You laugh, the sound bright and sharp despite the dozens of other noises warring for his attention. The music hums through Lando’s body like a second heartbeat, but it dulls to a murmur the longer he stands next to you. 

He’s keenly aware of every movement you make. The way you tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear, the lingering adrenaline in your smile, the subtle shift of your weight as you rock on your heels.

“You here with anyone?” you ask, voice still pitched a little louder from your set. “Want anything? A drink?”

Lando shakes his head so quickly he almost gives himself whiplash. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.” He licks his lips, nerves writhing in his chest like live wires. And because he’s a masochist, he asks, “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Here with anyone.”

You tilt your head, brows lifting. For a second, Lando thinks he’s made a mistake, that you’re about to brush him off, but then you shake your head with an easy grin.

“Nope,” you say. “Just me.”

The knot in Lando’s stomach loosens, and the relief is instant— almost shameful in how palpable it is. He feels a little steadier now, a little more like himself. The familiar tinge of confidence edges its way back into his voice.

“Well,” he starts, just on the right side of teasing, “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

Your gaze lingers on him, contemplating. Lando swears his pulse stutters.

After a beat, you shrug. “Nowhere better to be.”

A small, smug smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he bites it back. “Guess that makes two of us,” he says, just loud enough for you to hear. 

The bass thumps back to life, rippling through the crowd like a living thing, and you tilt your head at Lando, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Do pretty little drivers like you even know how to rave?” you ask, voice raised over the music.

Lando scoffs, the sound drowned out by the beat. He lifts his chin, his usual cocky edge peeking through. “Do pretty little DJs like you know how to drive?” 

You laugh; Lando thinks he could live off the sound. Before he knows it, you’re tugging him back into the crowd, bodies pressing in on either side as the music surges. The neon lights flicker across your skin, and Lando, without really meaning to (or maybe meaning to a little too much), lets the crowd shift him closer to you. Shoulder brushing shoulder, arm to arm, fingertips grazing as you both move to the rhythm.

It’s a flimsy excuse to touch you, and he’s pathetically grateful for it.

You notice the way his eyes flicker to the occasional flash of a camera, the way he subtly angles his face down to keep the shadow of his cap in place. You lean in, close enough that your lips nearly graze the shell of his ear. Instinctively, he tilts his head down so you can reach him without straining too much. 

“Tell me, Norris,” you tease, your voice a low hum that curls through his chest, “are you still racing?” 

“What?” he sputters out with a laugh. 

“Answer the question,” you insist, unable to hold back your own laughs. “Are you racing away from something? Racing towards something?” 

Lando knows the answer. That doesn’t make things any easier. And so he does what he does best— play it off, be incorrigible. “Pardon?” he asks, feigning the hardness of hearing. “You have to speak up!” 

You roll your eyes, the expression making you look a lot cuter than Lando cares to admit. “Nevermind,” you holler, pulling away. 

The pang of loss he feels is incomparable to his relief. For the next hour or so, that’s how he dodges your more invasive queries. 

“Why are you really here, Norris?” you ask at one point, voice raised to cut through the noise. 

Lando cups a hand around his ear and squints at you like he’s struggling to understand. “Sorry, what did you say?”

You shake your head but try again. “Why are you here?”

“Did you just ask if I’ve got hair in my ear?!”

You smack his shoulder, but he only grins wider, reveling in the way your touch lingers just a little longer than necessary. “You’re impossible,” you huff, but your smile softens the words.

A beat passes, and then you add, quieter, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Lando’s chest tightens. For a second, he forgets how to breathe. He recovers fast, though, leaning closer until his forehead nearly bumps yours. “Yeah,” he says, voice low but clear despite the music. “That’s what I thought you said.”

Your eyes narrow in suspicion, catching him out. “So you can hear me!”

He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, feeling very much like he won for a second time that night. 

The night wears on. Lando could keep going, really, but then your hand grazes his wrist. A fleeting touch before you beckon him with a tilt of your head. Lando follows without a word, the warmth of your fingers lingering on his skin like a brand.

He keeps his head down, tugging his cap lower as you weave through the venue. He glances around often, wary eyes flitting to clusters of people, to the occasional glint of a camera lens reflecting the strobes.

“I promise you’re not going to have dating rumors come tomorrow,” you say, catching his unease. Your voice is low, teasing, but there’s a sincerity beneath it that makes his chest ache.

“Promise?” he asks, trying to match your tone, but his voice wavers.

You smile, throwing a casual look over your shoulder. “Swear on it.”

Lando doesn’t know how you manage to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of the venue, weaving through bodies and shadowy hallways with practiced ease. You take him through a side door and up a flight of stairs, the clatter of your footsteps echoing in the narrow space.

At the top, you push open another door. Suddenly, you’re outside. The rooftop stretches out before you, bathed in the glow of the distant city lights. The air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers and lingering smoke. From up here, the music is a distant hum, the chaos below reduced to a quiet murmur.

You walk over to the edge, resting your elbows on the ledge. “Better?” you ask, looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

Lando exhales all the tension in his body before settling next to you. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “Better.”

The view is breathtaking. Monza sprawls out beneath you, a patchwork of golden lights against the darkened landscape. Lando watches you tip your head back to look at the sky, the faint sheen of sweat on your skin catching the glow from the streetlights. 

You’re radiant. 

It’s not fair. 

“Is this your usual post-set ritual?” he asks, leaning his forearms on the ledge.

“Kinda,” you answer vaguely. “Helps me clear my head.” 

Lando hums in agreement, though his head feels anything but clear. His heart is still pounding— not from the dancing, not from the adrenaline of sneaking around, but from being this close to you.

You half-turn to face him, your shoulder brushing against his. “So,” you start, playful but quiet. “Are you finally going to tell me why you’re really here?”

“Ah.” Lando laughs at your attempt to double down. “So that’s what this is. A trap.” 

You arch a brow. “I mean, it’s a fair question. Podium finisher skips team dinner to go rave in Monza?”

Lando squints at you, a slow grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wait,” he starts slowly, “you knew I podiumed?”

“Everyone knows,” you deflect, looking back out over the city lights.

He inches closer, eyes gleaming. “You checked.”

You don’t even hesitate, barreling on where Lando might’ve sidetracked. “Of course I did,” you say. “I wanted to know if you’d win.”

Lando blinks, caught completely off guard. The rush of exhilaration that barrels through him is almost disorienting. “You were rooting for me?”

“You act like that’s weird.” You glance at him again, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “I may not know much about racing, but I know enough to hope you’d end up on top.”

Lando’s throat bobs with a hard swallow. He doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know how to process the fact that you— the person who makes him feel like he’s spinning out even when he’s on solid ground— had been watching, keeping tabs.

He clears his throat, feigning nonchalance. “I guess I had to come celebrate with my number one fan, then.”

You snort. “I never said I was your number one fan.”

He clutches his chest like you’ve physically wounded him. “Ouch. Brutal.”

You laugh, the sound echoing into the night, and Lando fears it’s becoming his new favorite noise. Much better than the squeal of tires, the roar of crowds, the electronic dance music that’d been spun downstairs. 

“So?” you prompt, turning to face him fully. “Why are you here, Mr. P3?”

He tilts his head, mouth curling up in a sly smile. “What was that?”

Your eyes narrow. “Don’t start.”

“Couldn’t hear you,” he quips, cupping a hand to his ear. “Something about my heart?”

You push off the railing. “I swear, Norris—”

"Okay, okay!" He laughs, hands raised in surrender.

The second your expression softens, though, he falters. 

The truth sticks to the roof of his mouth like honey, too sweet and too heavy to spit out. He glances down, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the concrete. “I just… wanted to unwind. Long weekend. And…” 

Fuck it. Lando swallows. Scratches the back of his neck. “Maybe I wanted to see you play.”

The words slip out like he’s admitting a felony. He doesn’t dare look at you, afraid of what he might find in your face. Amusement, pity, or worse— understanding. Because you’re smart enough to figure it out, figure him out. Because you probably already know what he’s danced around this entire evening.

He risks a glance, and his heart stutters.

You’re smiling.

Not in a way that mocks or patronizes, but something softer. Something that knots him up inside.

“Maybe?” you echo, tilting your head.

Lando exhales, rubbing a hand over his face like he can physically scrub the embarrassment away. He takes a careful step closer, shrugging like the confession doesn’t carry the weight of the world.

“Okay, probably,” he relents. “But, like, only a little.”

You hum, pretending to think it over, and Lando swears his heart is trying to punch a hole through his chest.

“I can live with that,” you say after a moment. 

It’s not much. It’s not a denial, not an acceptance, but it’s not like Lando is asking for anything, either. 

He could, he realizes. Ask what you have planned after this, ask if you’d like to chase each other through Monza’s streets like one of those old romantic comedies his mum would make him sit through. 

Instead, he only manages a soft, almost breathless, “Yeah?” 

The hope in his tone is a dangerous, treacherous thing. It’s almost as damning as the way he shifts just a little bit closer to you, the two of you leaning back against the railing. 

Lando isn’t going to kiss you tonight. He knows that much. 

Not tonight, but maybe—

“Yeah.” Your voice sounds just like his. Tender, hopeful. A whisper of I don’t mind seeing you, a promise of next time. Wherever and whenever that might be.  

Your shoulders press against each other. 

Neither of you pull away. ⛐

[90slavenderh4ze]

dog days of falling in love - sirius black

pairing: post azkaban!sirius black x reader.

summary: if she spoils the dog, that’s hardly his problem.

warnings: none, just fluff.

a.n: set around ootp, no mentions of yn. first ever time writing a fic, hope you like it! let me know if you have any requests/ideas/suggestions.

Grimmauld Place was silent in the late afternoon, save for the occasional creak of the old house settling into itself. Most of the Order was out—on missions, running errands, living lives beyond the dark walls of Sirius Black’s prison. Even Harry had gone to Diagon Alley with the Weasleys, leaving the house emptier than usual.

Sirius hated the silence.

It left him alone with his thoughts, with memories that clawed at his ribs and pressed down on his chest like a weight he could never quite shake.

But then there was her—a bright spot in his days, a constant presence in the house. Not in an overbearing way, but in a way that made the suffocating air of Grimmauld Place a little easier to breathe.

And right now, she was sitting in the drawing room, curled up on the worn-out armchair, completely immersed in her book.

Sirius had found her like this more times than he could count, legs tucked beneath her, a faint crease of concentration between her brows. It was something he never got tired of seeing. There was something about the way she looked when she was lost in a story—so at peace, so unaware of the rest of the world—that made his chest tighten in ways he refused to examine.

And it gave him an idea.

A childish, reckless, Sirius idea.

With a smirk, he slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. A moment later, a large, black dog padded back inside, tail wagging lazily, dark eyes locked onto his unsuspecting target.

She didn’t notice at first, too caught up in whatever world she was lost in. That wouldn’t do.

With careful, deliberate steps, Padfoot crossed the room and flopped right onto her lap.

“Oh—!”

The book slipped from her fingers as a solid weight landed on her, all fur and warmth and very little consideration for personal space.

“Sirius!” she gasped, half-laughing, half-scolding, her hands instinctively burying themselves in his thick fur. “You absolute menace.”

Padfoot merely huffed, resting his massive head against her stomach, tail thumping against the side of the chair.

She tried to push him off—tried being the key word. “You do realize you’re not a small dog, right?”

Another huff.

She sighed, exasperated but ultimately amused. “I suppose this is your way of telling me you’re bored?”

A lazy wag of his tail.

Shaking her head, she gave up on fighting him off and instead ran her fingers through his fur. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Padfoot let out a low, contented sound that was very close to a pleased sigh. He melted under her touch, every stroke of her fingers sending a warm, lazy sort of pleasure through him.

He could’ve stayed like that forever.

But forever wasn’t an option.

He could hear the others returning, footsteps echoing through the house. He knew the moment would end soon, that reality would come crashing back in, and that he’d have to let go of whatever this was.

Still, he lingered.

She scratched behind his ears, her touch gentle, soothing. “You’re not fooling me, by the way,” she murmured, her voice warm with amusement. “You only do this when you want attention.”

He gave her his best Who, me? look, big puppy-dog eyes and all.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Ridiculous,” she muttered fondly.

And then—Merlin’s bloody beard—she leaned down, pressing the softest, most absentminded kiss to the top of his head.

Sirius Black, infamous troublemaker, ex-Marauder, Order member, and emotionally stunted mess of a man, nearly died on the spot.

The moment was over before he could fully process it.

“There,” she sighed, scratching under his chin. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

He absolutely did not get what he wanted, because what he wanted was more.

More of this. More of her.

And that terrified him.

Before he did something stupid—like shift back into his human form and kiss her properly—he let out a low, exaggerated yawn, stretched lazily, and rolled off her lap, landing on the floor with an undignified thud.

She snorted. “Graceful.”

Padfoot shook himself out, gave her one last look, and padded out of the room, tail flicking behind him.

It wasn’t until he was back in his bedroom, sitting on his bed in human form, that he let himself breathe.

His hands were still trembling slightly, his skin tingling where her fingers had been.

She kissed him.

Granted, she kissed Padfoot, but still.

His fingers brushed over his hair, right where her lips had been, and he let out a soft, breathless chuckle.

He was so bloody doomed.

[mashtatosworld]

sucker

summary: you meet someone very important on good day

*a sequel to 'only girl'

The small, cozy restaurant was empty except for the film crew and Jiyong. The warm glow of paper lanterns casted a soft light over the low tables.

The rapper stood near the entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his blue jeans, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he kept glancing out the window.

It was rare for him to be early, but today, he’d arrived before the cameras were even set up.

A soft chime signaled the door sliding open, and his face lit up instantly.

You stepped inside, slightly breathless from the cold air outside. You greeted the crew with a polite bow as your eyes flickered around before landing on him, lips curling into a familiar smile.

“You look like you’ve been waiting forever,” you teased.

Jiyong hummed, stepping forward without hesitation. “Maybe I have.”

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you in a firm hug. He smelled faintly of his usual cologne - clean, warm, familiar.

“You’re late,” he murmured against your temple.

You pulled back just enough to raise a brow. “By three minutes.”

Jiyong smiled down at you, lightly pinching the tip of your chin. “Hmm, three minutes too long.”

You rolled your eyes, and before you could even think to kick off your shoes, he was already crouching down in front of you, deft fingers reaching for your laces.

You waited patiently, resting a hand on his shoulder for balance. "I shouldn't have worn converse today."

Jiyong didn’t look up as he continued to unlace the sneakers. “Mm, maybe, but I like these ones.” He loosened the knots, slipping them off with practiced ease. His movements were natural, like this was something he’d done many times before.

But maybe that was because he had...

You watched as he neatly placed your shoes beside his own, then stood, guiding you toward the table with a light hand on your back.

By the time you settled onto the cushion next to him, he was already reaching for the glass in front of you.

“I ordered your favourite,” he said, sliding it toward you without fanfare. “Figured you’d want something strong.”

You had told him how you were nervous to appear on his new show, especially since your first episode would be with another guest. But he assured you that this guest was an old friend he trusted with his private life.

Refraining from falling into intimate touches and names in public had become increasingly difficult as your relationship developed.

He was becoming careless with hiding his affection, continuing to buy you coordinating outfits and 'forgetting' to check the background of his pictures for traces of you before posting them. The internet was convinced your hot pink Hello Kitty pj's were his.

Your fingers wrapped around the cold glass, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in your gaze.

“Do I look at you or the cameras?”

Jiyong smiled and placed his hand on your knee. “Whatever makes you more comfortable. Although I'm sure the camera would appreciate a glance or two from you.” He brushes your hair behind your shoulder. "You look so pretty, Jagi."

Before you could respond, the door slid open again, and a loud, dramatic sigh filled the space.

Jung Hyungdon enters, looking between you and Jiyong as he approaches the table.

"I rush over here because I’m told my first love wants to meet up, and yet - " he gestures vaguely at you "- I find him on a date with a younger, prettier replacement?"

You freezes slightly at the mention of a date, all too aware of the cameras that are now focused more than ever on your conversation, but Jiyong, completely unfazed, just leans back on one hand and smirks.

"Hyung, don’t flatter yourself. We wouldn’t invite you to one of our dates."

"Aish, you haven't changed at all, huh?" Doni plopped down on the pillow with a loud grunt, eyes scanning the food starters already displayed on the low table. "It's good to see you again. You're paying for this, yah?"

"You saw me last week." Jiyong laughed, his tilted back before he turned to you. “See what I had to deal with for years?”

You grinned. “He does seem a little high-maintenance.”

Hyungdon's mouth-dropped open. “Ay! This betrayal. Right in front of my kimchi. What happened to respect for your elders?"

"I'm sorry." You covered your laugh with your hand. "How about we order some more food for you? We can even get some abalone and boiled pork."

"Huh?" Jiyong's eyes widened as he fidgeted with his hat, leaning forward as he clocked onto the conversation in which you were raking up the price of the meal for him. Not that money really mattered to him.

"Ahhhh," Hyungdon leaned back slightly with a slow smile, crossing his arms over his chest. "I understand why you like her, GD."

"Oh?" He asked in return, a playful grin on his face.

"Yah. She is just like me."

The table burst into laughter as another round of dishes was brought out.

Jiyong took care of grilling the meat whilst Doni spoke to you about your band. Since you were late third generation, you never went on the variety shows like Jiyong had done, and the rapper nearly burnt the food when the comedian revealed how he was a fan of your work.

"Why are you so surprised?" You raised a brow at him and Hyungdon copied your action, both of you staring at Jiyong with mockingly sharp glares.

"I didn't mean it like that, Jagi, I just wouldn't have thought he still listens to music." He defended, running a soothing hand down your back. You both ignored his slip up but your eyes unconsciously slipped to the camera, staring straight into its lens with wide eyes.

"Hey! I am not so old that I'm deaf!" Hyungdon scolded loudly, returning your attention to the table.

Jiyong laughs and without thinking, reaches over to place a piece of grilled meat on your plate before even serving himself or his elder. You thank him, and Doni watches the exchange with narrowed eyes.

"Tsk, tsk." He points his chopsticks at them. "What’s this? Why does this feel domestic? Why am I being forced to watch this?"

Jiyong continues turning the meat over with his tongs. "I take care of people I like." He then placed a piece of meat on Hyungdon's plate.

Doni’s eyes widen at the gesture. "So you admit it! You like me!" He turns to the crew. "Camera, are you recording?"

They give him a thumbs up and Jiyong shakes his head, his shoulders shaking from his laughter.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

An hour later:

The bottle of soju on the table is nearly gone, and beside it, were two more empty ones.

You, who had started the night sitting stiffly, now leant comfortably against the table, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. Doni is laughing at his own jokes, and Jiyong, looking entirely too pleased, is lazily swirling his drink.

"Okay, okay," Doni slurs slightly, squinting between the two. "Let’s be real. There’s something going on here, right? Right? Is this what Good Day is for? A dating show, huh?"

"Would you like it to be?" Jiyong raised a charming brow at him and Doni looks to you, slowly shaking his head.

"Always trying to reel me in... Be careful with this one, y/n."

You bursts out laughing, resting your forehead briefly against Jiyong’s shoulder eyes squinting shut. He glances at you before exhaling a soft chuckle, absentmindedly reaching to smooth down your hair.

"Ahh," Doni points wildly, head turning to the camera for confirmation, "did you see that? Camera, did you see that? He’s so soft for her, I want to puke."

Jiyong nods, refilling Doni’s glass. "That's the jealousy talking, hyung."

Doni narrows his eyes. "Aish, you little..."

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The camera, slightly shaky, captured the three of them lingering at the entrance.

You were stood by the doorway, shrugging on your coat while Jiyong crouched at your feet, slipping your sneakers back on.

Doni, from the side, folded his arms and stared.

Jiyong tied the last knot and tapped the tip of your shoe lightly. “There. Comfortable?”

You flexed your foot lightly and smiled. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Doni let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "I see now.”

Jiyong stood, brushing off his hands. “See what?”

Doni shook his head in mock disbelief. “You. You’re done for.”

Jiyong smirked.

Doni continued, pointing aggressively. “You’re out here tying her shoes like a husband - ”

Jiyong raised a brow. “And?”

Doni gaped. “AND??”

You stifled a laugh into your sleeve as Jiyong turned to you, completely unfazed. “Ready to go?”

You nodded, biting back a smile. “Yeah.”

Doni groaned, throwing his hands up. “That’s it? No denial? No ‘hyung, it’s not like that’?”

Jiyong just patted Doni’s shoulder as they walked past. “Goodnight, hyung.”

The screen cut to black.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Good Day comments:

@chaoticfangirl: not jiyong introducing his ex to his new gf💀 he messy

@vipforeverrr: GDRAGON CASUALLY TAKING OFF HER SHOES FOR HER I’M SCREAMING

@bigbangggle: are they dating

@kpodteaa: "I take care of people I like" AND THEN PROCEEDS TO SERVE HER FOOD FIRST HELLO??????

@y-n-stan she looked at that camera TERRIFIEEDDD

@softkwon: Doni pointing out how soft GD is for her… I’m so unwell.

@legendaryyg: "i didn't mean it like that, jagi" SIR????

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

this one has been stuck in my drafts

i got a good day request but i love hd x gd so i had to include him 🫶 if you haven't watched them together - don't miss out!!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure

[chainelunaire]

Hi, can you write a virgin Dabi headcanon? Or like his reaction to getting his first blowjob by the reader?

(this is kinda heavy and not smutty at all)

dabi's so repulsed by the idea of sex, it's funny (it's very much not).

growing up in a home where he had not witnessed gentle heartwarming love between his parents, then being traumatized by near death experience, which then resulted in a constant body horror in every sense of the word, and Then for years trying to survive on streets while simultaniously keep training hard - yeah, i think he kind of haven't had enough time or energy for anything other than his Great Goal.

(from here i believe it can go two ways, one him being so closed off physically, and the other is for another post, if ever interested)

his mind is set on revenge, his entire soul is dedicated to a great cause, and while this all is true, it is also true that he clearly understands how scary (read, ugly in the eyes of others) he looks. he lives in this new body designed for him specifically not so long, yet he already knows every little disgusting detail about it, and every day he's finding a new one. deep deep inside he is terrified to the core. not only is he experiencing a major body dismorphia issues, but this also comes with a fact that this body was quite literally sewed together, replacing the burnt parts with flesh he doesn't want to ever question where came from. this body fails him every day. he lost his nails not once, but many times. he expericenced almost every infection known to mankind due to constantly open wounds. he frequently steals clothes, because they end up getting stained, in some parts slimy, and he's a clean freak, he kind of needs to be to survive. once he left a small piece of his ear on a pillow in one of lov's hideouts and was freaking out after. because the police could figure out his identity (not quite, he later realised, since they were not really his ears), and because he was really fond of the lost earring. compress later gifted him a new one. you get the picture.

he himself made the decision to cut off anything that will bring him any pleasure in life (sex included). it's a plethora of reasons why he doesn't want any of it, the main being is that of course, he doesn't believe anyone would genuinely want him in that way, and the second one, very vulnerable and naive, is that he realises that that will make everything harder for him. he's living this life on a hell mode already, he doesn't really need any more disappointment. so he build his later life so that it would be easy for him to let go in the end. and believing that someone found him attractive enough to have sex with him without any ulterior motives would make it harder (not that it'd ever happen, of course!). he's smart enough to understand that.

so he, of course, has much more important business going, and so you know - he's not interested. no one would be interested in that. no one in their right mind would want that, because there's nothing to want.

and you would think it'll take forever for him to fall for you, but it's easier than it seems. him still being that depending on what others think of him, still wanting the so long delayed approval and attention, it really won't take much of you for him to like you. he's so sensitive to kindness, especially when it's not towards him personally (that would make him alarmed, if anything) but rather casual small things, it really does something to his hardened heart. make no mistake, him liking you does not equal trusting you, that's a different story for another time. for now, he tries to hide it and he does it really well. so well in fact that for a long time you're quite sure that he wants you dead. he kind of does. but he still likes you.

fast forward to the subject of sex: he tries his best to avoid it at any cost. by that time, being in a relationship and trusting you enough to simply entertain the thought of it, he still thinks it's better if he dies on the spot rather than try. all of his insecurities come alive and well the exact time he thought he got rid of them.

the thing is, he doesn't necessarily want sex in itself, but he surely wants love. he wants to be loved so much and to him you seeing his body and running away in horror is a very real fear. he knows he won't be able to survive this, his mind would be completely broken. he's self-aware enough to understand that even knowing he's not the most sane person in the room. he will be able to live without sex, he was living like that and he was fine, but he won't be able to move on if he'll see the disgust on your face. if you'll find out what he truly is, it will crush him.

he will make it incredibly hard for you. he doesn't want to be a walking emotional rolling coaster, but he can't help it. he's terrified. one day he thinks that it's not a big deal let's go and later in the evening he'd disappear for a week. one moment he kind of wants to catch up and at least learn something on the matter and second later after opening the first link on google he's embarrased, disgusted and wants to set himeslf aflame. in general, he kind of wants to cry the whole time. he's angry at his dad, his mom, psychos that sewed him together, you, who's still by his side being annoyingly patient, but most importantly, he's mad at himself. he's already doing great mental gymnastics in favor of his own life, which he hadn't consider his for more than a decade. turns out, it could be very painful to realise how much you were robbed of, even after claiming for years that you didn't even want it.

needless to say, it'll take more than one shot for you, but eventually he will come around, probably on a random tuesday. tries to be nonchalant about it, but he is so chalant actually. after so much talking about everything he was capable of muster, after so much reassuring and constant showing of love and respect, he could one day wake up and suddenly realise that that fear while not fully gone, but he's at least capable of trying through it. you always knew he would be a sweetheart, him, however? not so sure.

in the end, you are right.

by that time, he's a lot more calm and collected. tells you to be serious and stop giggling, his ears red as a flame when you start laughing full chest - sometimes you are nervous too, he realised later in your relationship, even though he still doesn't understand why, anyone would want you. learnt to accept the fact that complete darkness won't save him in the end, but still asks for a very dim light. he doesn't really care about himself, but he tried to learn more so it would be good for you at least. compensates the lack of experience with observing every reaction he can get out of you (and he has a mental list from all the time before too). he's slow - because he's shy and inexperienced and afraid, - annoyingly so, but he's surprisingly precise and selfless. he would never be rough, especially the first time. needs gentle encouragement, which is perfect - not only he gets to hear your voice more, but his thinly veiled praise kink is enjoying the attention too. cracks some joke about begging the god not to lose his second earring in the middle of it, and you actually laugh so hard he needs to stop because now he's laughing too. the whole time not once has he found in your eyes something he was so afraid of finding. you look at him with nothing but love and adoration, hold his face in your hands, your palms warm and soft and tender, and his chest is tight with pain and with the lightness of it all. at some point he thinks that he really was right, it was easier to just die than to experience it all. he wants to cry, again. he can't really explain why, so he lays in your arms silently, letting you hold him, caress his hair and skin until you fall asleep. it will take all of his willpower not to run away in the middle of the night, he stays because he doesn't want to hurt you like that.

interestingly enough, in the morning without doing anything at all he feels significantly better. he can't help but smile when he enters the kitchen, seeing you preparing the breakfast and brewing hot black coffee. none of you mention the night before, yet you both are smiling at each other when you start to eat.

in this scenario, he'll need quite some time and hard work to only warm up about the idea of a blowjob. he'll forever be disgusted of the body he's currently living in, the best he can hope is to grow neutral about it, which is very real possibility with time. yet, he probably realises he's not ready to take this step now. he's not even sure if he ever will.

[torusbvnny]

VAMPIRE!SUGURU

cw: none..? beginner writing perhaps

a/n: first writing post or general post in dis new blog lmk if enjoyed or if u want another part which i doubt ill make.. constructive criticism welcme js pls dont be needlessly mean 2 me im sensitive

“darling, you can’t stay on this strike forever.” 

there it was, again. his grating voice. suguru hadn't shown how much you ignoring him truly affected him—at least, not yet. but you knew after a week already that he'd grown impatient. 

you were actually surprised he'd lasted as long as he had, though you guessed centuries alive—or rather, undead—had given him a better sense of patience. 

you huffed, rolling your eyes. they weren't as vivid as his deep purple ones which you could feel glaring at you from across the room. 

still, you didn't speak. 

he let out a deep sigh. even that sounded elegant—or petulant—and it irritated you further—the effortless grace suguru possessed from living lavishly for hundreds of years. 

“soon enough, my dear, you'll understand why i did what i did. i can't live without you-” 

you snorted. as if he were even alive in the first place. 

he took a second to speak again, his own irritation growing. 

“i know you're angry, but look on the bright side. you have the gift of immortality. your beauty—a timeless one—will live on forever. think of the lives you can live.” 

his voice had grown pleading as he approached you, his hands snaking up your arms.

“why would the lives I'm able to live now matter to me, if I'm forced to live them with you?” you bit out, pulling away from his suffocating grip. 

“i may have felt something for you before, but how could i possibly love you after what you've done? not just to me, but to the many people whose lives you've taken—just to sustain your own?”

you sucked in a deep breath before speaking again. 

“i don't want to become like that, like you. a monster.”

he took a while to respond. long enough you’d thought—hoped—that he'd left. but you knew he hadn't. 

he chuckled, a soft, dark sound that immediately set your spine straight. 

“too bad you don't have a choice anymore, darling.” suguru spoke softly, his tone sweet yet laced with the promise of violence.

suddenly, he was behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist, and his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered again.

“too bad i don't care about how you feel anymore. you're mine, my creation. and you'll grow to enjoy it.” 

his dark presence and the threat behind his words left you breathless, unable to move within his grip. 

“i'll see to that.” 

[doodlepede]

Rain World Flat Earth Theory. I'm serious

Moon does not believe that the spritual elements of the setting are real or legitimate, but we, the slugcat, know that they absolutely are. We interact with echos, we interact with void worms. We clearly and obviously experience a spiritual journey throughout the game.

Moon describes echoes as "horror stories" which would "grandiosely haunt the premises forever" [LF Red pearl], and dismisses spiritual practice as "an instruction on how to starve yourself on herbal tea and gravel, but disguised as a poem" [LF Red pearl]. She completely doesn't understand why the Benefactors would care about keeping automated holy object production on the same grounds as the temple [HI blue pearl]. She famously dislikes having citizens in the UW Green pearl. Her disdain for their beliefs and culture is made clear through her dialogue.

When she speaks of the scientific, however, there is no trace of that implied doubt. She speaks in a factual, matter-of-fact tone when discussing the cyclical nature of life and death [SU Blue pearl] and how circumventing the self-destruction taboo works [CC Gold pearl].

I make the case that, despite being an inherently unreliable narrator due to her expressing a personal perspective to the slugcat, when it comes to matters of science, she can be taken at her word.

"If you leave a stone on the ground and come back some time later, it's covered in dust. This happens everywhere, and over several lifetimes of creatures such as you, the ground slowly builds upwards. So why doesn't the ground collide with the sky? Because far down, under the very, very old layers of the earth, the rock is being dissolved or removed. The entity which does this is known as the Void Sea." [SB Teal pearl]

If the world of Rain World were a globe, this would necessitate that the globe is ever-expanding as the globe is hollowed out from the inside. Moon specifically says "collide with the sky" as if it were a ceiling. An ever-expanding globe would have to reach that ceiling eventually as it grows, but that doesn't appear to be happening. This only makes sense if the world is flat.

So where's the end of the world? I don't know. Maybe it's like the Pirates of the Caribbean where you have to be enlightened enough and already know where it is in order to find it.

Or maybe this is complete hokum and she only sounds authoritative on the subject because she thinks she knows the scientific truth but it's really just hard-programmed knowledge, courtesy of the Benefactors, who were totally wrong. That seems like a break in character for her though, since, if they did that, why not hard-program affection for them too?

Maybe the Watcher dlc will provide more information on the subject. That's why I wanted to get this post out there before then. A game like Rain World implying that the truth is somewhere between the scientific and spiritual makes sense, considering how the game really likes blurring the lines already. Further iteration upon a theme.

[holy-mother-of-whumpers]

About this post!

Tagging and not reblogging because it's long and I don't want to have people scroll forever to reach me (personal preference).

Summary of @katerinaaqu; Odysseus is associated with the bow, even though in battle he mainly uses the spear (against Sokos, against the boar, wielding two spears against Scylla).

The spear is the cheapest and a very effective weapon throughout history (gross generalization), it's the standard to-go weapon (generally).

Also swords kinda sucked at the time, I seem to understand. Menelaos' breaks in the duel of Paris for example (might be other examples). If we set the Iliad in the Bronze Age Collapse, bronze was getting less pure and more brittle, I read somewhere, I think it was because the tin supply was running out.

Axes weren't used as a weapon except in emergency situations, as in they are mentioned in the Iliad almost only at the battle at the ships, where the Achaeans are desperate (shout out to Franco Ferrari Italian translation of the Iliad, the absolute best that points out all the juicy details I'd miss like the absolute amateur I am🙏).

Knives weren't really a thing in battle either.

So I think the spear was just the usual weapon. You want to kill your enemy before he gets close and the spear keeps them safely away - again, generalization, if everybody has spears it's less so.

Even more when you are short or shorter than average, because it gives you reach, which is life or death in battle.

The og post makes associations between Odysseus the spear user, brave, on the hunt for glory and Odysseus the bow user, the schemer and survivor. They are neat, maybe check it out!

I like especially the association between bow and cowardice/bastard sons/'phrigians', which would have Odysseus not use it in order to maintain a reputation - in the classical plays he is called son of Sisyphus enough (thus a bastard, not Laertes') that he'd not want any more associations to bastardry even more... Though this whole thing seems to be more relevant for the classical plays than the Iliad, little disclaimer.

[juliaswickcrs]

ELEKTRA & AJAK ↪ (oc halloween challenge, day one)

"I was created out of necessity, to forever remain artificial and unfeeling. But you, my little spark, were formed out of pure love. You were never meant to remain as you are."

taglist: @bisexualterror @foxesandmagic @iron-parkr @camiemendess @a-song-of-quill-and-feather

@arrthurpendragon @starcrossedjedis @drbobbimorse @kingsmakers @noratilney

@stanshollaand @astarionbae @darth-caillic @mystic-scripture @aliverse

@misshiraethsworld @asirensrage @eddiemunscns

@princessmadelines @impales @waterloou @thatmagickjuju

MARVEL TAGLIST: @notxjustxstories @themaradwrites

[wardensantoineandevka]

is that piece of media actually bad, or is it just not following the blueprint you projected onto it? is that work actually not good, or are you just demanding something from it that is absolutely antithetical to its themes, genre, tone, and narrative goal? is that story actually poorly written, or do you just dislike that it is not the specific things you wanted from it that it never set out to be, never was, and never is going to become? is it actually bad, or is it actually well-executed and you just dislike the story it chose to be because it isn't catering to your specific desires and expectations?

[iceagebaby]

Despondency / Refuge

that's supposed to be Bennys lighter, the Courier is dealing with cosequences of being thrown into a mess they had nothing to do with

the halo was something that turned out on an accident but i love it

Rant below

[starry-bi-sky]

do yall ever think about bruce/batman!clone danny standing in front of his bathroom mirror after finding out he was a clone and silently tracing his face. The slope of his jaw and point of his chin. The high angle of his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes, the curve of his brow bones and the shape of his nose. The volume of his hair and the way it curls and gets fluffy when it gets too long.

His hair is black the same way a crow's wing is black. His dad's hair is black the same way a black bear's fur is black. His dad's eyes are blue like the ocean is blue. Danny's eyes are blue the same way a glacier is blue.

His dad has a square jaw and straight flat hair, and he tans and gets a face full of freckles when he's out in the sun for too long. Danny burns like a lobster and his face remains untouched. Danny has a sharp jaw and tall cheekbones, and Sam says when he's not smiling there's almost something regal about him. You would never call Jack Fenton "regal" when he's not smiling.

Sam says when he's not smiling he looks scary the same way a stone statue is. Jack Fenton when he's not smiling looks scary the same way that german shepherd staring at you across the street is.

Do you ever think he grew up wondering if he was adopted. Because of course, he has black hair and blue eyes like his dad. But having the same color doesn't make you someone's child.

Or, worse, things he's heard from the other kids and the other parents and even some of his teachers growing up; that he was the product of an affair. And that his dad was just too stupid to notice. And Danny would defend his parents until the day he died, because Jack Fenton wasn't an idiot and Maddie Fenton wasn't a cheater.

But doubt comes in with fickle tongue. his parents swear up and down that he is their child when he asks about either. That Danny just had his grandparents' features, but he was their son and they loved him.

But Danny doesn't look like either of his parents. His mom's eyes are blue like an aquamarine and Jazz's too. And they burn like lobsters in the sun too, but Jazz gets freckles on her face and so does Maddie. And as Danny grows up he doesn't bulk up or get stocky like his dad did, and when he hits puberty he doesn't shoot up like a tree like Jack Fenton did.

He stays small, and they say he's a late bloomer (and he is), or that he just has his mom's height. But he's fast and has good stamina, and some days it feels like he's built entirely different from his family. That the things they went through growing up just didn't apply to him. Jack and Maddie Fenton both had acne and breakouts when they hit puberty, and Jazz inherits it and he's seen the amount of skincare products she keeps on her side of the bathroom.

And then he hits puberty and breaks out maybe once or twice, but his skin stays clear for the most part and the problems and changes his dad went through just don't happen to him.

And the truth is worse than all of the lies.

How horrifying.

[magicaldreamfox1]

pete + outfits

[knockknockitsnickels]

I think this is one of my favorite lines from the Wraith route because of (imo) how much the meaning changes depending on if you got there via Spectre or Nightmare. For Spectre, it honestly strikes me as a genuine question. Why are you doing this to her? If you're on the Spectre route, you presumably already know the Narrator can't really be trusted, since you had to reject his reward to get here. What are you hoping to gain from continuing to hurt her? For Nightmare, it honestly just makes me sad. As the Shifting Mound describes her, "She desires only companionship, but the only thing she knows is how to hurt." This line feels like a plea from someone who genuinely doesn't understand why you keep rejecting her. She wants to be with you, but she just can't understand how to do that in a way which doesn't hurt you.

[bestagons]

What Dan and Phil Text Each Other 4 + Familect (article)

[banditblvd]

GHHHHHRR….GHGHHHOSTNKNIFIRE……..GHHHRGHOOOSTNKMIFE…

[wasabi-gumdrop]

thinking about modern au Kabru

ivy league college student, probably studying law and political science on a full scholarship. first time living away from Milsiril so he has to promise her, yes mom i’ll call you at least four times a week, no mom i don’t need your amex black card, yes mom the normal credit card is fine i need to learn how to budget like a Normal Person (it has a limit of $20k — that’s not normal Kabru).

Milsiril insists for a long time that she’ll just get him a house off campus so he can have his own space (aka a place she can drop by anytime and possibly live a few months out of the year just to be close to him) but Kabru puts his foot down and tells her the best way he’s gonna make friends is by living with other students (bye mom).

his floor in the coed dorms is the party floor and he always makes sure to invite everybody (his nightmare is accidentally leaving anyone out and having them think that he doesn’t like them). somehow it’s always a good time, everyone leaves with more friends than they came with, it never gets totally out of control, and plenty of girls who are interested in him (and a lot of guys too tbh) bring tons of baked treats so there’s always free food. Kabru is the RA’s favourite person to have in the building (even though Kabru himself is messy but most of the people he’s friends with are nice and clean up after themselves).

he has a porsche (Milsiril gift for his 16th bday) but he’s adamant about not driving it unless he absolutely has to (because he doesn’t wanna look like a douche). BUT he never says no when his friends ask for rides (so he ends up driving all the time anyway). he actually contemplates selling the porsche and going for a more practical car but Mickbell is like ‘dude you are not taking this away from me.’ Kabru sighs and decides to keep it because his friends (Mickbell) like being chauffeured around in a fancy convertible (Rin, Holm, and Dia don’t care, they’re just glad they don’t have to walk to the grocery store).

he’s probably on a casual texting basis with most of his professors and you know he’s going to all their office hours, grabbing beer with them just to keep chatting about life outside of school. and that’s how he winds up in some super secret faculty group chat where he’s now privy to all the college administration gossip.

Kabru is elected for student council during his freshman year and he’s probably the favourite to be sc president one day.

he doesn’t really date (gets too in his head about how he doesn’t wanna ruin any friendships) but he does hang out one on one with a lot of girls and treats them all really well. he probably goes so far out of his way to be platonic that he flies a little too close to the ‘Just Like One of the Girlies’ sun, he kinda forgets that most people interpret it as flirting coming from him. which leads to a few awkward conversations. people feeling led on, a few angry jealous boyfriends, scathing dms about him being a girl stealing homewrecker.

it’s such a nightmare for him and he needs it to end right now. so he begs Rin to ‘date’ him for a week or two and then publicly dump him just so the entire student body gets the message that he is Just A Friend.

Rin stares at him for a few seconds. then she laughs. she laughs and laughs. she laughs for a crazy long time. and then eventually she goes, ‘wow you’re an asshole, Kabru. no i won’t be your fake girlfriend. you’re gonna suffer and i’m going to enjoy it.’

and that’s when Kabru has a moment of enlightenment. ok yeah. asking for that is probably really selfish and mean. maybe he needs to think about girls’ feelings more and that’s maybe more important than his deep seated need to be liked, and when has Rin ever been wrong about anything.

he apologizes. and so begins one of the more serious talks he’s ever had with Rin about being okay with not being liked.

he thinks he can really turn over a new leaf. the whole ‘not worrying about what other people think’ thing goes pretty well — up until Kabru meets the aloof professor for his Monsters and Myths class who keeps forgetting and mispronouncing his name.

Kabru has never needed someone to like him So Bad, he needs Prof. Touden to like him as a matter of life and death, and he’s willing to look stupid for it (fails a midterm on purpose to justify begging for one on one tutoring)