#anyways i think they have this thing when they finally get together

[stardustquills]

thinking about husband!nanami being obsessed with the idea of getting you pregnant. 18+ mdni. wc; 1.7k

-

you’ve lost track of how many times he’d made you come - how many time he’s come in you. even now, hours later, it seems like there’s no end.

not that you were complaining anyway.

“oh, baby,” he dragged, voice an octave lower than it usually was. kento had just come in you for the nth time, marking your walls with his white ropes.

he pulled out, leaning his head down to take a glance at his art. “what a pretty pussy. my pretty pussy.” your lips were swollen and puffy, blushed as his seed escaped your cunt, trickling down onto the bed.

he tsked, taking two fingers and scooping up your combined juices before shoving it back in.

you folded with a sob, biting on his shoulder. You head moved into the crook of his neck, taking in his natural scent mixed with his earthy cologne.

“h-ha, ken,” you managed to whimper, your hands weakly clawing at his shoulders. you were overstimulated and tired, unsure of how much longer you could handle him and his insane sex drive.

“doing so good f’me, honey,” he cooed softly, giving you a moment to recover before the next round. his free hand combed through your hair, a soothing motion he knew you loved. when he spoke again, it was like he was speaking to a baby. voice all sweet and gentle, one you couldn’t find yourself saying no to. “think you can go another round?”

he wasn’t really asking - he’d make you go another round.

he slipped his fingers out, causing a soft mewl to escape your throat. your hole hopelessly clenched around nothing as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, cleaning them off. he hummed contently, his fingers moving out of his mouth with a pop!

“we taste good together,”

what a filthy, filthy man your husband was.

“k-kento,” you looked up at him, a pout on your lips with dried tear stains. you hands moved from his shoulders to his neck, your fingers fiddling thing the hairs on the nape.

he looked down at you as you called his name - his heart softened at the sight. his precious wife pouting and looking up at him with doe eyes. your body trembled and shook, goosebumps rising as he trailed a hand down your arm. “yes, darling?”

“‘m tired,” you started, voice quiet and barely audible. “can’t-“

“ah ah,” he cut you off, “yes you can. c’mon honey, just one more round, please?”

how could deny him after he asked so sweetly? but you didn’t know what had gotten into him, why he was so hellbent on getting you pregnant. having kids wasn’t a new topic in your marriage, it’s been something that’s been discussed numerous times, but now you think you’re ready for it.

ever since you told kento “let’s have some kids,” (which was earlier today), he’s been pounding into you like a bitch in heat.

it’s just that he thinks you’d look so beautiful pregnant with his kids. it’s something he’s been thinking about for ages. kento knew you’d be the mother of his kids just a few months into dating.

and now he finally gets to live it.

he can’t wait to see you all round and glowing, growing his kids in your womb. he just knows that you’d be an amazing mother, it’s something you’ve been talking about, and it fills with him so much happiness.

fuck, he’s hard again.

“mmh-“ you whine into his neck as he takes your hand and it helps it wrap around his cock. his hand is around yours, helping you pump because your hands feel that much better than his.

and the whimpers of your name that leave his lips are so delicious, so delicate and full of the love he has for you. “just one more round, baby, please?” he repeats, voice breathy as you both pumped that veiny cock. “wanna get you pregnant so bad. last round, i promise.”

his hand left yours as he helped you on top of him, your legs straddling his as you hand continued moving up and down, torturously slow. kento looked up at you, his hand swiping a strand of hair behind your ear, a soft smile adorning his lips.

“so pretty,” he pulled your face closer to his, placing a kiss on your forehead. “so beautiful,” he kissed your eyelids, “so perfect,” the tip of your nose, “all mine,” before kissing your lips.

you swallowed up his whimpers and moans, you hand still resuming that unhurried pace. his lips fell open and you continued pecking them, a girlish giggle leaving you as a particularly needy moan of your name left your husband.

“just one more round, yeah?” he pulled his face away from yours, his eyes falling to where your hand tugged on his cock. the tip was an angry red from being so used and aroused, and when you swiped your thumb over his slit he thought he’d come right then and there.

“nghh, b-baby,” his hand grabbed your wrist, stopping your movements, “fuck, gonna make me come,” his voice was deep and gravelly, and you could feel the fresh pool of arousal at your cunt. “gotta come in you, honey, gotta give you some babies,”

kento’s hands moved to your hips, lifting them with a mumble (“lift your hips for me, sweetheart. there you go.”) as he let you line him up with your cunt. your cunt that was drooling with his come, making a mess on his thighs. but he didn’t care - the sight only turned him on even more.

you let yourself lower onto him, a desperate moan ripping through your throat, one that matched your husband’s.

“kenn,” you panted, already squirming, just from him bottoming out. the pleasure was too much for you and your overstimulated pussy. your head fell into the crook of his neck once more, using his scent to ground yourself.

“shh, you’re doing so good, mrs. nanami,” and there it was, his favourite nickname for you, “last round, sweetheart, you can take it,”

you had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last round.

but oh he was being so sweet, so nurturing and careful as his hands helped you roll your hips against his. your thighs shook already, goosebumps rising all over your skin as he did all the work even though you were on top. he doesn’t even bother to rub hearts on your clit; he knows you’ll come just from the penetration alone.

his heart is full of so much love and lust, breathless gasps leaving his plump lips as he feels himself hitting your cervix. so much love for his wonderful wife - his wife that lets him use her body over and over again without any complaints.

he bucked his hips up, a moan of ecstasy leaving him as a gasp of surprise left you. his strong arms now wrapped around your waist, pinning you against him as he bucked his hips up into you again, not letting you escape.

you took it like the good girl you were and it drove him mad.

“so good to me, sweetheart,” he leans his head down to your hair, inhaling the sweet, floral scent of your shampoo. kento closed his eyes, letting himself thrust into you faster and faster. he’s so pussy drunk he can’t think straight; he’s only focused on giving his wife some babies. “mmm-aah, mrs. nanami!”

each thrust brushed against your g-spot, a breathless pant leaving you every time it happened. you couldn’t think straight. you wanted it to stop, the sensation was tiptoeing the fine line between pain and pleasure, but fuck kento’s noises were like music to your ears. you’re so cock drunk, strands of incoherent babbles leaving your lips as he dragged his cock in and out of you.

you could feel yourself clench around him, a distinct whine leaving your lips as you felt that familiar coil in your stomach.

“gonna come again, love?” kento grunted, a singular ha! leaving him as his dick kept ramming into you. “it’s only been a few minutes, darling,”

“too much, ken, ‘s too much,” you sobbed, seeing a fresh batch of tears blurring your vision.

“you’re fine,” he decided, thrusting into you with a newfound fervour. “you can take it, honey, i know you can.”

and you do. because who are you to disappoint your loving husband? if he says you can take it, you can take it.

“that’s it, such a good girl,” your head spins with how proud he sounds. you could smell the salty sweat mixed with his earthy cologne. god, everything about him drove you nuts.

“it’s okay, baby, you can come,” he encourages you, one hand petting your hair, the other still wrapped around your waist. kento could feel like way your walls have been fluttering around him, one of the signs you were close. not to mention the way your body quivered and spasmed.

a few more thrusts and you were coming undone, your noises of pleasure being muffled against his neck. your chest heaved with each deep breath, doing everything you can to try and reduce your heart rate.

kento came soon after, his arms tightening around you as an attractive moan left him. thick, white ropes of his seed shot into your womb again, and he kept thrusting until he was sure his come was in you as deep as it could go.

“i love you,” kento whispered, kissing your hair since you kept your face in his neck. he bucked his hips into you again, testing the waters, and chuckled when a high-pitched whine left you.

“love you too,” you kissed his neck, still breathing heavily.

he didn’t pull out, not wanting his waste any of his come. instead, thrusted into you again, slowly, sloppily, his pussy drunk mind taking control of his body.

“k-kento,” you pleaded, dragging your nails down his chest as his pace gained momentum. “you said that was the last round-“

“i know, sweetheart,” fuck, his voice was so needy - your overstimulated walls fluttered around him madly. “but you just feel so good, and i wanna get you pregnant so bad, and h-hahh,” he moaned, cutting himself off.

and it’ll continue, night after night after night, until he knows you’re pregnant - and even then, it might happen after that, too. because kento is so in love with his marvellous wife, he only wants to make her feel good.

[rcmclachlan]

Can you imagine what Tommy looked like when he went in for his shift later that day?

(8x11 coda)

+

When Kinard walks into the locker room at the start of their shift, Lucy does a double take that would make Tex Avery weep with envy.

No one at Harbor would be able to say with a straight face that Kinard's been fully himself over the last few months, what with the wistful eyes and the almost complete lack of Independence Day quotes, but watching him stow his shit in his locker now, he looks diluted, like someone spilled water past the edges of his outline until he grew blurry and ephemeral. She has no idea what could've happened to make him look like this.

He shuts the door to his locker not with the cheerful flair with which he's done since she met him, or the way he's been doing it as of late: quick and perfunctory, like if he wastes even the slightest bit of movement, he'll be losing some kind of bet with himself. 

He shuts the door with a quiet click. Then he just stands there, hand on the handle. She's not even sure he's registered that she's in there with him.

"Kinard," Lucy says. "You good?"

It takes a second for it to penetrate, but she sees the moment it does. He blinks himself out of the fugue state and straightens up,  no expression on his face. He looks like the fucking Terminator. 

"Kinard," she says again, this time barking it out as forcefully as she thinks he can handle. That tone never fails to work on her brother's demon kids, and also Captain Ribiero.

"Donato." He says her name slowly, almost dreamily. He's as solid as a cloud. If she got off the bench and put her hand on his arm, it would fall right through him. "Do you remember the second time we flew together? The gas explosion at Park Fifth. Do you remember what you said to me after we got the kid out—Charlie?"

Wide-eyed, she stares at him, because he's never once brought up Park Fifth since it happened, mostly out of fear that she'd bludgeon him to death with the closest thing within reach for the reminder. It's been literally years since then, and the trust and rapport they've built has erased any hard feelings from that night.

"I asked..." She trails off with a grimace.

It hadn't been her finest moment, considering the kid had just died in his arms. It was her fault—for not listening to him when he wanted her to fly to the east side of the building, downwind, so he could get in and run to where little Charlie Kindstrom was trapped inside with a gas fire that wouldn't quit no matter what they threw at it. She had wanted to get in from the apartment window, have him attack it head-on, to save time, and she'd used her seniority to override him. They wasted precious minutes anyway, trying to get him inside by way of the one clear corner and somehow keep him from being flambéd. 

When they finally got Charlie on board, Kinard had been covered with ash and blood from where Charlie's skin had sloughed off during the transfer, and when Reina, their aeromedic, couldn't get her pulse back, he looked at Lucy with what, at the time, felt like blame. The guilt and frustration and the fact that this smart-ass fucking newbie was calling her out on her mistake, even though he wasn't, not really, got the best of her, got control of her mouth before she could wrestle them back.

"I asked if you ever got tired of being right all the fucking time."

He'd rocked back from it like he'd been slapped, eyes wide and hurt, red from the smoke and the loss, but he never answered her. Reina called time of death, and nobody said a word the entire flight to LA General. When they got back to Harbor, they had it out right there on the tarmac, then walked back inside, arms slung around each other, to find three of their teammates holding up pieces of paper with scores written on them. Nico gave them a 6.5, the fucker.

Now, she watches with wordless horror as a smile like a flatline slowly creeps across his face, eating everything in its path. He steps back from his locker.

"I do," he murmurs. "I really do."

Kinard exhales, then visibly steels himself, plates of armor sliding down, locking in, and then walks out into the hangar like nothing can touch him. Like nothing will touch him ever again. 

Realization hits, and it takes conscious effort to dig her nails out of her palm so she can grab her phone off the bench and open a very, very, very old text thread.

Blowing out a breath, she puts her phone on Do Not Disturb then slides it into her pocket so she can finish tying her boot laces, trying to unclench her jaw with varying success.

Not only does she have an entire shift to lead during the fourth straight day of a county-wide burn ban, which means every idiot from here to San Bernadino is going to try to burn their neighborhood to the ground because they couldn't go a week without throwing a backyard barbecue, but her best pilot's nursing what is clearly a freshly broken heart, and that's a thousand times more dangerous than some dumbass lighting up a firepit in their bone-dry yard.

"I should've called out," she mutters, then stands up.

Would've, could've, should've, but that won't pay her bills. Spending the next 48 hours keeping Kinard from falling out of the sky, however, better come with OT pay.

[linoxpudding]

Written In The Stars (Pt 2)- Lee Know

summary: after you distance yourself, his heart longs for you, but he's too stubborn to admit it

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: heavy angst, soulmate au, hurt/comfort

word count: 3323 words

a/n: thank you for all your love for the first part, hope this one heals your heart <3

BONUS PART

Masterlist

~°~

You have always been good at making excuses. So when the weight of unspoken words between you and Minho became unbearable, you did what you had to do—you pulled away.

The group hangouts became rare for you. Work, family, sickness—any excuse that let you stay away from him.

It wasn’t easy. The ache in your chest never fully went away. Every time you saw Chan’s messages about another get-together, every time you imagined the others laughing, Minho sitting there like you never even existed, it hurt.

But it was better than being in the same room and pretending he wasn’t everything you wanted but could never have.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

************

Minho noticed your absence. At first, he didn’t think much of it.

People got busy. People had their own lives.

But the first time you canceled, he felt an odd, quiet disappointment, like something was missing from the night. He caught himself glancing at the door, waiting for you to walk in, only to be reminded— you weren’t coming.

Then it happened again.

And again.

And suddenly, he was noticing things he shouldn’t.

How the group felt different without you. How no one teased him the way you did, matched his sarcasm with your own. How his jokes felt like they were missing their other half.

He didn’t understand it. It wasn’t like you were his best friend. You weren’t even supposed to be important. But somehow, your absence lingered.

************

One night, he finally voiced it out loud.

“She hasn’t been coming lately.”

Chan looked up from his phone, “Huh?”

“Y/N,” he clarified.

“Oh, yeah. Said she’s been busy,” Chan replied.

Minho frowned. “Busy with what?”

“Life?” Chan snorted. “I dunno, man, why do you care?”

He didn’t. He shouldn’t.

But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Because the truth was, he missed you.

He missed the way you always had a comeback for his teasing. The way you noticed when he wasn’t in the mood for company but still sat beside him anyway. The way your laughter filled the space between them like something warm, something comforting.

He hadn’t realized just how important you were to him.

************

It took another month before he saw you again.

You hadn’t completely cut yourself off—you still messaged the group, still checked in from time to time. But you had kept your distance, avoiding any situation that would force you to be near him.

Until now.

You had made the mistake of running into him alone.

It was at a small café, the kind you loved. The kind you used to tell him about when you thought he was just your friend.

He saw you before you saw him. And for the first time in weeks, something in his chest eased.

You looked different. Not physically, but something in your expression—guarded, hesitant, like you were ready to turn and run if you saw him.

That hurt more than it should have.

So he did the only thing he could do before you ran away.

“Hey.”

You froze at the familiar voice, shoulders tensing before you turned. The moment your eyes met his, he felt it again—that pull, that strange, unspoken connection that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

“…Hey.” Your voice was careful, distant.

Minho hated it.

“Long time no see,” he tried, forcing a smirk. “What, did I scare you away or something?”

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “Something like that.”

He should’ve let it go. Should’ve let you walk away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned against the counter, watching you closely. “You’ve been avoiding us.”

“Just busy,” you said quickly. Too quickly.

“Bullshit.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you want me to say, Minho?”

He didn’t know. All he knew was that he didn’t want you to keep running. So he did something stupid. He reached for your wrist. The same wrist that held his mark.

Your breath caught, and he could feel the way you tensed beneath his touch. But you didn’t pull away.

“Do you regret it?” he asked suddenly.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“This.” His thumb brushed over the star on your wrist. The same one on his own. The undeniable proof that you were supposed to be his. That he was supposed to be yours.

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “What do you think, Minho?”

He stared at you. At the quiet pain in your eyes. At the way you looked at him like he was both your greatest dream and your worst heartbreak.

He knew what you felt. Because somehow, against all odds and reason, he felt it too.

But the reality was still the same.

“I have a girlfriend.”

The words felt heavier than before. This time, they didn’t sound like a statement. They sounded like a reminder. Like he wasn’t just telling you but he was telling himself.

You finally pulled away, stepping back as if his touch burned.

“I know,” you whispered.

A flicker of something—pain, regret—flashed across his face. “I—”

“No, Minho,” you whispered, “you don’t owe me an explanation.”

You didn’t owe me anything at all.

And then, before he could stop you, you walked away. Minho just stood there, staring at his empty hands, wondering why it felt like he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

************

You had planned on avoiding another group hangout, but Chan had been persistent, and for once, you missed your friends too much to say no.

So you had gone. The second you walked in, you saw him. Minho was there. You knew he would be there, but still seeing him made your heart sink.

You should have left.

But then Chan hugged you, Seungmin had pulled you into a conversation, and you forced yourself to pretend that everything was okay.

It was only when you sat down that you felt his gaze. You hadn’t looked at him once, but you could feel it—the weight of his stare. When you finally glanced his way, he wasn’t looking at you anymore. But you had caught it. The way his fingers tapped against the table, restless. The way his eyes flickered to you whenever he thought you wouldn’t notice.

And then his girlfriend arrived.

She greeted him with a kiss on his cheek, her fingers easily tangling with his. Your stomach twisted. You forced yourself to look away. But not before you saw it. The way his jaw clenched. The way he swallowed hard, eyes flickering to you for a split second like something in him was struggling to keep up this lie.

Like he knew.

And that was when you realized this wasn’t just hurting you. It was hurting him too.

Minho sat at the usual table, the one the group always claimed at the bar, surrounded by the familiar noise of laughter and conversation. Yet, he couldn’t help but keep glancing at you.

You had finally come. After weeks of avoiding them, after weeks of his eyes searching for you in every room, you had shown up.

But something was different.

You greeted everyone with a polite smile, an effortless grace that should have put him at ease. Yet, Minho knew better. Your laughter didn’t reach your eyes, and the way you held yourself—careful, reserved— felt foreign.

And he despised it.

He wanted to hear you tease him again, wanted you to call him out when he rolled his eyes at a lame joke, wanted to see the real you, not this version of you that was only here out of obligation.

But the worst part? He couldn’t do anything about it.

So he sat in silence, he traced the rim of his glass before giving it a slow swirl as he kept watching you laugh at something Seungmin said. Watching as you avoided his gaze, even when his lingered on you longer than it should have.

Then, as if fate enjoyed twisting the knife, his girlfriend leaned over and intertwined her hand with his before kissing his knuckles. He should have been used to it— the soft affection, the warmth of someone who adored him. But his eyes flickered back to you, searching, waiting for something he wasn’t even sure he wanted to find.

But you weren’t looking at him at all this time. Throughout the night he felt the stolen glances, but now you were too busy laughing like genuinely laughing at something Seungmin said, your eyes shining with amusement, your hand resting lightly on Seungmin’s arm as you steadied yourself from laughter.

Minho’s stomach twisted, an unfamiliar heat crawling up his spine. It made no sense. Seungmin had always been playful, always quick with his wit, and you had always found him funny. But Minho had never felt this before, this tightness in his chest, this irrational urge to tear Seungmin away from you, to be the one who made you laugh like that instead.

He took a sip of his drink, trying to drown the feeling, but it only burned more.

He shouldn’t feel this way.

Not when he was sitting next to his girlfriend. Not when he had spent so long convincing himself that he had made the right choice.

************

Minho sat on the couch the next night, his girlfriend curled up beside him, head resting against his shoulder. The TV played some K-drama he wasn’t paying attention to, the voices blending into a meaningless hum. He had told himself over and over that this was where he belonged. That this was right.

She was the one he loved. But when he blinked, all he could see was the way your eyes had looked at him in that café. The quiet acceptance. The resignation. He also thought about the recent hangout and how you avoided him. Will you ever go back to being friends with him again?

His chest ached.

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to focus on the warmth of the girl beside him. This was the life he had built. The life he wanted.

So why did it feel like something inside him was breaking?

Before he even realized it, a single tear slipped down his cheek.

“Babe?” His girlfriend shifted beside him, concern lacing her voice. “Are you okay?”

Minho blinked, startled, reaching up to touch his cheek. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying.

He forced a smile. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She hummed in understanding, nuzzling into him, and he let her. He wanted to forget you. He needed to forget you.

But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the mark on your wrist. All he could hear was the sound of his own voice, breaking as he mentally started chanting—I love her. This girl right here. This is my choice.

Trying so desperately to make it true.

************

Few days later, he sat across from his girlfriend at dinner, poking at his food with no real appetite. She was quiet too. Not her usual chatty self.

Then, she sighed, setting her fork down. “Minho.”

Something about the way she said his name made his stomach twist.

“…Yeah?”

She hesitated, then, with a quiet sigh, she said, “I saw it.”

Minho froze.

His heart pounded in his chest. “Saw what?”

She looked down at his wrist. Then back at him.

“Your mark.”

Minho’s stomach twisted.

She swallowed, voice softer now. “I saw the same one on Y/N.”

He felt anxious, but he didn’t respond.

She sighed, looking down at her hands. “I’ve known for a while. I was just hoping… maybe we could fight it.”

Minho swallowed hard. “I love you.” The words came out strained, as if saying them would make them true again.

His girlfriend smiled sadly, “I know you do. And I love you, too. But Minho…” she exhaled shakily, “you don’t look at me the way you used to.”

Minho opened his mouth, ready to deny it, but the truth was sitting between them, impossible to ignore.

She reached out, placing a hand over his. “Don’t feel bad. You can't control fate.”

He looked up, eyes filled with guilt, “I feel like shit.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, “this isn’t your fault. Or mine. Or hers. This is just… how it is.” She hesitated before continuing. “I have a mark too, you know.”

His throat felt tight. He managed a slow nod.

“I always wished it matched yours.” She admitted, “Desperately. But it doesn’t.” She smiled, but it was a broken thing, “Since the beginning, we knew our soulmates were different. But we still tried to fight it.”

His chest ached. “I—” he swallowed, forcing himself to find the words, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Her lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile, “I know,” she exhaled softly. “And I know how hard you were trying. But in reality, three people are hurting.”

Minho clenched his jaw, guilt coiling deep in his stomach. She had seen it all—his struggle, his hesitation, the way his gaze lingered on you even when he didn’t want it to.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

But she only shook her head, reaching across the table to place a hand over his. “It’s not your fault.”

He let out a slow breath, something in his chest unraveling.

“This… This isn’t easy for me either,” she admitted, fingers brushing over her mark absentmindedly. “But I think we both know this was inevitable.”

The words sank in, heavy with truth.

A part of him wanted to argue, to say that what they had mattered, that it wasn’t all for nothing. But another part—the one that kept remembering the look in your eyes that night in the kitchen, the one that replayed the way his heart twisted when you started avoiding him— knew.

It had never been about choosing. The choice had already been made for him, written on his skin before he even knew what love was.

Silence settled between them, heavy but accepting.

Minho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “So… this is it?”

She nodded. “This is it.”

And just like that, it was over. No anger. No resentment. Just two people who had loved each other once but couldn’t fight destiny any longer.

But even after she walked away, Minho stayed sitting there, staring at the empty space where she had been.

And for the first time in months, he let himself fully feel it– the longing, the ache, the pull toward you. It had always been you.

************

Minho didn’t rush to you right away.

Even though he wanted to. Even though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to run to you.

He owed it to himself and to his ex to sit with his emotions first.

The first few days felt strange, like he was floating between two versions of himself. He wasn’t grieving the breakup the way he thought he would. Instead, he was realizing how much he had been holding back, how much of himself he had forced into a shape that no longer fit.

He went through his daily routines, but everything felt different. His apartment felt too quiet. Group hangouts felt incomplete. And every night, as he lay awake staring at the ceiling, he thought of you.

************

Minho didn’t mean to end up here.

He had told himself he would give you time. That he would wait. But when he saw the storm clouds rolling in, when he heard the rain pounding against the pavement, something inside him snapped.

He didn’t think. He just ran.

Now, he stood in front of your door, drenched from head to toe, chest heaving.

He knocked once. Twice. Then he heard footsteps from inside.

When the door swung open, he finally saw you, your eyes wide with shock.

“Minho?” Your voice was hesitant, uncertain.

He had so much to say. So much to explain. But words failed him. He stepped forward, cupped your face between his freezing hands, and kissed you. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was months of longing, of restraint, of heartbreak, all poured into one desperate, soul-shattering kiss.

You gasped against his lips, momentarily frozen before reality snapped back into place. You pushed him away, breathless. “Minho, what the hell?”

His chest was rising and falling rapidly, rain dripping from his hair, but his eyes never wavered from yours.

“You have a girlfriend.” You said angrily, this was wrong.

He shook his head. “No, I broke up.”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise. “What?”

“I broke up with her last week.” His voice was rough, raw, as if the words had been sitting heavy on his tongue for days. “I needed time. I needed to be sure that this wasn’t just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That this wasn’t just because of the mark. That it was you.”

He stepped closer, his forehead resting against yours, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I hated how much I missed you, it felt like a hole in my heart. Because I realized that no matter how hard I tried, it was always you.”

You stared at him, struggling to process his words, struggling to let yourself believe it.

Minho swallowed, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know how to make up for everything. But I know I don’t want to fight this anymore.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his voice dropped to a whisper.

“I just want you.”

Your fingers brushed over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. He wasn’t sure if it was his own heart racing or the sound of yours in his ears. You gently pulled away, putting a distance between you both. Tears pricked at your eyes.

You should have been angry. Should have questioned why it took him so long, why he had waited until now to choose you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to.

Because everything you had ever wanted was right here. You waited your whole life for your soulmate.

You swallowed, trying to gather your thoughts. “So… what now?”

Minho exhaled, running a hand through his wet hair before looking at you with that intense gaze that always made you feel like the only person in the world. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I do know that I want to be with you. If you’ll have me.”

His vulnerability, his honesty— it broke you in the best way possible.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. Hesitation and longing battled in your chest.

“I don’t want to be a rebound, Minho,” you whispered. “I don’t want to be a second choice.”

His brows furrowed immediately. “You were never a second choice.”

You looked away. “Then why did you—”

“Because I was stupid,” he cut in, stepping closer, voice laced with regret. “I was so scared. I thought ignoring it would make it go away.” He let out a humorless laugh. “But it didn’t. It never did. And when I lost you… it felt like I lost a part of myself.”

Your breath caught.

“I should’ve known better. I should’ve fought for you from the start,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “But I’m here now, Y/N. And I swear, I’ll never let you feel like a second choice again.”

You could see it in his eyes, hear it in the tremble of his voice, feel it in the way he was standing in front of you like he would do anything to prove it. He meant every word.

Your resolve crumbled.

Slowly, cautiously, you took his hand and his fingers curled around yours immediately, like he had been waiting for this moment all his life.

“Okay,” you murmured. “But Minho… don’t break my heart.”

His grip tightened. “Never.”

And when he kissed you again, this time, it felt like home. Universe didn't let you down–

Minho was always meant to be yours.

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

a/n: there will be an extra part featuring a sweet and fluffy moment between our couple because, after all that emotional turmoil, they deserve some happiness!

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world

Part 2 Taglist: @annovaz @lailac13 @thepoeticpurplepotato

[binisainz]

lucky taps ⸻ 𐙚 ⸻ carlos sainz x reader

word  count.   2.8k feat.   established  relationship,  fluff,  semi-long  distance,  labubu  hate author's  note.   binisainz  finally  having  a  cs55  fic  up  ??  i  never  thought  i'd  live  to  see  the  day  !!  anyways,  this  is  based  on  this  photo  of  carlos  carrying  a  popmart  bag  in  shanghai  and  i  was  like.  ok  bet.  i  am  exposing  my  love  for  popmart  blind  box  figurines…  i  have  spent  too  much  on  these  mfs  so  i  might  as  well  make  a  fic  out  of  it  !!  dedicated  to  the  lovely  kae  ( @tsunodaradio  ) because  they  suggested  the  ending  and  i  was  like…  no  ure  right  …  ure  so  right  . anyway qotd what do u think carlos sainz is collecting check out the rest of my work !!

carlos comes home the same way he always does— keys clattering into the dish by the front door, a deep sigh like he’s clocking out of being carlos sainz and back into being just yours.

“mi amor?” his voice drifts in, laced with just the slightest bit of confusion.

“yes?” you don’t look up from your phone, lazily stretched out on the couch, one leg bent at the knee, fingers absently tapping at the screen.

you hear him step closer, the shift of his weight across the hardwood, the quiet pause that comes before— “why is there a little… scarecrow on the coffee table?”

that makes you glance up, just in time to see the small furrow in his brow, the way his mouth presses slightly at the corners. you shift, propping yourself up on your elbow to follow his gaze.

“that’s my hirono,” you say simply, as if that explains everything.

carlos blinks at you, then at the figurine, then back at you again. “your what?” he asks as he bends down, takes the figurine in his hands, turning it over carefully, examining the details. he treats it like something delicate, like maybe it’ll break if he looks at it too hard.

“hirono,” you repeat, dragging out the syllables, already predicting the conversation to come. “it’s a blind box figurine. you buy it without knowing which one you’re gonna get.”

his brows draw together, deeper this time, the gears in his head visibly turning. you can see the exact moment it clicks— there’s a small flash of realization, the barest twitch of his lips. “so you just… pay for it and hope you get the one you want?” he asks, skeptical.

you grin, shrugging. “pretty much.”

he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he sets the figurine back down with the same measured care. “you could just buy the one you want,” he points out, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“where’s the fun in that?” you shoot back, sitting up fully now, tucking your legs beneath you. “it’s about the thrill. the suspense.”

he looks at you, the soft tilt of his head betraying the fact that he’s still trying to wrap his head around it. “so you like not knowing?”

you hum, considering. “more like… i like the moment before, you know? when it could be anything.”

carlos watches you for a beat longer, then shakes his head again, a small, affectionate smile tugging at his lips. “you are impossible,” he mutters, but there’s no real exasperation in his tone, only fondness. then, without hesitation, he leans down, cupping your jaw gently as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, as he’s done a thousand times before.

a few days later, you come home with two more boxes, setting them down on the kitchen counter with a flourish. carlos, sitting at the island with a half-eaten banana in one hand, eyes them with mild suspicion.

“again?”

you huff. “yes, again. but this time, you’re doing it with me.”

he chews slowly, watching you like you’ve just presented him with some grand experiment. then he swallows, licking a bit of banana off his thumb. “what am i supposed to do?”

“first,” you say, grabbing a box, turning it to its side where twelve colorful iterations of the same character are drawn, “we have to pick which ones we want.” you tap one illustration, and then the next. “i want the mantel clock or the circus one.”

he barely glances at the options before pointing decisively at the secret figurine.

you snort. “that one has, like, a one in a hundred forty-four chance.”

he shrugs. “so?”

so, nothing. he’s already made up his mind. and you know him— you know he’s stubborn enough to manifest his own luck, to tilt the universe in his favor through sheer force of will.

“okay, but now we have to do lucky taps,” you say, passing him his box.

his brows furrow. “what?”

you demonstrate, tapping your fingers rhythmically along the sides of your own box. “it’s for good luck. you have to do it.”

carlos stares at you for a moment, unimpressed, then down at his box. he exhales, then mimics your movement, albeit a little clumsily, his fingertips drumming against the cardboard. “this is silly.”

“yeah, but now you’re invested. committed, even.”

you grab your phone, setting it up to record. “okay, let’s do this.”

the sound of crinkling plastic fills the space as you both peel open your boxes. you pull yours out first. a tiny alien stares back at you. your face immediately drops.

“ugh,” you groan, sagging against the counter. “literally the only one i didn’t want.”

carlos makes a sound, half-laugh, half-smug amusement, as he inspects his own. you glance at him, then do a double-take.

he’s holding the secret figurine.

you jaw drops, eyes quickly darting from looking at him, at it, at him again. “are you kidding me?”

his expression shifts slowly into that familiar smugness, the kind that makes you want to shove him. he inspects the figurine like it’s some grand prize, turning it between his fingers, lips curving into a grin. “i thought this was supposed to be rare,” he says, all false innocence.

“it is,” you grumble, crossing your arms. “but of course you would get it.”

carlos sets his box down on the counter, hand reaching out to pull you closer. “mi amor,” he murmurs, his voice dipping just enough to make something curl in your stomach. his hands find your waist, fingers pressing lightly, teasing. “don’t be upset.”

“i’m not upset,” you huff, but you are pouting, and you know it, and he knows it, and he’s enjoying this far too much.

“you can have it,” he offers. “would that make you feel better?”

you exhale, slow, exaggerated. “it’s not as good as pulling it myself,” you admit, just a little petulant, but then you soften, leaning into him despite yourself. “…but okay.”

he laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple, and just like that, the loss doesn’t sting quite as much.

at first, it’s funny. cute, even. carlos, for all his teasing, starts showing a little too much interest in your blind boxes. it begins small—offhand questions here and there, the way he lingers just a second longer when you’re opening a new one, watching your reaction like he’s pretending not to care. but then it escalates.

he gets way too into it. concerningly into it.

it’s not long before you catch him scrolling through an online store at breakfast, staring at the thumbnail images of different collections with a furrowed brow like he’s analyzing race data. another time, you hear him mutter something about “box weight ratios” under his breath while holding one up at a shop.

the moment you call him out, he waves it off, says he’s just doing it for you. “you like them, no?” he says, kissing the side of your head like that’s the end of the conversation. “i just want you to get the ones you like.”

except, somehow, the ones you like aren’t the only ones he’s getting.

the 2025 season starts, and it doesn’t take long for fans to catch on. one race weekend, he’s photographed carrying a popmart bag in the hotel lobby. the next, someone spots him in the paddock, a tiny figurine peeking out from his backpack. the internet is quick— memes start to circulate, threads pop up analyzing every single one of his figurine choices. he keeps claiming it’s for you. he really does. but you know better.

“mi amor,” he complains one night, sprawled out on the hotel couch beside you, scrolling through a list of upcoming releases. it’s one of the rare times you join him for a grand prix. “all your hironos look the same.”

you gasp, smacking his arm. “excuse me?”

“they do,” he insists, grinning when you glare at him. “little hats, little sad faces… no difference.”

you roll your eyes. “okay, mister ‘i only buy these for you.’”

he huffs out a laugh, still very much pretending he’s doing this entirely out of love for you. but you bide your time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

and it comes, two weeks later, when he’s japan, and you’re on a late-night video call together. he’s lounging in his hotel room, hair still damp from a shower, dressed in one of his old team shirts. you’re curled up in bed, listening to him ramble about his day when something on his bedside table catches your attention.

a fucking labubu box.

your eyes narrow. “oh, so you say my hironos all look the same, but you like labubus now?”

carlos freezes, eyes darting to the box behind him like he forgot it was even there. then, without missing a beat, he leans forward, grabbing it and holding it up to the camera. “but, mi amor, look! they have different colors!”

“oh, and my hironos don’t?”

he shakes his head, clearly enjoying himself. “not like these, no.”

you let out an exaggerated, scandalized gasp, dramatically flopping back against your pillows. “i can’t believe this betrayal. all this time, i thought you were supporting me, but now you’ve chosen a side— and it’s the opposing side, mind you!”

carlos chuckles, setting the box back down, his voice dropping just slightly—playful, teasing. “you love me anyway.”

and, well. he’s right.

it turns into a thing. somehow.

your comments section floods with people asking for your favorite figurines, demanding to know which sets you’re into. you give them a list, thinking nothing of it, just casually mentioning your favorites. but by the next race weekend, fans are already showing up with those exact figurines, handing them to carlos at every turn. multiple people. at different times.

there’s a video you find later of him grinning, holding up one of the boxes, murmuring a— “thank you! mi corazón would love these…”

the last part, the way his voice drops into something softer, something warm, plays on loop in your head as you scroll through tiktok later that night. you hover over the like button for half a second before giving in, adding a comment:

yourusername   i do like it! please make sure he doesn’t hog it all to himself 😀

the internet, as per usual, goes crazy.

carlos is in miami, and you’re in monaco, which means the time zone gods are, once again, are against you. it’s late— too late— but your phone rings anyway, and you already know what this is about before you even pick up.

you rub at your eyes, propping your phone up on the pillow as carlos holds up his latest haul to the camera, grinning. “look, mi amor,” he says, adjusting the lighting so you can properly see. “i found peach riot!”

you squint. “you don’t even like peach riot.”

he waves you off. “sí, sí, but they had them at the store, and i had to try.”

you groan, shifting deeper under the covers. you know exactly what this is. it’s not about the figurines, not really—it’s about the thrill, the rush of unboxing something, the chase for the rarest one.

carlos digs through the bag, holding up a single box. “okay, i’ll open just one.”

you sigh, heavy with sleep. “baby, it’s almost 2 a.m. for me. can you please just open it?”

he gasps, offended. “well, no! i have to do lucky taps first!”

of course he does. he’s fully committed now.

you watch, exasperated but endeared, as he taps the sides of the box in that almost ritualistic way you taught him— except he’s exaggerating it, dragging his fingertips along the sides with a level of precision that is, quite frankly, unnecessary. he’s doing too much. and yet, you can’t bring yourself to stop him, a soft, tired smile on your lips.

“okay, okay,” he murmurs, hyping himself up before finally peeling off the plastic wrap and tearing the foil packet open. you blink, barely able to keep your eyes open, as he peers inside. his expression shifts—eyebrows jumping, mouth parting slightly before curling into an all-too-smug grin.

he flips the figurine around to show you. the secret. your smile immediately drops.

you let out a long, suffering groan before immediately hanging up the call.

curse you, boyfriend luck!

he calls back not even a minute later.

you answer, squinting at him through the screen, still burrowed under your blanket. carlos, barely holding back laughter, holds up the figurine again. “corazón,” he coos, all sweet and coaxing. “do you want it?”

you glare. “it’s not the same if i don’t pull it myself.”

he pouts, tilting his head. “but i’ll give it to you.”

you bury your face into your pillow, groaning again.

monaco feels different when carlos is home. the apartment, normally so quiet when he's away, hums with the warmth of him— his shoes by the door, his jacket slung carelessly over the couch, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. it’s a race weekend, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re both in the same city again.

it also means carlos is finally seeing, with his own eyes, just how out of hand things have gotten.

a small corner of the living room— what used to be an empty space, clean and minimalist— is now home to a shelf. a full - on shelf. dedicated entirely to the growing collection of figurines you and carlos have amassed over the past few months. rows and rows and rows of figurines now meticulously arranged by series.

you stare at it, arms crossed, lips pursed. carlos, standing beside you, mirrors your stance, rubbing his chin like he’s assessing a piece of fine art.

a long silence stretches between you before you finally say it: “…are we addicted?”

carlos tilts his head, considering. then, without missing a beat— “no.”

you shoot him a look.

he grins. “just committed.”

the blind box obsession wanes, thankfully, though it's not out of disinterest but out of practicality. the season is in full throttle now, the races stacking up one after another, and you’ve been following carlos around the last few stops, which means any new purchases would just be another thing to stuff into an already overpacked suitcase. there’s no time to carefully stack boxes into the shelf back home.

which is why, when you open your eyes on your birthday in your las vegas hotel suite and find a blind box set sitting in front of you, you burst out laughing.

carlos, kneeling in front of you on the couch, looks incredibly pleased with himself. “feliz cumpleaños, mi amor,” he says, watching you with that warm, expectant gaze of his.

“oh my god,” you breathe out, picking up the box, flipping it over in your hands. “carlos.”

it’s not just any blind box set. it’s custom. you look at the packaging, the familiar yet unfamiliar design, and then you see it—your name, carlos’ name, and little illustrated versions of you both printed on the side, mimicking the style of an official collection.

upon closer inspection, the potential figurines include versions of you in your favorite outfits, carlos in his williams race suit, casual wear, even one of him holding a miniature trophy from when he finished p1 in barcelona. there’s even a secret edition, blurred out in a question mark like a real chase figurine.

you blink at it, overwhelmed, before looking up at him. “you got us made into blind boxes?”

carlos grins.

“how?”

“i have my ways.” he shrugs.

“you have a full racing calendar.”

he shrugs, like organizing a fully custom blind box production in the middle of a title fight is just a casual side project. “i planned ahead.”

you shake your head, flipping the box around in disbelief. “you’re actually insane.”

“open one.”

you tear into the packaging, ripping the foil open with probably more force than necessary. the little figurine falls into your palm, and when you turn it over, you nearly lose it. it’s you, down to the details of the outfit you wore the first time carlos ever took you to the paddock, your hair styled just right, the tiny features painstakingly accurate, even if it's just a stylized version of you.

you stare at it, and carlos leans in, nudging your shoulder. “cute, no?”

“carlos.”

“hmm?”

you exhale, shaking your head, but you can’t stop smiling. “this is insane.”

he leans back against the couch, smug. “you love it.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “don’t act like you didn’t make yourself the secret edition.”

his expression doesn’t change. “i am a rare find.”

you shove him, and he laughs, catching your wrist, tugging you into him. “okay, okay,” he concedes, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice softer now. “but i wanted to give you something special. something just for you.”

you glance down at the box, the tiny, perfect versions of you both, and something warm settles in your chest. you shake your head, exhaling through a smile. “you really are addicted.”

carlos grins, tilting his head. you’re already leaning in, just slightly, like he’s some gravitational pull you’ve long since stopped resisting.

 he meets you halfway, his breath fanning against your lips as he murmurs— soft, smug, as he goes: “eh, just committed.”

[lunar-years]

SOTR SPOILERS!!!//

I've already seen some complaints about how the plot was bad and the rebellion attempt didn't make sense/was far-fetched, but honestly that was one of the things I liked best about it!

Yes, the rebellion plot was an EXTREME long shot. The end goal really wasn't clear, the plan itself was shoddy at best with about a million things that could go wrong. It's honestly amazing that Haymitch and Ampert managed to carry out any part of it "successfully." And even then, they're really just the pawns of the rebel adults around them (like Katniss and Peeta in that way, except that unlike Katniss and Peeta, Haymitch's problem is being told too much, rather than being kept in the dark.)

I think it's pretty evident that this was a last minute, thrown together rebellion attempt hastily contrived of by immensely desperate people (and almost certainly prompted by Beetee's son unexpectedly being reaped.) Beetee needed his son's death to mean something. His wife was pregnant. He was probably already foreseeing losing them, too. He needed to at least try this. He was desperate enough to try it even if it was ill-thought and highly likely to fail. Wiress (Beetee's most recent mentee) and Mags (who's basically mother teresa like oh my god maggggs <3) would of course be wiling to jump in with him. Plutarch is desperate to get something, anything, stirring in way of rebellion. And finally they pull in Ampert and Haymitch to carry the thing out, the two tributes who have already been marked as direct, personal targets of the Capitol and have seemingly no chance whatsoever of coming out of the arena alive. it's easy to see why they alone were chosen, no other kids involved. After all, Haymitch has been told from President Snow directly that he is going to be killed. He's as good as dead already. He has nothing to lose.

Trouble is, no one expects Haymitch to actually emerge as Victor, lest of all Haymitch himself, but also everyone around him. The others are all adults who know and accept what could happen to them if the plot goes south. They take on the risks willingly. They are banking entirely on Ampert and Haymitch being dead anyway. And isn't it better to go out fighting back against the true enemy? The only thing Snow can do is take it out on them in the arena, which he will be doing regardless. Unfortunately, they're forgetting just how much Snow likes to play with his food before eating it. It's pretty clear with the poisoned milk picnic basket that Snow was indeed intending to kill Haymitch right up until the very end. He was merely waiting for the right time, after the right amount of humiliation, after forcing Haymitch to watch all his closest allies die horrible, targeted deaths. Only this time Snow waits too late. And then he has no choice but to pull Haymitch out alive so that the Capitol can have their victor.

I think the fact that it all fails so colossally is the biggest point of the book. As Plutarch comments at the end, when it does happen, the timing needs to the right. There needs to be an army to rally behind the rebels. Haymitch was given none of that. He was moved around on a chess board by desperate players. The rebels had hardly anyone on the inside. They didn't have the country behind them, no soldiers. They didn't yet understand their enemy well enough. He is set up to fail on all sides, the rebel side included. And they pay for it greatly.

On the other hand Katniss, when she comes, is very significantly not some grand "chosen one." She's pretty inarguably far, far less rebellious than Haymitch is at the start (in part because they have very different motivations in their games). Breaking into the arena to attempt to shut it down, working to destroy the generator, killing gamemakers in the arena, all that is about 10x more explicitly rebellious than the berry trick. The difference is not that Katniss is smarter or stronger. Imperatively, the only difference of any great significance is that Katniss manages to ensure her acts get seen. The berry trick cannot be covered up or cut out. It's the grand finale. And that's what makes it far more of a threat than all of Haymitch's crazy, reckless schemes to tear down the arena.

(interestingly, I think Haymitch would have been way more successful if he'd had the opportunity to carry out his backup plan of bombing the cornucopia during the final confrontation of the Games. The part of the plan that he came up with entirely on his own. it has to be something the Capitol's propaganda can't wash away, something that would have been impossible for them to cut out.)

Which is ultimately to say, the book is effective because it acknowledges just how complicated rebellion is. It takes far more than a few extremely rebellious, reckless people to make it happen. It takes a whole community banding together and rising up for change. On a series level, I think it also fleshes out some of Haymitch's decisions in the original trilogy, because it's easy to see why Haymitch would be so hell bent on keeping Katniss and Peeta entirely in the dark for so long. After all, look at what happened to him when he was in on all of it too soon.

[morgluvsconnie]

calling them someone else’s name for a prank!

with aot men! (except it’s their friends name 😏)

a/n ~ this was inspired by a request but i just wanted to add everybody in there. enjoy!

CONNIE

when connie told you he loved you, and you said “I love you too, ony- connie.” he shut tf downnnn.

he didn’t even look at you, just kept staring at his phone with almost no expression, just a small dry laugh. “who?”

“you, I said you.” you said, widening your eyes for a split second, avoiding eye contact. connie just pursed his lips together, moving his legs together and apart while manspreading.

you glanced at him, trying your best to hold in a laugh. “i said i love you too.”

“you said ony.”

“no i didn’t.”

he finally looked at you. “you did.”

you groaned, throwing your head back. “i didn’tttt, how many times i gotta tell you?” you rolled your eyes at him.

connie swallowed, looking you up and down. “please don’t play wit me right now. you fuckin wit ony?” the way this boy was bouda unfriend one of his best friends quickkkk.

but you couldn’t help but laugh and tell him you’re just playing, making him smack his lips and laugh. “alright dude.”

ONY

if ony heard you call him connie, he wouldn’t have cared really. he’s always around connie, and you and connie were cool.

he always said his name, which would probably make you say it too, especially if it was something like “shut up connie” or “ask connie” which was rare anyway.

but, when you were saying your daily “i love you”s and your daily “ill miss you”s when he was about to go only to the store, the last name he’d expect after your “ill miss you” would be connie’s.

he just slowed his movements at the door, going silent.

“what you say?” he asked, glancing at you and grabbing his car keys. you looked back at him with raised eyebrows, playing along. “i said ony.”

“no you didn’t, you said connie.” he wasn’t even bouda play along with the lie.

you rolled your eyes. “okay. well i meant ony.” you waved him off. that just irritated him even more. he wasn’t that mad, but he was confused, which was making him mad 😭.

“how you get ony mixed up wit connie? y’all must been around each other recently?” he asked, leaning on the door and crossing his arms, staring at you.

you smacked your lips.

“i told you what i meant.”

“well ion believe you, so ima call connie-”

“i’m playing.” you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. ony stared at you with serious eyes before slowly smiling. “ight bruh.”

EREN

now when you pranked eren, he wasn’t even hesitating to take that shit serious quick as hell.

when he was tickling you, and you were laughing, tryna push him off you, hearing the words “stop armin!” come out your mouth just made him stop immediately and stare at you.

wiping tears that formed on the corners of your eyes, you sat up on the bed, letting out a breathy laugh. “what?”

this man’s death stare was piercinggggg.

he wasn’t even trying either, he just looked at you with dead eyes.

“armin. okay.” he nodded, standing up. you tilted your head and frowned. “what?”

“armin.” he said back nonchalantly, stretching before going towards the door. “eren.” you said, tilting your head and standing up. “it was a mistake, duh.” you tapped your head.

eren stared at you and blinked, making you laugh and melt your facade.

“it’s a prank.”

eren swallowed and took a deep breath, sighing. “dontttt piss me offfff.” he groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

ARMIN

when you were on the phone with a friend, and they asked what your boyfriends name was, the last thing armin would think is that you’d stammer over eren’s name before you said his.

it was more awkward than embarrassing or angering because he just looked at you for a few seconds, waiting for you to get off the phone.

he tried to avoid the fact that you’d said his best friends name instead of his by saying something like “who was that?”

“just a friend, why?” you looked at him like nothing was wrong.

and there wasn’t anything wrong at all, i mean he literally didn’t even care. he just went along with his day, doing the same things he did every day.

but when you were getting ready for bed, that’s when he decided to bring it up.

“what? i said armin.” you almost forgot to tell him it was a prank, but now it was later than expected. he just slowly shook his head, uncertain at first, but then shook it quickly.

“yeah, nah, you said eren.” he corrected you while laying on your stomach. he tried not to make it seem like it was a big deal.

you shook your head. “no, i said armin.”

armin looked up at you, furrowing his brows. “i know what you said y/n. if y’all got something going on just tell me now. i won’t get mad.”

you couldn’t help but feel bad and laugh. “i’m kiddinggg, it was a prank, i forgot to tell you.” you ruffled his hair.

armin clicked his tongue, groaning. “don’tttttt do that.” he laughed a little.

this is a draft from veryyy long ago, hope y’all like it

[chrisst4r]

IMPROVISE

Christopher Sturniolo and you have to improvise your moves

Improvise. It’s what you and Chris had to do when your friend-group decided to book a cabin away for the week. This meant: no sex. Which shouldn’t be as hard as it sounds, it’s only 7 days

how hard can it be?

You regret ever thinking that after you seen Chris in his swim shorts and his wet hair, playing volleyball on the beach with his backwards cap, going out for dinner with slight sunburn on his nose and his all black fit.

But there was one particular time you just couldn’t take it anymore. You guys had just gotten back from the beach. Everyone was getting ready for dinner reservations tonight leaving you on your bed and Chris in the shower.

You scrolled aimlessly on your phone, hair slightly damp from the water, a loose tshirt and bikini bottoms on. A soft hum of music plays from the bathroom whilst the water runs over it. After a while the shower stops, you don’t bat an eyelid until the door opens.

Steam emerges from the bathroom as the music keeps playing. You’re met with a sight that makes your mouth drool. Chris is standing in the doorframe, hair wet, tanned skin and a white towel around his waist exposing his v line.

You bite your lip slightly as you scan his physique. He’s oblivious to what is going on as he scrolls on his phone to find whatever, you have no interest anyways. All you can think of is the week being over so you can finally have him.

With your thighs clenching together you can’t help but get a slight discomfort pierce through your body. Chris looks up from his phone to see you looking up at him, pure lust in your eyes. “What’s wrong” he asks, slight smirk tugging at his lips.

oh he knew exactly what was wrong.

You let out a slight groan at his query. He chuckles and shakes his head, “Is my girl needy?” He moves to the shared closet and pulls out his Calvin Klein underwear, slipping it on so easily. He turns back around to you, who had moved your hands between your thighs and crossed your legs over one another.

“I think she is, hm?” He asks. You let out a slight whine at his tone. “Chris please” you beg slightly, closing your eyes and flopping your head into the pillow. He walks to the door and locks it before moving to the end of the bed. He looms over you before grabbing your ankles and pulling you towards him.

“Can’t even wait another day, such a slut for me aren’t you?” He scoffs. You nod and groan, wiggling beneath his touch. Next thing you know he pulls your body up to his, wrapping your legs and arms around him, lips clashing against each other.

Your mouth moves in synchronous with his, tongues battling for dominance. Mint fills your mouth and you can’t help but moan into the kiss. Chris smirks against your lips, sitting down on the bed with his back to the headboard.

His hands find their way to your hips, gripping tightly. Your hand moves to cup his cheeks as you both continue this heated make-out session. His hands dig into your hips, grinding you against his covered cock. You moan at the feeling moving back from the kiss. “Oh fuck” you breathe out.

“Yeah, that feel good?” Chris questions. You nod and bite your lip, rocking your hips back and forth as Chris pulls them flush against his hardened length. You wiggle your hips in a circle, letting out a light whine from the friction beneath you. “Keep going baby, just like that” He encourages.

Your hands dig into his shoulders as you continue your back and forth movements with your hips. “Chris” You whimper. “Gonna cum over just grinding, god you really are a slut for my cock” He degrades. It doesn’t help it only makes matters worse. Your eyes slightly roll to the back of your head as you drop your head back to the ceiling.

“Shit” You let out, orgasm washing over you. Your body shakes on top of Chris as you let out a loud moan. His hand flies from your hip to your mouth, pressing it shut. “Shh baby, I know it’s good but you gotta stay quiet” Your eyes roll back again as you moan against his hand. Coming down from your high you pant out.

“we should improvise more often”

🏷️ @mattscoquette @theyluvivi @leisturni @chris444evr @courta13 @strnilolover @y2kstarr @sophsturns @bamsblooming

[sthilarions]

I feel like there aren’t nearly enough crossover concepts out there with Lucifer Fox/Netflix and Dead Boy Detectives Netflix, ie the two supernatural Sandman spin-off adaptations with largely queer casts, so *rolls up sleeves* be the change you want to see in the world

Edwin didn’t start trying to escape until the mid 1920s. He didn’t get anywhere with it until the late 60s. And it was around 1980 when Lucifer got the third report in less than two months of a soul nearly escaping Hell, being caught just at the gates, and was finally curious enough to have the wayward soul brought in front of him.

He was, frankly, rather fascinated. An innocent soul, a rebel, clearly barely holding back his sass against the King of Hell, the Prince of Darkness, someone clearly queer and cast down to Hell for being different.

Lucifer decides about ten minutes into their conversation to make Edwin his personal attendant. Mazikeen’s more of a general slash right hand demon slash bodyguard slash errand being, at this point, and having someone around who’s more like a valet, or a manservant, can’t hurt.

Lucifer rapidly finds that Edwin is a delightful conversationalist, when he’s not being tortured or thinking he’s about to be, sharp and clever and witty. Edwin is very surprised to realize the same thing about Lucifer. They start just… talking, more and more, and Lucifer gets more and more fond of his pet human.

It’s 1989 when Lucifer decides he’s getting restless and hatches a plan to leave Hell. But in this universe, the plan isn’t just for himself (and Maze). It’s for Edwin, too. He sends Edwin up to Earth as a sort of advance scout, with instructions to send regular reports back to Lucifer. (Lucifer, at this point, doesn’t really fully expect to ever be able to leave, himself; but Edwin is innocent, and kind, and clever, and fun, and doesn’t deserve Hell, and Lucifer refuses to be his jailer any longer.)

Edwin appears on Earth by his remains, in an attic, in 1989. He tells the boy he meets there that he is a ghost who escaped Hell - which is true, as far as it goes. And the boy decides to stay with him.

Edwin sends his reports back to Lucifer, every three months. He does not tell Charles. How do you tell someone - a good person, the best person you’ve ever met, someone whom you rapidly realize your existence depends on - that you’re the personal servant of Satan?

In 2016, Lucifer finally has had enough. He has Mazikeen cut off his wings and he goes to LA… and he summons his favored, loyal valet to his side.

And Edwin has a very, very difficult conversation with Charles.

And, long emotional screaming match short, Charles ends up coming with Edwin to LA.

It takes Lucifer about a week to get himself involved in detective nonsense, because he’s been getting thrilling reports of how delightful it is four times a year for decades.

There’s something very different about Lucifer “flipping so many men they call me the Skillet” Morningstar on Earth, as opposed to Hell, and Edwin starts, er. Noticing.

Meanwhile, Lucifer’s just sort of assumed Charles and Edwin were fucking this entire time, based on Edwin’s obviously besotted reports, and is quite surprised to realize his valet seems to be having his gay awakening induced by him, instead.

So, anyway, hijinks ensue, as Lucifer, Maze, Charles, and Edwin all play detective together, all while Lucifer “#1 Payneland Shipper” “Lord of Temptation” Morningstar tries every trick in the book to get Charles and Edwin to realize they’re crazy about each other.

[forrest-onfire]

Mkay, I’ve got another:

I need a fic where Raf and MC are chaotic besties. Obviously Raf is in love but MC also has a crush except she’s CONVINCED he’s gay. Bc come on. Look at him. Do you hear his voice? That’s a pretty little gay boy right there. I’m 100% down for bisexual Raf (I’ve been seeing lots of Sylus x Rafael lately and I’m EATING IT UP). But I digress: MC loves Raf but has always friendzoned him unintentionally because she���s convinced he couldn’t possibly like her back, he’s just a flirty person in general, not that she’s every seen him flirt with anyone else, but that assumption suits him well anyway.

Raf HATES that she seemingly doesn’t see him as a threat at all. Basically the whole “clearly you don’t see me as a man” cliche except she totally does, but she’s lost all hope in pursuing him and now just treats him as her gay best friend, playful flirting, innocent touches, etc…

Things go a little too far when she starts to feel comfortable enough to change in front of him, and he just kinda snaps, getting all defensive to hide how flustered he’s getting and then she finally lets it slip.

“I don’t know why it bothers you so much. This isn’t your first time seeing a naked woman, is it? You may not be attracted to the female body, but I didn’t think you’d be so squeamish. Didn’t you study anatomy as an artist? Though, I guess you don’t have to since you hardly ever do portraits…”

She’s rambling as she changes, but Rafael is still caught on her casual confession that she apparently had NO CLUE how hot and bothered he gets every time she walks into the room. NO CLUE that every time she passed by him, the scent of her shampoo alone give him a pathetic hard on that makes his pants feel so tight, he wonders if the seams will pop open and reveal his disgusting, dirty train of thought. NO CLUE that he fisted himself under the sheets at night after trying and failing so many times to draw her just right because no frozen picture on a canvas could fully capture her beauty, not to mention how was he supposed to draw something he’d never gotten the privilege to see.

Until now, as she stands naked and unassuming in front of him, going on about how he’s…

Gay?

I mean, sure he liked dick probably as much as the next guy (assuming the next guy was queer as shit, of course). But Rafael was nothing if not adventurous and maybe a little depraved at times.

Like now, feeling that dark desire pool in his stomach and his cock struggle against the fabric of his briefs.

Her back is turned towards him, stretching leisurely before she bends to pick up her clothes and gives him the perfect view of e v e r y t h i n g, plump ass wriggling absentmindedly back and forth, thick thighs pressed together, and between the two like a delicately framed jewel is her sweet cunt that he’s been trying to envision for months now, right in front of him for the taking.

It almost made him angry how she did so with such innocent intentions, no idea how crazy it was driving him. But you know what? If this wasn’t an opportunity to prove to her just how much of a man he was, then what else was? After all, never once did he say a word about not liking woman - he hadn’t even mentioned liking men at all, how could he think about someone else when she stood right there, perfect in every way except apparently common sense because where the HELL had she gotten the idea that he was gay?

So really, it’s her fault. A lesson needs to be learned, and if Raf was lucky, she wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon…

K, so I accidentally almost wrote it myself. But I don’t wanna, so here! Take it. Make it better please I need to see this as a fully fleshed out one-shot. If you write it and tag me, I’ll be your forever mutual and a devout follower for the rest of our days.

Also, I’m aware I could make these requests directly to a fic writer, but as you can see, I prefer to simply scream out into the void and wait patiently for a response that will probably never come.

Happy pining 🤧❤️

[steviewashere]

What if Max is brought to the hospital and Steve is carrying her. But immediately after she gets treatment, Steve is taken in as a suspect for her condition because people in town know he's athletic and could possibly have the strength to do something like this.

Just hear me out.

They know that he's been in fights with Billy Hargrove before. They've seen Steve around town with Max before, in Family Video, at Scoops Ahoy, just in his car.

And though they want to keep the blame on Eddie (y'know whole Satanic Panic thing), it's also really easy to blame Steve because of how off-putting, athletic, and constantly beat up/getting himself into trouble he is.

His parents may have given money to certain campaigns or projects around town before, but that doesn't mean he's completely dissolved of suspicion. His dad won't pay for a good lawyer, even when they finally get a hold of him, because this is a lesson for Steve, too. That if he gets himself in messes like this, then he deserves nothing from his parents, he has to figure out how to fend for himself. That he's [Steve's] "no longer a son of mine". Because unfortunately, Steve's dad knows his track record, too. All the constant fights. The medical bills. Even found the nail bat one day.

Anyway. Just a really angsty AU where Steve is blamed for the murders instead.

Oh...and what if instead of Chrissy meeting up with Eddie that night, Chrissy is found dead at the high school instead? It wouldn't immediately get the suspicion off of Eddie—y'know with Hellfire, but also maybe Chrissy had a note on her person from Eddie about when to meet him. However, Steve was seen at the basketball game that night. He was seen going to the bathroom at one point a little bit after the game. Wrong place wrong time.

Eddie still finds her (maybe Chrissy went to the wrong bathroom before she left campus) and he freaks out and flees, but somebody else comes across her minutes later.

I don't know, this is very off the beaten path of the show, just major continuity errors left and right. But listen, it's a fun idea.

Oooo or maybe they think Eddie and Steve are working together?

Anyway.

Eventually, Eddie is somehow able to prove his innocence. But Steve gets the spotlight instead. So now he has to come up with a way—to build a story that paints Steve away from the crime. Even if that means taking the blame instead. Even if that means admitting to a crime he did not commit. Because he's all like, "Steve's too good for this town to rot here. He's meant to make it somewhere. My family's been in the gutter for years, they already tried to figure me. It'd just make sense. It just has to make sense."

Cue the angst of Steve finding out the sacrifice Eddie's taking this time. Of him fighting Eddie on it. That he can't just throw away his life for somebody like Steve, who in his own words says, "I'm some washed-up asshole. Let them think it's me. Get out of here."

Them butting heads until they get Hopper involved and somehow, eventually, the blame is put on Jason instead. Because his connections make sense, too. Also his whole religious freakout connects him—some sort of mental break.

I'm not convincing anybody that this would make sense as a story. But it makes sense...to me.

[ilvermornie]

amortentia ୨୧ lorenzo berkshire x fem!reader

in which lorenzo’s plans to keep his infatuation with you to himself fail (successfully?)

warnings none | masterlist

all of enzo’s friends knew he was in love with you. sure, he never outright said it himself, but these boys have known him since he was just a lonely kid sitting alone on the train to hogwarts, nervous for what was to come; they could read him like a book.

they noticed the way his eyes would fill with curiosity as soon as your name was brought up in conversation, needing to know what you’d been up to lately. they noticed how his voice would change whenever he’d speak to you - becoming softer, more gentle. most of all, they noticed all the crumpled up letters, failed attempts at confessing his undying love to you buried deep in enzo’s wardrobe. saying things has never been his strong suit.

after the fifteenth letter (one which included the line “if you don't want to date me that's okay but please give me a chance anyway”) was haphazardly shoved into the usual hiding spot, enzo decided to simply keep his little secret to himself. if he couldn't even write how he felt about you, how was he ever supposed to speak about it?

unfortunately for him, he made that decision a little too late, as the boys found the letters long before he had gotten to fifteen, and made it their lives’ mission to make you two official.

the plan started with a friday potions class.

“look at him, poor boy,” pansy whispered to draco, her eyes lingering on enzo’s figure as he stared longingly at his own cauldron of amortentia, as if willing you to come out of it.

draco hummed, now also staring at enzo with his brows furrowed. contrary to popular belief, he didn't enjoy other people’s misery - only those who deserved it, and enzo definitely did not deserve it. it was at that moment when draco decided to concoct a plan to finally bring his friend and his true love together. he was done toying around with the secret enzo had unknowingly shared with all of them.

seeing snape distracted with some hufflepuffs who just couldn’t seem to brew anything right, draco gestured for enzo’s partner, mattheo, to come over and help him come up with a plan. but if enzo was bad with words, mattheo was even worse when it came to gestures.

“what?” mattheo mouthed, his brows furrowing in confusion. draco tried again, his patience growing thin. this time, mattheo did get something out of draco; the wrong thing.

giving draco a thumbs up and a large smile, mattheo slyly pulled his wand out of his pocket and made the whole potion spill all over enzo.

instantly, enzo jumped, feeling a complete shift in his entire body. everything was warm, and he couldn’t think about a single thing but you. his mouth begged to betray him, wanting to say words he only ever thought about in bed, staring at his bedroom ceiling, but luckily he swallowed them down.

turning to mattheo, he yelled, “what the hell is wrong with you? why would you do that?”

“oopsies,” was all he got out of mattheo.

promptly, snape appeared and lectured mattheo for what he had done, deducting fifty points from his own house in the process. this didn’t faze him, partially because he never cared for the house point system anyway, and partially because just earlier that morning, he had overheard you talking to your friends about how you liked enzo back, you were just too nervous to tell him.

in mattheo’s eyes, he was doing you both a favour. did he know what would happen to someone who was doused with a fresh batch of amortentia? no, but he knew it would be something magical.

as soon as class ended, enzo ran to his dorm room and locked himself in there, trying to do anything to calm his nerves. he couldn’t be seen outside until the effects of this wore off, or else he’d do something that would result in him becoming the laughingstock of slytherin.

meanwhile, a heated discussion was happening in the slytherin common room.

“how was i supposed to know you wanted me to come over?” mattheo said, angrily sitting down on the deep green couch.

“because that’s what everyone does when they want someone to come over, you idiot!” draco shot back, exasperated as he paced around the room.

not wanting to waste any more time on draco and mattheo’s argument, as well as seeing the possibility of an opportunity coming out of this, pansy said, “okay, well, it’s already happened and there’s nothing any of us can do to reverse it. what happens to someone who just had amortentia poured on them anyway?” she turned to blaise, who’d been reading up on that very subject the entire time.

giving the textbook in his hand a quick glance, he replied, “it says here they become ‘consumed with their infatuation with the person the amortentia smells like’ and that they have to ‘fight the urge to do rash things as a result of that infatuation’,”

instantly, mattheo rose from the couch and exclaimed, “this is perfect! all we need is to bring y/n and enzo here and he’ll finally tell her how he feels!” then, to draco, he said, “who's the idiot now?”

the four didn't even have to move from their positions for their new plan to begin. a mere second later, you walked into the slytherin common room, a green and silver scarf in your hands.

“hey, is emilia here? she left her scarf...” you asked, scanning the room for both your friend and the boy you were madly in love with, and finding neither one of them. at this, you pouted. you had really hoped to see at least one of the two, especially the latter, since you were worried he’d been avoiding you lately.

guiding you to an empty seat, mattheo said, “nope, no emilia here, but don't worry! i’m sure she'll turn up soon,” as he did so, he gave pansy a look, urging her to distract you with conversation. after lorenzo, pansy was the one you got along with most, and distract you was exactly what she did. in fact, she did it so well you didn't notice a certain love-filled brunet come down the stairs to the common room.

after sitting with his feelings for a while, enzo felt the effects of the amortentia subsiding and decided to go down to the common room to give mattheo a piece of his mind, thinking he was in the clear. unfortunately, he was not, for as soon as his eyes met yours and he saw the way you brightened up, a large smile on your beautiful face, the effects of the amortentia were back and as if they never left in the first place.

he began to turn around, but ever-attentive theo had already seen him, “oh look, there’s lorenzo!” he said, smirking. enzo had no choice to stay where he was and pray that he didn't mess everything up.

“hi enzo!” you said, your hands immediately making their way to a stray piece of your hair as you tried to make yourself look as presentable as you could, “have you seen emilia? she forgot her scarf in class earlier today.”

enzo took a deep breath, making a mental script of what he was going to say so that the script the amortentia had planned for him wouldn't take over, “no, i haven't. sorry.”

your brows furrowed, being caught completely off-guard by his response. sure, enzo had his moments every once in a while, but this was too blunt, even for his worst days. as you pondered why he would be acting so strange, you noticed how flushed his face was.

getting up from where you sat and making your way over to him (much to his dismay), you said, “are you okay? you look a little red,” to which enzo just hummed, not trusting his mouth to say anything more.

‘it’s fine,’ he thought to himself, ‘as long as she doesn’t get any closer or say anything more, i should be fine.’

you put the back of your hand on his forehead, trying to feel his temperature, “are you sure you're okay?” you mumbled under your breath, concerned about how hot he felt.

enzo reached his breaking point, and the words came spilling out of him, “no, i'm not okay. how could i be okay when i’ve been in love with you for god knows how long now and haven’t been able to do anything about it? i tried everything! i watched those stupid muggle movies you like to see how they’d confess, i went to that love café in hogsmeade and asked the lady there how she thinks i should do it, i wrote fifteen failed love letters, fifteen! and none of it worked, so i just decided not to do anything about my feelings, but it was killing me, y/n, watching those other guys flirt with you, do all the things i wish i could do but couldn’t! and then today in potions, mattheo spilt amortentia all over me and now all i can think about is you, it physically hurt to keep this all inside of me, even now that i’ve said it all and ruined everything!”

the room was silent, save for draco who whispered, “who knew he could be such a sap?” to pansy.

meanwhile, your head was reeling, trying to absorb everything that had just happened. enzo had been just as in love with you as you had been with him this entire time, and you’d been nearly killing yourselves staying silent and hoping the other would say something.

while you were trying to process enzo’s unintentional confession, he was praying to anyone that would listen for you to just say something, even if it meant breaking his heart, at least then he'd finally know for sure how you felt. anything would've been better than the silence you faced him with now.

what broke you out of your trance was enzo storming off after realising he'd messed everything up, both his friendship with you and any chance he may have had with you as a boyfriend. quickly realising what you had done, you grabbed his hand, “enzo, wait.”

“i’m sorry, i’m just... in shock! i mean, wow, i’ve never been confessed to at all, let alone like this,” you felt your face getting warmer, still in complete disbelief at how this was your real life, “i like you too, enzo, as more than friends, and i think all that stuff you did is really sweet, even though i can tell you’re a little embarrassed about having to admit it.”

as soon as those words left your mouth, enzo’s mood did a complete 180 - he had never smiled a smile this wide in his entire life, he didn’t even know smiles could get as big as the one he had on right now, “really?” he asked, taking your other hand in his so he was now holding both. you nodded.

“okay then, let's rewind. y/n, would you like to go on a date to hogsmeade with me this saturday?” he asked, making a show of being perfectly chivalrous which had you stifling giggles.

letting one slip, you replied, “yeah, enzo, i’d love to. but can you just do me a quick favour first?”

“anything for you,” was his immediate reply, shortening the distance between the two of you as he cradled your head in his hands.

trying to ignore your racing heartbeat, you said, “send me those fifteen letters. i wanna read all of them.”

[girlsz1]

Just The Two of Us… You and I…

Summary: After Carter bought you flowers and and asked you out for dinner, Zayne doesn’t like that and feel a bit jealous

Authors Note: yooo I was playing lads and this scene where Carter asks the mc out for dinner and said he was the one that left flowers on her desk, AND THEN ZAYNE POPPED OUT. AND OOOOOO WHEN ZAYNE AND MC WERE IN THE CAR ZAYNE SAID HE ‘he fact that he gave you roses is enough to put me on high alert.” AND “But when he told you to be careful while traveling… I doubt that was a simple , friendly reminder.” I BIT MY LIP GURLLL 😩 Like I know zayne definitely felt some fort of jealousy likeee cmonnn

WC: 573

It was weird. Zayne…. was acting weird. Like he was hiding something. But what? That man is mysterious as fuck, but that’s exactly why you like him too. Well, one of the many reasons anyway. And there just one thing that’s bothering you right now. The silence.

The silence was killing you in the car. He hands on the driving wheel as he focuses on the road ahead. Was it because of earlier? Was he… jealous? You cover your mouth, giggling to yourself at the thought of him actually being jealous. For second Zayne shift his gaze over to you before focusing on the road again. “Is.. something funny?” Zayne asks.

You put a index finger on your chin and tap. “Mmmm maaaaybe. I was thinking.. maybe.. you’re.. I don’t know.. a tiiiiiny bit jealous?”

Zayne sighs. “Please.. don’t say such nonsense. Did you get enough rest last night? Do you need a checkup-“

“I’m fine, Dr. Zayne,” You cut Zayne off, waving a finger at him. “ And don’t change the subject! I see right through you, mister.” You squint you eyes at him as you cross your arms. Zayne chuckles. “Okay, you got me. I… was a bit jealous.”

You nod your head. “Yes, but why?”

Zayne wandered a bit in his head. He and Carter worked under the same professor yet went different paths. On top of that, after buys you flowers and then has the audacity to ask you out for dinner? You? With him?? He just couldn’t let that happen. He’d have a heart attack. Gosh.. just the thought of-

“Uhh.. hello? Earth to Zayne?”

Zayne shakes his head a bit. “Sorry, I.. spaced out.” Your eyes widened. “Well good thing you didn’t crash the car. Who else if supposed to check on me if not you?”

Zayne smiles at that. “Right.”

“Anyway, you were gonna state your reason.”

Zayne nods. “Yes. I.. actually wanted to be the one the one to give you flowers. I even planned for us to have dinner and hang out more. I know it seems impossible especially since I’m always busy and I know you hate getting your hopes up, but I managed to clear up my schedule for just the two of us. And I’d hate for another guy like him to take away your attention. Especially since.. I.. like you.”

Your mouth opens slightly. “Zayne…”

Zayne shakes his head. “I know, it’s silly.” “No, it’s not,” You say. “I actually like you too. I really appreciate you making space in you schedule just for me. It means a lot. Thank you, Zayne. For everything.”

The car finally stops at a red light. You take the opportunity to take him by shock and put a hand on the side of his face and hiss his cheek.

Zaynes eyes widened, but quickly regains himself. “Hmm, I think a kiss would do better on the lips, no?”

Zayne then gets closer to you. The distance between your faces getting closer as your lips finally meet. The kiss doesn’t end just yet. Neither of you want to let go, not even for a quick breath. But of course, it ended.

Your lips form into a smile “I really do hope we can spend more time together.”

“Yeah,” Zayne smiles. “Just the two of us.” He says as he grabs your hand and squeezes it gently.

You squeeze his hand back gently. “You and I.”

That damn smirk…

[antialiasis]

On having a kid

So I'm pregnant.

(Some lengthy personal rambling below about my various complicated feelings on this.)

Pregnancy as a concept is kind of nightmarish for me, and has been for most of my life - some grotesque, alien thing growing inside my body, changing it against my control; the horrid complications it can involve; absolutely everything about childbirth. For a long time I absolutely clung to the knowledge we have safe and legal abortions because without it I would've just been terrified of any faint possibility of pregnancy. Honestly, I'm still terrified for anyone who is theoretically able to get pregnant and couldn't get an abortion if they wanted one.

But. At the same time, I also wanted to have children. I've always found babies pretty offputting, but I love kids, once they've started to come together into a person. I love little human beings coming into their own discovering the world, the things they say and think, the stories they tell. I have stronger memories of being a child than most, and I love that kid. I love the kids I know. I love making kids happy, hearing what they have to say and what they're interested in, playing along with their ideas, giving them the cutest stuffed animals I can find. All in all, I did always want, in theory, one day, to share my life with a little human being of my own. But, for the longest time, it was just a firm not now, don't even want to start thinking about it now or any time soon, just sometime off in the hypothetical far future.

We had had some minimal talks about it, of course - that we did both want to do it at some point, that it was a firm But Not Now for me, some potential milestones in terms of financial stability when we could start thinking about it more. Ultimately we did not really want to get into adoption unless we had to; Iceland is not exactly teeming with orphaned or unwanted children, and adopting from abroad was a whole other type of expensive, years-long ordeal with uncertain results. As unpleasant as I found the thought of pregnancy, I had basically intellectually accepted that I could endure it, there sometime in that far-off future but-not-now-or-anytime-soon-I-don't-want-to-think-about-this.

Of course, this did come with the awareness that if it was going to happen it was on a bit of a biological timer, and I couldn't quite just put off thinking about it forever. So it was always a slowly growing, uncomfortable shadow looming there in the back of my mind, prodding at that mental barrier. At some point, in my late twenties, I realized I had organically come to a point where, if I were to somehow accidentally get pregnant, I would brace myself and keep it. But the thought of actually, deliberately going off birth control was still pure dread.

Thirty-five was sort of the loose deadline in my mind. That was an official age cutoff for various kinds of potentially increased risk, and I really, really did not want to get into that territory either. Thirty came and went. The thought was still dreadful. Slowly, creakingly, with a grim resolve, I worked to desensitize myself to the idea a bit. My mom told me, at some point, that a friend of hers had always been waiting for the moment some magic mothering instinct would emerge to make her want to do it; then she'd turned thirty-five and realized it never would, so she just braced herself and did it anyway. I felt that story in my soul. I was never going to want to get pregnant, ever. But I was going to do it anyway, somehow, on willpower, as a trial to be endured - like volunteering to get infected with a nasty illness - so that eventually I could have that little human being made of us.

By thirty-four we'd come to a mutual conclusion that the way it'd play out was at some point I'd just finish a box of the pill and then not get more, and then we'd see what happens. Even then, I bought more boxes: we were busy. In September last year, at thirty-four and a half years old, I finally did tell Shadey I'd finish this box and stop. I had a couple more menstrual cycles, slightly irregular which I gathered is normal after you stop taking the pill. On, I think, December 14th, I started my period only three weeks after the last, and it only lasted a couple of days, but I figured that might be part of that slight irregularity. Around or after Christmas I noticed I was weirdly hungry these days despite all the heavy food at all the Christmas parties; on New Year's Eve I started to feel a bit off and lethargic; at the beginning of the new year, I was ill and alternated between being nauseous and hungry in some kind of weird, unusually urgent way that had me eating a little more than normal despite the limited appetite. I think I had some flu symptoms or such, but when those went away, the nausea didn't. At some point here I started having suspicions. I looked up the symptoms and found that what I'd initially taken to be an unusually light period in December was actually a perfect match for an implantation bleeding. I did a pregnancy test that turned out positive.

That was a lot of weird emotions immediately. I had thought I was prepared, after all that buildup, but then wasn't really prepared for it to be already happening. The pregnancy test was on a Friday evening, and that weekend was awful - that Sunday was the only time that the nausea actually got to the point of vomiting, and I remember lying in bed and just not wanting to be doing this anymore. On Monday I was feeling a little better and could finally call the free midwife helpline that was only available on weekdays, and the midwife I talked to was very helpful and gave some good advice and scheduled some appointments.

The nausea went away eventually - I think it sort of fizzled out by week ten or eleven. That makes me very lucky; I was expecting to have to endure it for months. I had some lethargy lingering a bit longer, but for the past month or so I've been feeling basically fine, apart from that funny urgent hunger. (I generally don't eat that much and experience hunger in a fairly abstract and low-key way that sort of exists at the edge of my attention but just doesn't seem super important; pregnant hunger is not exactly hungrier, just somehow more important, more insistently prodding that no I should stop what I'm doing and get food, now. I imagine this is many people's default - I've certainly gathered it's Shadey's default.) All in all, physically, it's been much, much less bad than I was ready for it to be, at least so far.

Psychologically, socially, it's still a bit of a trial. I told some friends, at the start, that in my ideal fantasy world, the way this would play out would be that nobody notices a thing, then one day a child appears, and then nobody questions it or asks where it came from; it just is. People congratulating me on it feels desperately strange and awkward. I will still smile and nod; obviously it's just standard social niceties from people who want to express that they care about me and are happy to hear about presumed happy developments in my life, and I will recite the standard social niceties too when I hear it from someone else, in order to express the same. But as far as I'm concerned, this is not an achievement; it's not finally reaching some goal; it's a grim personal choice to undertake an unpleasant but necessary means to an end, and I'm not better, happier, more fulfilled than if I had chosen differently, as it irritatingly feels like the congratulations imply.

Recently people have started excitedly asking if I'm showing yet, and the question kind of makes me want to crawl into a hole and not be seen in public until it's over. I don't want witnesses to this slow body horror transformation that I will, once again, endure as a grotesque means to an end. The thought of being visibly pregnant in public is kind of mortifying. It feels weird and bad telling people, like some kind of bid for attention and congratulations when I don't actually want either; but it would feel even weirder to have people just look at my body one day and see it. Writing this is, I suppose, a way to rip off that band-aid.

I guess essentially the main thing is that, to me, being pregnant feels inescapably embarrassing, humiliating, like somehow giving in to every relative who ever uncomfortably prodded me about it, to every asinine social pressure and gender role that ever decreed that this is what women are for, what marriages are for, what people are supposed to want out of life, the expected Next Step in a relationship. As if it represents some resigned decision to go be a normie, to go with the flow and accept that this is what people are supposed to do with their lives and I had to fall in line eventually, too; represents somehow betraying the cause and aligning with them, after a lifetime of talking about how I don't like babies and pregnancy is horrific actually.

So I have this weird, defensive, stubborn urge within me to attach disclaimers whenever anyone learns I'm pregnant: no, I'm not doing this for any of you, I'm doing this on my own terms; I still don't like babies, I still think pregnancy is pretty horrific. All those pressures and prods ever did was make it feel more distasteful and make me want it less. Every time anyone implied that I was supposed to be having children by now to be a Proper Adult, it sparked a flash of resentment, a biting shard of the Pingu well, now I am not doing it meme. I could have chosen differently, and I will fight you if you think that would have been a lesser choice. My many child-free friends who have no intention of ever having kids are the most valid people in the world. I expect I will envy them sometimes.

But ultimately, I do want to have a kid. I want to love them, and listen to them, and show them the world, and experience the world again through their eyes. I think I will be a good parent and can give a kid the kind of life and love and emotional support they deserve. And I think, on my own terms, that ultimately I would regret it if I never did. That's a personal choice, and it is not a choice anyone else ought to make unless they're dead certain that they do want it and can do it.

So what does this mean for my life? Obviously, children make a lot of demands on your time. But ultimately, talking to friends on Discord, working on my website or fanfiction or writing analytical Tumblr posts is just what I do to relax, where other people might do something like watching TV, and that's what I expect I'll still be doing when the kid's asleep or Shadey or the grandparents are watching them. It will certainly eat up a bunch of my time, but I will not be disappearing. And I still plan to make time for things like visiting internet friends now and then, which is very high-priority Butterfree enrichment. (Shadey is a teacher, which means he conveniently has lots of free time during the summer.)

Above all, I will not have some kind of personality transplant and stop being a giant nerd passionate about Pokémon and stories and websites. I'll just be a nerd with a kid. I don't know how much you'd be likely to hear about the kid from here; maybe I'll post something funny they say, I guess (if it translates at all), or musings on parenthood.

But probably I'll mostly just keep doing the same kind of stuff I usually do. If you regularly forget I even have a kid, I'll consider that a success.

[markantonys]

scattered other 3x04 notes (including book spoilers):

there is no redstone doorway in rhuidean. i haven't seen anyone else mention this yet, but it was the #1 thing on my mind for the entire episode! do we think moiraine's and lanfear's fates will be different in some way in the show, or will they manage to wind up finding a doorway to fight in front of anyway? because show!rhuidean visions had it very specifically limited to the tree and the orb that were entrusted to the aiel, there weren't additional objects of power being carted around with them. and from the pic of moiraine glammed up and holding the orb in 3x08, it does feel like the orb is going to be relevant to their big fight. but how? do they get sucked into the orb and transported to finnland? or do they really both actually die for real and mat's missing eye foreshadowing in nynaeve's test vision was for naught?

i love that they kept the future AU of moiraine and rand hooking up LMAO i howled, it was so funny. and i wish they'd lingered longer on the Evil EF6 AU so i could get a closer look, they all look SO hot as evil versions!!!

Queer Randcestor has my WHOLE heart <333 that made me so happy!! the closest we will get to seeing queer rand onscreen haha (fic premise: present-day rand gets a bi awakening triggered after having experienced having a husband through the eyes of his ancestor djkfgj)

and the Hobbit Randcestor being in a little bestie trio with mat and perrin knockoffs! <3 josha did a pretty good job with an irish accent considering how incredibly hard it is to do regional accents in a non-native language! i hope donal and ayoola are proud! also, he did so well with having so much old tongue dialogue, it sounded great!!

i was SO thrilled that rand & avi got a little solo moment together in rhuidean. that was wonderful!! we can see them starting to see each other in a different light and understand each other better. avi being like "whatever, see you later wetlander (semi-affectionate)" and rand smiling after her <3

i miss mat-as-rand's-rhuidean-companion so dearly, but i can definitely understand how that wouldn't have fit with the show's version of rand's s3 emotional arc. i'll always have the book version of rand making the wise ones let his emotional support boyfriend defy all custom and tradition by coming to rhuidean with him! (although i didn't love moiraine getting mat's gag of "unloading an improbable number of weapons from increasingly-unlikely places"; i'm fine with shifting moments to different characters when appropriate, but that moment feels like it's more about mat than about rhuidean, so i would've preferred it stay with mat but happen in a different context than stay in the rhuidean context but happen with a different character. but that's a very minor quibble! and the moiraine moment was played fairly straight, so maybe mat can get an overtly comedic moment of a similar gag later.)

me seeing sevanna: oh no she's hot!! haha ONCE AGAIN they have struck us with hot villains. if Hot Sevanna and Hot Couladin want a third, i am available!

bair telling rand and egwene that their paths don't align, she really said "oh my god break UP already" jdkjfg i do think their breakup will come in the next episode or at the LATEST in episode 6 (maddy mentioned having a "cathartic" scene with josha under the block 3 director, so surely that has to be the moment when they finally talk everything out and decide they have to put their relationship to bed), but we shall see!

[harrywavycurly]

I still think about how soft Harry turned for his sunshine girl and I imagine all the random voice notes he’d send her during the day when he can’t call her or maybe the voicemails he’d leave and how sweet his little rants would be😩🥹

Hiii babes!! I miss my little lovey dovey HWC Harry so I’m gonna give you some examples of his rant-ish voicemails and voice notes to his sunshine girl! I hope you enjoy!!💖

Find all things Handle With Care here✨

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Summary: These are some voice notes and voicemails your lovely ex frat daddy boyfriend Harry sends you during the week✨

Monday’s Voice Note: “Good morning sunshine it’s…uhh shit…oh sorry don’t be mad…ah okay it’s seven fifteen in the morning and I’m about to go for a run and then come see you before you go to work. I hope you slept good? How did that weird sleepy tea taste? Did it work?…m’not totally sure all those things are actually good for you but if they help then I’m all for it because my sunshine girl needs her full eight hours or she’s a bit prickly…but I don’t mind when you’re a little grumpy..makes you more cuddly and we both know how I feel about cuddling so-oh bloody hell why is all my coffee gone? m’gonna kill that Irish fuck-I mean I love you baby I’ll see you in a bit…I wonder if you’re dreaming about me right now? Hmmm…you’ll have to tell me what you dreamt about when I see you. Love you!”

Tuesday’s voicemail: “Hey baby I’m just seeing if you’re free for dinner tonight? I forgot you had a meeting during lunch today so just call me back whenever you can…I miss you…oh and I love you…yeah okay that’s it. Love you…I already said that didn’t I? Oh well you can hear it again…I love you…bye sunshine.”

Wednesday’s voicemail: “I am so sorry I couldn’t walk you to work this morning I forgot to set an alarm and when I woke up I saw all your missed calls and…god I’m-shit I’m so late…I’m sorry sweetheart but I hope you have a good day and I’m going to come see you for lunch! I’ll bring your favorite…I love you! I’ll see you soon! Make sure to save a few smiles for me okay? Don’t give them all away…love you.”

Thursday’s Voice Note: “Goodnight my sunshine girl…thank you for letting me pick the movie tonight even though it’s technically your night…I love you and I can’t wait until you finally stop telling me no when I ask you to move in because we both know you want to live with me…or maybe it’s that we both know I really really hate not being able to wake up next to you everyday..two floors of separation is killing me baby and I know one day soon…you’ll just stop fighting it and just accept the fact we are going to be together forever so might as well start forever as soon as we can…and before you say anything yes I stole parts of that from when Harry met Sally but it’s the truth…remember when you said you’d be okay with the wife thing after our first kiss? Well that was almost a year ago…but anyway…I love you…a lot…actually it’s more than just a lot but there’s not a word to describe the amount so…a lot will just have to do for now…I know you’re just now getting out of your bath and putting on all your lotions and potions that make you all soft and uhg…I miss you…fuck this…ohh sorry baby…let me just grab my sweatshirt and—where are my socks? Oh okay here they are…I’ll be there in three minutes and forty five seconds…prepare for a sleepover because I miss you too much. I love you! Don’t fall asleep before I get there!”

Friday’s Voice Note: “Hey sweetheart did you know Niall has a key to your apartment? I didn’t until he walked in while I was in the living room and he scared the shi-crap out of me…when did he get a key? Did he steal it from you?…oh and I’m making pizza for dinner does that sound good? I hope you’re having a good day at work…Miss you and love you like crazy.”

Saturday’s Voicemail: “Hey baby…m’a little drunk but s’all Niall’s fault and god I love you. I’m gonna marry you when you finally let me. But you know that yeah? Yeah…yeah you know that…god hallways are so long and…and ugly? Why are the hallways so hideous? M’gonna come cuddle you is that okay? If it’s not just…kick me off the bed okay? Yeah..yeah I’ll see you soon sunshine…my sunshine..you smell like flowers and sunshine because you’re my sunshine girl…that I love so…so much a lot…m’gonna go now okay? M’at the door! Love you!”

Sunday’s Voice Note: “Baby where are you? You just left me in bed with a bottle of water and some aspirin with a note on my forehead saying…br…feast? That’s…that’s not a real word?…wait oh it says…breakfast…did you go get breakfast? God I’m so lucky that you’re my…my everything…you’re too good to me. I’m gonna go shower because I smell like the floor of a shitty bar…but I love you and miss your cute face so hurry back? Please?”

[silenthillmutual]

i think my biggest critiques of quarantine so far are the new travel system and that apathy builds way too fast.

adressing the latter, it makes sense to a degree. daniil is stuck in a situation where things look hopeless and bleak, and it makes sense for a demo especially to put us in a "typical" day for him. and frankly, it's common for people with bipolar ii to struggle more with depression than mania, so i could even argue realism there. however, as a player, having to take medication every three steps is not going to make compelling gameplay. the mental metabolism scale favors apathy to a point where i was constantly aware of what the scale was doing, so i wouldn't go into that fail state. and again - on the one hand i do think this is an interesting statement i'd argue is quite accurate to the experience of mental illness (it's difficult to concentrate on anything else when you're having an episode) but that doesn't mean it will translate well to a good play experience.

[although for people arguing it won't be 'fun' - when has pathologic ever been about having 'fun'?]

for the former: i can absolutely see the argument that it fits with daniil's character to simply not care about the town enough to explore it. i personally love exploring gameplay environments, especially in horror games, but i also wonder if this means fewer sidequests (if so - booooo!). i also think it's a little silly that if daniil doesnt care about the town to explore it, why do we have to manually walk our way through infected and burned districts? to collect amalgam from those dying of the plague? but then wouldn't it put more pressure on the player to have to walk through "normal" districts - especially when not everyone there will be happy to see you either? i'd love to see daniil wandering through the town, getting lost (the true classic bachelor experience) and wandering until the capital and the town melt together in his mind. a personal hell he can never leave. idk, to me, this change feels the most like they're trying to appeal to new players by cutting down on the amount of walking you do.

anyway. i see a fair bit of They Changed It Now It Sucks from people, despite devs saying for years now that each route would have different gameplay styles. i'm sympathetic to the devs more than fans on this point. yes, i would've played patho 3 if it was the same gameplay-wise as patho 2, but thats not the philosophy of ipl as a studio and it never has been.

uhhh final note i guess is that i agree quarantine isn't particularly subtle, but i've been subjected to five years worth of bad takes about daniil dankovsky so perhaps they felt it was necessary.