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shanastoryteller · 3 days ago

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Dean’s minding his own business, sipping on a beer and leering at the bartender, when a guy that admittedly has about four inches and a good twenty pounds of muscle on him storms over and shoves him in the arm.

He tenses, getting to his feet and preparing for a fight even as he’s wondering what he did to piss him off. Maybe the bartender’s his girl? Jesus, Dean was just looking, he can’t get mad at just looking when his girl look likes that.

“Dude, what the hell?” the guy demands. “I know you’re pissed at me right now, but just leaving me back there – do you know how many bars it took to find you? You’re a jackass.”

He’s not taking a swing, instead standing with crossed arms – fuck, this guy is huge, he’d really like to avoid a fight here – and scowling at him, his long hair falling into his eyes as he looks down at him. Dean wishes he had any idea what was going on right now. “Look, man, relax.” The guy’s eyes narrow, his shoulders lifting and expanding as he takes in a deep breath, as if he needs any help to look bigger. Before he can say anything, Dean adds, “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Fuck off.” He presses his lips together, somehow appearing smaller in the next moment without actually moving. “Look, I know you’re mad about heaven, you’ve made that pretty fucking clear, but you can’t just walk off and turn off your phone. I figured you were just being an ass, but something could have happened to you. If you’re ignoring me, at least let me know you’re ignoring me.”

The guy doesn’t look like he’s tweaking, or suffering some sort of head injury. His eyes are clear and his voice is steady. But Dean has no idea what he’s talking about. “Dude, you’ve really got me confused with someone else.”

“Dean!” he snaps, which woah, okay, he wasn’t expecting that. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing,” he says. “How do you know my name?”

He stares at him, uncertainty entering his eyes for the first time. “Are you feeling okay? You didn’t come across Zachariah or a witch or something in the past couple hours?”

He doesn’t know who Zachariah is, but the casual mention of witches makes him frown. Is this guy a hunter or something? He figures he’d remember meeting him, but maybe not.

“Everything okay over here?” Dad’s hand lands heavily on his shoulder, and Dean shifts enough to see him giving the guy a hard stare that has sent more than one man running in the other direction.

Dean almost rolls his eyes – he’s thirty one years old, he doesn’t need his dad coming over to save him – but he makes the effort so rarely that Dean can’t help but be warmed by it.

The guy pales, mouth dropping open as he stares at Dad like he’s seen a ghost. “You – Christo.”

Okay, definitely a hunter. Dad raises an eyebrow. “I’m not a demon.”

The guy grabs for Dean, yanking on his hand. Dean jerks back, but he’s already gotten his long fingers around his ring. He pulls it off and Dean is about to break his jaw to get it back, but he tosses it to Dad, who catches it on instinct. Dean doesn’t get it until he does. His ring is silver. He’s checking if Dad is a shifter, which okay, that’s one thing. Dean’s more concerned about how he knows his ring is silver. The guy’s voice cracks when he says, “Dad?”

Dad raises an eyebrow. “I think you’re a little confused.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” he asks, grabbing onto the sleeve of his jacket. Dean should push him off. “What,” his gaze drops down, and if possible he goes even paler. “Oh. Oh, fuck.”

Dean looks down, sees the guy’s eyes stuck on his amulet. “What?”

“I don’t understand,” he says, biting on his lower lip. “Is this some sort of – but you’re still hunters. Is Mom alive?”

Dean flinches.

“Okay,” Dad says. “That’s enough. You walk this off or whatever, but you do it somewhere else–”

“Dad, it’s me,” he says plaintively. “It’s Sam. Your son.”

Dean doesn’t remember moving, only that the next moment his hands are fisted in the front of this asshole’s shirt, his blood thrumming under his skin. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”

He puts his hands on Dean’s wrists, stupid earnest and soft and Dean’s going to kick his ass. “Dean. It’s me. I have to exist in this world, right? The demon was after me, if I wasn’t here then there wouldn’t have ben a fire, Mom wouldn’t have died, you guys wouldn’t be hunters. I have to be around somewhere.”

Dean tries to shove him away, but he won’t let go of his hands. “Shut up! You don’t – don’t talk about my family.”

The worst thing he ever did, his biggest failure. Sometimes the weight of it gets to be so heavy that it feels like it should be cracking his ribs, pressing his heart until it bursts. Sometimes he wishes it would.

He swallows before letting go with one hand and reaching into his pocket to pull something out. It takes Dean a moment to see it’s his amulet, the one he’s worn since he was twelve years old, back when Bobby still talked to them. “My name is Samuel Winchester. I was named after my mother’s father. I was born on May 2, 1983. When I was eight years old, Bobby gave me this amulet. He said it was a protection charm. I was originally planning to give it to Dad for Christmas, but he didn’t show up. Another in a long line of disappointments, right? So I gave it to you instead. Because even when you’re being a jerk, you’ve never let me down.”

Dean’s eyes are burning. He tries to shake off his grip, but he won’t let go. Why is Dad just standing there? “Stop! Stop. I don’t know what game you’re playing–”

“No game,” he says, gentle voice a counterpoint to the grip that’s absolutely going to bruise. “I need you to believe me, Dean, please–”

“My brother died when he was six months old,” he cuts him off. “Samuel Winchester is dead. He’s been dead for twenty six years.”

His fault, his fault, all his fault. If he’d just listened to Dad –

“Not where I’m from,” he says, and it’s crazy, it’s all crazy. “Please. Ask me anything. I’ll prove it. Hell, let’s go to a clinic, we can take a DNA test. I’m Sam. I’m your brother. And I need your help.”

“You mentioned a demon,” Dad says quietly.

The guy, who’s not Sam, who can’t be Sam, tears his eyes away from Dean to look at Dad. “Yeah. Azazel. The yellow eyed demon.”

Dad rubs a hand over his mouth. “I never told anyone about that.”

Dean snaps his head towards Dad. “What? You said you didn’t know what killed Mom! That we were searching for it!”

“We are,” Dad says. “It never resurfaced again. I’ve been looking for the signs.”

The guy frowns. “He started up again when I was twenty two.”

“Not here,” Dad says, looking him up and down, something hungry in his eyes.

Dad believes him. Dad thinks that this is Sammy.

“Let’s discuss this back at the room,” Dad says. “Come on.”

He heads towards the door, sure that he’s going to be followed. The – Sam, maybe Sam, he rolls his eyes, but goes after him. He only stops when his grip on Dean’s wrist jerks him back, because Dean’s not moving, can’t make himself move. He flushes, letting go of Dean finally, but he takes a step closer. His eyebrows pull together in concern, and now that Dean’s looking, he sort of sees it, sees the planes of Dad’s face and his eyes in this stranger with his brother’s name. “Hey, are you okay?”

No.

“Let’s go,” he says, striding forward, shoulders hunched.

Sam falls into step beside him easily, matching his strides like it’s second nature. Dean swallows around the lump in his throat and tries to pretend it means nothing.

#zachariah dropping sam into an alternate universe where he's dead like this will solve ... something #sam earnestly trying to convince dean he's in the better universe because all sam does is ruin everything around him #he tells dean every terrible thing he would have had to endure if sam had survived the fire #all dean hears is that there's universe out there where he's not alone #supernatural

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hencheri · 2 days ago

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18+ mdni.

pairing: jeno x fem!reader (ft. jaemin)

warnings: noncon, dacryphilia.

the high ceiling of the women’s changing room allows the slapping sounds of jeno’s hips meeting your ass to resonate, making him more aware of the dead silence around him except for the few cries that occasionally leave your lips. it’s not the ideal place where he would’ve liked to do this, but he didn’t really have any other choices anyway.

he thinks that the soft feeling of your skin under his palms, your ponytail brushing his face, the sweet scent of citrus entering his nostrils, the hot sight of your leggings rolled up under your bum… are enough to make him forget the usual sweaty smell of the gym. make him forget what he’s really doing.

he’s always seen you in your sports wear, tight black leggings hugging your ass and pink bra cupping your breasts. he only imagined what was under, what type of panties you’d wear, but now having your bare skin at the mercy of his hands is making his cock really stiff.

he grabs your hair in his fist to turn your head to the side, looking at your face, just as glowy as it is when you leave your yoga class. you accidentally meet jeno’s gaze and seeing your big teary eyes on him has his cock jumping inside of you and he’s sure you felt that because you clench around right after.

to his dismay, you scrunch your eyes shut, letting out a weak sob. he’d like you to look at him, too, he knows you’re attracted to him, you have to be. everyone is. the smiles you flashed him from across the gym before couldn’t be just out of courtesy.

his stare bore into the side of your face, and all feels too claustrophobic for you, his mouth so close to you his deep breath hits your cheek. his pace is brutal and you keep squeaking whenever he goes too deep too fast.

your sad, pitiful sounds only fulfil his desires even more. if you weren’t attracted to him, your cunt wouldn’t be dripping around jeno’s entire cock. your inner thighs wouldn’t be covered in your slick.

a couple more thrusts and jeno would have reached his orgasm, but the sounds of the door opening and someone’s steps on the ground, stop him. the complete silence inside the gym could have fooled him that nobody else was still here, but the euphoric state he was in seconds ago probably also made him forget about jaemin’s presence.

“i didn’t think you’d really be there.” just as jeno’s backing away from you, he hears his friend’s laugh. he feels his face getting warmer, quickly tucking himself back into his sweats. “sorry to interrupt,” jaemin grins, just like he would knowing his friend got laid.

he gets a better look at you, also covering yourself back up, noticing your red eyes and wet eyelashes. your sniffing enlightens jaemin on what jeno was actually doing.

he scoffs, looking you up and down and then finally at jeno. “didn’t know that was your kind…”

“i didn’t-”

“unless you fuck like a god, which i doubt, you aren’t making girls cry like that,” jaemin sarcastically points out, stepping closer to you who haven’t moved a muscle since you pulled your leggings back up. “poor little thing…”

jeno isn’t stupid enough to believe jaemin is really showing any pity, looking at his grin and the evil glint in his eyes, he’s enjoying it.

“don’t make me stop you there,” he smiles, “but i won’t lie that i’m curious to know what that mouth can do.”

#tw noncon #what is this #idk i had this in mind since the gym clips #forgive me #nct smut #nct x reader #nct hard hours #nct dream x reader #nct dream smut #jeno x reader #jeno smut #jaemin x reader #jaemin smut

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questionablehuman444 · 3 days ago

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THANK YOU. Someone put my thoughts into the correct words, and it makes me thoroughly happy.

Dick definitely has eldest daughter syndrome, but Tim was "really mature for his age"

(more below cut)

Okay, Dick holds the weight of the world on his shoulders as the oldest. He's the one everybody goes to when they're having problems with Bruce. He's the "trusted adult". He's the guy who has the ability to get people to open up, and let him help them. It weighs on him a lot as a result.

Dick feels that if he isn't constantly there for people, then he's failing, not only as a hero but as a brother and a friend. (I could also talk about how he leans into the himbo persona because his self esteem is a tripping hazard in hell, but that's for another time)

Then, you look at Tim. He's self sufficient, he's easy, and he's smart. Tim has gifted child syndrome. People think that since he's more mature, he can handle more. So they start treating him like an adult and whenever it's convenient, they double back to treat him like a kid.

So often, the adults in his life were emotionally inept, and their love for him was so often conditional. He had to grow up quick because nobody else wanted to.

Something I think about is how, despite Dick and Tim having similar experiences and bearing the weight of the world, they don't want to hurt each other more. Dick doesn't want to fuel Tim's gifted kid syndrome and Tim doesn't wanna fuel Dick's eldest daughter syndrome. They can't talk to each other because they're aware of the other person's situation, and don't want to continue fueling the other person's problems when, in reality, it would probably be the best course of action for the two of them.

They're so afraid of making the other's problems worse by talking, that they're don't realize that they're actually just harming the both of them. They fail to realize that they're stripping away the only other person who could fully understand in a way beyond just comprehending the words and feelings being told, the only other person who knows the family on a personal level and can empathize from a place of mutual feelings. They taking away the one person who *Gets It* fully and completely.

Anyway, sorry for rambling, I really like talking about things like this. Thanks for reading if you made it this far lol. I had a lot of fun writing all this.

Dick is for the eldest sibling while Tim is for the parentified children and I think that's the most important difference between them

#tim drake #dick grayson #batfamily #ramblings #yapping #yap yap yap #overthinking and over analyzing #thanks op for this #seriously though #i genuinely love doing stuff like this #maybe i'll talk about Dick's self esteem issues and over sexualization next time #idk #we'll see

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kittenintheden · 11 hours ago

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When I Think About You

surprise jorkin it PWP fic drop lol. enjoy.

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion/Reader (You) Word Count: 1550 Content: 18+, jealousy, voyeurism, masturbation, mutual masturbation (sort of?), pillow humping, gender-neutral Tav/Reader

AO3 Link

You went to bed early tonight.

Well, earlier than you typically do. Not that Astarion has been paying you much attention. Hardly any, really. You’re just easy to miss.

Notice. You’re easy to notice. Because you’re so obvious.

Obviously annoying, obviously infuriating, obviously determined, and obviously infatuated with him. True, that had been his goal, but hells, you could blush a little less at his come-ons. Even if it does look cute on you.

Not that he thinks you’re cute. Not really.

The others are packing up their gear and turning in for the night. Astarion will take first watch like he typically does, have a quick trance, and get up in the early morning hours for a hunt. Easy. Routine.

So what if he’s falling into a routine with these people. It makes things simpler.

He should check on you. Just to make sure you’re not ill. For his health more than yours. These days, a headache could mean a rapid onset of calamari face. He’s doing everyone a favor, honestly.

When he approaches your tent, his steps slow to a stop as his ears pick up noise from inside your tent. You aren’t asleep.

And by the sound of it – and it’s a sound Astarion knows well – you aren’t alone.

He huffs an irritated breath through his nose. Gods damn it. He really thought he had you in the bag. There’s a shard of something sharp lodged beneath his rib. Annoyance, probably. Disappointment that he’s back to square one. Bitterness that he lost another competition, even when he’s doing what he does best.

Astarion turns to walk away. Takes three steps. Stops. Turns his head back toward the sound.

Who is it?

Who are you with?

He has his suspicions, but might as well take a quick peek to verify. His steps as he approaches are catlike. Not that you’d notice anyway, preoccupied as you are. He won’t look much. Only enough to see who stole his prize.

His mark. Who stole his mark.

Astarion pauses at the far side of your closed tent flap and finds a gap in the cloth. He leans in, eyes keen in the dark, and his mouth goes dry when he sees your hips grinding against someone, the length of your body pressed tight to theirs while you move over them. A blanket covers you both, but it doesn’t hide the passion of your movement.

He jerks his head away, a ball of tension aching in his gut. Ridiculous. He should go kill something. He walks toward the woods.

And stops with a sigh.

Astarion hates himself for it, this burning curiosity to know exactly who you’re riding so enthusiastically. Steeling himself, he creeps back and peeks once more through the split in the fabric.

You’re sitting up, now, showing him the long line of your spine in the center of your bare back as your hips continue to work. Every puff of breath through your lips is desperate, occasionally lilting up in a breathless moan.

Astarion worries his lip between his teeth. The muscles beneath your skin ripple, your blood thrumming so close and smelling so much of you, sweetened with the scent of arousal. If you’d just lean a little one way or the other, he could see who’s working you so… so…

There’s a flash of heat in his core followed by a sparking current of electricity, setting everything alight. He’d been doing his best to ignore the steady swell of his cock, but ignoring it is no longer an option as he goes hard as stone, the length of him straining toward his hip bone. Subconsciously, he cants his hips into the empty air and finds absolutely no relief. He has to swallow back a soft moan of his own.

The rolling globes of your arse are shaped perfectly beneath your thin wool blanket. Sharp, rocking thrusts against your playmate, against whichever lucky wretch currently feels the sticky heat of you while he watches.

Astarion lets his hand drift to the front of his breeches and sucks his breath in through his teeth when his palm grazes firmly over the covered head of his cock.

You run a hand up your side and feel your own chest, maintaining your rhythm as you whimper.

Astarion’s fingers move to loosen his laces, lips parted as he begins to softly pant.

Your hand moves back down and you’re… yes, you’re putting your fingers between your legs, and you throw your head back with a gasp.

His fingers dip below his waistband and he curls in on himself with a huff as he takes himself in hand and begins to pump. Once, twice… ah, gods, that’s nice.

Though being under you would be even nicer.

Lucky sod. Who is it?

The blanket slips down over the curve of your arse, falling to one side and his breath catches as he realizes he’s about to get his answer.

Fabric falls aside and your incredible arse is grinding back and forth. You’re riding yourself to absolute delirium with…

A spare bedroll.

Astarion’s hand stutters to a stop and he doesn’t even breathe as realization hits him. You weren’t with someone else at all. The whole time, you’ve been furiously fucking yourself, grinding needily against your bedding for relief.

And somehow, some way, that makes him even harder. He mouths “oh, fuck” and goes back to stroking himself with renewed vigor.

You’re desperately aroused, no longer trying to quiet your whimpers as you work your hips in circles against the bedroll while you rub yourself at the same time, your shoulders flushed with need. Your body undulates in wave after wave and Astarion feels quite certain that if he were inside you right now, he’d have come already. He puts his free hand over his mouth, pressing his palm to his lips to keep quiet.

You make a frustrated noise and swing your leg off the bedroll, and for a brief alarming moment, Astarion thinks you’re about to give up, and there’s no way he could let that stand. For either of you.

But then you shove the bedroll away with a huff and flop onto your back without opening your eyes, which is good news for Astarion, since you’d almost certainly see the silhouette of him outside your tent if you were paying attention. Instead, you spread your legs wide and give him a glorious view as one hand returns to its place between your legs and is quickly joined by the other.

Astarion shudders out a breath, the sound thankfully masked by your own rapid pants as you stroke yourself with one hand and trace around your entrance with the other. When you push two fingers inside and begin to pump in and out, Astarion’s knees threaten to give out as he picks up his pace. The tide of pleasure in his core rises and threatens to crest.

Gods, gods, he isn’t even fucking you and you’re still going to make him come before you do.

Your pretty little moans are too much. Your furrowed brow, your flushed cheeks, the way your thighs twitch and your belly shivers with the pleasure you’re lavishing on yourself. What a beauty you are, what a treat, what a-

“-arion,” you whisper, so quietly that he nearly misses it.

“Hah,” he breathes, his pleasure shuddering right on the edge of its peak. His mind must’ve filled that in. There’s no way you said what he thought you said.

He presses his face to the split in the fabric and leans against the tentpole, jerking himself firmly as he watches you arch your back up off the ground, lifting your hips into the air again, again, again, until your hands slow.

“Oh, Astarion,” you whisper just before you slam back down to earth and groan out your release, your slick making your skin shine in the low light.

“Sh-”

Astarion slams his hand over his mouth and ducks to the side, sinking silently to the ground around the corner of your tent just before he creams himself, a pulse of spend striping the ground beneath him, followed by another, and another. His head hangs heavily before him as he catches his breath and dazedly tries to piece together what the fuck just happened.

He sits back, chest heaving and ears ringing.

Then whips his head to the side when he hears you stir inside the tent and tentatively say, “... Hello? Is someone there?”

Astarion holds his breath, which does not help with his current state of floaty lightheadedness.

Then you say, “... Astarion?”

And the sound of his name on your lips sends another ripple of pleasure through him as his cock pulses and drips one last time for good measure.

It takes a minute, but you eventually convince yourself you were hearing things and settle down to sleep, presumably in a more relaxed state than when you first retired. Astarion waits until your breathing slows before he sneaks away, silently tucking himself back into his clothes.

He holds his breath the entire time.

On the other side of camp inside the safety of his own tent, he releases it in a rush, running his unused hand through his curls as realization finally catches up to him.

“Oh, no,” he whispers.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion smut #astarion fanfic #kitten writes

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ktownshizzle · 16 hours ago

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Friends & Fools | One-Shot

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: You and Yoongi have always been just friends—inseparable since childhood, roommates in the city, partners in navigating life’s chaos. At your high school reunion, the questions start: Are you two finally together? Uh, no. But as the night goes on, and Yoongi looks at you like that, hmm—has everyone else seen something you’ve been too scared to admit?

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive, non-idol!au, reunion!au, best friends & roommates to lovers, grumpy x grumpy, when reader is more yoongi than yoongi himself

Warnings: cursing, smoking cigarettes, kissing, allusion to sex

Word count: 2.8k

Posting date: November 26, 2024

Notes: This is a one-shot to celebrate my 500 followers milestone for the blog! Just a cute little something as a thank you making this writer happy. The story was inspired by two asks: 1) lovely anon who wanted to talk about Yoongi at Jimmy Fallon; 2) kookiewithluv who sent me the softest, smiliest, fluffiest d-day Yoongi photos that I just couldn’t help myself.

Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Masterlist

MIN YOONGI 101 is a course you could’ve taught in school. It’s a subject matter you’ve mastered somewhere between the sandbox (when he was the kid hoarding plastic shovels in the playground) and the shoebox (the over-priced apartment that you both decided to rent together after uni).

It’s ‘cause you’ve always been good at watching him. You’ve picked up all his visual cues, his weird quirks, his tells.

Tonight is no different. From across the room, in the too-bright glare of your high school gym’s rented stage lights, you catch the tell-tale pinch of his brow, the mindless nodding that means he’s enduring yet another overly enthusiastic former classmate. Someone’s laughing too loud in his face, and he responds the same way he always does—with a small, polite smile and a glance at his drink like it’s his lifeline.

You’d know that look anywhere.

Yoongi catches your eye then, like he can feel your energy slicing through the crowd, and his lips twitch. The faintest ghost of a smirk, the kind he reserves just for you. He raises his glass, and you do the same from across the room. A silent message of we're too fucking sober to be in this joint. He holds your gaze and you watch as he inadvertently inserts the straw up one nostril, giggling because that wouldn’t be the first time. He shakes his head and puts it back in his mouth for a sip.

It’s comforting, really. That tether between you and Yoongi.

Even if the two of you are apparently the only ones here who don’t see what everyone else does.

You are standing by the endlessly classy boxed wine on the buffet table, watching your old classmates get progressively tipsier under dim lighting. Yoongi stands next to you, unabashedly drinking whiskey straight from his flask. He looks real sharp in a tailored blazer, with a casual t-shirt underneath, mumbling earlier that day how he cannot be arsed to fiddle with a necktie, even though it’s always you who has been fixing it for job interviews, funerals, formal occasions etc. for him for the past years. Secretly you think he knew that wearing that t-shirt actually just made him look effortlessly cool.

Someone from across the room waves, and you recognize it to be Hyorin, your former lab partner who was also a cheerleader or something, making her way toward you. “Oh my God, you two!” she exclaims, beaming. “You finally got together, huh?”

Yoongi chokes on his drink, and you nearly drop your solo.

“Nooo,” Yoongi drawls, dragging the word out with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Hyorin frowns, tilting her head. “Wait. You’re not a couple?”

You both shake your heads so emphatically it looked rehearsed.

“Nope,” you say, popping the P.

“Not even fucking?”

The audacity of this chick, though?

“Not even close,” Yoongi answers, but his voice sounded oddly tight.

Hyorin gives you both a skeptical once-over before laughing. “Okay, sure. Whatever you guys say.” She leaves, shaking her head like you’ve just told her the earth is flat, didn’t you know that?

They’re really starting to piss you off, ngl.

“Okay, but seriously,” Jihyo, who was in the band with you and one of the few people you’ve kept some form of contact with (hence can tolerate), hisses. “You’re really still not together?”

It was your turn to choke on your drink. “Hajimaaa! Why does everyone keep asking me that? Y’all wanna shoot your shot with Yoongi, go! I don’t give a fuck.”

Jihyo gives you a look like you’re the most oblivious person on earth. “This is exactly why I think you’re into him. Not everyone wants to date him, girl. We’re just curious about you two.”

“I—fuck you, actually. Give me one good reason why you think we’re a… thing.”

“Because you and Yoongi have been attached at the hip since we were all kids? Because you practically morphed into the same person? Because he’s literally looked at you the same way since he had that awful mushroom cut in fourth grade?”

“It wasn’t a mushroom cut. It was…” You cringe. “Yeah, it was a mushroom cut.”

You both giggle, then she asks, swirling the remains of her wine. “But seriously. Everyone thought you finally figured it out. You two moved in together a couple of months ago, no?”

“Yeah, because rent’s insane, I hate people, and he hates people, so we’re perfect roommates.”

Jihyo raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Mmhmm. Roommates. Sure.”

You roll your eyes, but the words stick with you as the night drags on, looping in your head as more classmates approach with the same comments. It’s exhausting. You’re about to grab your coat and drag Yoongi out of here when you feel a familiar figure at your side.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks, voice low, his shoulder brushing yours.

“I’m fine,” you sigh. “Just… everyone keeps asking why we’re not dating.”

Yoongi scoffs, his tongue clicking against his teeth. “What’d you tell ‘em?”

“The truth.”

He smirks again, but it’s sharper this time, laced with something you can’t quite name. “And what’s that?”

“That you’re a chronically unavailable workaholic and are too emotionally constipated to be anyone’s boyfriend.”

He huffs a laugh, shoulders bobbing. “Ouch,” he says, but his eyes are soft, the way they get when he looks at you sometimes, warm and wistful.

You look away first, clearing your throat, suddenly remembering what Jihyo said about how he looks at you. “Well, you’re not exactly ideal boyfriend material.”

Yoongi shrugs, mouth forming a straight line. “Fair.”

Anyway, you know you’re no dream girl, either. He is just way too soft for you to say it to your face.

Between the two of you, your combined dating history looks like a collection of UN flags, except they’re all red.

Him with his too-whiny, needy bitches, who have far too high expectations of him and he is just not the guy to validate their feelings 24 fucking 7. He has things to do (produce) and places to be (his studio).

And you, with your love bombers and commitment-phobes that have got you questioning if there’s something wrong with you because they always lose interest down the line. (Yoongi says they're all assholes btw, and you are inclined to believe him, despite lingering self-doubt.)

You always joked that no one else understood either of you the way you understood each other.

But aren’t jokes half-meant?

By the time the reunion starts winding down, you’re tipsy enough that the edges of the night feel soft and fuzzy. You’re outside, leaning against the brick wall of the building with Yoongi, his jacket draped over your shoulders because he’s simply gentlemanly like that. Raised well by his eomma who you equally adore.

“You didn’t have to stay this long,” he says, lighting a cigarette.

You watch the glow of it as he inhales, the faint tremble of his fingers in the cold. “Neither did you.”

He shrugs, exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke. “I wasn’t gonna let you suffer alone.”

Something warm pools in your chest. “Thanks. And, same.”

The quiet stretches between you, the kind of comfortable silence only Yoongi can manage. It’s strange how natural it feels, just existing with him like this. Like it’s enough.

You gesture to the stick, then he slowly brings it to your lips.

You exhale the smoke as you tilt your head back to look at the stars—or what few stars there are on this cloudy night—and ask the question that’s been sitting heavy on your tongue all night.

“Why do you think everyone assumes we’re together?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away, but you can feel the heaviness of his gaze on you like it’s settling on your shoulders.

“I dunno,” he says eventually, voice quiet. “Maybe because we act like we are.”

Hol’ up. “What do you mean?”

He takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slow. “I mean… we know each other better than anyone else. We live together. Spend all our time together. Maybe they think it just makes sense.”

Your heart stutters. “Does it?”

Yoongi stills, blinks like he’s trying to suss out where you’re going with this. “What’s up with you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice teeny-tiny. “Just… do you ever think maybe we’ve been—”

“Idiots?” he cuts in, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

You laugh, but it’s shaky. “Yeah. That.”

Yoongi looks at you then, really looks at you, and you feel like the ground might give out beneath you. There’s something in his expression, something raw and vulnerable and scared. Like he’s standing on the edge of something, just waiting for you to push him over.

“Sometimes,” he says finally, his voice rough.

It’s not an admission, not exactly, but it’s enough to make your pulse race.

“Yoongi,” you start, but the words catch in your throat.

He snuffs the cigarette against the wall and tosses it towards the can. Then, he steps closer, close enough that you can see the faint moles on his face, the curve of his lashes as he blinks down at you.

“You wanna go home?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

You know what he’s really asking.

You say yes.

The walk to the subway station is quiet. Tense.

The back of his hand brushes yours as you walk along the sidewalk, and neither of you moves away.

The subway ride back to your apartment is also quiet. Tense.

Yoongi doesn’t say much, but his knee brushes yours every time the train sways, and neither of you moves away.

By the time you’re back in your apartment, your brain is mushy and your head feels like it’s about to explode as you keep rewinding and replaying the events of the night, every classmate that alluded to your relationship, his lingering glance, sharing the cigarette, every half-formed word between you... Fuck.

Yoongi kicks off his shoes by the door, pushing it under the rack. You stand there awkwardly, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you.

“Tea?” he asks, already moving toward the kitchen.

“No.” Your voice comes out too abrupt, too sharp, and he freezes.

He turns slowly, eyes searching yours. “You ok?”

“No.” You take a deep breath, your heart pounding. “I think we’ve been avoiding this for a long time.”

Yoongi blinks, but you know he is just pretending not to understand what you meant. “Avoiding what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “Us.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then— “Mm.”

Mm. That’s all he says, like you haven’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of your tiny living room.

“Yoongi,” you say, stepping closer. “Do you—”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, nodding as he bites down on his lower lip. “I do.”

The air shifts between you, and suddenly you’re not sure who moves first, but then his warm hands are on your face and your fingers are tangled in his shirt and his mouth is on yours, and—

Oh.

Damn.

His lips are softer than you imagined—not that you spent countless late nights pining, but if you had, this would surpass every hypothetical. He kisses like he does everything else: deliberate, unhurried, sure. His hands slide down from your face to rest on your waist.

The sigh that slips from your lips is involuntary, but it’s enough for him to push further. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, coaxing you open, and when he deepens the kiss, tasting you, it uncoils the knot that’s been tight in your belly all night. Yoongi tastes faintly like whiskey, like cigarettes, and something else so distinctly him and you’re endlessly intoxicated.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails grazing the nape of his neck, and the low, guttural noise he makes in response sends a shockwave through you. Heat settles in your core, spreading with an intensity that takes you by surprise. Because omg–this is not some hot stranger you met at a bar. This is your goddamn best friend, whose hand is now dangerously encroaching on the swell of your ass.

You hadn’t expected this—not the kiss, not the pleasure, not the way he makes you feel like you’re in some version of paradise.

You’re melting with every curl of his tongue, every shift in the way his lips move against yours. It’s the kind of intimacy that makes the rest of the world fall away, until the only thing you’re aware of is the feel of him—his warmth, his certainty, the way he kisses like he already knows this is how it should’ve been in the first place–a sureness you hadn’t expected.

It’s not just passion—it’s belonging, the sense that every piece of you slots perfectly into place with him. Like the years of laughter, arguments, and everything in between have all been leading here. His hands now circling your waist feel steady, like they’ve always known where to hold you even though this is the very first time.

And in that moment, kissing Yoongi feels like coming home—warm, certain, complete. A place you hadn’t known you were searching for, because you’ve always been with him, and now you can’t imagine ever leaving.

When you finally pull away, his lips are swollen, and his eyes are a bit moist, blinking blankly like he can’t fathom what just happened. His arms loosen their hold on you, just a bit, and suddenly, you can see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

And for a second, your stomach churns, worried that the wheels in his head are turning and it’s telling him that this was not it.

Finally he speaks. “Was that weird?”

You huff out a breath, a cross between a chuckle and a sigh of relief, because God. Yoongi could be pressed against you, breathless and flushed, and he’d still overthink. You really belong together.

“Not weird,” you say softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Weirdly perfect, maybe.”

He exhales sharply, relief flooding his features. “Fuck, okay. Good. Because if it sucked for you, I’d have to move out. And in this economy???”

You swat his chest, laughing again, but then his arms tighten around you again, holding you close, and the teasing fades into something softer. It’s not lost on you that this is the longest you’ve ever touched each other. Two socially awkward fools who are secretly touch-starved now finally getting what they’ve been craving for but have been too shy to admit it.

“Seriously, though,” he says, a lopsided grin decorating his lips. “What happens next?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmm. You could still make tea if you want?”

He groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

"Or…" you say, sliding your hands across his chest, your fingers lingering just enough to feel his breath hitch beneath your touch. You push his blazer off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. "We could… you know."

Yoongi lifts his head, and the look in his eyes makes your heart trip over itself. There’s heat there, sure, but beneath it lies something deeper, something that feels vulnerable. "Are we really doing this?"

And you know what he means. Because again, you know Min Yoongi inside out. And he’s known you. But now you’re ready to bare everything that’s left to discover.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything," you say, your voice steady in a way that surprises even you.

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, his last bit of hesitation melting away as he nods.

You step back, your movements slow, deliberate. Turning away from him, you reach for the straps of your dress and slide them down your shoulders, feeling the fabric loosen as you take a few steps toward his room. You glance back over your shoulder, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Are you coming?"

He grins, gummy and warm, and it’s so achingly Yoongi that your chest tightens. "I would hope so…"

You roll your eyes stifling a laugh, because he’s stupid, because he’s him. And because you’ve never loved (wait... what?) anyone more in your entire life. "C’mere then," you tease, the words soft, daring, as your dress slips to the floor and pools around your ankles.

He breathes out, a sound that’s almost a laugh, almost disbelief. "Okay," he says, his voice low, quiet, like he’s agreeing to something more than just this moment.

And maybe he is. Maybe this is the easiest thing in the world, the most inevitable thing that’s ever happened to either of you.

And now, finally, you’re both ready to admit it.

A/N: EEEEKKKK Please tell me what you thought about the story! I'd appreciate feedback if you loved it, hated it, and if it made you feel a certain way.

Thank you for reading this you lovely, beautiful human xo

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mythalism · 2 days ago

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on solavellan becoming andraste and the maker, and applying the concept of mantling to dragon age

for the uninitiated, mantling is a concept from the elder scrolls series that refers to the process of a mortal becoming a god by becoming so much like them that they become indistinguishable, and thus, the same. its synonymous with the use of the term "apotheosis" within the same universe, but also distinct, because it specifically involves "re-enacting the Mythic patterns established by the [Gods] until their power is surrendered to the mantler. In the process, the mortal and the deity become metaphysically synonymous with one another, allowing the mortal to claim the office and sphere of the mantled diety for themselves, reshaping them in the process." (x)

sound familiar?

but first, there are several examples of how this works narratively in the elder scrolls universe. one of the best is probably the mantling of sheogorath by the player character in the shivering isles DLC of the elder scrolls IV: oblivion.

at the climax of the DLC, the god of madness, sheogorath, for whom you've been doing quests for for quite a while now, basically reveals that he molded you into someone who could take his place as the Mad God, as his time is running out due to a long running divine cycle of order vs. chaos called the greymarch. its all very mythological and confusing and not really relevant to this but im including these quotes from re-watching the quest (x) to refresh my own memory and give you an idea of the general vibe:

the realm is crumbling, the cycle of destruction is imminent, and its god bemoans the loss of the world he loves but cannot stop his own demise. the only way to save it is if someone else becomes him - takes the throne, assumes his office, sacrifices their individuality and mortal desires for what the realm needs and mantle it's god...... this is literally solas mantling the maker like cmon!! and if i was in charge at bioware you can bet your ass that rook would've been mantling the dread wolf as thedas' new trickster god as solas took on a different godly role considering how he literally molds rook in his image and TELLS THEM THAT.......... but thats an essay for another day.

the player character of oblivion begins as sheogorath's champion and eventually becomes him, lavellan begins as andraste's herald and eventually becomes her as she walks her path, culminating in her decision to join the maker in the golden city for eternity, effectively uniting their mythology so that they become indistinguishable.

the player character of morrowind also goes through a similar process that the inquisitor does, as a prophesied savior navigating the role that has been thrust upon them. in the elder scrolls III morrowind, the story revolves around you being the prophesised "nerevarine", the second coming of the hero, indoril nerevar, who will cast down the false gods and expel the empire from their homeland. in reality, the game makes it very clear very quickly that no one has any fucking clue if you are actually the nerevarine, but the empire is going to MAKE you into the nerevarine by making you "walk the path" laid out in the prophecy. and thats what the entire main quest is; you re-enacting the prophecy to literally become the prophet that the world needs. the game never answers whether or not you actually were the nerevarine, but at some point, the distinction ceases to matter. you've become them.

you can see how similar this is to an inquisitor walking the path of andraste, to solas being forced to walk the path of the dread wolf and later the maker. whether or not they are one and the same is irrelevant, when you become mythologically indistinguishable, when you become what the world needs you to become, who you were ceases to matter.

in my original post about this i mentioned CHIM as well and CHIM is a very unruly, not even fully canon concept within the elder scrolls. so i dont really want to delve super deep into it because its fucking insane for one but also because it doesn't fit quite as well as the framework of mantling does, but there are a few things said about CHIM in elder scrolls that just feel soooooooo similar to what we see in dragon age that i want to share them because i truly think there is a thread of inspiration to be followed here.

CHIM is basically enlightenment in the elder scrolls universe where someone within the games reaches a state of divine lucidity. its been compared to lucid dreaming by one of the tes devs, or "divine hypnagogia", and the final state beyond CHIM, called Amaranth, allows a character to realize they exist in a video game. LMAO. so when i say solas and lavellan achieve something akin to CHIM i do not mean it literally, i do not think they are breaking the fourth wall and realizing they exist in a video game, nor would i want that. i would actually hate that as a writing decision. but whats interesting is the language that is sometimes used to talk about CHIM, and the way solas and lavellan's ending involves them reaching a sort of peace and acceptance about their place in the world as mythological figures instead of individuals.

i wrote this in response to an ask once and i've reposted it several times and i'm doing it again now because honestly it was the best way to articulate this and i dont think i can recreate it LMAO; "solas and lavellan are at once both finally free of the burdens of the myths and expectations that follow them as the dread wolf and the herald of andraste because they have left the mortal world that forced them into those roles and stripped them of their personhood, but they have also completely submitted themselves to those roles by submitting to the logical conclusion of the myths that they could not escape. for the dread wolf, it is earning his redemption through his willing submission to his own trap. its the logical, full-circle mythological conclusion to the trickster who trapped the gods, now trapped for eternity himself. for the inquisitor, it is andraste's herald finally sharing andraste's fate, choosing to leave the mortal world behind to ascend to the golden city alongside the god that she loves. both (presumably, for a lavellan) have tried to reject the myths attached to them over and over and over, but in the end they choose them willingly, and that choice at once binds them to those myths forever while simultaneously freeing them from the burden of them. its giving oedipal greek tragedy of attempting to outrun your fate and it finding you anyway, just when you thought you were finally making your own choice, but with a hopeful and bittersweet spin."

this is what i mean when i say they have achieved CHIM, as "a state of being which allows for escape from all known laws and limitations" (x) the laws and limitations from which they have escaped are not the confines of a video game, but rather the confines of the mortal roles that they were both thrust into against their wills and stole everything from them, as the herald of andraste and the dread wolf. for solas, i think you can even extend this to him being able to escape the literal physical confines of the body he did not want by returning to 'heaven' (the fade), a place of mutability and possibility, without the laws and limitations of the physical world. for lavellan, we see her make a choice to pursue her own happy ending, regardless of what the world needs (though there is an argument for this being the best decision for the world considering how it will help solas heal the blight, but i think the implication is that she's doing it for herself) after losing her agency, individuality, life and freedom to the role of the inquisitor. as ameridan says, "take moments of happiness where you can. the world will take the rest." and she does. she ascends past the bounds of the physical world, the title of inquisitor, the world that took so much from her, and finds her happiness in transcending those limitations and literally fucking off to heaven. its so great.

so when i refer to lavellan as andraste or solas as the maker, it is in this context that i mean it. i dont actually think lavellan is literally andraste reborn or something, or that solas was literally the maker. i think the maker was probably slightly inspired by solas's deeds like the creation of the veil and black city, but theres plenty in the chant of light that also does not fit him or the two of them at all. dragon age has very intentionally not disproved or proved the existence of the maker, and i think that is a good choice and its far more interesting that way. solas is already responsible for like half of the problems in thedas, connecting EVERYTHING back to him is a bit lazy in my opinion. i think the idea that the concept of a creator borne out of a bunch of different myths across time is far more compelling. so i dont think they are 1:1 the same or a reincarnation or anything, and thats why the concept of mantling works so well in this context.

solas is not the maker, but he has functionally become the maker by walking the narrative path of his own story. lavellan is not andraste, but she has functionally become andraste through walking the path of her own story. its about a sort of narrative and mythological apotheosis, where the world sees you one way to the point that you become that way. it works perfectly in the context of dragon age's focus on storytelling, propaganda, and how belief creates reality.

these two are bound to a sort of narrative inevitability in a way that most dragon age characters are not (except perhaps morrigan. honorable mentions to hawke, varric and alistair) but i think its a large part of why they are so compelling. they are inseparable from their own stories. they are bound by this sort of narrative destiny to serve both the overarching story of the dragon age games, but also the mythological stories within thedas in a way thats almost in contrast to the medium of a video game based on player choice- but i think its intentional, and i also think this sort of narrative destiny functioning as its own trap or prison is part of the reason their story is the strongest part of veilguard. from an essay on fatalism, something that solas himself ascribes to by his own admission "Destiny is not so much a necessary outcome as it is an outcome that is necessary given some larger sense of purpose” (x).

in conclusion: ✓ re-enacting the mythic patterns of andraste and the maker's story via their roles in the world and their decisions, such as leading the armies of the faithful as andraste's did, or shaping the world the way it exists presently and creating the veil and the black city as the maker did ✓ become metaphysically synonymous, via becoming virtually indistinguishable in terms of their role in the world ✓ take their office - by finally reuniting within the black city ✓ reshape it for themselves - by healing the blight and making it golden

#weeeeee #meta #da meta #veilguard spoilers #solavellan #solas #mine.txt

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batfsm · 3 days ago

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It gets worse as Dick and Bruce gets older and then the others come in…Damian wants Bruce with Talia so calling Batman his stepdad isn’t going to deteriorate him, Talia is their shared wife.

Jason jumps in with Talia being shared by Bruce and Batman and then the others do also.

Duke is the one who takes it even farther by bringing in Selina/Catwoman and when asked by his siblings points out that if Bruce gets to have brought in Talia, Batman can bring in Selina.

Cass just goes along with it until someone, Clark who while he knows the truth now can’t do anything, flirts a bit to hard with Batman as Superman and tells the JL firmly that the family isn’t looking for another parent.

The thing is though? The JL knows about Bruce but they don’t know that the kids know. They all think that the kids still think they are two separate people. So the JL and etc who know really can’t tell the children that they’re dads are the same person, it’ll break their hearts.

It just makes everything funnier to the kids and their moms. Even Alfred gets a kick out of it and helps keep the illusion that the children don’t know. Bruce is the only one it annoys.

(Lets just say in this AU that the kids never tell anyone their identities because Bruce is more worried about their safety than he is his own.)

Hope you don’t mind me adding on.

Hear me out: Robin Dick would be the biggest Bruceman supporter and shipper.

This boy hates any of Bruce’s love interest with a passion because then his dad guardian spends less time with him and that’s obviously UNACCEPTABLE, SCANDALOUS even, so when rumours start circulating that Bruce Wayne is in a relationship with the Batman, he jumps right on the wagon.

Reporter, thirsty for a story: Mr Grayson what do you think about the rumours that Bruce Wayne is dating the Batman?

Dick: What do I think about my dads you mean? My very married very taken dads? My very faithful to each other plural dads?

He would fuel the rumours both as Robin and as Dick Grayson, punching criminals for talking bad about Wayne enterprises as Robin (“THAT’S MY STEPDADS COMPANY YOURE TALKING ABOUT!”). He would be on online forums all day talking about how Bruceman is the only Batman ship that makes sense and Doxxing people who disagree.

Bruce is so exasperated because this is happening at a time where only Alfred and Dick know his real identity so he can’t even do anything with ANYONE without making either Bruce Wayne or Batman look unfaithful.

Throw Reporter Clark Kent into the mix who has been sent to scope out the Bruceman story, who Bruce makes the mistake of flirting with at a gala. Both Clark AND dick are scandalised.

Dick, making a scene: HOW COULD YOU! BATMAN IS WAITING FOR YOU AT HOME AND YOURE HERE FLIRTING WITH SOME… SOME REPORTER??

Bruce, sighing: Dick-

Dick, tugging on Bruce’s suit and looking up at him with fake tears in his eyes: Dad, are you and dad getting a divorce? :(

Clark, panicking: NO NO THEYRE NOT GETTING A DIVORCE PLEASE DONT CRY

Meanwhile:

Bruce, crying in the corner: he called me dad

He would even go as far as insisting that Robin is his step sibling

Principal: how do you explain that whenever Robin is injured, Dick fails to show up at school the next day?

Dick: Robin and I are twins :) so when he��s injured I’m injured too and we have to stay home together!!

Bruce, whispering: I’m sorry, they’re not really twins but neither I or Bats have the heart to tell hem

#batman #dick grayson #bruce wayne #headcanon #fanfiction #just a thought

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sunsetsover · 3 days ago

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i went back and watched first ep of thk again this time without being psychologically flashbanged every 2 seconds (which was only semi-successful tbh) and my biggest take away out of everything was that bison really gets off on power.

you can see it clear as day in that very first scene with the guy that they're targeting. this is clearly someone who has money and power - he's picking men out of line up like they're nothing more than clothes on a rack. but the reality is that bison is the one who's really in charge. bison is the one who has all the control. bison literally has this big, powerful man's life in his hands, and he really, really likes that.

you can see it in the look on his face when he shoves the guys face into his chest - he's disgusted, clearly, but he's also smiling. he looks so deeply satisfied, and why would he in a situation like that if not for the fact that he knows he has all the power in the world in that moment and is almost a little turned on by it. it doesn't matter that the other guy thinks bison's some weak little guy to be bought and given commands. it doesn't matter he's sitting there all smug thinking he's in control. bison knows the truth. that's enough. it's probably why he can so easily play along - that knowledge. that power. because really, what does it matter how rich or powerful someone is now that bison has him in his clutches? and what is that if not complete and total power?

you can see this desire for power and control bleed into other dynamics too. i think it's why he's so 'difficult' with fadel. fadel clearly loves and cares about him, and his concern is well meaning, but he does treat bison like a child. and to a certain degree it's probably warranted (i mean look at what happened at the karaoke bar). but at the same time between him and the little bit we know so far about their mother, bison's completely smothered. and sheltered (the guy doesn't even know how to cook a burger. they literally run a diner). and i think that has less to do with bison being inherently untrustworthy or reckless, and more to do with the fact that he just doesn't want to do what he's told. and i imagine in turn that made his mum - and by extension fadel - tighten the reins on him.

because bison, at least so far, seems to have really no control or even any say over his own life. he just does what he's told, either his mother or by fadel. he has no other choice really - it seems he has nothing and no one else. he's effectively trapped (which i think will be the catalyst in his and kant's relationship, bc kant is also trapped in a situation he can't get out of, but i digress) so he's rallying against their control over him in whatever little ways he can - causing problems, being difficult, being purposefully obtuse. i think bison is someone who knows he doesn't have any real power, and so uses what he does have to his advantage. he plays dumb and weak and naive and sweet to manipulate people and situations so he can get what he wants for a change. that's his power. and it seems effective enough, and he probably likes the little things that it can get him, but i think what bison really likes is the fact that he can make people bend to his will. sure he has to work for it, but the fact that he can have people dancing to his tune while being completely unaware of what he's doing is what he really likes. i think that's where bison's true power lies. and i think that that power goes straight to his head.

which brings us to kant. kant, who - at least in my opinion - bison thought was just another guy with a big ego who just expected bison to lay down and take it. like idk i just got the impression that bison was not super impressed w kant at first. and bison does try briefly to wrestle kant for the dominance/power that kant obviously thought was his to take (like the tapping to see who was going to go to who, and getting in each others face to see who was going to break and kiss the other first) but soon enough bison just lets him have it bc ultimately it's not that important. they weren't supposed to ever see each other again. he was gonna get off either way. but even so bison gave as good as he's got, making sure kant knew he wasn't just gonna lie down and take it. and i think that at some point bison kinda realises hey this guy is actually listening. hey he's kinda malleable actually. hey he's kinda putting on a lil show for me, taking his shirt off nice and slow. hey this is a lot more fun than i thought it would be. but at the end of the day he doesn't get his shit rocked by kant the way kant clearly gets his shit rocked by bison. bison literally put that man to sleep. kant's lying on his sofa all but twirling his hair afterwards. in comparison bison doesn't even seem particularly bothered about the whole thing until kant shows up at the diner.

but anyway my point is we pretty much know bison's desire for power is going play out in his dynamic with kant bc of the whole bdsm thing. imo this is going to be even more important if it does turn out that he knows/suspects kant's motives - which, after a second watch, i am a lot more likely to believe. it was just so obvious. of all the things bison could've been doing right then, he just so happened to be cleaning the windows? with a big mirror right next to him? yeah ok sure. but don't expect me to act surprised if we find out down the line that bison was behind the scenes puppeteering this whole thing with kant - and with his family too.

because really the question is if he suspects kant's intentions - which he clearly did, no matter how briefly - why would he not tell fadel? why would he not seek help? and i think the answer to that lies - again - in the fact that bison wants power. any thread of it he can grab onto he does with both hands, whether that be that killing or domming or pissing people (fadel) off. playing games with people's minds and lives in that way - even those of the people closest to him, even his own - really doesn't seem like that much of a stretch judging by his behaviour so far. i think he'd probably be rubbing his hands together like an evil little fly at the thought of everyone thinking he was dumb or naive or a liability when the whole time he's the one pulling all the strings. he's the one who has everyone's lives in his hands. he's the one keeping all of their asses out of prison while at the same time he's got the guy who's supposed to be his downfall tied up in knots (both literally and metaphorically)

and even if that isn't the case and bison really does have no clue what kant's up to, i still think he's loving the fact that kant is so desperate and eager to win him over. bc ulterior motives or not kant really was sooooo dickmatised by bison. even before chris got on his ass he was telling his bestie abt it like 'i didn't even get his name 🥺️ it's like i slept w a ghost 🥺️ he only exists in my memory 🥺️' like he was down horrendous for bison the moment he got him in that hotel room, and bison KNOWS it. he knows the power he holds over kant, and he loves that shit. he loves that kant ate that shitty burger just to stay on his good side and he loves that kant is so doggedly persistent in trying to be his boyfriend and he loves that when his big brother tried to scare him off kant didn't run or give up but instead asked him 'well how can i get him off our backs?'

and sure we know why. but does it really matter? bison just loves the fact that he can tease kant and not give him what he wants and still kant will just grin and continue to chase him, drooling like a cartoon dog who's just caught scent of a freshly cooked steak. it doesn't really matter why: bison loves power and he loves how eager kant is to give it to him. that's why it's really not that shocking their relationship veers into bdsm territory. kant already seems more than willing to give bison whatever he wants, and what bison really wants is power (and freedom, but we haven't really seen the depth of that particular want just yet). of course kant's going to give him that power, no matter what that looks like.

(but while we're on the topic, i'm really interested to see the dynamics kant and bison adopt the next time they have sex. we know they venture into bdsm territory eventually, but if bison introduces that into their sexual relationship right away (excluding their first time obv) i'm gonna be really side eyeing that little guy bc it's like oh? why are so desperate to be in charge? is it bc you know that guy thinks he's playing you and you wanna see how far he'll go to get what he wants? is it bc the idea of you having this man - this man who thinks he's playing you for a fool - blindfolded and tied to your headboard makes you feel drunk with power? is it bc the idea of hurting this man who's trying to hurt you and him wholeheartedly LETTING you gets you off like nothing else? bc if that really is the case we're reaching unprecedented levels of horny i fear)

anyway this post was just supposed to be a little thing about bison getting off on power i didn't meant for it to turn into a character study/ted talk on his relationship dynamics but here we are lmfao anyway i love bison already i wanna dissect him in a lab <3

#the heart killers #kantbison #thk meta #EDIT: please no novel spoilers!! thank u <3 #believe it or not i acc have more to say lmao #bc you can easily watch this show at a surface level and still enjoy it #and tbh i thought that's what we were gonna get (which i was fine with for the record!)#but i actually think there's gonna be quite a lot of depth to these characters if you pick them apart a bit #especially bison and fadel. so that's great news for tumblr user lauren sunsetsover #anyways idk if this even makes sense to anyone else but it makes sense to me so we move ✌️😙

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barkobae · 2 days ago

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TL;DR Jean is great actually

I've been seeing a lot of Jean hatred lately especially here on Tumblr and it has been getting on my nerves since so much of his criticism is in bad faith. Much of it is tied with the fact that he is cruel to Harry, a man who is a decade older than him and his superior.

Every time Jean is criticized, Harry is always shown to be some sort of smol puppy who is "trying" which I won't disagree with but at the same time, it isn't the first time that he is trying. We know for a fact that Harry has tried to stop drinking many times in the past but has failed every single time.

There is a reason why so many people have left the precinct because of Harry but Jean has stayed. And we have seen him making excuses for Harry due to his drinking problem.

Harry's behavior always goes under the radar for whatever reason. The reason why I am so defensive of Jean is because I have known men like Harry for so long. I really really do believe that people like Harry can improve for the better but for how long does someone have to keep up with their behavior. Alcoholism is no joke.

Just prior to the game's events, Harry told his precinct members to fuck off. Drove his expensive motor carriage to destruction, made Sylvie quit and had her traumatized. Even before this time, we know that Harry held a woman against her will for like 20 minutes. Is that something that you can just overlook?

When Jean denies Harry having amnesia, there is a reason and the reason is that he has blacked out many times before. Judit knows this and she has been around for only 2 months. Jean is clearly having a denial phase because he cannot fathom how harry has completely forgotten him. Jean is never given the mercy of that fact.

Every criticism of Jean is a frustrating read because it feels like none of them have had to deal with alcoholics.

Whatever, I'll keep defending Jean but this is it for now.

#rant post #jean vicquemare #disco elysium #harry du bois #just saying #y'all will fold when you meet some of my neighbors #character rant

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kiiyomei · 17 hours ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑶𝒇 𝑩𝒂𝒅 & 𝑩𝒐𝒖𝒋𝒆𝒆 𝑲𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒏

(TW: not proofread, mention of drugs, and bad grammar )

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘉𝘢𝘥 & 𝘉𝘰𝘶𝘫𝘦𝘦 𝘒𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦, 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥—𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘺? 𝘛𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝖱𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖢𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗎𝗉. 𝖨𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖪𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖰𝗎𝖾𝖾𝗇, 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗅.

Bad and Boujee Kook stepped away from her newly made friends or possible acquaintances depending on how it goes to determine if they’re genuine or not. She sashayed through the crowd of people, reaching the corner turn to the kitchen and collided into a wall?

No instead, it was none other than Rafe Cameron, and just so lucky for her it included the red plastic solo-cup filled with whiskey that spilled on her.

“What the fuck?!” She exclaims, stepping back to look down to her red velvet tube top and leopard print mini skirt, now stained with whiskey.

“You should watch where you’re going.” Rafe grumbled, carelessly tossing the cup to the trash and unapologetic for spilling on her.

She stared at him with a dumbfounded expression, before changing into an angered one after.

“Me? You’re the douchebag that spilled your drink on me and still haven’t apologized.” She scoffed, pointing her finger hard into his chest to make her point.

“Why would I apologize? You’re the one who in fact bumped into me first.” Rafe declared, crossing his arms across his chest and smirked amusingly.

“Matter of fact, I think you owe me a drink.”

It was the final straw, which led to Bad and Boujee Kook to only smile mockingly then grabbed the closest drink nearby; unfortunately it happened to be Topper that came by to see the commotion.

“What are you—“ Rafe tried to ask, but cut off by the sudden liquid tossed into his face and cup thrown at his head right after by her.

“Drink up, bitch boy.” She made the final comment, before walking off from the two in the kitchen and deciding to leave the party early than anticipated.

Topper eyes were wide, shocked by the sudden commotion that escalated quickly and unsure to what to say without risking his best friend from kicking his ass for it or shouting at him. Odds were not good.

“Did she really?” Topper continued looking between his best friend and the silhouette of her before disappearing into the crowd of people.

“She did.” Rafe exhaled a long sigh, wiping the beer from the keg stand from his face and his eyes.

But something deep down inside of him ignited; intrigue? curiosity? interest? It was all unsure except one thing on his mind. He needed someone like her.

“That was kinda hot.” He admitted, unfazed by the stickiness and scent of beer lingering on him.

Topper shakes his head, concerned about his friend. “Man you’ve got some issues..”

𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘉𝘢𝘥 & 𝘉𝘰𝘶𝘫𝘦𝘦 𝘒𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘣𝘺 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺

𝘚𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘵; 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦.

𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘱 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 (𝘚𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦.

“Rafe, I’m not going to keep putting up with the hot and cold shoulder. We’re adults for fuck sake, this isn’t elementary to play hot and cold game.” She snapped finally, ready to put him in his place.

“If you feel that way, then go ahead and pack your shit then leave.” Rafe threatened carelessly, not entirely serious and thinking he’d have the win over her.

His once big ego shrinks, after witnessing her give one firm nod and mumbled of ‘okay’ then proceeded to walk into the shared walk-in closet to pack a bag. It was like his heart dropped to his stomach, not sure if she was serious or play reverse psychology on him.

“What are you doing?” He asked, approaching her in the walk-in closet and seeing her grab leather brown Louis Vuitton duffle bag to pack her clothes and shoes.

She scoffed, not replying this time instead continuing to stride around the room to grab some of her belongings that were deemed important enough.

“Are you serious going to leave?” He continued to speak, his anxiety rising and stepped into the room to try stepping in her way to prevent her.

She looked up to him with disbelief, chuckling softly.

“I’m not gonna stay where I’m not wanted, so can you move? Please and thank you.” She stepped around him to grab some of her shoes.

It was one big reality check, that Bad & Boujee Kook wasn’t like his ex’s that used to drop to his feet begging to fix things or to stay, instead she seems okay’d enough to give it up and leave him.

For the first time ever in his life, Rafe practically leaped to grab ahold her and putting aside dignity and pride to keep her from actually leaving him.

“Baby, I…I didn’t mean it.” He mumbled, feeling unlike himself to do this kind of thing but he actually cared about her and their relationship. “Don’t..”

“Don’t what?” She asked, expectantly awaiting for him to spit out the words she’d been awaiting for him to say and making 10x difficult for him. “Use your words.”

He grumbled, in taking a sharp breath and avoiding her gaze after it made it much harder doing so while she loved every second of it to relish it.

“Don’t leave me.” He says, after clearing his throat and speaking clearly while trying to not get pouty although it sounded like it in his voice. “…please.”

She exhaled a small sigh but cracked into the little smile upon her soft, plump lips and set down the bag to step closer towards him. Her hand cupped his jaw, tilting his head to gaze into her eyes.

“Don’t pull this shit again, cause we both know I’m the last one to put up with it.” She stated simply, then sealed it with a soft kiss to his cheek. “Got it?”

He felt glad no one was around, to see the way she got him wrapped her little finger and easily whipped.

“I’ve got it.” He stated firmly.

“Good boy.” She giggled.

(Alexa play Walk Em Like A Dog By Saucy Santana)

𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘎𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘉𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘉𝘰𝘶𝘫𝘦𝘦 𝘒𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦, 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘚𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘩 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.

𝘌𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘫𝘦𝘦 𝘬𝘰𝘰𝘬’𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘬𝘦.

Bad and Boujee Kook home was the second safe place for Rafe, including her parents that welcomed him with open arms to their family. Including extending a key for him to use cause of how much they trusted him.

Which why it wasn’t a surprise that he came over, with the emergency key in hand to unlock the front door at 3 in the morning and nowhere to go in the rain. He had been driving around the island aimlessly, going through one big manic episode after the fight with his dad; Ward, and his drug dealer Barry not responding.

She had zero experience with anyone that gone through withdrawals from drugs or anything as such, but she was willing to try to help him.

Even if it meant sitting on the shower floor with the water turned lukewarm and holding him tightly in her arms after he goes through the symptoms. She continued playing with his hair, as her other free hand rubbing his back soothingly slow.

“I-I want to quit…I want to be clean, but.” Rafe mumbled, stuttering over his words and trying to open up but still finding it difficult to explain.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” She whispered, placing soft kisses to his head while his head rested upon her bare chest and her nude body sat in his lap. Yet still the big spoon.

“It won’t always be easy, but when you’re ready I’ll be there through it all.” She kissed his temple, continuing to hold him through the entire shower.

The moodboard of the dynamic couple

likes & reblogs are appreciated🙂‍↔️🩷

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe obx #obx #rafe Cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #kiiyomei blogs #kiiyomei fics

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beeryhigh · 2 days ago

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All watermelons are like this - blood thirst drama queens who start crying like babies when punishment for their crimes reaches them. You never cried a tear for the Israeli hostages (and there were young children among them, too, but you didn't give a shit), yet now the whole world is supposed to pity you, poor little 30yo palestinian rapist baby, you're just a child... someone's child. I feel zero empathy for you. And i know, because you have prooved it yourselves, that if Israel doesn't finish Gaza off right now, there will be another attack like that on the 7th of October. It's your fault you didn't want to live in peace. I feel zero empathy for you, and the beggars who write their sob stories and beg money for what they say to be their families (i bet this money actually goes to hamas) only make me laugh, because i don't believe a word they write. They don't have other feelings than hatred, the desire to destroy, rape, torture and kill. What Israel does is not only self-defence, it's a fight against the evil that's dangerous to everyone. Long gone is the feeling that "not all palestinians are bad", because you have PROOVED THIS STATEMENT AS FALSE.

Where are the palestinians who stand up against hamas? Where are those who don't support the taking of hostages? It may be too much to ask from people in Gaza itself, but there are palestinians abroad, and all of them were cheering at the terrorist attack. Even Hadid sisters, who, until then, looked civilized and liberal.

It turned out that hatred and blood thirstiness is a natural trait for all palestinians. This is why helping them and screaming "stop the genocide" is... suicidal for anyone, muslim or not.

I am really glad that terrorist supporting idiots are starting to get the backlash they deserve.

#free palestine? fuck no!

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razorblade180 · 23 hours ago

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A Quiet Home

Jaune:*walks in* Hey, I’m back.

Weiss:*writing*….

Jaune:I umm, got some food. Saph said she always makes too much so-

Weiss:You should’ve turned it down. Your nephew is a growing boy.

Jaune:She wouldn’t have offered if she couldn’t help. How’s rent looking?

Weiss:Despite my colossal fuck up on the mission, it’s covered.

Jaune:Hey, what’s important is-

Weiss:Jaune, don’t patronize me. I screwed up, got my leg hurt, got the client hurt, and lost the target. *puts pen down* Thankfully I found another high paying one. It’s a three weeks long and I’m-

Jaune:Actually…I put in a request to take that mission too. Client said he’ll think it over.

Weiss:*turns around* Excuse me? You’re taking my job line ups? You went in the last two missions. It’s my turn to-

Jaune:You need a break.

Weiss:Tsk, not this shit again. I just had a break!

Jaune:Crunching bill numbers is not a break. Weiss, your head isn’t in the game, and that’s fine. After all, your mom…

Weiss: “My mom” nothing we aren’t talking about this. There’s nothing to talk about. She lived drunk and died drunk. Predictable ending.

Jaune:Weiss-

Weiss:Give me space! And cancel your request while you’re at it. You’re in no condition to go on another assignment so quickly.

Jaune:…I’m not letting you go on that mission.

Weiss:Sorry, you’re not letting me? *stands up* I don’t remember needing your approval.

Jaune:That’s not what I-

Weiss:No it was, or else you wouldn’t have applied for the same mission despite our agreement. I made one mistake and now it goes out the window?

Jaune:You’re angry.

Weiss:Of FUCKING course I’m angry! I’m trying to keep these lights on and not burden others while you’re bringing in leftovers and stopping my job!

Jaune:You’re not doing your job! You’re running away from your problems!

Weiss:Oh you’re one to talk! The only reason why you’re here is because moving back in with your folks would be too much to handle.

Jaune:I moved in with you because you needed a roommate! My girlfriend was cutoff and alone and I could help! All I’ve been doing is trying to help!

Weiss:I didn’t ask for your help! I was handling things just fine!

Jaune:You were struggling.

Weiss:AND I’M NOT NOW!? Does it make you feel a little better to say you tried. Can’t help but I want to fix things huh?

Jaune:That’s not fair.

Weiss:Oh now we want to be fair? After intentionally making my job harder? For someone who is “trying to help” it never really works out for you now does it!? Not for me not for P-

She immediately covered her mouth, scared and shocked from the venom that almost slipped past her lips; this carelessness was given back with a stare of contempt that ate at her.

Weiss:I-

Jaune:There was a never a second I thought you were broken, or needed to be fixed. Guess that was my fault. Looks like your father did a number on you after all.

Her blood went cold. Weiss’s cheeks began to burn red as her anger boiled over.

Weiss:And yours never cared to do a swing to begin with.

Jaune:Speaking from experience?

Weiss:Get. Out.

Jaune:….

Weiss:I SAID GET OUT! I DON’T NEED THIS FROM YOU! I DON’T NEED YOU!

Jaune:…Good, cause you don’t have me. Sell my stuff for all I care.

He reaches in his pocket and throws his key at her. Weiss catches on reflex before hearing a thunderous boom as Jaune slams the door on the way out that shakes the room and cause a picture to shatter. The room is deathly silent as Weiss stares at the door.

Weiss:F-FINE! RUN BACK TO YOUR FAMILY!

………..

Not knowing what to do, Weiss simply grabbed her broom to clean up the mess Jaune made. Glass was half hazardly swept aside as she picked up a broken frame holding a photo of her laughing with Jaune, their face covered with cake from their house party with a banner overhead.

“A year of memories and miracles”

Weiss’s hand began to tremble until the picture slipped from her fingers. A giant pit filled her stomach and threatened to gag her as her knees fell to floor and her hands covered a ghastly wail. Finally, her breath was robbed and tears broke through shaking eyes filled with dread over the reality that was flooding in. The miracles were gone, and the memories, now bittersweet.

#rwby #weiss schnee #jaune arc #rwby whiteknight

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ponderingmoonlight · 22 hours ago

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And yet, you're here

Pairing: Geto x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Synopsis: Years after Suguru left, you're still not able to get him off your mind. When he reappears years after his betrayal, the past collides with the present. Unexpected, in a way you didn't even dare to dream about.

Warnings: this isn't proofread 100%, the emotional rollercoaster you deserve, hurt to comfort big time, this is for all my geto girlies who deserve their happy ending

please please please make this go viral thank you

„He’s a threat for the whole population!”

“We need to kill that brat before he kills all non-sorcerers.”

“I can’t believe someone like him was able to do something like…that.”

“So much wasted potential. Why does a special grade sorcerer act this way?”

“I thought he’s a nice boy.”

“So, you’re not one of those nice guys I guess.”

The sun already hung so low in the sky that you were barely able to see his soft features, let alone the surprised look that crept over his face while hearing those words coming from your mouth.

“Are you talking about me or Satoru?”

You let out one of those cute chuckles he adored so much, the kind he heard in his head on repeat even when you were long gone. Gosh, he couldn’t get enough of this. Those lonely nights with only you and a cigarette by his side, the countless hours he spent trying to understand you while it was his mind that slowly but surely fell apart.

“Nope, I’m always talking about you, Suguru.”

“What am I if not a nice guy, then?”

Sure, Satoru Gojo was his one and only best friend, but you were something else entirely: An unspoken bond that lived in the spaces between words, in glances that lingered just a moment too long. You weren’t a lover, not in the conventional sense, but you weren’t just a friend either. You were a mirror to his soul, the keeper of truths he couldn't bear to speak aloud, and the only person who could hold the weight of his silence without it breaking you both.

“You’re... complicated,” you finally replied, the word laced with warmth rather than judgment.

“You’re the kind of person who feels too much but hides it too well. The kind who would burn the world down if it meant saving the people you love. Not everyone understands that, but I do. Or at least I’m convinced I do.”

Suguru’s lips twitched into a faint smile, more melancholic than amused.

“Complicated, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

“And dangerous,” you added lightly, the hint of a smile in your voice.

“But not in the way they think. Not to me.”

His expression softened, the darkness in his eyes easing for just a moment as he stared at you.

“Not to you,” he echoed, as though testing the words on his tongue, letting them sink into the cracks of his fraying soul.

Till this day, that one last conversation both of you had on that lonely bench still haunts him. The way you looked at him back then, as if you’d already knew that you might never see him again, as if you just counted the hours until he goes berserk.

What are you thinking about him now?

Is he still on your mind?

Are you hating him the way Satoru does?

“You’re thinking about her again, don’t you?”

Fuck. He thought about you.

Again.

Suguru lets out a sharp exhale, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh, bitter enough to sting his own ears. How pathetic he has to look to the people surrounding him. When he walked down this path, he knew that he’ll have to do it without you, that he won’t be able to see you again. And yet…

Losing you seems to hurt more than anything else.

“Of course I am,” he admits to his assistant, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

“Not like I can help it. She’s everywhere, even when she’s not. It’s ridiculous.”

There it is again, your face ghosting through his mind. Other than Satoru and Shoko, you never really tried to find him. If you wanted to, you would, right? Maybe you’re too mad at him for all the things he’s done. Or maybe you already forgot about him.

“But it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s gone. Just like everything else.”

For a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the memories, the sound of your laugh, the way your voice softened when you said his name, the weight of your eyes on him as if you could see through all the lies he told himself. He’d burn every memory if he could, let them smolder in the same fire that consumed the rest of his life.

“Besides. She’d hate me now, just like everyone else. Maybe she was just waiting for me to turn into the monster she saw coming.”

“Stop stewing in these thoughts, that doesn’t matter anymore. We’re expecting another bunch of monkeys in half an hour.”

But even as she said it, the words tasted wrong. It shouldn’t matter that he can still feel the warmth of your gaze, your unwavering belief in him, and yet it cuts deeper than any accusation ever could. Suguru shakes his head while straightening his shoulders, eyes locked onto Manami in front of him in order to force you off his mind.

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, as though trying to convince himself.

“It’s too late for that now. So, where’s the monkeys?”

“Why did I know I’d find you here?”

His voice startles you, making you jump slightly. You turn to see none other than Satoru Gojo standing there, hands in his pockets, his white hair catching the fading sunlight. The sunglasses perched on his nose don’t quite hide the sharp edge in his expression he usually wears around you.

“Because I’m always here, I guess,” you reply softly, your tone as tired as the circles under your eyes appear.

“And I told you to stop a long time ago,” Satoru bites back, his voice bitter, cutting.

“The Suguru you knew… he’s gone.”

The weight of his words lands hard, though they’re not new. He’s said them before, with the same venom in his voice, every time you bring up Suguru or the past.

“I know. I’ve always known.”

“Then why do you keep punishing yourself? Dropping out of Jujutsu High when everyone needed you didn’t bring him back. Hiding out here doesn’t change anything, y’know?”

“It wasn’t about bringing him back, Satoru,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intend.

“It was about… letting him go. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he challenges, stepping closer.

“I’ve spent years watching people destroy themselves over things they can’t fix. I know the look in your eyes - you miss him. You always have. But you didn’t even try to stop him when he turned his back on us.”

You flinch, his words hitting a nerve.

“Because it wasn’t my place. I wasn’t like you, Gojo. I wasn’t his best friend. I wasn’t strong enough to drag him back kicking and screaming or to stand in his way. All I could do was… let him live the way he decided to. I thought… maybe if I stayed behind, if I didn’t follow him, he’d understand that I believed in him, that I trust him and his actions, the path he chooses. That I’d be here if he ever wanted to come back.”

Satoru’s shoulders tense, his jaw tightening. He never understood. Until this day, he never wrapped his head around the fact that you didn’t try to stop his best friend back then. You, who had more power over Suguru than himself.

God, how much he hates that disgusting truth until now.

“And look where that got you,” he mutters.

You look away, your hands gripping the edge of the bench for support.

“I never expected to see him again, Satoru. I didn’t think I’d matter enough to him for that.”

The silence between you stretches thin, brittle as glass.

“Do you think he hates me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“For staying behind? For not going after him?”

Gojo doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. You know he blames you, at least a little, for what happened. For not doing more. For leaving everything to him. For allowing Suguru to turn his back on Jujutsu High.

“Suguru hating you? Never. I bet he still thinks about you every damn day”, Satoru mutters under his breath before turning on his heels and leaving you standing in the rain.

Suguru, still thinking about you? You shake your head vehemently, not allowing that absurd thought into your brain. If he would miss you, he’d visit you, right? In all those years, he never lifted a finger in order to find you.

You were right there. In your small apartment, at jujutsu high.

Maybe he forgot about you after all.

“Me? Forgetting you? I’d never be able to do that, (y/n).”

Maybe some promises are meant to be broken.

-a few evenings later-

You’ve drank too much.

You always do when Shoko isn’t with you, when no one’s around to watch you. But even though you emptied a whole bottle of liqueur on your own, you still aren’t able to forget him. Fuck, his face is glued onto your mind like a second skin, never leaves you even though you drink enough to forget your own name.

Will it always feel like this? Will that ache ever go away?

“What are you thinking about, handsome?”

“Something I’ve lost some while ago”, you mumble, absently swirling your glittery cocktail around.

“That’s a bummer.”

You don’t even gift the random stranger next to you a look, the guy who smells like cheap cigarettes so vehemently that you feel like throwing up.

Maybe it’s time to call it a day.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

You spring back onto your feet, the alcohol vibrating through your veins. You were never much of a drinker back then, only shared a cigarette with Suguru from time to time. But this became your only way to numb the pain. At least for a few hours, at least for some time.

The cold air of the night hits your face like a wall. Even though it’s far past midnight, the city buzzes in street light, laughter and cries. And yet, all you’re able to think about is him again. His laugh, his voice, the way he used to look at you when he thought no one else was watching. Is it wrong to long for him? Is it disgusting that you couldn’t care less about the things he’s done those past years, about what he’d become?

You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they cling to you, stubborn and relentless. Why can’t you just stop? Stop longing for something that will never happen, stop running after a person who is long gone? Suguru won’t come back, you won’t just meet him on a random street-

The click of footsteps catches your attention. Heavy, yet elegant footsteps across the still busy street.

At first, you think it’s just another stranger wandering through the city’s darkened streets. But something about the rhythm - steady, purposeful - sets your nerves on edge. Something about this feels familiar.

You glance up, your heart skipping a beat as your gaze meets a pair of familiar dark brown eyes.

Suguru Geto.

The world around you blurs, the sounds of the city fading into silence. It’s him, unmistakably him. His hair is longer than you remember, strands sticking to his face from what looks like rain, or maybe it’s sweat. Blood splatters ruin his clothes and the sharp line of his jaw, painting a stark, gruesome picture paired with those cold orbs. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes… they’re searching, watching your every move.

You should run, or scream, or yell at him – at least something that shows him what he put you through.

Anything.

He’s the same man who left you, who walked away from everything, from you. He, who didn’t even tell you about his true feelings, who didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, who didn’t even ask you to join. All those miserable nights you imagined him sitting next to you on that bench, the bottles of alcohol you’ve drank just to forget his name. He needs to pay for it, needs to know what he did to you by leaving you behind.

But instead, your feet move of their own accord, closing the distance between you in an instant.

Before he can react, you throw your arms around him so, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Suguru freezes, his body stiff against yours. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, as if the sheer force of your presence has left him powerless. You bury your face against his chest, not caring about the blood, the grime, or the hurricane of questions swirling in your mind. All you care about is the fact that he’s here, alive, and solid beneath your touch. You can feel him – not only in your dreams, but for real.

Suguru is here.

He’s alive.

He’s right between your arms.

The scent of him - familiar, though tinged with something darker - fills your senses, dragging you back into a world you thought you’d never touch again. Tears sting your eyes, but you bite them back, unwilling to let them fall.

“Suguru,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Finally, he moves. His arms lift hesitantly, then wrap around you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear any given minute, his grip firm and desperate. His head dips slightly, and for a moment, you think you feel him trembling too.

“What are you doing?”

His voice is rough, low, almost broken.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I just… I missed you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as if trying to memorize every detail.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, his tone a mixture of regret and warning.

“Neither should you,” you counter, your gaze unwavering.

Suguru’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He lifts a hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek as though testing if you’re real.

“You should hate me.”

“Maybe I should,” you reply, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

God, you’re so furious at him. Mad because he ran away, mad because he left you standing in the rain.

Mad because this is actually the first time Suguru Geto hugged you.

“But I don’t. I guess I could never hate you.”

His expression falters, the mask he’s worn for so long cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath. The one you knew, the one you loved in a way you never fully understood. And for the first time since leaving everything behind, he feels that small ray of sunshine taking in his heart again.

“You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve become. I was so sure you’ll hate me like everyone else.”

“I know enough. And I don’t care. You’re still Suguru Geto, aren’t you?”

He exhales sharply, the sound almost like a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. You, not caring about the fact that he ended countless lives out of his own fulfilment? You, a jujutsu sorcerer who always protected those monkeys?

“You’re too good for this,” he bites back, shaking his head.

“Too good for me.”

“Don’t decide that for me,” you snap, surprising even yourself with your suddenly so sharp tone.

“You don’t get to make that choice. You already did when you left without saying goodbye”

The silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken words. You’re right and he knows it. But… Was it really a possibility to take you with him back then? Was there a tiny chance that you…would have joined him?

Slowly, he leans his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as though seeking comfort in your presence. No, he doesn’t want to think this through. Not right now. Not when he feels your heart pound against his body, not when you’re this close to him for the very first time.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper.

“I told myself it was better that way.”

“And yet you’re here,” you point out softly.

“And yet I’m here,” he echoes, his lips curving into a faint, bitter smile.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you. No blood, no curses, no jujutsu, no past or future. Just the weight of the present, fragile and fleeting. And for now, that’s enough.

For now, simply holding the man you thought you’ve lost forever on a random street is more than enough to make you feel whole again.

Tags:

@arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld

@hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut

@mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0

@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife

@coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain

@risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

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@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy @paridoliaaa @cupcaketeddybehr

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star-eyed-angels · 14 hours ago

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The Masked Ballerina

Mafia!Yunho x ballerina!reader

angst, light fluff 6k

TW: mentions of fighting, abuse, violence, swearing, weapons. As usual, please let me know if I missed something.

Please read at your own discretion.

Where Yunho's search for excitement leads him to the Ballet.

AN: Heavily inspired by the Ice On My Teeth MV. In my mind this exists in the same universe as my Mafia!Hongjoong fic. The chess lore goes hard in this one. Enjoy lovelies 🤍

Also in case anyone cares, the song reader dances to is Masquerade Suite: Maskarad at about 1:18 is when Yunho starts tapping and 1:23 is when he sees their face

MASTERLIST

It’s very rare that Yunho goes out alone. Normally he travels with his guards, a new rule put in place after the Wooyoung incident. He understands its another layer of protection in case someone decides to get a little too close. especially if one of their enemies decides to put a hit out on him. Which of course has happened more times than he can count, but his guards don’t let anyone get within talking distance. It's always kind of fun to him. Watching some dumb soldier try to charge at him. Part of Yunho wishes his guards would just let them through. That way he could have a little fun. Just the thought makes his hands twitch. God is he aching for a good fight. But he knows that would never happen. They would never allow it. It’s their sole duty to protect him. One of their eight bosses who are far too precious to lose.

Yunho sighs at the thought. His breath coming out in front of him in the cold night air. He knows it's silly to want to get into a bit of trouble. With the power he holds he should be excited at the people who bow before him. But he can't help but want something more. A change of pace. Like tonight and his new habit of sneaking out once he knows the others are busy or sleeping. It started on a whim, his restlessness driving him over the edge. It was normally pretty bad, but this night he swore if he didn’t do something he would go insane. He found himself creeping down the hallway, waiting for just the right moment when he knew the guards would step away before making a dash to the street. He spent the next few hours wandering the city. The solitude was refreshing, not having anyone hovering over him. While it gave him a little rush the first few weeks , the thrill has already started to fade. His little nights out becoming something too close to a routine.

He’s done his best to spice it up a bit, trying to find different routes. But with legs as long as his, there’s only so much he can do before he’s seen it all. The more he dwells on it, the worse he starts to feel. He tugs the hood of his sweater farther over his head, huffing in annoyance. With his mood slowly souring, he thinks it’s best to run back home. He finds himself turning towards the dark alley. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that he gravitates towards the shadows. He’s always been his skill, hiding in the shadows until he strikes. Of course nowadays he’s more of a boss, giving people his orders. And while it’s nice, can anyone really blame him for missing the action? I mean he’d even be happy to even do a simple hit. Give him a rookie task, hell he’ll take anything at this point. He realizes he sounds a bit like an addict. But God would it kill to have just a bit of excitement in his life?

He turns to walk into the alley. He's so distracted he doesn't pay attention to the figure hiding in the shadows.

“Hold it.” a voice calls out.

He’s pinned swiftly against a wall. A small breath knocked out of him, as he stumbles into it.

Yunho looks down to see a gun pointed at his chest. He’s so caught off guard it takes him a second to register what he’s looking at. His eyes trail up the arm holding the gun, finding a masked figure in front of him. At Least a head shorter than him and clearly in way over their head.

He looks up at the sky, a baffled smile finding its way onto his face.

This isn’t what I meant.

If Yunho didn’t know any better he’d think he’s in a comedy movie. One where he’s the bud of all the jokes.

“I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you,”

Ah yes the tiny thief.

Yunho looks back down, the person digging the gun into his chest. He only blinks in response.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” they snap, “Just give me your money and no one has to get hurt.”

Yunho grabs the hand holding the gun, nudging it out of the way.

“I don’t have any money. Now if you’ll excuse me-” he starts to say, but is swiftly cut off.

“What? Are you stupid, I said-”

Yunho rolls his eyes, any other night he’d probably entertain the idea of a brawl. But tonight he’s tired and just wants to be back home. This person clearly either doesn’t know what they’re getting themselves into. He supposes it’s the plain clothes he chose to wear out that make him somewhat unrecognizable. That and the fact that he doesn’t have his usual entourage hanging around him.

Before they can get another word out he grips their arm, raising the gun up to the sky. He tugs the thief towards him, forcing them to stumble into his chest. They gasp in shock, grip loosening on the gun with the movement. Yunho pulls it away with ease, disarming it and dropping the remaining bullet in a single breath.

“What the fuck,” the masked figure says, clearly bewildered.

They look up, staring wide eyed up at him. It’s only then that Yunho takes notice of their eyes. One a normal color. And the other a stark contrast. Gray in color, mirroring the dark clouds above the pair. The snow continues to fall around the two, silence filling the air. It's in this brief moment that he’s able to really look at them. In the small window of the ski mask he sees the bruises around their eye, the skin clearly swollen and discolored with a black eye. It's easy enough to guess that a person must have given it to them, he’s seen enough beatings to know. As bad as he feels, he doesn’t have the energy for this.

“Look. It’s been a long day. I’m tired,” he starts softly.

Yunho calmly lowers their arm, dropping the gun into their open palm. He takes a step backwards, de-escalating the situation.

“I’m just trying to go home,”

The thief looks down at the gun in their hand briefly. They glance back up at him, eyes now teary.

Yunho gives them a tight lipped smile, gently letting them go. He walks past them, the thief, turns only able to watch in shocked silence. Yunho only makes it a few steps away before he feels the need to stop. He can’t explain it, but there’s a nagging tug he feels in his mind.

He turns to face the thief, who stands there silently, still watching him. They somehow look smaller like this, vulnerable, defeated. He thinks back to the bruising he saw underneath the mask. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know something is more is going on than just a petty crime.

“For what it’s worth, I hope whatever it is you’re going through gets better,” he says sincerely.

Despite the actions of the masked figure, he understands what it’s like. Desperation is an old friend of his. A friend that led him down an uncertain path, that thankfully ended in his favor. But he knows it isn't that way for everyone. He gives them one last smile, hoping it conveys more than what his words would.

“Have a good night”.��

With that he turns around continuing to walk down the alley. The thief continues to watch him go, watching him disappear into the cold night.

Yunho’s walks don’t last another week. He’d been able to squeeze in two more days of walking before he’d given up. Far too bored. The short-lived adventure was nice while it lasted. But again he finds himself looking for something else, something outside of his normal routine.

That's how he finds himself squished into a small seat, front row to a ballet Jongho had been begging to see. Something very common for their household. He’d only tagged along because Seonghwa had to miss it, a last minute meeting with Hongjoong and another group.

And while this isn’t his usual thing, he will admit the show is quite good. To his right, San is clearly not as impressed, He’s only become more restless as the first hour passed by. Now practically squirming in his seat. He leans forward in his seat, glancing around at the others.

“Do we have to sit through this whole thing?” San asks, doing a poor job at whispering.

“Shhh,” Jongho says from his left side.

“Is it at least almost over?” he prods.

“Shhh!” Jongho shushes, louder than the first time.

“But it's boring,” he says, having given up on whispering all together.

Jongho leans forward in his own seat, shooting daggers at San.

“It’s not boring, you just don’t know how to appreciate art,” he snaps. He gives one last glare before turning his attention back to the stage. Mingi snickers from his seat on San’s right.

San pouts, sulking back into his seat. Yunho can’t help but smile at the exchange. He nudges his shoulder, leaning closer to him.

“Lighten up, it’s not that bad. I’m sure you can find some part of it to enjoy,” Yunho whispers. Mingi grins leaning over as well.

“The dancers are quite pretty," he says, nodding towards the stage.

Yunho rolls his eyes as San perks up at the mention of the dancers. It’s like he’s just noticed their existence after the past hour.

“Not what I meant, but to each their own I guess,” he chuckles quietly.

San pays him no mind. Now hyper focused on the performance, or performers, in front of him.

Yunho watches the dancers, enjoying how easily their movements flow with the music. He recalls the dream his teenage self had of dancing. He was quite good at it too. He even had a scholarship waiting for him, hell he’d all been packing to leave for school. But alas life doesn’t turn out the way it does in movies, now does it?

A series of hiccups and stumbling led him to where he is now. One eighth of the biggest family in the country. A rook in a set so carefully crafted, that nothing could stand in its way. Never in his life did he think he’d end up here. But when he glances on either side of him, seeing his brothers makes him think that there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Despite the performance in front of him, he finds his mind wandering, still longing for something new. Anything really. He knows he sounds ungrateful, bratty even. But goddamn would it be nice for a sliver of excitement.

Fate is funny with her timing as per usual. Clearly having enough of Yunho’s whining she’s intending to smack Yunho right in the face with his desires.

At that moment the dancers step forward right to the edge of the stage. Bodies dipping into a bow with the sway of the music. The costumes glint with the stage lights, drawing Yunho’s attention back to the present.

Yunho ignores the low whistles undoubtedly from San and MIngi. He does his best to refocus on the performance. He taps his fingers along to the music, counting the beats of the dance in his head.

It truly is comical the way the way the music builds, unknowingly leading Yunho to his fate.

The dancers look up at the next beat and Yunho comes face to face with the person in front of him. A ballerina with an eye color that wouldn’t shock anyone, if it weren’t for the other resembling dark storm clouds in the sky. A set of eyes that he’s only seen once, but he could never forget. Yunho feels his heart skip a beat, a small smile tugging at his lips at the memory.

Now this is exciting.

Yunho also takes notice that the bruising is nowhere in sight. Aside for some light swelling, it’s practically invisible. He presumes it’s whatever makeup and other styling that’s required for the show. The dancer takes no notice of Yunho, clearly engulfed in the performance. In three beats the dancer is off, prancing to the other end of the stage. Yunho’s eyes now glued to them. A moth to a flame, a spark.

Yunho continues to watch, taking notice of the way they glide. As if they were a wind up toy, made only to dance across the stage. The costume only adds to the image. While Yunho knows each costume is made to fit like a glove for every performer, this one is different. For this ballerina it doesn’t appear to be made, but to simply be a part of them. Everything about the way they bring the performance to life looks so effortless. This clearly suits them, in his opinion.

The performance ends in a flourish, the audience erupting into a deafening applause. The dancers gather on stage, taking their final bows. Yunho glances on either side of him. Jongho no doubt will stop the conductor and offer his appreciation. San and MIngi both speak in hushed whispers, already planning their approach with whatever dancer that's caught their eye. But Yunho only has eyes for one dancer. He easily slips away from the others, off to meet his masked ballerina.

“That bastard, that’s what he did to you?” Minji asks, turning your face in her hands gently.

When you’d removed your makeup she’d all but elbowed her way through the others leaving for the night. She’d all but dragged you into her own dressing room, a murderous look in her eye as she scanned your face. After a bit of fussing, you reluctantly tell her about your interaction with your director. How after a bit of back and forth he’d swung his fist, leaving you with a swollen eye. if looks could kill, you’d swear Mr.Hak would be dead if he were in the room with the way Minji glares. You’d done your best to hide it from her, knowing she’d react this way.

You grab her hands, pulling them away from you.

“I’ll be fine, it’s nothing a little makeup can’t fix,” you say calmly.

She makes a face immediately, a lecture forming on the tip of her tongue.

“I know what you’re going to say. But you know I can’t leave. Not yet at least.

“I know. But that doesn’t mean you let him do this to you either y/n,” she says bitterly.

“It was my fault, I kept pushing it and-” you don’t get to finish, Minji cutting you off.

“Like hell it was! I don’t give a fuck how long he’s been in charge, Hak has no right to be doing this to anyone,” she fumed, face growing red with each word.

"Minji. I promise I’m okay,” You say soothingly. She sighs, taking a few calming breaths.

“At Least let me give you something. I don’t have much, but hopefully the money will help you out,” she says, starting to walk towards her bag. You grimace, the thought of taking from her when she’s struggling just as much as you makes you feel sick.

“You will do no such thing,” you say. You walk over to her, stopping her from looking through it.

“But-”

“I’ll find a way to make it work. You know I always do,” you say, giving her a small smile. Minji contemplates, before giving in.

“Fine, but please tell me if you need help. And I don’t care who he thinks he is, you say the word and I’ll kick his ass myself,” She says.

That gets you to laugh, rolling your eyes.

When you first started, you'd learned rather quickly that Minji was hot-headed. Fierce in a way that you weren’t. You think perhaps that is why she befriended you so quickly, sensing you’d need a backbone of a friend. Minji was like an older sister. Someone who wanted the best for you, even if her way of showing it could be a little over the top. But you loved her regardless.

“Thank you Minji, really,” you say, pulling her into a hug. She hugs you back, holding you close.

“Okay, well I’m heading out hun,” she says, letting you go. She slings her bag over her shoulder.

“Get home safe,” you say, opening the door for her. She flips the lights off, leading you back out into the hallway.

“You too. Don't stay here too long,” she says, giving you a pointed look.

“I won't,” you say.

You walk her until you reach the door to your dressing room. She stops, turning to give you one final hug. With one last squeeze, you let her go. She gives you a final wave, before turning and leaving.

When she’s out of sight, you sigh, shoulders dropping. You’re quiet as you open the door to your dressing room. You flick on one of the smaller switches, the lights of your vanity illuminating the room.

You walk over, dropping yourself into the seat unceremoniously. You glance at yourself in the mirror, looking over the black eye for what feels like the hundredth time. The memory of that night, playing in your head like a loop. When you’d first graduated from your arts program you’d been so excited to start your career. It had been hell to make it through. Your heterochromia made it a nightmare to be a dancer. Every audition and casting left you feeling defeated. Each director or choreographer turning you away due to your condition. You’d had to claw your way to performing on a stage, fighting tooth and nail to just be given a chance. It was exhausting but it was worth it. Or at least you thought it was.

Now as you stare at yourself in the mirror, the version that stares back at you is almost unrecognizable. How could you have ended up here? This couldn’t possibly be what life had in store for you, could it? Suffering for the sake of doing what you love? You could already see the way this vicious cycle was eating away at you. Cracking your soul into pieces bit by bit. You needed to get out. But only a miracle could save you at this point.

You shake your head, doing your best to shake the thoughts with it. You lean down, tugging the shoes off your feet, and the tights along with them. You groan as you sit back up, muscles still sore from the performance. With a small grunt, you take the last bit of your outfit off, throwing the top to one of the chairs across the room. This late in the night you know you’re one of the only people left in the building, leaving no reason for you to rush to get dressed. You pull your robe down from the corner of the vanity, sliding it onto your shoulders.

“That was a lovely performance,” a voice calls out, making you jump out of your skin.

You whip around clutching your robe closed as tightly as possible.

A figure emerges from the shadows slowly, coming to stand a few feet in front of you.

In the dimly lit room, you can make out the features of a man. He easily towers over you, dressed in all black like a shadow come to life.

You recognize him as one of the men you tried to rob a few nights back. It takes you a second, with his appearance being a stark contrast to the man who stumbled upon you in the alleyway. Here he looks put together, black suit, hair pushed back, and expensive watch gleaming on his wrist. It's then you take notice of the insignia on his coat. The A against his heart is simple. A circle surrounding it, stitched in a darker shade of black. But the sight still makes your blood run cold.

Holy shit, you’d tried to rob a member of Ateez, the most powerful family in the country. As if your luck couldn’t get any worse. Part of you wants to laugh at the entire situation, but the fear you feel keeps you rooted in place, scrambling for any escape.

“I didn’t think ballerinas were the type for armed robbery,” he hums thoughtfully.

You subtly shift your hand to the side of your chair, fingers trembling as you reach under the armrest.

“This is a private dressing room, you need to leave,” you say, doing your best to appear calm.

The man hums, reaching into his pocket. He pulls his hand out, holding it in front of him.

“Looking for this?” he asks.

Your heart sinks at the sight of your knife in his hand. He twirls it with ease, flicking it open to insect the blade. You press your hands into your thighs, swallowing nervously.

“Please, I’m sorry. I don’t want any trouble,” your voice trembles as you stare up at him. He turns his attention back to you, taking in your fearful demeanor.

He smiles, making a show of closing the knife slowly. He carefully sets the knife down on the shelf beside him, being slow in his movements. You eye it suspiciously, glancing between him and the knife.

“Don’t worry I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk,” he says calmly.

You nod slowly, still eyeing him warily. He nods back, still keeping his distance.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks.

Of course you know. Everyone in the country knows his name along with the other seven. The rook who stands in front of you is not to be messed with.

“Jeong Yunho,” you answer.

The way you say his name sends a bit of a thrill through him. He likes the ways it rolls off your lips.

“Hmm so you do know my name,” he says tilting his head to the side.

You can only give him a small nod. He begins to walk around the room examining the interior as he goes. You can’t help but keep your eyes trained on him. While he promised not to hurt you, you’d be stupid not to be on guard.

“Did you know who I was the other night?” he prods.

“No,” you answer quickly. You were desperate, but not desperate enough to mess with him. You curse your past self for being so oblivious. He chuckles, the sounds sending a shiver down your spine.

“It takes guts to step to a man twice your size like that,” he says, recalling your stupidity. He turns his sharp gaze towards you, further pinning you to your spot.

“But considering I can see the way you're shaking, I think there’s something else,” he says.

“What were you looking for when you came at me?”

“Nothing, I- I wasn’t looking for anything I swear,” you say a little too quickly.

Yunho glances at your swollen eye, letting out a sigh. He knows you’re lying, but he can’t blame you. There was no doubt he was a man to be feared, but right now he needed you to trust him.

“Look. I can tell you’re smart. So I know you wouldn’t have just decided to mug a stranger for fun,” he says, coming to stand in front of you once again.

“So what is it that you need, sweetheart?” He says softly.

You contemplate answering him. If he were here to hurt you, he would have done it already. He clearly wasn’t the type of man to waste his time. Despite your better judgement you choose to trust him.

“Money. I needed money,” you say quietly.

He tilts his head thoughtfully. The movement kind of reminds you of a puppy. If you weren’t partly terrified, you’d think it looks kinda cute in a way.

“You don't make enough, dancing?” he asks curiously.

“No, not really,” you say, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you.

“And the black eye, is that part of it?”

You freeze, looking at him in fear. Instinctively you wrap your arms around the edges of your robe, tucking it tightly against you. He notices the way you curl in on yourself. His gaze softens, offering you a sympathetic smile.

“I’m not here to judge you,” he says softly.

“They’re from the director,” you confess, quietly. He nods in understanding. He hesitates clearly wanting to say more. After a moment he clears his throat.

“May I?” he asks, nodding towards your face.

You think for a moment, before giving him a small nod.

He’s careful as he steps forward, doing his best not to startle you. He leans down, one hand coming to lean against the back of your chair. You feel goosebumps rise against your skin, as he lowers himself to be eye level with you. His other grabs your face gently, tilting your face from one side to the other. He’s delicate with the way he handles you. Strong hand gentle as he holds your chin with his fingers.

“He did this to you?” He asks finally, warm voice fanning across your face.

“Yes,” you answer, scared to speak too loudly. You feel your skin grow warm the longer he scans over your face. His cologne invades your sense with the proximity, it feels intoxicating in a way you can’t describe.

His face hardens, a look of anger flashing across his features. It scares you for a moment. But something about the look makes you want to soothe him.

“I asked for more after our last performance. He usually never aims for the face. I just wouldn’t drop it,” you explain, thinking back to a few nights ago.

Yunho is quiet, eyes scanning over the marks carefully. A fierce need to protect you burning inside him. He can’t explain it, but there’s something drawing him to you.There’s something about you he just can’t shake. A pull so strong, he doesn’t think he could fight it if he tried. Though he doesn’t think he’d want to anyways. He also takes the time to really look at you, finding you even more attractive up close. He’s already seen your eyes, but seeing them up close and personal, he can’t help but find them more alluring. After another moment of admiring you, he lets your face go, still keeping his proximity.

“Is it just you? Or are there others?” he asks.

“A few. Most of them quit before the first season is up. But some of us can’t,” you answer.

He only nods, clearly thinking something over. The gears turn in his head quickly, looking for a solution to your problems. After a moment, you see a twinkle appear in his eye. A mischievous twinkle that excites you, if you're honest with yourself.

“What’s your name?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Y/n,” you say softly.

“Y/n”, he repeats.

The way your name drips from his lips, sends a jolt through you.

“Will you let me help you, Sweetheart?” he asks.

You don’t know what it is about him, but you find yourself trusting him. How crazy it is to trust a man like him. He could hurt you, with a snap of his fingers you’d be destroyed in an instant. But he could also be your miracle. You suppose you have nothing more to lose at this point.

You give him another nod, this one determined.

“Good,”

“Come with me,” he says, offering his hand out to you.

Going against every rational part of your brain, you take it. His hand is warm in yours. Something about it feels right, his larger hand holding yours ever so gently. Yunho thinks the same as he looks down at you. He’s so used to holding weapons, things that cause pain. But your hand fits so perfectly in his. Like it’s natural, like it was made to be there. He gently pulls you up from your seat, ready to take his new found excitement into action.

“Come in,” a voice barks out from the door in front of you.

You grimace, glancing at the men behind you. Yunho stands with three of the other members of Ateez, who you were introduced to. After getting dressed, Yunho led you to the others, who all looked at you with curious gazes. From there he had explained his crazy plan to all of you. Or at least you thought it was crazy. The other three didn’t even bat an eye. Jongho even looked excited, beaming at the plan laid before him.

Yunho looks down at you as you give him a small nod to enter. You open the door, walking inside. The other three follow you in. Mr Hak, your company director doesn’t bother looking up. He continues going through the work in front of him, only pausing to take another drag of his cigarette. The door clicks shut behind the last member.

“Who is it?” he barks out again.

“It’s y/n, sir,” you say, eyeing the men behind you again.

Your boss scoffs, rolling his eyes at the sound of your voice.

“This shit again. Look I already told you, you work for me got that? Everything you make comes to me. I own you. Now get out of my office before I-” he starts, voice booming in the small office.

He finally looks up, mid rant, doing a double take at the scene before him. His face goes pale at the sight of you and the four men that tower behind you. You don’t blame him. The sight of them had you shaking where you stood.

“Gentlemen, what a surprise. To-” he pauses, having enough sense to extinguish the cigarette.

He stumbles out of his chair, hastily coming to the front of his desk. He clears his throat as he does it, clumsily dropping into a deep bow.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asks nervously.

They take over easily, polite smiles on their faces.

“Mr Hak, is it?” Yunho starts, eyeing the man before him.

“We just wanted to stop by. And bring our praises for the show,” he says adding a touch of sweetness to his voice.

“Yes, a spectacular performance indeed,” Jongho says, clapping his hands together.

“Thank you, we do our best,” Mr Hak says, sounding far too prideful. The response makes you roll your eyes.

Jongho hums, eyes sharp as he watches Mr. Hak.

“Of course. And that’s why we’re glad to be buying it off of you,” he says casually.

You do your best to hide the smug grin at the way your boss reacts.

“Buying?” he asks, clearly confused.

“Yes the theater, the shows, the performers. All of it.

“While I appreciate the offer, it's not for sale,” he chuckles.

“Nonsense,” San says, stepping forward.

He stalks towards Mr. Hak’s desk. Confidence leaking through each of his strides.

“I think you’ll find we’ve arranged a rather gracious deal, isn’t that right Mingi?” he states, glancing over at the taller member. Mingi hums in agreement, coming to stand next to San. Similar to Yunho, he towers over everyone with ease. The closer he gets, the more Mr. Hak shrinks in his spot. With the four in front of him he’s easily surrounded. Like an animal cornered.

“We have, but if you feel as though it needs some rearranging we could always have Hongjoong Hyung stop by. I’m sure he can squeeze in a few moments with his busy schedule,” his voice calm, but the implication clear.

You swear you see your boss’ heart stop as his eyes go wide. He lets out a nervous laugh, quickly waving his hands in front of him.

“That won’t be necessary,” he says quickly.

Smart choice, you think to yourself. Even an asshole like him wouldn’t be stupid enough to go against what the men behind you ask. Especially Kim Hongjoong of all people. There was no dealing with Kim Hongjoong. You’d heard the stories of those he visited, none had ever lived to tell of their exchange. That thought sends a shiver of fear through you.

“Good, then we have a deal,” Jongho says, clearly ending the conversation.

“Our men will escort you out,” he says, snapping his fingers. The door opens once again. Two guards walk in calmly, looking to the trio for orders.

“See to it that Mr. Hak collects all his belongings,” San orders, no longer smiling.

“He should have no need to return to this building after tonight,” Yunho adds, throwing a pointed look at your ex-boss.

The guards nod, moving towards your Mr.Hak quickly. With orders in place, the others begin to file out of the room.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Jongho calls out over his shoulder, continuing to walk out without a second glance.

Yunho sets his hand on your shoulder, nodding towards the door. You follow him and the others out of the room. You glance back to see Mr. Hak warily eyeing the guards. You continue watching until the door to the office closes behind you.

The members continue walking down out into the foyer of the theater, .leading you outside

“So you’re really buying the theater?,” you ask, breaking the silence.

Jongho shugs, glancing up at the bright sign above the building. He has a soft glance in his eye as he eyes the theater appreciatively.

“I practically come here every other week, it was bound to happen eventually,” he says, waving his hand dismissively.

“Will you close it?,” you ask warily.

“Of course not,” he chuckles.

“And the other performers?,” you probe, Minji crossing your mind along with all the others,

“They’re jobs are safe, they will have the choice to stay or seek employment elsewhere. But no one will be forced to leave, you have our word,” Yunho says, soothing your worries.

You nod, letting out a shaky exhale. For the first time in months things were looking up for you. You were free of Mr. Hak, and you could continue to do what you love without being miserable.

“I can’t possibly thank you enough,” you say, emotion creeping into your voice.

You bow to them, taking a moment to wipe at the tears building in your eyes. The four smile at you, being unable to find you anything but adorable.

“We're not as scary as we look,” San says, throwing his arm around you in a friendly manner. “Well except maybe Mingi,” he says, glancing at the taller man. Mingi glares, reaching over to swat at him. San ducks out of the way, moving between Yunho and Jongho.

The action causes you to giggle. Maybe they were right about not being as scary as they look. Something about their presence felt comforting. Part of you wished you could get to know them a little more.

“So I guess this is goodbye then?” you ask somewhat disappointed.

“Well we do own the theater now, so we’ll be seeing you around,” Yunho says a little too quickly. You don’t notice the way his ears grow red at his mini outburst. The others do. Each of them giving each other knowing glances as they slowly make their way further down the street. Yunho mentally facepalms, knowing he’s never going to hear the end of this later. The next moment makes it worth it however.

You laugh, the twinkling sound making Yunho’s heart race in his chest. God was he screwed.

“I suppose that’s true,” you hum in agreement, a knowing look in your eyes. Something about seeing the tall man bush had the butterflies fluttering even harder in your stomach.

“So I’ll see you around?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“I look forward to it,” you say, smiling brightly. With that you turn and walk down the street. You offer goodbyes to the others, before making your way across the street, an extra skip in your step. Yunho watches you go, content to watch you leave. Something telling him the adrenaline he feels is here to stay.

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