#but on the other hand it's not like there can't be more than one different versions of the same trope!

[ghouljams]

I feel like each of the 141 has a difference preference when dicking down their mate.

Kyle prefers to stay human, it lets him really get a good show while fucking into the pretty thing he managed to take home. Seeing how your skin contrasts to his softly colored sheets is more reassuring to him that you're his than any scenting could be. Also, he's a lighter sleeper as a human, letting him keep you in his bed if you try to slip out while he's asleep.

Price likes the little hint of other, as a sign of his age and experience. He's the only one of the 141 who can shift only a few senses instead of having to start properly shifting. Let's him memorize your scent while fucking you, all so he can let you have the illusion of choice by letting you go and "finding" you again later. Eventually, he'll make it seem like a bit of fate and offer you out on a date.

Ghost partially shifts, and that's the most he can hold himself back when it comes to you. Claws and teeth come out, drool dripping from his maw to your skin. He needs to taste you, to make sure you taste the same. Taste like his.

Soap is a dog and he will fuck you in full transformation because of it. This man needs you on the most primal level, so why not just fuck you at his most primal. It also gives him a better nose to smell your sweat soaked skin, a longer tongue to shove into you, better hearing to catch each and every whimper you make. He needs to consume you and the best way to do that is with his wolf.

At least, that's my thought.

As usual how does it feel to be so fucking right?

Gaz absolutely prefers fucking you as a human, it feels too much like taking advantage of you when he has his semi-transformed strength and the idea of fucking you fully wolf makes him itch a little. He's so worried about damaging you with his claws and fangs :( his poor human mate, he doesn't want to ruin you. We'll, not like that at least. That won't stop him from knotting you, that's a luxury he can't afford not to indulge in. He loves the way you squirm and complain about the stretch, shushing you with soft coos, promising it'll be over soon, even when he knows it'll be a good 20 minutes at least.

Price is old hat at transformations and after years of growing and shrinking it's worn on his joints, if he doesn't have to transform he won't. He'll indulge in the sensed his wolf-form lends him, pressing his nose to your pulse and getting himself drunk on your scent. His eyes are always dark, animalistic, when he drags his flat tongue against your sex, and you worry that the teeth he's hiding might bite too hard, but he hasn't hurt you yet. And the only scare he gives you is when he presses his hand against your come filled stomach talking about pups.

Ghost simply lacks self control around you. The man has the control of a saint, but once he gets drunk on the scent of your arousal it's over for him. He grips you with heavy clawed hands, his skin splitting with fur and his nose starting to lengthen, and it scares you a little. His breathing is uneven, but his hips don't stop moving even when his bones start to break and his joints begin to pop. His drool dripping onto you is the only indication you get before he's sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You'll have to take wolfsbane in the morning if you don't want to end up going through the same pain.

Soap though... Soap fucks you like a dog, literally. He'll hunt you down on a full moon and hold you down with big paws, murmuring canned tones from his open maw about how he can't stop himself. He's all instinct, all panting and howling as he mounts you and ruts his cock against your sex, uncaring what hole he fucks himself into as long as it's yours. He'll lay directly on top of you once he's knotted you too, licking your face in apology but you know he doesn't mean it because he keeps asking for another round.

[poguehearted77]

Hi!! I've watched the scene where Sarah is starving and Rafe is pacing around and knowing he has cash in his pocket and doesn't care that his sister is starving and pregnant. I can't help but imagine it if it was reader, and they hooked up once twice or however you see fit, and she's pregnant with his baby.

Would it be any different? Could you write something about that? Take the idea and run with it because im bad at articulating 🤣

Oh yeah, Rafe is a class-A asshole, but he might show just a little remorse if the baby is his.

Love the requests, keep sending em' in!!

The Moroccan sun was beating down on the group relentlessly, sweating you out and drying you up with the shine of its bright light. The only reason your sweat wasn't dripping off you was because it was quickly soaked up into the modest fabrics around your head.

You'd been travelling tirelessly for the last few days, dangerously too, if you might add. The boat nearly capsized multiple times just trying to make it to Morocco. As if the boat ride wasn't abhorrent enough with your seasickness....and morning sickness...

The constant smell of saltwater and the rocking of the ship had amplified the awful experience and you would spend the first hour in the bathroom regurgitating your insides every morning. It was not fun.

None of the pogues know you're pregnant. Although, Cleo was on to you. One pregnancy was more than enough for the group to worry about. You figured this was something you'd keep to yourself despite the fact the father is currently trekking with you through the hot sands.

The day was only getting hotter. You're thirsty, your lungs hurt and it felt like your own organs were weighing you down. You naturally began to fall behind the group, little by little until the gap was hard to ignore.

"Come on, Y/n. We're not far from the city, just a few more miles." Pope encouraged but it triggered a laboured breath. You're exhausted. A small smile crept on your lips when you noticed John B holding Sarah's hand the whole time, never letting her out of his sight.

For what feels like the eighth time, Rafe looks over his shoulder, more annoyed than ever. "Jeez, would you hurry it up?" You scoff, mustering up enough energy to kick up some sand at his legs. "Nice. Real mature, Y/n." His sarcasm rolls off his tongue and you ignore him as you walk past him.

Once you finally made it into the city, you all needed something to eat. Sarah wasn't feeling so great and neither were you. Babies are nothing but greedy entities consuming all the nutrients you need.

You leaned against the cool rock wall, watching the others run off to help themselves to a five-finger discount. With your eyes closed, you tried to distract yourself from the ache in your abdomen. Not sure if it was the baby or your hunger, possibly a mix of both.

Without even realizing it, you let a hand rest lightly over your stomach. It was still early, you weren't showing and you thank god.

"We're wasting time!" You hear Rafe yell, it doesn't even faze you. He's somewhere near you when he mumbles to himself, "Sitting around on the streets when we should be going after Groff, unbelievable."

What was supposed to be a quick glance your way turns into an elongated stare. His eyes raked over your posture, your shut eyes, brows crunched in distress. He slowly looks down at the placement of your hand.

"Y/n." He says, tugging you into a corner out of sight from the others and you swat him. He shockingly accepts the reprimands and backs off, taking a step back. "What do you want, Rafe?" Your arms cross, waiting for him to say something.

"Is it mine?" Your arms fall slowly, caught, but you deny it. "I don't know what you're talking about." Hardly able to take two steps away before he's barricading you in the corner with his body.

"Don't bullshit me, Y/n. The baby. Is it mine?" You chew on your lower lip, avoiding his chilling gaze. Apparently, that was enough confirmation. "How long have you known?" He takes on a defensive stance.

How the hell were you supposed to know the answer to that? The last week alone has blurred together in memories of rough waters and dry deserts.

All you knew was it happened sometime between the various times you and Rafe swore it would be the last time you fooled around. Unsure if it was the time on his yacht, in the back of his truck or one of the dozen times you somehow ended up in his bed when you swore you were only in figure eight for a 'walk'.

The group had no idea the two of you had been involved with each other aside from the occasionally tense argument, but anyone could admit the two of you can't seem to stay away from one another.

"I dunno, a month maybe?" He pressed both hands to his forehead, fingers spread wide, and slowly dragged them down, smearing the tension all the way to his chin.

"Let's go." His grip on your hand forces you to follow his long strides between the bustling kiosks until you land inside a Delhi. You're too stuck inside your own mind to process what was happening until you watched Rafe lift the bottom of his shirt, revealing a fanny pack with a considerable amount of money.

"Of course. Of course, you had money this whole time! Of course, you let the others go stealing--!" He hushes you as the owner flashes you a look of concern, "Listen, I'm not the one who told those pogues to go looting. I've got money for more important shit than their sad jewel hunt." He explains, paying for the items with a small nod of gratitude towards the man.

Turning to you, he placed a sandwich in one hand, and a cool bottle of water in the other. "This," He starts, his palm gently resting against your stomach. For the first time in a long time, his brows relax and his gaze softens when he looks at you. "This is more important."

[dangermousie]

I was chatting about this with a mutual and it made me want to expand this because I've been thinking about this for a bit on and off.

I think the disconnect/arguments between people who watch/read books/shows/movies etc, label things as green flag/red flag and complain when there are "problematic" characters or "dynamics" - both in terms of the narratives and people who enjoy these narratives being targets and people who like me love some intense/fucked up/weird stuff is because these two groups of people approach fiction in two fundamentally different and incompatible ways.

The former view it as a sort of aspirational content or self-insert - they want to watch/read about people/lives/situations they would enjoy being in/with in real life. It's sort of a self-insert wish fulfillment, the way other people watch youtube channels about traveling the world or cooking or home decorating - you imagine yourself in this.

And I think this is where the disconnect comes in - because a decent chunk of them assume everyone else uses fiction for the same reason so if you enjoy e.g., watching a dysfunctional relationship or a bad dude/lady or some world set up that is nuts it's because you think this is all great in real world and that you want to be (or be with) with a problematic partner/in problematic situation and you think it's morally worthwhile.

To that former "aspirational" type of fiction consumer, fiction taste = morality.

But the disconnect is that for that latter "we like fucked up/dark/problematic/intense/whatever" group it's not really about aspiration or self-insert. People didn't love Hannibal because they secretly long to run off and cook humans in a stew. The fans of 2ha don't really want to kidnap their hot teacher and keep them as a sex slave in a palace. Harem dramas aren't popular because women are dying to poison and frame others to get to sleep with a fat old powerful megalomaniac. Most of consumers of mafia romances don't really think it's a great idea in real life to be taken against your will by a hot killer with abs who can't control himself around you and is great at forcing you into orgasms against your will.

That latter group (among which I find myself) likes all that stuff precisely because it's nothing they have or want to have in real life. It's a safe way to explore fantasies that would not be great in real life (I assure you most people who have noncon fantasies don't want to be raped in real life; also in real life no most people don't want to bang a buff but super murdery villain; fiction is a safe place in a way) but also to explore situations and interactions and characters you would never want to in real life from the safety of the page/screen. To use a very easy example - think of the large audience of action movies. I am pretty sure most fans of action franchises don't want to be in car crashes/insane chases/explosions/etc. Any more than roller coaster enthusiasts want to actually be thrown upside down for real or horror movie fans want to either chase someone with an axe or be chased with one. I myself love really intense situations in fiction, ones that push characters to their limits and sometimes beyond, but I cannot imagine anything less pleasant to go through in real life.

Unlike with the self-insert group, this is actually the very opposite. It's like a game of what-if, a glimpse into an alien world fascinating precisely because of its difference with my life. An exploration of aspects of life/relationships that one could never safely or happily do in one's life but are interesting at a safe fictional remove.

This is getting repetitive so I am going to stop but I really do wish more people would understand that enjoying X in fiction does not mean enjoying X in real life (or approving of X in general.) I mean, I love period epics but you'd pry antibiotics and rule of law out of my cold dead hands.

The moral panic over fiction reminds me both the old "video games make you into killers" panic of a few decades ago and the much older belief that reading novels would wreck morals of society especially by those weak women since the novels' (lack of) morality would warp them. Most people have brains and use them and can distinguish between fiction and reality. I wish people would accept that.

P.S. A corollary is conflation of morality/quality/enjoyment. By that I mean I wish more people would accept that moral message, quality, and enjoyment of work are all three separate things. You don't need to prove that some fictional piece is immoral and/or badly made to justify you not enjoying it. It can be well done and just not for you. And conversely, you do not need to prove a work having societal value or being high quality to justify enjoying it. It's fiction. Just enjoy it or don't.

[pankowperfection]

Good Intentions

reposting because Tumblr doesn't like the old link

GIF by normatural

Summary: JJ keeps watch over you at a party, but decides he can't stay away anymore

Warnings: smut, mentions of drinking, mentions of drug use, oral (fem receiving), 18+

Being John B's younger sister meant inheriting the other pogues as family, regardless of whether you wanted them or not. They were basically siblings you'd never asked for, so while everyone was polite when you were all together, you weren't particularly close with any of them. Unfortunately, John B always dragged you out with them so you weren't just sitting at home alone and tonight that had meant going to a kook party on Figure 8, the very last place you wanted to be.

You had stressed about what to wear, in the end opting for a pair of ripped jeans and a lacy black tank top that showed a little bit of under boob. Strappy sandals on your feet you headed to the kitchen, finding JJ and John B gathering beer to take to the party. "Are you guys almost ready?" JJ turned around at the sound of your voice, looking you over head to toe. You missed the way his eyes darkened at the sight of your exposed breasts, how he swallowed thickly before looking away. "Yes y/n, chill. Just gathering supplies. Let's go." You follow the group outside, piling into the Twinkie and praying the night goes smoothly.

Of course as soon as you arrived at the party, everyone split off into different directions, leaving you alone. John B had gone to search for Sarah, Kie and Pope settling into a deep conversation about environmental changes needed to protect the beaches. JJ headed out to the back patio overlooking the beach, searching for a quiet spot to roll a joint. Wanting to look like you belonged you wandered into the kitchen, pouring yourself a drink into the red plastic cup before making your way back to the main part of the party. Unbeknownst to you, JJ had come back inside, positioning himself in the corner of the room to keep watch over you as John B had instructed.

He'd always been secretly attracted to you, never making a move because he didn't want to be the guy to go after his best friend's younger sister. He had spent many hours admiring you from a distance, wanting to be the one to make you laugh on a bad day. Countless nights he had laid wide awake in bed, wondering what it would be like to kiss you, to feel your bare skin beneath his fingers. How did you taste? What would it sound like for you to moan his name? The thought of anyone else touching you, getting to see you in that way, made JJ see red.

Over the next few hours, several guys approached you and tried to get you to dance. Each time you turned them away, getting more frustrated with each pursuit. The final straw was when none other than Rafe Cameron had stalked up silently behind you, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you back against him. You let out a gasp, spinning around in his arms quickly and attempting to shove him away. "Rafe, get off of me." He smirked down at you, leaning in closer. "Shh, relax sweetheart. I just want a quick taste. Let me show you a good time." Without further thought you threw your drink into his face, leaving him fuming before stalking off to grab another.

Suddenly you were pulled into the hallway, a familiar large frame caging you in against the wall. "JJ, what are you doing?" He sighs, letting his hand trail down your face before tucking your hair behind your ear. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Seems like you haven't had a moment of peace all night, all these dumb kooks treating you like a piece of meat." You look up into his blue eyes, something different in them that you haven't seen before that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. "I'm fine J. Why do you care anyways? I know John B asked you to look out for me, but I can take care of myself." He smiles, dimples on display making your heart beat faster. "Oh I know, I saw that for myself. You look so hot, even hotter when you threw that drink in Cameron's face. Sexiest thing I've ever seen."

He leans closer, hands on either side of your face, close enough you can feel his breath on your lips. "JJ...." His lips are on yours in an instant, soft at first, savoring the feeling of your lips against his. When you let a moan slip and tangle your hands into his hair he loses all restraint, pressing his body into yours as his tongue plunges into your mouth. His hands are everywhere, caressing softly over your breasts and bringing your nipples to hard peaks before traveling further south, ghosting over the front of your jeans and making your panties soaked. You can feel his hard cock pressing into your core, grabbing onto his ass to pull him closer still causing him to groan into your mouth. You pull apart breathless, chests heaving and heat flooding through your system. "Take me home J, please." He nods, making some kind of excuse to John B about you not feeling well and letting him know he was taking you home.

The ride back to the Chateau is quiet, air thick with sexual tension. You barely make it over the threshold into the house before he is on you again, picking you up and carrying you to the spare bedroom he calls his own. He sits down on the bed with you straddling his lap, hands kneading the flesh of your ass as you grind down over his length. You pull his head back, exposing his neck as you kiss and suck over every inch of exposed skin. "Shit y/n. We shouldn't do this, your John B's sister." You push him down onto the bed, rocking over length again in slow, deliberate motions that cause him to moan again. "Tell me you want me to stop J and I will." You continue, friction of your jeans rubbing your clit perfectly as you start to pick up speed. "Fuck,” he groans, flipping you over quickly and trapping your hands over your head.

"You're sure this is what you want? Cause once I start, I won't be able to stop." He searches your face for any sign of discomfort, wanting to be certain that you really do want to cross this line. "I want you JJ. Please, please make me feel good." With that he helps you sit up, quickly discarding your shirt and taking in the sight of your naked breasts. "God, you're so perfect," he coos, leaning down to take your left nipple into his mouth. You weave your fingers into his hair, holding his face close as he lavishes your sensitive bud with his tongue. He kisses his way to your right breast, repeating the same actions as his hand pops the button on your jeans. He pulls the zipper down slowly, connecting his lips to your neck as his fingers dive under the material of your panties. When you feel the coolness of his ring touch your overheated skin you moan, hips bucking up into his touch. "Mmm JJ, feels so good." He takes his time, teasing two fingers up and down through your folds, lightly grazing your clit with each pass. "So wet for me sweetheart, bet you taste so good."

His hot, greedy mouth kisses down your body, pausing long enough to remove the rest of your clothes before settling between your thighs. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this." His breath tickles your pussy, eyes threatening to roll at what is about to happen. "J please, need you so bad." With that he dives in, devouring you with such ferocity you swear you might pass out from the overwhelming pleasure. Your nails rake into his scalp and he moans, vibrations making your thighs tremble. Two fingers tease around your entrance before he plunges them inside, curling them just right so his ring massages your walls. "Fuck J, don't stop." He increases his pace, fucking you with his fingers while his talented tongue worships your clit. "Come on sweetheart, cum for me." His soft command does you in, body trembling as you grind against his face while you ride out your orgasm.

The sight of your release shining on his chin as he comes up to kiss you makes you feral, pushing him onto his back again before hovering over his length. "Easy sweetheart," his abs tense beneath your touch, struggling to not show how excited he is at the thought of you riding him. "Is this okay? Can I ride you?" His eyes roll back at your words, moan leaving his plump lips that tells you all you need to know. You line him up before starting to slowly sink down, his thick length stretching you in a way no one has. "God, you're so big." You finally bottom out, taking a moment to breathe and adjust to how deep he is inside of you. "Y/n, fuck. Need you to move, squeezing me so fucking tight."

His hands grab your hips, guiding your motions as you start to bounce up and down on his length. His fingers dig into your hips, grip bruising but you just don't care. Suddenly he lands a soft smack to your ass making you gasp and clench around him. "Oh god," he groans, bucking up into you to meet your thrusts. Before you can realize what happened he has you on your back, legs over his shoulders as he plows back into you. You let out a whimper, nails digging into his back as he starts to thrust hard and fast.

"You feel so good, don't want to ever stop." He pins your hands over your head again, laying down on top of you and sucking bruises into your neck. The new angle feels amazing, each thrust stimulating your clit. "Yes J, just like that. I'm gonna cum again." He somehow speeds up, rocking into you faster. When he bites the sensitive spot on your neck your orgasm washes over, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your veins as you moan out his name. "Shit princess, gonna fill you up." A few thrusts later he stills, warm release coating your walls as he comes to a halt.

Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist

[rodanseys]

ok i finished my yearly reread of trc and i must say something!!! it is likely someone already said on the internet far before me, but i must say it!!!!

and that thing is how trb and trk mirror one another because of the inversion of adam and gansey's function within the narrative.

obviously, in trb, we see adam sacrifice himself to cabeswater. it is a huge risk, yes, but it's true to adam's character because he's willing to do what gansey isn't because he thinks choosing anything other than listening to gansey is freedom. as a result, he's the leader of the group for most of the series. the first thing gansey does when interacting with adam is ask adam a qeustion. adam is consantly called on over the course of the series to find an alternative solution when gansey can't- he even mentions that in his own monologing (i think in bllb). the gray man refers to the gangsey, as we all know, as "adam parrish and his band of merry men." in other words, he is the king, driven by duty, both that he cannot choose bc of his upbringing and that he chooses bc he can't understand what true freedom yet.

meanwhile, we see development of gansey as the poet. he's the heart of the quest, the person who believes in it to make others believe. this is especially true in trk, where its repeatedly pointed out that gansey can say things in his Gansey voice and making them true. this not only reinforces his place as the poet, but his own (and other characters') awareness of it.

so there's been established and really, really hammered-over delegation of adam as the king and gansey as the poet. then, in trk, we have the scene where adam is being taken over by the demon that's also taking over cabeswater. at the end of that chapter, he is able to regain control over the demon and separate it from cabeswater simply by saying his eyes and hands belong to him again- like gansey would. liek a poet would! his necesity to do this within the plot, the obviousness of him doing this as a chracter (he never wanted to be controlled, just gansey's equal, but he couldn't realize the difference yet) also means that he has moved into the role of the poet (and what could be more of gansey's equal than him becoming who gansey was within the plot?). this leaves the king role, as a narrative function, finally open for gansey to fill.

and it works because we've already seen gansey becoming increasingly anxious throughout trk. he's feeling this sense of power start to shatter, the fear of a life after glendower. but he knows he must finish what he started. how is this shown in the text? when he leaves in the middle of the night to find glendower- a literal repetition of adam leaving alone to sacrifice himself on the line. but, this time, gansey is the one to initiate. he's finally on his way to becoming a king, figuratively and literally. but then, we realize geldower is dead. and this is where this mirroring becomes so rich and fascinating to me.

but why? because gansey, after discovering glendower is dead, also discovers something contradictory to the way this story must go: "glendower was dead. gansey kind of wanted to live." the moment after he realizes it, he becomes so afraid of receiving pity because of his selfishness to live outside the bounds of responsibility thrust upon him. he never had that before. no one stopped him from searching for glendower, from being obsessed. he had the time, money, resources, and charm (unlike adam) to pull off this really kind of ridiculous activity. but, now, he finally uderstands what it meant to sacrifice and it brings up a vulnerability he doesn't know what to do with.

and guess who else dealt with reponsibilites thrust upon them that they didn't know what to do with? who was afraid of being pitied instead of respected as a response? adam! gansey's becoming more like adam. like the king! and the narrative literally acknowledges this: "for the first time, gansey understood adam parrish perfectly."

so, of course, like adam, he must sacrifice something to achieve the actual power of the king in the narrative. so he does. he kisses blue and sacrifices his life. and how is it written? "he fell from her arms. he was a king." he was a king!!!! he was actually a king!!! because, like glendower, he was dead. he couldn't be glendower (which is all he wanted to be- brave, respected, loved, remembered) without dying. because glendower died! and gansey wanted to live! but he couldn't. because he couldn't be who he wanted to be without also taking on the responsibility of what it meant to be that person. he never reallt understood this; adam always did.

i really appreciate this inversion because it gives precedence to their friendship on the plot level: both of them had to meet, to get to know each other, to fight for the plot to start. but then, they had to understand each other, to work hard to love each other, and actually end up on the inverted of the narrative in order to become who they needed to be for the plot to conclude. and it also reinforces another large theme of the series: time as something cyclical. gansey living adam's younger years while adam lives gansey's. that this was required for them to know and love each other fully and for gansey to come back to life and not "throw it away."

[yuyusshinelight]

Friends feat j.wy

⚠️ Advertisings ⚠️

♪ This does NOT represent Wooyoung in any way, it's just fiction.

♪ NSFW! I should say that minors can't read this but I can't stop them from reading this so read at your own risk.

♪ English is not my first language so sorry if there's any mistake.

Note: I wanted to write something special for Wooyoung because of his birthday 🫣. I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it and enjoy your read! Love you my stars!

Neither of you knew how it happened in the first place. It just happened one movie night at Wooyoung's apartment in which your best friend's dick decided to get hard for no apparent reason.

Neither of you felt something romantic for the other, and it seemed to be a bit annoying for your friend so, without malice, you offered to help him calm it down. It was just a harmless handjob, no? It wasn't like seeing his dick was going to trade your friendship or something like that. But what started as a simple handjob ended with you taking his full length in your mouth, willingly swallowing everything Wooyoung had to offer. His hands pressed your head down his length while yours played with his sensitive balls as you wished.

When the idea of helping him came up, you didn't think that your panties would get as wet as they ended. Nor was it in your mind either that you would end up legs wide open on the sofa with Wooyoung devouring your needy cunt so deliciously. Moaning like a bitch in heat every time his fingers fucked sinfully your clenching moistened hole while his tongue swirled playfully around your clit.

Of course, neither of you could ever have imagined that your usual movie night on Friday would have ended with his cock deep inside your pussy, piercing your cervix for hours in different positions.

That night woke up an intense burning desire that has gradually turned into an unhealthy obsession. A dirty, depraved spiral of unfiltered, unchecked sex where you just want to be full and Wooyoung just wants to get his cock wet. You are just two best friends using each other whenever your bodies call for it. No matter where, no matter what time. Just one call and you two will be a mess of moans, saliva, sweat and semen. You really are like animals in heat.

The sexual need of being with each other is such that you even have skipped classes at university. It's true that classes are important, of course they are, but being pinned against the door in the bathroom with Wooyoung's hand in your mouth to keep you from making more noise than necessary while this horny boy whispers all kinds of unblissful things in your ear are way too much better than to hear some boring old teacher explaining who knows what.

"Although I love those angelic sounds of yours too much I need you to keep that little mouth shut, babe. Can you do that for me? Or do you want us to be discovered? Does the idea of the whole faculty watching me piercing your little naughty pussy turn you on? Is that it?".

And how not to mention those naughty and entertaining evenings in which Wooyoung tries to keep his composure while playing with some friends online because you are cockwarming him so deliciously. You don't give a shit about his game, either his friends at the other end of the call. You just want his cock inside you. On more than one occasion Wooyoung has had to mute himself for how much you were clenching around him, making him moan in such a shameless way.

There is not a Friday night in which you two don't end up fucking after watching a movie. Although, lately you have been starting with the foreplay while the movie was still running in the background. Wooyoung sliding his naughty hand under the sheet that covers you both only to grope for the edge of the miniature piece of fabric you supposedly call a skirt and which you have clearly put on to provoke him, successfully finding your clit underneath the already wet fabric of your panties and starting to play with it.

But when you try to do something similar to him, suddenly your hands are held by his free hand. On his face reigns that triumphant smile that you have so often wanted to tear off but that now makes you clench your thighs tightly because a trickle of your sticky arousal decides to run all over your pussy.

"Only half an hour of film left, babe. If you cum before the movie ends I will edge you for another half an hour".

Half an hour of being a victim of Wooyoung's torturous game is hell but you're too stubborn to lose against him so you barely make it through those damn credits where you don't even give him time to take the movie off. In the blink of an eye you're already in his lap, jumping like a rabbit in heat on his cock in search of your precious, long-awaited orgasm.

"Only half an hour, kitty. If you cum before me just one time I will edge you for a whole hour".

[baphometsss]

if i see one more post about how solas/mythal/elgar'nan had a weird love triangle thing going on i'm gonna scream

[star-eyed-angels]

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.

[lilgaeguli]

[ pairing ] childhood best friend × f!reader;

[ sinopsis ] childhood friends with a mutual feeling that blossomed on a sunny summer vacation;

[ wc ] 3,4k

[ genre ] fluffy smut

[ warning ] unprotected sex (don't do this), fingering (f receiving), tons of rough sex, cute nicknames, Hongjoong is a certified lover boy, kitty slapping (once), nipple play, and some comedy at some point (???)

[ song reccomendation ] we can't be friends — Ariana Grande, sweater wheater — The Neighborhood, Friends — Chase Atlantic & Wild Thoughts — Rihanna;

[ n/a ] I really liked to write this cause I loved the vibe. I hope you get it 𖹭

[ ! ] everything written here is merely fictional and does not represent the artists mentioned.

It was supposed to be just a trip between old friends, but it turned out that spring found them, blossoming a forgotten passion.

Everyone ran from one side to the other shouting and singing while you felt your stomach churn as you laying down on the couch waiting for that damn nausea to pass, staring at the old, turned off television. The sun was slowly hiding behind the horizon beginning the night, but for you it only reminds you of the early morning you spent awake. With your eyes closed, you felt like a burden in that state. Through the reflection of the television, with half-open eyes you saw Hongjoong approaching.

— Are you better? — He said, leaning on the couch.

Your head throbbed just from hearing his voice a little louder. You grimaced, bringing a hand to your temple, almost begging him not to open his mouth anymore. Maybe it was a little rude of you.

— Uh, sorry — Then he noticed — I'll speak more softly.

— No problem, it's not your fault — You reassured him, closing your eyes to avoid the light — What time is it, Joong?

Your stomach growled, begging you to eat something, but you were sure you would throw it all up. Damn anxiety, it should have passed by now.

— It's 4:30 pm — he whispered thoughtfully.

Silence hung for a moment, but this time it caused you immediate loneliness. You felt something on your forehead, making you open your eyes with difficulty. It was just Hongjoong checking your temperature with his cold hand. His bright eyes were full of concern despite his expressionless face.

— You need to eat something.

Anxiety. Even the idea of ​​swallowing something repulsed you. You always felt like this on long trips, it took a little less time for the nausea and anxiety to pass. Probably because this time you were traveling with just your friends for the first time, even though it was only a few days in your parents' old summer house, your intuition indicated that something was different.

— I don't want to. It'll pass soon. Besides, I don't want to throw up.

Let's just say that Seonghwa's car almost got a new decoration on the trip. However, not even this infamous reminder made Hongjoong give up.

— You're as white as a sheet, you need to eat – he said more imposingly — I'm going to make some tea and think of something decent, you're going to eat even if I have to feed you. Your mother will kill me if she finds out that I left you on the verge of anemia — That's an exaggeration.

It was strange how he always found a way to take care of you. Not strange, in fact very adorable, almost brotherly to say the least. Knowing that it would be smarter not to argue, you just nodded.

— Aren't you going to see the lake?

Almost as a reflex, Hongjoong picked up a pillow, hitting Mingi, who came into the room excitedly. Poor thing. You laughed softly, avoiding moving, causing a possible dramatic stab.

— Is she still sick?

— Shut up, Mingi! — he scolded once more, coming out louder than he would have liked. Realizing it, Hongjoong looked at you, pleading for mercy on his face.

Your lips twisted chuckling. The headache was going away. Mentally thanking yourself, you sat down and looked through the door that pointed to the huge lawn surrounded by the forest. You felt foolish for being in that state instead of reliving your childhood memories in that place.

— She’s fine, look —  Mingi pointed out, regretting it in the same second due to the storm in his eyes threatening them — Ah… Hongjoong, we were thinking about playing marcopolo¹, maybe going into the forest once more. What do you think?

— Here’s what you do, Mingi — From the beginning of the sentence and Kim’s tone, you already knew what was coming — Why don’t you go ahead and whenever I shout “Marco” you shout “Polo”, we’ll run, I’ll find out where you are. It’ll be super fun — he said ironically, gesturing, that sharp smile was the cherry on the cake.

Giving you a discouraged look, Mingi left cursing softly. You let the laziness melt away from your body and stood up, your shoulders feeling lighter. You didn’t feel the slightest bit like running after butterflies or jumping in the lake with the boys, but it was a start.

— Joon, I’m going up to my old room. I want to take a shower but I promise I’ll come down to help with dinner.

Your feet touched the floor more firmly, a relief.

— No problem, just rest. I’ll be right up to get you something to eat, princess.

Just like the warm sun of that afternoon, that lovely nickname warmed your chest. You went upstairs, walking through the hallways lit only by the rays of sunlight through the windows. It was like reliving a perfect memory, you could smell the cookies your mother baked, perfuming the house, while you and Hongjoong played hide and seek.

You've always been together since you can remember. You grew up together, two children who used to fight over Pokémon cards now barely spent time together due to their busy lives. Seeing the man Kim Hongjoong become filled you with pride. Distant but so familiar, and even from a distance he found a way to take care of you. Maybe it's true that a girl's first crush is the purest.

Entering your room, you caught a glimpse of the wallpaper on the walls with some war marks, that is, chalk scribbles, and your clean bed with a stuffed rabbit on top. Everything was as it always was, as if you had never even left that place.

Stopping for a second you noticed that finally that anxiety and nausea had passed, relieved you looked for your suitcase that Seonghwa had left next to your old dressing table. Out of the corner of your eye you captured your image in the axed mirror. You were a woman now.

After a relaxing bath, you put on a white dress with yellow flowers, like when your mother would bathe you and tidy you up after playing all afternoon completing your memories. You sat in front of the dressing table, fixing your hair with a smile on your face. Just to see if it was just a daydream, you opened the drawers and proved to yourself that that room had stopped in time.

You found things that you didn't even suspect existed anymore, like an unfinished sketchbook full of folds and a photo album. You opened the small album, a little dust tickling your nose indicating the time the object had been forgotten. Each frozen image made a movie run through your head. Until you found a photo of Hongjoong and you together, his knee was scraped, next to the bicycle revealing the reason for the injury. You laughed to yourself as you remembered the story behind the photo. You decided that you were going to teach Kim how to ride a bike without training wheels, helped him, but only for the first 5 seconds before he took his body and the bike to the ground. In an attempt to help, you did as your mother did and showered him with kisses.

— Knock knock — speaking of him — what are you laughing at? I could hear it as I walked up the stairs —  he said, entering the room, balancing a cup in his hand and closing the door behind him with his foot.

Was the house too quiet or were you really excited? Probably both.

—Try drinking a little, it might help ease the… anxiety — he got lost in his own words, but his proud face said what was necessary.

Hongjoong quickly admired you from head to toe, not wanting to be caught doing such an act. You nodded in thanks, grabbing the hot cup and leaving it on the dresser.

— I found some interesting things here. Want to see? — you asked, sipping his tea.

He quickly nodded and you made room for him to sit next to you. You put the cup aside and opened the photo album showing that funny photo, to say the least. When he saw the photo, his face lit up and his previously rigid shoulders took on a relaxed posture, but once again all you could pay attention to was that sweet and funny laugh.

— I didn't know that photo existed. My knee hurt just looking at it — he scratched his head

— Do you want a little kiss to make it better?

Adorable! Both of your cheeks turned a peachy shade. Every joke has a grain of truth. You wanted that, didn't you? — I mean, maybe it wasn't obvious, but you couldn't argue — Your fear was that you wanted that but it could be platonic, or worse, being rejected. Why would he, who watched you grow up and protected you so much, see you as anything more than a friend? But there was a small chance that he was thinking the same thing and that's what you clung to.

— There's one more thing I wanted you to see.

You rummaged through the drawer, fully aware of what you would find. Feeling the objects, you turned to him and placed them in his hands.

— Wait a second, I remember these rings — Holding the rings at his fingertips, he shook his head in disbelief — I bought us lollipops after school and they came as a gift. Later, we played wedding games.

He remembered, even more vividly than you. Hongjoong had a lot to say, questions to ask, it was clear but a lump in his throat held back his words. Suddenly he felt 13 again, looking at you still wondering if it was the right thing to do. A breeze hit the back of the man's neck, that silence creating the perfect environment just for the two of you as if the universe had finally aligned.

— I promised I would take care of you. Even if you left my side I would still be waiting for you — he laughed breathlessly, his eyes were aimless — After all these years... are you still mine?

Millions of fireworks exploded, clearing your mind, finally opening the horizon. It took a few seconds for you to formulate a cohesive sentence, if you knew how torturous those milliseconds were for him. You looked at each other calmly, looking like two fools. Finally, the two of you met again. You brought your faces closer, waiting for his reaction. He left the boy he used to be behind, without hesitation he started a warm kiss. It was sweeter than you could ever imagine, his soft lips against yours gave you goosebumps all over. Taking a liberty, he brought a hand to the back of your neck, deepening the slow kiss that like gunpowder ran through your body, warming you completely. It gradually took a needier turn, as if your bodies were now acting on their own, searching for a perfect connection.

— Joon… wait a minute — you separated, taking a breath. His lips shone, calling you once more, but you knew that from then on it would be dangerous territory.

— What happened? Did I do something wrong? — You wanted to pinch yourself. It was impossible for someone as kind as him to exist. Fool, that’s how you should feel for not having opened your eyes sooner. 

— No, no, no. I just… — you didn’t want to say it, it felt wrong to say such a thing to someone who until a few seconds ago was nothing more than your best friend. But your mistake was forgetting that he knows you, from your tantrums to your silliest quirks.

— I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything. It’s okay —  you said, making your lips form a line that was still cheerful.

That wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say.

You placed a hand on his chest, pushing him weakly out of the seat and standing up with him gently. You looked deep into his brown eyes and gave him two short kisses that had an innocent undertone.

— I’m tired of waiting for your love, Hongjoong.

Your hands ran over his shoulders, stopping around his neck, caressing the area. In perfect connection, he moved his hands, adorned with silver rings, to your waist, further limiting the distance between your bodies.

—Me too — he murmured — No more games.

Your lips met once more without any secondary thought making you question, in order to explore hidden parts of each other. He sought your warmth in someone who only offered him cold. After so long wanting more than the title “friend,” Hongjoong tried to remain calm, always aware of which part of you he could touch, controlling his growing urgency. You knew what you wanted, it was no longer a surprise. Given that, you helped him take off his shirt, throwing it anywhere in the room. That unknown sensation enveloped you more intensely to the point of being irreversible.

You guided him to the bed and laid him down, untying his belt, as passive-aggressive as he was. You seemed like completely different people at that moment, leaving any modesty aside. Your mesmerizing eyes enchanted him as you crawled towards him, that perfect vision at the same time angelic, promiscuous and seductive. You distributed kisses along his neck, going up his jaw to his ear, moaning softly just so he could have a taste of how much you wanted him. He grabbed your hips, adjusting you on his lap, desperately trying to have some kind of friction, that's when you felt how hard he was.

— I've been craving you for so long…

He whispered hoarsely, bringing you the taste of all the nights you fantasized about his hands running over the curves of your body, saying how good you're for him.

— So don't be shy, taste me.

You took off your dress, revealing your bare breasts. At that moment Hongjoong observed you like the most delicate piece of art, but he wanted to mark you, claiming you as his. He changed positions, attacking your breasts with kisses and hickeys. His tongue working on one of your nipples while he played with the other, pinching it, caused a mixture of sensations of sensitivity, pain and pleasure.

— shit, you're so amazing — you whined

 — Oh, you like that? I can do this all night long, princess.

He grunted, smirking. Your nipple between his teeth caused you a strangely pleasurable agony. However, a lack grows inside you.

— I had a very nice dream that started like this — He said, looking at you, smiling sweetly.

— And how did it end? — you asked, feeling your skin boil.

— you teaching me how to make you feel good while I ruin my little princess.

His calm voice saying something so obscene was a reward for all the waiting during these years. You caressed his face, the warmth of his cheeks brought back memories, now being replaced by new ones.

— Let's end what you started — you whispered, pulling your silver necklace to get his attention.

He gave you a few short kisses, smiling sweetly at each small distance. From now on, words alone would not be enough to express his desires and feelings. While one of his hands supported you on the bed, the other slid down your body. After a light squeeze on your waist, he entered your panties. The silver of his rings made your stomach turn. Circular movements began on your pussy. He observed the smallest of your reactions, always returning to the most torturous points that were indicated to him, sliding his fingers over your slippery folds. He kissed your forehead lovingly even as you grumbled about his fingers searching for more.

— Please, Joon... I need you inside — You sighed a little frustrated.

— We waited so long, what are a few more seconds? — he teased, laughing — I just need to make sure I won't hurt you.

He didn't just want to try to take care of you, but to make sure that only he could hurt you the way he wanted. Slowly you felt your insides stretch and the cold silver once again made itself present, making you gasp heavily. Two of his fingers invaded you while his thumb continued its work tirelessly. Your low moans incited him even more, if you kept up this pace you wouldn't be able to last much longer, but it was far from enough. You grabbed his hand when you felt your sensitivity slowly increase, that didn't stop him from giving your swollen pussy a few taps, making you choke on your own breath.

— Hongjoong... — his sparkling eyes, so pure, begged for mercy.

He wanted to make sure that your first time together was the best possible for you, unfortunately they would have to avoid drawing attention. Next time he'll make sure to make you scream his name to whoever wants to hear, but right now he needed to remember what it's like to have fun with you.

— I want to see you cumming on my cock so badly

Hongjoong was making a great effort to contain himself just to worship you, but he couldn't ignore his own desire any longer. He got on top of you and pulled down his jeans, showing his covered hardness. He pulled you by the waist easily, already showing his need. The wet base of his cock slid over your wet pussy before invading you completely, making a wet sound, you swallowed every inch of him perfectly, your cervix was pressed, causing you ecstasy making you ignore any discomfort, feeling only him pulsating inside you. He moved his hips slowly, sliding into your warm interior, increasing the speed as your moans escaped.

— Fuck, you feel so good — he said, running his tongue over his teeth with a wicked smile, completely different from the Kim Hongjoong you always kept your eyes on — my babydoll is taking me so well…

 The weakly afternoon sun hit his face and made him even more attractive, his concentrated expression and his hoarse moans made you lose yourself for a second, inert in pleasure in all forms, that's when you were surprised by voices outside the house, it seems the boys came back from the lake.

— Shit  — he cursed, pushing the strands of sweat-damp hair back — Chill, baby. Don't hold back.

He stood above you, resting one hand on the headboard of the bed, now making full eye contact, which was a complete mess. It didn't take long for him to return to his work and thrust into you more aggressively this time, making it difficult not to make a sound. That's when he grabbed your hips, reaching your deepest point. Your insides contracted and euphoria took over you, you moaned slowly but were interrupted by him covering your mouth.

— Look at me — he couldn't be enjoying himself more — We need to be quiet. No one but me should hear you like this, right? — he asked rhetorically, going slower but rougher.

You nod with teary eyes, and he slowly takes his hand away, allowing you to breathe in relief.

— I don't care about who's outside — you whispered — Fill me up, please.

He was as surprised as you were to hear those words spoken by your sweet lips. Your wish was his command. Hearing you begging like that, he thrust into you again, hard, in contrast to a soft kiss that he started in an attempt to mask his own moans. You reached your limit, leaving his lips, and he just watched you so vulnerable, cumming on his dick, your liquids mixed and leaking through your pussy, sensitive to the touch. He lay down next to you, cradling you in his arms, caressing your hair, distributing simple kisses over every inch of your skin, showing how proud he was.

— You know we’re not just friends anymore, right? — You turned to him, snuggling into his chest, wondering if maybe you hadn’t sounded too oppressive.

— We’re already married. Have you forgotten?  — He joked, easing the tension in your mind —Honestly, I don’t care about the title, but I’ll keep trying until you’re mine alone.

You kissed, leaving any doubts behind, staying there enjoying each other’s presence for a few seconds until you noticed the unusual silence for a full house. A few grumbles revealed the reason for the tranquility. Hongjoong snorted, rolling his eyes.

— Marco! — He called loudly, looking at the closed door.

And outside the room he heard someone answering “polo!”.

— Damn…

join my taglist

[rosyhoneydew]

nsf/w continuation of this fic below ⬇️ happy Thanksgiving pt. 2!

Buck opens the door for them to step back inside. He thrills a little at the feeling of Tommy's hand on his waist. God, it feels good to have those hands on him again. Chimney's alone in the kitchen, bagging up turkey and setting the dishes in the sink. He smirks at the two of them when they walk in and Buck resists the urge to smooth down his hair where Tommy had grabbed at it.

"You two talk things out then?"

Buck gives him a look. "You know there were easier ways you could've gotten us to talk."

"This way seemed more fun," Chimney responds lightly. "Can I get you some leftovers, Tom?"

"That would be great, thanks."

When Buck looks up at him, Tommy is smiling. He looks like he's come back to life. It's a stark difference from the cautious, uncomfortable man that walked in a few hours ago.

Tommy catches him looking and the smile grows sweeter.

"Come home with me tonight," Buck leans up to whisper.

He gets an eyebrow raise in response.

"Just to spend one night, not- I'm not asking for more than one night."

Tommy leans in even closer, his lips pressed to Buck's ear. He places a kiss at the soft spot of his jaw and whispers back, "Okay."

They pack up the night quickly after that. Tommy helps with the dishes, You guys did all the cooking, let me do this and Buck gets called into Jee's bedroom to say goodnight. When he emerges, 2 stories later, Maddie, Chim, and Tommy are standing around the counter, chatting and laughing. It sends a ripple through his heart. He can't help but think of Maddie's advice I think you have to trust the Universe is gonna bring you a special person. What could be more special than this, he thinks, a warm feeling washing over him.

Tommy drives them back to Buck's apartment. There's a slight hesitancy in him as they walk inside, maybe wondering if Buck has changed his mind, remembering what happened last time. Buck hasn't. He grabs Tommy's hand and pulls him inside.

He doesn't give either of them the time to overthink. The moment they're inside he's got his arms around Tommy's shoulders, kissing him messy and dirty and full of pent-up feeling that he's been trying and failing to burn out in his oven.

Tommy matches him step for step, he wraps one arm around Buck's waist and drops the other hand to his ass, squeezing and pulling him closer. They stand there, making out in Buck's kitchen for minutes on end before the desperation Buck feels becomes too much. He pulls away, pecking Tommy on the lips a few more times, like he can't stop.

"Bed?" he asks.

Tommy nods, repeats, "Lead the way."

Buck walks them upstairs, shimmying off his pants and shirt before laying back in the center of the bed. Tommy watches for a moment, like he can't believe he's here. It's sweet, but Buck is hungry so he spreads his legs wide and drops a hand to his dick, playing with it over his boxers.

"Come on," he urges.

Tommy follows after that, dropping to his knees and hooking his hands behind Buck's legs. He uses the leverage to pull Buck to the edge of the bed, nuzzling his cock the second he's eye-level. It's not what Buck was expecting, the sudden movement and stimulation making him gasp.

"Baby," he groans.

Tommy opens his mouth and places kisses along Buck's cock, sucking through the cloth at the head. It's dulled by the cotton, but the feel of Tommy's warm mouth and tongue pressing against him still leaves Buck moaning through it.

Tommy pulls his underwear down at the sound, staring at Buck, fully bare and flushing under the attention. The sensation of being watched sends tingles through Buck's body and he squirms. Tommy holds his hips to keep him still.

"I've missed you so much."

"You talking to me or my dick?" Buck asks.

Tommy sends him a look, but it dissolves in a moment. "Both," he admits. "I love your dick."

"Yeah, you miss having it inside you, baby?"

Tommy groans. Buck wishes either of them had the patience for that tonight. He lifts his hips a little instead.

"Want your mouth."

Tommy doesn't make him wait. He licks up and down Buck's cock a few times and then sucks the head inside his mouth. It's hot and soft inside his mouth, the way it always is, and Buck moans.

He sucks the head a few times, getting the angle right before he takes Buck down, going all the way until his throat is stuffed full. It makes a wet, clicking sound when he does and Buck gasps in response, eyes closing in arousal. He's always loved the sound of sex.

Tommy works him faster after that, gliding up and down in a wet slide that leaves Buck moaning and twisting in Tommy's hold. It doesn't take him long to get close. The feeling of Tommy's tongue pressing flat against him and the Tommy's right hand slips up to play with his balls and press just behind them gets him there.

"Close, baby, I'm so close," he gets out, urgent.

Tommy groans, working faster and spending more time sucking at the head as he does. He runs his tongue in figure eights there and slides down in rapid up and down motions and Buck is gone.

Buck can hear himself moaning and tries to keep his hips from fucking up into Tommy's throat with too much abandon, but Tommy doesn't seem to mind. He moans himself, swallowing and sucking Buck through it.

Buck is still coming down when he notices, Tommy's got his head resting against Buck's thigh, his mouth open on the grunts and groans pushing forward. He's got one hand, still wet with Buck's come, stroking his cock fast and hard. Buck's not even sure when Tommy got his pants undone. The sight of it is so blingingly erotic that Buck feels a shockwave of arousal run through him again. It's not long after that that Tommy looks up at him, eyes pinching before they roll back as he comes.

They sit there breathing for a moment, before Buck pulls Tommy up to the bed that has to be hell on your knees. Tommy lays down next to him, reaching a dry hand over to weave his fingers into Buck's. There's still so much to say, so much that Buck wants to make sure they air out, but for now they're content to lay like this. They've got time.

[luvr444writes]

Nicholas Chavez dating hc's

Nicholas Chavez x Fem!reader

---

Bf!Nicholas Chavez who... keeps you up all night talking about anything and everything. He's more vulnerable at night, telling you anything that's been plaguing his mind recently. Or even just talking about your future together.

Bf!Nicholas Chavez who... is a true gentleman. Always holds doors for you, refuses to let you get out of or into the car until he opens your door for you, offers you his jacket when you're cold, etc.

Bf!Nicholas Chavez who's... love language is touch and gift giving. He's always holding your hand and rubbing your knuckles softly with his thumb, hand on your hip, rubbing the small of your back, etc. He also constantly comes home with little gifts, your favorite flowers, candy, drink, a new book you've been talking about wanting. It's the little things.

Bf!Nicholas Chavez who... is unable to stand the thought of losing you. It doesn't matter whether you were in the wrong or if he was because he will always apologize first, he can't stand the silence between the both of you or the way you suddenly seem uncomfortable or tense around him. He always tries his hardest to not let little things blow out of proportion.

Bf!Nicholas Chavez who... has a soft side for you. Sure, in interviews he seems almost cold, broody, blunt, etc. But with you he shows a side that most others don't get to see. When he truly cares about someone, he's thoughtful and nurturing. He's always there when you need him, When you’re upset, he might not know exactly what to say, but he’ll be there with comforting silence or a touch that says more than words ever could.

Bf!Nicholas Chavez who... likes to surprise you with different dates. He’s not the type to just plan a dinner date and call it a night. Maybe a late night picnic under the stars, a surprise trip to a place you’ve always wanted to visit, or even just an unexpected road trip to a random, but exciting, destination. No matter how many times you try, you can never guess what he's planned for you next.

Bf!Nicholas Chavez who... notices the small things about you. Whether it’s remembering your favorite coffee order or noticing when you’re feeling off, he’d find subtle ways to make you feel cared for. Maybe he’s not always the most overt in showing affection, but his thoughtfulness speaks volumes.

Bf!Nicholas Chavez who... gets jealous. No, not in a toxic, possessive way. But he truly wants to spend the rest of his life with you and he can't help but get a little insecure or jealous when he notices other guys trying to steal your attention away when you're out in public together.

Bf!Nicholas Chavez who... has a soft spot for little kids. While he might not outwardly express it, Nicholas would probably have a soft spot for kids or even animals. Whether it’s showing affection toward a younger sibling or cousin, he always gets a certain look in his eyes and a playful side of him comes out when he's around them. He may even bring up having kids of your own one day...

Bf!Nicholas Chavez who... is your biggest cheerleader when it comes to your successes, no matter how big or small. If you accomplish something, he’d be genuinely excited and proud of you, making sure you know that he believes in you. He’d go out of his way to show how happy he is for you, constantly bragging about how his "girlfriend did ____ and ____".

Bf!Nicholas Chavez who... loves to make you laugh. While he has a very composed and nonchalant facade he puts up around others, he’d definitely enjoy teasing you in a lighthearted way. He’d find joy in making you laugh, whether it’s poking fun at something silly you’ve said or playfully challenging you on something you’re passionate about. His teasing would always come from a place of affection and fun, though—never to hurt your feelings (and if he did hurt your feelings he would immediately apologize and comfort you if you were that upset about it).

---

Sorry if this is short and not that good!

ayyy first post tho!!! 😛

[cheshiresense]

I’m loving all the parts of your Ichigo & Starrk time travel AU! This is a bit random and would take place some time down the road but I had a thought that Starrk probably still has the scars from when Shunsui almost killed him rigjt? So I was wondering if some combination of TBTP!Shunsui recognizing the kind of blades that would’ve left those scars (his zanpakutou is pretty unique after all) and maybe Katen Kyokotsu sensing her own “mark” on Starrk would result in Shunsui guessing a few things if he sees those scars. Or maybe it’s at a point in the timeline where Starrk and Ichigo have already revealed the time travel thing to a few people but not many details and Shunsui ends up putting more pieces together on his own.

Ooh yesss I do love a good scar reveal. For a scene like this, I'd prob go with the second scenario. I imagine Starrk's a pretty private person and also not one to be stripping down in front of just anyone lmao so there has to be a good enough reason. (I actually have a different ready-made one that would fit a time travel reveal scene that I've already hinted at previously but I think I'll write that another time, so we're going to use this one instead.)

This would take place maybe a year or two down the road, and because Shinigami elites are generally not idiots (most of the time), especially the ones Starrk and Ichigo have grown close to, I imagine Shunsui, Ukitake, Shinji, and Kaien (and prob Lisa) have pooled their observations and guessed that Starrk and Ichigo are from the future and have Experienced Some Shit, possibly under Aizen, possibly under some other major big bad that was bad enough to necessitate time travel. And time travel's hardly something just anybody can throw around so most likely there's some divine intervention involved. And once they've come to these conclusions, they decide enough is enough, leaving the fate of Soul Society and possibly the universe on two people who look like they're running themselves ragged trying to save them all is ridiculous. If nothing else, they're friends and family, and it's not right to just leave that burden to them.

I'm also going to throw Kisuke into this group because 1) Kisuke's observant as fuck and Ichigo's actually really bad at staying away from this one mad scientist who created him and weaponized him and pointed him at the enemy but also followed right after him because to Kisuke, Ichigo is everything from moral compass to magnum opus to greatest sin to the person he owes everything to, and he'd more or less handed over his entire soul into Ichigo's possession very early on. So even a hundred years in the past was never going to prevent Kisuke from gravitating to Ichigo who doesn't flinch from him or his reputation and looks at him like he's more than just a Rukon street rat turned assassin turned Shinigami in a captain trenchcoat who has no idea how to be a captain on a good day. (And everybody knows that once Ichigo is attached to you, it's all over, you're never going to be rid of him again, and more than anything, Kisuke has always just wanted someone to want him to stay.)

And 2), there's no better place for secret meetings than the Study Chamber under the Soukyoku Hill, Aizen doesn't know about it, and the Quincy might but with the place buried under enough seals to avoid all detection and probably withstand a siege, even they can't get in to spy. I want to say Kisuke and Yoruichi are a package deal so she should be around, but I also headcanon that they sort of drifted apart for a while after Yoruichi forced Kisuke out of the Second and onto the captaincy doorstep (which made the fact that she threw her whole life and career away when Kisuke was accused of treason that much more meaningful tbh). So for now she's not around, but she does still hang out with Kuukaku, and while it is very helpful that all these people are regular guests at the Shiba compound so nobody is going to get suspicious if this particular group is absent together from time to time because people would just assume they're holed up at the Shibas' for another party or something, Yoruichi is going to notice sooner or later that they're very much not at the compound when they're missing, so she goes looking for whatever fuckery Kisuke has gotten up to this time, and that'll be her way into this time travel adventure, so to speak.

But all of this is actually just to say, healing hot springs for the win, you gotta be naked in a Japanese onsen lmao and guess who's about to have a midnight rendezvous 😉 let's all thank Urahara Kisuke for reinventing such a convenient trope.

-0-

It's nearing two in the morning, and after the staggering revelations earlier, everyone is asleep.

It wasn't as if they hadn't already expected the time travel, but to have it confirmed, and to know now that the reason for it had been the near-total annihilation of all three realms at the hands of a race nursing a thousand-year-old grudge, one thought to be largely extinct but has actually been hiding in their walls - almost literally - and biding their time until their king's awakening--well, let's just Shunsui isn't going to be able to walk down a street without wondering how many hidden eyes are watching him from the shadows until the Wandenreich has at least been dug out of the woodwork for all to see.

(It's also perhaps a little more… off-putting for him than the others, though perhaps that's his pride speaking. Shadows are supposed to be his domain, and yet he's never sensed anything amiss in all the long years he's lived in the Seireitei.)

There had at least not been too much of a fuss about bringing them into the loop. Shunsui had admittedly thought they would have to at least argue back and forth about it a few more times, if only because no matter how much Ichigo likes to deny it, the family resemblance is uncanny, whether in appearance or personality, and a Shiba is nothing if not stubborn once they've set their mind on something. Ichigo is exactly the type to refuse outside aid in the name of better protecting the people he cares about, has yet to understand that ignorance does not always mean safe, or outgrow that inexplicably instinctual mindset of his where he seems to believe that he must take on all burdens by himself instead of allowing others to help shoulder those burdens with him.

But then they'd confronted the boy, and while Ichigo had scowled up a storm and tried to bluster his way out of it at first - kid really is a terrible liar - he'd also capitulated far sooner than any of them had expected. In the end, he'd crossed his arms and scowled some more before deciding with the finality of someone who wouldn't budge any further, "Fine, but we wait for Starrk-san."

He'd smirked at them then, still displeased considering the topic of conversation, but vaguely triumphant nonetheless as he'd eyed Urahara and Hirako and Kaien in particular. "It's why you cornered me when you know Starrk-san's out on a mission and isn't due back 'til late, right? Cuz you think you might be able to wear me down by nagging me to death, or worse comes to worst, you can figure it out by watching my reactions. But you won't get anything out of Starrk-san if he doesn't want to say, and he's hard to read even when he's actively emoting."

He'd snorted then, mockery softened by a reluctant sort of mirth. "Joke's on you, he's the reasonable one."

Which, to be fair, had been Shunsui's opinion. Starrk really is frustratingly, delightfully difficult to read, and this is coming from Shunsui, who's always found most people easy enough to figure out at a glance. Case in point, most of the things they'd pieced together for themselves had been clues Ichigo had inadvertently given away, not Starrk. And even then, if Starrk doesn't want them to know, no matter how many well-reasoned conjectures they lay at his feet, he probably wouldn't say a word.

But by that same token, it must mean that the hints he'd started dropping over the past few months could only be his way of encouraging them to ask without directly giving the game away, without giving them any hard evidence or firsthand testimony that would condemn himself or Ichigo, just in case the people they've chosen to trust fail their expectations and choose to hand them over to the government instead of trusting them in return.

To Shunsui, that had basically been an open invitation to sit down for a chat, and Ukitake had agreed with him, but they'd been outvoted - sometimes, he thinks with some amusement that the younger members of their little group don't seem to have eyes for anyone except Ichigo - so he'd let it go since he'd thought there wouldn't be any major issues with trying it this way first either. After all, he doubts Starrk would've shown his hand without Ichigo's agreement. It's just that they'd probably have to jump through a few more hoops if they went to Ichigo, what with the kid's knee-jerk reflex for keeping them at a distance no matter the cost to himself. And he'd been correct, more or less. It's just that they'd had fewer hoops to jump through than Shunsui had anticipated, but he's hardly about to complain.

"My plan was to force Aizen to out himself somehow and then take him down in front of everyone," Ichigo had continued, oblivious to the dawning look of horror on his cousin's face at the sheer lack of regard Ichigo clearly had for his own wellbeing, or possibly for the excessive margin of error implied in every sentence. "And then, you know, hopefully do the same for the Quincy, although I guess they'd be harder to draw out, so maybe we would've had to go to them? But anyway, Starrk-san's the one who's been saying practically from the beginning that we need more people."

He'd made a face then, reminiscent of children everywhere who'd been lectured by a parent for doing something potentially reckless and stupid, but there'd been a grumpy sort of acceptance there too that had lent maturity to his features.

"'Wars can't be won alone,'" Ichigo had audibly quoted with a rueful sort of twist to his mouth, as much to himself as to them. "'And this is their home. If they want to fight for it, let them fight. They're strong enough to make a difference. Besides, there's nothing worse than only being able to stand by helplessly while something you love disappears in front of you.'" He'd huffed and scrubbed a hand over his face, and then he'd just looked tired. "Well, he's not wrong."

He'd looked at them all again, gaze firm. "So if you really wanna do this, fine, but we wait for Starrk-san."

They'd waited. It wasn't as if anyone had actually wanted to exclude the man anyway, couldn't even if they did since he and Ichigo were clearly a package deal. And Shunsui's of the opinion that anybody who can consistently convince Ichigo to stop and look around and realize he isn't as alone as he often seems to believe is someone Shunsui definitely wants onside.

Ichigo had told them that Starrk had been expecting a confrontation sooner or later, and there were only so many places for it to happen if they didn't want anyone else finding out, so if Starrk got back and found their shared apartment empty, he would know to check here.

Sure enough, an hour after, a reiatsu signature - usually so carefully tucked away but one that Shunsui had pressed into his own memory from the very first time he'd had the chance to really feel it - had flared politely right outside the door before wisping away to nothing again, and a moment after Urahara had flashed away to let him in, Starrk had ghosted in, still in his Shihakushou with the wooden case containing his Zanpakutou slung over one shoulder and an exhausted air about him, but the silver-blue gaze he'd swept over them had momentarily felt like the fangs of a beast locked around their throats.

He'd looked to Ichigo, who'd grimaced but nodded, some wordless conversation passing between them, and only then had all those predatory edges been folded away again, leaving only the quiet unassuming man people still barely looked twice at despite the fact that he'd graduated with honours just as impressive as Ichigo's had been, and had even been promoted to lieutenant on Unohana's personal recommendation straight out of the Academy. But most Shinigami saw Fourth Division and looked no further, blind to the power concealed behind Starrk's reserved apathy.

(In contrast, restlessness stirred beneath Shunsui's skin at the sight. He'd wanted to feel that reiatsu again, to taste the corrosive bite of it against the endless abyss of his own, to revel in the reminder that neither of them could overwhelm the other. He'd wanted to see more of the wolf lurking behind Starrk's eyes too, wanted this man to know he had no need to hide any part of it, not from Shunsui, not when he had the same kind of monster residing in his own soul. But that was all still too much, too soon, and so he'd locked it all behind his teeth once more, waiting for the day he wouldn't have to anymore.)

Starrk had sighed and run a gloved hand over his mouth before wandering over to join them. "Alright, let's talk. What do you want to know?"

That had been five hours ago. The conversation had lasted until midnight before they'd all decided to retire for the night and continue in the morning.

(Ichigo had looked positively agonized at the prospect. Starrk hadn't looked much of anything, mainly because he'd been half-asleep - or doing an excellent job at pretending to be - for a good hour and a half by that point.)

They'd opted to stay in the Study Chamber. Urahara had had more than enough futons to go around, thick enough that they wouldn't feel the ground underneath, and there were bathroom facilities and even a kitchenette included in a sectioned off corner. He and Yoruichi had certainly outdone themselves.

Urahara in particular. He'd invited them to use his hot spring too if they wished - a derivative of Kirinji Tenjirou's very own hot springs, less effective and fast-acting than the originals, only able to speed up recovery, but also far less dangerous - perfect for soaking in after a tough spar or a hard day or anything that results in moderately serious injuries. A veritable work of art.

Still, Shunsui had been more preoccupied with the way Starrk's eyes had lingered on the hot spring even as they'd all headed off to eat something and wash up before going to bed. In that split-second moment, the normally inscrutable man had looked adorably like a cat with a patch of sunlight. It shouldn't have been so attractive, but Shunsui had found himself unspeakably charmed all the same.

Ten minutes after everyone else's reiryoku had levelled out with deep slumber, and Shunsui had likewise tamped down on his own and smoothed it out to mimic sleep, he'd heard the faint rustle of Starrk's futon being pulled back, and then the whisper of footsteps padding their way towards the hot spring.

A better man than Shunsui would probably not have followed. But if that had ever been an option, he'd thrown it out the window from the first time he'd almost drowned in the shattered devastation of Starrk's soul and still decided to go after him.

He'd known since they'd met that there was some kind of connection between himself and Starrk.

He'd known for nearly as long that something about himself made Starrk uncomfortable, at best, and hurt him on a soul-deep level at worst.

He'd known with every interaction they'd had after that - every moment Shunsui could spare to track him down without making it seem too obvious that he was doing it on purpose - that Starrk wanted him to stay away just as much as he wanted him to stay, and Shunsui had taken shameless advantage because he himself had also been unable to do anything less, because he'd looked at this man and the desolate void inside him and couldn't bear to leave him alone.

(Because every moment with Starrk had filled something in Shunsui's own heart that he hadn't even known had been missing until Starrk had slotted into his life so neatly, so easily, that it had felt like he was always meant to be there.)

And he'd known for months, ever since time travel had become the most likely explanation for Starrk and Ichigo's origins, that there was no way Starrk hadn't known him in another life, and known him well, because that was the only thing that explained it all with perfect, horrifying sense.

A better man than Shunsui would not have followed, would've given him space. But a better man wouldn't have reduced someone's heart to a grief-stricken ruin either, cut so deep that it had carved that anguish straight into their very soul, so Shunsui figures that since a future version of himself has already sunk about as low as he possibly can, he might as well keep going and see if there's anything at all that he can do to fix what another him - still him, in the end, with a mere hundred years and change between them - has so clearly, carelessly, cruelly broken.

One of the things that had been revealed earlier had been Ichigo's background, because they'd all noticed the flashes of Quincy and Hollow in his reiatsu. Kaien had broken three sake cups and almost Urahara's face, and even by the end, he'd still looked murderous enough that Shunsui had almost pitied Shiba Isshin's foreseeable future. But Ichigo's ancestry had led to Starrk's, whose reiatsu may be as inherently dangerous as Shunsui's but has never read as anything less than perfectly Shinigami. They'd all been curious for a while, because Starrk was the kind of old and powerful that very few people could get to, and none that could and still remain unknown for so long, but there'd also been no Coyote Starrk in the Gotei 13 until this version who'd time-travelled had arrived in the Seireitei.

Starrk hadn't beaten around the bush. He'd pulled open the front of his Shihakushou and bared the web of scars below his collarbones, slightly branched out but thick and concentrated over his sternum in a distinctly circular mass.

"I'm not a Shinigami," He'd said calmly, plainly.

"You kind of are," Ichigo had mused, even as he'd glowered death eyes at them all when Starrk wasn't looking.

Starrk had shaken his head. "There's no name for what I am. I just evolved enough to fix my own soul."

He'd placed a hand over the scarring, and his gaze became distant enough that Shunsui's hands had twitched with the urge to reach out, even while the others had gaped, visibly shocked because it's one thing to have a soul like Ichigo's, one ultimately man-made, cobbled together from hope and desperation and a scientist's gamble; it's another entirely to realize that Shinigami have perhaps been looking at Hollows the wrong way for as long as any of them have existed.

(Because all Hollows are ultimately the product of the Shinigami's failure to save them in time, though most don't view it that way anymore, if they ever have. Because the possibility of a Hollow saving themselves has never even been a thought exercise in anyone's mind.)

Shunsui hadn't cared. No, that wasn't entirely correct. He'd been just as stunned as the others at this revelation that overturned millennia's worth of ironclad beliefs. But he'd been far, far more perturbed by what he could see of a second scar on Starrk's chest that bisected the circular one, faded just enough to indicate that it wasn't a very recent injury, but still deep and ragged and vivid enough to show how lethal it had been, how fatal, and-

And Shunsui had seen enough- dealt enough damage with his Zanpakutou to know the kind of wounds his blades left in their wake. And as if that wasn't enough, Katen had murmured in his mind, terrible and possessive and ruthlessly final, "Yes, his is a life we claimed for ourselves."

Shunsui had been almost relieved when Starrk had blinked back into the present and pulled his Shihakushou back on properly before continuing in a sedate tone, "We concluded that this is the final step for a Hollow, that they're allowed a chance to become whole again. It's just that even the strongest Hollows usually only survive for a few hundred years before something kills them, or they just don't have the power levels to climb that high, especially in the time they have."

He'd smiled then, but there'd been no humour in his expression, only infinite emptiness. "I survived, and I'm strong. So I guess this was my prize."

Nobody had really known what to say about all that, though Urahara had done an admirable job of recovering, and then an even more admirable job of pretending he didn't immediately want to whip out one piece of equipment or another and start scanning Starrk for data. They'd moved the conversation back to more information on the Quincy instead, although there would definitely be more questions in the future. But it'd been a lot to take in, and everybody had needed time to digest.

Now, hours later, Shunsui waits a bit before getting up as well and quietly making his way to the hot spring. He isn't surprised when he finds Starrk already rising from the water and reaching for a towel, evidently prepared to leave.

"Don't go," Shunsui says before he can think better of it, and he doesn't mean it as a demand or order, but he doesn't take it back either when Starrk goes still, water sluicing off of him - all tanned wet skin and strong shoulders and lean muscle for miles and now is really not the time - half turned away, and it's only because of that that even with the steam, Shunsui notices the conspicuous scar left by a stab wound in Starrk's back, just left of the spine.

This time, he doesn't need Katen to say anything at all.

Perhaps he'd dropped his conscience in a ditch on his way here, because he repeats, can't stop himself from repeating, "Don't go. I don't mean to chase you away. It's more than big enough for the both of us, isn't it?"

He pauses, reaches for a hat he'd left behind on his futon, and settles for shrugging out of his clothes instead. "…I'll stay on this side."

He slides into the water and forces himself to wait. When Starrk slowly sinks back into the hot spring, Shunsui very carefully doesn't react to that either.

The silence that settles over them is less tense than one might expect. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Starrk slumps against the edge of the hot spring, eyelids drooping. He has his hair tied back in a bun to keep it out of the water, and it's rare enough that Shunsui can't help taking a few extra looks.

Then again, that's nothing new. Starrk has always drawn his eye. Ukitake likes laughing at him for it.

"Does it bother you?" Starrk speaks up abruptly, unexpected enough that Shunsui almost startles. "That I'm a Hollow."

Shunsui wants to say that this man is so far from everything he'd ever thought even the most advanced Hollows could be that a part of him simply can't reconcile the disconnect. The rest of him…

"You're the same person now as you were before you told us what you are," He points out. "I don't think anything else matters."

Blue-grey eyes slit open, not quite looking in Shunsui's direction, not quite not, expression utterly indecipherable.

"…Did my future self think differently?" Shunsui ventures, but that can't be right. He can't imagine any version of himself who would think that way, especially one who'd lived even longer than he has. Still, his mind flashes back to the scars on Starrk's body, hidden beneath the water now but seared into Shunsui's memory like a brand, and he can't help coming up with increasingly depressing scenarios.

But Starrk blinks, and his focus finally hones in on Shunsui, genuinely surprised, and Shunsui releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"No," Starrk says after a beat of studying him with that too-perceptive gaze. "You've apparently always been more open-minded than most." He cocks his head. "But you were staring, so I thought…"

I always stare at you, haven't you noticed? Shunsui wants to blurt out, but he swallows it down with only a little effort. Too much, too soon.

After tonight's revelations, after all the speculations he's pieced together bit by bit over the past few months about their past-future relationship, maybe it will always be too soon. But Shunsui's never been in the habit of admitting defeat without even trying, and this time is no different.

"Something is bothering you though," Starrk tacks on, still watching Shunsui through narrowed eyes, and Shunsui wonders if the man realizes how much he looks like he's stalking prey in moments like this.

It should be unsettling, being on the receiving end of such a gaze, and it is, a little, but Shunsui's grown used to it too, grown to appreciate it even, to the feeling of being seen, of being known, and still being wanted.

(Because that's the one thing that's never been in question. Because however much Starrk sometimes reacts like Shunsui's very existence pains him, or how much he sometimes makes Shunsui feel completely bare, every sin and secret laid out for judgement, he's also never looked at Shunsui with anything less than the sort of quiet devotion the tide holds for the moon, or the stars for the sky, or dawn for the horizon, steadfast and eternal. Is it any wonder Shunsui can't stay away?)

"Is it this then?" Starrk asks next, and the water sloshes a little as he straightens up, revealing his scarred chest to tap a finger against the near-horizontal scar cleaved across it, right through where his Hollow hole had presumably still been at the time of the injury. Seeing it in its full gruesome glory now, Shunsui can tell that this wound had to have nearly cut the other man in two.

He feels a little at a loss for words, then sighs and fesses up. "Maa, I suppose I'm just a bit curious." He tries to keep his tone light, but there's really no two ways to say it. "…I did that, didn't I?"

Starrk levels an arch look at him. "Well, you didn't." He slouches back into the water, and somehow, he actually looks a bit amused. "I'm long over it, Taichou-san. We'd just met, and we were enemies at the time. You did what you had to do. We both did. It was war. If it makes you feel better, I gave as good as I got."

Shunsui snorts. That does actually make him feel a bit better. At the very least, this is preferable to the progressively dramatic betrayal scenes he'd been thinking of. He doesn't like the idea of his future self almost killing Starrk, but at least it hadn't happened after they'd become friends.

It does mean he has to reshuffle a few things on his mental timeline though, and across the hot spring, Starrk glances at him again and seems to understand.

"I guess we didn't get around to talking much about Aizen," He muses, then reveals, "We mentioned that before the Quincy became a problem, it was Aizen you all fought. Aizen set up his base of operations in Hueco Mundo, sought out Hollows from all over, and created an army of artificial Arrancar out of them to serve him, using that Hougyoku Ichigo was talking about earlier. I was part of that army."

Shunsui blinks at that revelation, and it's on the tip of his tongue to ask what Aizen - in his quest for world domination - could've possibly offered a man who didn't even like fighting to secure his allegiance. Then again, Shunsui's willing to bet at least a little hypnosis had been involved to ease the way. Aizen doesn't seem the type to bank on genuine fealty without including insurance.

The question stalls in his throat though as Starrk lifts a hand out of the water--his left, the one with the vivid burn scar stretched over the back of it. That isn't something often seen either. Starrk almost always has gloves on. He stares at it for a moment before letting it fall back beneath the water.

"The ten most powerful Arrancar in his army were called the Espada," Starrk explains. "I was the Primera. The first."

"The strongest," Shunsui nods. That sounds right, especially if Starrk had been sent to fight Shunsui.

Starrk shrugs noncommittally and says nothing else, leaving Shunsui to mull over the new information for a minute.

"Ichigo-kun warned us earlier," Shunsui eventually says. "About being Hollowfied by Aizen's Hougyoku. That turning into Visored stunted any chance of growth, and that you weren't even halfway through the Blood War before Lisa-chan and the others' power levels had degraded to barely that of a seated officer's."

Hirako had been grim-faced at the news. Lisa had looked ready to march out and rip Aizen's head off right then and there. Honestly, Shunsui had shared the sentiment.

"Then wouldn't it have been the same for Aizen's Arrancar?" Shunsui continues, watching a puzzled frown furrow at Starrk's brow. "They were granted power by the Hougyoku. Shouldn't it have stunted them too?"

Starrk nods, still frowning. "Yeah, it did. Grimmjow was furious when he found out." He blinks, and then realization strikes. "Oh, you mean me."

Shunsui hums a confirmation. Why in the world would he mean anyone else?

Starrk shakes his head. "I was the exception. Aizen found me last, out of most of the Arrancar. Definitely last out of the Espada. But even then, I was already more powerful than all the others, so he gave me the Primera seat." A corner of his mouth quirks with a cynical sort of mirth. "I didn't want more power, and he certainly wasn't about to give me more. I suppose it was fortunate. I don't think even Aizen knew back then that the Hougyoku would cause stagnation."

Powerful enough to have risen to Arrancar on his own, Shunsui muses, and he has to marvel at that, has to admire it. That kind of strength - mental even more than physical in some ways - isn't something just anyone can possess. Evidently. The only natural Arrancar in the known worlds. The only one to repair his own soul. What an extraordinary accomplishment. Except-

"I'm sorry it took so long," Shunsui says softly, because he knows Starrk is around the same age as himself, and if he was still an Arrancar by Aizen's war, then he could only have spent all the centuries before in Hueco Mundo. Even if he'd had companions there, Starrk would've outlived them all. "It must've been lonely."

I'm sorry nobody could help, because no Shinigami would've known to help. Perhaps most wouldn't have been willing to even if they'd known. I'm sorry I couldn't help.

For a long moment, Starrk is still enough to resemble a statue. Then a scoff of something that could've been laughter if it didn't ache so much claws its way out of his throat. He doesn't lift his gaze from where it's fallen blankly on the shifting surface of the hot spring. "No need to be sorry. I'm used to it."

Used to it. Used to being alone. Used to being left behind.

Shunsui doesn't think he's only talking about those long years in Hueco Mundo anymore, not when he's avoiding eye-contact again, not when Shunsui can suddenly feel the bleak despair radiating from his soul again.

"There's nothing worse than only being able to stand by helplessly while something you love disappears in front of you."

Not for the first time, Shunsui feels an acute desire to have a nice long talk with his future self and ask exactly how much of the agony rippling through Starrk's reiatsu can be placed directly at his feet.

(It isn't as if Shunsui can't understand. Even disregarding all other circumstances, the fact that they'd been at war would've meant that there could be no guarantees.

But still.

Still.

Couldn't he have tried a little harder? Didn't he know better than anyone the pain of being the only one left behind, the way it lingers like a slow unending bleed you're forced to carry until the day death finally deigns to take you too?

Shunsui at least has Ukitake, has Yama-jii, has Retsu-senpai and Sasakibe-san too, has Lisa-chan and Hirako and Kaien-kun, even has Nanao-chan to watch over in his brother and sister-in-law's stead. And in the future, maybe he'd lost them all, but it also sounds like he'd still had one to staunch the bleed, still had Starrk, right to the very end.

Then, who did Starrk have after Shunsui had died?

Isn't the answer obvious? Isn't Starrk still bleeding right now?)

A heavy sigh jolts Shunsui out of his thoughts, and his hands sting from where his nails have dug into his palms, fortunately out of sight. On the other side, Starrk clambers to his feet, water sloughing off his frame as he turns to get out of the hot spring.

The steam obscures his face this time, but even if he could see it, Shunsui thinks it would be one of those times again where he wouldn't be able to read him at all.

"Don't think so hard, Taichou-san," Starrk says, voice as calm as a blanket of snow over a cemetery. "It's not your job to save me."

I can't be saved anymore. I don’t want to be saved.

Shunsui's out of the water and next to Starrk before either of them can blink.

Too much, too soon, a part of him warns, but this time, he throws caution to the wind, reaches out, and closes a hand around Starrk’s wrist.

Starrk freezes, the pulse under Shunsui’s fingers jumps, and for a moment, time seems to stop.

They must look ridiculous, dripping wet and naked, and yet Shunsui barely notices, and Starrk has probably noticed everything but.

"It's not my job, that's true," Shunsui says without letting go, staring at what he could see of the other's face. "And I don't know if what I'm doing is meant to save you. But if you think I'll just let you go to your grave after all this is over, Ichigo-kun is apparently not the one we should've been worrying most about after all."

They had made a mistake, Shunsui realizes. He had made a mistake. Because looking at Starrk and Ichigo--at Starrk who was so steady and composed all the time, and then at Ichigo who was so much more transparent in his misery, in his fury, in his determination to achieve his end goals no matter the cost to himself, that it was almost instinct for everyone to focus their concerns on him. Because for all that Ichigo was reluctant to involve them, and reticent on the best of the days, he was at least also loud about it, and therefore was that much easier to help--to know they need to help.

Compared to him, Starrk has always shown himself to be the rock in a storm that even Ichigo clearly clings to. He has never been anything less than an ocean of serenity, but perhaps they should've remembered that no ocean is calm beneath the surface.

…No, it's Shunsui who should've remembered. He has literal unparalleled insight into Starrk's soul, feels the ache of it regularly, even if not all the time, except he'd just… not forgotten, that's impossible, but he'd been trying to fix it in his own way, with tea and conversation and countless attempts at coaxing out even just one more smile, except he can never tell when he might be going too far, pushing too fast, wanting too much, always feeling a bit like he's standing helpless in front of a skittish cornered animal too hurt to accept any kind of affection, and so perhaps as a result, Shunsui's ended up failing to show Starrk just how far he's willing to go instead.

Case in point, he's still holding onto Starrk, touching him, skin warm against Shunsui's own. Shunsui would've thought he'd be shaken off by now, possibly tossed into a wall out of reflex if nothing else, but Starrk hasn't even attempted to pull away. His pulse is calming again, but Shunsui can feel the tension in his arm, and he's staring down at their limbs with a lost expression.

Shunsui tightens his grip and runs his thumb along the inside of the other's wrist. He feels more than sees the shiver that runs through Starrk's body, for all that Starrk still hasn't moved. But the lost expression on his face also retreats. It leaves exhaustion-bruised eyes and enough sorrow thrumming through his reiatsu to smother the breath from Shunsui's lungs in its wake, but at the very least, he also finally looks up to meet Shunsui's gaze.

"…I don't know what you want from me, Shunsui," Starrk says wearily.

It's the first time he's ever used Shunsui's name. Shunsui only wishes he wouldn't sound so unbearably sad when saying it, but he'd take what he could get.

"That's easy," Shunsui replies, catching that pale mercurial gaze and holding it. "I want the same thing you've asked of Ichigo-kun. I want you to live."

A long silence follows before a rough sound spills from Starrk's throat like shattered glass.

"'Easy'," Starrk echoes, shoulders shaking, with laughter, with tears. But his eyes are dry, and he's the farthest thing from amused, and his soul feels like it might swallow itself whole just to cease its own existence. So this time, Shunsui lets instinct guide his hands and doesn't let himself second-guess it--in one swift motion, he tugs the other man into his arms and wraps him in a hug like he's wanted to ever since Starrk's soul had grasped for his own like he was drowning and Shunsui was the only one who could pull him to shore. Who could convince him to come ashore.

Starrk collapses against him, shuddering like he might fall apart with even just one more word, one more breath, one more touch, but Shunsui only draws him closer, holds him harder, and refuses to let him go.

[aceinacloset]

!FNAF SL REDUX!

Character Profile #4 Ballora the Ballerina

The ballerina, the spider crawler, the mom of the group (don't call her that), and a very capable second in command to CB. Ballora is another one of our main characters in FNAF SL REDUX. I gave her far more lore than Canon fnaf ever did, so be prepared for a big wall of text. Enjoy 😊.

When William had first began designing Ballora, he would base it off of his wife Katherine. Specifically basing her off of when Katherine had done ballet, back when she was younger.

Ballora's name is not that original, William just slightly changed the word ballet to make her name.

When it came to balloras development, she was the second easiest funtime to make, with Funtime Foxy being the first. The only real difficulty was balloras sound activation, it was far too sensitive and it took Afton forever to stabilize it.

When the location opened, Ballora would entertain the children through dance, music, and even teaching the kids how to dance.

Ballora at this point in the story is very sweet, programmed with all the niceties that can make children happy and comfortable. This would become more noticeable when the rental opens years after Circus Baby's Pizza closes.

Speaking of the closure of Circus Baby's Pizza, Ballora was unaware of what caused the closure but did not believe it was a gas leak as the news would say. Why she's adamant it wasn't a gas leak, she heard something and it sounded like a scream. She would even hear it again. So she believed a serious accident caused it’s closure (an accident it was) 

After the Pizzeria was closed, but before Elizabeth possessed CB would be when William would first experiment with Elizabeth's remnant, on the other 3 funtimes specifically. 

Ballora was the second to be tested, and this said test will entirely fuck up ballora's sound activation sensors. It would cause her to be triggered by almost every sound, and the only way it couldn't be triggered is if she was entirely powered down. This wouldn't be the only thing changed however.

The best way I can describe Ballora In this point in the story is, a very patient yet tempered individual. Her lack of proper sleep sometimes contributes to this, since the only way she can rest is when she plays her music box, which in itself takes energy. The Minereenas are good company and Ballora is internally grateful to them.

But this temper tends to come from staff. Ballora does not trust the staff and tends to view them as nuisances, and wishes they would just go away and leave her alone. She causes the most damage and injuries to the staff, with Funtime Freddy a very close second. Ballora is basically a tired Middle aged mother, already ready to retire but physically can't.

Which by the way Don't call Ballora mom, the only ones allowed to call her that are the Minireenas and Elizabeth, and even then with Liz it's a rare occasion. Children are also a special case, because they are children. Anyone else? Makes her really uncomfortable and she may kill you.

Ballora does find comfort in the others though, mostly Funtime Freddy and CB. Since Funtime Freddy had fled to the breaker room, he and Ballora have become some nice company, despite how different the two are. They both rely on each other for comfort, often when they're usual comforts are not enough. Ballora will play her music box for Freddy, while Funtime Freddy will tell stories or crack jokes to relax Balloras mind.

CB on the other hand was different, Ballora felt like she could confide in CB about her struggles and whose. CB understood and would listen, sometimes relating. Other times Ballora would use CB as a dancing partner, dancing has always been Balloras main comfort and will always be open to a partner.

Ballora mostly talked to Foxy when they were rented out together, they got along well and bounced off each other. They are good at wrangling kids and they are good acting partners. Foxy just prefers to be alone with his thoughts, and she just isn't good at comforting others, even if it's ballora.

Ballora is one of few who would learn some of CBs secrets. Ballora is obviously upset that CB kept not only that they as animatronics were built to kill, but that CB herself killed a kid and that kid is Elizabeth. Ballora would learn of Elizabeths’ fate by Liz herself, trusting Ballora enough to do so. Ballora would also be the second main animatronic to be able to see liz

Ballora is second in command to CB for a reason, she is the realist to CBs determination. These two would be a unit (and basically Elizabeth’s adoptive found guardians)

Prior to Michaels arrival, when it came to Staff entering Ballora gallery it was a death sentence. No matter how many times ballora is shocked or sent to the scooper, she doesn't stop attacking staff. 

“Ballora never learns…” 

Funtime Foxy is no better though…

But despite all this violence towards tech and staff, she is an absolute sweetheart with the kids. It's almost total tonal whiplash, she's very accommodating for children but will straight up end any tech that happens to get a little too close.

Children that tend to like Ballora the most are usually shy/introverted types, and those who get easily distressed/uncomfortable in crowded and loud areas. Her voice and music box are major comforts for them.

By FNAF SL game events, Ballora will be about the same as she is in said game. But obviously we'd see everything from her perspective instead of Mike's, and let's just say Ballora is very pessimistic that this plan will work, but will see it through regardless.

Ballora was impressed when it actually succeeded, but that impression didn't last long. Once they got ejected from Michael's corpse and got separated, ballora would kinda fall silent for a while.

While in the amalgamation (or rather what's left of it), Ballora and the others would try to put themselves back together with whatever they could find. This included Scrap metal, spare parts found at an auction, and just straight up trash. Once put into a stable condition, they would just explore, but mostly hide in trash bins for night fall.

They would find good company in each other, but Ballora would kinda fall into a depression even with Freddy, Foxy, and Bon Bon with her. Their company does help though.

During their exploration of the world above, they would mostly hide in garbage bins during the day to avoid being seen. At night though they would explore, Far more daring and open then CB. They really enjoyed stores full of TVs and Radios, they snuck into a library and read books, and also stuck into a Toys R Us (child-like wimzy activated). No one would ever find out it was them, since by the time the locations open they had long fled the building through vents or the fucking celling.

The funtimes drawn to the FNAF 6 location came subconsciously, they just wandered and stumbled upon it. There is more to this though, since Elizabeth’s split up remnant was reunited when the funtimes became ennard to then only be ripped apart again the remnant now desired to be whole. This would lead to the subconscious draw to the largest source of the associated remnant, and that happened to be where Elizabeth is, which is in the Pizza Sim location. Elizabeth unknowingly drew the funtimes to their fiery doom.

The Funtimes were very confused why they were here, and what this place even was anyway. CB being here didn't make them feel any better…

They were livid to see that clown again, since they left her to basically die. They didn't want to fight her mostly due to the size difference, Ballora really did wanna square up to CB though. So obviously when they finally did fight each other, Ballora was the one mostly in control during it. This fight didn't last since their bodies were being held together by pure spite at this point, and they would decide to come to a truce and behave when Liz was around.

(Even when their time on stage is long over, they still abide by the code of “let's behave and be civil in the sight of kids”)

Once Afton pulls up, they would finally join forces again. Joining forces to kill a mutual enemy, mutual hatred really is bringing people together. 

Ballora by this point is like a disgruntled female detective, tired the moment she walks in a room and already ready to embrace death when leaving a room. She's just very physically and mentally tired. So most hunting and violent attempts towards afton are mostly Freddy and Foxys doing.

That would also mean, our little amalgamation would begin to hunt Michael again. Sorry Mike 😔.

Ballora misses the Minereenas like CB misses the BidyBabs. She does still have her music box for comfort, broken but still functional. Perpetually playing, and making Michael's ability to stop them far easier. They aren't happy obviously.

Ok moving forward in the timeline to the whole fire, Ballora was not really happy with the idea of burning to death but by this point she was too tired to care, practically dying on the metal coils and miss matched parts she dares to call her body. So she embraced her fate.

…

Obviously this wouldn't be the end for her just yet, like CB, she would also have her AI put into the Employee Virtual Training Program.

‘Lora, HW 2 Ballora

Very confused on how she got here, and uncomfortable that she's in Ballora Gallery again. She's like ‘is this hell’ But having the minireenas back was great, until she found out they aren't really there. The major indicator that things weren't right were the BidyBabs being in her gallery (they never liked her). When she would discover the nature of her new location, and what happened to the others, she would begin to get comfortable with her new situation. Even if she is limited with where she can go, and does feel kinda alone sometimes, the minireenas and surprisingly the bidybabs are good company when she can't see the others.

And the end…

Now onto her AR Skins, which are not the Ballora I've talked about for 5-6 doc pages.

Arctic Ballora (Arctic, Arctic ‘lora)

Cold internally and externally, often active In the fall and winter since she's less likely to get damaged. Despite being a cold individual she can be quite sweet, and she can be a great help to Broiler and her voice box (Specifically in the summer) Broiler also helps her not lock up during the winter. Like her counterpart, she is loved most by children. She doesn't mind Clockwork, she just can't handle her energy.

Clockwork Ballora (Clockwork, Clockwork ‘lora)

Far more rambunctious and sarcastic, having a bit of a smug smile and attitude sometimes. She is the only ballora that is more popular with teens than kids, she has that moody energy. Her and Heartsick really are at the same wavelength, and can really deal with each other's energy. She likes Arctic, she just wishes Arctic would loosen up more.

And that is the end of Balloras character profile

Circus Baby Character profile

Elizabeth Afton Character profile

Katherine Afton Schmidt profile

[not-xpr-art]

meaning time ladsssssss

(this is gonna be a bit less concise than my other one because my thoughts are ALL over the place with this piece... I'm also just really tired today but anyway)

ok so this is one where I had SUCH a vivid concept idea in my head (mainly inspired by the nothing but thieves song 'lover please stay'*) but I was finding it really hard to translate into an artwork... so let's see if I can explain it better with words lol?

ok so basically I wanted the disembodied hand of Len (surrounded by a halo) to be reaching out towards an unaware Tommy (which someone in the tags mentioned made them think he was reaching out to give him head pats or something which did make me giggle a bit lol) hanging above like the sword of damocles, a heavy, suffocating presence following Tommy throughout his life (and especially at the funeral)

(originally had it hovering at his shoulder but it looked weird idk... partly because foreshortening is NOT my strong point and fsr I refused to use a proper reference for Len's hand?????? can't explain it...)

the stark lines of the background were originally going to be more organic and soft looking... I think the lines feel more relevant, especially with the idea of Tommy being trapped in a life he never wanted (because of the sacrifice he made to save Len by leaving him)

(the silver bars perhaps like a cage, or a prison...)

and it is kinda funny that I did start with a very different colour palette (pale blue and gold), but blue and red seems to be my in9 colour scheme so here we go again pfft...

not a lot to say about the style of this one lol... again, planned to do something totally different (wanted to do art nouveau style) but it just ended up morphing into something else entirely lol. I guess maybe an interesting thing about how I painted is that I predominantly painted Tommy's skin tone in pinks/reds (I was aiming for a more realistic tone than I usually do) which is maybe why the pale blue and gold background didn't work hmm...

the string of fate between them has disconnected, but Tommy is still unable to let go as Len unravels from his life like a loose thread...

this episode just makes me feel so much lol I just really hope that emotion comes across in my artworks of them tbh...

*also just in case people aren't aware of some of the lyrics in the song that I felt were really relevant for these two, so here they are:

'So take from me what you want, what you need

Take from me whatever you want, whatever you need

But lover, please stay with me

...

And I can see you, I can feel you

Slipping through my hands'

i can feel you, slipping through my hands...

(yes, another bernie clifton's dressing room fanart lol)

(09/2024)

this piece went through like 5000 concept changes before i settled on 'sword of damocles meets red string of fate' lol...

[lifezvictory]

If I had to pick a least favorite voice, it would have to be Smitten.

Even before Pristine Cut, I never found him as charming as everyone else seemed to. I'm aroace and romance repulsed so I thought that was what it mainly was, that he represented everything that irked me about romance as a concept. But I think it was more than that.

Smitten, though it might not seem that way at first glance, is selfish. He only cares about how he feels and no one else. Hero is clearly uncomfortable with the way that he acts about the Princess, and I, for the record, was uncomfortable and annoyed too, but is too nice to directly ask him to stop. (I know, I've been there.) But Smitten never listens. He keeps disrespecting everyone's boundaries over, and over, and over again.

He also believes that he is pure good and isn't doing anything wrong ("Would you rather believe me with my good nature?") But the most glaring flaw with him is his entitlement.

He will accept no less than the Princess being romantically in love with him. When she doesn't seem happy to be with him, he cannot even entertain the idea that she might not want him and completely snaps, blaming anyone and anything else before accepting the reality of the situation. Happily Ever After, to me, feels like a blatant depiction of an abusive relationship, with Damsel panicking when Quiet doesn't go along with things and desperately insisting to Smitten, who is now in her head, that she's happy with him. So much for him preferring she didn't have a voice in her head telling her what to do, I guess it's different when said voice is him. Very protagonist centered morality, that one. .

The more commonly disliked voices, Opportunist and Cold, I just can't manage to be as upset by. Do they do and say some very questionable things, to say the least? Yes. But the difference is, they're honest about it. Neither one of them even tries to hide their true nature, well maybe Oppy does but he's terrible at it, like a cartoon villain. You know right away not to fully trust either of them, that they are threats. Smitten on the other hand is far more subtle, to the point that I was gaslighting myself about his true nature before Pristine Cut came out. And he is far more similar to abusive and entitled people you would find in real life.

TLDR: Unpopular opinion, Smitten sucks actually.

[bunnys-kisses]

https://www.tumblr.com/bunnys-kisses/768349619894861824/im-holding-your-hand-when-im-saying-this-as-a?source=share

people started asking crane (Max’s friend) on stream if Lestappen (Charles and max) is real. I think he was like “I shouldn’t be furthering/entertaining this” (I forgot what he said word for word). People took it as something to be excited about, that the drivers are aware of the ships and all, but idk. I think fandoms are getting too bold for my liking. I have no problem with shipping, but this parasocial behaviour is out of hand. I saw this when 1D was still a group (with Harry x Louis shippers harassing Louis to the point where he got so upset when the ship was referenced in the popular show Euphoria), I’ve seen it with Kpop in which idols have stopped hanging out publicly because fandoms get out of hand (a girl in the group Aespa had a boyfriend earlier this year and fans got very upset because they shipped her and another member and they broke up. A few years ago, 2 members of two different kpop groups (SNSD and EXO) dated and the girl got harassed at the airport even). And now this.

Fandoms get so parasocial so quickly, it’s insane. It’s not new behaviour, but it’s strange.

exactly, this isn't new behavior. but i feel like it's become more emboldened with how much more "online" both fans and companies/groups are.

more under the cut, because this is a long one....

i also think it ties into this notion that i've been seeing online about how fans have this feeling to be "right" both with rpf and fiction as well. that their theories, opinions and whatever else is "correct". i've seen this with like pieces of media like steven universe and even star wars. like fandom isn't fun anymore, it has become this weird one up over each other. i honestly don't know when this changed, my guess is around the pandemic when it seemed like people were more logged into the internet. but, i could be wildly off with that. (if you have an idea, i'd love to know). it just feels stupid in so many ways how fandoms are structured. even if you're not the "best" artist or writer, people can't have FUN in fandom - of course that doesn't mean it has to be absolved criticism. you can have fun and still call out hate within spaces. the issue with formula one (along with k-pop like you mentioned, anon), is that these aren't characters. this isn't arguing in the tags over is finnpoe or reylo is more valid or legitimate within the narrative. these are REAL people, with REAL friends, families and partners.

it's this weird push to have someone's theory - and while i have a soft spot for lestappen, it is at the end of the day nothing more than fan theory - be confirmed. also personally, if hattie (oscar's sister) or crane (max's friend) "outed" them, i would be horribly fucking offended on oscar/max's behalf. to have someone you TRUST just out you like that. it's sick. maybe it's because i worked in queer spaces from high school all the way through uni, and the number one rule no matter WHAT, is you never out someone. even if the question is harmless and the person asking has no ill intention. you never out another person, because it's not YOUR coming out. so the fact that fans are near begging these people to OUT their loved ones, is not only a level of delusion that i can't ever comprehend. but, also it could honestly, ruin that interpersonal relationship.

so like even if a driver is queer, whoever it may be. could be a driver from the 90s, could be a driver today, it could be a driver in five years, i don't want someone else in their life outing them. because that's THEIR story. and fans need to realize that. bothering crane or hattie or alexandra (i've seen that too) - isn't helping anyone and it makes you look unhinged and weirdly alienates not only the driver but their loved ones. YES, they knew it exists, it is EVERYWHERE. but shoving it in their faces doesn't help. and you're never going to get the confirmation because there is a high chance that their not even queer to begin with. and if they are, NOT OUR CONCERN

i don't have a problem writing or consuming rpf, it is not a crime nor do i think it should be stopped. like HAVE FUN. but you have to realize that it's not like debating star wars or marvel or whatever other piece of fictional media. formula one is REAL, they are not actors. they are athletes, and unless you want all rpf to be shut down some how. i suggest the likes of some of ya'll need to understand that there are different boundaries. and respect them.

i know they're all millionaires, but they still breathe and bleed as a friend of mine once said. it's fun to put them in little scenarios in fanworks, but just keep it out of their direct attention. there are unspoken boundaries, that some of ya'll need have said to you apparently.

asking oscar issac if he THINKS that finnpoe is real is VERY different than asking someone's sister if she thinks her REAL LIFE BROTHER is fucking his REAL LIFE TEAMMATE. - people's relationships have turned to ash over insistent rpf in their faces all the time.

my advice at the end of the day is: have fun, don't write or draw it because you want confirmation that it's a real relationship. write or draw it because you're having fun. fandom is about making friends and shipping in whatever context is about finding a slice of community on the vast internet, not cracking the code of if it is a real relationship. - bunny.