#for your challenges because they’re something your supposed to hide. like?? NO

[natugood]

It’s really weird and kind of sad realizing that you are growing differently than how someone you’ve known for a long time is growing

[simjaexy]

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙔𝙤𝙪 | 𝙋.𝙎.

Pairing ⇀ Popular Boy! Park Sunghoon x Fem! Reader

Synopsis ⇀ Sunghoon is the enigmatic and talented ice hockey player, captivating everyone with his skill on the ice and his mysterious aura off it. He's the guy who doesn't say much but leaves a lasting impression. Sunghoon's dedication to his sport and his quiet confidence make him a true heartthrob, unfortunately he just can’t get your attention.

Genre ⇀ Smut

Warnings ⇀ MINORS DNI!!, Sunghoon is toxic (so is Jake a little), Making Out, Cum Eating, Hair Pulling, Mean Dom! Sunghoon x Sub! Reader, Pain Kink, Semi Public Sex, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms

A/n ⇀ This is part 2 of the Wanting You Series.

Read Jongseong here.

Sunghoon was known for his icy demeanor and striking looks. He wasn't the type to show his emotions easily, and that made him even more intriguing. His friends often joked about his ability to make anyone fall for him without even trying.

But when one of them decided to make a challenge on who could pull you, Sunghoon didn’t even try hiding his smirk. He accepted the challenge, though he viewed it as just another game.

When Sunghoon heard about the challenge the first thing he did was ignore you. Not because he didn’t like you, but because he knew his friend, Jake was gonna have you first.

He knew Jake always loved being first in things, so it wasn’t a surprise when a few days later Jake said that Sunghoon can go for you.

“She’s pretty chill so I wouldn’t worry much.” Jake said.

Sunghoon grinned at him, “So why’d you take so long to get her?”

“Because she’s the kind that likes to play hard to get. Nothing too big though.” He replied.

Unfortunately for Sunghoon, you seem like you weren’t interested in him.

Students whispered and giggled as Sunghoon walked past them, unfazed that they’re talking about him.

It’s not the first time he’s got this attention, and it won’t be the last either. But when he walked past you, you didn’t even acknowledge him and just shut your locker and head the other way.

Sunghoon didn’t show and expression though. He just simply continued walking to his next class, he wasn’t gonna stop and beg.

If there was one thing Sunghoon hated about this class, is that there was always that one teacher that pissed him off.

He listens to his teacher talking his brains off about something he did over break, but why the hell would he care?

Sunghoon sighed and looked out the window. The view wasn’t all that either. He looked to his side and noticed a specific person walking past his classroom.

Immediately, he raised his hand, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

Before the teacher could respond he quickly left the class. He was not trying to hear his teacher give him a lecture.

He scanned the hallways, but didn’t see any signs of you, that was until he heard a voice and saw you coming out the library.

You had two of the same books in your hand which left him confused, but didn’t ponder much.

Now that he thought about it, Jake’s been getting into books again. He rolled his eyes, thinking that Jake was still trying to keep you on hold while he tries to get you.

He knew Jake was a sucker for romance m, though he didn’t know he’d fall this fast. Sunghoon ignored his thoughts and went up to you shamelessly.

You bumped into him without seeing him and stared up, “O-Oh sorry.”

He looked down at you, “It’s fine. Have you seen Jake, he was with you the last time I seen him.”

He lied about the wanting to see Jake. He saw him not even that long ago but who cares. He has to get your attention somehow.

He did see you two together at one point today even though he wasn’t supposed to interrupt Sunghoons turn, but Sunghoon let it slide.

“Uh I think he went to a soccer game, they got called out early in the speaker.” You replied.

Sunghoon hummed and thanked you, walking away without a thought. You watched as he disappeared from your sight.

You and Jake haven’t been really talking as much since the incident in the library, sometimes he’ll just plain out ignore you when you tried talking to him in the halls, but texts you apologizing that he didn’t see you.

You’d sigh and would leave a message saying it’s fine. You’d still give him a book though, at least it’s one way to keep in touch.

He’d grab it in a secluded hallway and thanked you, kissing your forehead. He wouldn’t kiss you though, but you thought he just didn’t feel like it.

The next day Sunghoon got up extra early. Jake told him that you were going to the library so he decided to head there too. He already had a plan fixed.

He has to talk about something that’ll keep you interested, and he doesn’t think Jake won’t be offended if he used him as bait. The plan was quite simple.

He would talk about Jake and how he’s been ignoring you since Jake said it was for Sunghoon to get his game up.

You’d feel sad and disappointed and that’s when Sunghoon will come into view. His plan was simple and yet perfect.

As he made it to the library, he noticed that there barely anyone there. The librarians working on books while some students were reading or doing homework.

He averted his gaze to a specific hair color and walked his way towards you. You looked engrossed in a book. He approached you, his cold aura unmistakable, "Is this seat taken?" he asked, his voice smooth but distant.

You glanced up, slightly taken aback by his sudden presence, and shook your head. He sat down, barely sparing you a glance as he pulled out his own book.

The silence between you was palpable, but there was something about his aloofness that piqued your curiosity.

You wondered why he randomly wanted to sit with you. Maybe it was because you were talking to Jake?

It was silent for quite some time, the only thing heard were the sound of Sunghoon flipping pages of his book. You didn’t know he was interested in books.

“Is there something on my face?” He suddenly asked.

You felt your cheeks heat up and quickly turned back to your book, “S-Sorry.” You stuttered.

Sunghoon suddenly closed his book and stared at you, “Have you’ve been talking to Jake?”

You looked up from your book surprised. You didn’t know if he knew that Jake was ignoring you, “Not really, no. He’s been busy with practice I guess.”

Sunghoon hummed and leaned on his hand, “He doesn’t have practice on the weekends.” He spoke. Your eyes widened.

But he told you he had practice everyday? You felt your chest sting and took a deep breath, “He told me he did?”

“He doesn’t.”

The way Sunghoon cold honestly somewhat made you snap into reality. Jake lied to you. He always cancelled your plans on the weekends saying he had practice.

Sunghoon continued staring at you. He couldn’t help but feel satisfied with the way you looked.

Brows furrowed, lips parting, concentrated in thought. He definitely hit you where it hurts, “Jake has always been like that with girls. Lying to their faces. It’s in his nature.” Sunghoon chuckled.

But you just stayed silent. You slowly closed your book, “I-I think I should get going.” You muttered. Sunghoon doesn’t stop you when you rushed out the library.

Instead he yawned, closed his book, and headed out the library too. Plan a worked perfectly. Now all he has to do is put on his comforting character and care for you.

Class was just as boring as he remembered. Currently he had his head down, it was break and students were talking to each other. Sunghoon didn’t really have friends in that class.

He just talks to whoever comes up to him. Aside from girls, he ignored them or just give out short answers.

While feeling in the verge of falling asleep, he heard a group of girls speaking, “Yeah it’s tonight so I went to buy a cute dress yesterday!” A girl voice squeaked.

He then heard another girl talk, “You think Sunghoon and his friends will go?” A girl muttered, but Sunghoon heard loud and clear.

They began whispering while it suddenly clicked in Sunghoon mind. Today was the gathering of students good attendance.

Sunghoon and his friends did have good attendance, but never went to those. It was cringey and not worth their time from practice.

He then had an idea. You must be going to it, he knows you had good attendance, he won’t lie and say he doesn’t pay attention to you everyday entering your classes while he talked to his friends.

He lifted his head up and looked at the group of girls, “When does that start?” He asked them. They gasped as two of them squealed that the Park Sunghoon was talking to them.

“O-Oh uh it starts at s-six thirty!” One of them squeaked. Sunghoon got up and left the classroom as soon as the bell rang, not even thanking them.

He guessed he could skip practice if that means you’ll go.

He found out you were attending a small gathering and made sure to be there. He dressed up a bit formal and had his hair gelled. There’s no way you won’t fall for his looks.

As the night went on, you found yourself alone on the balcony, enjoying the cool breeze.

Suddenly, Sunghoon appeared beside you, his expression as unreadable as ever. "You look like you could use some company," he said, his voice low.

You were surprised by his sudden approach but nodded, feeling a strange comfort in his presence.

“It was too loud.” You said.

“Hate loud crowds?” He asked. You nodded and stared down.

“There aren’t really my thing.”

“I don’t like loud crowds either.” He admitted. You gave him a smile, but he didn’t really smile back.

As the conversation flowed, you realized that beneath his cold exterior, there was a depth to Sunghoon that was intriguing.

He spoke about his passions, his dreams, and his fears, all while maintaining that distant aura. It was as if he was letting you in, but only just enough to keep you wanting more.

You suddenly thought about Jake, the only thing you knew about him was that he’s talkative and likes to play soccer, and not to mention he’s pretty good at sex.

Your mind suddenly drift to Sunghoon, with his cold personality, you had a feeling that he was still good in bed. His strong biceps could practically choke you while he fucks you from behind.

Your eyes went wide. Why the hell were you thinking about that? You’re talking to Jake. You gulped hard and bashfully looked away.

Sunghoon suddenly noticed the shift of the air and smirked. You’re finally falling for his schemes.

“S-So Jake didn’t come?” You questioned. Sunghoon shook his head.

“None of us go to these gatherings.”

“So why’d you come?” You curiously replied. Sunghoon stared at you with an unreadable expression.

“Didn’t feel like a bad idea to see you.” He said. You felt your heart beating fast. Why were you feeling like this?

Maybe it was because Jake left you hanging these past few weeks that you forgot what it was like to have attention.

“Why’d you want to see me?” You mumbled. Sunghoon smirked and went next to your ear.

“I thought your dress would look good on you. Turns out I was right.”

You felt yourself gasp and stared up at him. He slowly cupped your face and stepped closer, “I know Jake hasn’t been giving you the attention you deserve. So use me while you can.” He whispered.

His breath hitting your lips. You didn’t know what to do. You knew that if you did something right here you’ll regret. But the way Sunghoon pulled you closer made you have other thought.

And just like that your lips connected. The kiss was slow and sensual, feeling every part of his lips. You sighed and wrapped your arms around his neck.

Sunghoon knew he shouldn’t be doing this, the challenge was just to make you like them, not giving you a satisfaction, but the way you looked so helpless to him made him want to ruin you in other ways.

He gripped your neck and entered his tongue in your mouth. You let him in so easily. He gripped your waist with his other hand.

You felt yourself getting dizzy just from kissing him. Your thoughts on Jake long forgotten with the way Sunghoon pushed you against the railing.

You suddenly remembered you were in a public area and broke the kiss, saliva connecting your lips.

“W-We shouldn’t do this. Jake-“

“I don’t care about Jake. He doesn’t give you the satisfaction you need.” He said. You felt yourself lowering your head.

Sunghoon lifted your head up with his finger under your chin, “You deserve someone who’ll treat you right. So what are you waiting for? I’m right here.”

And that was all he needed to say for you to kiss his lips again. You moaned when he put his hand under your dress and rubbed your cloth core.

He grinned, feeling your wetness damp your underwear, “Already so wet? You’re a curious one.”

You whined when he pulled away and dragged you back inside. You didn’t know where you two were going, but you were excited to say the least.

You both entered the family restroom as Sunghoon locked the door. He turned back around and kissed you again.

He picked you up and settled you on the sink. He pulled your dress over your body. He began trailing kisses down your body causing you to sigh.

He moved your underwear to the side and prodded at your hole, but stopped when he realized something, “Did Jake fuck you already?”

You stared at him dazed, but slowly nodded your head, “A while back.”

Sunghoon fucking knew it. He knew Jake fucked you the minute he saw Jake the next day. His ego was high that day. But Sunghoon knows how to ruin it.

“I’ll show you what a real fuck is.” He commented. Before you could say anything he entered not one, not two, but three fingers in your hole causing you to scream.

You felt your hole burning, but you were so wet that you couldn’t help but grind down on his fingers.

He began fingering you at an animalistic pace making your eyes roll back in pain and pleasure.

“You love that fucking pain don’t you slut?” He groaned. You frantically nodded your head, feeling your orgasm coming.

“A-Agh, I’m cumming, oh god-“ He cut you off kissing you and that’s when you felt your orgasm crashing.

Your legs shook in pleasure when he slowly grinded his fingers in you. He took them up and faced them towards you, “Suck.”

You sucked on his fingers, tasting your sweet cum on them, it made you feel wet again. He took his fingers out and harshly kissed you, biting your lip making you cry out.

He suddenly flipped you over, your pussy on full view for him, he cursed when he took out his hard dick, stroking it a few times before slowly entering.

You sighed feeling him fill you up. You began grinding back, missing what it was like to have a dick in you. Sunghoon let you grind back in him.

He knew that Jake wasn’t gonna satisfy you like this. He gripped your waist and started moving. You felt your eyes roll back, feeling him fill you up with his long dick.

He gripped your hair and pulled your head back, groaning feeling you clench on to him. You whined when he grind his dick in you slowly before going fast again.

He stared down seeing your ass jiggle when he made contact with your pussy. He felt himself getting hard even more if that was even possible.

You were a moaning mess, tears running down your eyes, face flushed in embarrassment and pleasure. Sunghoon wanted to fucking ruin you.

He felt a pang of jealousy that Jake fucked you before. If anything he should’ve been first to fuck you. But he thought it was okay, cause you’ll remember his dick whenever you fuck someone else.

You felt your orgasm coming again and lowered your head, “I-I’m gonna cum S-Sunghoon.” You whined. He smirked and kissed your back neck.

“Cum on this dick slut.” He whispered. That was all it took as you squeezed tight around him, you orgasms making squelching sounds as he continued pounding into you.

You felt overstimulated as he moaned and didn’t stop his pace, “Fuck I’m gonna cum.” Was all he said and took his dick out, stroking it on your back, spurts of cum landing on you ass and back.

As much as he wanted to cum inside, he didn’t want a risk to get you pregnant, but he won’t lie and say you guys wouldn’t have beautiful kids.

You panted hard while Sunghoon breathed deeply behind you. He grabbed paper towels and wiped your back and ass.

“You okay?” He asked. You nodded your head and smiled sweetly at him. He felt his heart pang against his chest. You looked beautiful ruined.

“I’m perfect.” You replied. You got up and made a quiet noise, feeling your legs wobble. Sunghoon chuckled.

“I’ll take you home. Think you could walk?”

You nodded your head and out your dress back on, you fixed your face a little so it didn’t look like you just got fucked from behind (which clearly you did).

You both exited the bathroom and head to Sunghoons car. Driving as the sun slowly began setting down.

You felt at calm with Sunghoon hand on your thigh, occasionally rubbing it, soothing you. You felt your eyes getting droopy and soon enough you were asleep.

Sunghoon noticed and for the first time, he smiled softly. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way towards you, unfortunately he can’t help but feel his heart swell with warmth.

He looked back to the front. He’ll just have to see what his other friends will do to make you like them. For now though, he’ll enjoy what he has.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Sunscreen & Statistics (S.R.)

Summary: Reader asks for Spencer’s help putting on sunscreen (and washing it off after).  Request: Spencer lecturing Reader on the statistics of wearing sunscreen, but his mind going blank when reader needs him to help put it on. A/N: This is my (first) entry to my Summer Sunshine Challenge! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Spencer POV, so much sexual tension, mutual pining, heavy petting, fingering, rough sex, unprotected penetrative sex, coworker relationship, so many statistics (showers, skin cancer, sunscreen, sex), schizophrenia mention, Reader wears a bikini Word Count: 5.6k

MASTERLIST

It was a beautiful day—the kind that artists had attempted to capture through many mediums. The summer sun was relentless, stretching its rays across every inch of the region. Even the shade hardly seemed spared, with bits of bright light slipping between green rustling leaves.

This seemingly idyllic set of circumstances offered the BAU a wonderful excuse to stay behind on the sunnier coast. Everyone was quick to buy new bathing suits and Rossi had already begrudgingly extended an invitation for everyone to stay at his favorite luxury hotel (on his dime, of course, or none of us would’ve made it).

The celebrations were already in full swing, and everyone was blissfully happy. It was, after all, the perfect day to hang out by the pool. So, they did. Each and every one…

Except for me. I stayed inside.

I wasn’t trying to ruin the fun. I had my reasons. Some were more reasonable than others.

Others were scary and slightly embarrassing. They wore a smile so bright it would rival the sun and managed to make me turn red even quicker than the star could. The kind of reason that turned me to nothing but a blubbering mess of a man.

I should’ve known better than to try to avoid her, though. Because that reason, that very important and tempting enchantress of a reason, always seemed to find me at the most inopportune time.

“Are you still hiding in here?”

I nearly jumped through my skin at the sound.

“No!”

I turned to find her staring back with an entertained, albeit disbelieving stare.

“Sort of. Maybe,” I felt compelled to continue.

When she still didn’t believe me—for obvious reasons—I finally conceded, “Yes.”

To my joy and eternal shame, she laughed like it had been an intentional joke.

“Well, I got banished back inside because I forgot sunscreen, so I’m trying to figure out where JJ left her bag,” she sighed.

Thankfully, that had been something I could help with. Despite everyone’s enthusiasm when they’d tossed the bags into the center of the suite lobby, I had managed to determine who owned which brightly colored pattern.

From my seat in the center, I reached over to pull JJ’s bag from the fray.

As soon as (y/n) spotted the motion, she was quick to exclaim, “My hero!”

Immediately, I felt the blood rush to my face.

I suppose there were worse places it could have gone.

“How did you forget sunscreen?” I asked.

“I hate the way it feels, so I almost never wear it unless forced,” she shrugged. Then, she turned to me, pointing the bottle like a weapon as she explained, “Plus, it always feels like they’re trying to trick me with all the numbers. I don’t know what SPF is. They could just be lying to me.”

“Well, the good news is that even a weak sunscreen is helpful,” I tried to reassure her. “Regular daily use of at least 15 SPF can reduce your risk of squamous cell carcinoma and melanoma by up to 50%.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. I can tell you more about this product specifically, if you want.”

When I held out my hand, she was quick to hand me the bottle. I was, in turn, very happy to have an excuse to look at something other than her before all the blood left my brain.

“Okay, so, this one is an interesting formula. It offers a decent coverage and—,” I started, but my voice died just as soon as I looked up.

Because there she was, pulling her top over her head to reveal the barely-there bikini beneath it.

I knew I only had a few seconds to shamelessly ogle her before she would find out, and I greedily accepted the sight of soft curves that all consisted of and led to her.

My eyes traversed her body the way I wished my hands could until I was left practically trembling.

The blood wasn’t in my face anymore. It wasn’t even anywhere near my brain. To the point I’d barely even noticed she’d already taken her pants off until her voice snapped me back to reality.

“And what?” she said.

“What?”

“… You stopped talking.”

“I did?”

She reached forward and grabbed the bottle from my hand. If she’d noticed the way I had been looking at her, she didn’t say anything about it. She just sort of… smiled.

“Are you alright, Doctor?” she asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

I might’ve been able to answer honestly if it hadn’t been for the way she dumped the contents of the bottle into her hand and began lathering it over her legs.

“A-Anyways,” I tried to continue. With a wavering voice and wandering eyes, I rambled, “to maximize protection you should really use about an ounce of sunscreen with an SPF of 30. Anything over 30 is, well, like you suggested, sort of a scam.”

All the while, there she was, smoothing over slick skin that smelled like summer.

“An ounce, huh?” she hummed as her hands traveled between pillowy thighs to coat skin the sun could rarely reach. “Feels like you could make it a drinking game with enough motivation.”

“Drinking alcohol actually dramatically increases your risk of sunburn, so you should definitely wear more sunscreen if you’re drinking,” I muttered absently while my eyes stayed firmly fixed between her thighs long after her hands had abandoned the area.

“Noted,” she said, the end of the word tinged with a little bit of amusement.

I looked up at her to try to understand what had excited her, or perhaps annoyed her.

Or at least, I tried to look at her face. My eyes made a few involuntarily stops along the way. Once they settled safely back on her smile, however, she was quick to get my blood pumping in a different way.

“So, will you help me?” she asked.

“With what?”

She scoffed, then laughed.

“… the sunscreen? Duh.”

Despite my best efforts to make any sense of the request, I was, once again, a hopeless, lovesick idiot.

“W-What?” I babbled, “You… You want me to put it on? You?”

“I can ask JJ if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” I blurted out with both hands raised in opposition or surrender.

Didn’t seem to matter which.

I tried to explain it away, but my attempts to bolster my good character seemed even less convincing than the sudden outburst.

“N-No, no it’s fine. I-It’s… why would that make me… uncomfortable? I’m fine. I can do it.”

“Wow. Convincing,” she teased.

And that is what it was. There was no anger in her tone; not even a hint of resentment. She laughed, and I did, too.

“Okay, I admit that wasn’t very convincing. But seriously, I can do it. Promise.”

She spoke through her teeth when she muttered, “Whatever you say.”

When she tossed me the bottle back, we were both surprised to find that I’d caught it.

My hands, still shaky, were quick to close the gap between our bodies. The sunscreen felt nearly frigid compared to our skin, but she didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, she rewarded the sensation with a dreamy sigh and a slight arching of her back.

That motion, however small, felt like fire to an already ruined man. I tried to stay focused on more innocent areas. I worked my hands over knotted muscles in her shoulder and tried to free her of those burdens, too. With each swipe of my thumbs, she would let out the most delicious rumble that made me want to do it again.

Each time that I pulled away to add more, I came back a few inches lower until my fingers nearly slipped beneath the top of her bikini bottoms.

At that moment, with her arched lower back pressed against my palms and my fingers brushing against the little fabric between us, she shivered. Silently, I watched as the goosebumps covered her skin like a sheet.

Reaching forward to grab hold of the couch in front of her, she arched her back once more. The movement seemed intentional, closing a couple inches of the distance between us until there was almost nothing.

With more speed than I’d intended, I stepped back and nearly fell.

“O-Okay, I-I think that’s it!” I said with a squeak.

To my dismay, she stayed exactly where she was for a long moment. In fact, she deepened the stretch and fell forward with a sigh before she whined, “Shame.”

I tried to calm my fast beating heart while simultaneously trying to run from the thoughts that continued to chase me the longer she stayed bent over. My hands were still buzzing from the contact, and I felt almost lightheaded from the strength of the unrelenting erection still struggling against compression shorts underneath my pants.

(I had been right that I would need them if she was going to be there.)

And there she was, finally standing and stretching her arms over her head. They dropped back down and I couldn’t stop myself from admiring the effect of physics on her chest.

“It felt nice to be touched like that,” she sighed.

I couldn’t respond to that without making a complete fool of myself, so I tried to distance myself from the moment, instead.

“You’re actually supposed to wait 30 minutes after application to go into the sun, but, y-you can probably just sit in the shade and wait.”

“Did you already apply yours?”

“I’m not taking off my clothes so I could do it myself,” I explained.

I should’ve known better than to doubt her ability to get whatever she wanted—which, at the moment seemed to be my catastrophic defeat.

“Well, that’s not fair,” she whined, “I want to return the favor!”

“I-I mean… I’ll probably have to reapply it to my face soon, but I doubt you want to—.”

“Awe! Fun!” she cried before I could finish the thought, “Gimme!”

“Oh… um, okay.”

I handed her the bottle and whatever I still had of my heart. With expert fingers, she spread the chilly contents over my cheeks. We were both smiling, the expressions growing wider and more genuine as she started to play with pliable skin.

I involuntarily joined in on her laughter. Her hands and eyes were so warm, I couldn’t help but melt into a puddle in her palms.

The moment ended far too quickly. I missed her immediately, but she made sure that my smile didn’t fade.

“There. You’re only sort of pasty now,” she sighed contentedly before adding, “Mostly red, actually.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” I grumbled back. The sarcastic tilt to the sound wasn’t lost on her.

I realized in that awkward, somehow lonely quiet that I loved her more than I’d thought.

I almost wanted to tell her. I’d even opened my mouth, ready to spill the contents of my soul and hope for the best.

I never got a chance, though. Because before I’d uttered a single syllable, she jumped with her own realization.

“Oh, I forgot the most important part!”

“What?”

She turned away from me and dove her attention into the pile of bags without further explanation. I watched as she dug through clothing and whatever else she’d stuffed into her tote until she stood triumphantly with a closed fist.

“What?” I asked again.

She held up a single finger in reply.

I followed her instruction, waiting patiently as I watched her uncap a small tube of chapstick and use it to thoroughly coat her lips. Once again, I was left to shamelessly stare at a beautiful woman as she dutifully cared for herself in a way I’d wished I could.

Swallowing the lump in my throat that carried heartfelt confessions, I spoke again.

“What am I waiting for, exactly?” I teased.

Her eyes narrowed with what seemed to be a playful warning.

“Sunscreen application,” she explained flatly, “Duh.”

I paused. My head cocked to the side and my face twisted as I struggled to find any explanation for why she’d needed me for this part.

“Wha—?”

Then, just when I’d started to speak, it hit me all at once.

And by that, I mean she kissed me.

With both hands cupping already-reddened cheeks, she pulled me forward until I could taste flavored lip balm and her.

Her lips opened, sliding against mine with an undeniable affection that made my whole body tense. I tried to hold her, but it all happened so quickly that by the time I raised my hands to her arms, she was almost gone.

“There!” she said happily, “Now we’re ready.”

For what? I wanted to ask.

But before I could make myself speak, she was already gone.

I spent the next several hours outside.

The rest of the team seemed both surprised and not surprised about my decision to join them. After all, everyone knew I didn’t particularly enjoy pools or any body of water, and, despite my Vegas origins, the sun and I didn’t quite get along.

But they also knew I liked her.

It had never been more obvious than it was that day, when I emerged from the safety of darkness with freshly kissed lips and an expression filled with utter confusion.

(Y/n) was quick to greet me in her usual manner. She said nothing about the kiss.

Part of me had even started to wonder if I’d hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe the doctors had all been wrong, and I was already waist-deep in psychosis that manifested purely through happy memories of her.

It would be an odd presentation, sure, but at the time it somehow felt more likely than her returning my affections. But as soon as I started to convince myself, she would flash me a glance that set my already overheated body on fire. Even as she peered up at me from the edge, I could still see her smile under the water.

She wore that same look in her eye she always did when we were alone. It was a slightly unnerving but mostly flattering feeling. It felt like being wanted by a beautiful woman.

I’m definitely losing it.

That was the only reasonable conclusion to reach. Because when she emerged from the pool, I could’ve sworn she paused before to make sure I was watching.

Of course, I was watching. I made sure that my flawless memory captured damn near every droplet as it caressed her curves. I stared, practically worshipped the sight of her lips parted with a relieved exhale that I could see leave her chest.

The blood was gone again. I was doomed.

“You’re still hiding, huh?”

I was too afraid to answer until she took the seat closest to me.

“No, not hiding, just… staying safe,” I explained through my typical awkward smile.

I pointed up to the umbrella above me, but she didn’t look. Her eyes stayed glued to me.

“It’s probably time for me to reapply, huh?” she laughed.

I liked the way it sounded, so, I laughed, too.

“Yeah, to be honest, you really should’ve done it a couple hours ago, but I didn’t want you to think I was… a wet blanket or a pervert.”

She snorted at the suggestion. Her eyes squinted, playful as always and carrying some meaning that evaded me.

“It’s very interesting that those were the two options that came to your mind,” she said.

I panicked.

“I don’t know, it’s weird, isn’t it? Me insisting you should let me touch you?” I rushed, “I’m not crazy, right? It’s… weird! It’s…!”

She sighed.

At first, I mistook the sound for annoyance. But when I looked into her eyes, I knew that wasn’t right.

Because she looked… like she had been caught in a dream. A melancholy fantasy of something she felt was just beyond her reach.

She was looking at me, I realized, exactly the same way I looked at her.

 “You’re not crazy, Spencer,” she said with a smile, “Just a little oblivious.”

My lips twitched as I fought a smirk that came through, anyway.

“I can accept that.”

She seemed pleased, as if I’d given the right answer.

“Well, the good news is I’m done with the sun for the day,” she announced.

Her eyes finally left me as she once again stretched her arms over her head and left me to ogle her like an idiot. Then, when I was thoroughly distracted, she glanced around like she was checking to see if anyone could hear her.

“They don’t seem to be calming down, so…” she said, much quieter now, “any statistics on what I should do with sunscreen when I’m finished with it?”

“No statistics, per se, but you definitely should wash it off. It can be pretty irritating for skin,” I answered matter-of-factly. “Not to mention the salts and chemicals from the pool.”

“I see,” she laughed.

Then, when she realized that I was, in fact, a hopeless, perverted fool with no blood in his brain, she made her intentions much clearer.

“Will you help me with that?”

Not clear enough for me, though.

“What?” I asked.

“With the sunscreen,” she answered simply.

“Uh—.”

Even that eloquent thought couldn’t make it through a parched, tightening throat. With each passing second and every syllable uttered, my voice got higher and even more unstable.

“I’m sorry, are you—what—w-what are you asking me?”

That’s when she took my hand, bursting with laughter as she dragged me from me seat with the most terrifying, alluring, and magical answer.

“Come on, pretty boy.”

I followed her without question but many concerns—the largest of which was the fear that she was actually leading me to my demise by humiliation.

Those worries grew tenfold when she yanked me over the threshold into her private room.

I stumbled forward and practically fell into her arms. But she was waiting for me, seemingly anticipating the clumsiness. Her hands were still soft, still soothing on boiling skin as she guided my lips to hers for the second time that day.

That time, I was prepared.

My hands covered her sun-kissed cheeks and pulled her even closer than she’d done to me before.

She tasted like salt and sugar from summer fresh fruit. I gave her every breath that I had, panting hopelessly against her lips each time that we broke apart.

Her hands were gentle when they found mine. I was reluctant to leave her until I realized that she was simply repositioning them to less innocent areas.

Still, I hesitated to go any further. I let my hands rest softly against her hips while I struggled to express my relief.

“Thank god,” I laughed, “I was sort of worried you were going to beat me up for staring at you all day.”

Her eyes locked onto mine with a hunger that seemed almost insatiable.

“No, I like it when you look at me like that,” she stated so simply it hurt. “In fact, I think I want to thank you.”

Before I could ask her how she intended to that, she made her intentions very clear by grabbing my dick through the fabric of my pants.

“So, tell me… any statistics on why we shouldn’t have sex in the shower?” she asked.

I don’t know how she’d expected me to think clearly. It actually seemed like she was purposefully trying to make it harder for me to form any words at all.

“It’s actually—,” I started just to stop when she started stroking the full length of me with devilish fingers.

“It’s actually really dangerous to try to have sex in the shower,” I tried again.

That time, she began applying a cascading pressure through playful fingertips. I spoke faster, trying to finish any thought before I truly lost my mind.

“There is a—fuck—a 44% chance of injury,” I forced out.

Her hand stopped. She cocked her head to the side with a brilliant smile and asked, “Is that right?”

I was almost relieved. Almost.

“Yeah, and…”

Then she started taking off my pants.

“A-and it can be quite uncomfortable for a woman without additional lubrication,” I said while shaking my head.

Even my subconscious knew I was speaking against my own self-interest, that I could’ve just accepted her question as rhetorical. I could’ve just shut up and go along with whatever she wanted because I would always be happy so long as she was happy.

She dropped down as she pulled my pants to the ground and revealed a second set of bottoms. I couldn’t be sure of it, but she seemed vindicated when she realized how hard my body was struggling against the compression shorts.

“The movies make it look so fun, don’t they?” she hummed as she stood back up. “I guess it is pretty dangerous. And inconvenient.”

“Yeah, but also, I sort of wish I hadn’t said any of that,” I responded immediately, “Let’s do it anyway.”

Thankfully, she found my eagerness charming and not pathetic (or perhaps those were the same to her). Her fingers sneaked past the band of the compression shorts, but she didn’t make the move to remove them yet.

Instead, she used her free hand to lead mine straight to the knot holding her bikini bottoms together.

My fingers twitched. She leaned closer, her cheek pressed against mine and her breath hot on my ear as she said the most beautiful words.

“We can shower after, then.”

“Thank you god,” I cried.

Practiced fingers untangled the knots within seconds, and I fought the urge to stare at her newly exposed skin by kissing her instead.

Her skin, still wet, was chilled enough from the cooler air that she barely reacted when I backed her against the ceramic countertop in the bathroom.

She leaned back, groaning with relief when I finally undid the knots of her top.

Again, I shamelessly admired the wonderful world of physics as it was displayed before me. With each breath, her chest lifted and came closer to my own.

Seemingly sharing the same thoughts, she reached forward and practically tugged my shirt off of me.

As soon as I could, I held her naked body as close to me as I could. My hands covered her lower back and drifted further down her hips, seeking every inch of cold skin that remained.

“God, you’re beautiful,” I whispered. I couldn’t see most of her, but the memory from mere seconds ago was as vivid as it would ever be. “Words don’t exist that would ever do it justice.”

She pulled back, still toying with the tops of my shorts with that insatiable look in her eyes.

“I’d say take a picture, but I think your memory might rival a camera,” she giggled.

“I’ll never forget this,” I promised her, “I’ll never forget you.”

But there were so many other ways I’d yet to see her. So, after carefully loving each inch of her hips, I turned my attention to the burning heat between her thighs. 

At the same time my finger slid through slick folds, my lips found hers once more.

“I wanna make you feel good,” I slurred.

Her lips parted in a broken gasp as I tried to do just that. I inched eager fingers between tight muscles and didn’t even bother fighting the urge to moan into her mouth.

She swallowed that desire and returned her own with a growing enthusiasm. My fingers grew faster, sloppier in their gentle beckoning for her to fall apart.

“That’s it. Good girl,” I reassured her when her breathy moans became pitchy. “Oh, you deserve to feel so good, sweetheart.”

That spark in her eyes had turned into a wildfire further stoked by my praise. I leaned into it; I became more confident in my loving her. Her walls were tense and insistent, seeking something more than what my hand could give them.

I withdrew them despite her immediate protests. She recanted any complaint as soon as I moved drenched fingers to the small pearl at her center.

Her moans became shameless, and I accepted them as an imminent victory. She rocked her hips against my hand, riding it to find her elusive end.

All the while, her eyes were locked onto mine. She refused to look away, forced us both to acknowledge that I was the one who brought her here. To the edge of the abyss, to the ultimate euphoria.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” I said through a smirk, “Come for me.”

She followed the direction with the utmost enthusiasm. She fell forward, favoring me to the cold countertop. I caught her but continued my relentless efforts to please her.

I kept going, kept cherishing her until she whimpered from my touch. Then I held her. I pet her damp hair and laid a gentle kiss atop the crown of her head.

“Good girl,” I assured her.

But I wasn’t finished yet.

“Now turn around.”

She perked up the second she’d heard the order. Although she’d barely caught her breath, she turned on shaky legs without question.

My hands found her hips just like they had before. Except this time, there were no bikini bottoms. There was only pillowy flesh and the strong muscles of her backside pressed firmly against my dick.

Barely moving away from her, I finally freed myself from the confines of compression shorts. I groaned with relief and noticed how the sound made her back arch further.

When I lined myself up at her entrance, she rewarded the action with a dreamy sigh.

It wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to see the look on her face, to hear the desperation in her voice before I gave her what I’d fantasized of from the moment I met her.

My hand knotted in her hair. I pulled her back from her comfortable position braced against the countertop. I held her up so that I could whisper in her ear the same as she’d done to me earlier.

“This is what you wanted, right?” I asked, as if her whimpers hadn’t been answer enough.

“Yes,” she moaned, “please.”

The sound of debauchery on her tongue sent shockwaves through me. My cock twitched involuntarily, bumping against satin skin now dripping with desire.

I barely resisted the urge to slam into her with full force. Instead, I stayed there, with just the tip of me inside of her as I groaned.

“Oh, I’d give you the whole world if you asked me like that.”

“This’ll do for now,” she giggled.

Her hips began to sway as she rocked on her toes. She chased even just a half inch more of me and rewarded me with beautiful sounds when I finally started to sink into her.

“That’s it…” I sighed.

Her confidence was quickly shaken, though, as my pursuit continued. Not even half of my dick was inside her when I felt her start to tremble.

“You can take it,” I assured her.

She responded by tightening her muscles even further, resisting the gentle stretch of her body as it accommodated my own.

“That’s my girl,” I groaned. The blinding heat of her demanded my full attention to the point that I was barely coherent as I slurred, “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart.”

But all it took was one word to unravel my best efforts.

“Spencer,” she whimpered.

Any hesitance I had vanished without a trace. I thrust my hips forward to the hilt with so much force that she scrambled to stay on her feet. Manicured nails struggled to find a grip the ceramic before my next motion.

I took my time pulling back, and I watched her struggle with the fullness that was our bodies come together. I reveled in the sight of her heaving chest and clouded eyes.

That time, I didn’t fight the urge to slam into her. I even pulled her back as I did it, bringing our bodies together over and over again with a blissful type of violence.

With each thrust, I watched her reaction in the mirror. I made sure that my mind captured each second of her pleasure. Each time her jaw dropped open with whines and praise in the shape of my name.

“Please, Spencer,” she keened with a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the counter.

I hadn’t been sure what she was asking for, so I continued to love her the same as I always had.

But she only became more frustrated, sobbing with pleasure the next time my hips crashed into hers.

“Harder,” she cried out.

And I tried. I tried to follow her instruction, to grant her the release that could only be found in the fullest expression of years of repressed passion.

The problem wasn’t my unwillingness to give my everything to her. Rather, it was the siren’s call of resistant, relentlessly desperate muscles.

“You’re so fucking tight,” I ground through clenched jaw. 

Then, with a small and wavering voice, she insisted, “I can take it.”

Every atom of my being burned with a suffocating desire. It felt nearly feral; fully free to show her just how badly my body ached to be with her.

She began slamming back against me with a similar fervor and I almost made myself stop.

“Fuck, I’m so close, but I don’t want it to end,” I begged her.

But that beautiful, evasive, brilliant star of a woman just giggled. I could practically feel myself leaving bruises in the shape of my fingertips and she couldn’t have been happier.

Through the mirror, she looked at me and reminded me of the full, unrelenting power of the sun.

“Don’t worry,” she purred, “we can do it again later.”

That was all it took. With just a look, she practically brought me to my knees.

“Fuck!” I choked as I slammed into her with my full force. We both nearly collapsed against the counter, but I managed to pull her hips down harder against me just as I found my release.

The blissful heat of her grew to new heights as I filled her. Each wave of pleasure caused her to shiver with sheets of goosebumps.

I watched through half-lidded, lust-clouded vision as she accepted every inch and every drop of my desire with a euphoric smile.

“Sorry,” I said while trying to catch my breath. Even when I managed to capture some breath, it escaped me with a laugh as I explained, “I… I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“Don’t apologize,” she slurred.

I might’ve thought she was just being merciful if she hadn’t immediately followed, “That was fun.”

It was so obviously sincere, but I was so ridiculously stupid that I had to be sure, anyway.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she laughed.

The sound was even more beautiful when I could feel the vibrations from within. I groaned from the thought of how it might feel for her lips to be wrapped around my cock. It twitched inside her, and she responded with a small whimper.

My hips bucked one more time, forcing me to the hilt before I withdrew in one quick motion.

I stood there for a moment, holding her hips steady as I watched the evidence of what we’d just done drip down her thighs.

My stomach was filled with butterflies doing flips and there was no accounting for the blood that still hadn’t made its way back to my brain.

(Y/n) was patient as ever with a pitiful man.

“Come on, pretty boy,” she chuckled as she took my hand, “help me get clean.”

Despite my best efforts, there were significantly less attempts to get clean in the shower than I’d expected. It was only thanks to her self-preservation that we didn’t end up having sex in the shower, although we came pretty close.

I could never tire of kissing her, but I realized I could love her just as much with lather as I could with my lips. My worship shifted as I dutifully cared for her the way I’d always wished I could.

When it was over, I didn’t give up. I followed her into her bed and she made no attempt to stop me.

In fact, she moved closer to me until my arm could reach around her waist and her head rested on my chest.

“Any other statistics you want to share?” she mumbled, now sleepy from the sun and… other activities.

“Always,” I answered. “Like, did you know, I have now joined the 54% of people who have slept with a coworker?”

“Fascinating. Was it worth it?” she chuckled, having already known my answer.

“Yes,” I told her, anyway. But the way I always did when it came to sharing statistics, I couldn’t stop myself. “Although, there is a smaller subset of that group that’s even more interesting.”

She gasped, quickly pressing her fingers to my lips to stop me from ruining her moment.

“Let me guess—at least half of them fucked in the office,” she said.

And in that quiet, private moment, the only thing more beautiful than her hopeful smile was the fact she’d gotten it right.

“You are, without a doubt, the most attractive woman I’ve ever met in my life,” I confessed.

She gave her wholehearted admission that she felt the same in the best way she could.

With a cheeky smile and the utmost sincerity, she asked, “What are the odds of that?”

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

Looking for another mutual pining summer-themed fic? Check out my 11.2k oneshot Lost Time, where Reader and Spencer spend their mandatory leave taking the Spring Break Spencer never got to have. 

Reid Taglist: @mrs-dr-reid , @dreatine , @hopefulfangirl24 , @laurakirsten0502 , @dontcallmekittens , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @imsuperawkward , @wentz2005 , @lovejules888 , @dashneydanger , @materialisthicc , @violetspoetic , @mslowlife , @conniesanchor , @trippol-threat , @will-byers-needs-a-hug , @poo-tay-toot , @bookobsessedfreak

Complete Taglist: @cynbx , @emsma11 , @mediocre-writer , @fightingdragonswithwho , @andiebeaword , @jayyeahthatsme , @pepperthealien

Thanks for reading!

[kayewrite]

...So much I think it must be

True love

(part 2 of "At the same time, I wanna hug you..")

seungmin x reader!! enemies to lovers troupe!! genre; fluff. word count:6.8k

summary; It’s strange to think that someone you once couldn’t stand is now the person you can’t live without. You both used to scoff at the idea of fate, but now? You’re not so sure anymore.

an: oh please i love this soo much. i hope you also do! (i know i said it will only short but...) Can be read as stand alone, but it was better if you read the first one.

listen to True Love by Pink

You and Seungmin have been together for two years now. It’s funny how things turned out. Everyone around you always says the same thing: “You two are perfect for each other.” It’s almost cliché, but they’re not wrong. Despite the ups and downs, your bond has only grown stronger over time.

At first glance, no one would have guessed you'd end up together. You and Seungmin were like fire and ice. You’d argue about the smallest things—who was better at math, who had the best grades, or even who would finish their lunch first. You were competitive to a fault, constantly trying to outshine each other during school days.

But somewhere between the sarcastic jabs and friendly competition, something changed. The bickering turned playful. The challenges became a way to spend more time together. Before you knew it, he wasn’t just the guy you argued with—he became the one person who truly understood you.

You went from rivals, to best friends, to… well, something much more. Seungmin is still that competitive guy who drives you crazy, but now he’s also the one who makes your heart race with just a smile.

You often joke that you and Seungmin are like a cat and a dog—always at each other’s throats, only to end up tangled together in some ridiculous hug moments later.

One time, after a particularly heated argument about who was better at a silly arcade game, you kicked him in the leg under the table. He dramatically doubled over as if you’d really hurt him, only to have you clinging to his leg five minutes later, laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe.

Those playful moments make your relationship special. You pinch his arms, but later, those same arms become your pillow when you sleep. You pretend to hate his antics, but deep down, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

In the quieter moments, when the laughter fades and it’s just the two of you, you find comfort in how well you understand each other. On the vulnerable days, when life feels overwhelming, Seungmin is there, and it’s like you’re soulmates—soup mates, as you two love to joke, because he once insisted that the way you fit together is as comforting as a warm bowl of soup.

It’s strange to think that someone you once couldn’t stand is now the person you can’t live without. You both used to scoff at the idea of fate, but now? You’re not so sure anymore.

That evening, you find yourselves lounging on the couch, both of you too tired to do much of anything. The day had been long—work, school, life—but with Seungmin next to you, everything felt a little lighter.

A few rounds in playing your favorite game, you’re locked in an intense game. Seungmin is winning, and you can feel your frustration rising. You glance down at your cards, trying to hide your devious smile.

“Pick four,” Seungmin says with a laugh, tossing down the card as if he’s already won.

You frown, glaring at the pile of cards you’re supposed to pick up. “You think you’ve got me, huh?” you say, squinting at him.

He leans back, hands behind his head. “I know I do.”

You look at your hand and, with a grin, pull out the ultimate weapon. “Pick eight!”

His smirk falters. He glances at the new card on the pile and then back at you. “What?”

“You heard me,” you say triumphantly. “Pick. Eight.”

Seungmin frowns, staring at his hand. “I won’t... because you’re about to pick twelve!” He grins, tossing down another card.

Your jaw drops, and you stare at the card pile in disbelief. “No way!” you shout, quickly playing your reverse card. “Ha!”

“I anticipated that,” he says smoothly, not missing a beat. He pulls out another reverse card, laying it down with a calm smirk.

“What?! No!” you shout, your voice rising. “That’s not fair!”

“Go ahead,” Seungmin says, still grinning. “Pick your cards.”

You glare at the stack of cards you’re about to draw. “Oh no,” you mutter dramatically, placing a yellow skip card. “I’m not losing this time!”

He looks down at the skip card and grins wider. “You sure about that?”

You squint at him. “Don’t tell me…”

Seungmin stands up, towering over the table, and slaps down his own skip card. “UNO!”, he shouts victoriously, laughing as he pumps his fist in the air.

You stare at him, completely stunned. And then... you start to cry. Literally cry.

Seungmin’s laughter dies down as he realizes what’s happening. “Wait—are you crying?” he asks, rushing over to you, his hands gently holding your face.

You sniff dramatically. “You always win,” you say in a pitiful voice, though deep down, you know you’re just being overly dramatic for the cuddles.

He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “Okay, okay. You win,” he whispers into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “You win. No more Uno.”

You sniff again, leaning into his warmth. “You better let me win next time,” you mumble, already feeling better as he wraps his arms tighter around you.

He laughs softly. “Whatever you say.”

Seungmin had always been your greatest inspiration, just as you were his. Whenever life got tough, he was the one who motivated you to keep pushing forward. You leaned on each other, growing stronger together, especially after high school when you both embarked on your college journeys. Seungmin was diving into music, while you pursued your passion for acting. Balancing the pressures of school and life was a challenge, but with him by your side, every obstacle felt a little less daunting.

You shared a small, cozy apartment—a space you quickly transformed into a home filled with love, laughter, and countless memories. It was perfect in its imperfections, a reflection of your unique bond.

One evening, after a long day of classes, Seungmin had cooked a delicious dinner. You collapsed on the couch, savoring the scent wafting from the kitchen.

“I cooked, so you’re on dish duty tonight!” you declared, a playful smirk on your face.

“Every time I cook, I end up washing the dishes too!” he replied, feigning exasperation.

You crossed your arms dramatically. “Then we’re watching Despicable Me later!”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Fine, I’ll wash. But we’re watching Pitch Perfect first.”

“Agh, not again! We just watched it last week!”

“Okay, how about we wash the dishes together, and then we can watch Alvin and the Chipmunks?” he offered, his smile returning. That was your shared favorite, after all.

“Deal!” you said, excitement bubbling in your chest.

Washing the dishes turned into a delightful mess. Seungmin started the playful chaos by gently tapping a bubble onto your nose. You laughed, unable to resist the urge to retaliate.

“Two can play this game!” You dipped your hands into the soapy water and smeared bubbles onto his face, pretending it was a beard. “Look at you, Mr. Clean!”

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Very funny! But I think I’ve seen better beards in my life!”

As you both continued the playful antics, he teased you by lathering bubbles all over your face. You gasped, trying to chase him down when he darted away.

“Catch me if you can!” he called, his laughter echoing through the kitchen.

You chased him around the small apartment, and just when you thought you had him cornered, he turned and caught you in his arms, both of you still giggling like children.

“Alright, alright,” he said, breathless. “Now that we’ve completed our bubble fight, how about we take a shower before movie night?”

“Only if you promise not to hog the hot water!” you teased.

“Deal!” he replied with a wink.

After a shared shower filled with laughter and splashes, you both dried off and prepared for your movie night. As Pitch Perfect started playing, you settled into the couch, arms wrapped around each other, a bowl of popcorn sits between you, half-empty from the endless snacking. The familiar sound of his laughter fills the room as he playfully pokes you in the ribs, trying to steal the last handful of popcorn.

“Hey! No fair! I’m the one who made this, remember?” you protest, swatting his hand away with a giggle.

“Please, you just popped the bag. I did all the hard work by sitting here and looking cute,” he counters, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “You’re insufferable,” you tease, and he pretends to be wounded, dramatically clutching his heart.

“Insufferable? Wow, I thought we were past all this name-calling. Just the other day, you called me your favorite person,” he says, winking at you.

“Only because you keep me entertained,” you reply with a smirk, leaning back to grab another handful of popcorn.

In the middle of the movie, the two of you began reminiscing about the past. “Do you remember that camp in middle school? The one where you pushed me into the mud?” You shoot him a mock glare.

Seungmin bursts into laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “How could I forget? You looked like a muddy potato!”

“Thanks, very flattering,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest in mock indignation. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to wash that out of my hair?”

He grins, clearly enjoying this walk down memory lane. “I did it because you were so cute in those banana pajamas. My friends couldn’t stop talking about how adorable you looked. I got jealous!”

Your jaw drops in surprise, and you can’t help but burst into laughter. “You were jealous? So, you decided to make my life miserable? That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

He shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it? You remember me now.”

“Yeah, I remember you as the worst person ever,” you retort, but your heart swells with affection. “But now? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Seungmin's expression softens, and he leans in closer. “And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers, his voice sincere.

You share a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes, the warmth of your memories flooding over you. Then, you lean in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss, filled with the tenderness that only two years of love can create.

Pulling away, you chuckle softly, “I guess I can forgive you for that muddy incident after all.”

“Just after that?” he asks, feigning shock. “I was expecting a bit more gratitude for making you who you are today.”

You roll your eyes again, but the laughter doesn’t stop. “Alright, fine! Thank you for pushing me into the mud; it led to this beautiful moment of us sitting on the couch, sharing popcorn and memories.”

“See? It’s all about perspective,” he says with a satisfied smile, his hand brushing against yours.

And in that moment, you know that this—this life with Seungmin, filled with laughter, teasing, and love—is everything you ever wanted. You hope it will last forever.

Seungmin was also your practice buddy, always there to help you with your lines.

“I am not doing something that will hurt Elizabeth!” you declared dramatically, trying to channel all the emotion you could muster.

He watched you with an amused expression, his lips curling into a smirk. “Oh really?” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “Because it looks like you’re about to break into a musical number any second now.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face. “Come on, I’m trying to be serious here!”

“Okay, okay. Let’s try again,” he said, suppressing a laugh. “Just imagine Elizabeth is right in front of you. Really feel it!”

You took a deep breath and repeated the line with even more feeling. “I am not doing something that will hurt Elizabeth!”

Seungmin burst into laughter, clapping his hands. “You know, if this acting thing doesn’t work out, you could always pursue a career in stand-up comedy!”

“Ahh, babe, you aren’t a big help,” you complained, playfully swatting at him. “You’re supposed to be my coach, not my heckler!”

He leaned forward, pretending to consider it seriously. “Hmm, maybe I should charge you for coaching fees. Let’s see... One kiss for each lesson?”

“Nice try!” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that!”

“Alright, how about this? If you nail this next line, I’ll cook dinner tonight,” he offered, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

“You’re on!” you said, excitement bubbling within you. “But if I don’t nail it, you have to wash the dishes for a week!”

“Deal!” he laughed, clearly enjoying the challenge.

You focused again, summoning every ounce of emotion. “I am not doing something that will hurt Elizabeth!”

His eyes widened as you delivered the line perfectly this time. “Wow! Look at you! That was amazing!” he exclaimed, pretending to wipe away a tear. “Such a moving performance!”

You beamed, proud of yourself. “See? I told you I could do it!”

“Alright, alright, you win this round,” he said, chuckling. “But don’t get too cocky. We still have more lines to practice.”

You smiled slyly. “More lines means more kisses, right?”

“Only if you keep up this level of talent!” he shot back, winking at you.

With that, you both dove back into practice, filled with laughter, playful banter, and the warmth of shared moments that made every day feel like an adventure.

One of your favorite memories with Seungmin was that time you caught a terrible fever. You had been feeling sluggish all day, and by evening, it hit you like a truck. Seungmin noticed the change in your mood right away.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, sitting next to you on the couch. His brow furrowed in concern as he gently touched your forehead. "You’re burning up!"

You gave a weak smile, trying to downplay it. "I’m fine… just need to rest a little."

He shook his head, already on his feet. "Nope, you’re officially under Seungmin's care now. Doctor’s orders."

Even through the haze of your fever, you couldn’t help but laugh. “Doctor Seungmin, huh? Since when did you go to med school?”

He grinned down at you. “Oh, you didn’t know? I’m an expert at treating stubborn patients,” he teased, making you chuckle softly. “Now, stay put while I get you some water.”

For the rest of the day, Seungmin was by your side, making sure you had everything you needed. He cooked you a warm soup that he claimed was “an old family recipe,” though you were pretty sure he made it up on the spot. Still, it tasted like comfort, and you couldn’t help but appreciate his efforts.

“Want anything else, sick patient?” he asked, plopping down beside you after tucking the blanket around your shoulders for the third time.

“Maybe… a movie? Something light to distract me?” you suggested, snuggling deeper into the blanket.

Seungmin tilted his head thoughtfully. “Despicable Me? That’s your go-to comfort movie, right?”

You grinned, already feeling a bit better. “Yeah, but only if we can watch Pitch Perfect after.”

He groaned dramatically. “Not again with Pitch Perfect! But fine, since you’re sick and all… I’ll allow it.”

You nudged him playfully. “You secretly love it, admit it.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile. “I guess I have a soft spot for watching you geek out over the musical numbers.”

As the night went on, Seungmin kept checking on you, bringing you snacks, adjusting your blanket, and even giving you a forehead kiss here and there, pretending it was part of his “treatment plan.”

Despite the fever and exhaustion, having Seungmin by your side made everything feel a little brighter. You drifted off to sleep to the sound of his voice, and when you woke up, he was still there, holding your hand, fast asleep on the couch next to you.

It was in moments like these that you knew how lucky you were to have him—someone who took care of you, made you laugh, and turned even the worst days into something special.

There was also that time when Seungmin had an important music presentation for one of his classes. He had been practicing for weeks, perfecting every note, every rhythm, and you knew how much it meant to him. Unfortunately, your own schedule had been packed, with rehearsals for an upcoming play, and it seemed like there was no way you could attend his presentation.

“I get it, really. Don’t stress,” Seungmin had said, giving you a reassuring smile over breakfast that morning. But you could tell there was a little disappointment hidden behind those words.

Still, you hated the thought of not being there for him, especially when he was always there for you. So you decided to make it work. After an intense day of rehearsals, you managed to sneak out a little early. Without telling him, you grabbed a cab to the venue where his presentation was being held.

By the time you arrived, the presentation was already well underway. You quietly slipped into the back row of the auditorium, catching the last few minutes of his performance. Seungmin was standing confidently on stage, his hands on the keyboard, his voice filling the room with emotion. You could see the passion in his eyes, and it made your heart swell with pride.

As soon as he finished, the crowd erupted into applause, and you stood up, clapping louder than anyone. When Seungmin looked out into the audience, his eyes widened in surprise. He spotted you standing there, and his face broke into the biggest, brightest smile. The kind of smile that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

Afterwards, he rushed over to you, practically jogging off the stage.

“You came!” he said, pulling you into a tight hug.

“Of course I did,” you replied, your arms wrapping around him. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression soft and full of gratitude. “I thought you had rehearsals?”

“I did, but I snuck out early. Don’t tell my director,” you whispered with a playful grin.

Seungmin chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy about you,” you teased back, making him roll his eyes, though you knew he loved it. “You were amazing, by the way.”

His smile grew even wider. “You think so? I was so nervous.”

“I couldn’t tell at all,” you assured him, then added, “You’re always incredible.”

One of the best memories you had together was that spontaneous road trip to the beach. It wasn’t planned—nothing ever really was with Seungmin. One Friday afternoon, after a long week of classes and rehearsals, he had just shown up at your apartment with a grin on his face and his car keys in hand.

“Pack your bags,” he had said. “We’re going to the sea.”

“Wait, what? Now?” you asked, eyes wide in surprise.

He nodded enthusiastically. “Yep. We’re leaving in five.”

Despite the suddenness, you couldn’t help but smile at his excitement. So, in true Seungmin fashion, you threw a few things into a bag, and before you knew it, you were both in the car, windows down, sun setting in the distance, and the ocean waiting for you on the other side.

The drive started off peaceful, with a soft breeze ruffling your hair as Seungmin hummed along to the radio. But then it came on—Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus.

As soon as the first notes played, Seungmin’s eyes lit up. He turned to you, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. “You know what time it is.”

You laughed, already knowing where this was headed. “No way. I am not singing that.”

“Oh yes, you are,” he said, cranking up the volume. And without missing a beat, he started belting out the lyrics, with so much enthusiasm that you couldn’t help but join in.

“So I put my hands up, they’re playin’ my song—” you sang, matching his energy, your voice blending with his as the two of you practically yelled the lyrics together.

The car became a concert stage, the wind whipping through your hair as you danced in your seats, laughing so hard you could barely breathe. Seungmin banged his hands on the steering wheel to the beat, and you threw your hands up in the air, living in the moment.

“It’s a party in the USA!” you both shouted at the top of your lungs, finishing the chorus with a triumphant fist pump.

By the time the song ended, you were both a mess of laughter and gasps for air, the car filled with the lingering sound of your shared joy. You glanced over at Seungmin, who was still chuckling to himself, and your heart swelled with affection.

“God, I’m so bad at that,” you said, wiping a tear from your eye.

“You’re the best,” he corrected, flashing you that cheeky grin that always made you smile. “Besides, if anyone’s listening, they’re just jealous of your skills.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Right, because off-key karaoke is a highly sought-after talent.”

“Hey, you sounded amazing,” he teased, reaching over to playfully poke your side. “You could totally go on tour.”

“Only if you’re my backup dancer,” you shot back, pretending to strike a dramatic pose.

“Oh, I’d steal the show,” he replied, and for a moment, the teasing softened as he glanced over at you, eyes filled with affection.

As the sun continued to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the road, you leaned back in your seat, feeling completely at ease. With Seungmin by your side, singing karaoke and heading toward the sea, everything just felt right.

But as much as your relationship with Seungmin was filled with laughter and warmth, it wasn’t always easy. Sometimes, happiness wasn’t just happiness—it was tested.

It happened during one of your most important group projects. You were cast as the lead in a film, and your group wanted it to be perfect—flawless. Seungmin, understanding what acting required, always supported your work. But this project turned out to be different. The script called for a kiss—something you didn’t see coming. At first, you brushed it off. It was just acting, after all. You were a professional.

But there was one thing you hadn’t done, something that began to eat away at you slowly—you hadn’t told Seungmin about it.

It wasn’t that you forgot; you deliberately chose not to. He had been so busy with his music major, drowning in rehearsals and deadlines. You didn’t want to burden him with something that could wait, something that would only distract him. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The day of the filming came, and it was tense. The set was buzzing with nerves, everyone eager to get things just right. You were in the middle of a take, preparing for the scene where the kiss was supposed to happen, when you noticed Seungmin in the distance. He had shown up unexpectedly, holding a lunchbox, his eyes scanning the set.

At first, your heart leapt seeing him. But then the weight of your secret hit you hard.

You hadn’t told him.

And now he was here.

When he saw you kiss your co-star for the scene, his face changed. You saw the surprise, then the hurt, and then… the anger.

He turned and walked away before you could explain. And just like that, everything came crashing down.

The next few days were a blur. Seungmin wouldn’t return your calls or answer your texts. He was always “busy,” but you knew something deeper was wrong. It went on for a week—long, agonizing days of silence. One night, he didn’t even come home. You didn’t know it was because he had been working late on his presentation, but the fear that he might be slipping away from you overwhelmed you. You spent that night crying, feeling like you had lost him.

Finally, after a week of this unbearable distance, you found him sitting at the piano in the apartment, his fingers absentmindedly playing a soft melody. His face was tired, his expression distant.

You couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Seungmin, please… let’s talk.”

He didn’t respond at first, just kept playing. But then, slowly, he stopped, his hands resting on the keys. His eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of frustration and hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice shaky. “I should’ve told you. I didn’t mean to hide it. I just… I didn’t want to make you worry when you were already so busy with your major.”

He sighed, looking down at his hands. “It wasn’t about the kiss. Not really. I know what acting is, and I get that. But you didn’t tell me. I found out by watching it happen.”

You bit your lip, guilt swirling in your chest. “I didn’t want to add to your stress. I thought it would just… complicate things.”

Seungmin shook his head. “That’s the problem. You didn’t trust me with it. You think I can’t handle these things, but I can. I just need you to be honest with me, like I’m honest with you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. I was wrong for hiding it. I’ll tell you everything from now on.”

His gaze softened, and he got up from the piano, walking over to you. “It’s not about knowing every little thing. I just need to know we’re in this together. That we’re open with each other, no matter what.”

You wiped at your tears, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. “I promise, Seungmin. I’ll do better. I just don’t want to lose you.”

He smiled softly, pulling you into his arms. “You won’t. Just… don’t shut me out again, okay?”

You nodded into his chest, feeling his warmth, grateful that the weight of that silence had lifted. There was still so much love between you, and you both knew that even when things got tough, you’d find a way to make it through.

In that moment, as he held you close, you realized that relationships weren’t just about the easy, happy moments. They were about being able to weather the storms together, learning from the mistakes, and growing stronger from them.

After the rain, there was sunshine again—brighter than ever. 🌞

As you both lounged on the couch, the TV remained off, and the world outside seemed distant. It was just you two, basking in each other's company. The room was filled with the soft hum of contentment, the kind that comes from knowing you're right where you're meant to be.

“When we become successful, let’s buy a big house,” Seungmin said, his voice steady but full of excitement for the future.

You turned to him, eyes twinkling, “Yes! With a cinema room, so we can watch movies on a big screen!” You mimed holding a popcorn bowl, already imagining those cozy nights.

“And a kitchen. A big kitchen,” Seungmin added, smiling at the thought of cooking together, even if it meant the usual playful arguments over who would do the dishes.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “And then... we’ll have kids,” you said, a soft smile spreading across your face as you dared to speak about a future you had only dreamed of.

Seungmin, though caught off guard, smiled gently at you. He’d never brought up the idea first, always wanting to respect your wishes and the life you wanted. What if you didn’t want kids? He never wanted to push. But hearing you say it filled him with warmth.

“How many do you want?” he asked, curiosity mixing with affection.

You grinned mischievously, “I want ten.”

Seungmin’s eyes widened as he let out a chuckle. “Ten? That’s… a lot.”

“I want a basketball team, and we’ll need a cheerleader for them,” you giggled, already picturing the chaos.

Seungmin laughed, shaking his head. “If you want it, I’m here for you. But... according to my mom, she couldn’t even handle me, and I was an only child.”

You pouted playfully. “Well… our kid might be just like you.”

“At least I’m handsome,” he said with a mock serious expression, turning his side profile toward you like he was posing for a photoshoot.

“Yeah,” you teased, rolling your eyes, “but hard to handle.”

“Then we’ll handle him together,” Seungmin said, laughing.

“And after that, we’ll have a girl,” you added softly, imagining the little family you could build.

“They’ll probably fight each other,” Seungmin mused, a smirk on his face.

“And then love each other, too,” you said, completing the thought.

Seungmin squeezed your hand, his voice tender. “Yeah... just like we do.”

Your third anniversary snuck up on both of you, buried beneath the mountain of academic work and deadlines. It seemed like the day would slip by unnoticed, just another day marked by exhaustion. You came home, drained, longing for nothing more than to collapse into bed beside Seungmin.

But when you opened the door, what you saw made you freeze in place.

There he was, standing in the middle of the room, guitar in hand, a warm smile on his face. The room was transformed—soft candlelight flickered, casting a golden glow over delicate flowers arranged around the room. The scent of roses mixed with the sweetness of jasmine filled the air. It was as if the whole world had slowed, the weight of the day evaporating in an instant.

Your heart skipped a beat. You were about to cry, already overwhelmed, when Seungmin strummed his guitar and started singing *Nothing's Gonna Change My Love For You*.

You stopped mid-step, forgetting about your shoes, your bag—everything. Your hands flew to your face, completely taken by the surprise. It wasn’t the first time he’d sung for you, but tonight felt different. His voice seemed to carry more than just notes; it carried promises, memories, and a future you had dreamed of but never dared to hope for.

As he approached, still singing the chorus, his eyes never left yours. Every note felt like a vow, every lyric like an unspoken question. By the time he reached you, you couldn’t hold back any longer. Even before the song had finished, you threw your arms around him, pulling him close, feeling the warmth of his body as he set down the guitar to hug you back.

Seungmin continued to sing, but now it was just his voice, soft and raw—no instruments, just the sound of his heart speaking to yours. He kissed your forehead as you held him tightly, your eyes brimming with tears of happiness.

You held him close, still amazed by how much your life had changed. How this person, who used to drive you insane with teasing, had become the man you couldn’t imagine living without.

As if reading your thoughts, Seungmin gently pulled away, reaching over to the table and grabbing a bouquet of flowers, handing it to you with a tender smile. When you finally pulled away from the hug, tears streaked down your face, and you quickly wiped them, laughing at yourself.

He chuckled, too. “I shouldn’t have done this if I knew I’d make you cry,” he teased softly.

You playfully slapped his chest, still emotional. “They’re happy tears. It was so beautiful I couldn’t help it.”

Seungmin grinned, his eyes sparkling. “I’m just glad you’re crying from happiness this time. Not like that time I beat you in exams,” he joked, breaking the seriousness with that signature humor of his.

You shook your head, unable to find the words to express what you felt. But you didn’t need to say anything; the love between you was palpable.

“Happy anniversary,” he whispered, leaning closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “I love you.”

Your heart swelled again, and without thinking, you whispered, "I love you more than anything." You pulled him into another tight hug, feeling so safe in his arms, as if nothing in the world could hurt you as long as you had him. “And I think…” your voice trembled as you spoke, “I think I want to spend every year of my life with you.”

Seungmin pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft but intense. He reached into his jacket pocket, and you didn’t notice at first until he slowly dropped down to one knee.

Your breath caught in your throat as time seemed to stand still.

“I was going to wait,” he began, his voice steady, though you could hear the emotion beneath it. “I was going to wait for the perfect moment, the perfect day, but I realized… any day with you is perfect.” He took a small box out of his pocket and opened it, revealing a delicate, shimmering ring.

You gasped, your hands flying to your mouth in disbelief.

“So, I figured… why wait?” His eyes never wavered from yours, full of love and sincerity. “Will you marry me?”

Tears spilled over, and you nodded, unable to speak at first. Finally, through shaky breaths, you whispered, “Yes… of course, yes!”

Seungmin’s face broke into the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen as he slipped the ring onto your finger. The room felt warmer, brighter—like all the love you had for each other had materialized and wrapped itself around you both. When he stood up, you threw your arms around his neck, kissing him with all the love and excitement you could pour into that moment.

“I love you so much,” you murmured between kisses, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that you were now engaged to the man you loved more than anything in the world.

He laughed softly, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”

The rest of the night felt like a dream. You had a candlelit dinner, toasting to your future together, the soft glow of the candles reflecting off the ring that now symbolized your love. The night ended with tender kisses, whispered promises, and the kind of intimacy that comes from knowing your heart has found its home.

It was a night neither of you would ever forget—the beginning of the rest of your lives together.

------

Three years later, life looked like a dream you both had worked so hard to build. You and Seungmin had finally reached the heights of your careers, but what made it even more special was that you had done it together.

You, now a well-respected actress and director, were creating films that moved people—stories that made audiences laugh, cry, and think. Seungmin, now a renowned singer and producer, was loved by millions, with his songs climbing the charts and his name celebrated all over. Despite your busy schedules, you always found your way back to each other, making time for the little moments that mattered most.

You lived in the house you had once dreamed about on your anniversary, a beautiful home with large windows that let in the sunlight and a garden filled with flowers. It had a cozy cinema room—just like you had imagined—where the two of you often curled up to watch movies on the big screen after long days of work. There was a spacious kitchen, perfect for the playful cooking battles you still had, and laughter often echoed through the halls as you lived out the life you’d envisioned, but even better than you could have imagined.

And now, you were happily married.

The wedding had been intimate and beautiful, surrounded by the people you loved most. Seungmin had cried as you walked down the aisle, and though he tried to play it cool, his trembling hands as he held yours during the vows gave him away. It had been a day filled with tears of joy, laughter, and promises of forever. And now, here you were, living that forever.

As you both relaxed in your living room, the glow of a soft sunset spilling through the windows, Seungmin leaned back against the couch, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Remember how much you hated me back then?” he asked, glancing at you with that mischievous glint in his eye.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, I didn’t just hate you,” you teased. “I despised you. If I had teleportation powers back then, I would've dumped you right into the middle of the Pacific Ocean without a second thought.”

Seungmin burst out laughing, the sound filling the room. “You really would’ve, too! You used to look at me like you were plotting my demise.”

“Well, you didn’t make it easy,” you retorted, smirking. “You always laughed at my misery. You had this evil little laugh every time I got a lower grade than you. It drove me crazy.”

Seungmin wiped away a fake tear of joy. “It was so fun watching you squirm!”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the smile playing on your lips gave you away. “And then that Romeo and Juliet project… I thought that was the universe punishing me. I had to be paired with you of all people.”

He grinned wider, eyes sparkling with fondness. “That project changed everything, though.”

You sighed, the memory tugging at your heart. “Yeah… I thought you were insufferable, but then I saw how serious you were about acting. You weren’t just the annoying kid who was good at everything. You actually had depth.”

Seungmin leaned closer, his tone softening. “And I thought you were just competitive for the sake of it, but you were so passionate. I admired that. You just wanted to be the best version of yourself.”

You smiled, the nostalgia washing over you. “I still can’t believe I went from wishing I could fling you across the globe to… well, spending forever with you.”

Seungmin reached out and took your hand, his thumb brushing gently across your knuckles. “I’m glad I wore you down,” he teased.

“You didn’t wear me down,” you said, smiling. “You just… made me see you differently. And I fell in love with who you really are.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, the teasing melted into something more profound. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he said, squeezing your hand. “Who would’ve thought that the girl who wanted to kill me would be the love of my life?”

You chuckled, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Life’s funny like that.”

Years passed, and now you were in the hospital delivery room, the atmosphere charged with anticipation and tension. The pain gripped you as contractions came in waves, and Seungmin stood by your side, his face pale with worry, tears already brimming in his eyes as he watched you struggle.

“Breathe, baby, just breathe,” he whispered, his voice shaky as he held your hand, his grip tight but trembling. He wiped the sweat from your forehead, looking helpless as he tried to offer comfort, though it was clear he was barely holding himself together.

Through the haze of pain, you saw the tears slip down his cheeks. He was crying harder than you’d ever seen him before, overwhelmed with both fear and love as he watched the woman he adored go through something so difficult.

When the baby’s cries finally filled the room, Seungmin broke down completely. The doctors placed your newborn son in his arms, and he hugged the tiny bundle, tears streaming down his face, whispering something soft and incoherent through his sobs.

“He… he looks like me,” he choked out, looking down at the baby boy swaddled tightly, the resemblance already undeniable. His voice cracked with emotion, and he couldn’t stop crying as he leaned down to kiss you, his heart overflowing with love and relief.

Still exhausted and weak, you looked at the two of them—your husband and your son—and a tired but warm laugh escaped your lips. “I take it back,” you said, smiling faintly through your fatigue. “I don’t want ten anymore. Delivering one was already too much.”

Seungmin chuckled softly, though his eyes were still wet. “Just one… is already perfect,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

You both looked down at the baby, now peacefully asleep in Seungmin’s arms. He shifted closer, wrapping his other arm around you so the three of you could be together, a family. He kissed your forehead softly, the weight of the moment sinking in as you shared a look that held all the love and emotion words could never fully express.

“I love you,” Seungmin whispered, his voice breaking slightly.

You smiled, your heart swelling with more love than you ever thought possible. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your eyes lingering on the tiny face of your son, knowing that this was the beginning of a whole new chapter—a chapter filled with love, growth, and the family you had dreamed of together.

---

an: a reblog, comment, and heart is very much appreciated. thank you for reading have a great day/ night!

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.3K] 18+

THE TIMELINE

“All I want is nothing more, to hear you knocking at my door. ‘Cause if I could see your face once more, I could die as a happy man I'm sure. When you said your last goodbye, I died a little bit inside. I lay in tears in bed all night, alone without you by my side. But if you loved me, why did you leave me?”

- All I Want by Kodaline

III. LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK: 1922

Opening the side door to the manor was easy when everyone else was occupied in the foyer.

The whole house was still alive despite the early morning hour, the air still smelling of the fireworks that lingered, gunpowder and spilled champagne. There was broken glass in the kitchen, from cocktail saucers or the smashed chandelier in the hallway, Steve wasn’t sure. But it crunched under his leather shoes as he snuck into the dark scullery, empty of the help and the silver platters of food they’d spent the day making.

He could see the silhouette through the frosted glass, impatiently waiting as he fumbled with the brass lock, the vibrations of the trombones and sax from the floor above making the handle buzz in his fist.

Steve barely got a chance to look at you before you had flung yourself at him, arms around his neck and chests colliding. He laughed, a small catch in his throat leaving him breathless for a second, your enthusiasm contagious. You still smelled like work, like cigar smoke and other peoples perfume, expensive cologne and top shelf sherry. It clung to your beaded dress, to your skin and Steve liked these nights, he liked the challenge of making you his again, even when you really weren’t supposed to be.

“They’re still going?” You asked, your words muffled against his chest. You’d get lipstick on his white shirt but neither of you cared. Steve had learnt long ago how to hide it from the maids.

He hummed in confirmation, any words he wanted to say stolen by your lips, your hands climbing up past his neck and into his hair. You tugged at it, ruining the style, hating when he slicked it back for the sake of the parties you were never allowed to attend.

It was a ferocious kiss, the kind that smudged your lipstick onto his mouth, the kind that told him you wanted to claim what you could of him in the short time you were able. Steve groaned, responding in kind, his arms winding around your waist to haul you even closer to him, his lips parting for your tongue.

It never grew old, it never waned - this feeling. Every kiss like the first, every time like nothing he’d ever felt before, never like anyone else. Your touch sent something through his bones, a deep kind of love that felt older and stronger and more powerful than the earth itself. He saw you one day in the city, under the bright lights that lit up Times Square and something told him that you were made for him.

Not a voice, just a feeling, one that his friends scoffed at because you weren’t from any kind of money that his family would accept and your dress didn’t come from Macy’s. But you’d turned and caught his eye, lips painted the prettiest red, eyes all bright like you felt the same when you looked at him. Days had turned to weeks and first dates had turned into nights in his locked bedroom and he still remembered the first time you pressed your ruby lips to the side of his throat and told him you were sure the gods themselves created him for you.

You kissed him now like you were remembering those words, your small hands diving into the already open collar of his white shirt, his black tie slipping from his neckline and you kissed that same spot, two moles that you claimed were somehow yours. They seemed to burn when you touched them, every pass of your lips and tongue making him feel weaker and weaker. And when you bit down a little, teeth grazing, Steve didn’t even notice the rain that had started to fall outside.

He felt feverish with you, greedy and desperate and never able to get enough. The brass band that his mother had hired for the evening started up another song, the China plates in the pantry cabinets rattling from the dancing feet above. He was on borrowed time, he knew that. So he let his tongue lick over your own once, twice, three times more before he pulled away, just enough to get his words out. You were as breathless as he was, too pretty in the dim light with your perfectly done make up, the pearls around your neck that no one knew came from him. Your dress made you glitter and from the faded lipstick around your mouth, Steve knew the majority was stamped on his own lips, his neck, his jaw.

The idea of it made him hold you tighter.

Thunder rumbled, a storm moving in over the lake outside the manor, the small yacht that was docked by the boathouse dipping with the current.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, kissing at the corner of your mouth between words. “Before they need to come for more champagne.”

So you let him pull you out of the kitchen, despite how well you knew the house you were never supposed to be invited into. Steve took your hand and led you like a secret, peering around corners before running past open doors, each room bigger than the last. The manor was all cherry oak floorboards and velvet drapes. There were chaise lounges in every bay window, baby grand pianos under crystal chandeliers and Steve’s father made sure the golden bar carts were always stocked and kept in every room.

The party was still thrumming in the largest lounge, where the hired band stood on the curved stairs and people danced on the tables. The glass doors were opened to the pool, a bright blue rectangle in the otherwise dark night and flecks of gold confetti lay atop the water, never sinking, looking like real life magic.

People spilled from everywhere, women shoeless and men missing their dinner jackets, hand in hand with girls that weren’t their wives and some of the richest of them showed their greed with a scantily clad dancer on each arm.

A door opened to the right, a server who was working well past his paid hours, still in his suit and carrying a large tray of champagne saucers, his expression bored. Steve grabbed you before the man could spot you both, tugging you behind a marble bust of a Grecian goddess, a piece of art that should’ve been in a museum.

The vacant eyes and kind smile of Aphrodite stared back at you both, seemingly amused at your lover's embrace, the one you had to hide.

“We’re not going to make it upstairs,” you whispered. It was too easy for Steve to let your touch linger on his waist, fingers tracing his belt, greedy and searching beneath his crumpled shirt for the feel of his warm skin. He needed you yesterday. He needed you always. “They’ll see us before we reach your room.”

Steve winced, knowing you were right. He could hear his mother from the lounge, singing too loudly, calling for another glass, her laughter making his jaw tense. “Library,” he said, nodding towards the door across the hall. “C’mon.”

You both made a run for it when the hallway seemed clear, the party goers too drunk to make out your faces, to recognise the girl that wasn’t supposed to be here, who certainly wasn’t supposed to be hand in hand with the man that wasn’t meant to be hers.

Steve closed the door with a soft click, turning the brass key in the lock just to make sure. The music was duller from behind the thick oak, the shelves and forest green curtains that draped along the walls. The library smelled like rich wood and old cigar smoke, older books and leather. It was stuffed with wingback armchairs, low lights from behind emerald glass lamp shades and dark, dark wood. A large fireplace took centre stage in the middle of the room, family photos and golden candlesticks along the mantle, the clock huge gilded mirror above it showing you and Steve standing together.

Outside the stained glass window, lightning flashed in the distance, the lake turning white, just for a second.

You didn’t have time to worry about the storm, nor think too hard about its sudden appearance. They’d always scared you, the too loud sounds, the crashes that seemed to vibrate in your bones, the lightning that always appeared way too close. Steve moved to stand behind you, his hand coming to smooth the collar of your dress away from your neck so he could dip his head down to kiss your skin.

His lips were a warm trail over your throat, his nose pressed underneath your jaw and you felt his smile when you tipped your head for him, granting him access. His hands, always so big and wide, spanned the sides of your waist, the beads and crystals that hung from your dress singing a soft song at his touch.

“Missed you,” he breathed, running the tip of his nose underneath your ear. He sucked at your throat, biting softly and you could only watch in awe as you stood in front of the mirror. “I missed you so much, honey.”

You knew why you hadn’t gotten to see him in so long. Eight whole days of being apart, seeing him in the city when he took his car to work, always flanked by business partners or his father. Worse still, you saw him one Saturday morning with his mother, another woman on his arm, a stiff smile on his lips as they entered a tea house. You knew the woman’s name, you just didn’t like to say it. His future wife, although Steve liked to remind you that they weren’t yet even engaged. But his mother was sure of it, the agreement made like a business deal because her father was head of the bank and Steve’s mother liked money.

A loveless marriage, set up for wealth, for survival, for good genes and even better business opportunities. But you saw the way the other woman looked at Steve, blown out curls and peach coloured lips always smiling up at him, ready to give him children and more.

A housewife. Ready made and picture perfect. The very thing that you were not.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, unable to help it the way your voice cracked because long gone was the idea that you could pretend this wasn’t anything more than a fling.

You ached without the man. The longer you were apart the harder it became, a pain growing between your chest like an open wound that was pulled too tight. And now, as his hands trailed your hips and his lips found your jaw, you could feel it knitting itself closed, a pretty, red string tying the cut closed.

You’d seen the other woman, you knew what was meant to happen. You knew you’d lose him, eventually. That he’d no longer be yours. He’d have a ring on his finger and children with someone else and live in a house even bigger than this one and you’d never, ever be snuck in through a back door again.

It didn’t seem fair. It didn’t seem right. There was nothing in the world that you’d ever felt that was yours. No real money, different jobs for different months, an apartment above a bookstore in Brooklyn that you had to share with three other girls and even the dress you wore was borrowed.

But Steve? Steve Harrington?

It felt like someone created him just for you. Carved from marble, drawn on a canvas and brought to life, a man beyond perfect. Because he had his flaws - just like so many others that you’d dated - but you accepted his with more love than you’d ever felt before. The world seemed to still when you were with him, the entire planet slowing on its axis just so you could savour his touch a little longer.

You lay in his bed, in his arms, wrapped in his expensive cologne and cotton sheets and you knew.

You knew.

You knew that there was no way there was anyone else in this world that you were supposed to be with. His hand fit in yours too well, his lips slotting between your own like they were made from the same thing.

From a time before, when someone or something decided to create the Earth and built you both from the same bone.

Steve spoke into the crook of your neck, his finger spanning wide as his hands travelled over the front of you, feeling every curve, the softness of your stomach, the beads of your pretty dress, the dip of your waist. “You know, sometimes I think it would hurt less to drown in the lake than go without you,” he whispered, eyes closed as if at confession, murmuring his sins and secrets into your skin.

He kissed your throat again, revelling in the way your head fell back to top against his shoulder. Your eyes shut, your lips parted, your body trusting him to hold you up. “That’s awfully melodramatic,” you said airily.

Steve hummed, the ghost of his smile on your jaw. “Isn’t it? But it’s true. I’ve missed you more than I can understand.” He nudged you forward then, took the zipper at your shoulder blades between his fingers and tugged. “I needed you in my bed, in my sheets. They don’t smell like you anymore.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give into the questions that were bitter tasting and stuck in your throat: “has she been in them? Do they smell of her? Does she know about me?”

Because Steve pulled fully at your zipper and you shrugged your shoulders, letting the dress fall to the wooden floorboards, you turned in his arms and saw his eyes. Full of love, sadness, complete adoration and something else that you’d never seen in another man’s before. You were almost naked before him, blush pink undergarments made of silk and lace taught across your skin, silken thigh highs held up by suspenders, all costing an entire paycheck.

Steve wasn’t even looking at them, not yet. His hands went to your face, fingers cupping your jaw so gently that you even thought to yourself, that you might just break. It felt like it. His thumbs smoothed away the worry etched on your skin, frown lines disappearing under his touch and when he breathed out, you breathed in.

Sometimes you wondered if you shared the same heart.

“I love you,” he told you, his forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded, a tear slipping down one cheek and Steve kissed it away. “I love you, too.”

“Desperately,” Steve reminded you, bringing his mouth to yours. His kiss was feverish, pulling away too quickly before descending on you again, lips parted, tongue swiping across your own. “Insanely,” he groaned.

Your back hit a bookshelf as you tugged his shirt out of his trousers, the linen crumpling in your hands, a button hitting the floor when you became too impatient. Your fingertips traced the red lipstick marks on his neck, the ones that had smudged onto his clavicle and it was everything you needed to see and more.

A brand, hardly permanent, but yours nonetheless. If not just for tonight.

“I need you,” you told him, your skin on fire as his hand found your thigh. He pushed you into the spines of the books, cold leather on your skin as he hitched your leg to his hip and rolled his own against you. “Steve.”

“I know,” he murmured and his voice was hoarse, weak sounding. “I know, honey,” Steve assured you.

His belt rattled as it fell apart in your hands, the buckle cool to the touch and before you could push your hand into his underwear, Steve spun you both. You found yourself against one of the armchairs, tweed and plush, Steve kissing you from shoulder to shoulder as he stood behind you and coaxed your hands onto the back of it.

“Hold on,” he told you and you nodded, eyes half opened from the anticipation. You heard his zip, the slick sound of him stroking himself and you keened, impatient. Steve tutted and just as your eyes slipped shut, his fingers were under your chin, his bare chest curving along your back. “Eyes open, sweetheart. Look up. Watch yourself.”

Staring straight ahead, you saw how he’d positioned you both. In front of the fireplace, where the huge mirror hung above. You could see yourself, a scandalous sight, half naked and dripping in expensive lace, one strap of your brassiere falling from a shoulder. Smudged lipstick, darkened eyes and the most handsome man in Long Island draped over your frame.

Steve was pressed against your ass, his cock waiting hot and hard against your lower back as he moulded himself to your body. He was kissing your shoulder, mouth open and his jaw and neck decorated in your lipstick. His hair was already a mess, his white shirt hanging open and his hands wandering up your bare stomach to cup your breasts, finding your nipples through the silk almost too easily.

His eyes, half lidded and heavy with lust, found yours in the reflection of the mirror.

It was sinful.

“Watch what I do to you,” he said.

So you did.

You let the man push a knee between yours, spreading your legs for him so he could work his fingers into your underwear. You shivered as he talked you through it, telling you how wet you were, how good he knew you tasted. How he could spend days and nights and entire weeks between your thighs, how we wished he could have you on his tongue. Two fingers, achingly and annoyingly gentle, rubbed circles to your clit as he spoke, his eyes on your own the entire time and you felt too hot under his stare, his smile that grew when you gasped and whined.

He reared back when he pushed a finger into you, his other hand braced against the small of your back and he urged you to please him in a voice that sounded like sex itself. Steve was choked, his words tight in his throat and they came out in a rasp, pleading as he fucked two thick fingers in and out of your cunt.

“Let me see you,” he begged, his eyes taking down your frame and he groaned, almost too loud, when you dragged the cups of your bra down. Your tits were pushed against the back of the chair, moving with each motion his fingers made inside of you, the slow rock that had begun as Steve rolled his cock against your ass.

“Beautiful,” he told you, and he sounded like he was kneeling at an altar, talking to a god. “You’re so beautiful. You’re mine—”

“Inside me,” you interrupted. You were close to tears, your eyes glassy, everything too much. You felt as if you’d die if you didn’t have him closer. “Steve, I need you— I need you inside me.”

Outside, rain slammed against the large window, the lake nothing but a grey-blue blue behind the streaked glass. The wind howled and if you’d cared to listen, you would’ve heard the faint shrieks and laughs of the party-goers as they fought against the wind, trying to close the patio doors. Thunder cracked above the house, as if disagreeing, as if fighting back.

You didn’t hear any of it over the sound of Steve moaning in your ear as he slipped his cock against your folds, the head nudging once, twice at your clit before he pushed his hips back and slid into you. He fell forward, feeling like a man who’d been broken down and fixed again, his head on your shoulder as he wound his arms around your waist. You were held, truly held against him, feeling full and loved and adored as he whispered every sweet word he knew into your skin.

The two of you stayed like that for minutes, maybe a few longer than you realised, before it became too much. You whined, a needy sound that made Steve’s cock twitch inside of you and then you were being hauled up with him. The two of you standing behind the chair, your back to his chest and as the thunder grew louder and the windows rattled, you both gave in.

Your hands found home in Steve’s hair, reaching up and back to ground him to you, one of his hands moving your knee up to rest on the chair, opening you for him. Your pretty pink underwear was stretched out, allowing room for his cock to slip into you further. It was a dirty grind, you barely pushing your hips back as Steve snapped his into your own, his hand on your neck as he kept you facing forward, your eyes locked on each other.

His kisses became more lips than teeth, biting at your jaw, your earlobe, his fingers only leaving your throat to play with your bouncing tits, pinching at your nipples until you clenched around him. It was raw, dirty, watching each other in the mirror like that, seeing how wet you were with your legs spread open, Steve’s cock shining from you in the low light as it disappeared inside of you over and over and over again.

“Could stay like this,” Steve gasped, fucking you faster now. The sight of your body slack against his had him reeling, your perfume on his skin, your lipstick on his throat. “Could stay like this forever, could hold you forever, want you forever—”

His words were cut short as you came suddenly, clenching around him with a cry, your eyes shut tight in bliss and your head thrown back on his shoulder. You tugged at his hair, pulling him down, silently begging for a kiss that he gave you, a slow, deep push of his mouth to your own and he came with a wrecked noise when you breathed his name against his parted lips.

Steve had barely softened inside of you when he spoke. “Run away with me.”

You weren’t sure you heard him above the harsh breaths leaving both your lips, chest heaving and body’s lax against each other. His lips traced the line of your jaw, his mouth finding the corner of your own, he kissed you, once, twice, three times, his arms pulling you into his embrace and you could smell his cologne, the remnants of cigar smoke, sex and you.

“Run away with me,” he whispered again. “Let’s just go, we can— we can leave. Tonight.”

“Steve—” your voice was already pained and you slipped from his arms, fixing the lace until your skin was covered, watching as Steve tucked himself back into his dress pants. He left his shirt open as you searched the floor for your dress, his lips twisted with the rejection he knew that would come. “You know we can’t—”

“I want to spend forever with you,” he said and you knew he meant it.

Maybe the sky did too, because the rain fell heavier and lightning flashed across the lake, turning the world ultraviolet, just for a second.

“We can’t,” you said sadly, your voice a whisper. The words cracked in your mouth. “You’re not mine to keep.”

Steve watched you drag your dress up your legs, the unshed tears glittering in the corners of your eyes. His breath left him in a heavy gasp, like someone had punched him in the chest.

“But I am,” he told you, his chest heaving, burning. He blinked, eyes stinging, his vision blurring. The sky above the house cracked. “I am yours.”

It hurt to say it but you shook your head and spoke anyway, your eyes fixed on the way your lips had left tattoos on Steve’s skin. You were all over him still, even separated by five feet. And still— “you’re Nancy’s.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You’re Nancy Wheeler’s and she is yours and that’s— that’s how it’s meant to be.”

Steve shook his head, moving forward with his shirt still hanging open, his hair curling across his forehead and his hands caught your own. “No. No, no, no—” he look pained, fingers reaching up to brush across your damp cheek and you should’ve pulled away. But you couldn’t. “No. That’s not— it’s not like that. You know this.”

Steve bent, lips finding the corner of your mouth as you moved out of guilt, his touch chasing you. He made a noise of protest, ducking his head closer until he could steal a kiss and you bent to his will, lips yielding under his own he tasted like you, like sex and like home, like something you felt you’d know your entire life and maybe the one before too.

“Run away with me,” he murmured into the kiss, forehead touching yours. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know that he was crying, his voice wet, cracking like the clouds outside and when lightning struck the dock on the bay, he pulled you closer. “We’ll find somewhere else for us. Another town, another country. Another home, another life.”

You kissed him then, stole the words from his lips and swallowed them, kept them locked somewhere close to your heart and you knew you had to hold onto them. For as long as you could. Forever, if you had to.

“Maybe,” you started, voice hitching, “—maybe we weren’t supposed to have this life.”

Steve groaned, a soft sound of agony, of protest. The storm was passing, the party louder than before. He hated how this felt like a goodbye.

“Maybe, we just need to promise that we’ll find each other in the next one.”

[brunchable]

hello !! i love your bucky stories sm and i was wondering if i could request a oneshot ? basically bucky is dating reader (female or gn it doesn’t matter) but they’re in a secret relationship because she’s john walkers sister and maybe john walker finds out and gets super angry about it. i always see this with reader being a stark but i think it would be funny if reader was a walker instead !!

please take your time and you don’t have to do this request do you don’t want to :)

Secret's Out || Thunderbolt!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, F!Reader, Alexei Shotakov, John Walker Themes: Funny? And a Very angry John Walker.. A/N: I hope this is funny enough and lives up to your expecations.🫡 Thanks for the request, it was fun to write lol.

You knew it was going to be a nightmare when you started dating Bucky Barnes. Sure, you’d expected a few challenges: navigating a relationship with a super-soldier, keeping it secret from prying eyes, and, oh, the minor issue of dealing with your brother—John Walker. Captain America Wannabe himself.

John had a temper—one you tried to avoid at all costs. So, dating Bucky in secret had seemed like the best option. But then the Thunderbolts happened, and you ended up on the same team. It was a mess waiting to happen, and today, it all blew up in the most spectacularly hilarious way.

It started in the break room of the base. You were perched on the counter, sipping a cup of coffee, when Alexei—big, brash, and Russian through and through—sauntered in, practically tripping over his own feet. Bucky was leaning beside you, his eyes flicking to the door every few seconds, alert as always. You could feel the tension rolling off him.

“Relax, it’s just coffee,” you teased, bumping your shoulder against his. “Nobody’s going to suspect anything.”

“Except the fact that you’re sitting on the counter,” he grumbled. “Which is something you only do when—”

“When she is being sneaky sneaky with you, eh?” Alexei’s booming voice interrupted, and you nearly choked on your coffee. “Like little rabbits!”

“Alexei!” Bucky hissed, glancing around frantically. “Will you shut up!”

But it was too late. A familiar shadow loomed in the doorway, and there stood John Walker, his eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. He crossed his arms over his chest, the classic ‘big brother ready to punch a guy in the face’ stance.

“What’s he talking about?” John’s voice was dangerously calm. “Sneaky… sneaky?”

You shot Bucky a panicked look, but before you could come up with some ridiculous excuse, Alexei clapped Bucky on the back, sending him stumbling forward.

“Ha! You know, Bucky is like big secret squirrel with relationship. Always hiding like spy movie!” Alexei grinned, clearly oblivious to the murderous expression on John’s face. “But I see you two! Many times! Kissing behind gym! Very romantic.”

John’s jaw tightened, his face turning a shade of red that was almost comical—if it weren’t for the fact that you knew how dangerous your brother could get when he was angry. He took one step forward, and you slid off the counter, putting yourself between him and Bucky.

“John, calm down. It’s not—”

“Are you kidding me?!” John exploded. “Him? Of all the guys in the world, you picked him?”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but John’s glare cut him off. “Don’t even try, Barnes. You—you’re supposed to be on my team! And you’re sneaking around with my sister?!”

“Sneaking is strong word,” Alexei interjected with a dismissive wave. “They just—how you Americans say—bonk like bunnies?”

“Alexei!” you and Bucky shouted simultaneously, your faces heating up.

“What?” Alexei blinked at you, then shrugged. “It is truth, no? Bucky says all time—‘I can’t come to mission brief, I’m with—’”

Bucky’s arm shot out, clapping a hand over Alexei’s mouth. “Shut. Up.”

Alexei grinned behind Bucky’s hand, clearly enjoying himself. You, on the other hand, were not. John’s expression was pure, unadulterated rage, his nostrils flaring like a bull ready to charge.

“Okay, okay,” you held up your hands, trying to defuse the situation. “It’s not what it looks like—”

“So you haven’t been secretly dating this—this—” John struggled to find the words, gesturing wildly at Bucky. “This guy?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “I think you mean this—man?”

“Shut up, Barnes!” John barked. “I’m not talking to you!”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “John, it’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal? He’s supposed to have my back on missions, not be—be—” John spluttered, waving his arms around as if that would somehow convey his outrage better. “I’m going to kill you.”

“He will not kill you,” Alexei commented cheerfully. “Maybe just break couple of bones. But that is normal in family.”

“Alexei,” Bucky growled, “you’re not helping.”

“What? Why is everyone so upset? We should celebrate, da?” Alexei beamed, raising his arms as if to welcome the idea of a party. “Come! We do shots of vodka! In Russia, we celebrate when sister finds man to keep bed warm!”

“Alexei!” you hissed, feeling your face burn.

“Or, you know,” Alexei continued, undeterred, “when man finds bed to keep sister—”

“ARE YOU SAYING HE’S BEEN FUCKING MY SISTER?!” John roared, his voice echoing off the walls. “Barnes, you’re dead!”

“Wait, no!” Bucky stepped back, his hands raised in surrender, but John wasn’t having it. He lunged forward, and Bucky dodged to the side, barely avoiding a swing that would’ve knocked him out cold.

“John!” you yelled, but it was useless. He was in full-blown Big Brother Meltdown Mode now.

“You’ve been sleeping with my sister?! You’ve been—”

“Hey, hey, hey, let’s not jump to conclusions!” Bucky stammered, backpedaling rapidly. “It’s not—It’s not like that!”

“Oh, it’s not? So you haven’t been—what did Alexei say?—bonking like bunnies?” John’s voice dripped with venom.

“Um—”

“RUN, BUCKY!” you shrieked as John lunged again.

Bucky took off like a bullet, sprinting down the hallway with John hot on his heels, cursing up a storm. They skidded around corners, ducked through doors, and raced past stunned agents who barely had time to jump out of the way.

Alexei strolled out of the break room, whistling casually as he watched John chase Bucky in circles around the main atrium.

“Ah, young love,” he mused aloud, stroking his beard. “Is good for health. Lots of cardio.”

John caught sight of Alexei and yelled, “Stay out of this, Russian bear!”

“Bear?” Alexei’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Da, I am bear! Bear of love and wisdom! I say you should calm down. Maybe do some breathing exercise—”

“CALM DOWN?!” John bellowed, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. “I’m going to kill him!”

Alexei sighed, shaking his head. “Americans… so dramatic.” With a swift stride, he closed the distance to the two men still racing in circles. Before you could process what was happening, Alexei reached out, grabbed Bucky and John by the collars, and effortlessly lifted them off the ground like two misbehaving puppies.

“Enough,” he said firmly, holding them both up as they flailed helplessly. “You are giving me headache.”

“Put me down, you Russian lunatic!” John kicked out, his fists still swinging in Bucky’s general direction. “Let me at him!”

“Nyet.” Alexei tilted his head to the side, peering down at John. “You need chill pill. Maybe shot of vodka.”

“Alexei!” you shouted, running up to them. “Put them down!”

“Okay, okay, fine.” With a huff, Alexei dropped them both unceremoniously onto the floor. John scrambled to his feet, but Alexei placed a giant hand on his shoulder, holding him in place with absurd ease. “John Walker, you need relax. Is normal for sister to date handsome man. Builds strong family, da?”

“Strong—strong family?” John spluttered, glaring daggers at Bucky, who was still sprawled on the ground, catching his breath. “I’m going to—”

“No.” Alexei’s voice rumbled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You want fight? You fight Alexei.”

John hesitated, glancing up at the towering Russian. “Uh…”

“Thought so.” Alexei grinned, giving John a little shake. “Now. You will go get drink, calm down. And Bucky…” He looked down at the man still lying on the floor. “You will… eh… no more bonking until brother says okay.”

You slapped a hand over your face, groaning loudly. “Alexei!”

“What?” He blinked at you innocently. “I am helping!”

“Yeah, thanks a lot, buddy,” Bucky muttered, rubbing his neck as he hauled himself to his feet.

John let out a long, suffering sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I need a damn drink.”

“Ah! Good idea! I join!” Alexei beamed, steering John toward the mess hall. “Come, we talk about sister. Very smart, very strong. Make good wife, no?”

As the two of them disappeared down the hallway, you turned to Bucky, who was still massaging his throat where Alexei had grabbed him.

"You okay?" you asked, resisting the urge to burst out laughing at the whole absurd situation.

"Yeah," Bucky wheezed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I’m fine, but your brother... He’s insane."

You snorted. "Takes one to know one."

Bucky shot you a wry grin, but his eyes flicked down the hallway where John and Alexei had gone. “Do you think he’s actually going to calm down, or is Alexei just making it worse?”

“Hard to say. Alexei’s version of calming someone down is offering them a bear hug and vodka shots.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Maybe not dead,” you teased, poking his chest. “But possibly maimed. Severely bruised. Broken bones, if we’re being realistic.”

“Great, thanks for the pep talk, doll.”

“Anytime, babe.”

Bucky glanced down the hall again, then back at you, his expression softening. “So, we’re not hiding anymore, huh?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” You glanced around the empty atrium, then stepped closer, lowering your voice. “I know it’s not how we planned for it to happen, but… I’m kind of relieved. No more sneaking around.”

He tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. There is something nice about that.” His hand brushed against yours, fingers intertwining.

You smiled up at him, heart fluttering as he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. But before you could enjoy it, a loud, irritated voice echoed down the hall.

“ARE YOU TWO KISSING AGAIN?!” John’s furious shout reverberated through the base. “SERIOUSLY?!”

Bucky pulled back, eyes wide. “Crap.”

“Oh, you are so dead,” you whispered with a grin, shoving him away. “Run!”

“Right!” Bucky shot off like a rocket, sprinting down the hallway in the opposite direction. You followed at a slower pace, watching with equal parts horror and amusement as John rounded the corner, still bright red and fuming, and took off after Bucky like a man possessed.

“DON’T YOU RUN AWAY FROM ME, BARNES!” John hollered, picking up speed. “I’M GONNA RIP YOUR ARMS OFF!”

“Really?” Bucky called over his shoulder. “Like I need another metal one? I’ll pass, thanks!”

“Oh, you’re gonna need more than a metal arm after I’m done with you!” John shouted, his voice reaching a new pitch of anger.

“Better keep up then, Cap!” Bucky taunted, his laughter echoing down the hallway.

You couldn’t help it—you doubled over, laughing so hard your sides hurt. This was chaos, pure and absolute chaos, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Bozhe moi, Americans are strange,” Alexei’s voice rumbled from behind you.

You straightened, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes as you turned to face him. “You think we’re strange?”

“Da.” He nodded solemnly. “Is like watching two squirrels fight over same nut.”

“Pretty sure Bucky’s the nut here,” you muttered.

“Da. And your brother… big angry squirrel.”

“Sounds about right.” You sighed, glancing down the hallway where you could still hear the distant echoes of John’s yelling and Bucky’s laughter.

Alexei patted you on the shoulder, his grin wide and toothy. “Do not worry. I keep them from killing each other.”

“I’m pretty sure if anyone’s going to kill anyone, it’ll be John killing Bucky.”

“Da, da. Bucky will be fine.” Alexei shrugged. “Metal arm, very strong.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think a metal arm is going to protect him from John’s wrath?”

Alexei’s eyes twinkled. “Nyet. But is fun to watch.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Should I get popcorn?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“Is too bad.” Alexei sighed dramatically, like a child denied a treat. “Very entertaining. Maybe next time I make bets.”

You blinked. “Bets?”

“Da!” Alexei nodded enthusiastically. “Who will win—Angry Squirrel or Annoying Nut?”

“Alexei,” you said slowly, a grin spreading across your face. “You’re evil.”

“Only little bit,” he agreed, then gave a playful wink. “I keep them in line. You go. Relax. Be pretty, like sister who is not dating big squirrel.”

“I’ll try,” you said dryly, smiling despite yourself.

“Go! Go!” He waved you off, then turned on his heel, striding purposefully down the hallway after John and Bucky. “Okay, boys! Enough running like chickens! You want to fight, you fight big Russian! Come! I am ready!”

You watched, still grinning, as Alexei’s deep, booming voice echoed through the base, drowning out John’s angry shouting and Bucky’s laughter.

It seemed that your secret was out in the most ridiculous way possible. But you’d take it, insanity and all—because, somehow, amidst the chaos and yelling and chase scenes through the base, it felt like everything was going to be just fine.

Even if it meant Bucky getting his ass kicked by your overprotective brother… right after Alexei had his fun, of course.

[darksigns-exe]

dad omens - noah sebastian

word count: 767

warnings: unexpected pregnancy, a tiny sliver of angst

Jolly Ruffilo Folio

It wasn’t planned. The news hit him like a brick, and he’s out of it for a good day before he re-assembles his head and calls.

There was no fight, just a I need to think that you had expected from him. You had briefly talked about your thoughts about children and family when you had started going out, but had agreed that it would be something to revisit in a few years — not a year.

You hadn’t even made up your own mind about it yet. But regardless of what you’d do, you knew that you’d have to tell him.

When he calls, he sounds so awfully meek, asks if he can come over so that you can talk properly. Says that he’d understand if you don’t want to see him right now, when the opposite is true.

He shows up at your door twenty minutes later, eyes all red as if he’s cried a little too.

The conversation you have is very honest and open. He doesn’t hide that it scares him like hell, that he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it. But the bottom line is that he’s with you no matter what you decide. And if that means being a dad, he’ll grow into that. The boy doesn’t back down from a challenge.

Noah has a few expected moments of panic. He wants to do you and this child justice, and sometimes he just can’t stop the panic from settling in.

He’s getting band things in order so that he’s as free as he can be, and of course your friends are immensely supportive in all of that. Calendars are freed up, things are restructured to give Noah more free time. The guys are around to help with whatever they can. Noah tries to be there for as many appointments as he can, helps with everything he can, even though there’s always that little bit of fear in the back of his mind. And sometimes it does get the best of him.

That all changes as soon as he’s handed your baby boy for the first time. That’s his child, you made that little person together. He’s up changing nappies, making deals with your son as if he can understand a word of what he’s saying.

He takes great pride in the bedtime story being his duty. More of than not, you find him fast asleep with your son at his side.

As he grows up, it becomes very clear that he’s the spitting image of his father, and you’re left with not one but two menaces who live for benevolent chaos.

They’re a real dynamic duo, always on the go when Noah’s at home.

He’s showing that kid off to everyone, but draws a very clear line when it comes to showing his face in public. Until he can say yes or no to being on camera, that child is not seen on social media. That doesn’t stop him from taking just so many pictures.

You have physical albums full of your kid growing up, and Noah always takes a picture with him when he leaves for tour.

He tries to call every day when he’s away, tries to make as much time not just for your kid, but also for you. Loves when you visit and takes great delight in chasing your son through the venue.

Maybe he’s not the dad who picks your kid up from soccer practice (mostly because the try-outs for that ended with your son saying that he doesn’t think that the others are in it to win it. Count on your child to be ultra competitive at the age of six) but he’s at every parent teacher conference, and he’s supportive of most new hobbies your son gets into. He draws the line at the fifth sport in one year and sits your kid down for a talk about it instead of getting upset. Turns out sports maybe aren’t his thing and he’d rather do something creative, but somehow got it in his head that sports is what he’s supposed to be doing.

A week later, Folio’s teaching him the basics of playing the drums.

Noah doesn’t ask questions when your son needs a late pickup from somewhere, doesn’t press for details but makes it clear that he can tell you both everything. And that policy of honesty pays off when he tells you about his first kiss and how he thinks that he has a real crush on that boy.

Noah’s by far not perfect, but he’s trying his hardest and that’s good enough.

[gavisuntiedboot]

Pablo Gavi - NSFW Alphabet

Hey y'all - so I was supposed to do day 10 of the prompt challenge today, but the prompt is "car rides". Gavi doesn't drive and I don't have a car, so I'm not feeling any inspiration whatsoever. That being said, I saw someone on here say they were gonna do an NSFW alphabet for Gavi, which I love. I wanted to wait until they posted it, but I want to see if I can come up wit my own ideas (make sure I'm not copying unintentionally). So here we go.

SMUT BEYOND THE FOLD!!! Please don't read if you're not comfortable. MDNI!!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I wish I could say Gavi was sweet and tender after sex, but he's just not. Pablo is young and super high energy, meaning that your sessions, whether one round or multiple, would be really intense. Very physical - very sweaty. One he was finished, he would collapse on top of you, breathing heavy, unable to hold up his weight anymore. He would roll off of you and just lay there, trying to catch his breath and fighting the urge to just fall asleep. Whenever you got done cleaning yourself up, he would pull you into him, hiding you close against his still racing heart, telling you how amazing you were and how much he loved you. He would pepper kisses on your forehead, eyes gradually closing as he fell asleep, sweaty skin still pressed against yours.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of themselves and their partner)

Gavi's favorite part of himself was his thighs. More than any other part of his body, they showed off how hard he had worked to get where he was, and how much effort he put into his career. He especially loved them because they drove you crazy. He loved lounging around the house in boxer shorts and a sweatshirt, seeing the way you stared at his exposed thigh muscle. The first time you had gone down on him, you bit him on the thigh, unable to control yourself (this is actually something I think about all the time). He knew his thighs could make you melt instantly, and he reveled in that power. The first time you came to him, shy and blushing, asking to ride his thigh, you looked so cute he couldn't even tease you. He just sat you on his thigh and tensed, allowing you to rock back and forth, getting drunk on the whimpers you let out.

On you, he was obsessed with your neck. He was always finding times in the day to leave gentle kisses on your neck, making you blush and giggle in the process. He loved tucking his head into your neck, leaving dark purple marks that were almost impossible to cover. He loved when he placed his hand around your neck, slightly stopping the blood flow, and watching your glassy eyes hood in arousal while he gave you everything you wanted. His favorite thing was watching the "p" necklace he gave you dangle off your neck, sitting prettily between your collar bones (often near a love bite), reminding everyone that no one could love you like he could.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The first time you had gone down on Gavi, you swallowed his entire load, and then went up to kiss him. He stopped you with one hand. You were shocked and rather offended. For weeks after that, you refused to give him head. He eventually got over his fragility of tasting his own cum, and then the begging started. He would please with you every night for head, assuring you that you could spit in his mouth after swallowing and he would thank you. While you didn't go that far, you finally tried giving him head again. When he finished, you held it in your mouth, coming up to show him. You stuck your tongue and allowed some to drip on your bare chest before swallowing. He almost came a second time.

Pablo loves you, but he is also 18, so one hard line for him is cumming inside of you. He is scared about it, and refuses to do it for the first several months of your relationship. He learned to finish other places. He found that his favorite was across your stomach. He loved watching you lay there, coated in sweat and cum trying to recover from the evening's activities. Something about it just scratched the possessive part of his brain in the right way.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Two words: mommy. kink. In every other aspect of his life, he hated being treated like a baby. But sometimes when he was getting sexy with you, all he wanted to was to be told that he was a good boy (or even better - a bad boy) and have you pamper him. He loved being told what to do, asking, "like this, mami? Am i doing good for you?" Sometimes he would purposefully disobey so that you would be extra rough with him, throwing him roughly on the bed and riding him with reckless abandon, disciplining your baby boy. He would die if anyone ever found out, but with you, he felt comfortable enough to let his submissive side out, giving up full control.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Everyone on this website likes to portray Gavi as someone who has never felt the touch of a woman. There is no way that is true. Have you seen this boy??? There are clothes disintegrating just at the thought. Also, as some has said on here before, Spanish men are whores!! Sex, especially casual sex, is part of the culture, and so I def think Gavi has some experience (2-4 girls). However, I don't think he has much experience having deep/ meaningful sex (ya know the kind with feelings attached). He knows where everything is and what to do, but he needs some coaching in order for things to be as pleasurable and romantic as possible. He may be frustrated at first by all your adjustments, but he's eager to excel, and follows your que whenever given.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Gavi is not the tallest. Everyone has come to terms with this. So he prefers something where he can still feel bigger and stronger than you. Doggy is an obvious favorite: he gets to go hard and smack your ass, and there is a perfect opportunity to grip your neck. He also loves spooning you, feeling your skin against his, and allowing him to get so deep within you. He can practically feel every moan and shiver run through your body. He loved both because they allowed him the freedom to roam every inch of your body, and go as rough as he wanted with you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Gavi isn't a serious person, and this carries over for sex as well. Whenever Pablo wanted to get it on, you could usually tell from his demeanor. He would get really touchy with you, snuggling up to you and trying to pull the collar of your shirt down. He would be making suggestive comments at you, wiggling his eyebrows at you and making cheeky grabs. In bed, he was always focused, going hard and fast. But he loved talking to you, and things always stayed light hearted. He would laugh breathlessly when trying to change positions. He tickled you and made jokes. He just loved being around you, and never took anything too seriously.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Like most footballers, Gavi is rather well groomed. From the short pull shots we've gotten, he's not a forest-keeper. He has a little bit of hair, starting at his navel and creating a happy trail to where you really wanted to be. He let his hair grow out a bit, making him feel more manly, but it was nothing too severe. A little bit of hair so things weren't bald. He definitely doesn't seem like the person to have the patience to always be clean shaven.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Gavi treated sex really casually. He liked sleeping. He liked eating. He liked having sex. And that's how he treated it - a fun activity he got to do when you were together. He liked that there was not a lot of pressure to be overly romantic all the time. Sometimes, when you two would plan it out, he would go all out with the romance: Candles, rose petals, new lingerie he picked out just for you. He would take his time admiring every inch of you, stripping you down, and telling him how much he loved you. But he was busy - he could never be like that all that time. It just made it more special when he was.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I don't know how many of you have ever met an 18 year old boy, but these mfers are hornyyyyyy. They can't help it. Not only was his biology working against him, but Pablo had you as a smoking hot girlfriend. Every night he wasn't going to spend with you he was jacking off. In the early morning when he was hard and you were still asleep? Jacking off. Sometimes he was still hard after multiple rounds, and with some assistance from you, finished himself off. You were happy to help him whenever he needed, but honestly he was embarrassed to admit how many times a day he got horny, and so kept most of his jacking off private. You didn't mind - you didn't want your poor baby to be in pain. You just told him to come to you if he ever needed any material, because if he was going to get off to any naked body, it better be yours.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Building onto the mommy kink from earlier (see D), Gavi was an absolute sucker for praise. He didn't even know it consciously. He loved being told when he was doing well in all aspects of his life. This was even more true when it came to getting intimate with you. It started tame enough, with you straddling Pablo on the couch, and him sucking on your neck. He started grabbing at your ass, kneading the flesh between his fingers. "Ah, Pablo, please don't stop, that feels so good." His eyes widened and he felt his bulge get tighter in his pants. You kept messing around, and he whispered into your ear, "please tell me I'm doing good." You smirked (somewhat evilly) and it was praise from there on out. You would always tell him how good he was, how great he felt, and how there was no one in the world that could do what he did. "You're such a good boy for me Pablo. You look so good, doing so well. Just like that amor." He was absolute putty in your hands, and when he was away from you, you sent him the praise in text messages, fearing he would go through withdrawal.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

For some reason, Gavi's favorite place to get busy was the couch. It was perfect. On his days off, he didn't have to move at all. There were snack on the table, the remote was in reach, and he could just hit whenever he felt like it. There were so many surfaces to rest you against and so much space for whatever activities you had in mind. He also really liked being in bed with you. He was not a fan of having sex in public. Everywhere he went people recognized him, and the last thing he needed was to be exposed for having sex against a tree in the park. He was also very possessive by nature, and so the thought of everyone else seeing you really turned him off.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

All you had to do was touch Gavi and he was ready to go. It could be simple touches, like wrapping your hands around his biceps whenever you walked through a crowd, or when you came and sat on his lap on a lazy weekend. As soon as he felt your warm body and the softness of your skin, he wanted to get more. When you really wanted to expedite the process of getting Pablo in the mood, you would treat him like a boy. Not in a mean way, but in a way that got him a little bit angry - having something to prove. "I'm so tired. I'd ask you to life me, but I don't think you can Pablito." "Aw Pablo, you're so cute when you pout. Want a kiss to feel better?" "You wouldn't know, you're just a kid." That last one is asking for trouble, so you used it rarely. But when you did, you were in for a rough night. "A kid, huh? I'll show you that I'm a man baby."

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Breeding kink. The idea of him getting you pregnant was not one that he found sexy in the slightest. He was barely an adult himself, and so the idea of becoming a father was one that sent nausea rippling through him. His limit was you calling him "papi" - that he could tolerate. But the idea of him putting a baby in you was not one that turned him on. For the first 6 months you were together he refused to nut in you, afraid of what could happen despite you being on birth control. He was still nervous about it, asking for you to tell him when your period started after every time he couldn't pull out fast enough. No breeding for Pablo.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Gavi was a competitive boy. He wanted to be the best at everything. Coupled with his love of being praised, this made him prefer giving oral, rarely ever asking for it back. When you first started going out, he was overconfident and underdelivered, leading to you giving a lot of suggestions. He was visibly frustrated. "Would you rather me give you advice of fake an orgasm?" He was a diligent student after that. He loved having your thighs around his ears, your hands pressing him against you, grinding into him as he moved his tongue how he knew you liked it. He was practicing weekly, and you were in heaven every time Pablo ate you out. He was amazing at eating you.

When it came to receiving, Pablo was a beast. He lost control whenever you were on top of him. You and Pablo experimented a lot, leading to you figuring out what he liked and what he loved. Pablo loved grabbing your hair, forcing you further down on his cock. After a few throw-up near misses, you started restraining his hands while giving him head, telling him if he touched you, you would stop. Now all he could do was helplessly bush his hips up, begging you in the most whiny voice to give him more.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Gavi is fast and rough with everything in his life, and you were no exception. He was an aggressive lover, loving to manhandle you. He loved picking you up, making you feel small and delicate. He loved pulling your hair back, exposing the skin of your neck for him to nibble at. His pace was brutal, almost bruising, and he loved giving you smacks on your ass to keep you from going fully fog-brained from how well he was dicking you down. After a stressful game, sex was soft and cuddly. Lots of kissing and skin on skin, the pace a lot slower. It was at those times when you got to flip him over and ride him, as he was happy to let you put in all the work.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Because of his hormonal nature, Pablo loved quickies. He loved them. In the morning against the counter in the bathroom. In the car when you picked him up from practice. Right before a night out (or in the bathroom at the restaurant). He loved the relief he got from being inside you. Would he prefer an hour to caress you and touch every inch of you? Sure. But if there was a chance for him to fuck you, he was taking it (and he could finish in like 100 seconds flat if he tried).

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He was all for taking risks as long as it wasn't something that was going to get him exposed in the media. You wanted to blindfold him? Go for it. You wanted to use toys in the bedroom? Sure, use his card. But you want to get frisky on a public beach? That was where he drew the line. Any place that didn't have a closed door, he was not fucking in it. He was also not into experimenting with receiving pain. His job needed him to be in peak physical condition, and so he was nervous when it came to anything that could compromise that condition.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Footballer (high endurance) + midfielder (higher endurance) + teenage hormones = this man is never going for just one round if y'all have time. If he can, he's going for at least 2-3. Y'all see how quick he gets up from injuries on the field? That's how fast he was recovering. Even if he wasn't chasing his own orgasm, he wanted to give you multiple. He loved the rush that came with seeing you limp on the bed, whimpering out from overstimulation is he breathed in your direction. Only he could do that to you. Some days when he was really tired, he let you lead him through one round and then was ready for bed. You would always tease him on those nights. "Aw Pablito, tapping out after only one round?" "Just wait till I get a good night's sleep, Princesa. You'll be eating those words. Or moaning them."

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Pablo was traditional. Penis and tongue and hands. He never thought about buying you toys for yourself or for you as a couple. But whenever you suggested something, he told you to get it. Nothing had been disappointing so far. He had some personal favorites. The rose toy? He was pulling that out when he was ready to suck your soul out of your body and keep you satisfied for a week. You had bought some sexy dice, and he loved the surprise that came with them. His favorite by far was the satin ribbon that you had bought last Valentine's day. He loved the look of the red against your skin when he tied your hands behind your back.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He was not one that naturally liked to tease. But you - oh you were such a brat. You loved to mess with Gavi, pushing all of his buttons. This had created a monster. Pablo now was a mastermind at teasing you, and he did it in basically every interaction. From playful words ("Stop undressing me with your eyes Princesa, I know I'm hot in my jersey") to playful touches on your waist and thighs, he loved getting you riled up and leaving you high and dry. He would often send you pictures from the locker room in shorts only, asking you silly questions like "Which of my 6 abs is the hottest?" He loved it so much, because you were always pliable and wiling when he saw you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Pablo is a soft and low moaner. His moans are close to your easy, breathy and coming deep from his soul. He would whine whenever he was getting close, the stimulation making him impatient. When you two were home alone, he let himself go. He knew that you loved hearing him, and so he was more free with his moans. You loved when he started cursing. "Fuck princesa. You're so fucking hot." When he came, he would let out loud and higher pitched moans, so passionate it almost sounded like he was in pain. The longer he was with you, the more confident he got in letting you hear how you made him feel.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

"I want to wear his initial on a chain round my neck."

For your anniversary, Pablo bought you a dainty chain with a beautiful old English "P" on it. He bought you a matching anklet with a number "6". You had almost cried when you received them, loving that Pablo wanted to be close to you, wanted to publicly claim you as his girl. One night, he had come home from a match with one goal and one assist. He was ready for you to pamper him, to ride him into the sunset. You bounced on top of him, boobs jiggling in his face. Your necklace was dangling over him, slapping your chest as you moved. You stopped momentarily, grabbing the chain and placing it between your teeth, then continuing to ride him with reckless abandon. He couldn't tell you why, but seeing you clutch his letter between your lips started a fire in him. He kissed you feverishly, pulling you off of him and switching your positions, now reinvigorated to fuck you senseless. He brought your legs up by his head and kissed your ankle with the number "6" on it softly before slamming into you. Since then, you had to be careful wearing things that were his. His jersey. His hoodies. His barca shirts and sweats. His merch from the Spain national team. Even your necklace stayed tucked in your collar. All of them were dangerous, because the carnalistic desire for you to be his and his alone meant that wearing anything that belonged to Gavi could get you railed senseless (naturally that made you wear them more).

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I want to lie and say I haven't been looking, but I have. I'm so sorry. Average penis length in Spain is 5.4 inches, and I would say that is what Pablo is packing. Dick size might be the most average thing about him. However, as we all know, it's not the size of the wave but the *motion of the ocean*. Gavi would know how to use every inch. But yeah. Stop using the number 7 when you talk about my boy Gavi. Those football shorts are tight y'all. If he was a horse we would know.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. I am tired of beating around the bush. My man wants to fuck. You have a nice ass and soft tiddies and pretty lips and even prettier eyes. He just wants to bend you over every surface that he can and fuck. When he's gone, he's always asking for pics and videos of you. He thinks about you when he touches himself. The blood can either be in his dick or his brain, and it needs to be in his brain for him to succeed at football. He wants you and he wants you all the damn time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

You have about 3 minutes from when sex ends to Pablo being knocked out cold. He may be rough and passionate, but at the end of the day, he's a baby boy and he is sleepy. He wants to stay awake and cuddle and be that cute boyfriend, but he can't. He's tired from being on the move constantly. And so he always leaves a hand outstretched for you to lay against, even when he's asleep.

*Bonus*

The funniest thing that gets Gavi hard: you biting him. You loved looking at Pablo's arms. He had the most gorgeous, tones, and bite-able arms imaginable (see below photo for reference). Whenever you would be chilling with him, you would lay on top of him and bite him on the bicep. The first couple of times, he yelped in pain, leading to you kissing it better, and things getting heated. You inadvertently Pavlov dogged him. Now every time he felt your teeth sinking into your bicep, he remembered getting frisky on the couch, and boom he was hard. His teammates always asked why he had "zombie bites", but he just waived them off, slipping on his long sleeves and thinking about you.

^^ Tell me you don't want to sink your teeth into that

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hey y'all !!! Hope y'all enjoyed. I love when other writers do these, so I thought I would give it a shot. Please leave any comments or feel free to talk to me in my asks - I love hearing from y'all! Working on the next part of the series. Let's see how long it will be.

[heliads]

i've got my money on things going badly

Lance Stroll should be delighted to watch his sister get married, but the only heart he's thinking about is his own. The one Fernando Alonso broke.

masterlist

To Lance, weddings are a kind of performance art. He’s gotten somewhat good at them ever since he was younger, when the Strolls were invited to everything. His father would get caught up in knots of expensive men wearing expensive suits, lost in business talks for hours, but Lance could slip away the second someone blinked, go find his sister disguised in a coat closet somewhere and talk about Pokémon or cable TV or something little kids like best. 

Now his sister is the one getting married, and, enfolded into someone else’s party of groomsmen, Lance has absolutely no chance of hiding, excessively large coat closets of the elite be damned. He likes Scotty, really he does, even went to the trouble of presenting him to Chloe as a potential husband in the first place, but ceremonies are always long and Lance, as per usual, is tired of it.

He should be good. He should like this. Weddings are wonderful ceremonies. You can appreciate them for the expensive decorations and myriad artistic decisions that go into them, if not the fact that they’re basically just one extended celebration dedicated to the love of your close friends and family. 

Lance is here for his sister and her future happiness with her recently declared husband. This should be an excellent day, and it has been, along with the rest of the wedding festivities that have been going on for ages, but now that the sun has set and he’s still here, starch-stiff in his dress suit, wishing he could go but knowing he can’t.

It’s not even the wedding’s fault, really, it’s just that Lance can’t stand spending so long thinking about the bliss of someone else’s love when he’s just lost one of his own. His sister is twirling in a white dress, a woman who hasn’t stopped smiling in hours, and Lance is standing in the shadows of this rosy glory with just one name on his mind.

Fernando Alonso.

It’s foolish, what this has done to him. Lance waved goodbye to Seb last year and told himself that he could look forward to another good relationship with another world championship teammate. Fernando would be challenging but rewarding as another Aston Martin driver, or so the motorsport gossip pages had told him.

What no one counted on was just how Fernando would make Lance feel. Not even Lance can do a good job of that, not really. There are no words in English or Spanish or even half-and-half lighthearted Spanglish that can sum up how Lance’s ribs ache like they’ve been bruised from sentences alone. 

He had not meant to love Fernando; hell, he wasn’t even sure he did until the abrupt ending, but now Lance is choking on the words he never got to say and wondering how he’s meant to pick up the pieces of a heart that was only ever Fernando’s to break. Lance was supposed to stay professional, and he didn’t, and now he’s the one suffering for it. So it goes.

It didn’t take much, actually. Four months to fall. One month to break. Now he’s standing alone in the corner of his sister’s wedding, hoping for an escape that doesn’t seem willing to come his way. He’d been stupid, thought he could take too much, but is that really his fault for trying? All his life, he’s been told that he could be anything, do anything, have anything, and now he’s found that limit and it hurts like hell.

It’s not like anyone told him that the meter on Stroll luck and expectation would fall short when it came to one Spanish two time world championship winner. Well, that’s not true. Esteban had tried. Lance had not listened. He cannot even say for sure that he should have, because Lance had been very happy up until the point when he wasn’t.

It almost makes sense that the whole affair was conducted over such a short period of time. Lance is impatient, he likes doing things fast. It’s why he was able to become a Formula One driver. It’s why he set his sights on the man most likely to break his heart and cut the brakes before either of them could back out of it.

And it was just. Fuck. Hands on shoulders on the backs of necks on waists. How Fernando kept whispering in his ear, so close he could feel the other man’s breath hot on his neck, even though/just because it made Lance h— they were on camera the whole time. It didn’t matter. They wanted what they wanted and they got it, too. 

Or, Lance had thought they had got what they wanted, and then he had dared to ask for a label for the unspoken thing he was sure both of them felt, and everything was lost for good. It was the end of the Miami race weekend, and Fernando was drunk on the glory of another podium, happy enough that Lance felt certain that he could have the conversation he wanted without it going sour.

They had been hanging around one of their driver’s rooms– which one, Lance can never tell, they kept swapping door to door until even the labeled placards felt like a joke of hospitality’s courtesy. Sprawled out on a couch, so close that Lance couldn’t stop staring at how their legs kept touching whenever he breathed too hard, he’d felt absolutely crazy with the knowledge that this was his.

Too much of a good thing can make you foolish, convince you that things will be that good forever. Lance had laughed to himself, then turned to Fernando with a grin. “We’ll still be like this next season, right?”

Fernando had given him this look as if he were being intentionally difficult. “Yes, Lance. My contract will not expire for another season. I will be on the grid.”

Lance had shaken his head. “No, duh, I mean like, hanging out like we are now. You know, like us.” 

Lance doubts he could have packed more meaning into that one syllable if he tried. He’s heard Fernando refer to the unbreakable us before too many times to count, like when they’re coming back from a bar late and Fernando, eyes dark and heavy, promised him they’d have fun like that again, just us. Or, scoffing at the other driver lineups– they’re not us, you know. They don’t get along as well. One hand on Lance’s shoulder, fingers digging into muscle, the others could never get along as well.

Fernando had cocked his head to the side, curious. “What do you mean? We’re teammates.”

Lance had rolled his eyes. “Yeah, obviously, but like, there’s more. You know that.”

The space between them went silent. He should have taken that as his first warning sign if nothing else. Fernando had cleared his throat carefully and said, “What else would there be?”

Lance can still imagine the cold feeling that had descended upon him, spreading from the back of his throat like ink. What else would there be? It was impossible that he could have misread every single signal, every touch, every unspoken word. Unless, of course, the hidden meaning he dedicated so much time to channeling had never been there at all.

Lance had waved his hand vaguely. “But we were– you know, we did. Things.”

Fernando’s expression was impossible to read. “Did we?”

It was condescending and pitying and Lance hated it, all of it. He felt like a boy again, small enough to watch his voice disappear into the stillness of an uncaring room. He’d shot up from the couch, pushing out the door and away before anything else could happen. If anything had happened at all, or if it would, that is. Apparently, Lance has made a habit of picturing things that didn’t fucking exist.

Now he’s left spiraling like he survived a bad breakup, but you can’t have a breakup if there was never so much as a spark in the first place. It’s impossible that Fernando could have missed it all. Impossible, that Lance could have simply invented it. He knows what he felt, he knows what Fernando did, but none of it was worthy of a single word of acknowledgement from the other half of two seemingly perfect parts.

He wants to scream and throw up and put his phone down for longer than ten minutes at a time. There are many, many things that Lance had wanted to tell Fernando, and it’s only now starting to occur to him that he’ll never get the chance. I wanted to transform. For you. I wanted to be good. You made me want to be better. 

It’s foolish for him to be thinking of things like this. Lance is a young man. He’s got time for his heart to grow up and even out. Maybe in a decade or less, he’ll meet some perfectly nice young woman, someone his father would approve of, someone with country club connections that won’t rival his own (who can) but could at least keep up with the game. They’d have a manicured front lawn and two docile children, including a son to keep up the Stroll legacy. It would be normal, it would not break his heart like this. It would be very dependable.

Lance doesn’t want dependable, though, he knows it as he thinks it. He wants wild, unpredictable, insane things like falling in love with your teammate and letting him convince you that he’d settle down for you. Lance wants to be the reason someone so used to choosing themselves chooses you instead. He wants Fernando, and he wants no one else.

This is a difficult thing to think about at a wedding. Across the crowded event hall, he can see his sister, happy and secure in the knowledge that her husband is hers, legally and emotionally. There are scores of couples smiling up at each other, content that their love is theirs and no one else’s. 

Lance stands alone, tapping his foot to the beat so he doesn’t look like a complete loser. Every time someone looks over at him, he wants to shout that he’s fine, actually, this is fine, he doesn’t need someone the way that everyone else seems to, but they glance away again before he can properly vocalize this.

The DJ spins another song, the beat drops and the dance floor shakes appropriately from a hundred stomping feet, and just when Lance is certain that he wants to give up and really tries in earnest to look for somewhere to go, the crowd parts and Lance sees him.

Fernando. Here. Impossible. Yet that’s still a glint of hickory eyes he’d know anywhere, even distorted by swimming shades of party lights. Lance feels physically immobile as the man who cannot possibly be his teammate skirts couples and friend groups, and then they’re standing in front of each other and even though this cannot be, it is, and this is the first time Lance has seen him since the argument.

Lance stares at Fernando, jaw dropped comically. He has the harebrained thought that he’s glad the only camera nearby is the one in the hands of Chloe’s Vogue-ordered photographer; if this was the paddock, he’d probably end up as yet another stupid reaction image, giffed into oblivion until not even Lance can recognize his face when he sees it again.

If this was the paddock, seeing Fernando wouldn’t be such a surprise. If this was the paddock, Lance would not feel the absurd urge to run, because Fernando would already be gone, separated by an impenetrable wall of PR officers and personal trainers and anyone else he could shove in between the two of them.

Instead, they’re in one of the rare quiet patches in the wedding reception hall, and Lance is watching Fernando watch him, and slowly, deliberately, Lance forces his mouth to shut enough to ask, “How did you get in here?”

Fernando chuckles, teeth flashing in the uneven lighting of the dark hall. Lance has taken to ranking his teammate’s grins on a sliding scale from closed lips to a shark’s predatory display. This one is somewhere in the middle, hovering between quiet and pleased. Maybe even real. 

“I bribed Daniel to get me past the door,” he says.

Lance casts an outraged look across the dancefloor until he catches the Australian attempting to foxtrot with Scotty. They should both be at least passable at it, but both men keep trying to lead, then follow, then lead again, endless cycles of not-quite-right. 

Daniel somehow feels Lance looking– twitchy, isn’t he, has been all day– catches sight of Fernando standing in front of him, and grins apologetically. Bastard. If Lance gets him for grid Secret Santa, if Daniel manages to make it back onto the grid before December, he’ll have to actually try this time. Lance might owe him big for this.

The DJ starts a new number, cueing flashing lights that cascade from the blinding storm on the dance floor to faint rays out here where the two of them linger in the shadows, occasional flashlight beams sent out to catch them.

Lance swallows hard, watches the LEDs dye Fernando’s hair with undertones of Renault yellow, Ferrari red, Aston Martin green. If he were in the mood to be honest, Lance would admit that he’s been looking at Fernando for a while, actually. Not just since Fernando joined his team, before that, too. Long before they were teammates, when Lance first started racing in Formula One and he was eighteen and Fernando was thirty-five, a fact that makes him shiver down to his toes every time he thinks of it, which is– more often than it should be, for certain.

Now that the issue has been solved of how Fernando managed to get past the security guards Chloe swore were unnecessary and Lawrence swore he wouldn’t hire, plus the overeager wedding planners and racing fans stuck outside the gates with iPhone cameras, Lance pivots to a new question, one far more important.

“Why are you here?” Lance asks cautiously. 

He knows what he wants to hear, of course, but he can’t let himself get his hopes up just for them to be dashed yet again. This is not his wedding, of course. Fernando could be here to corner some Aston Martin engineers or strategists if they won’t return his midnight calls. He could even be here for Danny, which would explain why the Australian went to the trouble of letting him in, and he’s just stopping by Lance because he got caught while trying to get drinks. 

That thought makes Lance’s stomach twist in angry knots, and he’s only calmed from saying or doing something rash by Fernando’s following words, quiet in the dark but full of a lasting power.

“For you, Lance,” he says, “I came for you.”

God. Lance has spent the whole day witnessing lavish displays of affection, but for some reason it is seven simple words that makes him come undone. He stands there, stock still, and Fernando asks hesitantly, “Is that okay?”

It reminds Lance of how it had been before everything went south, when they were both dancing around a truth both ugly and glorious, that teammates do not stare like they did, that coworkers should not use getting drunk at an Aston Martin post-race celebration party as an excuse to keep their hands on each other, that Fernando didn’t keep interrupting Lance’s interviews to place his hands on Lance’s shoulders and whisper in his ear that he was Fernando’s hero just to get Lance to react like he always did. Not something he was supposed to do on camera, but neither of them could stop.

It is like the very beginning. Fernando, infiltrating Lance’s garage to lean down over the edge of the halo of Lance’s test drive and grip his gloved hands. How’s the car? Fernando, stopping by Lance’s driver’s room to hug him around the shoulders, cold and damp from the champagne that was still soaked through his race suit. I saw you out there. It was good, no? We are good? Fernando, with his hand on Lance’s leg when they’re supposed to be paying attention in a dry and stilted meeting with no one’s eyes on them for once. Can I? Is it alright? 

Lance never said no. Even when his breath caught in his throat. Even when he knew he was just sinking further into a pit he would never be able to escape. The falling was the best part, anyway.

“Fine,” he says at last, “Dance with me, then. If you want to talk, we dance. I’m sick of being a wallflower anyway.”

He raises an eyebrow impetuously, daring Fernando to make the next move. If Fernando’s actually serious about being here for Lance, he won’t mind this. He won’t mind the chance that someone could see them together and start to speculate. If Lance is anything other than a backroom missed connection, they should be able to dance without worrying.

Fernando nods once, accepting his challenge. He places one hand on Lance’s waist, the other on his waiting hand. His grip is strong, but not agonizing. Just a reminder that Lance will not be able to leave easily, not unless Fernando is satisfied that the situation has been handled as he planned.

Here, locked in the vise of another man’s arms, Lance thinks about how deeply he’s let himself get enthralled in Fernando’s way of doing things. He likes pretending that he’s the one in control, that Fernando is here to win him over, but the second Fernando’s hands are on him, Lance cedes that last bit of power over to him. Fernando does it easily, like a habit. It probably is.

Esteban warned him about this, after all, how easy it is to get sucked in. Lance, however, does not mind Fernando’s trap in the slightest. The rabbit must learn to love the snare. The bird likes its cage when the gilded bars keep it safe. 

“I was thinking,” Fernando begins.

“Always a good start,” Lance quips.

The hand on Lance’s waist tightens momentarily, a warning. Lance kind of wants to mouth off some more to see what the resulting action would be.

“I was thinking,” Fernando repeats, “that I may have gotten something wrong. I did not want to rush you, Lance. We have a lot of time. Being hasty can cost you.”

Unwillingly, Lance’s mind flashes to driver’s meetings, planning sessions with his engineer. Being a driver is knowing the difference between when to push and when to plan. Fernando  may have spent a lot of time guarding his pace, but Lance gets the feeling he’s finally ready to go for the trophy, the fastest lap. To sprint and never look back.

“I don’t want you as just a teammate,” Fernando continues. “I had not realized you thought we were past that. It would have sped things along, I think, if I had.”

“I thought we had plenty of time,” Lance comments.

“We do,” Fernando says smoothly. “But that does not mean I want to push this off any more if I don’t have to.”

“This?” Lance asks, feeling like he’s parodying that fateful conversation from so long ago, “And what’s this?”

Fernando meets his gaze coolly, calmly, and then he smiles and changes everything. Night brown eyes go caramel. “We have something better than anyone else, Lance. I do not want to lose it.”

There’s a sharp, triumphant streak in those words. Fernando Alonso has always been on a different level from everyone else. Hearing that he considers Lance on that distinct pedestal as well– it makes Lance lean into his touch a little more, and the last of his guard drops away.

“Why’d you tell me differently earlier, then?” He can’t help but ask. “You could have said you wanted me then.”

Fernando sighs, looks away. “I didn’t know I wanted it then. I didn’t count on how it would feel to lose you. I know now. I don’t want to feel it again.”

Across the room, they’re starting to cheer and shout from the center of the dance floor. It takes Lance a few moments to realize that the applause isn’t for the two of them but for the newlyweds, Chloe and Scotty, who are leading the group in an exuberant rendition of I Wanna Dance with Somebody. Lance thinks that it wouldn’t be entirely unfounded for the cheering to be for him, though. He feels like celebrating now.

And, when he looks back, Fernando’s lips are on his. Lance stumbles a little, and Fernando’s hand slides up his spine to catch him before he loses balance. It’s easy. It’s victorious. Lance never wants to let him go.

Fernando’s breath is hot against his throat, sending Lance into a feverish spiral. “I’ll see you in Monaco,” he whispers, and then he’s pulling away.

Lance watches him leave, but for once, it’s not a sad feeling. Instead, the emotion currently crashing through Lance’s bones is more one of anticipation. This is not the end, just the beginning. Fernando turns once, smiling at him before disappearing in a crush of people. Lance’s chest feels cold where Fernando’s hands had once been, but his heart’s racing enough to make up for the lost heat.

A voice by his shoulder; his sister, who has somehow fought her way through the crowd of well-wishers to find him. “Was that your teammate?” She asks, frowning.

Lance gazes softly at the place that had once been his. “Yeah, it was.”

Chloe tilts her head to the side with a frown, considering this. “Is something going on there?”

“Yes,” Lance answers her. Chloe looks like she wants far more of a response than just that, but Lance just laughs and helps her back to the dance floor. He will have plenty more days to explain it to her. After all, Fernando was right. They do have plenty of time.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[dontyouworrydaddy]

Can you make a fic / short headcanon of how the COD men reacts to reader riding those bull mechanical? Their usual bar/pub has installed a new attraction which is that bull mechanical. Either they dared reader or reader wanted to try to ride, depends on the character. You know how those bulls move makes the rider look like they’re grinding?? Yeah I wanna know how the guys reacts to that 👀

ᴄᴏᴡɢɪʀʟ

Task Force 141 + fem! reader

Oh I just know that Kyle and Soap would catch a little crush. And they probably wouldn’t even try to hide it😅 Price is the obviously the overprotective dad and tells them to shush while Simon is acting like it’s not funny or cool at all… but we all know this man is feeling something.. At least a little bit.

This was actually supposed to be a x gn! reader but the title destroys it and I couldn’t find a better one. I‘M SORRY😭

I LOVE THIS IDEA. I just know I‘m gonna have so much fun writing this! Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy<33🩷💝💘💖

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was a night out after a complicated mission. Price suggested to go to that local bar together and everyone agreed. Well, expect Simon Ghost but you forced him to come with you.

As soon as you entered the bar, you saw a Mechanical bull in the corner of the bar

"If you manage to stay longer than 15 seconds on that bull, all your drinks are on me then" soap dares you with a challenging grin.

"Bet." you both shake hands and make your way to the machine.

You make yourself comfortable on it and it slowly starts.

Let’s say the boys were not expecting that. You were griding on that bull and you definitely looked good. You were laughing causing everyone to laugh too. Simon let out a chuckle but only loud enough for only to him to hear it.

After 15 seconds of desperate to stay on that bull for those free drinks, you manage to stop and walk back to the group.

"Damn, Y/N! Didn’t know you had this in you" kyle remarks causing you to laugh. "What can I say? I‘m a super talented person" you reply and turn to soap. "So, Johnny. Free drinks, aye?"

Soap laughs and buys you drinks. "You were WILD. How the fuck can you even move like that?" Johnny is fascinated and Kyle is invested in how you did that. Both if them clearly caught a little crush on you and they didn’t even try to hide it.

As both of them were bombing you with questions, Ghost sat there, not saying anything and just swallowing down his drink like it’s water. But deep down, he was also fascinated from earlier.

"Okay now you two. Stop with the questions" John, being the protective dad of the group, says as soon as he realized that they won’t stop questioning you and just search for a conversation with you.

Kyle was tipsy but you and Johnny were definitely drunk since you both started a new challenge without letting papa John know. You both ended up being super drunk and started to laugh about everything.

But nevertheless, you won the challenge but the price was you not being able to walk properly.

Simon picked you up in bridal style and said he will drop you off at your house, while John took Kyle and Johnny home.

Simon lived 15 minutes away from you while the others had a longer distance.

You kept talking about random stuff and Simon just listend to you.

As he tucked you in your bed, he made sure to leave a glass of water and pain killers on your night stand because as soon as you wake up, your head is definitely gonna kill you. He also left a little note with a skull on it and left your home, after making sure you were okay.

[irenespring]

House MD Fanfic: "There Were Expectations" (House/Wilson)

My House MD 20th anniversary gift fic for @coffins-and-marbles , who asked for Wilson angst! I hope you like your gift!

Find the fic here!

Until the collection is published, find the fic below the cut!

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Fic preview:

Wilson needs to get House the perfect Valentine's Day gift. He always knew what to get his previous partners, but dating House is different. Or is it not different enough? What if the path of close friends to lovers is going to backfire like it always does for him? What if this just another thing he is destined to mess up.

---

Thank you so much to everyone who will read when the collection is published!!

Comments help my day and my writing motivation!

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It was supposed to be better. 

That’s the only thing Wilson can think as he paces a tacky Valentine’s Day-themed grocery store aisle at 3:21pm (late enough that he won’t have to hide anything in his desk where House will find it, early enough that he won’t need an excuse to ditch House for the evening).

He’s not even sure what “ it ” even refers to. 

His fucked up brain that can’t parse “happy” signals from “sad” signals from “fine” signals from “the world would be better without you” signals?

The rising panic that he wasn’t just “straight, with one exception” like had first assumed, and might be gay, like actually gay, capital G Gay, and holy fuck what is he supposed to do now?

The fear that House will really leave him this time, simmering then boiling then simmering again since Tritter showed up at the damn clinic?

He doesn’t know. He just really expected something to be better after House kissed him. 

It had felt life-changing at the time.

But he’s the same stupid Wilson, can’t make a decision for shit.

---

Wilson stares at House’s TV like it’s a particularly challenging algebra problem. There’s an answer in there, somewhere. A correct answer. And he has to get it right. He just has to. 

House—because he asked to be called “House” rather than “Greg,” which is a little absurd, but it also means that he calls Wilson “Wilson” rather than “James,” which is nice just because it’s not what Sam called him—pokes him with his foot.

“C’mon, pick something.”

“It’s your apartment. You can pick.”

“You’re my guest, and social custom dictates that you pick.”

“Oh yes, because you’re such a big fan of social custom.”

“Wilson. You have to pick.”

“Whatever you want is fine.”

It’s a trap, probably. A test, to see if he chooses something good, if he has the makings of a good friend. Wilson is moving to New Jersey soon, they’re going to be working together. And that makes them actual friends, instead of over-the-phone friends. They’re going to be spending actual time together every day, not just a few hours at conferences. It only makes sense that House needs to make sure Wilson is up to par.

He isn’t. He’s not sure in exactly what way, but he isn’t. It’s been nice, having a real friend. Wilson wants to keep that nice feeling of camaraderie, of closeness, of safety. The second he chooses wrong, he knows it will be gone. 

He doesn’t think House will hit him. He doesn’t have the cover that she had. If his wife slaps him, that’s sitcom comedy. If House slaps him, that’s assault. So House probably won’t slap him. But he could. He’s taller and stronger and faster than Wilson. He could. 

No. He won’t. More likely he’ll just mutter something about Wilson’s taste being terrible and just pick his own choice anyway. He can talk a big game, but he doesn’t want Wilson to choose. Wilson is bad at picking things. He’s bad at most things, really. It’s a miracle anyone puts up with him, especially House who doesn’t even seem to buy his “perfectly happy” facade. He’s going to ruin it. 

He has to remind himself that that scenario is good though. It ends with them still being friends. It ends where Wilson wants them to be: with House’s choice on the television, the two of them mocking the characters and laughing. House actually finds Wilson funny. It had taken him a while to actually convince Wilson of that, to get Wilson to make his own jokes, but it worked. They joke around together. Maybe this won’t be so bad.

But that’s what he always thought with her. But he always got it wrong and she got mad and would yell things at him. Later on she would shove him, smack him…but just when she was tired, it was never a big deal. Still, he learned very quickly that should just let everything go, let her lead. It was fine. She liked him. She said she did. That was as good as he was going to get, fraud and failure of a man that he is. But she still divorced him without even facing him, and the only thing that kept him together was that he had House instead. Now he’s not even going to have that.

He can’t do this.

“Wilson?” 

Shit. His breathing is coming too fast, House knows something is wrong. This is pathetic, he is pathetic. He needs to say something, but no words come out. 

“I-” he manages, “I’m fine.”

“Just pick something.” House’s voice is oddly patient. 

Wilson does like cooking shows. Maybe- 

No. House doesn’t like them, he gets frustrated that he can’t actually taste the food, and thus can’t verify whether or not the judges are full of shit. Wilson can’t pick something that House doesn’t like, that would be selfish. Selfish is bad, selfish makes him just another asshole. His selflessness sets him apart, it makes people like him. He wants House to like him. It seems unreasonable to ask that House like him as much as Wilson likes House, but just liking him a little bit would be enough. And that won’t happen if-

“You don’t pick, I break into your sparkly new office and replace all your books with some of my most favorite DVDs.” Wilson could fix that quick enough, and such a prank pales in comparison to the many doomsday situations floating in Wilson’s head in the event of a wrong choice. 

He stays silent.

“Is it Sam?” House asks, saying her name like a curse, his brow pinching in anger. He guesses that a lot, when Wilson does something he finds concerning. He is right more often than not. 

Wilson’s continued silence is close enough to a confirmation.

“She’s an evil scum bitch, Wilson. You let her mess you up, she wins.”

Wilson takes a deep breath. 

“Cooking show.”

House hates cooking shows. He grins anyway. 

“Alright.”

Wilson stares at House as the show’s intro music starts playing. He’s fairly certain that House knows, but he keeps his eyes on the flashing credits and B roll of chefs flipping pizzas and chopping vegetables. 

Wilson feels a strange fluttering in his stomach.

—

House was Wilson’s lifeline. People in the hospital joke that House is the parasite, draining Wilson of money, friends, and patients. That’s not true. House is Wilson’s place to go in the evenings when he doesn’t want to be alone. Wilson’s place to tell jokes inappropriate for the workplace. His place to relax. 

He’ll never relax again now. Wilson is cursed, doomed to repeat the same patterns over and over again. He makes friends, and soon enough they get ideas, and the relationship turns from friends to lovers and before long, everything is in ruins. Perhaps that’s the downside of realizing he likes men more than he’s ever liked women: the curse has spread to House. 

House would laugh if he knew Wilson’s concern. He puts curses in the same box as miracles, psychics, and magicians. Wilson would usually be right there with him. If there is a God, he doesn’t bother intervening in everyday life. He’s seen too many people die to believe in holy justice or mercy. 

Yet what other conclusion should Wilson draw? It happened with Sam, Bonnie, Julie, the women he hadn’t married, the women he had been involved with while he was married. Each time, he reviews his actions, what they could have possibly read into. A couple times, he’s even asked. No commonalities, just him. He can’t stay friends with anyone. 

Wilson’s never really been able to maintain a friendship with a man outside of House. He’s not sure why, but he’s never let his guard down, never escaped his courteous persona. He knows he’s gay now, that’s a different lens. Maybe he was afraid they’d see something about him, maybe he was afraid he’d see something about them. Something that would make his stomach flutter like it did with House, on those occasions that House was kind, or intense, or funny, or particularly clever. He could ask House, House always has some sort of theory.

Women were easier to befriend. They didn’t look down on Wilson’s perpetual agreeableness and sympathy. And Wilson could relax a bit once they did. Conversation came easier, and he never felt tense afterward, like he was expecting a strike. That didn’t come until the romance. And romance always came. They’d lean over and kiss him, and he’d feel that moment of panic before he remembered what to do, what other girls had liked. 

And from there, there were expectations. Things he had to do, that were expected of him. Valentine’s Day gifts like these lines of teddy bears, chocolates, roses. With his work hours, it was all he could do. Maybe House wouldn’t care so much, since he sees Wilson every day. Though that’s rarely good. Who wants to see Wilson every day? For all he knows, his marriages had lasted longer because he’d never been there. After all, he married Sam before he was a doctor, and she could only stand his presence after he took that second job for her.

Seeing Wilson was the surest way to realize all the ways he was inadequate. Perhaps he could find a patient tomorrow. Rearrange the schedule or something.

But House would see through that. House would come with him to the hospital and become a frowning shadow, making fun of his patients and playing “Hit the Intern” by throwing pens and paper clips. Then House would blame Wilson for making him spend Valentine’s Day at the hospital. And the resentment would set in. House is his best friend, but even he can’t escape.

He had been great friends with Bonnie. House had hated her well before they’d gotten together, well before House had even met her. Wilson had liked her, and she had taken up his time. She had been coming off a bad relationship, something Wilson knew something about. He’d told her things that he’d only ever told House. He’d gone with her to art shows and dancing lessons and museums. And then she’d kissed him, and everything fell apart. There was a difference between meeting her a few times a week to hang out and being in near constant communication between meeting for dates. A difference between being a part of Bonnie’s social sphere and the heart of that sphere. He could never meet her expectations. She had hated that he cared for House, she had hated that he couldn’t be a doting husband (the “like he was to House” had always been implied, until the yelling started). That disapproval weighed on him, until he would do anything to escape it. Then a woman made him feel different, made him feel so much better that it felt funny. And that was the end of that. 

He messes up. And then panics, and one of his friends will think that means they should kiss him, and he panics, and then he remembers what that woman wants. Before he knows it, he’s a cheater. Strangely, it had fit with Wilson’s image of himself. Who is more hated than the philanderer? Now they will see Wilson as he always was. 

His shield was too strong, however. They still liked him. He’d reach out, make friends, and the curse continued. 

What was he thinking, kissing House back? Well, for the first time, he hadn’t been thinking at all. He hadn’t panicked, he felt too alive to panic. 

This was bad. At least with previous times, his friendship with the women had been solid, uncomplicated. House had been out of rehab for less than six months, Tritter entered their lives less than a year ago. 

It’s possible their whole relationship is based on an emotional reaction to finally escaping the mess. One of the few emotional decisions House had ever made. One of Wilson’s few truly impulsive acts.

It must have felt like a great idea at the time. It must have felt like something that could fix him.

----

It’s starting to feel natural again. Which is good, because Wilson is kind of forgetting who’s supposed to be mad. 

Is it his turn, because House turned rehab into a farce, and is back to popping enough pills a day to fill one of those old-timey gumball machines?

Or is it House’s turn, because Wilson and Cuddy once again tried to “fix” him and he had to spend one day in a room with a rape victim and then several days in some sort of sad, far-away mood?

Probably House’s turn. Wilson never learns. He’s tried some sort of bullshit “return to humanity” scheme at least twice now. Three times, if he counts the time he tried to force House to have dinner with his parents. Given the few real, serious words House had spoken to him after the Girl In The Clinic fuck up, that was actually probably the worst one of all. So 3.5 times then.

Definitely House’s turn. 

But it’s not going to fix anything. Wilson will try it again. He knows that, even as the version of himself in this moment knows it will be a disaster. Because Wilson thinks that he needs to get House better. If only to stick it to the part of himself that knows he doesn’t want House to get better. He wants House to stay House. 

There’s a whole mess of reasons for that, probably. Something to do with the fluttery feeling he gets when House rakes his eyes over Wilson’s body and pronounces an insult about his tie. The warmth in his chest when they’re lying on the couch together, or playing cards in the middle of a hallway, and it feels like they’re the only two people in the world—because they are, at least to each other. The joy of watching House wreak chaos, then storm into Wilson’s office practically aglow with glee. The way House’s eyes light up with Wilson’s laugh. 

Small nice reasons building to one big nice reason. 

The nice reason that scares him the most: Wilson might be falling in love. Maybe he already has. Or maybe this is just a stupid crush. That would be a nice, stabilizing thought. But you don’t fantasize about a stupid crush for a decade—a new snippet of hot embraces or wholesome kisses popping up for every one you thoroughly pushed away.  

You don’t offer to spend the next ten years in prison for a stupid crush. 

That kind of certainty that you would give your life for someone—even when facing a dead-eyed cop with the exiled third cousin to House’s attractive smirk on his face—that means something. Something that would upend House and Wilson’s shaky equilibrium and set them on a path that Wilson knows leads to ruin. 

But luckily he has another reason to cling to whenever he gets too scared or too charitable to himself. The pathetic, evil reason:

Wilson doesn’t want to be the only broken one. 

If House was healthy and well-adjusted, he’d realize just how much of a fuck-up Wilson is. And he’d leave him. Because Wilson is the one who takes care of other people. No one takes care of Wilson. That’s just how it is. 

So to cover for the fact that he doesn’t want House to change, Wilson must continue to try to change him. 

And—Wilson is fairly sure about this—House must continue to provoke Wilson in order to be sure Wilson will stay. 

Wilson will always stay. So will House. Neither of them have ever truly wanted to leave, yet they can’t exactly say that to each other. And thus there will be another storm. But for now, there is calm.

“Are you angry at me?” House asks, faking casual with his eyes on the television and his arm splayed oh-so-nonchalantly against the back of the cushions. Wilson has the mad thought that if he scooted over, House’s arm would be around his shoulder. He dismisses it (more accurately, he stomps on it until it stays down) and focuses on the question. 

“No,” he says. This happens a lot: they both have reasons to be angry but decide it’s just not worth it. Not when they could be laughing at television idiots and gossipping about Xavier from Cardiology and his secret second family in Newark. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

House has always hated that answer. Sure enough, his brow furrows. He looks like a man out of a painting with that look. Stark and bold and breathtaking. Wilson wants to touch him, trace the lines on his forehead. But he doesn’t. House doesn’t want him to, can’t want him to. But if he did… 

Would things be different if Wilson made the first move? Would that break his curse? True love’s kiss breaks the curse. Maybe it’s not just noble princes and fair maidens, maybe it would work for two exhausted, haunted middle-aged men. Wilson still remembers how two years ago, drunk and high on Vicodin, House had leaned in, petted Wilson’s hair half-mockingly, and told him he was pretty. That has to mean something about something, but fuck if Wilson knows. 

House’s words jerk him back to reality. 

“Everything has a reason.” 

Wilson almost wants to laugh.

His belief in that Central Housian Principle ebbs and flows like a sinusoid graph. He believes it when he remembers Sam yelling and throwing a dish at him for forgetting her sister was coming to town, leaving him to cut his hand while cleaning up the shards. He doesn’t believe it when he’s diagnosing a seventeen-year-old champion mathlete with a stage three glioblastoma, and he has to mutter reassurances to the shaking kid as he sobs and clings. 

Wilson shakes himself out of mire this time, and tries to focus on House. He looks more intense than Wilson was expecting. Wilson secretly loves these moments, when House’s eyes bore into his and he’s important. This time he swears there’s a warmth in his eyes. The air suddenly feels charged. 

It’s nice. Wilson idly wonders what will break it, because he knows nice things don’t stay. Especially not with House. 

But he has an answer to give. 

“I don’t like change. I do like you.”

House stares at him, and Wilson realizes he has shocked the man who knows everything. He doesn’t have time to linger on that realization.

Wilson feels House’s hand on his cheek before he processes seeing him lunging forward. House’s eyes dart across Wilson’s face for a half a second, and Wilson is suddenly aware that his lips are slightly parted, and the tension in his jaw has vanished. He nods, a tiny motion, but of course House notices. 

His lips are chapped and not as soft as any Wilson has kissed before. But that doesn’t matter. The second they touch all thought flees his brain and he kisses back. He has no idea what to do. Somehow he’s a gay man nearing forty who has never kissed a man before. It’s hard to worry about that now, though. He feels a little bit on fire, the flames growing and growing as House makes a sound against his lips and begins pressing Wilson against the couch. 

Wilson can’t think, he can want. 

Either this is the craziest or most easily predictable thing they’ve ever done. And there’s no turning back. 

-----

There’s no fixing him. 

What is he even doing here? House will hate this. Any of this. What’s the point in choosing either a teddy bear, or a plastic rose, or a box of chocolates that will taste like candle wax when the mocking reaction will be the same? 

Make a choice .

He can’t. He’s only able to summon that weird sense of certainty when in House’s presence.

All of a sudden, everything is too much. His breathing is coming too quickly, and his stomach is in knots. He can’t be here. He can’t make this choice. Can’t do this again. Can’t try and watch everything apart. Not with House. He can’t, can’t, can’t can’t can’t-

The displays seem to be laughing at him, searing their gaudy images into his brain. Perfect stock cartoons of people in love, smiling with a perfect red heart between him.

That kind of love is for other people, not for him. 

None of this is for him. 

He’s only distantly aware of his feet carrying him out of the store. He hasn’t even bought anything. Go back in . But he keeps walking towards his car.

There are only a few other drivers, because most people are at work. Wilson should be at work. Yet he left his work and his patients who need him to stare at a grocery store display and do nothing . He has no gift for House, no plan, no way to save himself.

The thought of facing House at the hospital makes him panic, so he heads for their apartment. What will he even do there? He doesn’t know, it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s alone, he should be fine. 

And because he was stupid enough to think that last thought in its entirety, House’s motorcycle is in its parking spot, when Wilson knows he rode it into work. Wilson contemplates turning around, heading back to work, doing his best to act like a functioning human being as he prescribes poison and comforts his victims. 

No, there’s too much chance that House has seen him. And he doesn’t want to give House any more evidence that he’s a coward. 

Each step towards the door feels like he’s climbing Mount Everest, but he makes it.

When he swings the door open, the first thing he notices is that their dining table is piled high with gifts. The same types of gifts Wilson just fled, tacky Valentine’s Day fare. The universe has a fucked up sense of humor. 

“If this is a burglar, get out while you still can. I’ve got a gun the length of a refrigerator with your name on it.”

“No you don’t!” Wilson calls back, the instinctive smile clashing wildly with his lingering terror. 

When House steps into the Wilson’s line of sight, he looks like he actually might have preferred that burglar.

“Wilson?”

“Present. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same question.”

“I asked first.”

“We both know I’m going to be more annoying about it.”

“ House .”

Strangely, that tone of voice has always been more effective against House than any logical argument. Because Wilson doesn’t really need an argument, not when he has the pile of what House had once called “capitalist fake-outs for love.” It makes him feel better than any words could ever have. At least he thinks that, until House says:

“Fine. I know tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and you get off on mushy crap, but I…couldn’t decide on what to get. I might have panicked a little bit, but what’s more likely is that all the sugary nonsense sent me into an abnormal allergic reaction-”

“I got it.”

“This is your cue to fall maddeningly in love with me,” House deadpans, but he’s still fidgeting, with his eyes darting between his pile of offerings and Wilson’s face.

He’s scared too.

“I don’t think I need an entire shelf of gifts for that,” he says. Then he waits to see if there is going to be any lingering on that comment. He doesn’t expect a reciprocal statement, he doesn’t care. The dining table is covered in reciprocal statements.

“My turn. What are you doing here?” House finally asks. 

It’s easy to admit now.

“I thought you’d expect something, but I couldn’t make a decision, so I came back here to contemplate my failures.”

The judgment Wilson had been torturing himself over never comes. 

“If you didn’t get me anything, I get to keep half of this stuff.”

“Sounds fair.”

They stare at each other, not talking. Wilson doesn’t know what to say, he doubts House has any ideas either. 

“Maybe we should talk,” Wilson finally offers. A bit of honest conversation might be good. It’s certainly the healthy thing. So naturally, House refuses.

“I’d rather spend the day in the clinic.” Harsh words, but understandable. 

“How about a cooking show?” Wilson asks bizarrely, not entirely sure of where it came from. But it does make House grin.

He takes a few shaky steps forward, before grabbing Wilson by the arm and dragging him towards the couch. 

“Deal,” he says, and leans in to kiss him.

[cellarspider]

7/30 germs.

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We return to a movie that disrespects the archaeological importance of roads, Prometheus.

I am still not over that. I will never be over that.

This time, content warnings for continuing frat boy archaeology, cringeful application of racist terms to lily-white androids, me screeching about site contamination some more, and Apollo’s dodgeball striking this movie with a glancing blow about masking.

So, back in the theater in 2012, I had already lost sympathy for the cast. They were being set up as stock horror movie characters, they were doing their jobs in a way with a certain flair for the incompetent.

And one of them, I suspect, the movie intends to make into a “flawed but you feel for him” kind of guy. Or, I hope they intended to make him “the guy in the slasher movie who you hate and want to see die”. That’s Holloway, one of the two archaeologists. He’s robot racist.

Like, seriously robot racist. The whole crew is, David literally gets referred to as “boy” here, which isn’t so much a dogwhistle as a tornado siren. No wonder David is quietly starting to show his disdain for the human crew.

“They're making you guys pretty close [to human now], huh?”

“Not too close, I hope.”

One of the few themes the movie handles halfway competently is the parallel between the humans stumbling all over themselves as they rush to go meet their makers, while David is already experiencing the disappointment of actually meeting his, and finding out they’re a bunch of clueless assholes. Are we supposed to believe the same of the Engineers? I don’t know. They definitely think of humans as lesser, though. More to come on that later.

Because right now, an expedition is barrelling toward the alien structure–again, driving all over the FCKING ALIEN ROAD–and they’re doing it with only six hours of daylight left, because Holloway literally says “It's Christmas [...] and I want to open my presents.”

I cannot communicate how heinous this character felt. The actor did a perfectly fine job playing him, but if Charlie Holloway was real, his name would be said with the same venom as that of the man pictured below: Heinrich Schliemann, the man who found the real, actual city of Troy, and immediately dynamited a trench through the royal palace, destroying who knows how many artifacts from the period the Iliad was based off of. Yes, I picked out the most assholish-looking photo of him I could find on purpose.

Also, Holloway’s an anti-masker, apparently.

I’m going to step back for just one second and list the one practical, movie budget reason why characters might take their helmets off. The costume designers did an admirable job coming up with something that fits the general requirement of a helmet in major studio releases, prior to The Mandalorian: make the actor’s faces completely visible, because without actors with a strong sense of physical presence and voice acting, you’ll lose connection with the audience.

They did a great job with that. Unfortunately, shiny helmets are a bastard to digitally edit film crew out of. 

It’s not impossible to place lights and crew so that the audience won’t notice them. Alien certainly pulled it off. Clear plastic elements in helmets also mean other logistical challenges, though: fogging being the main one. This, and cooking your actors in a fishbowl under studio lights.

Both problems can be simultaneously combated by installing A/C fans within the helmets, but because these helmets are entirely clear, you’re limited to hiding them down near the neck, and anybody who’s done similar for a cosplay or suit will know that it’s potentially noisy and not always effective. You can actually see condensate on the helmets in the movie, though whether that’s from the actor’s breath or a deliberate choice, I don’t know.

All this adds up to increased time resetting actors (i.e. cleaning sweat off of them without disrupting their makeup), more exhaustion from said actors, and the worry that the highest-paid, plot-critical actors may decide they don’t want to do a sequel if the shooting experience is too physically unhealthy.

And then there’s also more time spent carefully arranging crew and lights to hide their reflections, or more time making some poor VFX artist erase a transparent, curved reflection from frame and replace it with something else, or make the actors more comfortable by adding the glass in later with CGI, at the potential loss of some realism. The average modern movie studio would choose one of these VFX-driven options and demand it done in a week, which is why VFX artists need to unionize.

So. I understand at least a few logistical reasons why you don’t tend to make actors wear helmets for too many shooting days. But it has to be balanced with the story. It has to feel believable. It has to fit the story. It has to not make your characters look like mud-witted morons.

As soon as they find liquid water and the oh-so-deadly CO2 levels start to drop, Holloway takes his helmet off.

“Don't be an idiot.”

“Don't be a skeptic.”

Flames on the side of my goddamn face.

Now, this is the moment a lot of people lost sympathy for the human characters, even back in 2012. It was a dumbass idea even then, in the pre-’rona years. Sadly, Millburn the biologist isn’t written smart enough to punch Holloway in the nuts over even thinking of doing this, because we have two problems with what Holloway’s doing here: Biology, and biology.

First, biology.

(https://www.turbosquid.com/3d-models/13-viruses-virus-3d-model/1071200)

Obviously, they don’t know if anything’s in the air. He could find out that humans are deathly allergic to alien dust mites. He could have just caught himself a case of space covid, which he and the lemmings that follow him can then transmit to the entire crew if he’s not kept in quarantine. They can sterilize the sealed suits, but they can’t sterilize the inside of his lungs. Yet.

Second, biology. 

Specifically, Earth biology. Do you know how carefully modern space agencies sterilize anything that’s headed for Mars, or anywhere else that might have a biosphere of its own? A lot! They sterilize everything a lot! Because microbes are hardy little bastards. We’ve never found extraterrestrial life, only precursor molecules that show the capacity for life to develop in other places. How are you going to verify you’ve found alien life, or even those precursors, if you can’t prove that your samples are uncontaminated? What happens if microbes from Earth manage to survive the trip and establish a foothold somewhere? What if they destroy native life?

This movie’s characters treat this with only a fraction of the gravitas that the cinematography does, which is part of why this remains so jarring throughout. The practical sets, the art direction, and the camerawork are all excellent. The editing continues to do its best, though it almost feels like things were cut very tight through this to speed things along and to give more time, unfortunately, to what the characters are doing. 

their crimes against my sanity are not done yet

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As a side note, rounding up some discussion from a previous entry: The most excellent artist @noordzee pointed out that the clashing artistic style of the moon and stars slapped onto the carving of Kʼinich Janaab Pakal I. In the previous post, I focused on the link between that carving and its use in ancient aliens conspiracy theories. But let's dig a bit into actual Maya iconography around celestial bodies instead.

Now, I am not an expert on Classical Maya stuff. Not in the slightest. And there is a lot of information on their art that is linguistically inaccessible to me, as a non-Spanish speaker. But out of the Maya art and writing that survived the book-burning conquistadors, we have some iconography for the moon and stars, and they don’t look like what’s in the movie.

I wasn’t able to find any specific pieces of art that contained stars, but I did find the glyph for star, ek’. 

I was only able to find depictions of a crescent moon in the context of the moon goddess, where she tends to be sitting on the crescent like a chair, or one part of it is shown behind her, almost like a tail (though I can’t be certain whether that’s due to chipped paint).

The moon by itself was somewhat harder to find. I couldn’t find any Maya depictions of it with my limited poking around of the spanish internet, but I did find a (much later) Mixtec depiction of the moon, complete with a lunar rabbit! Much like East Asian cultures, the darker markings on the moon are culturally interpreted as a rabbit shape.

Thanks again to nordzee for pointing out the dissonant art style, because the real mesoamerican art on this subject is phenomenal.

Next time, the movie will hurt me more, so if anybody else has fun facts to share or details to point out. PLEASE. Ease my pain.

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Alt text citations:

None this time. Many ramblings, though.

[constellationcrowned]

THE CROWN OF LEAVES starter sentences Featuring prompts from chapters 1 and 2 (all routes), change pronouns and etc as necessary.

"I don’t often ask you to do something for me but today I’ll make an exception…"

"According to yours and _____’s words, constellations/_______ are important, probably even the main part of me."

"Next time you’ve a mind to lie to me, come up with a better story, you dolt."

"You can trust in my senses, they’re a touch sharper than yours."

"I don’t want to be entertained. I just want to find a silent corner in this house."

"You’re not supposed to be constantly on guard with the ones you love. Being able to trust is a very valuable quality."

"If something unexplainable happens, the spirits are to blame. And if blaming the spirits is not enough, you can also break loose on some clueless fool."

"Let’s smooth out our unfortunate acquaintance with the rules of decencies and introduce ourselves to each other."

"Do you think I wouldn't come to my ______'s rescue? I’d be the first to run if I only knew where to."

"That’s enough, _____. It’s obvious that you spoiled him/her as a child. S/he’s stupid and lazy because you didn’t teach him/her the value of hard work."

"Okay, that’s enough. I don't believe in destiny or predetermination. I change my life myself!"

"_____ never do anything for others, only for themselves."

"You won't deny yourself the pleasure of challenging and refuting me, will you?"

"Don't forget, you still need to protect me!"

"I’m talkin’ about your brains, alright? As if somebody’s gone and pried open your skull and given it a good bit mix-up with a spoon."

"I’m serious. For him/her, there is no friend more important and closer than you."

"It looks a bit… Well I don’t want to be rude… but… boring."

"I just want to understand why you are making this such a big and terrible secret."

"If you absolutely have to write down your name, write it all wrong. In that case, an evil spirit won’t be able to possess you."

"Nobody will forgive you if you screw up."

"Why so grumpy? I just wanted to see my friend."

"I’m only asking you to stay in touch, that’s all. And should you run into trouble — well, I'll always come to the rescue, if I can."

"I asked you for at least a day---a single day!---not to touch those blasted constellations/_____."

"As your faithful friend, I prefer to ignore your failures."

"Won’t you tell me what’s wrong with the little one? S/he’s extremely silent."

"If one learned how to hide all of them did. The dead helped the living to avoid their mistakes."

"As far as I know, amnesia's not contagious."

"Some challenges need to be addressed head-on. I have an axe, for example…"

"Some _____ are eternally exiled for violating the rules. What if _____ is one of them?"

"Not everyone knows what they want from life. And not everyone has as much energy as you do to look for the best place for themselves."

"Honestly, I've had enough of aggressive communication for today."

"Can I see them? The _____, I mean."

"I'm not eager to end up like my ______! And neither do I want to be a substitute----no matter for who or what!"

"That's right. If you've chosen your way, then follow it."

"You're going to die until none of those who are willing to save you are left---and they're already few."

"_____, bark."

"Mark my words, I’ll ensure your punishment is long and exciting."

"Even such a touching confession won’t make me become your partner/_____."

"There’s no time to be tired, I need to pack my things."

"Now I know exactly what kind of monster under the bed I was afraid of as a child. It was you!"

"I don't know about _____, but ______ definitely loved you very much."

"In what way can one become a murderer? In the most direct one."

"And here I thought you were just foolin’ with me, but you really, truly don’t understand a bloody thing."

"I have no choice and you know that! I don't want to run into _____ again!"

"A part of me is in _____. Moreover, it saved his/her life."

"This is my real home! All jesting aside, if you lived here for awhile, you’d realize it’s not nearly as bad as it seems."

"A long tail is useful for plowing the ground, but that’s it."

"I knew there was something dangerous about you, something otherworldly. I should have followed my hunch."

"So you don’t remember _____, do you?"

"If s/he acts like this towards friends, then how does s/he act towards enemies? I don’t even want to know."

"You mentioned something about your destiny---we're going to test it now."

"That’s just how our culture has turned out. It’s full of mysticism, even if you don’t like it."

"I… I remembered I had another wound, aside from the one _____ gave me."

"Remember this once and for all: you don’t play these stupid games with me."

"Glad you care about me and my health! How sweet of you!"

"I’m not staying with him/her. Leave it to him/her to kill me in the middle of nowhere."

"Sometimes, as it happens, I see a human and my stomach growls."

"I'm not insulting anyone---I'm telling the truth in the most straightforward way."

"I’d like you to understand this: I don’t hate you."

"Who is “everybody”? Does anyone else other than you want to see me?"

"I shan’t be messing about with your head anymore. Seems to me it’s suffered quite enough."

"You’re a friend of our birthday boy/girl, aren’t you?"

"If you want to get rid of insomnia, I advise you to stop drinking coffee first."

"If the ______ doesn't get banished, people will start dying."

"Grow up and stop believing in fairy tales."

"I work with what I see. You looked like you were about to throw up."

"______ would happily go to any lengths to save you."

"I remember everything very clearly! Why won't you believe me? Why would I lie?"

"Did s/he really get so mad at me for not coming to his/her party?"

"Just admit it. Admit that you’re bursting with envy."

"It’s okay, you can keep it. It suits you---with all the stars and everything."

"How do I know it's not poisoned?"

"Two of my friends are dead! Why?! Who allowed them to die?"

"Your mind isn’t all that good and well, and you know why? You broke my restriction."

"Now I can’t even take it away…...only kill it."

"You really hear them? And just what are they going on about?"

"It's difficult to trust someone who's been constantly stalling from the very beginning instead of speaking frankly, isn't it?"

"You think I enjoy yattering about myself? Not even close."

"Good, be afraid. A horrendous monster with giant sharp teeth dwells in that house/_____---it will gobble you up and not even choke."

"It occurred to me that I could ask about your childhood and get to know you better."

"Keep in mind though, I can replace mercy with rage at any time."

"There’s no such thing as “______”. It sounds like some beaten fantasy book trope."

"Maybe s/he's gone totally nuts and started suspecting everyone around of some evil deed."

"Such a delicate ringing… a pleasant sound….it must be that one day it will grow louder."

"And what’d it get you? Nothing. Not a bloody, damned thing."

"You know what happens to mortals if they don’t leave _____ when....when they should?"

"Was it too hard to smile, huh?"

"I haven’t done anything wrong! I have nothing to do with it!"

"Your head has finally got rid of _____ and made a space for me. I’m glad it did. Now I’m going to be your best friend/____."

"I used to be very friendly---perhaps much friendlier than I am now."

"I’m not exactly what you’d call the finest at maths, but that’s already two conditions, and not just one."

"You managed to defend yourself. On your own."

"If you're the savior of the _____, then why did _____ kill you?"

"That title isn’t ringing any bells? Oh, okay, I knew I should have chosen something else."

"Just tell me this: do you hear the stars?"

"I know better. I’ve been around him/her longer than you."

"There’s no wound….but s/he stabbed at me right here."

"Obsession is passion! And what’s so bad about passion?"

"I think you give too much importance to fairy tales. Although, this isn’t surprising of you."

"Let me tell you who you reminded me of, to make this awkward situation even more awkward."

"They dragged you away, and I was afraid you were done for. Are you okay?"

"I’ve lived my entire life by the ______’s side, I know all about them!"

"Both were so determined, so desperate. A perfect example of self-sacrifice."

"Trust is the very thing I don’t demand. I just suggest helping each other. Wouldn't it be the best decision to stick together?"

"____’s right smart at telling stories. I’m even a touch envious, really---s/he’s always got the best of ideas, meanwhile my brain is all full of spiders and dirt."

"What’s the point of saving the ______ if there will be no one left to dwell in it?"

"I… hate him/her....but….what would I hate him/her for?"

"Carry your ladies/______ in your arms, and they won’t run away from you."

"I'd hate to find your bare corpse somewhere under a birch."

"Well, why so silent? We haven’t seen each other in ages! You could have said “hello”, at least."

"If you forgot about _____, just let it stay like that. And this is my best advice."

"Did I get into a scrap and make a scene?"

"You’re as good as a tool for them, and they’ll indulge you for as long as you are useful to them."

"_____.....Why on earth am I thinking of her/him? I don’t know….but s/he’s driving me wild right now."

"They judge me… hate me…"

"You're a despicable son of a bitch used to being fussed over by everyone."

"This world---whatever world it is---is empty, and there’s nobody in it except me."

"This creature has a soft spot for eyes/____, because it has none of its own."

"Oh, my little friend. You will always be safe."

"S/he is generally incapable of holding long meaningful conversations."

"Am I the only one lucky enough to see you both from a slightly different perspective?"

"This is my secret, and you are the only one privy to it. Well, happy now?"

"I only hope that you’ll always tell me about your adventures."

"It is difficult to get along with someone who is light-minded about deadly danger."

"Part of it is true. You may decide yourself which part exactly."

"You are our bright star, and you need to take to the skies."

"Oh, _____, where did your blind trust in _____ go? Weren’t you the one insisting just half an hour ago that s/he only wants the best for me? Naive."

"Do you think I can just go back to my regular routine without thinking about any of this?"

"Yes, I condone his/her shortcomings. There is not much good in me myself to force _____ to change for me. I love him/her the way s/he is."

"S/he was my companion, s/he means a lot to me! There were supposed to be the two of us….but you let ______ die!"

"I’m your partner, me! I’m the one you must trust!"

"How about a good ol’ goodbye hug?"

"What am I going to do without them? Who's going to help me? I can't deal with it on my own. I need them by my side!"

"The order is disturbed. If _____ is gone, what's the point of _____? If ______ is gone, what's the point of me?"

"Who brought me back to life if it wasn't _____? And what for if nothing will ever be the same again?"

[neptunes-sol-angel]

𓈒 ⭒ ݁ .#onecardthreeways 𓈒 ⭒ ݁ .

This is my submission for the challenge that I've been postponing for the longest. If you'd like to participate, then here are the instructions.

@gryphis-eyes did an amazing post for this challenge by using only one card, so that inspired me to do the same. This was great exercise for my intuition, and I'd love it if more people took a shot at this.

The card that I pulled, is the Three of Pentacles.

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Pile One

I'm seeing "Dragonballs" and coins being flipped into a fountain, both of these things relate to a wish being granted. Some of you are wishing for you and another person to make amends, I'm strongly getting that this is about a classmate or co-worker, because professionalism involved. Someone is being stubborn, which the other person doesn't really care about, because their focus is making sure that a goal in an assignment or project is being met but pettiness is holding back the cooperation that both of you guys need in order to make progress.

If this is really important to you, then I'm getting that a peaceful resolution will happen for you, but not with the person that you expected to finish this matter with. You could be assigned to someone else or you will have an opportunity to find a replacement. I feel like this is a lesson for you guys to realize that you don't have to sacrifice your comfort or safety to get the things that matter to you. You could have the habit of constantly putting others above you, but there's only so much that you can tolerate, furthermore, you betray yourself by being the only person to make adjustments in a partnership, the 'co' in compromise is supposed to mean for the both of you to take action in. Even if this particular scenario isn't your situation. I feel like your message in general is that if one way doesn't work, then it doesn't mean that you've failed or that you're the problem, that one way just gets you closer to the other possible ways that will work.

Pile Two

"Skeletons in closet" Quality > Quantity. It isn't wise to tell everyone your business, but it's also best to be wise about that one person that you choose to tell your business to, because the one wrong person could be the type to tell everyone about yourself so that you won't even have to. I feel like someone's going to expose themselves, but it isn't you. There's something that you told someone, that they misinterpreted but got extremely excited to tell others about because they think that it's "tea". But the real tea is that you have nothing to hide, you'd just rather not share, but now you know who's your friend and who's not really your friend. I know the card is the three of pentacles, but I keep getting threes. Three as in the three of swords which could explain the betrayal, but also threes as in multiple people being involved in something that they shouldn't. Even if you are the type that knows how to share stuff without telling anything about you, that's significant, pay attention to your circle, because I keep seeing this person stacking up "receipts" to use against you, or to make you appear scandalous even though they have not a clue what they're talking about. There are sick people in the world and you cannot control what others say about you, but for your safety and peace, cut them out of your life.

Pile Three

I'm getting multiple messages and they all somewhat deal with recovery. I see someone looking through some kind of storage, whether it's an actual unit, or a small fireproof box filled with items that remind them of you. You could get an apology soon. I'm getting that this could be from a family member, but it could be someone from an old romantic connection.

For one of the other interpretations, I feel that maybe this is a message for some of you to be careful with your belongings, to keep track of something small but of big importance to you, or to try not to take on so many things at once because you could either forget an appointment or miss out on an event related to someone that you care about. This could also mean that you actually are already taking on too many things at once and to stop because you're heavily overwhelming yourself to the point where it  could affect your health, or too much of time for yourself is being taken away to external situations.

The last interpretation, is that if you lost something awhile ago, then don't worry, you will get it back or finally will find out where you lost it.

Pile Four

You could be worried about a task because it appears to be difficult, but I think it's hard for you to try something without getting the proper directions on how to do it. I'm getting that you should seek instructions from outside resources, like online forums, or video tutorials, and other places for different methods. Once you get a different perspective on it that makes sense to you, you will find the task to actually be easier than you thought.

The general message is to not discourage yourself while learning something or downplay your intelligence because of what looks to be intimidating or because you haven't grasped it immediately. The very thing that you're worried about is going to make you very happy because of how you overcome your doubt over your own abilities, and the reward that comes from finding individuals who you can learn from and a deeper connection with your own distinct way of gaining knowledge and experience in different subjects, and could also be your favorite thing to practice and teach to others who share the same fears that you had.

This could also look like beating procrastination or finding a way to be more organized so that you can be consistent with breaking or gaining a healthy habit.

[distant-velleity]

Magnetism

Summary: The moment everyone's been waiting for, a non-memey first kiss for Chrysos and Santiago. Word count: 800+ A/N: I stayed up a little too late writing this last night because it was only supposed to be a 30-minute drabble before bed... then I had the idea to add imagery and metaphors and similes and some tension and--you get it. Anyway, enjoy! <3

-

When they finally escape the hustle and bustle of the post-victory party, the waxing moon is hanging high in the sky. The air has settled to be deliciously cool for a near-summer evening, soothing the heat they still radiate after emerging from the crowded cafeteria. 

“Well,” says Santiago, gently nudging Chrysos’ shoulder with his as they walk, “here’s to the merman right next to me, who contributed to Night Raven’s first Spelldrive win against Royal Sword in a century.” 

He raises his distinctly non-alcoholic plastic cup of fruit punch, its translucent red contents lightly sloshing about in an imitation of wine. The sight causes Chrysos to snort.

“I didn’t do that much,” he argues, objectively. “Draconia got the final hit in, in the end.”

“Yeah, but who had the sense to use the flashy spells I taught him? Who took the initiative when the Ignihyde and Heartslabyul reps started arguing? Who helped Jamil give Malleus the perfect opening for a coup de grâce?” Santiago barely has to reach over to tap Chrysos on the chest. “I say it’s the guy right in front of me.”

“That’s… You’re…”

Chrysos doesn’t fancy himself a poet, but something about the way Santiago smiles fondly at him could be considered poetry—something about the ambient green lighting, the glow reflected in those golden eyes creasing with affection, the shockingly pure stutter it inflicts upon Chrysos’ heart. Something about the way he drops genuine praise shamelessly when he’s on the high of victory-inspired euphoria. Something about their proximity, the way that they’re drawn together like two magnets of different poles.

“I’m what?” asks Santiago teasingly.

“You’re…” Chryso grumbles a little under his breath. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Nuh-uh. Not for you. This is the truth right here, buddy.”

Chrysos, growing a bit red in the face, is glad that Santiago looks away to chug the last of his punch and toss the cup into a bin after saying that. 

It’s just the heat and humidity of having been stuck with so many people in one place, he wants to think, but even he knows better by now.

Meanwhile, they approach the wishing well in the courtyard, where emerald firelight gives way to the pearlescent illumination of the moon and the stars. 

“Hearing praise coming from your mouth somehow feels unusual,” Chrysos remarks, to hide how good all this praise makes him feel. To hide how he feels about it coming from this very sweet, very pretty beastman.

Santiago slows to a stop before the well.

“Then…” He opens his mouth to say something—before, apparently, quickly thinking better of it. “...Ahh, nevermind. That’s cheesy, even by my standards.”

“What?” Chrysos furrows his brows, coming to stand so close to the other that their arms—his crossed and Santiago’s prone at his sides—brush and press against each other. “So now you’re going to shut up? Just because it’s unusual doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear more.”

It’s Santiago’s turn to have his cheeks darken, one lanky hand coming up to hide his mouth. “But it’s sort of…” 

He hesitates for a few moments, maddening in how they feel like they last an eternity, then shakes his head with newfound determination. 

“You know what? It’s now or never.”

Chrysos holds his breath as Santiago leans in a little closer and caresses his cheek with a feather-light touch that gradually becomes more grounded, more confident. 

The beastman’s eyes, normally bright with a challenging sort of spirit, are semi-lidded but still possess the fierce earnestness of the sun. Their inherent brilliance puts to shame the moonlight veil draping over their surroundings; and while he searches for the courage to speak up, those eyes express the beginnings of what he wants to say. 

A gentle breeze blows past them amid the silence, carrying with it the entwined scent of the rainforest and the sea. 

“If you can’t believe in my praise,” Santiago murmurs at last, “then how about this?”

When their lips meet, gravitating towards each other in a slow start but quickly seizing the moment and pulling together, it’s not at all the messy thing Chrysos had been expecting. Instead, it’s drawn together by a sentimental magnetism that draws power from their polarizing differences. Rough but careful; desperate but precise; passionate but planned. It feels like someone has stolen the air from his lungs in the best possible way, replacing his senses with the endless freedom of flowers, fruit, and the open sky. 

It’s undeniably Santiago, and Chrysos—unafraid to use that forbidden four-letter word—loves it.

…Eventually, the sensation of their breaths thinning from metaphorical altitude leaves them with no choice but to pull away from the kiss. 

“I hope I did that right,” Santiago whispers, a little sheepish yet giddy with basking in the afterglow of it all.

“There’s no such thing as ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ when kissing,” Chrysos replies breathlessly, “only good and better. When it comes to you, at least.”

It’s hard to miss the way Santiago puffs up with pride, eyes glimmering.

Chrysos’s smile, one he hadn’t realized was tugging at his lips, grows. “Now hurry up and do it again. Even better this time.”

“On it, boss,” answers Santiago with an affectionate lilt to his voice, leaning in for another kiss.

[casliveblog]

Custom Toonami Block Week 178 Rundown

The Witch from Mercury: So the shadowy organization trying to oust Suletta as an illegal Gundam user is kind of having a problem seeing as the government seems to solely define Gundams based on their ability to set their pilot’s soul on fire and kill them and since Suletta’s not dying they’ve got no proof, seems like a roundabout way of doing things honestly. Enter Elan Ceres, local emotionless boy with a tragic backstory. Turns out they suspect Suletta may be enhanced to resist the inherent Gundam soul-burning capabilities rather than… idk, just making something that doesn’t do that. Since Elan is one such enhanced person secretly using a Gundam, he’s the perfect person to tell if Suletta’s doing the same. His plan is kind of ridiculous because he’s just like ‘hey wanna go out? And bring your Gundam’ in the most monotone way possible and it’s kind of hilarious but because Suletta has the social intelligence of a five year old it works. Either way, Elan does get to try out Aerial and finds it doesn’t have the same pressure as a normal Gundam so Suletta wouldn’t need to be enhanced to survive piloting it which makes him REALLY pissed off since he’s basically still dying when he uses Gundams but is physically enhanced to not die so easily. It’s like your car being really fast but the seat’s made of sandpaper and broken glass but finding out the sandpaper and broken glass seat was just an optional feature and this new girl has a satin and goose down seat. Either way Guel gets pissy because Suletta’s exceeded her three fiancé limit in five episodes and challenges Elan to a duel where the stakes are part of the cast never interacting with the main character again or Suletta fighting the guy the whole arc is building towards her fighting, like they’re not even trying to hide how obvious the outcome is, they even make Discount Jimmy Olson bet against Elan again just to seal the deal that Elan’s gonna win. Though even so it’s kind of a humiliating defeat since Guel steals his brother’s mech when he’s not even supposed to be fighting anymore and gets it absolutely destroyed by Elan’s Resident Evil laser grid of stungun lasers, so yeah that’ll be fun to see Suletta fight.

Inuyasha The Final Act: We kinda jump right in on this one, like idk if this is how it was in the manga but it feels like there’s an episode missing here because we jump straight into the climax of a different filler episode, not that I’m complaining about skipping the preamble. Inuyasha’s useless because of the New Moon and so Miroku and Sango have to fight the bone demon and its daughter trying to heal it because apparently every single plot point in Yashahime was reused from the original. Anyway throwing both characters into a filler battle at the height of their self-destructiveness for each other was a terrible idea and Miroku’s more poisoned than ever and Sango ends up destroying Hiraikotsu to save him. It’s funny because Inuyasha’s broken his weapon like three times by now so he’s just like ‘there’s gotta be some plot device we can use to fix it’ and he’s immediately proven right when they go to the Master of Potions who as far as characters of the day from Final Act go is pretty fun, if only because he’s a perv and gets Inuyasha drunk as fuck. He has two tests for Sango and Miroku because we’re getting our lategame upgrades out in packs of two. Sango has to confront the spirits of the demons that made up Hiraikotsu who surprisingly feel kinda betrayed despite being made into a weapon by the woman that presumably killed them they thought she was cool and don’t like getting rubbed poison all over. They give her the ultimatum that next time shit’s getting real she has to ditch Miroku and not destroy them and she’s just like “I’m sorry about that but it will definitely happen again, our relationship is basically a series of standing in front of buses for each other”. Meanwhile Miroku basically gets the diet version of the Yusuke screaming in a cave arc from YYH and gets a poison that will allow him to suck up all the poison he wants, like he’ll still die if he gets too much but it won’t hurt so he’ll die but faster. Inuyasha finds out and chews him out for it which is nice to see, like I think Inuyasha’s relationships with both Miroku and Sango are kind of underplayed in the series since about halfway through they start doing filler episodes strictly across shipping lines but it was saving Miroku that let Inuyasha first unlock the Wind Scar and it’s nice to see he’s still equally not up for Miroku pulling martyr shit as he was back then, it’s just funny they have to try and hide Miroku slowly dying five feet away from Kagome, like these guys do not trust her to not freak out at all. Both Miroku and Sango confront their respective tests by saying they don’t intend to die for the other but want to get stronger to live with them and in a funny little twist they kind of accidentally solve each other’s tests instead of their own. Sango’s demons don’t know shit about love so her speech does nothing but they sense Miroku’s equally fighting for his life and they get that so they let her go, while Miroku can sense Sango’s impassioned speech and pulls through. So yeah, Sango’s got a bigger better Hiraikotsu for like two months before she hangs it up/gives it to Hisui to get an infinitely cooler model, and Miroku now has the power to die faster, upgrades successful.

Castlevania: It’s a big ol’ wrap-up episode for the Season Finale, Trevor gives over the Belmont Estate to Alucard, basically walking us through the symbolism of it but it’s still a very nice gesture given Trevor’s kind of gone back and forth about whether the place actually means anything to him and Alucard’s basically living on top of his own family’s cemetery now which probably isn’t as creepy as living in the same room where he killed his own father but oh well. Isaac is off in the desert which is probably the worst place Dracula could’ve thrown him but whatever he kills a bunch of racists and makes them zombies so he can basically start over and make his own genocidal zombie army. Carmilla’s abducted Hector to do similar and it’s like… bro, have a little backbone, call her bluff, what’s she gonna do, kill you? I feel like I’ll like Carmilla more as a main villain than a side one because she’s not fucking shit up and ruining the main evil faction’s integrity to let the heroes win anymore she’s just being a colossal bitch but I can’t help but shake the feeling that we’re back where we started with two villains exactly the same as Dracula just without the moral complexity and ambiguity which was what made Dracula fun in the first place, idk time will tell I guess. Also always feel like Carmilla has her carrot and stick backwards like she seems to be trying to seduce people when they’re not into it and then beating the shit out of them when persuasion and gaslighting would be more effective but far be it from me to be an armchair Vampire Countess. But yeah the twin Forgemasters take off to remake their own armies, one the master of their own fate and one a slave (and thank god they dodged making this racist as fuck). Trevor and Sypha have a long talk where Sypha basically has to hammer into his head that she’s basically proposing to him and he still friendzones her but generally agrees to go off with her so they can do the cleanup sidequests now that the main quest is done which is nice, like a lot of this finale is very grim and bleak and upsetting but the scenes with those two are very beautiful and warm. Meanwhile Alucard comes to the crushing reality that his two best friends have just ditched him and he’s killed anyone else that have ever meant anything to him and he’s got a big empty castle to let that sink in within.

Jujutsu Kaisen: It’s getting to the end of the arc and Kenjaku has appeared (also there’s a scene of naked Meimei telling her brokers Japan’s gone to shit that’s animated with so much love and horniness but it’s not really relevant) Anyway Kenjaku genjutsu’s Yuji for a bit and it’s kinda fun seeing someone with the ‘copy low-level techniques’ powerset actually be threatening because that’s usually such a lame power. Meanwhile the Kyoto guys finally show up and Miwa even does her whole Dark Gon Nen vow to make her attack super effective and it does JACK SHIT so I hope she got a refund on that like if the guy immediately Aizen’s your career-ending final slash it shouldn’t count. Like I know Mechamaru told Miwa to find a way to be happy and that’s not necessarily in fighting but I’m kinda sick of all the girls getting the ‘I never really wanted to fight’ and then conveniently getting written out of fights like bitch NOBODY wants to fight and by no means is fighting the only show of character strength but this is a shonen show and your plot relevance does hinge on your ability to fight. Also Mahito just gets sacrificed so Kenjaku can use Geto’s attack from the movie which is basically just a big getsugha tensho but Kenjaku realized he can make it a Mahito-flavored getsuga tensho by injecting Mahito into it but I think it also throws away the spirit like I don’t think Geto’s technique lets you reuse your stock. Also a neat little nugget where they say Geto was basically fighting Yuta at half power during the movie or else he would’ve kicked his ass, always sucks to have someone fucking die when they’re at half power but it makes it more understandable at least. Anyway Choso shows up, says Yuji’s his brother and refuses to elaborate but good news is he’s on the good guys’ side now, it’s nice to gain an ally after losing like five throughout the course of this arc. It basically really is that scene from the end of the Soul Society arc with everyone ganging up on Aizen though luckily Kenjaku doesn’t solo oneshot everyone and he does have help from random ice lady who’s Sukuna’s retainer I think. Either way ice lady’s pissed and is about to kill everyone but Yuji when Yuki shows up and is ready to bring this bloodbath to a close with the Shanks energy she exudes.

Delicious in Dungeon: This one’s kind of a light episode, Laios hops around magical paintings like it’s Super Mario 64 only to find the food inside doesn’t come outside and doesn’t fill you once you leave. It is kinda funny to basically watch him skirt through all the important moments in this prince’s life and I thought this’d lead to more worldbuilding because god knows this series could do with some worldbuilding but it seems to just be a gag for now, if this ends up being important later that’ll be nice though. The next bit is a little more interesting with another Chilchuck outing, this time with a Mimic which are apparently just kinda Hermit Crabs in this world. There’s a fun little puzzle and Chilchuck’s grumpy personality biting him in the ass again and he actually gets a little fucked up for a bit which is a first, like I think this is the first time I’ve seen blood on one of the main characters and we’re like half a dozen episodes in. But yeah, turns out Chilchuck’s old but not as old as me so it doesn’t really matter and the oddest part of this is that Laios is the leader but is the youngest and stupidest of the group like why is he in charge is it just a rule that the human’s always the leader of the party?

Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End: Nothing too special happens this episode but it’s still probably one of my favorites of the two vignette episodes. First we learn Himmel is kind of a pseudo-King Arthur figure and there’s a legendary magic sword because there’s always a legendary magic sword but when it came down to it Himmel couldn’t pull it but still beat the Demon King with sheer pluck and shonen determination but people couldn’t reconcile his failure to pull the sword of prophecy so they lied and said he did it anyway and it’s kind of a neat little piece about heroism and myth and how every person you look up to has probably farted in public at one point. The next bit is about Stark’s birthday and we get the ICONIC clothes-melting potion scene and I deliberately avoided watching the whole thing in the dub so I could see it here and it was worth it, absolutely fantastic. And it’s kind of nice, Fern going through town seeing how Stark just naturally helps people wherever he goes and she’s kind of trying to reconcile the idea that all men are pervs with him not doing anything particularly pervy except like one or two small things which was alluded to last vignette where she refused to let him carry Frieren despite him literally just wanting to help. I get the feeling Fern’s only close ties being a sinful yet overprotective religious father figure and an antisocial female elf has not given her the best outlook on men so she’s got some adjusting to do. Still she powers through and confronts how he feels about himself with the reality of his actions she’s seen in him and it’s a nice scene so Fern’s now officially become a level 4 friend and unlocked Stark’s tragic backstory. Basically his clan is known for being great warriors and his brother Itachi… I mean Stoltz is better than him at everything and his family relentlessly shits on him for being shit at fighting despite him being like five but Stoltz really did love him and cared for him despite his parents’ neglect, even telling him to run when the village was destroyed, the decision he’s internalized for the whole rest of his life despite again BEING FUCKING FIVE so yeah it really is kind of Sasuke’s backstory but Stark chose to help people and internalize his grief instead of making it everyone else’s problem. Also Frieren makes Hamburg Steaks which just raises many questions about the world of Frieren like specifically hamburg steaks are only called that in Japan and are called such because of the reference to Hamburg, Germany, lots of things in Frieren have German-ish names so it’s not inconceivable for there to also be a Hamburg in the world but for it to ALSO be the place hamburgers are named after and then they also use the Japanese entomology for the hamburg steak just makes my brain go back and forth on how that works in a fantasy setting, like it’s like having French Fries in a world without France and it bugs me more than it probably should. Still it’s a very sweet episode and the fact that Frieren of all people remembers Stark’s birthday and ensures Fern treats him as well as she treated her on her birthday is just kinda cool and the extra backstory is good for Stark’s character.

Vinland Saga: Thorfinn’s in the middle of taking his one hundred punches but Snake distracts him during his punch-taking stance and he gets fucked up. Thorfinn ends up telling everyone they ain’t done shit but try and kill each other so he’s gonna double down and really try to talk things out. He ends up taking all one hundred and earning the respect of everyone in the crowd in a daring remake of Rocky 4 and his response of ‘yeah can’t exactly come out swinging for a peace negotiation’ is really funny, glad Thorfinn hasn’t lost all his sarcastic edge just cause he’s a pacifist now. He even gets the whole “I have no enemies” speech which is as impactful as it needs to be for this point in the story and he finally gets his audience with Canute. We find out that Canute is actually the one that enslaved Thorfinn which seems like an odd choice for that point in his character before he’d gone fully crazy. Like I was under the impression that Thorfinn just kinda BSOD’d so hard he wandered into someplace that was being pillaged and ended up enslaved but learning Canute did it because he attacked him is kinda weird like you’d think with all the shit going on that day he’d have wanted to keep Thorfinn close so he could cool off like maybe imprison him or something but not enslave him and throw him out somewhere else considering what a valuable asset he was during the war. Still, Thorfinn’s grown a lot and apologizes for cutting Canute and is thankful that he wasn’t just executed on the spot. And it’s just funny because Thorfinn brings Einar to the meeting and Einar is not afraid to mouth of to Canute when he disrespects farming or farmers and I just imagine Canute being like ‘who the fuck is this? Why’s your new boytoy so mouthy Thorfinn?” like it’s like how Darth Vader knows everybody on Cloud City in Empire Strikes back except Han Solo and it’s wild that he just comes there and starts shit. Anyway Canute has gone full anime villain and thinks he’s in a JRPG because he’s going to use the power of friendship to kill god… idk what exactly that plan entails because you’d think stopping war and slavery would start by… not doing war and slavery but Canute has some plan in his troubled head about salvation for the worst of humanity through the unification of all people so yeah idk how he plants to ‘kill god’ or what that’ll even accomplish but the bottom line is ‘murder and enslave all I can rn so we can end murder and slavery’ he’s more on the Lelouch side of megalomania than the Light Yagami side because he knows this is a terrible plan and doesn’t expect to get off scot free but he’s definitely lost it. Thorfinn respects the idea but still disagrees with the method so Canute’s like ‘oh cool, respect, now tell me which one of us remembered to bring a legion of elite Vikings to the peace talks, oh right it was me, so you have no leverage’.