#i guess that's one good thing about time passing.

[mindmelter]

A Better Marcus Than Marcus

It all started when my sister’s boyfriend, Marcus, did a complete 180. The guy used to be your textbook finance bro—straight-laced, all about stocks, cryptos, and protein shakes. He was also the type who’d casually flex his "intellectual superiority" at family dinners like he was the human embodiment of a TED Talk nobody asked for.

Then, out of nowhere, he turned into this fun, carefree dude. He started to grow his hair and beard and constantly walk shirtless, showcasing his unfairly perfect pair of pecs and set of abs. He even tattooed his arm—something I would never expect from him. It wasn’t just a change in style; it was like he had become a totally different person.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Then it hit me—my sister’s ex, Dylan, a scrawny hippie who could’ve been the poster child for essential oils and “love, man” vibes. Dylan and I had gotten along great back in the day, mostly because he shared a little secret with me: a drug. No, not this kind of drug. This stuff could turn anyone into a bodysuit. Yeah, you heard me. One hit of this thing, and you could empty someone out, leaving behind a perfectly usable, skin-tight vessel. Thanks to him, I solved my bullying problem at school by wearing the jock leader's body.

Then, one day, Dylan disappeared from our lives after my sister dumped him. No warning, no goodbye, nothing. I thought that was the end of it. Turns out, it wasn’t.

Fast-forward to tonight. We’re having a family dinner at my parents’ house, and Marcus is here, all smiles and carefree vibes, making dumb jokes with my parents. It was the perfect chance to test my theory. I waited until everyone was distracted with dessert and pulled Marcus aside to a quiet corner of the house.

“I need to talk to you,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice low.

He cocked an eyebrow but followed me. Once we were out of earshot, I didn’t waste any time.

“I know you’re not really Marcus,” I said, crossing my arms. “I know it’s you, Dylan.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, then a wide grin spread across his face. “Took you long enough, bro,"

He opened his robe even more to show me his muscular body, looking like he was showing me an outfit and not another man's skin, “Yeah, it’s me. Poor Marcus never saw it coming. Injected this asshole with the stuff after he dropped your sister at your house, and bam! Marcus went to bodysuit city.” He chuckled darkly. “I’ve been living my best life ever since and with the love of my life."

I’ll admit, I wasn’t surprised. But hearing it confirmed still left my mouth agape.

"So, what now? You gonna rat me out to your sister? You wouldn't do that to good old Dylan here, would you? Not after I helped you turn your jock bully into a bodysuit. I even helped you out at faking his disappearance, I had to drive to another state to get rid of that bodysuit."

I smirked. “That depends. What’s in it for me?”

Dylan—or Marcus, I guess—laughed. “Alright, how about this: I let you enjoy Marcus’s body anytime you want, as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

It was a twisted offer, but let’s be real—I’d had a thing for Marcus since day one. The chance to have him, even under these bizarre circumstances, was too good to pass up.

“Deal,” I said, extending a hand.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, bro,” he replied, shaking my hand. Before we could head upstairs, my sister caught us in the hallway.

“Where are you two going?” she asked.

Thinking quickly, Dylan—Marcus—flashed his charming smile. “Your brother wanted to show me his collectible…uh…vinyl record collection. Said he’s got some rare finds.”

She bought it. “Wow, bonding over music. Finally. I’m proud of you two. Don't take too long, we're going to have karaoke." She leaned forward to give Marcus a kiss and walked away.

As soon as we were in my room, the facade dropped. I locked the door, and he turned to me, that sly grin back on his face. “Alright, bro,” he said, taking off his already unbuttoned white shirt and letting it fall to the floor. “Let’s see what you’ve been fantasizing about.”

I immediately pushed him down onto his knees, grabbing a handful of his long hair to assert control. “You’re going to start by sucking me off like a good slut,” I whispered.

His grin widened as he complied, reaching for my pants and pulling them down. His warm mouth quickly wrapped around me, and I let out a satisfied groan as he worked his tongue expertly. Once my cock was slick and throbbing, I pulled him back by his hair, forcing him to look up at me.

“Get on the bed, on all fours, now! You're my secret boyfriend slut now,” I ordered. He obeyed, taking off his pants and crawling onto the bed completely naked with his huge ass waiting for me. It was the sight I've been dreaming of ever since my sister introduced Marcus.

I walked over to my desk and turned on some rock music to muffle what was about to happen.

Climbing onto the bed behind him, I gripped his long hair tightly as I positioned myself. Without hesitation, I thrust into him hard, using his hair as leverage. Dylan moaned as I filled Marcus' ass. This wasn't our first time together. When Dylan was wearing my hot bully's body, he let me fuck him as a final revenge before he dumped the bodysuit in another state.

Marcus' back arched, and he let out a muffled moan, the sound drowned out by the loud music. I didn’t let up, pulling his hair like reins as I pounded into him mercilessly.

I leaned down on his back as I filled Dylan's—Marcus' ass with my cum. “You make a better Marcus."

[bootsukki]

the first time tsukki buys you flowers, it’s almost by accident.

he’s on his way to your house after practice, passing by a small flower shop, when a bouquet of soft yellow tulips catches his eye. he has no idea why he stops to look at them—maybe it’s the way they remind him of you, always bright and warm. checking his wallet, he enters the shop and buys them.

truth be told, he doesn’t expect much of a reaction from you, you have been dating for four months and he doesn’t even know if you like flowers (he knows you’re not allergic though because you always tend to the school garden with one of your friends) and when he arrives, he just shoves them into your arms.

but, when your eyes widen in delight, your fingers tighten around the stems and you look at him like he’s just handed you the stars, he knows he’s fucked.

you cling to his arm all the afternoon, giggling every time you look at the flowers and kissing him endlessly, he feels his cheeks burning.

“I should have just brought you candy.” he mutters, pretending to be annoyed.

but he does it again. and again. and again.

sometimes, he starts picking up flowers on random days—after practice, when he sees sales on his konbini… you react the same way, eyes bright, arms thrown around him, pressing kisses to his face. he mumbles under his breath but he never pulls away from your hugs and precious kisses he cherishes so much.

he continues doing so when you go to tokyo to study and he stays in sendai. every two weeks, without fail, a bouquet arrives at your doorstep, always with a note scrawled in his familiar and neat handwriting, “try not to kill these before i visit you, pretty.”

and when he sees you again, you throw yourself at him in the middle of the train station and, like always, he lets you. because he’s missed this and you.

even after college, the flowers never stop.

the day he thinks about proposing, he goes back to your old text messages, finding your messages and pictures about every single bouquet he has given you and asks for a special bouquet filled with one of every single important bouquet he has given you, from the tulips to the roses he gave you last anniversary.

as he hands you the bouquet and goes down on one knee, you tear up and nod, hands shaking as he puts the ring on your finger and he knows he made the right choice by choosing you.

the morning of your wedding is a blur of soft laughter and excitement as you sit down on the chair to start getting your makeup and hair done.

but before they can start, yachi clears her throat, drawing your attention.

“i have something for you.”

yachi grins, stepping aside to reveal the most beautiful bouquet resting in one of the vanities.

you gasp—the bouquet is a masterpiece filled with pastel calla lillies, clemantis, veronicas and slipper orchids. you stand up, reaching out for the flowers, brushing over the beautiful petals. and then, you see your name written in his familiar handwriting in an envelope.

baby,

i’d like to say that i planned all of this from the beginning, that the first time i bought you flowers, i already knew i would be doing it for the rest of my life, but the truth is that i didn’t realize until i saw your beautiful eyes and gorgeous smile when you saw the yellow tulips.

i love your smile and i wanted to see you smile. you looked at me like i had given you the world and you held to them like you never wanted to let go.

so, i kept bringing them every chance i had. do you remember how sad you were when the wind ruined the bouquet i gave you during your last finals weeks? i got so mad and sad that i ran to the store at nearly 2 am to buy you some and get them sent to you the following day.

i am not good with words, you know that so i guess that i found everything that i wanted to say through flowers: i miss you, you’re the best thing that has happened to me, i love you, i want to spend the rest of my life with you…

i think that this one is the most special one. do you remember all those late night work i had to do? i lied, sorry.

i was getting special lessons from the florist down the street: how to prepare a bouquet, how to cut the stems perfectly so they last longer, how to take care of them… all of that so i could get you what i think it is the prettiest bouquet of all the ones i have gotten you although i don’t think they are as beautiful as you are but i have selected them because their delicate colors and smoothness makes me think of you and i don’t know, i wanted to remind you that you are always on my mind.

holy shit, you and me forever. FOREVERRRRRRRRR (if you see tear marks while you read this, those are NOT mine).

i love you baby, i’ll wait for you at the end of the aisle so, take a deep breath, wipe those tears (I know you are probably crying) and see you soon. can’t wait to make you my wife.

-kei.

you clutch the letter to your chest as tears spill freely onto your cheeks and your friends laugh softly, cleaning their own tears as well.

“is it too late to use this as my wedding bouquet?”

[iamquiantrelle]

SO INTO YOU (part 2) ───── iamquaintrelle

# pairings: aurelien tchouameni x black reader (✨💕)

# tags: @sucredreamer @snowseasonmademe @jessnotwiththemess @rougereds @judectrl @mufasathatniggatho @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbriii @sailurmewn @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

# summary: you’re a multiple grammy winning artist with a record breaking single based on an embarrassing crush on a footballer & when that single demands visuals who else do you ask to be your video vixen besides said footballer crush? but is he also willing to blow your back out too? ♡ masterlist

The next few days passed in a blur — Madrid, the match, the rush of it all. Of course, someone caught you at the match — there was no way that wasn’t happening. You were you, after all, a Grammy-winning artist sitting in VIP seats at the Bernabéu, very much in the camera’s line of sight. The picture had already made its rounds on social media: you, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, watching the game with full concentration. Another showed you mid-cheer after Aurélien’s assist, your excitement unmistakable.

The comments on The Shade Room were a mess.

"Why is [Your Name] at the Bernabéu??" "She watching soccer now? 👀" "Ain’t no way she just ‘watching’ — look at that smile." "She’s a Madridista now? Elite taste." "I know she was there for Tchouaméni. Be serious."

You scrolled through the discourse with a grin, but the real entertainment was happening on Tumblr. Unlike the rest of the internet, your little tchouamenithoughts page was an anonymous safe haven, a place where you could be as shamelessly down bad as you wanted. And the girlies were going through it.

moot1: she’s cute. good for him i guess moot2: the way he’s been playing lately... yeah he’s in love moot3: it’s giving soft launch. moot4: imagine being the muse for that one song she wrote... bc I KNOW it’s about him.

You had to stifle a laugh reading that one. It was already too weird, and you knew — God forbid — if Aurélien ever found out about this little corner of the internet, you’d have to disappear into the abyss.

You then reblogged a gifset of Aurélien’s highlights from the match, tagged "captain of my heart" before clicking into the inbox.

Anonymous asked: "Bro tell me you saw [Your Name] at the match? She was going feral for our man Tchouaméni just like us. Respect."

You snorted and reblogged it with a simple: "As she should."

Your phone buzzed in your hand, pulling you away from the mess you’d been consuming like your own personal reality show.

Auré: Did you make it home safe?

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest.

You: I did. Tired though.

Auré: You should rest. You’ll need your energy for when I see you again.

You bit your lip, shaking your head at the audacity.

You: Oh? And when’s that?

Auré: Soon. I told you, I’m doing the chasing now.

Your stomach flipped. God help you.

You locked your phone and sighed, leaning back against your pillows, your laptop still open to the mess of your moots spiraling in real-time. Yeah, this Tumblr was going to have to go soon.

But for now? You had a little more time to kiki.

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

Aurélien meant it when he said he wanted to do the rest and chase you.

The next morning, a delivery arrived at your apartment in LA. A massive bouquet — white and blush pink roses, accented with baby’s breath. It smelled incredible, and the little card tucked inside made your stomach flip.

"Since I didn’t get to be the first one in your DMs, let me be the first to send you flowers. –AT"

You bit your lip, rereading the message at least three times before setting the card down. The man was serious.

And the thing was — he wasn’t doing too much. You’d been courted before, had men try to win you over with grand gestures that felt more about them than you. But this? This was just Aurélien being him. Smooth, intentional. Never overstepping, just reminding you that he was right there.

His texts came consistently, never letting a day pass without checking in. Some were sweet. Some were very much not sweet.

Auré: Did you sleep well?

You: Mhm. You?

Auré: Not really. Kept thinking about how you looked in my bed.

Whew.

Other times, he was just ridiculous.

Auré: Hypothetically, if someone wanted to know your coffee order…

You: Hypothetically, they should just ask.

Auré: I am asking. But I wanted to see if you'd be difficult first.

You: Vanilla oat milk latte, extra shot. Now tell me why you’re asking like you’re sending a gift card.

Auré: I might be.

You: Aurélien.

And sure enough, an hour later, an email from Starbucks: [Your Name], you’ve received a gift from Aurélien Tchouaméni.

You couldn’t even be mad.

Then came the FaceTimes. Usually at night, when he knew you were home. It started casual — just him, shirtless (because of course), leaning back against his headboard while you sat on your couch, notebook open, laptop playing beats softly in the background.

"What are you working on?" he asked one night, eyes flicking to your scribbled lyrics.

"Music."

"No shit," he teased, smirking. "But what kind?"

You tapped your pen against your notebook. "Just some ideas."

His brows lifted. "For me?"

You snorted. "No. Not everything is about you."

"Shame." He stretched, flexing way too much for someone who was supposedly relaxing. "But you’ll write another one about me eventually."

"You think?"

"I know."

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, focusing back on your lyrics. Until—

"You work too much," he murmured.

You glanced up. "And you run too much. What’s your point?"

His smirk deepened. "That I’m gonna fix that. When are you coming back to Madrid?"

You blinked. “Oh, you’re just assuming I’m coming?”

"Yeah." He looked so sure, so smug, you wanted to reach through the screen and wipe that smirk off his face.

"I have work."

"I have work too,” he countered easily. "But I make time for what I want."

That shut you up for a second. You clicked your tongue. "That’s a cute line."

He grinned. "It’s not a line, bébé. It’s a fact."

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the next morning, another email delivery. This time? A plane ticket. First class, LAX to Madrid, one week from now.

No note. Just that.

And the man had the audacity to text: See you soon.

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

You told yourself you weren’t really considering it.

You weren’t impulsive like this. You had rules. Checklists. Boundaries.

But when Carmen barely batted an eye after you double-checked your schedule and when your best friend damn near screamed in your ear after you mentioned Madrid again?

"Are you insane? You just got back!"

You winced, pulling the phone away from your ear. "First of all, lower your voice—"

"No! Because this man has already had you in a chokehold, and now you’re just willingly running back?"

You sighed, switching the phone to your other ear. "It’s not like that.”

"What’s it like then?"

Silence.

Exactly.

Because what were you really gonna say? That you were working backwards? That the whole 'I have standards thing' was already a joke because you’d skipped about fifteen steps when you slept with him and now you were just here like some lovestruck fool?

Because you were.

"Yeah," your best friend scoffed when you stayed quiet. "That’s what I thought."

Still, none of that stopped you from breezing through TSA a few days later, sunglasses on, hoodie pulled low, boarding a first-class flight back to Madrid. Because somehow, in less than two weeks, you had gone from watching him on your screen to meeting him in person for your video shoot, and now you were sipping champagne, heading straight back to him.

You were supposed to be working — laptop open, beats playing, lyrics scattered across your notebook — but all you could do was stare at your phone, rereading his last message.

Auré: See you soon, bébé.

A slow exhale left your lips.

You weren’t even there yet, and he already had you spiraling.

The moment you exited arrivals, he was waiting.

Leaning up against his car, hands in his pockets, looking stupidly good in a fitted tee, Rhude shorts that made everything look right, snapback cap, and another Cuban link around his neck. His eyes locked on you like he’d been counting the seconds.

Your stomach flipped.

This man…

"You’re early," you said, trying to keep your voice even.

He smirked. "So are you."

Fair.

"C’mere."

You barely had time to react before his arms were around you, pulling you into him. His scent wrapped around you — warm, familiar, distracting — and suddenly, everything about this felt like a terrible idea.

If he was this good just holding you, how the hell were you supposed to handle anything else? Especially at the rate he was going?

"You miss me?" he murmured, lips at your ear.

You pulled back, schooling your face. "Did you?"

No hesitation. "Yeah."

Your heart betrayed you, but you kept your expression neutral.

"Hmm," you teased. "Was it the inside jokes? The deep conversations?"

He chuckled, dark and knowing. "The way you sound when I—"

"Aurélien."

His grin widened as he stepped back, opening the passenger door. "Get in, bébé."

And just like that, you were gone all over again.

The drive to his place was quiet.

Not the awkward kind — never that with him.

It was the kind of silence that buzzed, thick with anticipation. The kind where every glance, every shift in your seat, said more than words could. Aurélien drove one-handed, his other hand resting on your thigh like it belonged there, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

Like he was reminding you exactly why you were here.

The low hum of Afrobeats filled the car, blending with the occasional ping of a text on his phone. You ignored it, focusing instead on the way his fingers tightened slightly when you moved, the barely-there smirk on his lips.

"You good?" His voice was smooth, teasing.

You exhaled. "Fine."

A low chuckle. "Lying already?"

You shot him a look, but it was useless. He knew. He always knew.

By the time you reached his house, you were already on edge.

And then there was Ocho.

The massive Belgian Malinois greeted you at the door with an excited bark, nearly knocking you over in his eagerness.

"Damn, you remember me?" You laughed, scratching behind his ears as he licked at your wrist.

Aurélien chuckled behind you, setting your bag down near the stairs. "He doesn’t forget people he likes."

You glanced up, finding him watching you with something unreadable in his gaze.

The air between you shifted.

You swallowed, turning away to take in the space — the same high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows, the same sleek yet lived-in warmth from the last time you were here. But this time, there was something different.

This time, you knew what it felt like to be pressed against that couch, to have his mouth on your skin, to hear your own voice echoing against these walls.

And, of course, there were the flowers.

You huffed a laugh, finally spotting the massive bouquet of white lilies and soft pink roses in a crystal vase on the marble countertop.

"You really do this, huh?" you murmured, fingers ghosting over the petals of the bouquet before turning to face him.

Aurélien leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that slow, knowing smirk that made your stomach tighten. "Do what?"

"This whole…" You gestured vaguely at the flowers, the way he had you standing in his kitchen, feeling like you’d stepped into something inevitable. "Seduction thing."

"I told you," he said, pushing off the counter to come to you, voice low as his fingers found your waist. "I wanted the chase."

Your breath caught as his chain moved gently against his collarbone.

"And now that I have you here?" His lips hovered over yours, his hands already moving, already claiming. "I’m not letting up."

Your breath hitched as his hand splayed against your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You were already in too deep, already fighting a losing battle against the warmth curling in your stomach, against the way he smelled — clean, like cedarwood and something distinctly him.

"Aurélien—"

He kissed you before you could finish, tilting your chin up, his lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, like he was savoring you, mapping you out. The hand at your waist gripped tighter, and he made a sound in the back of his throat when your fingers found the nape of his neck, threading into the soft curls there.

You felt him smile against your mouth.

"What?" you breathed.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "You taste smug," he muttered.

You arched a brow. "And what does smug taste like?"

His lips twitched. "Like someone who knew she was coming back to me."

Your stomach flipped.

You weren’t going to entertain that — not right now, not when his voice was doing that and his hands were still tracing over your body like he was committing every inch of you to memory.

So you deflected. "Ocho knew too, apparently."

Aurélien huffed a quiet laugh. "Ocho is a good judge of character."

You snorted, shaking your head, but the moment you tried to step back, his grip on your waist tightened.

"You’re not going anywhere, bébé," he murmured.

You swallowed hard.

Because he wasn’t just talking about right now.

And he knew you knew it.

The moment stretched between you, heavy with promise. His thumb was still tracing patterns on your skin, each touch deliberate, like he was writing his intentions into your flesh. The kitchen's warm lighting caught the angles of his face just right, making his dark skin glow golden, and that fade you'd written countless posts about was perfect for running your fingers through.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmured, ducking his head to press his lips to your neck. His chain brushed cold against you, making you shiver.

"Hard not to," you managed, trying to keep your voice steady as his teeth grazed that spot below your ear. "When you're being all…" you gestured vaguely at him, at this whole situation.

He huffed a laugh against your skin. "All what?"

"You know what."

"Mm," his hands slid lower, grip tightening just enough to make your breath catch. "Tell me anyway."

The command in his voice - that same tone he used directing the midfield - had your knees weak. But two could play this game.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, watching them darken as your fingers traced the chain around his neck. "All confident," you said softly.

His responding smile was dangerous. "Didn't you write a whole song about it?"

"That's not—"

"About how I control the game?" His lips brushed your ear, voice dropping lower. "About how I read the field?"

Your heart was absolutely betraying you, hammering against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

"You really memorized those lyrics, huh?" you tried to tease, but your voice came out breathier than intended.

He pulled back to look at you properly, and the intensity in his gaze had you forgetting how to breathe. The same focus you'd watched him apply to matches, to training, to everything he did - all of it was directed at you now.

"I memorized everything about you," he said simply, like he wasn't completely ruining your ability to think straight. "The way you bite your lip when you're nervous. How your eyes follow me during matches."

Ocho's tags jingled as he trotted past, heading for his bed in the corner, completely unbothered by the way his owner was systematically dismantling your composure.

"You're impossible," you muttered, even as your hands traveled up his arms, feeling the muscles shift under your touch.

"You like impossible," he countered, and before you could argue, his mouth was on yours again, more urgent this time. Less controlled. Like maybe you weren't the only one affected here.

Your back hit the counter, and his hands gripped your hips to lift you onto it. The marble was cold through your clothes but he was burning hot, all solid muscle and sure touches as he stepped between your legs.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips, but his hands were already sliding under your shirt, already knew your answer.

You tangled your fingers in his chain instead, using it to pull him closer. "No."

His answering laugh was all satisfaction, all victory. "Good girl."

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

You woke up to Madrid sunlight filtering through his expensive blackout curtains that clearly weren't doing their job. His bed was still unfairly comfortable, sheets soft against your skin, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest under your cheek was threatening to lull you back to sleep.

Jetlag had hit you hard after... activities, leading to what was supposed to be a quick power nap but wasn’t. That kitchen counter definitely needed disinfecting though.

Multiple times.

Now the afternoon light was painting patterns on his dark skin, and you were finding it hard to care about time zones at all. When he woke up to slip away to the bathroom, you grabbed your phone, checking the damage.

Surprisingly, your Tumblr mutuals hadn't caught wind of your return to Madrid yet. But you knew better - it would only take one fan with a good camera angle to set everything off again. You heard the sink running, and then Aurélien padded back to bed, all sleep-warm skin and low-slung sweats. He lay beside you for a moment before that hand found your waist, tugging you closer.

"C'mere," he murmured, voice still rough with sleep. You went willingly, settling against his chest, ear pressed to his heartbeat. That same dopey ass smile from last time spread across your face as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. "How long are you staying?" he asked, playing with your hair.

You tilted your head up to look at him. "How long do you want me?"

His answering smirk was knowing as he bit his lip, considering. "A long time."

"Can't do that," you laughed softly. "But... two weeks?"

"Two weeks is good," he hummed, fingers still moving against your skin. "We can have fun, go on proper dates... maybe take a trip somewhere."

You propped yourself up on his chest. "Trips? Already planning baecations?"

"Mm," his hand slid lower on your back. "Gotta pull out all the stops. Could do Mallorca, Ibiza..." his smile turned dangerous. "Or maybe Paris?"

"Paris?" You tried to keep your voice steady, but the way his fingers were still tracing patterns on your skin was distracting. "That's a lot for someone who just wanted to be in my music video a few weeks ago."

His laugh rumbled through his chest. "Is it? When I've been catching you like those highlights at 3 AM?"

You pushed up to look at him properly. "Still can't believe that you noticed that. "

"Bébé," his hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek, "You should know that I notice everything. Why did you think I said yes to the video?"

Your heart did that stupid flutter thing again. "Because I'm a three-time Grammy winner and it'd be good PR?"

The look he gave you was almost pitying. "You really think that's why? Still?"

Before you could answer, he moved - that athletic grace you'd watched on the field now used to flip you onto your back, hovering over you with that dangerous smile.

"I said yes," he murmured, chain dangling between you, "because I wanted to see if you were as beautiful up close as you were in those award show pictures I kept saving."

Your breath caught. "You what?"

"Mm." His lips found your neck. "Want to see my camera roll? All those screenshots of you performing? The ones where you're wearing that dress at the VMAs?"

"Aurélien—"

"The way you move on stage," he continued, voice dropping lower, "the way you command attention…"

You couldn't process this - him admitting to essentially doing the same thing you'd been doing, collecting pieces of each other from afar.

"So this," he said, pulling back to look at you with those eyes that saw too much, "is just the beginning. I told you - I'm the lion." His hand slid down your side, grip possessive. "And I chase what I want."

"And what do you want?" Your voice came out embarrassingly breathy.

That smile should be illegal. "Right now?" His lips brushed yours. "For you to stop thinking so much and let me show you exactly why I memorized every word of that song you wrote about me."

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was kissing you again, all intensity and purpose, and yeah - two weeks definitely wasn't going to be enough.

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

The Madrid morning light painted his bedroom in honey-gold streaks, warming the spaces he'd left cold when he left for training. His kiss goodbye still lingered on your forehead, along with his casual "take the other car if you want to go out" - like lending you a hundred-thousand euro vehicle was as simple as sharing coffee.

But after last night (and the night before that, and the increasingly blurred hours in between), you were content to exist in the aftermath of him. Every room held echoes - the way he'd pressed you against that wall, how his chain had caught the light as he'd lifted you onto that counter, the sound of his laugh when you'd almost knocked over that probably-expensive vase.

He'd been attentive in a way that made your chest ache, all careful questions and watching eyes. The same precision you'd analyzed in countless match footage translated to how he touched you - deliberate, focused, like every response was data to be cataloged. His perfectionist tendencies apparently extended far beyond the pitch, and you had the marks to prove it.

Speaking of Tumblr... you scrolled through your dash one last time. The theories were still flying, the thirst posts still abundant, but it felt really wrong now. Here was Aurélien making actual time for you, being intentional about pursuing you, and you had a whole account dedicated to thirsting over him? The cognitive dissonance was too much.

You wrote a quick post about "digital wellness" and noted taking a break then deleted the app. You'd properly nuke the account later - right now, you had a house to explore.

Ocho followed you through the house, his tags jingling as he padded along faithfully. The home gym where he'd filmed all those workout videos that had sent your mutuals into chaos was impressive, but seeing that motivational quote wall in the flesh? You clutched your imaginary pearls. And the mural of what looked like the 1960s Real Madrid team in the hallway? Yeah, if this was heading where you thought it was heading, you were definitely calling an interior decorator.

The media room spoke more to his age - all premium gaming setups and theater-quality everything. But the real winner was the backyard. The pool area was something out of a luxury resort catalog, and the Madrid sun hit just right on the loungers.

You settled into one, Ocho flopping at your feet, and tried to process everything. Two boyfriends in your entire life, and now here was Aurélien Tchouaméni - six feet two inches of pure "god took his time" - sliding into position to be number three? The universe was really out here making dreams come true.

Your phone lit up:

Auré: Missing you already. Dinner tonight? Unless you're too tired…

Your cheeks heated, remembering exactly why you might be tired. The way he'd switched between languages when he was too far gone to think straight, how that chain had felt cold against your heated skin, the sound he'd made when—

Another message:

Auré: I can feel you thinking about last night from here 😏

The smile that spread across your face was embarrassing. Those Tumblr manifestations had worked almost too well - your mutual followers had no idea they were manifesting their own thirsting out of existence.

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

"Aurélien," you warned, trying to keep your hand steady as you applied eyeliner, "I swear to god—"

"Mm?" His voice was all fake innocence, but his hands on your hips were anything but, squeezing your ass appreciatively as he pressed against your back. "I'm not doing anything."

The bathroom counter was cool under your palms as you leaned forward, attempting to focus on your reflection instead of how his chain was brushing against your shoulder, how his fingers were tracing the curve of your—

"I'm trying to get ready," you protested, but it came out embarrassingly breathy. "We have dinner reservations."

"We do," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your neck that definitely threatened your carefully applied foundation. "In an hour."

"Which means I need to finish my face and—" you inhaled sharply as his hands slid lower, gripping more firmly. "Aurélien."

You caught his reflection in the mirror - that dangerous smile playing at his lips as he watched you try to maintain composure. The fresh fade and fitted shirt were doing criminal things for his already unfair looks.

"You look perfect already," he murmured, and the sincerity in his voice almost distracted you from how his thumbs were now tracing maddening circles.

"You're impossible," you managed, but you were already leaning back against him, makeup brush forgotten.

His laugh rumbled through his chest. "You like impossible."

"Get out," you laughed, pushing at his chest. "Let me finish getting ready in peace."

His pout was criminally effective, but he retreated to the bedroom. Through the mirror, you watched him settle on the edge of the bed, scrolling through TikTok with casual grace. The moment you spritzed your setting spray though, he stood up like it was Pavlov's bell.

Interesting.

You filed that reaction away for later research.

It was becoming clear that Aurélien had downloaded the Complete Boyfriend Experience somewhere between your time apart. His manners were even more impeccable, his timing perfect, his attention to detail almost suspicious.

He took your hand as you descended the stairs together - another discovery about the man your mutuals had analyzed endlessly. Physical touch was definitely high on his love language list, contrary to Maha's whole dissertation about him being an acts of service guy. (The smugness of proving a mutual wrong? Unmatched.)

The stilettos made you grateful for his steady presence, his hand warm and secure in yours. At the door, he turned to Ocho, voice dropping into that French that still did things to you both in and out of the bedroom.

"Sois sage, protège la maison," he murmured, scratching behind the dog's ears. The simple command shouldn't sound that good, but here you were swooning.

He led you to the car, opening the passenger door with that fluid grace that made everything look choreographed. But there, sitting in your seat, was a red gift bag.

"Aurélien…" you breathed, picking it up before sliding in.

That smile played on his lips as he made his way to the driver's side, starting the car with practiced ease. The dopey ass grin was back on your face before you could stop it as he pulled out of the driveway.

"Are you going to open it?" he asked, one hand on the wheel while the other found its usual spot on your thigh. The Cartier and Van Cleef & Arpels bracelets on his wrist caught the streetlights, and you couldn't help staring at how right his large hand looked there, fingers splayed possessively across your skin.

The gift bag sat in your lap, full of promise. Whatever was inside - expensive or not - didn't really matter. The fact that he'd thought to get you anything at all had your heart doing that stupid flutter thing again.

You pulled out the tissue paper slowly, dragging out the moment. Aurélien's thumb traced circles on your thigh as he navigated through Madrid's evening traffic, but you could feel his attention split between the road and your reaction.

Inside was a small velvet box that made your heart stop for a second before common sense kicked in. Too soon for that kind of box. Still, your fingers trembled slightly as you opened it.

"I saw you looking at it the other day," he said softly, as you lifted out the delicate Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet - a match to one of his. "Thought we could coordinate."

The way he said it so casually, like matching thousand euro jewelry was just something you did now. Like this wasn't him essentially marking his territory in the most expensive way possible.

"You're ridiculous," you managed, but you were already holding out your wrist for him to fasten it at the next red light.

His fingers lingered on your pulse point. "You like ridiculous."

"Maybe," you admitted, watching the bracelet catch the streetlights. It looked right next to his hand on your thigh, like it belonged there. Like you belonged there.

His answering smile was knowing. "Only maybe?"

You were saved from responding by his phone lighting up with a call from Jude. He answered through the car's Bluetooth, and you settled back to listen to him switch effortlessly between English and French, discussing tactics for their next match. The way authority wrapped around his words, how naturally he took command of the conversation - yeah, you were definitely going to need to write another song.

His hand never left your thigh during the entire call, thumb still tracing those maddening patterns that made focusing on anything else impossible. The bracelet glinted with each movement, a constant reminder of how quickly this was all moving.

Two weeks suddenly felt like both forever and not nearly enough time at all.

The restaurant was exactly the kind of place you'd expect Aurélien to know about — tucked away in a historic part of Madrid, all warm lighting and exposed brick walls. Private enough that phones stayed in pockets, exclusive enough that no one batted an eye when he led you to a corner table with his hand on your lower back.

"You're staring," he murmured as you settled into your seat, that knowing smirk playing at his lips.

"You clean up nice," you shrugged, trying for casual like you hadn't been watching him all evening. The black button-down was doing criminal things for his shoulders, and the way he'd rolled up the sleeves to show off those bracelets felt deliberately calculated to drive you crazy.

"Just nice?" His eyes glinted as he reached for his water glass, chain catching the light with the movement.

"Your ego doesn't need any more feeding."

His laugh was low, private. "No? After the way you were liking my training videos? Or maybe my posts?"

The waiter's arrival saved you from having to form a coherent response to that. Aurélien ordered for both of you in perfect Spanish - another language that had no business sounding that good rolling off his tongue. You were starting to think he could read a grocery list and make it sound sexy.

"So," he said once the waiter left, his fingers finding yours across the table, "about Paris..."

Your heart did that stupid flutter thing again. "What about it?"

"I was thinking," his thumb traced your new bracelet, "maybe we start there. Then Côte d'Azur, maybe Monaco..."

"That's a lot of planning for someone who just wanted to be in my music video a few weeks ago," you echoed your words from the other day, but this time they carried a different weight.

His eyes met yours, all intensity and promise. "I told you - I'm chasing. Properly."

The way he said it, like it was just that simple. Like planning European getaways and matching jewelry and looking at you like that was the most natural progression in the world.

"You're good," you said softly, watching his bracelets catch the light as he played with your fingers.

"At what?"

"This whole..." you gestured vaguely between you. "Boyfriend thing."

His smile turned dangerous. "Is that what this is?"

You tried to pull your hand back but he held firm, that grin widening. "I mean- I didn't mean to assume-"

"No?" He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "After I've been marking my territory so obviously?"

Your breath caught. "The bracelet–"

"The bracelet," he agreed, then his eyes got that glint that usually meant trouble. "Maybe next time we'll talk about a key. Make it easier than me having to come home from training to let you in."

His phone lit up with another call - Camavinga this time - but he declined it, attention still focused entirely on you.

"You can take it," you offered, but he was already shaking his head.

"They can wait." His thumb traced your pulse point again, right below the new bracelet. "I'm busy chasing."

The waiter came back with a bottle wine and poured some in both of your glasses. You took a sip quickly, trying to calm your nerves.

"You know," he said after taking his own sip of wine, eyes never leaving yours, "I'm going to ask you properly. To be my girlfriend."

Your heart did a backflip. "Oh yeah?"

"Mm." That dangerous smile was back. "Not yet though. Want to do it right."

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "You're really out here making men look bad, you know that?"

"How so?"

"All this," you gestured between you, at the bracelet, at everything. "The chasing, the dating, the whole... intentional thing. In 2024? In this economy?"

His thumb was still tracing patterns on your wrist, just below where the Van Cleef caught the light. "You think I'd do any less? After watching you for months?"

He made it seem like putting in effort was the most natural thing in the world (and it was). Like taking time to court properly, to build something real, wasn't a dying art. Here you were, living through dating horror stories from friends about situationships and breadcrumbing and 50/50 and men who couldn't even send proper texts, and Aurélien Tchouaméni was out here planning European trips and buying matching jewelry and talking about asking you to be his girlfriend "properly."

"You're kind of unreal, you know that?"

That smile should really be illegal. "Good unreal?"

"Don't fish for compliments," you said, but you were grinning. "Your ego is big enough."

"My ego?" He leaned forward slightly, chain catching the light. "Says the one who wrote a whole song about me?"

Your cheeks heated. "That's different."

"Is it?" His voice dropped lower, more private. "Because I have some thoughts about those lyrics..."

The look in his eyes promised you'd be hearing those thoughts in detail later.

The meal passed in a haze of excellent food and better company, but dessert? That was when Aurélien decided to be truly unfair.

He moved your chair closer to his, the scraping noise against the floor making you wince - but he didn't seem to care, too focused on closing the distance between you. The chocolate something-or-other looked incredible, but the way he picked up the spoon, eyes locked on yours? That was what had your pulse jumping.

Every movement was deliberate as he gathered a perfect bite, holding it up with the kind of precision he usually reserved for perfectly weighted passes. His eyes never left yours as you leaned forward, and the intensity in his gaze as he watched you take the bite had heat crawling up your neck.

You dabbed at your mouth with your napkin, hyper-aware of how he tracked the movement.

"Is it good?" His voice had dropped to that register that did dangerous things to your composure.

"Very–" was all you managed before his mouth was on yours, tongue sweeping in to taste the chocolate himself. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, and maybe you should've been embarrassed about kissing like this in public, but with Aurélien? All bets were off.

Those full lips of his really were criminal, and the way his stupidly handsome face looked when he finally pulled back, pupils blown and that satisfied smirk playing at his mouth? Yeah, public decency was overrated.

"Let's go back to my place," he murmured against your lips, and something in his tone had your stomach doing somersaults.

The waiter appeared almost instantly at his gesture, and you watched Aurélien handle everything with that easy command he carried on the field — getting the dessert boxed, settling the bill, all while keeping one hand on the small of your back like he couldn't bear to break contact.

The night air hit cool against your heated skin as he guided you out, his touch steady and possessive. The valet had his car waiting in minutes, perks of being Madrid royalty, you supposed. He opened your door first, naturally, and the way his eyes tracked down your body as you slid in had you feeling like prey in the best way.

The moment he settled into the driver's seat, Brent Faiyaz's voice filled the car — something about one night, about pleasure, about giving in. The universe really was testing you tonight.

You pressed your thighs together, trying to ebb off your arousal, but then his hand found your leg again. Those fingers splayed possessively across your skin, squeezing just enough to let you know he noticed your movement. Every few seconds his eyes would flick over to you, dark with promise, and the way he bit his lip when you shifted under his touch had you counting the minutes until you reached his place.

"You good?" he asked, voice rough, and the smirk playing at his lips said he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Yeah."

The fact that he could still drive this well while systematically dismantling your self-control was honestly impressive.

The drive felt endless but somehow too quick at the same time. Aurélien's hand never left your thigh, and by the time he pulled into his driveway, the tension in the car was thick enough to cut.

He moved with that controlled grace of his as he came around to open your door, but there was something darker in his eyes now, something that had your pulse racing. His chain caught the security lights as he helped you out, and the way he pulled you close — enough to feel how his chest rose and fell a bit faster than normal — had you forgetting basic motor functions.

You barely registered Ocho's excited greeting at the door, too focused on how Aurélien's hand had slid from your back to your waist, how he was looking at you like he was planning exactly how to ruin your carefully applied makeup.

"Va te coucher, Ocho," he commanded softly to the dog, and honestly? French really should not sound that good. The way the words rolled off his tongue, all authority and promise...

The door clicked shut behind you.

His hands found your hips, turning you to face him. The "AT" pendant glinted in the dim light as he leaned down, stopping just shy of your lips.

"Now," he murmured, "where were we?"

Your breath caught, heart hammering as Aurélien’s fingers dug just a little deeper into your waist. His touch was steady, deliberate — like he was taking his time, savoring the way you melted into him.

"Right about here," you murmured, tilting your chin up, letting your lips brush his just slightly. Just enough to tease.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

His grip tightened, yanking you that last inch forward until there was nothing between you but heat. His mouth found yours in a kiss that was all possession — slow, deep, unapologetically hungry.

Ocho let out a soft chuff before trotting off, uninterested in whatever was unfolding. You, however? You were done for.

How you made it up the stairs, you didn’t know. You were only aware of the way he guided you with ease, like he owned every move you made together. By the time you reached his bedroom, your back met the closed door the moment the door clicked shut behind you. His breath warm against your skin, his hands dragging up your sides, over the fabric of your dress.

"You knew how tonight was ending," he murmured, lips grazing your jaw, fingers already working the zipper down.

You swallowed hard, exhaling shakily as the dress slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. "Maybe," you admitted, voice breathy.

He smirked, the expression dark and knowing.

Then he stepped back just enough to unbutton his shirt, revealing the broad stretch of his shoulders, the sharp cut of his abs — skin warm, golden, flawless. Your breath hitched at the sight, because God, you’d seen him like this before, but it never stopped stealing the air from your lungs.

You never got tired of seeing him naked.

He was too beautiful.

Aurélien knew it too, the way he watched you watching him, his smirk deepening as he worked the belt from his pants.

Your own breathing was uneven by the time you were both bare, and then he was leading you to the bed, his hands firm on your hips, guiding you onto the mattress with a touch that felt reverent despite the heat simmering beneath it.

He leaned back against the headboard, toned thighs spread slightly as he reached over to the bedside table, retrieving a condom with an ease that sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed as he tore it open, sliding it on with practiced efficiency.

Then he looked at you.

His gaze was heavy, filled with promise.

"Come here," he murmured.

You crawled over to him, straddling his lap as his hands found your waist, steadying you as you settled over him. His skin was warm beneath your touch, muscles tense under your fingertips as you traced up his chest.

Aurélien pulled you closer, lips capturing yours in a kiss that was deep and unhurried, his tongue teasing against yours as his hands roamed your back. You could feel him hard against you, the sensation making your breath hitch.

His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, then lower, trailing heat down your neck until he reached your chest. He took his time, lips and tongue tracing over the swell of your breasts before wrapping around a nipple. The sensation sent a shudder through you, a soft moan slipping past your lips as he sucked, his other hand palming your other breast, thumb circling the hardened peak.

"Aurélien," you breathed, threading your fingers through his curls.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending another wave of heat pooling low in your stomach. He switched to the other nipple, flicking his tongue before sucking again, his hands gripping your hips as he ground you down against him.

You whimpered at the friction, the growing ache between your thighs making you restless.

He looked up at you then, dark eyes heavy with want, lips glistening as he murmured, "Ride me."

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, at the low rasp of his voice.

You reached between you, aligning him with your entrance before sinking down slowly, gasping at the stretch, at how perfectly he filled you. Aurélien groaned, hands tightening on your waist as you took him inch by inch.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, head tilting back slightly, his grip firm as he helped guide you down. "Always so tight, bébé."

You moaned at the praise, at the delicious burn of him inside you.

He gave you a moment, fingers kneading your hips before urging you to move. You rolled your hips experimentally, exhaling sharply at the friction, at the way he stretched you just right.

"That’s it," he murmured, watching you through hooded eyes. "Take me just like that."

You set a rhythm, lifting and sinking down onto him, each roll of your hips making you both unravel a little more. His hands roamed your body, one gripping your waist, the other sliding up to cup your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple as he thrust up to meet your movements.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with breathy moans and curses in both English and French.

Aurélien’s eyes stayed on you, dark and hungry as he murmured, "Look at you… made for me, yeah?"

You whimpered, leaning forward to kiss him, the movement messy and desperate, all tongue. It reminded you of the first night you were together, when you had barely been able to keep your hands off each other, drowning in the sheer intensity of it all.

He groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your ass as he helped you move faster, deeper.

"Fuck, bébé," he rasped, voice wrecked. "You feel so good."

Your nails dug into his shoulders, chasing that high, loving how perfectly your bodies fit together — his deep brown skin against yours, slightly darker but complementing you like a missing puzzle piece.

You moaned his name, head tilting back as the pleasure built, and Aurélien took the opportunity to kiss your throat, teeth grazing your pulse.

His grip on your hips tightened before he lifted you effortlessly, his strength making your breath hitch. He shifted positions, pressing you into the mattress as he settled between your thighs, the heat of his body making you shiver in anticipation.

Aurélien’s hands slid down your legs, spreading them wider, and you hissed at the stretch. He paused, eyes flickering up to yours.

"I got you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your knee before he lifted one of your legs to rest over his shoulder. "Relax for me, bébé."

You exhaled, forcing yourself to melt into the mattress just as he rolled his hips forward, burying himself deep in one smooth thrust.

Your gasp was swallowed by his groan, the new angle sending pleasure spiking through your veins like electricity.

"Aurélien—"

He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours with a force that had you clutching at the sheets, at his arms, at anything that could anchor you. The bedframe creaked beneath you, the headboard tapping lightly against the wall with each deep stroke.

"You take me so well," he gritted out, watching where your bodies met, mesmerized by the way you stretched around him. His free hand slid down to press against your lower stomach, applying just enough pressure to make you keen. "Feel that? How deep I am?"

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat as pleasure wracked through you.

"That’s my girl," he praised, leaning forward just enough to kiss your ankle before snapping his hips even harder, making you cry out.

The sensations were overwhelming, your body trembling beneath him as that familiar ache coiled tight in your core. Your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto as you teetered on the edge.

Aurélien’s breathing was ragged, his hands gripping your thighs as he pounded into you mercilessly. "Come for me," he urged, voice rough and commanding. "Let me feel you."

His words pushed you over the edge, pleasure crashing over you in waves as your body clenched around him, your cry of release muffled by his mouth as he kissed you through it.

"Fuck," he groaned, his rhythm stuttering as he followed right after, burying himself deep one last time before stilling, his body shuddering above you.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breaths, your bodies still tangled together as you both came down from the high.

Aurélien kissed you once, slow and languid, before pulling out carefully. He slid off the bed, disposing of the condom before returning, the mattress dipping under his weight as he pulled you into his chest.

You let him, curling against his warmth as his fingers traced lazy circles on your back.

And in that moment, as his lips pressed against your forehead and his arm tightened around your waist, you realized something.

Whatever this man wanted, whatever he needed —you were going to give it to him.

No questions asked.

……………tbd

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the fog. l Joel Miller

Summary: something that happened made the memories come back

Warnings: angst, mentioning violence and death, two dead, blood and gore, lots of fear, Ellie and Tommy, vomiting, Reader is broken, allusions to sexual abuse and torture

A/N: maybe I shouldn't have added this part so quickly, but I had it in my head and I literally had a few free hours. I don't know when I'll be so lucky again. there are definitely a lot of mistakes here. please, be understanding. I meant well.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

When you left Jackson with Sam and Anthony the weather had definitely turned bad. After a few days of beautiful sunshine and blue skies, dark clouds brought rain and everything became grey and gloomy. 

Joel tried to hide his anxiety as you watched with such enthusiasm as you packed your backpack, reassuring him once again that you had packed everything. Even the knife he had once given you was safely in your pocket. If it weren't for that damned hand, he would have gone instead of you, but he didn't want to burden you with his worries.

After the last expedition for supplies, after you snapped, you needed him more than ever. But now you had to get back on your feet again, on your own. He knew it had nothing to do with him, but he was still worried.

"See you in a few days," you said, kissing him fondly goodbye.

"Don't be late."

You smiled, squeezed his good hand, and set off with Sam and Anthony.

Three or four days. That's how long, according to Tommy's estimate, this expedition should take. You were supposed to get to a nearby town, it was abandoned and none of you had been there for some time. After everything that could be used had been taken away from there many times, there wasn't much to be found. However, for safety's sake, the area should be checked.

Joel couldn't sit in an empty house. He tried to keep himself occupied, he went to the stables a few times, but his thoughts began to wander into dangerous areas. So he spent time with Tommy and the others, looked at the map, wondered where you were and if everything was okay.

Ellie spent time with her friends, but whenever she saw Joel, or when they met at the house, she asked about you. He didn't have to answer her much. The important thing was that she didn't hear any bad news.

On the third day, it started to rain. Small drops, the ones you hated so much. Joel smiled, because he could already see your gloomy face when you came back soaked. However, the day passed and you were gone.

Four days. Tommy said it could be four days. He kept repeating it to himself, but when he met his brother, he saw the same anxiety in his eyes.

That night, Joel didn't sleep a wink. Along with the usual guard, he sat on the wall and stared at the horizon as if you were going to appear there at any moment. This was the second time you were late. But now you went there because he couldn't, so he felt an additional sense of guilt.

"They'll come back, they always come back." Tommy didn't sound too confident when he said it.

"If something happened..."

Tommy looked at his brother. He could only guess how hard it was for him, the fear of loss was so damn strong in him, and this situation didn't help.

The sixth day. From early morning in Jackson, people began preparing to go in search of you. A group of about ten men were ready to set off. Joel was furious when Tommy refused to let him go.

"You're in a sling! You can't fucking ride." and then he watched in horror as his brother freed his arm and, although wincing in pain, mounted the horse.

He couldn't fight him. He wouldn't stand a chance.

The road wasn't easy. The ground was damp and muddy, it was cold and unpleasant. The group didn't say much, they focused more on observation, to find some trace as soon as possible or to spot someone approaching them.

Joel tried not to focus on the unpleasant feeling that accompanied horseback riding. He guessed that the bone might have healed, but it was still very sensitive. However, his brain was focused only on you, the rest was not important.

With difficulty, he was convinced to stop. Night was approaching and there was no point in everyone risking it. If it weren't for Tommy and the others, Joel would probably have gone on alone. However, he stayed and as soon as the sun appeared on the horizon, he was already on his feet and driving everyone to continue their journey.

The fog engulfed the area, and the cold seeped into his jacket. Silence, only the sounds of horses and the forest. But, unexpectedly, something changed.

Tommy's horse twitched, startled by something, and right after that Joel felt his own move strangely too. Something must have been approaching them and the animals must have sensed it. He reached for his weapon and tried to peer into the nearby trees and undergrowth, to see some movement, maybe a figure or an animal.

Joel's heart stopped a second later.

You looked terrifying. He noticed immediately that something was wrong. He jumped off his horse and before Tommy could stop him, he was already running towards you. You tried to run too, as soon as you realized who you had met, but you were too tired. Your knees were buckling under you and tears were welling up in your eyes, and you couldn't hold them back anymore. When Joel grabbed you in his arms, you sank down onto the grass.

"Riders... There were riders." You whispered in a trembling voice.

More people surrounded you, but you were only staring into those brown eyes, the ones that were home and a symbol of safety.

"Are you hurt, baby?" he gasped, looking at you in horror.

Your clothes were covered in blood, as were your face and hands. He noticed the cut on your jacket, but the wound on your arm was no longer bleeding. Neither was your lip.

You shook your head. "Sam... Anthony... They're dead."

"How many are there? Were they in the city?" Tommy asked. You didn't even flinch. Your lips twisted, however, and after a moment you burst into tears.

"Sam and Anthony... I couldn't do anything..."

Familiar hands grabbed your face, pushing back your wet and dirty hair. A terrifying sob escaped your throat.

"Did they do something to you? Tell me!" Joel asked, maybe a little too nervously, but everything inside him was boiling.

You were too distraught, alternately sobbing and repeating the names of your companions, repeating that they were dead, talking about the Riders, and crying again.

Your fingers dug into the ground as hysteria slowly consumed you. Like you had been strong for too long and only now, with Joel before you, had all the dams given way. Your voice was incoherent, jumbled sobs and the same repeated words blending together.

Finally, Joel turned your face towards him, shook you as if he hoped it would bring you to your senses. For a moment he saw it in your eyes - total terror and brokenness.

"Tell me everything, please."

Somehow the words spilled from your lips.

Joel didn't remember how you got back to Jackson, or how you ended up at your house. Ellie's face showed complete fear when she saw you, but she quickly followed Joel's instructions.

She was the one who drew you a bath, and put your comfortable clothes on the counter by the sink. Without a word, she left the bedroom and closed the door behind her. 

Just like you had done a few days earlier, it was Joel who helped you take off your clothes. Layer by layer, all dirty and wet. You jumped like a startled animal when a sound like something heavy falling to the floor came from downstairs.

"It's nothing." Joel quickly tried to calm you down. "Ellie wants to make you some tea. She's just a little clumsy..."

You nodded, but the fear didn't leave your eyes. Finally, when he took off your underwear, he helped you get into the tub and you immersed yourself in the hot water. The scent of lavender reached your nostrils and the warmth began to envelop you, slowly permeating the layers of your frozen skin.

Seeing you like this always broke his heart. Yes, you were only human and you didn't have to be strong all the time. However, you carried wounds that clearly couldn't heal. Joel knew there was nothing he could do, but he would give anything to be able to take this burden off your shoulders, to take it upon himself so that it would be easier for you.

Carefully, with a wet towel, he washed your face and hands. He did it slowly, as if he could wash away the bad memories from you. It was only after several long minutes that you spoke. Almost a whisper, your voice was dead and alien. Joel listened, although he knew he might regret it later.

"I was part of a group that got out of one of the cities controlled by FEDRA. A few outcasts, a few who wanted to find their loved ones, a few who wanted to have adventures. And me. Maybe ten people, something like that. It was unwise, I know, but then..." you took a deep breath and wrapped your arms around your knees, letting Joel carefully clean the wound on your shoulder. "It was fine for a long time. A few broke away, went their own way. That's fine. I stayed, I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anyone close enough to look for or follow him. One guy was a Firefly, as was his girlfriend. I thought... Why not? I was good at what I did, but not good enough..."

You froze. Joel didn't say a word. He guessed what he might hear next.

"We met them when we entered some city, I don't even know what the sign at the entrance said. First a few infected, quick work. And then... It was a larger and well-organized group, and we were like ducks in a shooting gallery. I killed one or two of them and hid. I waited until nightfall, and they... I heard everything." Nails dug into your flesh, but you didn't react to it. Once you started, you couldn't finish talking. "I heard everything. What they did to those girls, how they slowly finished off the guys. It was a long night... I didn't dare go out in the morning. I waited again until nightfall. I was paralyzed. Only then did I get out of the city and hide in the forest. I don't remember how I got to Jackson, I sat there for a while, but I couldn't be around people. So I started hanging around the area again... Closer and further away. After a while, I came across you." Your eyes found him. Joel noticed how much sadness there was in them and how much it cost you to tell him all of this.

"Baby..." he said quietly "I'm so sorry you went through this..."

"On that patrol... I couldn't do anything. I didn't hide like I did then, but I couldn't do much and..." your breathing quickened, your eyes glazed over again and Joel grabbed your face trying to calm you down.

"No one blames you for this. Fuck! Baby, I should have been there, not you. It was me..."

"You could be dead already!" you interrupted him sharply "I don't want you to feel sorry for me, I don't want pity. I survived it and I would do it again if I had to. I did terrible things, but for you, for Ellie, for Tommy and Maria, I would do it all over again."

Joel understood that. He understood you really well and he felt that it was you who gave him strength at that moment, and not him giving it to you.

"Hi. I brought some soup. Maria made more, she thought you probably have other things on your mind right now."

Joel nodded and let Tommy in. It was dark. He'd only managed to convince you to go to bed an hour ago, and he was trying to find a place to sit and think.

Tommy put two jars of soup on the counter and leaned against it, folding his arms over his chest. "How is she?"

"Fine, if I may say so." Joel sighed, sitting down at the table. "Ellie is there. She's in bed with her so she can sleep."

Tommy nodded. "She was in terrible shape. God! Two days without sleep, food or water, in this condition..." Joel rubbed his forehead with his hand and closed his eyes for a moment, he still had your terrified face in front of him. "Did they? You know..."

He shook his head. "They didn't make it. She ran away when she had the chance."

“The scars and wounds will heal, but here…” Tommy touched his temple with a finger, and Joel nodded to show he understood. “A group will go tomorrow to see what happened there. She said there might have been ten of them, we’ll check it out.”

He noticed his brother straighten up, dark eyes looking at him carefully. "I'm going with them."

"Are you crazy!" Tommy snorted. "With your shoulder and when she's like this? Besides, she'd cut my balls off if she found out I let you go."

Joel stood up abruptly, slamming his hand on the table, anger written all over his face. "I have to find them. For what they did to her... Fuck! You didn't see her!"

The younger brother watched him carefully, but also with fear. He knew that in anger his brother could do terrible things, and although he wanted to get his hands on those men, he didn't want to risk him too. Finally he shook his head.

"No way. You should stay here. She needs you, more than ever."

"I can help you!" Joel hissed, already furious. "I can't wait here while they fucking torture her."

"No! I don't agree." Tommy continued. "This is a crazy idea."

"I don't fucking care! You don't know how I feel! I should be there, not her. I could have lost her too, do you understand?! I can't wait and do nothing!"

"But you will! Because she should be your priority right now, not revenge." He noticed that Joel's eyes were getting glassy, ​​he tried to hide it clumsily by looking away. "She's already saved my life, I'm grateful for that. So I can't let you risk yours, she wouldn't want that."

"You don't know what she wants." Joel snorted.

"She definitely wants you and Ellie to be safe. Listen..." he approached him and put his hand on his shoulder "We'll find those people. But you have to take care of her now and..."

The noise upstairs drew their attention. Quick footsteps, a slam of a door, and then another. Ellie's cry echoed downstairs.

"Joel! Quick!"

He and Tommy were upstairs in a flash, then burst into the bedroom. They saw a terrified Ellie, who pointed to the bathroom, and Joel guessed he'd find you there. When he entered, he saw you huddled by the toilet, spasms of retching racking your body, your shirt wet and stuck to your back.

"Baby..." he groaned, kneeling next to you and brushing your hair away.

You were unable to answer. Only Ellie, who slipped in behind them, spoke quietly.

"I don't know what happened. I must have fallen asleep... Suddenly she woke up screaming, jumped out of bed and... Joel, is she okay?" 

He didn't know what to answer. He saw Tommy's face, who was just as scared as he was.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again

[saphronethaleph]

Galaxy Done Quick

“If we’re going to stop Palpatine’s plan, we need to start where the trail went cold,” Poe said, as the Falcon rose into the sky. “That means going to Pasana.”

Finn and Rey exchanged glances.

“DaggerSkip?” Finn asked.

“Yeah, that’s the play,” Rey agreed, reaching over and inputting coordinates to the nav computer.

“What’s a dagger skip?” Poe asked, confused. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“It’s a sequence break,” Rey told him, as the Falcon turned to face the Endor system. “Look, if there’s anything to find that the Emperor didn’t intend to be lost it’s going to be where the second Death Star crashed down, right?”

Finn helpfully reached over and pushed the hyperdrive lever.

“I guess, but – hey!” Poe objected. “Don’t we need to go to Pasana?”

“No, we don’t need to go to Pasana,” Finn replied. “We do this, we skip Pasana and Kijimi, and as a bonus we don’t need to wipe C-3PO’s memory, either.”

“I beg your pardon?” C-3PO asked.

“Don’t worry, we’re not doing that,” Rey said, which was presumably supposed to be reassuring. “The Kef Bir transition isn’t state based, so we can just go there and get things going.”

Poe looked at his friends, then at C-3PO. “...should I understand any of this? You understand all languages, right?”

“I can certainly translate most of them, sir,” C-3PO told him. “However, as I’m sure my counterpart could inform you, being able to translate a language doesn’t mean you have the least idea what is going on.”

“So… explain to me why we aren’t helping Rey?” Poe said, as Finn adjusted his electrobinoculars.

“It’s not a two person level,” Finn replied, scanning. “Okay, hold on… yeah, there we go.”

“You can see her?” Poe asked.

“Nope,” Finn replied. “But I can see half the fight arena.”

Poe groaned.

“You’re not making any sense,” he complained.

Finn shrugged, then passed Poe a second set of binoculars. “If you want to see, you can look… about halfway up that spire there.”

Poe examined the electrobinoculars, then Finn’s pair.

“...these are mine,” he said. “And so are the ones you’re using. How…?”

“Oh, yeah, that was done during the transition,” Finn shrugged. “Dupe glitch. Anyway, watch, this is where we find out if we’re on pace.”

Mystified, Poe put the electrobinoculars to his eyes, and focused them where Finn had told him.

Then he saw Rey… wielding a red lightsaber with two blades connected by a hinge?

“What the-?” he yelped, then saw another Rey, this one wielding a green saberstaff. “Where did that come from?”

“Oh, it makes the trick easier,” Finn shrugged, as green-weapon Rey backflipped up to the top of a spike of twisted metal, and red-weapon Rey jumped up to attack her.

Green-weapon Rey blocked the attack, stepping to the side, and red-weapon Rey fell in the sea.

“All right!” Finn declared. “First time! QuickRey is one of the hardest bits of this, that’s great!”

Poe tried not to decide too visibly that he wasn’t getting any answers.

“So… uh,” he began. “What do we do now?”

“Oh, yeah, we need to prep the Falcon for takeoff,” Finn said. “Don’t worry, Rey’s taking a different ship, we don’t need to wait for her.”

He turned, heading for the ship, and Poe looked back and forth between the smashed-up Death Star and Finn before following in some confusion.

The Falcon’s systems were coming rapidly online, and Poe was helping Chewie check the motivator, when there was a muffled curse from outside.

“Huh?” Poe asked, before looking towards the ramp.

And did a double take.

Because Kylo Ren was striding up the ramp, but instead of that weird mask he looked very confused.

“What is happening?” he demanded.

“What is – what are you doing on here?” Poe asked, snatching his blaster up – not that it would do any good. “Finn!”

“It’s okay!” Finn called back from the cockpit.

“It is not!” Poe and Kylo said at the same time, then exchanged a mutually offended look.

“There’s some flags that won’t trigger if he doesn’t make it to Exegol, okay?” Finn said. “So, yeah, this is quicker than any of the other options!”

Poe felt very confused.

“What I want to know is what happened!” Kylo said. “Because Rey backflipped past me and suddenly I didn’t have my lightsaber any more and I’m now no longer in thrall to the Dark Side!”

“Yeah, that’s called SoloSkip,” Finn said, apparently expecting that to help. “See, the redemption cutscene trigger is different from the redemption trigger, and it saves a few minutes to hit just one of them. Rey is really killing it, this is great… speaking of which, hey, Ben?”

“Yes?” Ben Solo said, because apparently that was his name again now.

“Mind setting the course for Exegol?” Finn asked. “Normally we’d need to wait until Rey got there, but you have the course so you can just plug it in.”

Ben shot a look at Poe.

“Do you have any idea what he’s going on about?” the maybe-ex-Ren said.

“Not since this morning,” Poe replied. “Just smile and nod, I guess…”

“I knew you would come here… my granddaughter,” Sheev Palpatine said, smirking and chuckling darkly. “Approach me.”

Rey approached him.

“You know, I only just realized it,” she said, thoughtfully. “But this routing skips any of the places where I’d find that out.”

Sheev worried for a moment if his granddaughter had somehow inherited being senile, or something.

“...it matters not,” he decided. “Come, embrace your destiny. You are a Palpatine, and you are the heir to the Sith – the heir to the Empire! Strike me down or take your place, it matters not, a Palpatine shall sit on the throne of the Empire!”

Rey did not seem to be listening to him, and Sheev scowled.

“Pay attention!” he said. “What are you mumbling to yourself, girl?”

“And…” Rey said, dragging the word out. “Switch to in-engine is… now.”

She promptly dove to the floor, and Sheev had enough time to wonder why before the Millennium Falcon fell through the opening in the ceiling and landed on him, engines-first.

He didn’t have time to wonder about anything else.

“And time!” Finn declared, as something went skoom underneath the Falcon.

Chewbacca growled, then everyone clutched for the nearest handhold as the Falcon swung through a ninety-degree angle from vertical to horizontal and the landing gear slammed down on the chamber floor with a bone-shaking crash.

Something in the hyperdrive went crunch.

“...what,” Poe began. “The kark. Was that.”

Finn shrugged. “It’s one of the weaknesses of the Empire. The final boss isn’t immune to fall damage.”

[noitsbecky127]

rebecca watches ds9: rules of acquisition

time for some ferengi chaos i guess!

who the fuck is this guy

morn apparently. wild night at quark’s probably

what the fuck are the ferengi doing. what is this game. what is the goal here

my dad just went “this game makes no sense”

why is JADZIA here, doesn’t she have better things to be doing (like maybe kira)

quark if you lay one orange finger on jadzia i will reach through the screen and kill you myself

she has 300 years of experience, don’t try to beat her in anything ever

i love how she isn’t taking the sexist bullshit

is quark getting drugged rn

what kind of magic thirst-inducing pill is this

wtf does the grand nagus want with quark now

time to introduce capitalism to the gamma quadrant!

did the nagus just snort space coke. is that a normal thing to do before a meeting

get his ass kira

zek that’s a lesbian

that’s a fuckton of nitrate

ferengi don’t do gifts i don’t think

benjamin sisko the man that you are

so the grand plan to make money is just wine? that seems deceptively simple

tulaberriessss

obsessed with the crazy straw in that drink

i want to drink smth out of a crazy straw now. haven’t done that in like 15 years

rom stop firing pel

rom: et tu, quark?

pel’s got a solid room here

what’s with the fake ears??? ferengi beauty standards?????

nOPE WE’VE GOT A 24TH-CENTURY MULAN OVER HERE

good for her!!! hope she gets everything she wants out of this

zek if you touch kira again i’ll kill you before she can

interesting gamma quadrant aliens we’ve got here

is that face paint or are they just like that

damn pel is kickass

what kind of alien is zek’s servant guy anyway

how fucking tall is that actor. terry farrell is like six feet tall and he towers over her

oh god is zek trying to charm kira

everything she is saying about ferengi is correct. jadzia you should care more about misogyny

i don’t think kira should have to have fun with a bunch of sexist assholes actually!

100k vats is not happening. that simply cannot happen.

pel what is your brilliant plan to get those 100k vats

ok that quark bedroom anecdote is just creepy

jadzia: tf do you mean you’re a woman i thought you were just gay

pel please do not get with quark. pel you can do better. pel please

kira needs to kill zek

what in god’s name is their plan for 100k vats. do they have a plan

i wonder if maybe zek’s just trying to test quark or smth

what is odo doing now

odo’s hatred of quark is comical i love him

oh god rom what are you planning

oh god oh fuck

oh lord rom’s gonna mess everything up for my new favorite ferengi

why do these aliens keep attacking each other

“you are starting to annoy me” yeah he’s quark that’s what he does

wtf did quark just do

i wouldn’t be surprised if they just didn’t have 100k vats

tf is pel doing

why won’t she let him sleep

girl you can do so much better than him. you would be so much better off without him

yep i was right! there aren’t 100k vats

what the fuck is the dominion

quark has decided that that whole kiss thing never happened. he has his priorities in order

i would very much like to know the secrets of the dominion

but what’s the percentage? .01%?

quark passing out when he finds out pel is female is hilarious

pel please. pel take the latinum and leave.

yes, start packing, that misogynist does not deserve your time

GET HIS ASS PEL

i think she’s satisfied yeah

i hope pel has a great time in the gamma quadrant

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 33 “Rear Cushion” [Episode List]

Dave has to hold back the loudness of his huge farts as he gets an important phone call from work while blasting Tim’s face.

POV: Tim

The cab dropped me a few blocks from my place: finally, a couple of more minutes and I could relax at home. This was a long day. Nothing ground-breaking or anything, as I simply had to meet a client downtown. It went well, no need to go into boring details, but I’m glad I know how to pilot drones and film stuff with them. Believe it or not, working as an editor for Greg’s porn films, of all things, gave me lots of experience. I’m not planning to become a film-maker, but I do like how this stuff works. Plus, and perhaps most importantly, it pays the bills, which is good.

Bills that I’m currently sharing with my bro and roommate Dave anyway. I wonder if he’s home: today he called in sick from work because he had to do some stuff with Dana -something related to them planning to move in together. From what he told me, it’s been a tough month, and often he ended up working overtime, so he really needed this one day to get some stuff done with his girlfriend.

It was evening, around 7:00 PM, the cold breeze scratching my face, with my eyes being spared thanks to my round glasses. I could spot our house: the lights were on. I do hope he is home, or else he’s gonna pay *those* bills by himself this time. 

Indeed, I passed by Dave’s car parked on the driveway, still warm, meaning that my friend probably got home mere minutes before me. I quickly put a halt to my detective work and opened the door, stepping into our living room / kitchen, being greeted by the warmth of our apartment, other than a firm “Yo!” from my roommate.

Dave walked past me and towards the couch, holding a sandwich, greeting me by making noises with his mouth as he took a big bite of his snack. 

“You didn’t even make me say ‘Honey, I’m home.”

I watched Dave lying down on the long couch, reaching for the laptop on the small table in front of it, as he put it on his chest, comically close to his face. Impressive how fast that sandwich got eaten up -he is a big eater after all, despite the tall, slim appearance.

“Because that’s my line.” he replied, his fingers tapping the buttons on the keyboard.

I hung my coat by the door and went into the kitchen to fetch a beer.

“I thought you called in sick.” I asked, as I opened the fridge, disappointed by the lack of alcohol.

“I did.” he said, the stern tone catching me off guard. “Such bullshit!”

He wasn’t mad at me obviously, probably some work-related issue, as it usually happens lately. 

I solved my own very important issue with the fridge instead by settling for a soda, because my body may be a temple, but most temples are old and crumbling so I’m just very committed to the role.

As I walked towards the couch, Dave (eyes glued on the screen) automatically moved his legs just a bit to make room for me. Another sign that he came back a few minutes ago was that he was still wearing, well, casual clothes, precisely a yellow hoodie and a pair of bright blue jeans (and grey socks -he left his sneakers by the door). Since I’m a kinky asshole, I did notice that he was accidentally showing off his sort-of-sagging denim ass towards me, but I easily ignored that by focusing on the soda and the TV. 

Even though he wasn’t angry at me, I didn’t want to annoy him by asking more questions about the job, especially considering the furious tapping I was hearing, so I simply, and silently, took a sip of my not-beer.

“It’s because of Fisher by the way.” Dave said, his face hidden behind the laptop.

“Again?!” I replied. “You did tell me he was making a mess like… 2 days ago.”

“And guess who’s trying to fix the mess he made at 7:30 PM.”

Another episode of my bro working overtime, ladies and gentleman.

Dave also rarely works from home, so I don’t usually get to see how he acts in those situations. The rare times it happened I noticed he switches to a serious man of few words. He still is chill and all, just rightfully focused on whatever task he’s working on.

Whatever happened made him really angry however, as I heard the keyboard almost beg for mercy under all that furious tapping. That’s Dave: when he gets really mad, he actually goes silent. One of those men, yes.

I just remained there, chilling and watching the TV, enjoying my soda, though a beer would have been better in case this wasn’t clear. Occasionally, my friend would occasionally mumble some insults towards the screen or, better yet, to this Fisher guy, a man he complained about to us in the last few days, something that he almost never does. Dave is very easy-going as you know, and very very patient (exhibit A: me), but push the right buttons and he will get mad at you.

“Sorry about all the tapping.” he suddenly said, after like 10 minutes of silence, still focused on the screen. “I can go upstairs if that’s bothering you.” 

“It’s fine bro.” I replied. “I’ve already seen this movie anyway.”

“Yeah the news are wild these days.”

I found it funny how Dave tried to hold a casual conversation despite being so clearly distracted by whatever was happening at work (I don’t blame him). And speaking of which, I certainly didn’t want to distract him myself, so I didn’t reply.

“I mean it’s not like you’re not used to me making weird noises on this couch anyway.”

There he is, the teasing bastard.

I turned to him and I could see him narrowing his eyes and raising his eyebrows, the laptop screen hiding a cheesy smirk. So focused on his job, but will always take the chance to tease and make fun of me.

Which I will always be thankful for.

“…maybe I should go upstairs.” I said, in a deadpan tone.

Without halting all the typing and his focus on the screen, Dave’s casual, immediate answer made the couch shake: a huge fart, one of his usual, Dave-certified displays of flatulence, almost stock-sounding rips. A quick 4-seconds thunder, unusually (relatively) short for my friend’s standards, but loud and proud like it’s perfectly in-brand for him. 

The blast was followed by Dave snoffing from behind the laptop, very aware that his kinky roomate both loves and hates all this teasing.

“Weren’t you going upstairs?” he asked, trying not to laugh, as if nothing happened.

I mouthed a “fuck you” which he obviously couldn’t see. I stared at his denim now instead, the sagging making the ass look even bigger and more imposing in that position and from this angle. My dirty mind liked the view and how casual the pose was, farting like I wasn’t even there. And speaking of casual, you know it, Dave is as usual ridiculously chill with my kink and I’ll never thank him enough for this whole thing going on between us.

“Here’s what I think of Fisher.”

Dave then said, before ripping another huge rip, doing the classic leg-lift move in the process. He didn’t even look at me, still hiding behind the laptop, just farting as if I wasn’t sitting dangerously close to the source, like I said. Another “short” rip, as long as the previous one, and just as loud, if not more.

My friend’s farts are usually as loud as they are long, but I was definitely enjoying this barrage of quick blasts. Then again, when it comes to Dave’s farts, the term “short” is like describing a nuclear explosion as “kind of noisy”.

Naturally, the scent of those quickies reached my nose and engulfed the entire room. My bro’s farts are always big but not as stinky as one may expect. Don’t get me wrong, your nostrils will burn, but they’re not as hard on the nose as they sound… most of the times. 

One thing that was hard, however, was my cock, unsurprisingly reacting to my friend’s talent.

“Alright, done.” Dave said, stretching his right arm to clumsily put the laptop on the small table in front of the couch. “I hope Fisher gets hit by an asteroid tonight.” 

I silently toasted to his understandable wish and took another sip of my soda. My bro was now lying on the couch, legs up, without anything hiding his smirk, the smirk that proved how him showing off his denim sagging ass in my direction was not a coincidence this time. I tried to ignore that, but it was getting very difficult, especially considering that, knowing his skills, the blasts were far from being over.

I kept myself distracted by doing literally anything else than staring, such as putting the empty soda can on the floor by the couch.

“So, you’re done working?” I managed to ask.

He cackled in response to that. 

“Sort of. Got one last job to do.” he said, a cheesy grin drawn on his face.

“What do you m- oh… of course.”

I understood mid-sentence what he meant. The fact that he leaned towards me to reach for my head and pull it down and close to his denim ass being a big clue. I didn’t even try to resist, and I let his hand push my face in front of his butt, Dave’s legs spreading a bit more to once again make room for me -my entire head, in this case. The scent from his previous farts was strong and the ass was warm; the seams and textures of his jeans were always a pleasure to look at, the rough surface tickling the tip of my nose. 

As usual, when Dave gets gassy, my face ends up planted straight into the source of his farts, even though I didn’t ask for it. I don’t know if he did that on purpose, but I was positioned in a way that while most of my view was obscured by his overwhelming ass, I could still see part of my friend’s face, staring down at me, with a smirk. I love when it happens: experiencing one of Dave’s farts so up close and personal while still managing to see that damn smirk (or his other facial expressions) only makes the whole experience even hotter for me.

And hotter it became, not just figuratively, as Dave’s ass soon greeted with another huge blast. Was it stronger than the previous two or did my face being glued to his denim-clad anus made it feel like it was? Either way, it was huge and loud, a standard “Dave rip”, and getting those in my face is something I’ll never get used to. It definitely was longer than the previous farts, about 7 seconds, which only made the smell worse in the process. My bro wasn’t even holding my head anymore, but I didn’t want to move, nor he was surprised that I didn’t.

After he was finished he adjusted his position, so he could see my face better and make fun of me being a kinky mess as usual, while I was completely dazed by his talent.

“Remember when you apologized for the tapping?” I joked.

I made my friend laugh, which I guess is the only way I can somehow return the incredible kinky favor.

“Good times.” he joked back.

My head was still facing his ass, but admittedly it was getting awkward. Dave probably noticed that I was moving away and promptly used his left leg to trap me.

“I’m not gonna apologize for this, bro.” he said, clearly brewing another big one. “…Ready?”

And ready I was, bracing myself for the impact, but the noise I heard was not what I was expecting.

“Fuck!” I heard Dave say, reacting to that same noise.

I saw his right arm reaching for his smartphone, next to the laptop he put there moments ago.

“Fisher?! Really?!” he commented, as he saw the name of the person calling.

I remained there, now things getting awkward for real.

Again I tried to move away, and again my bro made sure I couldn’t.

“Hold on, I gotta take this one.” he said, with the silliest smirk you can imagine. “In the meantime, you can take this one instead.”

A huge rip suddenly blasted my face, just as Dave answered with a surprisingly calm and professional “Hello?”. The fart lasted like 3 seconds but it was probably the baddest one so far, in terms of sound and stench.

“Nooo Fisher, not bothering me at all.” 

I saw and heard Dave resisting the urge to tell this guy to fuck off, and he confirmed that he was lying but winking at me as he continued his ass-licking: after all, Fisher was actually one of his superiors. Not judging however, I’d do the same, and truth to be told, with my face being engulfed in Dave’s gas, you could say that I am doing the same right now, sort of.

As my friend seemed particularly into that phone call, I tried to move one more time, but Dave promptly used his left foot to step on my head and hold me there. Now my nostrils were being tortured not just by Dave’s gas, but also his smelly sock soiling my hair.

So, as long as I’m staying down there, with Dave’s foot firmly holding me still, I simply stared at that wall of denim in front of me; despite the anus being silent, the stench was still kind of unbearable. I know I just said that my bro’s rips do not stink as much as one may think, but when you fart this much and this often, of course one is gonna reach their breaking point, even a kinky guy like me.

“Mh… okay. I see. What did Johnson said?”

I laughed. Dave having this super serious work call while literally holding his farts in was actually hilarious. I managed to look at his face and he was like I wasn’t even there, a calm, assertive man just doing his job. He did look at me for a moment though, trying not to laugh, and winked at me again, fully aware of how ridiculous the whole thing was.

“Sure Fisher, by Tuesday we’ll be ready.”

As Dave said that, I noticed his facial expression changing. He was pushing one out… but since I wasn’t getting blown away, I guess he was pushing this one out in a way that he could somehow control how loud it was gonna be. After all, my bro is the fart master: he knows how to roar, but he also knows how to whisper, proving an incredible talent when it comes to literally controlling his farts’ loudness, length and pitch. 

And those weren’t even on command!

As Dave’s foot kept me in place, the fart that came out was as big as the others, but in a different way. My friend was probably worried (more amused than worried, actually) that Fisher could actually hear his infamous loud farts through the phone, which is not very professional admittedly… and for some reason he also wanted to torture me with his gas. So, the fart master decided to somehow “dilute” his fart into a sort of quieter, rumbly, bubbly long rip.

I could tell this rip was enormous, in spite of all those nerfs. It sounded like a muffled rip with many interruptions, like fire-crackers going off, without getting too loud however. Dave kept the conversation going, speaking about documents, files, coding and all that, his facial expression revealing how carefully he was pushing this one out, while still focusing on the call, without missing a beat. The whole scene was hot and amusing for both of us (well, just the second one for my bro).

This masterful rip was going to be long, even longer than Dave’s usual farts, which are already impressive. I didn’t know if I could edge any longer, as my boner twitched every time this peculiar long fart got surprisingly louder than expected.

10 seconds passed, the stench burning my nostrils and eyes, the fart still “cracking” through Dave’s warm denim and reaching my defenceless nose. I know my bro is good at this, but takes some incredible skills to control your farts like this, natural farts I mean. And such skills only made me harder.

“Yes Fisher, I ToTaLlY AgReE…” 

Dave raised his voice just a bit, anticipating his ass doing the same: a clumsy way to hide the sound of his giant fart from Fisher’s ears. As skilled as my friend is, trying to “dilute” such a huge rip this much and for this long was getting difficult even for a talented man like him. This “accident” only made him silently laugh however.

“Sure Fisher, whatever you say.”

Professionals have standards, you know the drill. And Dave being this professional from both ends was a sight to behold (and, well, sniff I guess). I forgot about my friend’s foot combing my hair and just lied there enjoying the noisy spectacle, the “fireworks” still going strong. Pre-cum erupted from my boner, I couldn’t take it anymore. This gassy bastard makes me cum without even touching me, it’s insane how hot he can get.

Worst (best?) of all, he’s completely aware of it.

After a whopping 56 seconds, the ass seemingly stopped emitting those fire-cracker noises. Despite the relative silence, my bro still made sure I didn’t move, which is something I didn’t even want to question at this point.

“Alright… no no it’s all good. See you tomorrow morning.”

A bit more paying lip service and finally… he hung up.

“Idiot.” he hissed, as he threw the phone on the small table.

I still remained there, my head under Dave’s foot and in the presence of his sagging ass, without questioning whether this was getting too weird or awkward.

“Are… are you finished?” I carefully asked.

“Yeah.” my friend said, with a smirk. 

I guess blasting me does put him in a good mood.

We’re both weird, no doubts about it.

“And that means I’m done holding back. Get ready.” he then added, threatening me with a good time.

If all of that was Dave “holding back”, then yeah, my bro’s skills are just as insane as they sound.

Without even giving me time to come up with a witty comeback, Dave finally raised his foot… only to have his hand take its place, pulling my face up and firmly planting it in his sagging denim ass. It felt warm and kind of sweaty, the jeans soaked into that stench caused by the almost 1-minute-long “fire-cracker” fart. 

How is it possible to be this gassy? A few seconds after my nose touched his ass, my friend started blasting my face again. Yet another loud fart, long and proud, probably what was left of the insane gas bubble from moments earlier, ‘cause that really sounded like his ass was tying up loose ends. As the fart kept going, Dave firmly, but gently, held my face into his ass, with the rip basically being shoved down my throat.

Finally, after 12 more seconds, this final thunder faded out, as Dave’s grip on my head loosened. My friend then (just as gently) pushed me away with his legs on my side of the couch; I was completely startled by all of that, one of the most insane fart sessions I ever had with my bro.

“Are you finished… now?” I asked again.

“ahah You’re lucky my shift is over.” he replied.

He then stood up and walked towards the kitchen, easily towering over me still sitting down on the couch. As if the gas-trail he was leaving behind wasn’t enough, he ripped another loud quickie as his ass passed near my face. I leaped back, not expecting, believe it or not, to fall for such an old trick.

“I thought you were done!”

In response, I heard my friend laugh from the kitchen. 

“Yeah, told you I’ve been working overtime lately!”

I took a deep breath, the air around me still heavily polluted by the power of my roommate’s ass, and carefully massaged the damp tent I pitched between my legs. I was gonna take care of that in the bathroom upstairs in a minute; I only wanted a bit more time to process those particularly strong rips… and if I should start paying Dave since face-farting is, apparently, his real job.

End of Episode 33

[valenteal]

Ok so I know we all wish there was more reaction in canon to the revelation of Dazai’s past. But I think there’s more of a reaction than people realize. It’s like the entire dynamic shifts after the meeting with the mafia. And it’s easy to attribute this to things getting more serious, more dangerous, because no one mentions Dazai being the reason for it. But I think it’s important to understand about these characters that the not saying anything is extremely indicative of their feelings on the matter. I think the tension is mostly glossed over because at the end of the day this is still Atsushi’s story and he’s kinda oblivious to it. But Dazai and Kunikida aren’t really partners after that, their interactions go way down, their banter is no longer a staple of the series. And Dazai wasn’t really close enough with anyone else to see major changes in his relationships with them, but we can guess based on what we do know.

For one thing, anyone thinking Fukuzawa already knew, sorry to burst your bubble but Taneda didn’t tell him jack. In fact Dazai made up a story about randomly meeting him at a bar and Taneda offering to find him a job if he won a bet or something. Dazai lied to Fukuzawa just as much as anyone else, he had elaborate cover stories. Fukuzawa told Kunikida to shoot him if he showed a hint of malicious intent but Dazai managed to worm his way out of that disguising it as his solution to the case/a suicide attempt. He pretended to be the bad guy to put on a show for the people listening in, and create an excuse for the listening device to be destroyed and gave Kunikida enough hints that he’d think twice about actually shooting him and pretended he wanted him to do it. It’s a very masterfully done scheme really, because Kunikida was so wrapped up in how it affected the case that he miss took Dazai’s innocence in the case for a lack of hidden evil. Kunikida definitely saw a side of Dazai that would make the President say “shoot him” but he didn’t even realize it because it was connected to solving the case. And when he lists off all the things he has problems with about Dazai it’s all about his unprofessional behavior and laziness and he doesn’t even mention that Dazai was so incredibly good at playing the bad guy that it didn’t feel fake. He didn’t mention the chilling aura. Dazai distracted him with all his other bad behavior.

But Ranpo must have known right? Well he certainly knew something was off about Dazai immediately after meeting him even without putting his glasses on. But I don’t think even he could have deduced Dazai’s past with the information he had. Because you have to remember that Dazai’s crimes were erased by Mushitaro’s ability and that Ranpo specializes in understanding crime scenes, not psychological profiling. Ranpo uses physical evidence for the most part and he needs knowledge of the crime to find the perpetrator. I don’t think it works the other way around. Not to mention that Fukuzawa trusts Kunikida and Kunikida said Dazai passed his entrance exam so Ranpo probably didn’t choose to look too closely at Dazai.

Anyway, the point is no one at the agency knew Dazai was in the mafia until the Guild arc. And Dazai’s interactions with the rest of the agency changed after that revelation. I think only Atsushi, Kyouka, and Kenji don’t change how they see him, because Atsushi is Atsushi, Kyouka probably already knew from when she captured him and his pep talk made her more comfortable with the idea, and Kenji is Kenji. Everyone else though? It’s a shock. And a lot of them probably just don’t know how to handle it. It helps that they got Kyouka around the same time it was revealed but Dazai had been lying to all their faces for two years at that point and he showed absolutely no remorse for that. Dazai doesn’t make a big deal of it, doesn’t try to make excuses for himself, doesn’t try to justify anything. Without him starting the conversation none of them have a way to comfortably bring up the subject. And because none of them (except Kenji) knows how to communicate in a healthy way, they just end up stewing with the information without fully processing it or acknowledging it. They’re stuck in this limbo of doubt and discomfort. It’s actually incredibly nuanced and I bet it’s all going to come to a head at some point in the near future and it’s going to be that much more satisfying for the wait.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

To Have and To Hold: Part 13

Fandom: Marvel - Moon Knight (Mafia AU)

Pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader, Steven Grant x F!Reader, Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Summary: To ensure you’re always safe even after his passing, your father, a mob boss, makes you marry his right hand, Marc Spector. You don’t necessarily hate Marc, but you don’t get along either. Therefore, this marriage of convenience may be a bit difficult for you.

Series Masterlist

When Marc wakes up, your side of the bed is empty. He hears the shower on in the en suite bathroom, so he knows you're in there.

He stares up the ceiling and lets out a pained, deep breath. He really can't catch a break. Everything with you has been fucked from the start. He never wanted things to go this way. He knew it was going to be difficult, but he didn't think it'd be this difficult.

He thought he'd have more time. More time to get to know you more, more time to process everything. Just...more.

But Marc's life has never been an easy one. He's never gotten anything easy, never gotten any peace. So he just has to roll with the punches.

But fuck, is he tired of getting beat down.

You step into the bedroom, towel wrapped around your body, "Oh, morning," you say with a hint of surprise, but cover it with a nonchalant.

Marc sits up with a grunt, "Guess we should talk."

You nod, "Yup. Let me change first," you walk into the closet, closing the doors behind you. Marc takes the few minutes to gather his thoughts.

He needs to apologize. He might even beg on his knees for you to believe him. From now on, he has to be completely honest with you from now on.

You exit the closet wearing leggings and a loose fitted t-shirt. You stand there, hip jutted out, and arms crossed over your chest. You're guarding yourself. Marc understands, but hates it nonetheless.

"So?" you ask with a raise of your brow.

He clears his throat, "So, yes, I intentionally didn't tell you certain things. Not because I didn't want to tell you at all, but because I didn't want to worry you. You've already been under a lot of stress and I was just thinking about you." You open your mouth to retort, but he cuts you off with a raise of his hands, "I know. I know. I still should have told you about it all: the arrangement, your dad, my now ex-wife. I fucked up.

"I truly am sorry though. I never want to hurt you, Y/N. I care about you."

You had a feeling the conversation was going to go this way. You thought about various scenarios of it while you took your shower. Despite you wanting to paint Marc to be a villain, you know he truly isn't. Despite his rough exterior and "tough shit" you know he has a soft heart. You've seen it first hand the days following your arranged engagement.

You let your arms, and your internal walls, slowly fall.

"I get it...still fucking hurts that you kept all of it from me. And-And I don't know how I'm supposed to trust you-"

"I won't keep anything from you anymore. I promise. Anything that could put either of us or this arrangement at risk, I'll tell you."

"I'll do the same," you say in agreement.

He slowly nods, "Do you...have questions?"

"Who was she?" you ask as you sit at the corner of the bed.

"Layla El-Fouly. I met her back when I was a mercenary...I was ordered to kill her father. I was supposed to get close to her, kill her too but-"

"But you fell in love."

"Yeah. Then she found out that I was the one who killed her father and she left. Didn't see or hear from her in years."

"Did you try looking for her?"

He shrugs, "Not really. I understand why she left. I lied to her," he lowly chuckles to himself, "Guess I really don't have a good track record when it comes to marriages. Both of mine rooting from deceit." He looks down at his lap in shame.

"But you finally found her."

"When your father came to me about the arrangement, he already knew of my marriage to Layla. He gave me contacts to help me find her so I can serve her the papers. She finally reached out a few days ago. She wanted to talk before signing the papers."

You think about when you saw them at the cafe, how he was holding Layla's hand, looking at her. You felt that twinge of jealousy and insecurity crawling into your heart.

"Do you still love her?"

Marc gives a sigh, "I think a part of me will always have some care for her, but I don't love her. Not anymore."

You feel a weight lifting off your shoulders after that. Because, dammit, you know you've fallen for Marc. Despite everything, you really care for him and you know he'd treat you well in this marriage.

It was your turn to release a deep sigh, "Okay."

"Anymore questions?"

"I should have asked about this earlier on, but how long did you know about the arranged marriage before my dad told me."

"Two weeks."

"Did you help create my dad's plan to take Harrow out?"

He shook his head, "I didn't know a thing. I asked him to let me in, so I can help but he told me my strict orders were to get you out of there. All I knew was that he had a plan and it was probably going to end in his death."

"How has Steven and.."

"Jake."

"How has Steven and Jake taken to this life?"

He snorts, "Steven hates it. He's a pacifist, so he's not around often when I'm out and about. Jake...he's a rare sighting. But he's the kind of guy that doesn't care about what measures you take, all that matters is the outcome."

"Aren't you the same way?" you ask him with a challenging tone.

"I do what has to be done, but I do also try to keep in mind the consequences and who I might be hurting. Jake doesn't care so much for that."

"He sounds dangerous."

Marc snorts, "You have no idea, sunshine." He looks at you with soft eyes, "Are we going to be okay?"

You reach out, placing your hand on top of his, "I think so. Just, no more secrets. Got it?"

He makes an 'X' over his heart, "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"No dying anytime soon, please," you murmur and crawl over, pecking his lips, "I'm gonna finalize wedding stuff."

"Let me know if you need any help!" he hollers as you exit the bedroom.

"Will do!" you respond, your voice echoing through the halls.

"That went a lot better than expected," Steven says in relief.

"You're telling me, buddy," Marc murmurs back with a scoff.

"So it'll be happily ever after for you after all?"

"We can only hope, Steven," Marc replies back as he stands from the bed, and heads to the bathroom to shower.

[nanasrkives]

Navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! haikyuu EP!

── .✦ "ALMOST, ALWAYS" ─ Suna Rintaro

Finally posting about my husband Sunarin content : fluff. soft angst. second chance. 3461 words.

The flickering neon lights of a convenience store sign buzz faintly in the cool night air, casting a dull glow over the mostly empty street. 

The city feels quieter than you remember, or maybe it’s just you—older now, carrying the weight of years that slipped by too fast. You didn’t mean to end up here. You were just passing through town, visiting family, but your feet wandered on their own, drawn to familiar streets and forgotten corners. The nostalgia is almost suffocating, the kind that makes your chest ache in ways you thought you’d outgrown.

The bell above the door jingles as you step inside. The harsh fluorescent lights make everything feel too bright, too sharp. You drift toward the snack aisle without thinking, fingers trailing over shelves until they land on a familiar bag of chips. A small, wry smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

Old habits.

But then—

“That’s still your go-to, huh?” You freeze. That voice.

Turning slowly, your heart stutters in a way that feels painfully familiar. There he stands—Suna Rintaro. Taller than you remember, sharp features softened only slightly by time. His hair’s a little messier, his expression the same unreadable calm, but his eyes—they’re exactly as you remember. A muted green that used to catch the light during lazy afternoons in the gym, the same ones you never quite managed to look at for too long without feeling your chest tighten.

“Rintaro,” you breathe before you can stop yourself, his name slipping out like muscle memory. He smirks, a small tilt of his lips. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

Neither did you.

Third year of high school,

Your phone buzzes with another message from Atsumu: "Hurry up, practice is starting!" 

You roll your eyes, quickening your pace toward the gym. The gym is loud—sneakers squeaking against polished floors, the sharp slap of volleyballs, Atsumu’s voice carrying above the rest like it always does. You’re sitting on the bleachers, pretending to focus on your notes, but your eyes keep drifting.

To him.

Suna Rintarou leans against the wall, one arm resting lazily on his knee, his hair slightly damp with sweat. He’s not even trying, and he still looks—cool. Effortlessly cool in that way that makes your chest ache.

You tell yourself it’s just a crush. Harmless. Temporary.

But when his eyes flick up and meet yours across the gym, your heart betrays you. “Hey,” he says casually after practice, slinging his bag over his shoulder. You swallow down the words sitting on the tip of your tongue. I like you. Instead, you smile and say, “Hey.”

You wonder if he can hear the way your heart races.

You manage to find your voice before the silence stretches too long.

“Didn’t expect to see you here either,” you say, trying to sound casual, like your heart isn’t beating in your throat. You hold up the bag of chips as if it explains something. “Old habits, I guess.”

Rintarou steps closer, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, the same nonchalant posture he carried back in high school. But there’s something different now—a faint undercurrent of maturity, of time passed. He nods toward the snack. “You used to get those before every exam. Said it was your ‘good luck charm.’’ You blink, surprised he remembers. “Didn’t think you’d still remember that,” you murmur.

Rintarou shrugs, but his eyes linger on you a second longer than necessary. “Guess some things stick.” The conversation feels like walking a tightrope—balanced between what’s being said and everything that isn’t.

“So… what are you doing here?” you ask, needing to fill the space between you. “Came back for a visit,” he says simply. “Thought I’d check out the old places.” You nod, unsure of what to say next. The years have made him harder to read—or maybe you’ve just forgotten how.

Rintarou tilts his head slightly, his gaze steady. “You busy right now?” Your breath catches for a fraction of a second. “Not really.” “Wanna take a walk?”

It’s simple. Casual. But your chest feels anything but.

“Sure,” you reply, slipping the bag of chips into your basket like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The sun is low, casting long shadows over the empty gym. 

Practice ended an hour ago, but you’d stayed behind under the pretense of finishing some notes for class. In reality, you were just waiting. Rintarou’s still there, lying flat on the floor with one arm thrown over his eyes, earbuds dangling loosely from his phone.

You gather your courage like fragile glass, standing and walking over to him. Your heart hammers with every step. “Hey,” you say softly. He peeks up at you, lazy green eyes meeting yours. “What’s up?” You sit down beside him, cross-legged, pretending to pick at the floor. “Nothing. Just… didn’t feel like going home yet.” He hums in agreement, eyes drifting back to the ceiling.

The words are right there. I like you. They’re so close you can almost taste them. But instead, you say, “Do you ever wonder what we’ll be like after high school?” Rintarou turns his head slightly, considering. “Dunno. Guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.” You laugh softly, a little breathless. “You’re so chill about everything.” His lips twitch in a faint smirk. “Not everything.”

Your heart skips.

You almost ask what do you mean? You almost tell him how you feel.

But the moment passes, slipping through your fingers like sand.

The night air is crisp as you walk side by side, the city humming softly around you. 

There’s a comfortable quiet between you, but underneath it, a tension you both pretend not to notice. Rintarou breaks the silence first.

“Funny how nothing’s really changed,” he says. “This street, that convenience store… even you.” You glance at him. “I’ve changed.” He looks at you then, really looks, and it feels like standing under a spotlight. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “But not the important parts.”

Your heart stumbles.

You stop walking, turning to face him fully. The words rise in your throat, unsteady but undeniable. “Back in high school,” you start, your voice softer now, “there was something I never said.” Rintarou doesn’t look surprised. If anything, he looks like he’s been waiting for this. “Me too,” he replies simply.

You exhale a shaky laugh. “I liked you.” His mouth curves into a slow, familiar smirk, but his eyes—those steady, sharp eyes—soften in a way that makes your chest ache. “I liked you too,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

But maybe it always was. You’d just never said it.

Until now.

You sit on a park bench now, the city lights flickering in the distance.

The night stretches on, soft and quiet. The warmth between you and Rintarou grows in the small spaces—in the brush of shoulders, the lingering glances, the unspoken words finally said.

You turn to him, your face lit faintly by the streetlight. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. There's no need.

Then, slowly, like the universe has been waiting for this moment, he leans in. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining as if they’ve always belonged there. His lips meet yours, soft and sure, carrying the weight of years lost and the promise of something new.

When you pull away, breathless, he smiles—not a smirk, not a tease, but something genuine, something just for you. “Took us long enough,” he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours. You laugh softly, your heart finally at ease. “Yeah. But we figured it out eventually.”

And this time, you did.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

Taglist (OPEN). / @cherrysurf

[cigsotw-fikz]

— spare room. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤbuck and dally's first encounter ──────────────── ୨୧ ────────────────

intro + reqs rules here | reqs open. . genre(s): i never know 😭 | sfw (non-smut). . warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of rat poison (?), cursing, descriptions of dally being underweight and looking beaten up. . a/n: there's not a single good-quality photo of buck so had to put two of dallas. i saw some fics of how they met and decided to do my own version, hopefully it's not too cliché... constructive criticism is allowed. english is not my first language!

──────────────── ୨୧ ──────────────── Buck dried some glasses with a cloth. His mom had always said he should leave them to dry naturally, because cloths left a bad smell on them. But he needed them to be useful fast, and no drinker who came to his bar would care about the glass' smell as long as it was filled with alcohol. He could pour some rat poison in the whiskey and no one would bat an eye.

Coming out of the kitchen, he began to attend some customers again. A black-haired man with a scar on his face and an unfriendly expression that didn't scare buck, a woman who wanted a beer to drink as she played pool, and an underage brunette that came in just to ask where the bathroom was and if she could use without being a customer.

What called his attention was a blond kid sitting on a short step on his front door, not quite entering the establishment, just resting there.

He wasn't sure what piqued his curiosity. A lot of people sat there on a daily basis. And it wasn't the fact that he seemed underage neither, he had faced a lot of teenagers asking him to please (or sometimes not please) serve them some booze. Thing that he refused to do, every time.

Maybe it was his poor appearance what worried him. Not poor as in the opposite of rich, but as a skinny as a toothpick, dirty and beaten up kind of poor appearance. But he didn't say anything. He waited to see if the kid would do something first.

—

He didn't.

One would think Buck was running a shelter with all the piss-drunk people he had to personally ask to leave the bar because he already closed. He locked the door and looked at the young kid who still stood in his doorway.

Looking at him more closely, he guessed he wasn't any older than fifteen. He couldn't be. Not with that wet puppy face he visibly tried so hard to pass as a tough guy facade.

"'M closin'." he notified. And the other didn't even look up at him. not even a thumbs up, or a mumbled 'okay', or a hum. Nothing. "Did ya need sumthin', kid?" he added, in hopes of getting an indication that he was being heard.

"No." well, at least he wasn't deaf, or mute. that was great…

"Ya sure?" the older man couldn't help but ask, not feeling, knowing there was more than he was saying.

"No, man. Go home or wherever. Whatever this is, is public, right? I can stay here without bein' interrogated."

Buck raised his eyebrows at the blond's defensiveness.But wouldn't question it. If he looked like that kid, he would be overly-defensive too. Who the hell knew what happened to him.

Yeah, yeah, it is." he smiled. His tone was laced with a mixture of sarcasm and even a bit of offense for being treated so weirdly by the stranger. But once again, he understood. "No need to get yer panties in a twist, kid. I ain't no cop, or whatever." he let out a dry laugh his new 'friend' didn't found understandable.

"Shut up. I told ya, leave me alone." at that, Buck sighed. "Whatever, kid. Have a good night. Take care."

—

The next day, he found himself in the same situation. –or a similar one. He didn't even got too close to the bar when he found yesterday's brat sleeping soundly on his grass. Well, it wasn't his grass, it was the grass outside the bar. But however.

He doubted if he should wake him up or not. Usually he did, when it was a hangover-drunk.

But that was a kid. A very snarky one, but still, a kid who deserved to sleep.

Finally, he sighed and tapped his shoulder. And the younger one flinched so quickly it scared Buck more than he scared the kid.

"Fuck-" the younger one gasped. He realized it was the place's owner and it didn't made him much calmer. At least it wasn't some other greaser looking for a fight this early in the morning.

"What d'ya want?" his tense body sat up with his back on the wall.

"...There's some spare rooms here in the bar. Thought you'd prefer sleepin' in a bed rather than here."

"I have no money to pay yer little hotel." he furrowed his eyebrows.

Silence.

A sigh.

You don't-" his mind wrapped on how he called it 'hotel'. "It's not necessary…" it was. Generally. But this was a special situation. Yet again; he was a kid.

"I didn't catch your name." "Too bad."

Buck was getting tired of his attitude already. But kept trying. "I let you sleep here for free and I don't get to know your name?" he chuckled. Another dry laugh. "I'll start, then. Call me Buck."

"…" after an eye roll, he compiled. "My name's Dallas. Dallas Winston."

"Great, Dallas Winston. C'mon in." in that time, he had unlocked the front door. Dallas got up and walked in without slapping the dirt and grass away from his jeans.

The bar looked cool in his eyes.

"Upstairs. Any room after the first. it locks up from the inside." was it a good idea for Dallas to knew how to lock himself up there? He didn't know. 'Don't judge a book by its cover', everyone said. Maybe he was a dirty, but kind book (despite his vocabulary).

A thought hit Buck's mind. "Dallas." he stopped him before he finished his way upstairs. "How old 'r' you, kid?"

Not surprised, yet confused Buck would ask, Dal stopped his tracks. "Why'da care?" was his response.

"Will ya tell me, or not?"

"…Fourteen. 'M fourteen. You fuckin' weird-ass." the last part said under his breath. But he didn't care if Buck heard. He wasn't afraid of the consequences.

Buck went to his usual place on the counter as Dallas went upstairs and opened a room under buck's indications.

Little did he know it would end up being his room. Dally's room. Not a spare room for hangover-drunks to pay rent for.

──────────────── ୨୧ ────────────────

. today's fic question: thoughts about their relationship?

[yvaineseleneposts]

We never talk about it

Requested: no

A/N: based on the song Sharpest tool by Sabrina Carpenter

Pairing: Nico Hischier x reader

Words: around 1k

Warning(s): a little sad story

It started with a simple text. A "Hey" on a random Tuesday. Nico always did that—showed up when I was just starting to move on, like some ghost from the past refusing to be exorcised.

I stared at my phone, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Ignore him. You don’t need to go through this again. But, like every other time, I gave in.

"Hey," I replied, knowing damn well where this was going to lead.

We had been something once—something undefined, something thrilling, something that left me constantly second-guessing. I met his friends, laughed at their stupid inside jokes, and even spent nights tangled in his sheets. But then, just like that, he’d disappear. He’d act like none of it ever mattered. Like I didn’t matter.

I should have known better.

___

"You know you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed, right?" I teased one night, lying on his couch, his arm lazily draped over me. His phone face down on the couch next to him. He said it was just a habit, but I knew better. I just never wanted to admit it.

Nico laughed, shaking his head. "Wow, way to boost my confidence."

"Hey, I’m just saying. You forget things easily. One second, we're good, and then—poof—you’re gone."

He didn’t respond. He just pressed a soft kiss to my temple and changed the subject. That was the thing about Nico. He never wanted to talk about it.

And then one day, he took a left. Out of nowhere, he was gone. Again. No explanation. Just radio silence.

___

A week turned into a month. The empty texts and late-night calls that used to fill my phone became just…nothing. I didn’t hear a word until the guilt crept in—until he decided to send a soft, "Hey" as if he hadn’t just shattered me.

I should have ignored it.

But I didn’t.

"What do you want, Nico?" I finally asked after weeks of keeping my emotions bottled up.

"I—I don’t know," he admitted.

And that was the worst part. He didn’t know. He never knew. And I was an idiot for thinking he ever would. I spent so much time trying to decipher him, trying to find meaning in the spaces between his words, in the pauses between his texts.

Did he miss me? Did he ever care? Or was I just something to pass the time?

The worst part was, I could never ask. We never talked about it. Because if we talked about it, we’d have to face it. And Nico wasn’t ready for that.

___

I found out through a friend.

"He was at his ex’s place last night." That single sentence made my stomach drop. It shouldn’t have hurt. He wasn’t mine. He never was. But it did.

"Did he say anything about me?" I asked, hating myself for even caring.

She hesitated. "He…he said he found God."

I let out a humorless laugh. "At his ex’s house?"

She shrugged. "I don’t know, maybe he’s just trying to figure things out." Figure things out. Right. That was always his excuse.

___

It happened overnight. One day, I was the person he turned to when he was lost, when he needed someone to anchor him. The next, I was the villain in his story.

His silence was the loudest thing I had ever heard. I tried to talk to him, to get some kind of closure. But he wouldn’t let me.

I opened up to him. Told him things I never told anyone. And he made me believe he cared. Then he logged out. Disappeared. Left me dumbfounded. And still, we never talked about it.

___

The silence was a strategy, I realized. Because no matter how much time passed, he was still there. Top of mind. Always.

I hated him for that. Hated myself more for letting him hold that power over me. But I wasn’t going to waste another year wondering if it meant something to him. If I was just another casual mistake. I wasn’t going to be an idiot anymore. So I finally did what I should have done a long time ago.

I let him go. And this time, I didn’t look back.

Months passed, and the ache dulled. It didn’t disappear, but it became manageable.

Every now and then, I'd check my phone, half-expecting a message. But I stopped hoping.

One day, I ran into him at a coffee shop. He looked at me, eyes wide, like he had seen a ghost. I nodded, a polite acknowledgment, and walked past him.

For the first time, I didn’t feel the urge to talk to him.

Maybe we never talked about it, but I had my answer now.

Some things don’t need to be said. Some stories don’t need an ending.

They just…end.

[darklinaforever]

God help me...

First off, what the hell are you doing in Wyler tag ? What's your fucking problem with pissing off people who didn't ask for anything ?!

But let's see the rest of your bullshit in detail and tear it down as we go along.

But this ship is very much dead. There is hardly any traction towards it because the people who ship it make no sense when they defend it. They sound like they could be mentally ill...

Weird, Wyler is the most popular ship with Wenclair though. And for a dead ship, Netflix still took the trouble to make Wyler the first teaser for the new season...

And how do we make no sense ? It's you who had no interest in repeating things that the show and the show team have themselves contradicted for years now about Tyler's character.

And it's you who comes into Wyler's spaces to piss off and obsessively spill your venom. It seems that you are the one who is mentally ill...

I don't know how crooked you have to be to say that you're crooked to ship a canonical ship. Already, this is not even said for fanon ships, but even less canon. What are you trying to prove here ? You're shooting yourself in the foot by coming in to tag Wyler to insult us and try to seem like the smartest person when you seem like the stupidest.

By the way ; Do you think you're smart to say that kind of thing ?! That we are mentally ill ?!

Wow, for say that you must really hate the fact that Wyler is the first official trailer / teaser of season 2, otherwise you clearly wouldn't be here trying to impose your pseudo dominance...

I guess Emma Myers (Enid actress) is mentally ill then, since she says most of the same things we do about Tyler...

And not to mention Hunter himself who spoke of sexual compatibility between Wyler, that Wednesday had been Tyler's light during the events of season 1 and that if he had to imagine his character ending up with someone it would be her ?

You're really a piss of shit.

And I won't apologize for saying that.

You allow yourself to insult us with enormous condescension that you try to pass off as a form of kindness in the rest of your post ? Well, I will insult you in return, but head-on this time.

You are a big piss of shit. That all.

Tyler almost killed Wednesday and all her friends + he manipulated her like a professional and she felt humiliated because she never even suspected him and put a good person in jail because of him.

She will never forgive herself, let alone him.

Yes... and ? First, Tyler “tries to kill” Eugene essentially under the orders of Laurel, his master to whom he is forced to obey and who tortured him ? Note also that Laurel technically didn't tell Tyler to kill Eugene but to take care of him and that strangely, he's the only victim of Tyler who escaped death ?

Coincidence ? Maybe not !

And if you want an explanation for Enid, it is implied that the Hyde offers a second personality, different from the human version ? So, technically, the Hyde is not Tyler. It's a second personality. Why is everyone forgetting the recording of the psychologist that Donovan listens to ?! Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, you know ?!

Literally, these people are being dishonest on purpose.

Also... again, Wednesday doesn't blame Tyler specifically for nearly killing her friends. First, it would be bad faith, because she also did it in the show with Enid, but above all, it's a question of ego. No really justice in her anger towards Tyler.

She is mainly angry at Tyler because, yes, he managed to fool her and her intelligence. And she is deeply hurt in her ego and personal feelings.

But how would his anger on this subject be eternal ? On what fucking basis ?! Tell me !

Once this aspect calms down in her, everything will surely be better and she could potentially look again at the case of the Hydes whose research remains incomplete (which have always deeply interested her on the other hand), and therefore Tyler.

But to return to her friends, Enid and Eugene are fine. Wednesday can recover from what Tyler almost did to them. Especially since Eugene was under Laurel's orders (and strangely, Tyler who could have easily killed Eugene... strangely didn't do it ?), and that Enid explains it by the fact that Tyler was in Hyde mode, his second monstrous personality, that he doesn't seem to really have control over ?

But more than that, Wednesday is a person who generally takes those treated most unfairly under her wing. And Tyler is probably the one who has been in this sad situation the most.

That she hates him forever makes no fucking sense ; since although she is angry for the moment because her ego is hurt, she knows that Tyler had a shitty family life, was groomed by Laurel who woke up his Hyde thus forcing him to become her puppet and imposing a bond that makes Tyler want and love what his mistress wants.

Then again, it wouldn't make sense for Wednesday to be mad at Tyler forever...

Oh and... Just for pleasure : “Of course the first boy I kiss would turn out to be a psychotic serial-killing monster. I guess I have a type.”

Also... Wednesday didn't put Xavier in the cell because Tyler manipulated her into doing so ? Wednesday did this all by herself like a grown-up ! 😂 Because, for the recording, Wednesday is a narrow-minded and toxic person. And believe me, of all the people Wednesday could have upset and blamed herself for this, Xavier is the one she will get over the quickest. Because ultimately she just likes him as a classmate and childhood acquaintance. And again I'm being nice... because most of the time she actually just tolerates him.

Oh and Wednesday finally saved everyone at the end of season 1. Given her ego and her anti-heroine nature, I think she will eventually recover from her own mistakes / forgive herself. 😂

I get that some people are shipping them as some kind of kink ( monster serial killer with Wednesday addams) 😏. But this kind of shipping starts and stays in the dark corners of the internet.

This ship can't be acknowledged by a streaming platform to the general public ( which includes millions of kids).

Just... God, if you think Wyler is an impossible relationship to fix, then you've never read or seen a real enemies to lovers romance !

I literally read one romance where the guy almost killed the heroine forever by stabbing her in the heart ! And if it weren't for the intervention of other characters, she would have died ! And yet at the end of the story, they're happily married !

The enemies to lovers trope isn't as fragile as these morons think it is !

One mistake and the relationship is dead forever ? Wow...

Wyler is also so soft in that category too ! The antis seem like a bunch of fragile people when they talk about Wyler.

Literally every time these people try to put the Wylers down they just make fools of themselves. Because they just bring up arguments that have been contradicted a billion times or are comically weak, or they just say bullshit that is simply not true.

I repeat, enemies to lovers have existed since the dawn of time, it's literally one of the most popular and represented tropes in existence ! Whether in children's fiction or for a general audience !

What cave are you living in to dare to say that Wyler cannot be recognized by a general public ?!

Even in super popular books you have thousand times worse than Wyler ?!

“The general public can't handle Wyler” My god... hello Delena, Klaroline, Clarice & Hannibal, ect ?!

For information, as shocking as it may be The Vampire Diaries was seen by many children / teenagers in addition to adults in time. All my friends at the time and I were kids when this show started and we watched it, like so many others.

Hence children and the general public couldn't handle Wyler ? Wyler is as soft as fucking Reylo ?! Another great ship that the general public and children loved.

This is one of the biggest bad take I've ever seen ! The confidence you need to say this kind of stupidity ?!

Seriously, wtf ?!

Although he was groomed, Tyler was a willing participant in the crimes that he committed and he even told Wednesday that he enjoyed killing innocent people. Millar and gough folded the wyler book forever in that scene.

Tyler can never be trusted enough around outcasts to be released.

It's literally said in the show that the hyde is conditioned to like what its master likes and want what his master wants. It's not even ambiguous. It's said in the fucking text of the show.

And I remember that Tyler makes his fucking confession to Wednesday with tears in his eyes. Yes, what a great villain...

Oh and if you need to talk about the non-canon novelization of the show that most of Wednesday's audience hasn't read and never will read to prove your point about a canon scene and events from the show, we're going to have a problem.

They're the ones who sound like mentally ill repeating over and over again that Tyler absolutely loves killing without any fucking doubt... 🙄

And they go so far as to agree that the Hyde should be excluded ? While the show is literally about the treatment of the marginalized ? The excluded from society ?

And they think it's positive that there is a category of outcast among the outcasts themselves ?!

Clearly not.

The treatment of Hyde is something that needs to change in this show !

And for that, we first need to finish understanding how these creatures really work.

But hey... Not as if we had incomplete research on the subject, that Wednesday is interested in it and that she just happens to have a Hyde on hand to look into the subject... I wonder where this scenario could lead us ?!

But certainly not to a questioning of the treatment of these creatures by the society of this story according to the antis (#irony) ?! Of course, nothing will ever change for the Hydes ! They are too dangerous ! Long live the status quo !

This is driving me crazy !

Yes, what the hell would Wednesday who defends the oppressed and the victims, have to do with Tyler, the outcast of outcasts himself who was groomed by a psycho who triggered the Hyde in him to use him as a puppet and who has the equivalent of a mental illness by being a Hyde. Hyde by which she is fascinated, and who it is implied that she will complete the unfinished research on them ?!

Seriously, the writers racked their brains to write us a character like Tyler, a teenager with multiple problems, including family problems, a victim of abuse and whose hyde (the creature marginalized among the marginalized themselves, knowing that the whole message of the show is to accept the marginalized in reality) seems to be the equivalent of a mental illness, for people to be like “Yes, this guy is a pure villain who cannot have redemption ! He is rotten and the show is right when it says that the Hyde are too dangerous for the world ! Nothing must change and nothing aspires to a change of point of view on these creatures in a show where we are encouraged to accept the marginalized (and whose hyde is the marginald of the marginalized himself) through the only Hyde that we meet in person throughout the story who is only a teenager victim of abuse with the metaphor of mental illness !”

Seriouslly, the “Tyler will never be put back with the other outcasts because he's too dangerous” take it's so fucking stupid for a show about outcasts and injustices...

We present to you the outcast of the outcast, whose case in terms of creature has never been finished studying...

And you think Tyler will forever remain an outcast among his people and locked up for life ?!

WTF ?!

These people are tiring me out...

Because it lacks the "genuine" element: there is no love between Wednesday and Tyler.

I would like to understand how Wyler lacks romantic elements ? They literally have one of the most classic storylines in the world in terms of romance ? What the hell are you talking about ? Developed ? What would be missing ? My god, what bullshit. If you want analysis of the Wyler relationship you have my tumblr or those of @fullofwoe5321 @tylernation @wylerserver18official @ablatheringblatherskite @cosmic-lullaby @broken-everlark

Tyler and Wednesday only have one scene in season 2, according to the leaks we got. So this teaser is very much bait for the fans who still like them together 😏. Netflix is yet again giving false hope to fandoms about something that isn't going to happen.

Saying that Wyler will only have one scene in season 2 according to the leaks...

Are you aware that the leaks are not always true ?

Are you aware that it wouldn't make sense for Wednesday and Tyler to only have one scene together ?

Because a teaser is supposed to give an indication of what the new season will be about overall ?

Oh but am I stupid. In your stupid little shit head you think that Tyler will now always be locked up for life. In that case, why keep the character in the show ?

Fucking idiot...

You really have to be in complete disillusionment to say that this trailer / teaser will be the only scene between them in all of season 2 while a teaser serves to show the viewer what will generally be the center of the new plot.

Oh, and no official romance in season 2 doesn't mean no romance in the rest of the show, FYI. Especially since it is completely logical that Wyler (if these two were to end up together one day) wouldn't they go back into in love mode in season 2 ? They have a fucking relationship to repair first and also work on themselves each as an individual person ? Also, most Wyler fans, without even the announcement of a reduction in the romance being made, certainly did not expect the romance between Wyler to return straight away for season 2, simply because on a narrative level it would not have not been logical... Seriously, go find another hobby other than annoying people.

And even if Wyler doesn't end up together at the end of the show, despite all the logic of this romance, do you think that will stop us fans from shipping Wyler ?!

Obviously, you are clinging to Xavier when it is clear that nothing more will happen (since the character was removed from the show because the actor was accused of sexual assault) ?

Seriously, this person seems obsessed with the character of Xavier (who could have been an interesting character but who in fact remains generally average and a real potential ultimate shit boyfriend)...

But they got a slap in the face 🙂. since the teaser was met with massive backlash about the most unethical thing they did: dropping an innocent man and Convicting him of crimes he never committed...

Except the comments you showed don't show people being outraged that Xavier was sent to prison when he did nothing, just that they will miss Xavier's character.

You're thinking all by yourself, big girl (this is obviously a recurrence among the anti-Wylers).

And then “they did” ? What is she talking about ? Wyler fans ? Was it Wyler's fans who put Xavier in jail ? 😂

I repeat, you can only blame Wednesday for Xavier ending up in prison. Tyler has nothing to do with it, he never tried to accuse anyone to keep suspicion away from him. Wednesday suspected Xavier alone as a grown-up.

I'm so angry that this kind of crap is getting into the Wyler tag. Don't these people have anything better to do ?

I feel like I'm back in Reylo's time ! Because Reylo and Wyler are some of the softest ships in terms of enemies to lovers that I have seen and people act like they are some of the worst things in the world and that these ships are too hardcore for a general audience and calls us mentally ill for our thoughtful argument, which is ridiculous.

It's truly ridiculous and cheeky.

They just repeat the same bullshit over and over again, contradicted by the show itself and the show team !

At this point, we're not the ones who look ridiculous. It was them.

[moirindeclermont]

Bridgerton folks, ready for the last part? After finish this one, I'll put it on ao3 too. I'll make sure to link it when it is ready.

For now, enjoy this last part!

---

The trust Pen has in him means the world to him. Knowing that she loves him just as much as he loves her makes his heart sing. He just feel in his bones that his decision to marry her is the right one.

He is so happy to share this intimacy with her, and he can't wait to discover everything there is to discover with her at his side.

He touches her with his fingers again, just for a moment, to make sure she is wɜt and ready for him. She moans when his fingers gets inside her, "Colin, I want you."

He moans in response, his own cōck ready. Before he overthinks too much, he takes himself in hand, and very slowly enters her.

She looks at him in awe as pushes carefully inside her warmth.

He has to steady himself for a minute and he is sure Pen appreciate him waiting a beat as well.

"How does it feel?" He asks because he is curious.

She smiles. "Wonderful!"

"Did it hurt?"

"I wouldn't say painful. Uncomfortable maybe, at first. But soon enough, it disappeared. Though...now..."

"What?"

He hopes it isn't to uncomfortable for her now.

"Now I really need you to move, Colin."

Colin chuckles. "Very well!"

Pen feel him giving little thrust, made more to make her use to his length.

"More, Colin!"

And then, finally, something snaps as he starts to give her powerful, deep thrust that leaves her breathless.

She is so grateful that it is Colin indeed the person whom with she is sharing this experience with.

This powerful feeling that makes her feel vulnerable and without control.

She should be scared. She is not because she trust Colin.

She looks at him and caresses his cheek. He is moaning as wildly as she is, and as their bodies find there rhythm, she can't help but kiss him with all the love she feels for him.

She is a writers and a good one if she may say so, yet nothing can describe the feeling of closeness she experience in that moment with Colin.

Feeling him inside her, his body over her, his mouth blabbering little non sense in her ear. A thought pass through her "this is what love and being loved feels like".

Then, suddenly, there is no space for thoughts anymore as her everything gets filled with pleasure.

Her release is both physical and emotional. Colin's must be too, giving how he is kissing her, a languid smile on his mouth and some tears in his eyes.

They hare wife and husband, according to the law of nature, and Pen discovers that she cares more about this marriage than the one they will have for their family sakes.

Colin is still on top of her, but he is not crashing her. He is giving her little kisses on every part he can reach, delirious with happiness.

"What are you thinking?" He asks after some minutes.

She chokes a bit in responding: "That I knew it would be like this. That I would wait a thousand more years if I had to. That I'm glad I've found you so soon in this lifetime."

Colin smiles, that crazy smile that makes her heart skip a bit.

"I guess that's what you can expect to hear when you're about to marry a writer."

She looks at him, perplexed.

"I had to much time on my hand, since you don't answer my letter... And I started rereading them again. Then, by chance, I had an issue of lady Whistledown in my luggage, and when I read it out of boredom... Your voice is so distinctive Pen."

She imagined that he would be angry.

"I was angry for a while. But then I had time and now I'm just proud that my future wife is the most renowned author across Mayfair." He said kissing her again.

They married two weeks after that night, welcoming a baby boy after nine months.

Pen, in her vows to him, wrote "sometimes the best thing in life happens when you have nothing left than the courage to ask".

The end

[thriller1ruler]

GIGGLY BUG (pt2)

link to pt.1: https://www.tumblr.com/thriller1ruler/773864938651500544/giggly-bug-part-one-ler-gi-hun-lee-in-ho-an

lee: gi-hun, in-ho

ler: dae-ho, jung-bae

(A/N): hi guys!! today i made pt2 ANNDDD hopes that my english got better!! hope youll enjoyy!! so sorry if its short!! a little fun fact abt in-ho's irl actor: he squeezes his eyes alot when he laughs, which is mentioned in this fanifiction. how cute right??

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

As the morning light broke, a new day emerged, leaving behind the remnants of the one that had just passed..

In-ho woke up. the day before...felt like a dream. He experienced a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time- a sense of freedom mixed with a wave of nostalgia. It just felt weird. In-ho looked around rubing his eyes. seems like he overslept.

- 10 minutes earlier..

"gi-hun! tell me about last night! what exactly happened?? i heard you guys and you both were talking about serios things! CMON tell me please!"

"dont be so loud, you're attracting everbodies attention."

it was Jung-bae and Gi-hun. The best friend of 456 was curious if Gi-hun had any secrets to share about In-ho. Jung-bae found this guy really mysterious. He noticed them talking last night but couldn't quite catch what they were discussing before he fell asleep.

"don't you trust me??"

Gi-hun didnt know if In-ho would be mad. Sharing someones most emberassing weakness could not end good. What should he say without sounding naive?

"..." Gi-hun looked down. "he just wanted to-...pffft-! hahaha!"

"don't you dare to lie!"

Jung-bae grabbed at Gi-huns sides, all 10 fingers digging into his friends. Gi-hun forgot that he was ticklish too.

"wahihihit! dohohont!"

Seems like Jung-bae was REALLY intrested about In-ho's little secret.

"ah-ah, your still this ticklish huh?" he teased, poking at gi-huns sides playfully. "coochie coo!! hehe look at that smile, how adorable!"

gi-hun broke into rich cackles, even more cackling at jung-bae's teasing. "tell me, or yknow what will happen."

"OHOHOKAY, ehahaha! i gihihive! i gihihive!"

Jung-bae let his hands go, patting at Gi-huns back. 456 rubed at his sides, wanting the ghost tickles go away, still giggling like a 5year old.

"tell me" he said, looking directly into his eyes.

"there should be something REALLY rare if you're hiding it like this..."

Gi-hun felt nervous, trying not to think about the possible downsides of the situation.

he sighed.

"In-ho is ticklish."

..And thats where the story really began.

Jung-bae and Dae-ho were hiding under the bed, waiting for In-ho to arrive. Their objective was to create a special surprise for number 001.

"hey jung-bae..are you sure that we are gonna do this? In-ho is kinda a rough man, what if the rumor ain't true?"

"psshh, be quiet! i was as suprised as you when i heard this coming out from Gi-hun! think positive, nothing bad will happen. we have nothing else to do, why not popping things up a little then? cmon, its gonna be fun, trust me!" jung-bae told him with a little excitement.

"a little bit of laughter in this empty room would sure cheer up other people..laughter is affective, they say." he thought.

Dae-ho was a little bit worried. he wasnt in the ler mood, it was the opposite. what if he would be the next victim? as if he made this plan! "think postive! its 2 against 1! nothing bad will happen!..yes. nothing bad will happen!"

In the frontman's mind, he was searching for his new friends. He could have sworn they were sitting together and talking about various topics not a long time ago. Where could they be now?

oh, nevermind. In-ho couldn't help but let out a little chuckle. "are they hiding from me or..?" The frontman noticed them both hiding under the bed, giggling like children, believing he couldn't see them. "alright, let's play hide and seek then, I guess.."

"oh-uh he's coming towards us! it's now or never!" Dae-ho quickly alerted to his friend. "alright then..on the count of three, we will jump out and tickle him to pieces!"

"guys...is this some sort of game you are playing on me?.." In-ho said, trying to get them out of their hiding spot.

"are you ready?" jung-bae double checked. "Sir yes sir!" dae-ho said, felt like his life based on this surprise, his self-assurd rising up a little more. will this actually work?..

In-ho slowly approached the bed, where Jung-bae and Dae-ho were hiding. "what are you guys up to..?"

Without any second thought of guilt, they both slowly counted to 3.

"1."

"2."

"3...!"

Right before In-ho could get any closer, Jung-bae and Dae-ho jumped right infront of him, causing them all to fall down on the floor.

"oh-, alright the fun is done, you guys got- mEhehEhe-?!"

Just when he tought it was over, the frontman started to feel a funny sensation going trough his body,..again.

"whahahat thehehe?! nahahaha!"

"oho, you were right Jung-bae! he is ticklish!"

"told you~" he said, looking at in-ho who was laughing uncontrollably now.

"gi-hun, i swear when i catch you.." In-ho was cursing in his mind, it was morning, it aint the right time! he had to think about something else and not in the situation he is right now!..

"wahihihit! 2 agahihinst onehehe isnt fair! QUIHIHIT IT, ahahaha!"

He closed his mouth with one hand, and with the other one trying to get away with all this..tickling.

"ah-ah, where do you think you're going? nothing's gonna save you now!" jung-bae teased with a evil smirk, pulling him back again. in-ho lost it.

"i think he's about to explode..look how red he is! ah, i know! these fingers are just too much aint they??" dae-ho added.

the frontman is blushing? yh no way.

"STAHAHAP! i cahahant!..!" in-ho squeezed his eyes, his laughter going mute.

"wait, i just wanna test out one more thing..." dae-ho sounded mischievous..this wont end good.

"what if... i tickle you here?" he scribbled his fingers around in-ho's stomach. dae-ho could feel in-ho's legs kicking a little behind him, now being in a giggly mess.

"PLEHEHEASE!"

"begging already?? how naive.." jung-bae chuckled, knowing he would beg right away in the first place.

"and..what about here?" dae-ho's cold hands touched number 001's neck, scribbling softly than anything else. there was the point where in-ho screamed with laughter. He scrunched up like a turtle, squeezing his eyes more, hoping that no guard can see him right now..

"wohoo! jackpot! he got all shy!"

in-ho hasnt laughed like this for ages. since when was he this sensetive??

this will not end easy. he should think of a plan..

"HeheEHEY juhuhung-baehehe! ihihif you hehehelp me getting thihihis back on dae-hoho, ihihi will maybehehe foRGIHIHIVE yohohou! ahahaha! beHehe fast wihihith yohour thohoughts!"

oh-uh.. this is not good for dae-ho...lets wish him good luck, shall we?

thanks for reading! •u•

[thechocolatepants]

The Locked Tomb prediction that’s been spinning in my head. This is almost certainly inspired by other peoples thoughts but not sure who exactly came up with the idea first.

Okay, so John is the emperor and he is the only thing that’s keeping the Sun running. Like literally Dominick’s will die out and all life in the solar system/ Nine houses will be lost. So presumably Dominicus is kept burning bc it consumes John and he can’t die so he just keeps coming back making a neat little cycle.

And as readers we can see that John has to go. There’s no version of this story that has John gets to keep on living and being emperor with the rest of the cast of characters. So if the characters need to destroy John, but destroying John will destroy the world what do they do? They’re stuck at an impasse until they can find a way to disentangle John from Dominicus while still finding a way to keep this dead star burning.

Enter the new immortal undying engine to keep that fuel going: Tower Prince Kiriona Gaia aka sweet and heartbroken Gideon Nav. There’s a bunch of times it’s mentioned in the text in a joking manner of Gideon being launched into the Sun (don’t have my book atm but there’s screenshots of those moments floating around) and I really do think that it’s the only way that the situation can break down into something of a “happy ending” for the rest of space given what we know now.

As for what happens to Harrow I think that’s a bit more nebulous. I don’t think she’s gonna become an emperor like figure after John is gone, but I don’t think she’s gonna die either. Harrow’s story is so tied to survival I don’t think it’ll in death.

My guess is that she’s gonna become an Anastasia like figure. As in what Alecto was to Anastasia in the tomb is what Harrow will be to Gideon in the Sun. Maybe that means priestess or just restructure of religion on the Ninth or maybe just living he life as someone who knew who Gideon was (maybe the only persona who knew who Gideon really was) and passing that story on after she’s gone.

Unfortunately for my shipper heart I don’t think that Gideon or Harrow get to end up together in the traditional sense. Their lives are too deeply intertwined in cosmic destiny nonsense and they lives have been so badly changed I don’t think normal is something they could achieve. Even if they got some good Nine Houses therapy sessions going I think it could only end up with them realizing that they’re healthier apart. But tlt series isn’t really about what it means to have a “healthy love”

Or maybe when Gideon gets launched into space and straight into the heart of the Sun, maybe Harrow will be right there with her, happy to burn up if it means one more minute together on the ride over.