#i looked down to scroll through twitter and looked back up while a thread was loading and it was GOLD

[uhzuku]

how do you keep getting all of the event five stars so often have you even lost like wth

ig the pity system is being nice to me?? idk man i’ve won my last 5 50/50s and am just like

also update since i forgot to post this; i lost alhaitham to jean :(

[vroomvroomcircuit]

Big Bird and his Cousins

(A/N): Thank you to @mclarengf for telling me about Big Bird getting shrunk and sharing the twitter thread with me

Summary: A small missing information nearly got Max and Lando into a fistfight aka this is my chance to tell more people about Big Birds eight international cousins

Pairings: driver!reader x f1!grid, but especially Max Verstappen and Lando Norris, Checo, Carlos and Zhou got more of a guest appearing

Wordcount: 1.3k

🏎Masterlist🏎

______________________

Most of the drivers have no problem with driving in the rain. But in a downpour straight from the seven pits of hell? That’s something even Max Verstappen says “no” to.

A considerable amount of the grid stays seated in the conference room, where they just got told that qualifying will be delayed by at least several hours. As soon as they were dismissed, (Y/N) sprinted out of the room, uttering something about a small bladder and long meetings and how they clash in the worst way possible.

“Have you seen what they did to Big Bird from Sesame Street? They made him tiny for the past week!” Lando complains loudly to Carlos while scrolling through his twitter feed. But the Spaniard is confused.

“I don’t know who you are talking about, mate.” He thinks for a second. “Oh, do you mean Caponata? They made her small?!” Carlos’ face lights up, remembering the bird fondly. It’s not something you think about every day, isn’t it?

Lando looks at his friend with a befuddled face . “No, you muppet! Big Bird is a yellow bird that is very tall.” Max, who heard the conversation involuntarily, because the Brit speaks passionately loud about this subject, turns towards the other two drivers.

“I don’t know what kind of off brand Sesame Street you two have watched, but the real name of the tall bird is Pino and Pino is pale blue.” His matter-of-fact voice sets something in Lando off. It just doesn’t sit right with him that Max acts almighty and knowledgeable about a topic he read something himself with his own two eyes.

He gets up from his seat, taxing the Dutchman with a belittling up and down look. “If I was you, I would get my eyes checked, because Big Bird is a bright yellow! Watch out for color blindness.” Max also squares up, getting toe to toe with Lando, getting ready to shoot back. “I can show you how good my eyesight is the next time I’ll drive an orange car with the number four off the track.” “It’s papaya!” Lando pulls up the sleeves to his hoodie, getting ready for a fight that goes beyond spoken words.

“No!” Checo intervenes, putting himself between the two drivers. In the meantime the majority of the remaining people in the room put their attention on the, for now verbally, fighting men. “The name of the bird is Abelardo Montoya and the colors are green, red and a bit of pink. Stop arguing about stuff you know nothing about. Also, I’m older. So I'm right.”

His confident statement attracts the arguments from Max and Lando. “You are absolutely wrong!” “Big Bird is not green!” “No, because Pino is a beautiful blue color!” “Shut it, Verstappen, or I’ll show you the way your skin will bruise a beautiful blue!” “Step away, Norris. You are like 12 and build like a stick. You have not the strength to show me anything.”

“Are you sure? Let’s take this outside and I shove a stick up you a-” “What is going on in the house of commence?” (Y/N)’s voice cuts through the noise sharply. The room falls silent for several seconds until everyone tries to explain themselves at the same time.

“Big Bird is yellow!” “No, his name is Pino and he is pale blue!” “No, she is orange and yellow and is called Caponata!” “No, it’s a green bird, you all know nothing!” “Sh, be quiet, Checo!”

(Y/N) sits down on her chair again and waits for them to get finished scrambling to find an excuse to defend their ego. “Did you ask Pierre what Big Bird looks like for him?” She smirks.

Pierre also smiles knowingly, all eyes on him. “We call our Big Bird Toccata and he is white.” Especially Lando tries to defend himself and his Big Bird another time very loudly. But (Y/N) is having none of it. She put her hand over his mouth, muffling his protests while starting an explanation of her own.

“Did you know that Big Bird has eight international cousins? They are part of Sesame Street from other countries all around the world.” While she starts explaining, Lando’s face drops. “While most versions have a yellow bird like the Big Bird Lando references the whole time, they call them different names. In German he is named Bibo, ask Hülkenberg. In the Netherlands, Brazil and France, they got some versions of Big Bird’s cousins. I think in China they changed his name to the literal translation of Big Bird, but he still counts as one of the cousins. They explain it by calling them identical cousins.”

She throws a look to Zhou, who nods in confirmation and adds “His name is Da Niao”. “The cousins also live in Spain, Portugal and Turkey. Did you not know about this? I thought it was common knowledge. It was all over Twitter a couple of years ago. Now I see the threat every now and then again on tiktok with some minecraft gameplay in the background playing.”

Max mulls over the new information. “This explains everything.” Meanwhile Lando is a bit more shocked. “So I nearly got into a fist fight with Max Verstappen, because someone in some writer’s room decided to give Big Bird cousins and never said anything in the show?”

(Y/N) throws him a confused face. “What do you mean you nearly got into a fist fight? Those are muppets from a kids show! How can you pick a fight over muppets in different colors? They are not even real? In what way does this warrant to get physical?”

Well, if you put it like that, it sounds a bit irrational. Maybe silly even. Of course, no one says this outloud, but the faces all around are enough confirmation for the female driver.

“Gosh, that’s childish. But on the topic of Sesame Street: Have you seen the tweets about Big Bird being shrunk? I need justice for Big Bird!” And so a new discussion starts about the sense behind Big Bird being tiny.

A few hours later the track is cleared again after the storm eventually cleared up. Qualifying can finally start.

The interviews after are relaxed in a way no one expected and most of the newer drivers have never experienced before. Maybe it is the collective relief that qualifying is over without any more delays due to the weather or other problems.

“Coming to the last question,” the journalist closes up her post quali interview with (Y/N), “How did you pass the time until today’s session started? Did all the drivers have another Fifa tournament? Or was it Mario Kart this time?”

The female driver laughs a bit about the joke. “Oh no, not this time. I wouldn’t play Fifa with them anyways, I’m too competitive for that and not good enough at this game at the same time. But I’ll keep the Mario Kart idea in my head for the next skyfall rain. But today I was able to educate the boys on some Sesame Street lore, specifically about Big Bird’s eight international cousins.”

The reporter has a bemused face on. “I never heard of them.” “There is a link on the wiki page regarding Big Bird, dedicated to them. It’s amazing and super cute. Look it up!” (Y/N) winks into the camera.

This is the story of how breaking up a close call to a fist fight between two very stubborn drivers led to (Y/N) being a feature on Sesame Street. And how the trend of #justiceforBigBird across many social media platforms became a thing afterwards.

[pullhisteeth]

the bone crush | eddie munson

summary you’re five years out of high school and your boyfriend's managed to get famous. some days are harder than others, but he goes to great lengths to make it better. [5.5k]

contains modern!au, fem!reader, rockstar!Eddie/famous!Eddie, established relationship, insecure reader, a fight (kind of), depression, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

something I dreamed up on the train home from work one evening because I was listening to Taylor and getting all emo. lots of love xxx

-

But I don't like a gold rush / I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush / I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch / everybody wants you / everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

-

A tingling sensation spreads from your fingers into your hand, creeping slowly up the length of you arm where it’s pressed between your body and the couch.

You’ve been lying here, on your side on the couch in your apartment, for three hours. The sun’s gone down but you’ve made no effort to move to switch on a light, or to eat, or to do anything, really, besides scrolling mindlessly through every app at your disposal. It began with TikTok, which you opened upon slumping down on the couch after work, still in your stuffy trousers and button-up shirt. It moved to Twitter for a while, then over to Instagram, and back round to TikTok. At one point you even entertained Pinterest, keying doomed phrases into the search bar that you knew would drive you further into the hole.

You’re on Twitter right now. Somehow, you landed on a thread dedicated to the lead guitarist of a well-known rock band. Each new tweet is another photograph of him showing another way that he is, as the poster claims, boyfriend material.

They’re not wrong. The photos are candid shots, taken behind the stage after a gig, or at stage-door late into the night. In each one he looks sleepy, soft, a direct contrast to the gritty stage persona he adopts. He’s got a dopey half-smile or he’s sticking his tongue out; in some, he’s wearing a beanie, and in others he’s got a black hoodie on.

You keep going, reading the replies to each tweet individually, scores of young women cooing over him. Your screen is awash with hearts and flames and flowers, exclamation points and capital letters. 

One of the photos catches your eye. You linger on it for a few minutes, studying the details, reading the replies. You swipe up from the bottom of your screen to close the app, replacing it quickly with your camera roll. You swipe quick, scrolling upwards until you reach your photos from six or seven months ago.

Eddie had been on a tour across Europe. He’d left in February and come home in May, leaving you behind. But in mid-April he’d flown you out to Spain, where the band had a week break between shows. You’d spent six days trawling the streets of a small coastal town, eating your body weight in paella and swimming for hours in the sea. When you got home you’d posted a photo on your Instagram, just one. You like to keep these moments to yourselves, and usually you don’t share much of anything of your life with the world. When you do, though, the fans go wild.

It’s a photo of Eddie at a restaurant. It looks intimate, like it’s just the two of you, though no one’s to know you were surrounded by the band and crew. It was a clear evening, warm and fresh, and he was sat opposite you in a pretty shirt, top three buttons undone so his ink-splattered chest peeked out. He’d tied his hair back, though by this point it was loose, and the ring on the chain around his neck reflects in the light of the candle between the two of you.

He’s looking past the camera, up and over it to your face. You think about what you must have looked like, tongue between your teeth while you got the right shot, head pulled back, the angle unflattering, but it never changed the way he looked at you. The way he always looks at you.

His big, round eyes catch the light, too, deep and rich in the orange glow. His skin’s lit just the same, and so he looks softer than ever. It’s one of your favourite photos of him, which is all the more reason for you to regret ever sharing it.

You take the dangerous leap with this tweet in particular: checking the quote replies. The ones usually hidden from you, only seen if you go looking, which is precisely what you’re doing now. You know this never ends well, only ever leaves you with a deep pit in your stomach, but you have no will to stop yourself.

You know this because this has become routine for you over the past weeks. It’s like a drug, addictive though it does no benefit to you really. Acknowledging that the mean comments sent your way were increasing was your first mistake; seeking them out is where you fell down the hole.

As the window opens, the first tweet you’re greeted with is surprisingly tame and kind, something sweet about how pretty he looks. True.

But then the second, and the third and another a few tweets down, is where it gets bitter. See, when you’re as famous as Eddie is, with such a dedicated following of young girls, your life is never private, and never can be. These girls know who took what picture and when. They think they know how he felt in each one, or who was making him laugh, or where he’d just been. This one is no exception, and their biting remarks resemble thousands you’ve seen before.

He always looks so bored of her.

Surely he can’t enjoy being kept away from the band???

Am I the only one that thinks he hates her lmao

It doesn’t stop there - it goes on for ages, tweet after tweet after tweet of sarcastic or scathing comments about you. Your appearance (which has never been good enough for anyone, apparently), your personality (boring, stuck-up, controlling), and, most commonly, the fact you are a - quote - clout chaser.

Your arm’s completely numb now. You tell yourself that you couldn’t turn your phone off if you tried, despite the fact your thumb is scrolling just fine. You ingest every word, find new fan accounts to trawl and new insults thrown your way to soak up. There are maybe three photos of you online now, and they circulate through these accounts like paper money, exchanged for nothing but the venom of teenage girls. Are they teenagers? You’re not even sure; some of them definitely are, but you’re convinced most of these people are adults.

A call comes through just as you open another series of replies - this time to a thread titled times Eddie Munson looked good enough to eat. It breaks your concentration, your eyes flitting up to the little picture in the corner of the screen.

Eddie.

You can’t bear to answer the phone. You haven’t spoken to him yet today, and the last time you texted him was yesterday, on your lunch break. Sometimes he’s busier than usual; you’re no stranger to a bit of distance.

You let it ring out, the little green telephone going until it stops, the notification sliding back up the screen. Soon enough you get another, for a text, but you swipe it away before you can read the preview.

You stare at the replies for a while, lingering on the ones that claim they could be better girlfriends than her, before finally hitting the lock button and letting your phone drop onto the carpet. You roll onto your back, groaning when the blood rushes back into your arm and the tingling feeling comes back, and muster the energy to push yourself up and stretch.

As the joints in your back and across your shoulders pop, you toe your shoes off and stare blankly at the wall. There's that feeling that always follows these late-night escapades into the depths of the little yet dedicated following Corroded Coffin have amassed: it's a hollow feeling that somehow still fills you entirely. It rips through you, a deep and unwavering yearning for him.

He's been away since August, and now it's October. Two weeks ago, you'd laid here for a few hours after your friends had packed up the dinner party at midnight, looking up at the ceiling, counting the weeks you'd spent with Eddie this year.

So far, it was fewer than you'd spent apart. Of course, watching the man you love do the thing he loves so much is one of life's biggest blessings, but you'd be a fool if you tried to convince anyone that it didn't hurt. Even if you have friends, and your own life, and a job. That clawing yearning, it grows, expanding by the second every time he leaves for another grand tour of some continent somewhere, with his childhood friends and their insatiable libidos, their lowkey stimulant dependencies and the roadies.

He's home in a month, which is really a month and a half but giving yourself more manageable goalposts is something that helps. You're definitely not delusional.

You decide you’ll spend the rest of the evening offline. It’s 9pm, so you strip your work clothes and pull on something comfier. You put bread in the toaster and when it’s done you spread peanut butter on one slice and jam on the other, and on your way to bed you pick your phone up off the floor.

Your offline evening lasts maybe twenty-five minutes. Something about the comfort of bed and the need for something to entertain you while you eat two slices of toast lulls you back to the welcoming arms of evil fans.

It’s 1am when you get another call from Eddie. You managed half a slice of the jam-covered toast before discarding it in favour of your favourite meal - the insults of strangers - and you’ve been curled up in a ball scrolling TikTok for three and a half hours.

Should you answer it? Probably, yeah. For some reason, though, it feels like you’re angry at him, even though he's done nothing. Something spiky flares inside you when he calls, like you’re jealous, or bitter. It’s entirely your own doing and yet you’re punishing him for it.

He calls again when you don’t pick up, and then texts when you let this one ring out too. You try to swipe the notification away again but click it by accident, opening your conversation, which is awash with grey bubbles where he’s tried to reach you with no reply.

The latest one, above the bouncing bubble with three dots, reads: is everything okay?

No, you think to yourself. You watch the dots, addicted to knowledge that he's out there somewhere, texting you after a gig, when everyone else is getting drunk or high or laid. You know this isn’t healthy, but tonight you feel particularly self-destructive.

give me a call when you wake up. xxx

He thinks you’re asleep, so you’re off the hook for now. You can return to your mind numbing, to breaking down your brain cells one by one, until your eyes force themselves shut and your brain winds down, your phone still open in your hand, playing the same video on loop into the night.

It’s a restless sleep, broken too many times and not deep enough to really count as sleep at all. You eventually drift off properly, some time in the early morning, and when you wake, the light’s blinding. You didn’t close the curtains before you went to bed - did you even try to close them at all? - so as the sun’s moved across the room, it’s landed directly over your face. You’re splayed out on your stomach, drool in your hair.

The sun seems high, too high for an autumn morning. You reach around, patting the mattress and your bedside table in search of your phone. With no luck you sit up slowly, groaning, rubbing your sleep-laden eyes.

Your phone’s on the floor beside your bed. You reach it and find that it’s dead, so you tug the charger cable out from where it’s lodged down the side of the bed and plug it in.

For a few minutes you lie there, befuddled, with no idea of the time or how long you were asleep. Impatient, you get out of bed, aching and creaking because of how you slept, and pad across the room to the bathroom. After you pee and dodge your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you head to the kitchen.

The little fluorescent numbers on your stove read 12:08.

Shit.

Turning on your heels, you run back to the bedroom, throwing yourself over the bed onto your stomach. You grab your phone and try to power it up but it’s still flashing the little battery at you, almost like it’s angry you’d even try to turn it on.

Shit, shit, shit.

How long were you out? It’s definitely nearly 12 hours since Eddie last called, and it’s now 48 hours since you spoke to him on your break.

The wait for your phone to come back to life is agonisingly long, a painful three minutes wherein you pace and sit, break out in a sweat, and even start making your bed in desperation.

Finally it buzzes and you jump. As it comes to life it buzzes again, and again and again, and you freak out, dropping it onto the bed.

4 more missed calls from Eddie, and 3 texts. Normal, to be expected with your lack of response.

But the strange thing is the texts from your friends. Each one of them has text you multiple times, at various points since 6am. Even your mum has called, which is strange for a Saturday.

You’re not sure where to begin, so you start with where’s comfortable: Eddie.

I’m worried, sweets. text me soon x

this is getting weird, what’s going on?

any sign of life?

You tap a response quickly, too quick to keep up with yourself. You’re floating in a post-late-night haze, thick with guilt from the night before and head stinging from staring at your screen for so long.

I'm alive! give me a call when you’re free. love you xx

Almost as soon as you hit send, your phone’s buzzing again, Eddie’s name and picture flashing up on screen.

“Hello,” you say quickly as you answer it, bringing the phone to your ear and holding it with both hands, as though it might slip away if you’re not careful.

“Christ, y/n, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Sorry,” is all you can say. He sounds so breathless and it makes your nose burn.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just... I was worried, ‘s’all. Sorry for all the texts.”

“No, it’s okay, I should have called.”

“It’s fine, really, I thought you might be out, after work or something, y’know, didn’t wanna bug you, but-”

“No, Eddie,” you say, cutting him off. “It’s okay, I should have text you or something, I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” he says with a light laugh. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, knowing he’ll see right through it anyway, regardless of the fact he’s miles away and hearing you down a phone line.

“What’s up?”

“It’s fine, really, I don’t wanna keep you.”

“’M not busy, sugar. Y’got me for however long ya need.”

“But-”

“Did you, uh... Did you read the news? This morning?”

“What?”

“I think you should, uh, check it. Now.”

“Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“No, no,” he says, laughing again. “Just...” Your phone buzzes in your hand. You bring it down, setting his call to speakerphone, and see that he’s sent you a link.

You tap it and it opens a webpage. It’s an article on Rolling Stone.

Corroded Coffin postpone US tour.

“What the fuck?”

“Heh...” His nervous laugh sets you on edge, your anxious sweats not letting up.

“What does this-”

“I, uh, I’m about fifteen minutes away.”

“What?!”

“Here, I’ll explain when I’m back, okay? Just... Just please call your mum, will you? And maybe text Robin and Nance back? They’ve been on my back all morning.�� And then, before you can protest or ask questions, he says, “I’ll see you soon, sugar. Love you.” The line buzzes. He’s hung up.

You bask in bewilderment for a few seconds, staring at your phone. Your messages app has a little red 57 in the corner - unheard of for you - and you have 5 missed calls - four from Eddie, one from your mum. You call her and tell her you’re okay, and that you’re sorry for the radio silence, and that you’ll tell her everything about the tour when you know more. And then you text your friends back, mostly ignoring the 40 messages in the group chat about the news, telling them the same thing, that you’ll fill them in once you can.

Fifteen minutes passes like an age. You finish making the bed, and then put on some coffee. You tidy away yesterday’s clothes, which you’d left in a pile by the bed, and splash your puffy face with cold water.

Is he angry with you? He didn’t seem angry on the phone. But why is he coming home, and why has the band postponed the tour, because you didn’t pick up the phone for one or two days? Your relationship has been long distance just as much as it hasn’t; going a day without speaking isn’t much to shout about.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are still puffy and there are marks down one side of your face where your bedding’s made indents in the skin. You scrub the sleep from your eyes and the drool from the corner of your mouth and run your fingers through your hair, doing your best to smooth it down.

It’s then that you hear the familiar sound of keys in the door. Just as you round the corner into the hall, sliding across the wood in your socks, you find your boyfriend closing it behind him and setting a bag down on the floor.

You’re moving before you know what you’re doing. Your body caves in from want, from the deep-seated desire to be next to him, and you can’t - won’t - stop yourself from throwing your arms around him. You squeeze him, your arms around his middle, and feel him relax into you as his own come around you. The two of you stand like that for a while, him rocking you gently, and when he pulls you back so he can look at you, he finds that you’re crying.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, pulling you back in again. You slip from his grasp, though, moving so that you can reach up and paw at his face. You plant firm lips on his and let yourself drown in the euphoria of the reunion.

“Eddie,” you pant against his mouth. “Why-”

“Hey,” he laughs. “I’ll explain, okay? Just-” Kiss. “Missed you.” Another kiss.

“I don’t-”

“Are you okay?”

You speak at the same time, but he’s sterner where you’re unsure. He's looking at you with your face in one hand, eyes hard like he’s trying to get you to fess up.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, nodding quickly and ignoring the way the sound bubbles in the thickness of your throat.

“Here,” he says, the firmness ebbing and his face softening. He takes your hand in his and walks you to the living room, past the kitchen where a week's worth of dishes sit beside the sink. If he notices the state of the place, he doesn't say.

He sits on the couch and waits for you to join him.

He watches you when you do, and for a while it’s quiet. There are a hundred questions you have for him, but they dissipate when he holds your face in his hand again, tucking hair behind your ear like he’s in a movie, tracing the fading indents from your sheets down your temple and across your cheek.

You take in the state of him - the wildness of his hair where it’s pulled back into a scrunchie, your scrunchie, and the deep marks of tiredness beneath his eyes. Otherwise, he’s much the same as he was when he left you in August, your rockstar off to wow every state with that skill of his you love so much. He’d taken too long saying goodbye at the airport, nearly missed his flight to Washington, and when he’d finally let you go you’d stayed, sitting in a deserted café, clinging onto the last glimpse you got of him before he was weaved through security by their manager, Jason.

“What’s goin’ on, hm?” he asks, voice soft as ever and sweeter too. It brings you out of your head and you look up at his ridiculous, gorgeous face, his brown eyes burned with sorrow, the scrunch between his eyebrows that appears when he’s concerned.

“Missed you,” you tell him, whispering in case speaking louder will shatter what can surely only be a bitter daydream.

“Why’d you go all cold on me then?” He drops his hand from your face and holds your leg where it’s bent up underneath you.

“Been a bad couple days.”

“How come?”

“Just missed you,” you repeat. It’s all you can think about now he’s here and he’s got his hands on you - how you’ve missed him, his smile, his eyes, his hands, the way he smells, the space on his shoulder where your face fits when you hug him.

“Missed you too,” he tells you. “But I think you’re hidin’ somethin’ from me.”

You groan and twist in your seat, letting your legs drop off the couch, his hand falling to his own lap, and lean your head back. With your eyes shut, you breathe deep.

“Sorry I didn’t text, or call, I just... I’ve been really low.” You hear the tremor in your voice and know he can hear it too. He hopes you don’t hear his heart and the way it breaks at the sound.

“I know you don’t really go online, or whatever-”

“I know what’s been happening,” he says, cutting you off. You open your eyes and turn your head so your cheek’s pressed to the back of the couch and you can look at him. His eyes are harder now, trained somewhere away from your face, though his hand, now resting too on the back of the couch, toys silently with the ends of your hair.

“You do?”

“Yeah, Jason’s been keeping us, uh, updated, or whatever. Showing us some of it.”

His eyes meet yours and he looks back at you with a tenderness that pulls you limb from limb. 

You crumble then, all the emotion of the past few weeks easing out of you like crackling smoke. You lean, without thinking, into his side and cry, wet and heavy sobs, gasping for air. Through cotton-wool ears you can hear him soothing you, feel his hands smoothing up and down your back. You listen as he coos pretty things in your hair and kisses the crown of your head until your breath’s a bit more level.

“Sorry,” you hiccup.

“Stop apologising,” he says, with that same feather-light laugh he had when he told you the same thing on the phone. And then he breathes out, slow, and says, “I knew somethin’ was up last week, when you called me from the store.”

“Oh, yeah.”

You think back to last Tuesday, when you’d been picking up groceries and only just made it back to your car before the tears had spilled over and left you in a miserable puddle in the driver’s seat. You were tired, of what you couldn’t tell: going home to an empty apartment, shopping for one person, the fact you’d had to buy a different shampoo because you’d used Eddie’s up and they didn’t have the one he usually uses at the store.

You’d called him after you’d cried, just to hear his voice, but it had been late in the afternoon wherever he was and he was getting ready to play another show so all he’d been able to say was I love you, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?

It’d left you feeling bereft, worse than ever.

“I don’t know what to do,” you choke out, mind on that evening and the hundreds of others just like it.

“What do you mean?” he asks, taking your hands in his own, his thumb smoothing up and down the sides of your wrists.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say flatly. “You being away so much, I... It’s so hard, Eds. I know I have friends, and-” Hiccup. “-and they’re great, they’ve been great, Nance and Rob especially, they... We have dinner every week and it’s not like I spend every night here on my own, waiting for you, or whatever, I just... Everything online is so hard to look at but it's also so hard to not look at, it’s so hard to see all these people being so invasive and weird, wanting you all the time, following you around, and sometimes it’s mean and then I think, you know, maybe they’re right sometimes. I miss you, and it hurts and I don’t know what to do because you’re so happy, and I love you and I love your band and you’re so talented but I just... I sit back here, waiting for you. It’s like I’m a... An anchor, or something, y’know? I feel like they’re right, I’m holding you back, I just-”

“Stop it,” he says. You take a well-needed breath and look at him, hearing the way his stern words come out filled with remorse, and find that his eyes are red round the edges and his mouth’s doing that thing it does before he cries.

“Oh, Eddie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

He squeezes your hands and says, “No, it’s okay, I just- I hate when you talk like that.”

He takes a breath and, letting go of your hands, pinches the bridge of his nose. After a quiet moment he sits upright and turns to you.

“I never, ever feel held back by you. Do you hear me?”

“I know, I just-”

“I mean it. Never.”

“Okay,” you sigh.

You see him ease a little, leaning back slightly.

“I know you didn’t sign up for this, and the fact you’re still here is honestly... Maybe one of the craziest things ever. I know that it’s been bad recently, I’ve seen some of the stuff online and god knows I have to deal with it in person every time I leave a fucking building, but you can't listen to them, baby. I don’t want any of this if it’s hurting you.”

“Eddie-”

“I’m serious. I’d drop it all, leave it all behind, change my name and flee the country or something, if it meant I’d get to be with you.”

Your nose burns again, and there’s a simmering ache in your temples. You breathe and try to keep the tears at bay but it’s futile; they come without permission and quickly, thick drops down your cheeks.

“When you called last week, I... It broke my heart, sugar, I couldn’t bear it.”

“I had to get different shampoo,” you tell him bluntly, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world to cry over the little red out of stock sticker underneath where the bergamot shampoo would usually be.

He just looks back at you sadly. You’re not sure where to go from here, because whatever outcome you know your heart will break. You could leave him, abandon all of this and start afresh somewhere new, taking your time to mourn the loss but get over it eventually. You could stay, doing this every year for the foreseeable future, playing your role as the doting girlfriend who waits patiently for her world-famous boyfriend to come home. Or Eddie quits, and you live with the guilt of what he’d lose forever.

“What’s goin’ on in there?” he asks you, tapping your forehead softly with his index finger. “Hm?”

“What do we do?” you ask him, as though he's somehow wiser than you when it comes to this.

He toys with your hair again, tucking it behind your ear. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I’m here for now.”

“But you’ll go again,” you remind him.

“Yeah,” he responds reluctantly. “But there’re only two weeks left of tour.”

“But there’ll be another, and then another.”

“Not like this, there won’t.”

“Eddie, you can’t quit. That’s not fair, I can’t expect you to do that, I don’t want you to do that.”

“Who said anything about quitting?”

He’s suddenly got a smile on his face. It’s only small, one side of his mouth pulled up in some kind of mischievous signal.

“You can’t keep making music and not touring, that’s not-”

“I’m not quitting music, baby. Tours just won’t be this long.”

“But you’re getting more famous, you can’t-”

“Let me explain,” he drones playfully, not really fed up with you but playing into it to get you to listen.

“You’re right, you can’t expect me to quit and stay here with you, just like I can’t expect you to drop everything and come with me. I thought about it, y’know, the logistics of you coming but it’s not easy, I mean, we live on a bus for most of the tour and when we are in hotels we’re doin’ press all day, and just ‘cause we could afford it now doesn’t mean I want you to quit your job, or leave your life behind for me or anythin’. But I also... I hate this just as much as you do. I don’t know how it looks to you ‘cause my free time isn’t exactly a lot but I spend literally every minute I have on the phone to you, so much that Gareth’s started really takin’ the piss, givin’ me shit for it...”

He’s laughing and as you let yourself laugh too, feel the heavy weight of distance lifting off you. It’s been so long that you’d almost forgotten how blissful it feels to be sat with him, laughing like this in your little apartment. Almost.

“I’ve got some ideas about how we can make this work,” he continues, “but right now I’m just happy you’re okay.”

“How long are you home for?” you ask him in a low voice, hesitantly, lest you get your hopes up.

“However long you want,” he says softly, tracing the side of your face. “But probably a couple of months.”

“Months?!” you gasp, incapable of controlling your volume. He flinches and laughs again.

“Yeah. Won’t be able to sort new shows for a while anyway.”

The tears return, only this time they’re born of a deep relief. You feel it lift you and you fall into him, gripping on for dear life. Your arms wrap around his middle and your nose rests at his neck, and you squeeze him as hard as you can while he carries on laughing, his own hands matching yours. When his t-shirt is sodden with tears and your arms have eased up he brings you up to meet his eye. As you watch them flit between your own and your lips you get that feeling, the fluttering of a crush deep within. Suddenly you’re both seventeen again, when your biggest worry was whether the boy with long hair in your English class liked you back, rather than all the burdens of early adulthood and fame. And then he kisses you, a true homecoming kiss, warm and firm and sure, and you melt into him, sighing happy noises and kissing him back.

Four hours later, you’re still on the couch. He helped you clean, slowly undoing the wreckage of depression, and you both showered, washed his hair with the shampoo that will become his new smell. You’ve torn through an order of Chinese takeout and you’re halfway through a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, though currently it sits abandoned on the coffee table, the two spoons leaving melted ice cream across the varnished wood.

The conversation - about where you go from here, how you navigate this new life together - is saved for another day.

Right now you’re in his lap, right where you like to be, kissing him senseless and letting him do the same to you.

You dance your mouth across his cheek, down his jaw and onto his throat, over the scattering of pretty, blooming bruises that match your own (just marking what’s mine, he’d told you). When you reach his collarbone, he says, “Maybe we should get a cat.”

You sit upright and look at him quizzically. “A cat?”

“Yeah,” he says, a lazy smile growing. “It’d keep you company when I’m not here, and Nance would love lookin’ after it when we're away."

You dwell on the idea, your eyes dancing across his face which glows a pretty shade of pink in the low living room light.

“Okay,” you agree, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get a cat.”

-

One month later, you pick up Ozzy from the pound. He’s a baby, really, small but filled with restless energy. He’s black with white socks and though you dote on him endlessly, it’s Eddie he truly falls for.

At least you have something in common.

-

[shuamorollss]

omg della wifey!! 🫶🫶 what about enha most to least likely to do those online crush compatibility tests??

OMG MY WIFEY FAE <33 that is so adorable omg wait...

jungwon is most likely to do these, he's totally LOVESICK. Whenever he gets a high score on the compatibility tests he always nags abt it to the members and i mean ALWAYS. and when the score is low he would just redo the test until he gets a good result bc this is the only hope he can get to having you 😭 (bonus: also searches if your zodiac sign and his are compatible. also reads what type of relationship those two signs would have)

sunghoon goes second BECAUSE he may be quiet and on the down low abt his feelings for you although he secretly screams when some website quiz says he's the one for you and you're the one for him and it absolutely feeds his delusions and these quizzes just makes him think he has a higher chance of making you his. (ngl chances do get high but not bc of the quizzes)

sunoo is third okay omg hear me out please 😭 He does it a LOT like a WHOLE LOT. I feel like sunoo finds ranting about romance so corny so he rlly doesn't tell the members about whatever about you besides the compliments abt you being so pretty and nice and he just wants you so bad although other than that he rlly doesn't say much abt his crush on you. he just enjoys it by himself and has a whole album in his gallery with just his high compatibility results with your name and his on it named "me and (name)! (⁠｡⁠♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠｡⁠)"

heeseung would most definitely do whenever he sees one while scrolling through his socmeds 😭😭 he'd be all "oh what? pfft, i don't like them like that." and when a crush compatibility test comes up so suddenly on his fyp or twitter tl he'll immediately test it out curiousity and state your name in it to yk... see the results or whatnot... no big deal...

fifth is jake and i think it would be the same as jungwon's but he doesn't do it as much but whenever he does try it out and get a really good result he'd go "Oh guys look me and (name) got a 94% ... maybe it is meant to be." so calmly as if the members care and return to his room giggling and shit and then starts browsing for more compatibility tests after getting intrigued at the last one.

ni-ki goes sixth. he never really gets the hype for these compatibility test and doesn't believe a single test would affect the relationship of that person and their crushes... although secretly tried it once, watching a tiktok that says "things to know if the person you like, likes you back; a thread." scrolling through the comments unknowingly smiling and making side comments like "omg they do that." actually believing it... after that though he's back to being a compatibility test hater

jay doesn't do it, he thinks it's adorably stupid for people to think they have a chance just from a silly test result made by people. He tried it once like ni-ki and actually was satisfied with the result(bc it was high) yet his opinions abt these types of tests never changed. it's very stupid.

[gothlcsan]

How To Summon a Demon

demon!felix x bang chan

genre: smut 18+ !

synopsis: Demon Felix who hides in the shadows underneath Chan’s bed. Thinking Chan seemed seemingly innocent, easy to corrupt, that is before Felix hears the filthy videos Chan watches before bed.

word count: 3k +

warnings: demons, tentacles, cnc, dubious consent, face slapping, biting, choking, angst, degrading, college.

Cross Posted on AO3

© gothlcsan 2023. All rights reserved.

Felix lays quietly underneath Chan, listening to the boy shuffle on top of him, the mattress creaking as Chan rolls over. Quietness fills the tiny room as the hours pass along. Felix crawled out from under the bed and poked his head up to see what Chan was doing, eyes rolling in annoyance as he saw the sleeping boy. He was hoping for something exciting but this meant he’d just have to wait another night, sulking into the shadows with a pout.

Days go by the same, Felix lying awake under Chan’s bed or sitting in the closet, watching the boy sleep, waiting for the day the boy notices him or asks for a service. He's aware how deeply infatuated with the human he was who didn’t know of his existence, that didn’t stop him though.

Felix flinches when he hears the front door of the apartment slam shut, Chan’s bedroom door flinging open with Chan barging in. He looks frustrated, an irritated expression on his face as he drops his bags by the door and falls into bed. Felix watches with amusement as Chan grabs a pillow, screaming into it before throwing it across the room once satisfied. Chan huffs cutely with his bottom lip poking out into a pout, looking to face the alarm clock next to his bed.

12:45 am

He wanted to sleep, irritated from the stressful day at class, but simply couldn’t relax. Laying down staring at the ceiling for a while, Chan sighs, getting up to strip off his clothes, kicking them under the bed, slipping back under the covers to hide away from the world. Felix greedily snatching the discarded clothes, bathing in Chan’s scent. above him, Chan is turning on his phone chewing his bottom lip in concentration as he scrolls through his phone, cheeks redding as he falls into a twitter thread about what he learned to be ‘monster fucking.’ He can’t help but blush becoming aware at how much he likes the demon content, whining as he accidentally brushes up against the mattress when he rolls over onto his side.

Felix silently crawls from under the bed, moving to get a better look, eyes widening as he watches the scene unfold before him. Chan’s body shakes as he forgets his phone, legs tangled in the sheets with his fingers slipping into his mouth. Felix moves to sit quietly perched on top of Chan’s mirror, licking his lips as he continues to watch Chan. He's memorized by the situation, watching his every movement intensely.

Chan moans as he takes his saliva covered fingers and slips them into his hole, shoving his other hand into his mouth without missing a beat. Yet, he’s annoyed, wanting to be full, irritated that his fingers didn’t reach far enough as he’d like them to, wishing he had a set of tentacles to play with him as they wished.

Felix’s ears twitch, smirking. Finally, the human showed his dark desires, meaning Felix could do as he pleased. He jumps down from the mirror, walking slowly back to the side of Chan’s bed, snapping his fingers allowing himself to be seen by the human, who shrieked as he looked up to see someone by the side of his bed.

“Get out, get out now before I call the police!”

Laughing, Felix sits on the side of the bed and looks down at Chan with a smile. He watches as Chan flinches from the hand caressing his cheek, Felix’s cold fingers sending shivers throughout his body. Chan’s body stiffens as Felix speaks to him, not expecting the deep voice that came from him.

“You asked for a set of tentacles to play with you yet this is how you treat me, have you no manners,” Felix questions while he clicks his tongue disapprovingly, moving off from the bed. Chan stares at him in disbelief as he tries to muster up any courage he could find, swinging at Felix who easily dodged the fist with a laugh.

“Oh you mortals, make me laugh, did you just try to hit a demon?”

Felix moves now standing at the foot of the bed glaring at Chan, who was pathetically cowering in the corner of the bed. Chan begs him to leave him alone, to leave entirely but Felix ignores him nonetheless watching as Chan pleads fade away once he catches sight of the tentacles behind Felix’s back. The cool coils snake up the bed and wrap around Chan’s legs, pulling him closer to Felix. Their faces meet as the tentacle wrapped around Chan’s throat brings him up, the demon using another to swipe the hair off the boy’s face, leaving Chan shivering in disgust and excitement.

Chan was aware that he was no match for the demon, becoming docile and obedient, melting in the cool touch of the tentacles wrapping around his exposed limbs. Being lifted off the bed, Chan floats horizontally midair, watching as Felix walks in circles around him, sizing him up with curiosity.

“Do you know how long I've waited for this moment, hm? The hours I'd spend waiting for you to call out for me, years I spent listening to you from the darkest shadows waiting for my turn to finally get a hold of you.”

Chan shivers at the demon’s voice, the tightening grip on him from the tentacles making his body ache in the most satisfying way he could ever imagine. He was scared at the fact he was slipping mentally and the tentacle wrapping itself around his leaking cock was the final snap from reality, Chan sniffling and begging the demon to use him up.

Felix sits in the chair he brought from Chan’s desk, sitting in front of the bed, watching as Chan cries, shaking from the tentacles attacking his body. Chan’s pretty little cock flushing a dark red as a tentacle wraps itself around his waist, snaking up to find refuge in the pretty boy’s throat. Chan gags at the grossly wet sensation running down his throat, eyes watering from gagging. The tentacle thrusting rhythmically in Chan’s throat, his pretty eyes rolling back into his head as he lost all will to fight.

Unexpectedly, Felix drops Chan and retracts his tentacles, standing up to lean over the boy gasping for air. He pats the side of Chan’s face before pulling him up by the hair, forcing the shaking mortal to keep eye contact.

“You’re nothing more than a whore, you know?”

Chan doesn’t answer, crying in pain as Felix digs his fingers into his scalp, repeating the question.

“I know, I know, please stop. I know.”

Felix smiles contentedly at Chan as he nods, undoing his belt.

“I'm glad we could come to an agreement. Let this be a token to show my appreciation, I promise I won't go too hard.”

Felix aligns his cock against Chan’s hole, the slick from the tentacles proving to be a great lube, pushing inside as he slips a single tentacle back into the boy’s throat. He matches rhythm between the two, groaning as Chan’s holes suck him up easily, yet still tight enough where he had to hold himself back from cumming too early. He grabs one of Chan’s legs to hook over his shoulder, biting the soft flesh, making the boy thrash underneath him. Felix just simply pins him down with other tentacles, fucking him merciouslly as he bites and sucks any skin he could reach with his mouth.

“You look so cute being fucked by me, the demon’s pretty human cock sleeve. Don’t worry, baby, I won't kill you, not yet at least.”

Chan cries as Felix leans forward to fuck him deeper, tentacles deep in his throat, pumping his cock, others trying to find any hole to slip into. He was so close, a mess of his own precum and the slick of various tentacles, begging in his head that Felix would let him cum soon.

All he could see were stars, eyesight blurring as he screamed around Felix, a tentacle finding its way alongside Felix’s cock, reaching deeper than he could’ve ever imagined. The sensation made him weak, staring down at the growing bulge in his stomach, shaking his head as Felix tells him to lay back.

Felix removes the tentacles from his mouth giving a firm slap against the cheek, causing Chan to fall back against the pillows. No longer silenced, Chan’s screaming and begs to cum, claiming the sensation was all too much for him to bear any longer. Trembling as he rests his weight on his elbows, watching as he’s stretched out, belly full of tentacles and being sounded by another. Chan begs to cum, the tentacle preventing this being deep into his cock, Felix devouring him from the inside out.

“Hold it a little more, okay, don’t you fucking dare cum until I tell you to,” Felix snarled as he quickens his thrusts, his breathing becoming rushed as he ruins Chan completely.

Chan cries out as tentacles wrap themselves around his body, flicking and squeezing his hardened nipples. His body is beyond sensitive, sending him into a frenzy of moans and cries of pleasure, begging to be spared of the torture Felix was giving him. He’s silenced by a tentacle wrapping tight around his head, covering his mouth making his eyes water. Chan tries to move, shaking as he feels Felix’s legs shutter as he cums into Chan’s abused hole, panting heavily once he moves to let his tentacles finish Chan, controlling the tentacle that was blocking Chan’s release to stroke him fast. The sound of wet squelches as the tentacles worked to make Chan cum, pushing Felix’s cum back deep into Chan (not that the human minded any).

Chan cums as Felix demands him to, shaking violently when the tentacles leave his body, his pretty hole gaping and dripping cum. Felix walks to him, placing a soft kiss against the hair matted against his forehead, sweat covering his entire body. He lays on his stomach, spreading Chan out before delving his head down to lick the boy clean, pausing to look up and smile at Chan’s worn out face.

“You’re mine now, you got that?”

Chan can only smile, eyes hazy and half shut, fucked out of oblivion.

He was more than happy to be the demon’s whore.

That he was.

Being fucked until near death every time Felix showed up at night, thanking the deepest pits of hell for allowing this to happen.

—— ꕥ ——

Chan stares up at Felix, tracing the markings across his neck and chest, listening to him speak. They spent their nights quietly these days, Chan attending the last year of college, the two being too scared to bring up the question; what will they do once Chan graduates?

“Chan?”

“Chan, did you hear me?”

Chan snaps out of his trance, focusing on the demon’s pouty expression, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I spaced out.”

Felix exhales, shaking his head with a smile, caressing Chan’s face, squishing his cheeks together before leaning down to kiss his lips.

“Yeah I figured as much, we should really talk about it, Chan. We can’t keep ignoring it.”

Chan’s smile fades as he looks away from Felix, sitting up with his head hanging down. He didn’t want to talk about it, figuring that if he ignored it, it would simply never happen. He feels as Felix rubs his back, turning to face the demon with tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

“Why did you make me fall in love with you, Felix? I don't want to leave you here.”

Felix frowns as he drops his hand off Chan’s back and climbs off the bed, moving to stand in front of him, arms crossed.

“You really think I'd let you leave so easily, did you forget the things I said to you when we first met?”

Chan sniffles, shaking his head as Felix paces back and forth, explaining what they could do, Felix flinching to a stop as Chan yells at him to shut up. Felix clenches his jaw, turning around on his heel, shaking his head with a laugh of disbelief. He leans over Chan, feeling the headboard crack under the grip of his hand.

“I don’t know where this sudden burst of disrespect came from but i’d watch your mouth from here on out unless you want me to stop you from ever speaking again.”

Chan explodes on Felix, pushing him backwards, beating a fist against his chest, screaming for him to stop talking and leave. Continuing to scream that he hated him, how this was all his fault for tempting him with his stupid demon tricks. Felix lets him continue, watching with a look of pity on his face, before grabbing Chan’s wrist in his hand, pinning him against the wall.

“Are you done,” Felix questions as he turns Chan around to face him, brushing the hair out of his face, swiping his thumb over Chan’s soft lips. Chan only nods, sniffling as he catches his breath trying to calm himself down. Felix leans down and kisses Chan, the kiss is hot and suffocating, Chan melting at the metallic taste left in his mouth. He was stupidly addicted to this demon and even if he tried to deny it, he really wouldn’t want it any other way. Jumping into Felix’s arms, legs hooked around his waist as he kisses back eagerly. They fumble around the small room, crashing against the vanity, Chan’s back pressed against the cool surface of the mirror, Felix pulling back with a smirk.

“You kiss me really well for hating me so much.”

Chan mumbles a faint ‘shut up’ blushing as he brings Felix back into a kiss, moaning against his lips as Felix touches him softly above his shorts. They let it come naturally, Chan moaning loudly with a hand tangled in Felix’s hair, the demon’s snake-like tongue wrapped around his cock so nicely. He babbles at how good it feels when Felix’s fangs pierce his thighs, shivering as his tongue laps up the mess, sucking his energy slowly.

“Please, please,” Chan begs as he hooks his legs around Felix’s shoulders, bringing him closer. The demon chuckles in amusement, pushing himself up to kiss Chan, speaking through kisses.

“Please what, Channie,” Felix questions, pretending to not know exactly what he was begging for, watching the human’s expression soften and blush red as he moves clumsily; turning to face the mirror watching Felix in the reflection, blushing harder as he spreads himself open for Felix to see, pouting.

“Please fill me up, I miss you.”

“As you wish, my dear.”

Felix pins Chan against the vanity, spreading his legs far apart, tentacles snaking out from behind. He smirks as Chan shivers under his hold as one rubs alongside his exposed hole, slicking the area up nicely for Felix. The demon loved the way his erotic boyfriend begged to be fucked, face pressed harshly against the mirror for all the other demon’s to watch, Chan cries being heard by everyone through the thin walls. Keeping Chan’s pretty face pressed against the mirror, Felix bottoms out, groaning at how easily Chan takes him, adjusting his position till he starts quickening his thrusts. Chan whimpers happily, eyes rolling back as he feels a tentacle wrap itself around his dripping cock, jerking him off in time of Felix’s sloppy thrusts, begging him to go faster; harder. Felix bites Chan’s shoulder roughly, his fangs digging into the soft flesh, whispering how filthy he was being fucked like a whore, squeezing the head of his cock. Chan gasps, nodding as he looks at Felix through the mirror, pathetically wanting to cum already when they barely started. The words must’ve escaped from Chan’s lips, the demon tightening his hold on Chan bringing him flush against his chest, Felix now deep into his belly causing him to moan.

He lets himself be manhandled and thrown around like a rag doll, Felix using him like a fleshlight, hole dripping with slick. Wet squelches and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Chan drools, sweetly thanking Felix as he pumps his cock, head thrown back in pleasure. Chan looked insane being surrounded by tentacles, body in midair as he’s fucked back down onto Felix’s cock, no longer considered as a human being but a fleshlight for Felix to abuse until he came.

Felix laughs as he feels Chan go limp, body shaking and twitching from the overstimulation, removing a few tentacles and wrapping them slowly around Chan’s frail body, one positioned ideally around the boy’s exposed throat adding pressure slowly.

“I told you I'd figure it out, baby. Now be a good boy as I finish up.”

It's days before Chan wakes up, stretching and opening his eyes, jumping as he’s tackled by an overly excited Felix.

“Good evening, my love, you’ve finally arisen!”

Chan chuckles asking for the time assuming he must’ve fallen asleep after the intense session, not exactly sure why Felix was avoiding eye contact and pointing at the mirror instead of telling him the time. Leaning Chan looks over and gasps, pushing Felix off and running straight to the mirror, his body covered in the same marks as Felix’s. His fingertips blacked and fangs adorned his mouth, he slowly turned to face Felix, pointing at his teeth.

“You did this,” he shouts, frantically trying to pull them out.

Felix apologizes frantically, as Chan walks up to him, slapping him harshly across the face. Taking a second he sighs, nodding before reaching down to kiss the handprint left by himself, ruffling Felix’s hair.

“Does this mean I can fuck you with my tentacles now?”

“For fucks sake, get - ow, off me.”

It's safe to say that Felix learned his lesson that night, the two demon lovers finding their happiness in the end.

[tourmalineme]

5k Donut Break my Heart

Jiminpark Never felt anything like this! Japan is amazing J Glad to have @joonie by my side <3

1,763 likes • 455 comments

SmileHoya Got @suga and @seokjin78 to come down to the studio ;) i’m the GOD of persuasion ahah

��            367 likes • 98 comments

Pop!

The sound echoes through the empty shop, hitting every corner and coming back to Jungkook’s ears like a taunting haunt, a reminder that he’s been chewing on this bubblegum for so long it has become rubbery and tasteless, but he guesses that’s a pretty appropriate way to describe his mood right now.

Time doesn’t seem to go by any faster as he lazily scrolls down his instagram timeline for the bazillionth time this evening, which he would probably be yelled at for doing during the day shift, but since he’s the only one here at this time and the walls don’t talk, Jungkook is off the hook. 

God, I hope the walls don’t talk. He rolls his eyes before putting his phone down and flexing the muscles on his back, stretching out the effects of being in the same position for several hours.

He looks up slightly, cringing at how his reflexion looks on the refrigerator’s door, hair being squished down by the stupid pink cap he has to wear, oily bangs sticking uncomfortably to his forehead. 

He’s about to take the hat off to fix the mess sitting at the top of his head, or what Jungkook would better consider a fucking raccoon, because at this point it smells just as bad as it looks, the hours spent in the kitchen having made the fried donut oil smell linger between the strands, bothering his sensitive nose and making his late night snack threaten to come back where it came from, when he shrugs and slumps back down on the kitchen wall. 

What’s a little more water thrown into the fact of a man standing in the rain, huh? 

Here, ladies, gentlemen and non-binary folks, is what you call the Third Level of Nightshift Jungkook, The Unbothered Jungkook, three hundred fire trucks could go by and another thousand run him over, at this time of the evening, the boy would not care.

So if he’s still obligated to stay for the rest of his shift and not immediately go home, shower and take this fucking smell off him, it’s safe to say he’ll complain all the way through it.

The moment the bell sound rings through the store, signaling someone’s just opened the front door, Jungkook’s completely enraptured in a twitter thread that describes in detail each cheating Justin Bieber has ever done to Selena Gomez and, oh god, does the boy know he’s reached the Fourth and Final Nightshift Jungkook Level, the guy who once read the entire bee movie script and then recited it, in both trot and shakesperian style, all to not have his grave say 

Jeon Jungkook, 1997 - 2019

Gone too soon, ‘cos he died of boredom.

The thing is: No one comes during the night. He’s had many arguments about this with his manager, fucking Sean, how no one ever comes and the company is wasting money and resources by keeping the shop open at a time where literally no one wants to buy a dumb donut. 

Clubs? Absolutely can be open at the night. Bars? Hell yeah. Pharmacies? Always necessary. Supermakets? Everyone needs a good groceries run at midnight sometimes.

But a donut shop? Not to mention opening only during the day would allow Jungkook to get the good work hours and the decent sleep schedule he’s been dying for. 

And if someone comes, it’s either a creep, a beggar or someone running from the police that needs a place to hide for a few minutes. Most times, the three figures combine into one and while Jungkook gets the shop’s broom to kick out the creeps and the low-level criminals, no one needs to know he might have let two or three homeless people sleep on the cushions for a couple of hours during the cold nights, especially not Sean and his fucking obsession with company policy or what the fuck ever.

Let’s just say Jungkook doesn’t pay much mind to the ringing bell, still thoroughly entertained by the tweets because, oh my fuck, Justin Bieber is a hoe.

The poor boy isn’t even allowed the simple, most futile and void pleasures of life like gossipping, it seems, because the next second a deep voice resonates from behind Jungkook, in the service area. 

“Hey? Hi? Someone out here? I’d like to order something.”

A beat of silence passes. Jungkook closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, putting his phone down gently next to him.

“Hello?”

Jungkook grunts before rolling himself out of the kitchen, looking down as he makes his way to the cashier. He dumps the bubblegum-turned-probably-plastic unceremoniously in the nearest trash can and sighs deeply as he initiates the compute.

“Goodnight, what can I get you on this dainty day?” He drawls lazily while not even meeting eyes with the person, probably not great customer service but Fourth Level Jungkook absolutely doesn’t give a-

Work policy is a bitch.

He assumes by the voice it’s a guy, which he’ll surely reprimand himself later for, but being politically correct is something for a post-nap and stomach-full Jungkook, right now it could be a merfolk talking to him and he probably wouldn’t notice. 

However, by the sake of getting this whole ordeal done and over quickly so he can back to memorizing each model on Selena Gomez’s hit list, he looks up, accidentally meeting eyes with the stranger.

It is a dude. And he’s staring wide eyed, hard at Jungkook. That startles the boy, considering the redness of the customer’s eyes makes him look dazed and sort of demon-like, in Jungkook’s opinion. 

He’s high but maybe a creep too, huh. Don’t get a lot of that combo in a while. Jungkook scoffs unashamedly, because who has time for shame at three in the morning, and the guy seems to get the hint and takes his eyes elsewhere. 

The man whips his head to the menu flashing above them. “Uh- So yeah, what- what’s good here, man? I really have no preference- I mean, what kind of dickhead has a preference on donuts, you know? They’re just donuts, but I guess the topping really matters if you have allergies or something. Imagine someone would eat and then have allergies, be all bloated and shit- “

“Sir.” Jungkook interrupts his weird monologue. “What can I get you?”

The client looks at him like there’s three of Jungkook standing there in the obnoxiously pink polo shirt this stupid place makes him wear, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed, as if he’s just discovered something.

“You’re cute.” is what comes next.

To be frank, Jungkook’s a bit shocked. “Pardon me?” The guy smiles weirdly, only one side of his mouth curving up as he leans both elbows on the white counter, getting closer to where Jungkook is. “Pardon me?” (Wait who says that?) 

“I said, You’re cute. Oh, do you have trouble listening?” He points to his own ears before loudly speaking. “HELLO. I SAID, LIKE BEFORE I MEAN, THAT I THINK YOU ARE CUTE. CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?”

“I can hear you just fine, sir.” Ever the robotic professional, even at 3 in the morning to a stoned guy, Jungkook feels his will to live start to fade away. “I’d just like to know what you’re going to order.”

The man supports his head on the arms in the counter, looking up at Jungkook with wide eyes and that weird half-smile. “Your pick, cutie. Just get me like five, yeah? Kinda hungry, to be honest.”

Jungkook scoffs, it’s really not the first time to be hit on at work, but maybe it is the first time for the person to do it at this time and be as intoxicated as this. “Alright then,” He types in the order number and the code before confirming the purchase. “It’ll be five chocolate cake donut with rainbow sprinkles coming right up, sir.” He turns back to the customer. “That gives your total of 10 dollars.”

“Woah, hold up. Did you just have that memorized?” He gapes, his head already reaching half his arm.

Jungkook needs to scratch his head and throws his bubblegum out before actually responding. “Yeah, I work here. It’s expected of us.” God, this is giving him a headache. “Would you like to pay up in cash, debit or credit card? We are not accepting checks right now, but sometime next week we maybe-”

“Go out with me.” The client says, having switched to lean on his other arm while Jungkook was speaking.

The robotic cashier persona drops and Jungkook splutters. “Why? Why would I even? I mean, no.” He shakes his head repeatedly, right knee jerking with it.

“Hm. Because you’re cute. And smart. “ He stands upright, surprising Jungkook. “Memorized all the donuts and their prices, that’s some smart shit right there. And because you’re cute.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling a 20 dollar bill out to slip it across the counter, in Jungkook’s direction. “Wait, have I already said that? I can’t remember.”

He’s looking deep into Jungkook’s eyes as the boy reaches for the money. “God, am I really that high I’m just imagining you exist?” As Jungkook’s grabs the money, the man pulls it back, making Jungkook gasp and go forward. “Go out with me.”

Jungkook grabs the money hard and pulls. “No.” He opens up the cash drawer and deposits the money before taking out a 10 dollar bill. “Here you go, sir.”

The man giggles and his smile is boxy and beautiful, pink lips stretched around white teeth. “Sir? You make me feel like I’m 56, cutie.” His eyes go wide. “Which I’m not! Okay? Is this why you refused me? Because I mean..” He scoffs playfully and gestures to his own body. “Who would refuse this, amirite?”

Jungkook cringes before handing him the 10 dollar bill. “Your five chocolate cake donuts with rainbow sprinkles will be right over, sir.” He walks to the freezer where they keep the pre-made dough, grabbing five of them, and puts on his gloves.

“What’s my final answer, then?” Jungkook can tell he moved by where his voice is coming from. If 1 year and 8 months working in this hell hole was useful in anyway, he guesses the client is sitting at one of the counter stools, spinning on it, by the annoying sound it makes because of the loose screw he keeps telling management to fucking fix.

“I believe my mother used to tell me ‘No means no’.” Jungkook puts the dough in the fryer basket, before dipping it into the oil. The stool sound stops.

“Oh my god. I’m not- I mean- I never meant to-“ The man struggles and Jungkook feels an odd urge to laugh about it. “Listen, I’m all about consent, okay? I know no is no, I get when people are uncomfortable. I’m all up for that Me Too thing, you know, I’m on women’s side- erm..not only women I mean, every genders side! Gender side is the side I’m on, I mean I’m a feminist! I promise.” 

Jungkook can’t help but chuckle, feeling the ranting guy’s eyes burn at the back of his shaking shoulders, while he keeps an eye to not get actually burnt on the hot frying oil.

 “I don’t mean to sound like- like a creep or anything, I just think you’re like so so so so so so-“ Jungkook starts giggling, a little laugh slipping out. “Uh, god. I’m embarrassing myself. What are you doing, Taehyung? Pull yourself together, dude. Uh, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. You’re like really cute so I think we should go out because I’m also really cute, so that’s why I’m insisting it. But if you think I’m a creep, just tell me to fuck off and I will, alright?”

Taehyung. It sounds nice, Jungkook thinks, as he gets the fried doughs out of the basket and sets them out to dry.

Taking a deep breath, he speaks. “I’m not gonna tell you to fuck off and I don’t think you’re a creep.” He grabs a knife and slices through each dough. “I’m telling you no, because it’s three am and you’re high as hell.” He plops a big chunk of chocolate filling in each of the doughs, spreading it on top of the part he’s just sliced.

“So?” Taehyung scoffs. “That’s no big deal.”

Jungkook closes both halves of each dough, grabbing the melted chocolate before pouring it all over them. “Maybe.” He grabs the rainbow sprinkles, sprinkling them. “But the big deal is, you’re not gonna remember any of this tomorrow. Not asking me out,” He puts them on a tray, leading them to the freezer. “Certainly not my face.” He turns back to Taehyung.

“I could never forget a face like yours, cutie.” He’s leaning his elbows on the counters again, head supported by both his hands, eyes sparkling. Jungkook cringes. Again. 

“Alright, then.” He searches under the counter for a paper pack for five, finding it on the corner of the shelf before putting it on the counter. He sighs tiredly and begins to set it up.

“So you’ll go on a date with me?” Taehyung perks up.

Jungkook smiles a little after he’s done and walks away to get the donuts from the refrigerator. “That’s not what I said.”

“Then let’s make a deal.” The man has a dead serious face on when Jungkook returns.

It makes him want to laugh again. “A deal, huh?”

“Yeah. If I come here tomorrow, sober, day time, sun’s shining and everything, and I remember you and your face, will you go out with me?” Jungkook puts the donuts in the pack, putting it inside a paper bag.

“Maybe.” Jungkook walks over to the cashier and grabs his receipt.

“Only maybe?” Taehyung follows him as he walks, now, each from opposite sides of the counter and it’s ridiculous if someone was to look from the outside.

He sighs and smiles at the absurdity of it all. Grabbing the paper bag and the receipt, he offers it towards Taehyung. “It’s a Wednesday, I don’t work today’s daytime and tomorrow’s my day off. On Fridays, I work nights again and the restaurant is closed on weekends. I only work day shifts on Mondays and Tuesdays.”

Taehyung does his weird half smile again and gets the paper bag and receipt. “Did you write your number on the receipt, too?”

“No.” Jungkook takes his gloves off. “That would help you remember.” He throws them on the trash and crosses his arms, looking back into those reddened eyes. “That’s not fair, is it?”

“Well, I, for one, think the world’s completely unfair.” Taehyung tries.

“Have a dainty day, sir.” Is all Jungkook replies, before moving back to the kitchen.

“I’ll come back!” Taehyung calls after him.

Jungkook yells “I’m sure you will.”

He hides behind the kitchen’s wall again, more animatedly than the last time he stood there. He hears the front door bell ring and can’t help but smile, grabbing his phone to check the time.

03:59 AM

So, another hour.

Slumping down at the wall again, Jungkook smiles as he thinks. I’ll be fine.

***

His cheeks are cold where they meet the pearly white counter, polished for a whole twenty minutes so Jungkook wouldn’t hear another “This is not Dainty Donut policy, Junglebooks. We need you to be better than this.” from his manager when he was clocking out last wednesday.

Well, I leave one spot on the counter and it’s the end of the world, but he knows my name and yet he still-

Jungkook huffs, borderline whiny. He’s sat at the service area this time, cap discarded somewhere on the counter, phone in hand again, playing one of the many games he’s had to download on his phone simply to not die from boredom in this place.

He doesn’t even know why the shop is open at this time, no one comes to get a donut at three in the morning. It would be so much easier for Jungkook to get all his shifts to be during the day, so he wouldn’t be downing two coffees every morning as if he needs it to breathe.

 No one. Except maybe cute boys high on most likely weed, Jungkook’s brain helpfully supplies.

It’s not that he spent hours wondering whether or not Taehyung would actually be back, the whole thing too amusing to be considered an actual occurrence. He told Hoseok about it in the morning, after he had regained all his brain functions in a 30-minute nap, and they both laughed about it, no big deal.

Still.

Moments like this, where the only thing he can hear is the wind making the glass door flutter and the menu panel lights flicker, gets Jungkook thinking. Who even was that guy? Taehyung. A name and a face that Jungkook fails to easily forget, nagging and even a little taunting to him. They make their way into the front of Jungkook’s brain the moment he doesn’t have anything else to think about, and he finds himself doing nothing to push them away.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? Jungkook’s an easily intrigued person. He’s fascinated with just about anything, from flowers, dance moves, buildings, landscapes, to pink lips, red eyes and a killer smile. He doesn’t just meet, doesn’t just let go, he has to keep thinking about it, every step of their interaction, how Taehyung rambled and mixed up words, how he had trouble keeping his head up, how shameless he was in asking Jungkook out.

There’s no hope, the boy swears to himself, no expectations. It’s just intriguing, a random appearance in his life, an open door, that makes him wonder. Will he see him again? Will they never see each other again? What’s his full name? How old is he?

You’re a creep, Jeon Jungkook.

He isn’t, he’s just curious. Curious and thinking.

He likes to do this, from time to time, appreciate life. He may never see Taehyung again, but they’ll always have interacted, even if they both die tomorrow in a terrible accident; their paths have been crossed and their timelines, tangled. It’s the uncertainty that most people fear and panic over that Jungkook likes, he finds it rather thrilling.

In 50 years, maybe, he’ll have forgotten about all of this. Taehyung, his red eyes, his black hair and slurred speech. He’ll have forgotten about this place, his horrid uniform, about the screech the stool’s loose screws make. Maybe he’ll be dead, who knows. But this will always have happened, he’ll always have worked in Dainty Donuts for almost two years, always have met, flirted, with the stoned costumer who came to get donuts at 2AM and let him choose. If he hadn’t done all of this, maybe his future would have been different.

Or maybe it wouldn’t, he’ll never know.

Jungkook giggles. That’s the fun part.

He’s spiraling, he thinks, having been on your phone for most of the past five hours was bound to cause that effect and at this point, he can barely concentrate in matching the three candies he needs to finish this Candy Crush level. To support his statement, he thinks he just imagines the front door open, bell ringing loudly in the annoying silence, because there is  no way in hell.

The sounds of footsteps and laughter snap him out of it, and the crippling cold feeling of professionalism runs through his veins, making him straighten up and grab the pink cap, hurriedly adjusting it over his head. He stands expectant, back tense and ears alert, just as he was trained to do.

A familiar voice flits through the door and holy fucking hell if it doesn’t at least incite a small surprised smile from Jungkook, who makes sure that’s nowhere to be seen when the voice gets closer and closer.

“And then I said, ‘Well, what more do you expect from me?’ and she-” He wheezes out. “She didn’t reply! Because she’s a plant and plants don’t speak!” Laughter, loud and clear, fills the place, breaking the natural silence. 

It’s him. It’s Taehyung. Laughing.

“I would’ve never pictured you as someone who talks to plants.”

He’s not alone.

The two figures approach the counter, attached by the hip, literally, hands on waists and Jungkook can see it all so clearly. As they get closer, he can see Taehyung and all his strong neck and jaw glory, his eyes are red and unfocused, body lazy and completely dependent on the person next to him to remain standing.

Funnily enough, it’s the man supporting him that looks at Jungkook first, probably ready to order, so the employee is quick to play his part.

“What can I get you on this dainty day?” The man’s eyes are red too, like Taehyung’s, crinkling up as he bursts into laughter.

“‘Dainty day’? Is that what they’ve got you guys saying now?” He laughs and Jungkook clears his throat uncomfortably. Taehyung hasn’t said a word, mind probably too enticed fogged up, unfocused because of all the smoke he’d inhaled. “I’ll have something with caramel in it, yeah? Get me those packs with like six of them.”

Jungkook’s lower back hurts, the side of his head already aching. “Would your friend like anything too, sir?” He looks up, only to meet eyes with a smiling Taehyung.

It’s a mix of a smirk and his typical half-smile, but that’s not what bothers the boy behind the counter, but the glint of recognition that sparkles in his intoxicated eyes does. He frees himself from the other man’s grip, stretching an arm on the counter, in Jungkook’s direction.

“Don’t you remember me, cutie? I sure do remember you. How could I not?” He smiles but can barely hold himself up so reluctantly sits at one of the stools. “I told you I’d be back. Told you so.”

“Is this why you wanted to come here so badly? To flirt with the donut place guy?” The other man also sits down, probably afraid Taehyung will fall if he’s not supported somehow. “How haven’t you mentioned this before?”

Taehyung’s eyes never leave Jungkook, who stands with clasped waiting hands on the top of his belly. “Hm. He doesn’t remember my cutie, which is a pity, really, look how cute he is.”

“He? Who doesn’t remember him?” The man voices every Jungkook’s exact thought bouncing on and off in his brain and he’s glad for it. Taehyung dismisses his questions with a wave of long delicate fingers like it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard.

“Him, you know.” He makes a gagging sound. “Sober Taehyung. Ever the bore, isn’t he? I think so.” He rips his gaze from Jungkook to glare at his friend. “By the way, how don’t you get tired of him? You’re truly an angel, Jimin.”

Taehyung’s friend rolls his eyes. “Here you go. You do know ‘Sober’ Taehyung is still you, right?” They have completely forgotten Jungkook is here it seems, whose lower back hurts from his discomfort, his fingers squeezing each other so hard he’s sure they’re white by now. “And I would never get tired of you, dickhead.”

If there’s anything he cannot get over after all this time working in the dessert parlour, it’s being ignored. The invisibility, the submission this job requires him to have is incredibly crushing, the mentality that ‘the costumer is always right’ goes against all his morals, makes his skin itch.

So he speaks up, moodily. “Is there anything you would like to add or can I get you your check?”

Two heads snap in his direction. So they really did forget he was there, Jungkook thinks. He defiantly holds his head up, arms crossed and posture tense, waiting anxiously for something, anything.

“I’ll have whatever you picked for me last time, cutie.” Taehyung calmly speaks, as if he’s soothing an angry animal. “It was a good choice.”

Jungkook huffs and it’s silent now, fingers heavily pressing the keys to log the order in resounding louder than how it is supposed to. His knee jerks anxiously while they wait for the receipt to print, both guys having gotten their heads closer, whispering to each other.

He holds the printed receipt out for Jimin, the closest to him to take, but his eyes meet Taehyung’s. “Your total is 12.95 dollars, would you like to pay up in cash, debit or credit card? We are not accepting checks right now, but sometime next week we maybe be able to do that.” Taehyung’s head cocks, a ghost of a smile plays in his lips.

“Cash.” It’s Jimin, as Jungkook’s learned, who answers.

He pays, too, for both of them and Jungkook wonders if he made the wrong assumption that they are just friends. He takes the money, giving back his change and the receipt. “A pack of caramel glazed donuts, coming right up.”

When he walks away, Jungkook feels out of breath. He starts to make the donuts automatically, hands used to the motions but his ears are alert, straining to hear the conversation between the two men behind him. A couple minutes later, as he pours caramel, he catches something.

“Wait for me outside, ok buddy? I’ll get our food and then we can get going.” It’s Taehyung.

Taehyung’s just asked his friend to leave, to wait outside, so he and Jungkook would be alone. If the worker’s hands shakes and his heart drops to his stomach, well, that’sonly for him to know.

He turns around when the bell rings, setting the tray on the counter and ducking to find a pack, and then, a wave of Déjà vu washes over him. He’s here again, this late at night, packing donuts for Taehyung, who sits in the exact same place as last time.

He stands straight again, but doesn’t dare to look up and meet those sultry eyes, I can’t, not this up close, Jungkook decides. Instead, he focuses on his job, making sure everything is secure and ready to be delivered, when a sudden warm hand suddenly falls over his, fingers delicate and beautiful.

“I told you I’d come back and I did. I suppose you owe me a date now.” Has his voice gotten even deeper? Jungkook can’t tell, can’t breathe, it’s 3 in the morning and he feels absolutely exhilarated.

He takes a deep breath, never looking up. “I told you to come sober, you came high again.” He’s done packing so he just presses his palms in the cold surface and the contrast with the warmth of Taehyung’s hand almost makes him shiver. “I think you promised something about daylight, too.”

“Got some memory in you, huh?” The hand is gone and Jungkook suppresses the urge to show he misses it immediately. “Shame Sober Taehyung doesn’t, he’s a real dumbass.”

Jungkook frowns at the white counter, but the man doesn’t stop talking. “I’m glad he can’t remember you, you’d be disappointed. He doesn’t know how to handle you.” He speaks confidently.

The employee’s eyes snap up to his. “Why do you do that?” He lets out a breath. “Talk about yourself in the third person, like you become someone else when you’re high.”

Taehyung only smiles, lazy and satisfied. “I like to think so.” Then, he repeats. “Go out with me.”

“Why do you feel that way?” Jungkook ignores him. “What makes you different from him?” What do you want to hide when you smoke? He wants to ask.

“You’re curious?” He sits straight, broad shoulders giving him a serious poise. “Go out with me to find out.”

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, he’s getting aggravated. “You sure were chatty the other night, what changed?”

Taehyung sighs. “Listen, I-“

He doesn’t give the customer the chance. “And who would I even go out with? You? Him?” He’s past aggravated now. “Quite frankly, you don’t even know my name. More than that, you don’t know anything about me.” Please want to. The neglected voice in his head says. “So go find another person to toy with at this ungodly time just because you’re bored, please.”

Silence.

I can’t be here. Jungkook makes to leave, maybe he’ll hide in the kitchen again, or wait for the man to leave so he can close the shop.

All his plans are ruined by the warm fingers curling around his arm.

He reluctantly turns back to Taehyung. “I know your name, Jungkook.” His eyes are calm, sincere, less red. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you were toyed with.” He doesn’t let go of his arm, just rests his own elbow on the white surface, the only thing separating them. “I guess I’m not that different from Sober Taehyung after all.”

Jungkook sucks in a harsh breath. He feels like he’s been standing there just breathing for at least half an hour, even if he knows it’s only a couple of minutes. 

“How do you know my name?.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Taehyung’s eyes overflow with something that can only be named as fondness. “It’s on your name tag.”

Stupid, idiot, fool. Jungkook calls himself all those things when he looks down and sees that, yes, he’s wearing a tag with his name on it. Not much left to do, he sighs.

“The deal is the same.”

Taehyung’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“The deal.” Jungkook’s eyes are almost shy in looking at the man still holding his arm. “Come here sober, during the day, and I might consider going out with you.”

There’s a determination in the other’s eyes he hasn’t seen before. “I will make sure he remembers you, I’ll set up notes, alarms, reminders, anything. He’s gonna have to come here.”

The hand on his arm trails down, reaching and caressing his hand. “You’re more than something to toy with, Jungkook.” His hand is so warm. Jungkook is feeling a bit dizzy if he’s honest. “Doesn’t matter how, where or when we met, you’re not a toy. And I’m gonna come back for you.”

It feels like a promise, but it shouldn’t. Because they are strangers, two people who should mean nothing to each other, should never even look twice the other’s way and most certainly not promise anything. Because Jungkook’s still wearing that horrid uniform, disgusting khaki pants and he’s sure he looks anything but cute.

Still, he says. “Okay.” Then nods frantically. “I’ll be waiting.”

They exchange one last look and Jungkook pulls back first, carefully. Taehyung eventually hops off the stool, grabs the donut bag and heading out, bell ringing when he opens the glass door. Meanwhile, the employee makes his way into the kitchen, walking backwards quietly, watching the other leave.

Before the door closes, he thinks he hears:

“Hi, buddy. I’m gonna need you to remind me of something tomorrow.”

***

The next time Jungkook has to work, his hands aren’t as carefree to go through every single feature available on his phone in a pitiful attempt to get through his work hours faster. 

Now, sweat drips from his hairline, a drop of sweat falling on his lashes and making him blink repeatedly while trying to make his way out of the kitchen. Unfortunately, Jungkook’s never been a guy to succeed in his tries.

“Watch where you’re going, Junglebooks!” Jungkook bumps into his supervisor 

[the1975attheirverybest]

I am so excited for the next chapter of your fic!!!

Omg thank you so muchhhh 🥹🩷🩷 should be ready to post tomorrow maybe. But here’s a tiny little snippet

“Memes already?” Amelia shook her head, “you’re the most unserious man I’ve ever met.”

“I- just- need something to distract me while I come down from all of this” he gestured, loosely, towards the marks she’d left all over his body. “You know I can’t sit still.”

She smiled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. His skin was hot, red, and he was still shaky.

“Wanna see some funny stuff?” He moved the screen to be in between them.

“Okay, but no minions. Only YOU find those funny.”

As they scrolled through, alternating between Twitter and Instagram, and giggling, they slowly found themselves stumbling over the wrong side of the internet. First, it was,

Matty Healy is ugly, racist, sexist, oh and did I mention ugly?

Then,

Matty Healy needs to stop speaking over marginalized people with his white guy “trying to help” energy. It’s giving colonialism.

Amelia rolled her eyes, interfering to scroll past, when Matty had paused to check the reply thread. But, soon enough, they stumbled upon,

The drugs that mh used to be on must have melted his brain cuz wtf is this?

“I suppose that’s enough screen time.” Matty chuckled, setting the phone down in his lap.

“Matty…”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re not. And that’s okay-“

“I don’t care. Whatever.”

Amelia looked down at his lap, the phone screen getting progressively dimmer. She grinned when a thought crossed her mind and picked up his phone.

“Amelia?”

Matty watched her thumbs move as she tapped the keyboard, seemingly typing something.

Matty Healy is ugly, racist, sexist, oh and did I mention ugly?

I’d make like your receding hairline and back away if I were you. You’re in no position to speak.

She smiled, satisfied, and scrolled on.

Matty Healy needs to stop speaking over marginalized people with his white you trying to help energy. It’s giving colonialism.

At least he’s helping. What’re YOU doing? Besides being an idiot on the internet, I mean.

“Jesus Christ, Amelia!” Matty attempted to claw the phone out of her grip, but she simply scooted away. “Amelia; stop!”

“What? This is a burner account right?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point!”

She wasn’t paying attention long enough for him to make his point, she’d gone back to typing.

Here, I’ve linked the definition of colonialism for you. Maybe your Twitter brain rot will actually teach you a new word today!

The drugs that mh used to be on must have melted his brain cuz wtf is this?

Using someone’s addiction against them? Not very woke activist progressive brave of you, is it? He could outsmart you in his sleep, btw. Don’t worry about his brain. Worry about yours.

“Alright that’s enough clapping back for you, give me that phone.”

“But I’m having fun!”

It occurred to Matty that he’s much stronger, and larger, than she is. So he hovered over her, doing his best to appear intimidating. But looking into her eyes always made him weak.

“Give me that phone, Amelia.”

“Make me.”

[edelfie]

#𝓣𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘! petty queen.

when you returned from work in the late afternoon, you quickly set in motion your scheme. your tears shed, all that was left was a hollow woman dead set on vengeance. and while your friends are very supportive, you’re not sure they will be if they know the full truth of what you’re planning.

or, and so your reign of terror begins…

You close the group chat, lying dormant on your bed. You weren’t sure what to do now. There was an eerie sense of calm as you listened to the rumble of your air conditioner shutting off. Just this morning you had been in this exact position at your lowest moment. And now…well, you weren’t feeling great, but you sure as hell weren’t as bad as before!

But what could you do to feel great? It was far too late to go for a walk and be sensible, and your friends are surely caught up in another longwinded conversation. You stopped playing video games a few years ago just as you stopped watching reality TV a few years before that. It was cruel, really, how aware you were of your declining interest in things you once considered integral to your personality. Maybe that’s just how life is supposed to be as you grow old, or maybe you’re just depressed. Who knows.

Regardless, none of those things are on the table. You could start jotting down ideas for your song (but that’s wayyyy too productive for your liking) or doom-scroll through Twitter (but you’ll definitely find a few hate comments of you, at least). You just can’t win!

Especially with Twitter, since it seems like no matter what you do, it’s always wrong! You’re nearly at your breaking point where you just turn into a full on ragebait content creator. Knowing them, though, they’d probably see your grift in an instant and hate you even more. Seriously, what does it take for a girl to get some good publicity these days?

Maybe you just need to accept that any publicity is good publicity. After all, you still have your diehard fans (as few in numbers as they are) to fall back on and support you through thick and thin. As long as you understand and respect them, you can pretty much do whatever you want.

What do you want to do though?

1. Enact vengeance against those who’ve wronged you

2. Make a fool out of Miya Atsumu & Lia (soon-to-be) Miya

3. Profit

Well, you have a pretty good idea of how to do step one, and it also inadvertently leads you to step two…

Your eyes lock onto the black hoodie draped against the back of your desk chair, clinging to dear life as it threatens to fall on the floor again. Your idea is a little bit crazy, even by your standards, but sometimes crazy is the only thing that works. You can’t be the one to enact it though, not fully at least.

You look at your calendar for your next day off. August 15th, three days from now. The same day as the exhibition game for the MSBY Jackals. That will be the day you set in motion your plan to end Miya Atsumu.

BLIND ITEMS! —

## this wannabe popstar is making waves after being spotted at her athlete ex's game in his hoodie. not just a hoodie with his number, but his hoodie. however, this insider knows that she is alleged to have called the paparazzi on herself to create controversy. one has to wonder what her end goal is, simply to stir up drama or reveal something deeper between them. [revealed: y/n l/n]

## the influencer was seen giving her athlete fiance the cold shoulder after rumors alleged he was having a rekindled affair. despite not caring the first time the rumors appeared, now it seems to bother her. this may also be due to her personal disliking of the mistress. [revealed: lia handa, miya atsumu, y/n l/n]

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NOTES! —

No long note today I fear. I'm so tired from today but in a great way LOL. I'll tell y'all more about in on Monday Wednesday! Anyways, our fundraiser today is for the family and loved ones of Mason Schermerhorn, the fourteen year old who tragically lost his life and the hands of one of his fellow students at Apalachee High School. I also have another one I'd like to share by Victims First, who are working to collect and distribute donations directly to the families of the victims of this horrible school shooting. The links to both are here and here, in order as listed.

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© all rights reserved—edelfie (2024) // do not plagiarize, modify, copy, use, translate, or repost my work on other sites without permission

[amaranthineghost]

Hi! Can I request an angst abt Lando Norris and Margarida Corceiro being seen together? No cheating, miscommunications with reader. Or FWB!reader.

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS COMPLICATIONS ( lando norris. )

lando norris x reader

after lando and margarida were seen in public together, she isn't sure that her feelings were reciprocated by the brit. despite having been friends with benefits for months, swearing they wouldn't develop feelings, they seemed to have failed.

warnings: minimal smut, mentions of sex, friends with benefits relationship, miscommunications, angst.

authors note: I loved this so much, it was actually really fun to make and I wanted to combine a smau and just a normal writing imagine so 🫶🏼 apologies for my absence, summer break hit and i wanted nothing more than to just lay in bed and sleep all day (sob)

“FUCK, DON'T LET IT BE TRUE, PLEASE don't let it be true,” she whispered into her hand, basically pleading to the universe, if it was even listening. her palm covered her lips as a sick feeling brewed in the pit of her stomach. she felt she could throw up any moment. the hand over her mouth was subconscious, an involuntary movement as she felt the cold rings on her fingers press against her skin. she swallowed thickly as she scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled to find hope—false hope. no amount of scrolling could calm the nausea that crashed like waves during a storm in the open ocean. if anything, it only worsened the feeling.

f1wags

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f1wags lando norris and margarida corceiro spotted together in monaco getting into the mclaren driver’s car

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she kept bringing herself back to it. she looked over the outlines of their figures; she scoured the internet to find the same silhouettes, hoping to find pictures of them wearing the same outfits, just on a different day. she wanted to find proof it was photoshopped, but she knew in her heart that it wasn’t. she was only letting herself down by allowing herself to hope that it wasn’t true, but it was. probably.

she sat on the toilet in the bathroom stall of a nightclub she went to with lando. in her party dress that he had complimented her on numerous times that night, it felt too tight for her body all of a sudden. her tongue grazed over her teeth as she now went to twitter, scrolling through countless twitter threads of the new ‘couple.’ her stomach churned with unease—how could she compete with her? she's stunning—literally a model.

besides, margarida was winning the competition she didn't even know she was apart of, managing to one-up her by potentially dating lando. she couldn't even get close.

her and lando were complicated in comparison. their relationship could never compare. they were friends with benefits, and with it was the silent agreement that they'd never be anything more. it would be too awkward if they were, and years of friendship would be ruined. they were friends with benefits, but at times, it felt like the opposite. she started calling their relationship ‘friends with complications,’ but he didn't know that.

she should've cut it off the second she felt anything more than platonic with him, but what they were doing was far from that to begin with. she would've had to cut him off way before their fwb relationship began—because she had felt something for him for a while, and this is the closest she could come to having him. not anymore though.

she had secretly been hoping that her feelings were reciprocated—it was already heart-wrenching enough to think that he might think their meaningless hook-ups were just that—meaningless. they were supposed to be.

to him, maybe they always were.

he probably saw her only as a friend because that's what she was. his friend that he had approached and asked to fuck because he couldn't risk it hooking up with someone from a random club. her heart skipped when he asked, but dread loomed over her shoulder. friends with benefits—complications—never ended with anything more than heartbreak. it was supposed to be meaningless, and she could only hope he didn't feel it was.

to her, they never were.

when his lips kissed down her skin before slipping between her thighs, he practically drank her up, her hands grasping at his curls to pull him impossibly closer. she felt his nose pressing against her, his breaths deep and labored against her skin that only added to the pure bliss he gave her. the groans leaving his lips at the taste of her, sending vibrations through her cunt while she let out hoarse moans. he wouldn't resurface until he was pussydrunk and hazy, multiple orgasms later. her slick coating his chin as his tongue licked it from his skin, he watched as her chest rose and fell quickly; sweat coated her skin, her hair matting to her forehead. his fingers teased over her folds, thumb pressing against her overstimulated clit. she squirmed under his hand, grasping at his wrist with strangled moans.

“c’mon, baby,” he would coax, his voice heavy and manipulative, but not malicious, “giv’me another, please?”

he would ask that of her, lowly groaning at the sight of his fingers being swallowed by her wet pussy, disappearing beyond her glistening folds. she couldn't deny him when he sounded like that. he slowly pumped his middle finger against her slick walls that clenched around him, seamlessly slipping in his ring finger alongside as he stretched her walls out, manipulating her flesh under his fingers as he parted his digits. he watched her face writhe in pleasure, the way her skin creased and her brows furrowed as her jaw went slack at the simple actions.

“so wet f’me,” he marveled, sucking in a sharp breath, “such a pretty pussy all f’me, hm?”

surely, he reciprocated some feelings. with the way he spoke to her, practically worshiping her body while depriving his own of the same pleasure—he claimed he got just as much by getting her off.

but now she didn't know.

she would be lying if she said she didn't know what she was doing when she first agreed to it. she just wished she knew how much it would hurt.

now she wished she could've set that boundary. she didn't then because the desire to just have him—in a way friends don't, and shouldn't—was greater than any thoughts telling her it was a bad idea—that it would only end with it breaking her heart. unfortunately, she had a tendency to follow her heart, not her head. maybe he knew that, but he probably didn't. guys never know.

so here she is, her leg bouncing up and down, and her heel clicked on the floor. she nervously bit at the skin around her fingers, she even drew blood. she cursed herself under her breath before scrolling again.

she sighed, looking at herself with the reflection of her phone screen, a frown on her face as she pursed her lips. her makeup was smudged, her skin had a sheen to it from all the dancing she had been doing in the crowded club. it wasn't her fault the room was stuffed with drunk, sweaty people that made the room rise a few degrees.

when the night was still young, she'd happily walk into the club, lando following behind her like a lost puppy and a look of admiration on his face—taking appreciative glances down her figure. but when the night had long gone on, she loathed being in the club as she'd try to push her way past the sweaty, way too drunk club-goers to get outside for a breath of fresh air. she'd always regret going by the end of the night.

she stared at the image again, like she hadn't already done so for the last three minutes. reluctantly, she scrolled on.

her heart paused at a certain thread, holding her breath involuntarily as she scrolled back for a double take. her brows knit creases on her forehead as her eyes narrowed at the words—her astigmatism and a few too many drinks didn't help her ability to read the text on her phone.

if only they knew, she thought, a scoff slipping past her lips as her eyes lingered on the tweets. she read them over again, secretly wishing the same thing the fans did. a frown settled on her features once again, her head resting on her hands as she huffed out a sigh. her eyes grew heavy, feeling tipsy from the few drinks lando had begged her to let him pay for—she had obliged.

maybe all the signs were there, but with her hazy vision, she failed to read them. her brain that was starting to feel like mush failed to comprehend them too. regardless, her eyes lingered on the phone screen. she rubbed her tired eyes, most likely smudging the mascara across her skin. she’d end up resembling a racoon, but she didn’t care. she was tired, tipsy—she would have somewhat of a hangover— and the bathroom was too hot for her liking.

she didn't know how long she had sat there for, only she knew it was long enough for another person to bang on the door on the other side of the stall. she cursed herself again under her breath, hurriedly standing up from the toilet while simultaneously wiping away the ‘sweat’ from under her eyes and any smeared makeup. she pulled down the scratchy, black material of her dress that had ridden up her thighs before unlocking and pulling open the stall door.

she stood face to face with the girl who banged on the door. she gave a nervous smile, followed by a short chuckle, “sorry,” she mumbled an apology breathlessly, slipping past her with a slight graze against her shoulder.

she bit her lip as she scolded herself for hogging the stall; she had really lost track of time then. as she washed her hands in the sink, vision focused on the suds that washed away the dirtiness of the club that surrounded her. she felt eyes on her. a silhouette in the mirror standing still where the girl had. she had been too zoned out to hear the voice that spoke to her.

it was like her ears had popped when focus came back to her, suddenly she could hear the club music blaring through the air, and she glanced up in the mirror at the girl, flicking her vision back and forth between her and her hands.

“ ‘m so sorry, were you sayin’ something?” she flicked her wrists, water droplets flew from her wettened skin as she looked back down at them, grabbing a paper towel. Her heart beat heavy against her ribcage. she was partially scared the girl was angry with her for hogging the stall, but her relax demeanor told her otherwise.

“girl, ‘s all good,” she chuckled with the shake of her head, the smile lingering on her face as she crossed her arms against her chest, “li’le boy outside askin’ f’you, asked me t’ see if you were still ‘ere.”

she closed her eyes with a sigh, a tongue rolling across the insides of her cheeks as she shook her head with slight guilt and annoyance before opening her eyes again, “tan guy with dark curls?”

“sad excuse f’ some facial hair?” the girl asked jokingly, which incited an involuntary laugh to sneak past her lips. she stepped closer to the sink, her arms falling towards her sides as she leaned against the wall next to the mirror. “yeah, tha’s the one.”

“was he talkin’ a lot?” she stifled her laughs at the girl’s previous comment, pursing her lips as she tossed the horrible quality paper towel into the bin. her eyes were dark as she looked at the girl, the smudged mascara making it look like she had dark bags under her eyes. she reached for another paper towel, wetting it this time.

“jus’ ‘bout you, girl,” she spoke quieter now, seemingly more relaxed compared to the heavy hand she gave the door. “he looked real worried, tha’s some man you got.”

her heart flipped in her chest. If she had thought that he was hers, how many others did? he was asking about her too, he was worried about her. her heart wanted to believe that he really did like her, that this relationship was more than ‘friends with complications.’ her head told her that he was just being a good enough friend to make sure she was alright after she had disappeared 10 minutes ago after having said that she was going to the bathroom.

she scoffed, shaking her head as she swallowed the saliva that pooled in her mouth thickly, “he’s not my man.”

her tone was reluctant because even though she said that he wasn’t hers, she deeply wished for it to be true. she wanted to call him hers, and she wanted him to call her his.

“fooled me,” she commented with a tone of disbelief laced into her words. she took a pause, watching her expression as she wiped the smudged makeup from her under eyes before speaking again, “so wha's goin’ on that he’s not ‘ur man?”

she let out a long and deep exaggerated sigh as she moved onto the other eyes, “way more complicated than i care to admit,” she said, chuckling dryly, though she didn’t entirely mean to sound so closed-off. her emotions tended to heighten with alcohol intake and it didn’t help that she had this whole fucked relationship with one of her best friends. she looked at the girl again, seeing the raised brows and an expression that told her ‘go on.’

“friends with benefits,” she relented.

she let out a huffed groan, “tha's rough,” she shook her head at the thought “but that man sure don’t act like it. clearly he cares ‘bout you.”

“ ‘s complicated.” she said flatly, not elaborating anymore as she tossed the dirtied paper towel in the bin, turning her back to the mirror as she leaned against the porcelain. her hands felt the rough underside of the unfinished sink, contrasting the smooth exterior of the exposed material.

she watched her for a moment longer as she leaned against the sink, her face flushed and red. she knew she had to report back to the worried brit who stood leaning outside against the wall, waiting for either her to return with an answer, or the girl he had been so concerned about.

“take a moment, girl,” she pushed herself from the wall, walking towards the fancy, heavy door of the club bathroom, “i’ll tell ‘im you’ll be ‘nother minute.”

she nodded in thanks as she watched her leave. her heart still heavy in her chest. she just wished she could escape, slip through the thin window that let in the moonlight, casting a glow across the dimly illuminated bathroom tile.

it brought her back to the numerous late-night hook-up calls she took. the moon casting a silver glow across his tanned skin, cascading down his abs. the shadows emphasized the muscles across his body as she watched them with hazy vision taut with each buck of his hips into her throbbing pussy, the room filled with lewd sounds that only got him harder. muttered praises fell from his lips with every passing second as he buried his cock deeper into her cunt, hitting spots against her gummy walls that elicited strangled squeaks that escaped her pink, swollen lips. her throat red and hoarse as she worked up a release for the nth time. paired with his thumb toying with her over-sensitized clit, he practically bullied her pussy with how much he exhausted from her, milking orgasm after orgasm from her poor, debilitated body.

so much so that he was fucking his releases back into her overstimulated cunt while it dripped down the back of her reddened thighs, pooling onto the bedsheets as it smeared across his hips. he groaned lowly in the back of his throat, his hands clawing at the fat on her hips. he bit his lip at the thought of bruising her skin just from how harshly he fucked himself into her.

“fuck,” he had growled under his breath, pressing his thumb further down on her clit which caused another strained whimper to slip from her lips, “ ‘ur pussy‘s fuckin’ made f’me, ain’t it? hm?”

his voice was cocky, he knew she couldn’t speak. she was a babbling mess under his tanned body, eyes hazy and glossed over as he watched her fucked-over expression—so blissfully cockdrunk all because of him and only him. the noises that filled the room were downright pornographic with the low string of groans constantly falling from his lips and the desperate gasps of breath as he fucked her senseless.

he watched her body writhe under him, her walls clenching around him as she desperately reached for release. he felt it too, pooling at the bottom of his abdomen, the addictive feeling he could only find resolve in buried deep in her sopping pussy, all for him as he filled her again.

it’d be too much to hope that he would make her feel like that again tonight, or any other in the future, especially with magui around now. she could expect their ‘friends with complications’ relationship to finally come to an end after a few months shy of a year. she sighed deeply, pushing herself from the sink finally as she trudged to the bathroom door, heelings clicking against the hard tile. her palms were sweaty and slick against the cold metal bar as she pulled open the door.

her eyes instinctively searched for the tan brit, soon finding him leaning against the wall to the right of the door. his head was leaned back, eyes closed as he waited—she felt guilty, he must’ve been waiting for a while. she glanced over his attire, the navy shirt complimenting his skin, and the veins on his arms more prominent as ever. his curls were messy with sweat from all his partying, and his face was flushed red. his throat bobbed as he swallowed, a breath escaping his lips.

the door of the bathroom closed behind her, grabbing his attention and pulling it to where she stood. her arms were crossed against her chest, pushing her tits together in an insatiable visual. drunk thoughts ran wild in his head, the drinks getting to his brain as his eyes swept over her figure appreciatively—but also in concern.

he pushed himself from the wall, “you ‘kay?” he broke the silent tension between them—because there was music blasting in the back, it wasn’t truly silent.

she nodded simply, closing her eyes as she let out an exasperated sigh before opening them again to look at him, “yeah, think i’ll just get some fresh air ‘nd head home,” she told him as she started to walk past where he stood.

“do you want me to come with you?” he offered, following her through the club as she pushed past numerous bodies too occupied with the music.

“no, ‘s fine,” she mumbled, though she wasn’t sure he heard. besides, it wouldn’t look good for him to be seen with her while the post about magui is floating around social media. she didn't need to be painted as the side chick—she was there first anyways.

“are you sure?” he stopped her, grabbing the back of her arm with a firm grip, his palm hot against her skin as she sucked in a breath. she couldn't fold now, she wouldn't allow herself too, even if he was so caring, or appeared to be.

she shrugged his hand off her arm, ignoring the pang of hurt that flashed across his features as he retracted his hand to his pocket, “no, you just have fun, I'll get a cab home.”

with that, she turned and started walking away. she left him standing there, confusion on his face as he watched her figure slowly fade into the club, merging into the crowd as he lost sight of her. he stood there for a few moments longer before he felt an arm around his shoulders, tugging him back into the party atmosphere. he put on a face, taking whatever drink—non-alcoholic—was handed to him, but he couldn't help the unease that lingered in his tummy.

she pushed open the door of the club, feverishly pushing past the people that congregated by the entrance as the fresh air hit her like a splash of room temperature water. she wasn't sure it was any better than the stuffy, stale air that reeked throughout the club because of the sweaty bodies that came and went (literally). the air was warm, adding to the redness that blushed her features, and it was humid. she could feel the frizz in her hair already as strands stuck to her forehead and cheeks. she should’ve expected the air wasn’t going to be a cold splash against her feverishly flushed face, but at least it was better than the club air—she had decided.

she needed to get out of this heat—it was unbearable on top of all of the night’s events that she wished she could just drink away, and maybe she would. she knew the location of the nearest liquor store from where she stood, and she was about to up and walk there when she realized. other than the phone she clutched in her palm, she was empty-handed. she huffed out a breath when she remembered she had given lando her wallet to pocket for her. he still had it, and in it was some cash, cards and her id. she bit her tongue at the thought of having to go back in there—she considered it for a moment.

she couldn’t. she couldn’t bear the thought of facing him after shrugging him off. she couldn’t bear facing him when that flash of hurt cursed his flushed features was branded in her brain. she grimaced at the thought. maybe she had been a little harsh, but she felt it was somewhat justified.

he potentially had a girlfriend, and here he was, complimenting her, ghosting his hands over her waist and back, paying for her drinks.

“pretty girls shouldn’t ‘ave t’ pay for their own drinks,” he claimed after sliding his card across the bartop, calling out to the bartender to start a tab, and to put any drinks she ordered on his. she had tried to grab hold of his wrist; she didn’t want him to pay for her drinks when she was fully capable of doing it herself, but he only repeated his earlier claim.

“ ‘specially after spendin’ so much time dollin’ themselves up,” he only added to his statement before sliding a vodka cranberry across the bartop, “a drink to start the night.”

ultimately, she decided to ditch the idea of getting her wallet back. she would wait until the next time she saw him, or until he showed up on her doorstep like a lost puppy bearing a treasure. she pulled up the uber app on her phone, but frowned at the wait times. she ditched that idea too, opting to walk the way back to her apartment. her frown deepened, the creases more prominent as she glanced downwards at her heels. she could feel the blisters at the back of her feet begin to form and the aching muscle throughout. she glanced at the sidewalk next to it, the concrete not looking like the best thing to walk on barefooted.

she groaned under her breath, feeling the scratchy fabric of her dress clinging to her. her body itched and ached; she wanted nothing more than to peel this stupid dress from her body, or rather have lando do it for her. no, she couldn't think like that anymore. she couldn’t count on him to come to her rescue now—she was all alone again.

she had just began her walk, turning her back to the club as she trudged her heels across the sidewalk, the sound echoing into the night air. her head hung low as she focused her vision on her achy feet. she hadn’t gotten far when a sleek, black car had pulled into a parking spot just ahead of where she was currently walking. she squinted, her vision hazy which flashed memories in her mind when lando brought her to tears from how well he fucked her—took care of her, he stated the next morning.

she may not have been able to recognize the car through blurred vision, but she sure as hell recognized the driver—tanned skin, loose curls all messy and slightly sweaty, dark shirt with few too many buttons undone—lando.

her lips slightly parted in shock—partly because she didn’t believe it was him. maybe it was some random person who happened to look exactly like him, or it was her drunken imagination just wanting to see him—wanted it to be him.

she watched his blurry curls bounce ever so slightly as he walked towards her. her hazy vision coming into focus on him, only him. everything in her vision faded into the back of her mind as she only saw him. She couldn’t tell, but her pupils had dilated at the sight of him.

“c’mon, darlin’, let’s get you ‘ome,” he muttered as his hand ghosted down her back across her bare skin, goosebumps following at his fingers. thumb caressing the low of her back as he pushed her towards the open car door, just waiting for her. it was too inviting.

she felt the air conditioning leaking into the much warmer night air. she sighed at the feeling as she ducked into the car, his hand preventing her from bumping her head, “watch ‘ur head, love.” he cooed before kneeling down off the curb.

his hands touched her with a feather-like weight as he carefully slipped the heels from her feet, listening to the sigh of relief that spilled from her lips as he gently massaged her muscles before standing back up. he gave her a small, warm smile before closing the door again.

when he made his way back around the car, only then did he notice the gaggle of fans that had begun to gather, most holding phones that were probably recording. he brushed them off, smiling to a few as he then ducked into the car as well.

it wasn’t long before he had pulled out of the parking spot—that he did in a rush job and still did better than a certain resident ferrari driver. the drive was short, yet his hand slithered its way to her thigh, squeezing the fatty flesh under his palms subconsciously while his thumb caressed her skin.

his palm was hot against the fat of her thigh, burning into her skin as if their flesh would fuse together and he would be stuck to her until death—and after too. she wanted to shove his hand off because she felt his hands didn’t belong on her. it wasn’t right, but it sure as hell felt right. she was too exhausted anyway.

instead, she just leaned back in the seat as she watched the fuzzy night lights outside the window, that was cracked open, pass by in a blur. the breeze flew through her hair—it felt nice, refreshing.

ynusername

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ynusername pretty girls get free drinks

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⌄

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she fumbled with the key in her hand, having gotten her wallet and keychain back from the depths of lando’s pockets. he watched from behind her. amusement written into the creases of his face with a smug smile pulling at his lips. he watched her struggle before gently guiding her aside as he took the keys from her hands.

“‘ve got it, jus’ stand there and look pretty,” he muttered with a chuckle, effortlessly twisting the key in the knob before pushing the door open. his hand found her waist again as he supported her stumbled steps into her apartment. he dropped her keys and wallet into the little bowl by the door before walking her through the halls and into her bedroom.

he sat her on the bed, smirking at the disheveled state of her hair from it blowing in the night breeze before slipping into the bathroom. he reemerged with makeup wipes in hand to smear away her carefully constructed makeup routine.

his knee nudged hers aside as he stood between her legs, looking down at the heavy-lidded gaze that stared back at him. his free hand grasped her jaw tenderly as he tentatively wiped away her hard work, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. her eyes fluttered shut, and it tugged at his heartstrings. she looked so peaceful in his hands.

he hummed in satisfaction once her face was bare, slightly red underneath the slathered cosmetics. he dropped his grasp on her jaw, stepping back to the bathroom, but not before his eyes caught on the hamper in her room, hanging over the edge was his shirt. the shirt he had lost months ago, the shirt that he had asked her to look for because he was so sure that he left it at her place. she had it this whole time. his heart swelled at the thought she had been wearing it behind closed doors this whole time, the image in his mind of her in his clothes sent blood rushing through his body. his cheeks warmed, but he cleared his throat before walking back into the bathroom.

he came back to her slumped body on the bed, exhaustion written on her body as he walked back over to her. he could see her irritated skin under the dress, tsk’ing with the shake of his head. he grasped one of the straps between the pads of his fingers, hesitating.

he had no ill intention, he would never, but he knew she was sober enough to at least give him allowance to do it for her. his hand slipped across her cheek, his warm palm against her skin as he tilted her head to look at him.

“think you can change, or y’want me t’ do it?” he asked lowly, his thumb brushing her under-eyes, swiping away a fallen lash.

she hummed, a heavy exhale falling from her lips. she knew it was wrong to ask it of him, not knowing truly if he was off the market or not. regardless, she couldn’t deny the offer. it was lando, after all. “you do it,” her voice was laced with exhaustion.

with her confirmation, a lazy smirk found its way to his lips as his hand found its way around her waist, his fingers tenderly grasping the zipper of the dress before tugging it down slowly. his breath hitching in his throat at the gradual, increased exposure of the bare skin of her back. his eyes darted between the moles he had memorized, probably traced in a memory. he watched the straps fall from her shoulders, the curve of her bare shoulder was the first thing he set his eyes on. smoothness of her skin, interrupted by faint tan lines that made his heart warm—domestic almost—before his eyes reached the carved skin of her collarbone.

of course, she wasn't wearing a bra, he thought, but there was no maliciousness behind it—and it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, but the circumstances were different. before the material fell from her chest, he stepped back to grab the shirt from the hamper; he knew it was unwashed, but another wear wouldn't hurt. it certainly wouldn't when it was his shirt. she raised her brow at his action.

he held the shirt in his hands, placing a hand on his chin in an exaggerated thinking pose as she looked at him funny, but it was quickly hidden with the shirt he shoved on her head. it sat over the dress as he pulled her arms through, and eventually pulling the dress down so she could finally lay back in bed.

he watched her crawl under her cover, a feeling tugged his heart, one that pumped blood to his brain with the thought ‘stay with her.’

but he couldn't—shouldn’t. this was strictly platonic—done a great job of that so far, hasn't he? he stood there, looking like an idiot as he muses the thought over in his head.

he sighed, taking a step towards the door. before he could even fully turn his back on her exhausted figure laying in bed, a muffled voice spoke sleepily from behind the covers.

“lando?”

his heart jumped in his chest as his entire body froze mid-walk. he bit his tongue, slowly turning his body to look where the voice originated from—right where he was going to leave her for the night.

“yeah?”

he cursed himself for his voice sounding strained—surprised. he licked his chapped lips, his mouth becoming dry as he waited for the words to leave her lips.

“can you stay?”

something in the tone of her voice made his heart wrench. for some reason, guilt riddled his body as soon as the slightly slurred words left her pretty lips.

“ ‘course,” he spoke, but it was raspy—hoarse. he cleared his throat, beginning to undo the remaining buttons on his shirt while he slipped off his shoes, “yeah, of course.”

he tossed the shirt mindlessly in the direction of the hamper, working on undoing his pants and kicking them aside. he walked with uncertainty to the side of the bed she hadn't been occupying. he stood hesitantly before peeling back the covers and slipping into the comfort that beckoned him in. despite the distance between them, he felt the heat radiating from her feverish, tipsy body.

he swallowed nervously, pulling the covers over him as he laid flat on his back awkwardly. poor guy didn't move an inch, he didn't want to risk doing anything she wouldn't have wanted him to—especially since she wasn't exactly sober.

his body tensed as he heard her stirring in bed, sheets ruffling and bed creaking under the shifting weight. his muscle remained still when he felt that weight distribute across his body. her warmth tangled his own as she laid halfway on his body, cheek pressed against his bicep and arm across his abdomen. he let out a strained, uneven breath, slowly relaxing under her body as he adjusted his position to comfort hers better.

he was nervous, they hadn't experienced this level of domesticity together in a long time. his palm became slick and his body was pulsating heat in waves as if it was trying to cool him off. he really couldn't play it cool. he stretched an arm around her shoulder, his fingers running down the drop of her shoulders in a comforting manner. he felt her warm breaths against his bare skin, noticing how they became shallow and even. her body relaxing against him, but he couldn’t. he laid on his back, tense.

it was going to be a long night.

she woke up the next morning to rapid knocks against the front door of her apartment. she groaned lowly as she turned over in bed, but the knocks still hasn’t faltered. she thought they would, but whoever it was was insistent on her presence. she opened her eyes but quickly clenched them shut, an arm instinctively going up to block the rays of light that her eyes had yet to adjust to. she sat up with a sniffle, her arm still shielding her eyes as she turned to look down at the covers beside her. they were ruffled, messed up as if someone had stayed the night—because someone had. her shoulders dropped with a groan as the remembrance of her asking lando to stay, but it seems to her that he had already left.

part of her was disappointed, but she expected it. she hadn’t even expected him to stay when she asked him to. he was just being nice, she told herself. He was just being a good friend. but even she didn’t believe herself.

maybe he just pitied her—yeah that’s surely it.

nonetheless, she had to get the door before the person on the other side would end up busting it down with their incessant knocking, and before her head would split open. the combination of loud raps against the door, eye-blinding sunlight into the room, and the soft, splitting pain through her head from her hangover that only seemed to worsen.

throwing her bedding off her body, she got up from the bed with a wince. her feet padded against the cold, wood tiled floors as she dragged her feet through her apartment. her palms rubbed against her tired eyes in an effort to wake her up even more before she would open the door, though she didn’t quite think it helped. regarding, she unlocked the lock on the handle, not knowing what to expect when she opened the door—and who she saw was the last person she would’ve thought to see.

her lips parted, and her eyes dilated as her heart grew fuzzy because standing in front of her was the familiar curly-haired brit that had come back. her eyes raked over her appearance—and vice versa—as she noticed the changed clothes, refreshed face, phone in one hand, and a plastic bag in the other. she stood in shock, jaw dropping more ever so slightly as she struggled to find what words to say—what to even begin with. thankfully, he spoke first.

“locked m’self out,” he said with a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck with the hand that held his phone. his eyes shamelessly looked her over, appreciating the sight of her in his shirt—that she had yet to realize she was wearing.

she let out a huffed sigh, ignoring his words as her eyes falling to the bag in his hands with confusion, “lando, what is all that?” she questioned curiously, glancing back up to his face that followed her gaze to his—very nice—hands.

“sweets, mostly,” he said so nonchalantly, it made her tummy do a flip.

She pursed her lips, not fully understanding why he’d go out of his way to get things for her, “but why?”

“figured 's that time of the month.”

she scoffed, “first, rude," her tone straight-forward, which he responded to with a shrug and a look that said ‘debateable,’ "second, lando, 'm on the pill, remember? it was the first thing we talked about.”

“yeah, well, 'ur attitude was there, maybe 's there in spirit, 'right?" he raised his hands defensively, shaking his head with a smug smirk, "besides, you were pissy anyway so figured I might as well get y’somethin'.”

“you’re insufferable, lando,” she rolled her eyes dramatically.

she heard a breathless chuckle leave his lips and saw the smile that lingered as he looked at her in a way she couldn’t decipher, only knowing he’d looked at her like this plenty of times before. she felt her heart race, her palms becoming slick, and if she tried to speak, her words would surely be stuck in her throat.

“you love me.”

yeah, she does. he won't know though—can’t.

he peered into her apartment, forehead creasing with raised brows as he asks, "you gon' let me in, love?”

yeah, she is. she could never deny him, she could never shut him out—no matter how much she needed to. no matter how much she should, she would let him in again—a vicious, endless cycle that left her heart broken. it would crush at her glass heart until the shards turned to dust—she would let it happen. she would let him unknowingly crush her—the soft supple skin of her body—into a fine powder in his mortar and pestle—his rough, calloused hands.

his brows quirked up again, waiting for her answer as he watched her look at him like a deer in headlights. she stumbled with words, ultimately giving up as she stepped aside to let him in—again.

his eyes watched her closely, clear confusion indented into his skin as he stepped into the open kitchen. the bag rustled as he set it down on the counter before he turned and leaned against hit. he wore a shirt sleeve shirt—that bastard—so she had full view of his arms. she watched as they crossed against his chest, subconsciously flexing the muscles and veins under his skin.

the tension was thick, and the silence was awkward as she watched him closely—and he watched her just as, if not more, closely. his throat bobbed with a nervous swallow at the thought—more like sight—of her eyes on him. at least he knew she probably found him attractive.

“so, what's goin' on?" he spoke in a whisper, but so casually. his tone was gentle, but he seemed laid-back, nonchalant. maybe he couldn’t actually care about the answer to the question he asked, maybe he just wanted a segue into getting her back in her bed and under him. she feared she would let him—she really needs more self-respect.

she shrugged with a slight frown, her lower lip jutting out slightly, "nothing much, really," she answered back in that same whispery tone, "just dealing with a slight hangover-"

"y'know what i meant, love," he cut her off, which caused the frown on her face to deepen, "what's really goin' on, hm?"

she gulped, her face heating up at his bluntness—maybe he did care. as a friend, of course. right?

she stood in stunned silence as she mulled the words over in her head, trying to think of something that would satisfy what he needed to hear. should she be honest? no, the little voice in the back of her head shouted.

she watched his head tilt downwards slightly, as if saying ‘go on,’ when she hadn’t even answered him to begin with. the way his eyes looked through his lashes, brows slightly raised, she just wanted to spill the truth to him, to tell him every little thought and feeling and hurt she had been cycling through for months; she couldn’t.

she shrugged against, her posture matching his as she slid her arms over her chest. she felt the soft recognizable material under her skin, “nothing, lando, everything is fine.”

“bullshit.” his tone was harsh and blunt. He just wanted the truth.

she groaned, rolling her eyes as she fired back, “well, why do you even care? shouldn't you be off with your little girlfriend?”

that's it, that's what he wanted. she had just exposed herself with a simple sentence—she just showed she cared. she just showed that she was bothered by the fact that he was potentially taken—not hers.

“girlfriend?” his tone was laced with amusement and mockery, a smug smile plastered on his lips, “where’d y’hear that, darlin’?” his head tilt was lethal, as if urging her to spill her guts to him—she just might.

she stayed silent for a moment, trying to find the right phrasing to not give him what he was looking for, but he had her right where she wanted.

“there’s pictures all over social media, lando!” she threw her arms down to her sides with a slap that filled the room, frustration weaved into her words. fuck, she was this close to just breaking down to him, deconstructing everything she had built to keep him at an arms-length—but he was always within reach.

“really? you’re gon’ believe fan-made social media accounts? y’know you could’ve just asked me,” he told her, shaking his head as he pulled himself from the counter. his expression softly at the clear frustration that laced her nerves and muscles.

“well, y’never mentioned anything about it!” she was grasping at straws, anything for the upper hand—the upper hand she never had.

“because there wasn't anything to it,” his hands slipped into his pockets as he looked down on her, she watched his pupils dilated under his heavy-lidded gaze. His lips were slightly parted and she could see every crack of his chapped lips—she would force chapstick into his hand every time she saw him. “she’s jus’ a friend.”

“besides, the girl i want as my girlfriend,” he began—another shatter in her heart. A hand lifted to the side of her face, fingers grazing against her skin as he brushed stray hairs from her face, “is right in front of me.”

his voice was hushed, words only meant for her—even if they were the only people in the apartment. the hand that hovered over the side of her face—that had pushed back the stray strands that would later be stuck to her skin—pressed against her cheek. his thumb dragged back and forth over her textured face—he had never seen anyone more pretty. his palm was hot against her face—burning like it had done her thigh, but it felt right. it felt right—it was right.

it felt right as his lips tentatively pressed against hers, cracked lips against her plush pink lips as his hand slid across her cheek into her hand. it felt right to have him now—because it was.

—

taglist (found here): @slut4lrh @kaa12 @taylorslovesswifties13 @sbella13 @nhlfs @beskardroids @hiireadstuff @lorenica @delululeclerc @c-losur3 @casperlikej @thearchieves @soamericn @tellybearryyyy @poppyflower-22 @sapphiccloud @darleneslane @decafmickey

proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[tallulahchanel]

So, I posted this out of context, let me explain what happened and how it got to this point. It's literally a whole thing.

This started on Twitter when someone I follow asked what we were wearing to see The Little Mermaid, and I responded with my little cosplay you guys saw. I looked and felt cute and wanted to share it. That person retweeted my photo on her page because she thought I looked pretty and wanted others to see it. It started off very positive, people loved it and some even said that I inspired them to dress up as Ariel to see the movie. I liked and responded to the comments I could and I went on about my day.

Originally, I had muted the post because I was getting more comments than I could respond to, but I left a tweet saying that I appreciated the positive comments. By the time, the negative comments got in, I wasn't made aware until I saw the post on other people's pages in my defense. So against my better judgment, I scrolled through the thread to see what they were saying, and honestly didn't care. I actually found it funny that people are on the internet were bothered by my existence. So my friends and I were laughing at them.

I don't know how it escalated to me becoming the subject of the day's Twitter discourse about fatphobia in the black community because majority of those comments were coming from black men, telling me that I need to go to the gym because it's not healthy for me to be the size that I am. One of them even went as far as to say I'm gonna die before I'm 50 due to health complications. While I do understand the health implications of being this size, that's none of their business and they were out of pocket for saying that, and people on Twitter were clocking them for it.

By the time, it got to Facebook, they had been saving my picture to post on their pages because they were getting dragged for filth on the original Twitter thread, so they wanted to do it in spaces where they felt safe to speak negatively on me. To their detriment, people who know me saw it, and immediately ran to my defense because that was not cool. And I had an honest panic for a second because I thought it could've escalated to me getting doxxed, and that made me feel unsafe for a while. From what I understand, he did eventually take the past down after being dragged for filth, but later put it back up after I refused to have a conversation with him despite his fake apology, and he's getting dragged for filth again.

The above post, I found out about later and I shared it to say not to spread false information about me, which pissed off my bestie and she had words to say about it.

To wrap this up, it was an innocent situation that got escalated by the wrong people. My emotions are up and down right now. I'm not exactly sad because I expected negative comments, just not to the extent it has gone to, but I'm more overwhelmed by the love and support I've received from my friends, family, and strangers. Now, I'm just waiting for this blow over, and this isn't gonna change anything. I'm still gonna post cosplays and other pictures of me. My shine hasn't been dulled, this situation is just frustrating.

At this point, I don't know what to say. It's beyond bullying and harassment. Now, we're spreading false information about me. Like why?

[thebibliosphere]

There’s a youtuber I watch, I won’t mention her cause I don’t want people giving her shit in the comments (not that I think most of you would, but y’know, it’s the Internet) and she’s recently got on this really... anti-tech bend in which she is referring to her enjoyment of cell phone usage as an “addiction”. And while for sure being constantly wired and “on” is harmful, especially doom scrolling twitter, the things she is describing doesn’t sound like addiction to me, but rather ADHD brains seeking dopamine feedback. And honestly? Making broad, sweeping comments like “cell phones are so harmful, and if you can’t just sit still and be present in the moment you have an addiction” is... making me very uncomfortable.

Like, you want me to pay attention to something? Sure, I can do that. For limited amounts of time. You want my sustained attention for hours? Not gonna happen. Unless I’m hyperfixating, nothing is going to hold my attention span for hours on end. And generally speaking, people enjoy the initial upswing of my fixations, but they don’t enjoy the prolonged outcome of me neglecting to self care for eight hours straight because my brain decided this is the only thing I’m going to focus on to the point where I forget to eat, drink, sleep, or even go to the bathroom. So when people tell me they want my undivided attention, I like to tell them they really don’t.

What I can give you however, is a rational amount of attention with the aid of things like stim and fidget toys to keep my brain from wandering for the duration of whatever we’re doing. Sometimes that can even look like scrolling mindlessly on my phone. Speaking personally, most of my attention will be on what you’re saying. I’m just giving my brain background noise to focus on while I actually process what you’re saying/doing.

And you know what? Learning to both do this and accept that I need to do this and I’m not a horrible person for not being able to 100% focus unaided, has been actively helpful and healthful for my mental health. I get fewer ADHD meltdowns, which yeah, can occur with both over stimulation and under stimulation as well. 

My brain needs some of that instant gratification because it’s dopamine starved. And what might be a problem for some people, and I genuinely believe it is... Making these sweeping statements about addiction, which is a very serious mental health issue, and making it part of your “I shun technology” spiel you’re on while running a business through YouTube is... not as sincere as you perhaps hope it is. But of course, it’s the shunning of technology as evil, so the comments are just filled with “god, you’re so right, we should all go back to before we had smart technology”, inevitably posted from an iphone with absolutely zero self awareness or sense of irony.

And then when I brought up ADHD and neurodivergency in the discord it was liked I’d just asked “who wants to kick puppies?!” and ended up muting the thread because it was easier to peace out than listen to the whole “you don’t have ADHD, sweety, you’re just highly sensitive” bullshit that is becoming more and more common in these types of groups.

Idk, the whole thing just... rubbed me the wrong way. Especially because the things she were labeling as “signs of addiction”, said in such a scandalized manner, were actually hallmarks of what I now recognize as neurodivergency. And while addiction is a major problem with ADHD—specifically with unmedicated and undiagnosed individuals who have been forced to try and rectify their lack of dopamine on their own—shunning what are honestly harmless coping mechanisms is not going to help those people. 

So you check twitter while watching TV. So what? Oh, you checked your phone ten times a day? So what? Is it actively harming you? Is it harming your mental health? Are you doom scrolling? Is it harming those around you? Are you idealizing Instagram too much and putting yourself down? Then yeah, those are bad. Maybe work on that. 

But also maybe consider you might just blaming the phone for other problems in your life you’re not addressing cause it’s easier to blame technology than it is to even consider for one second you might have ADHD.

Idk. Thanks for coming to my rambling TED talk. I’m off to read a book while listening to a podcast about a different book.

[softtrashmouth]

Bo Sinclair x Twitter stan!reader

a/n: random thought I had so pls enjoy this mess.

Pairings: Bo Sinclair x Gn!reader

summary: instances where reader is always saying “slay”, “please tell me I got krissed”, etc etc.

word count: 1,063

It started as a few small phrases nothing too noticeable, but to be fair Bo noticed everything about you.

Initially, Bo took your newfound slang as you being from the more populated cities and not from the countryside but he never would have guessed it came from a stupid little app on your phone.

“what’re ya ramblin bout’ now sweetheart?” Bo would question with a tilt of his head and a curious gleam in his eyes.

The sound of Bo’s voice made you spin around so fast your head felt dizzy.

“jus’ tellin’ Vinny here that his new wax figure was slaying, it’s giving the monopoly guy, look at his hat!” you could only gleam with pure happiness, throwing your pointer finger at the new wax finger excitedly.

Bo just gave you a quizzical look, glancing between you and Vincent as Vincent just gave him a shrug, silently removing himself to get back to his work.

୨୧

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Another hot day in Ambrose had you spreading out on the couch with a box fan next to you as you lazily scrolled through Twitter. Laughing and slapping a hand over your mouth now and then when you saw a good meme, simply passing time until Bo got home.

As you were scrolling through the very last bits of a Twitter thread fight you had been reading for the past 15 minutes, tears swelling your eyes as you tried to contain your laughter knowing too much noise would annoy Vincent as he worked you heard the front door creak open.

Typically, you would greet Bo with a warm kiss and shove your fingers through his slightly damped hair but right now you were still caught up on the Twitter thread, fully invested in this online drama.

Bo trudged into the house, boots heavily slapping against the floor as the sounds got louder and louder until they came to a complete stop. You could feel Bo’s eyes burning holes into your neck as you wiped a hand under your eyes still snickering at the posts.

“Well hello to you too darlin’”

Bo scowled as he made his way to sit on the love seat opposite of you watching as you spared him a glance before locking your eyes back on your screen, which earned a loud scoff from Bo.

Knowing he’d scold you like a mother for “Bein’ on the damn phone too much” or the lack of attention you were unsure, so you put your phone down and made your way to him.

Quickly find your way to Bo’s lap your hands reflexively made their way to his shoulders as you began to massage them, peppering soft kisses all over his face. This seemed to please Bo as he let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes as you began to relax him.

“What’s so important on that stupid phone of yers anyways huh?”

Bo questioned, eyes still closed as he let out an amused but annoying hum. Your fingers grazed the curls at the end of his hair a soft smile playing on your lips as you recall what has kept you entertained while you waited for him. Pulling your phone out and opening the Twitter app you went through your likes and began showing Bo what had kept your attention from him.

Earning a small scoff as you read him the tweets, chuckling every so often when you found something funny.

“And then they asked “what shoes yo momma got on” “ you snickered twisting your phone towards Bo’s face allowing him to watch as you mindlessly scroll. To which he would playfully roll his eyes making some sarcastic comment about how stupid the things you found funny were.

୨୧

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Your face dropped almost as soon as you heard the quiet thud followed by small pitter-patters and a jingle of a bell.

You see, moments earlier you hummed a soft tune to yourself as you slowly spread the strawberry jam across the bread, quickly flipping the loaf onto the other half which was messily covered in peanut butter.

Smiling to yourself you decided to grab a glass of juice to complete your meal, absent-mindedly setting the sandwich down on the plate as you reach to grab a wine glass which was your first mistake.

At the sound of what could only be compared to a large dinner being ravaged, you turned on your heel to be met with Jonesy’s doe eyes as she licked the remaining strawberry jam that drooped on her nose.

Anger, shock, surprise. Any emotions you could have possibly felt all rushing over you until you finally settled on disbelief.

Laughing to yourself you counted all of your fingers, pinched your skin, anything that would prove this was a dream or that the summer heat was simply making you hallucinate.

“Okay, very funny. Where's the cameras?”

You huffed quickly shuffling through the kitchen, flinging open every cabinet door, the pantry door, and even going to look inside the fridge.

“Where’s the music, please tell me I was just krissed” you mumble to yourself as you check the last cabinet. Huffing to yourself you finally let it go and decided to just make another sandwich.

Standing up from your crouched position you began to pull out more bread, sloppily re-making the sandwich, turning back on your heels once more to begin to place the food back where you got it you see Bo with an unreadable expression making you freeze.

“How long have you been watching me?”

You mumbled, a mouth full of peanut butter and strawberry jam. Bo just shook his head as he slowly stalked his way toward you, arms wrapping around your middle as his chin dug into the dip between your neck and your shoulder.

You could feel his hot breath fanning over your neck as he smirked.

“You an that damn phone y/n.”

bo chuckled.

[silversatoru]

soapy titty pics (sexting w/ inumaki)

a/n: here u go shawty i hope you enjoy ur toge smut @brandmeyelena <3.

toge inumaki x f!reader

tags/warnings: sexting, mild edging, male masturbation

w/c: 1.2k

it’s 2:00 am and toge’s still awake again.

staying up late and thinking of you — your hair, your eyes, the small curve at the base of your back. then his mind starts to wonder to other aspects of your beautiful body — your thighs, your tits, the way your perfect lips would look wrapped around his cock.

it’s been almost a month since he’s seen you and it’s been the most excruciating month of his life. he was tired and bitter that he had to be in another country fighting curses while you were back home without him. he missed pulling pranks on the other students and hearing your laugh ring out through the dorms — but he also missed the feeling of his dick in your pretty pussy. toge’s mind was bouncing from one extreme to the other but it was fitting, because he missed every aspect of you.

as thoughts of you continued to cloud his mind, his hand crept down to the growing bulge in his silky pajama pants. he pressed a firm hand over his budding erection, slowly palming it up and down.

fuck — the things he would do to have your head bobbing between his thighs right now.

his phone emitted a bright light in his dark room, a soft vibration buzzing from the device. he almost didn’t check it, because there was no way anyone of importance was contacting him at this hour. it was probably just an email, or a new follower on twitter, and he was kind of fucking busy living in his sexual fantasies of you.

but then it buzzed again, and then a third time, and a fourth time too. curiosity getting the best of him, he decided his aching member could wait another minute while he checked the notifications.

his cock twitched underneath the loose fabric, his mouth practically salivating as he stared as his phone. they were pictures from you, dimly lit snapshots of your round, perky tits covered in suds of soap. the pictures were accompanied by a single message, which read:

‘some soapy titty pics for u love,, wish u were here with me rn’

how ironic that both of you were up at this obscene hour just thinking of each other. you really were his soulmate — but he could focus on the sappy shit later, for now all he cared to focus on was how fucking hot you were.

‘yeah i’d titty fuck the hell out of those

how’d you know i was thinking about you right now?’

he quickly typed out his responses before his hand trailed back down to his throbbing erection. but this time he gently pushed the waistband of his pants down his thighs and let his cock spring free from its previous containment. he sucked a sharp breath through his teeth as he brushed his fingers over the sensitive skin.

he pumped a few lazy strokes up his length while he scrolled through the pictures you sent, pinching his phone so he could zoom in on your soapy, glistening breasts. your timing was truly impeccable — you have no idea how much he needed these.

‘lucky guess? you’re always thinking about me

and i’d let you do more than just titty fuck me

i can think of a couple other things that’d be even better’

your messages vibrate through his phone and send another rush of blood straight to his dick. he lifted his hand and collected some saliva in his mouth before spitting it into his palm. he massaged the sticky substance into his cock, his head falling back onto his pillow while he texted you back with his other hand.

‘obviously,, ur tits are just the warm-up

and then we’d move on to your mouth, right? with your hands tied behind your back just how you like them?’

he could practically imagine you down there, strands of spit hanging from the corners of your swollen lips while your tongue flicked over the head of his member. you’d be staring up at him with biggest eyes too, and they’d be glistening with a hint of mischief as you continued to tease him.

toge desperately fucked himself into his hand until the point where he was about to come, and then let his cock fall helplessly from his fingers. he was going to drag this out for as long as he could, edging himself in between each of your messages. but he could barely contain himself when the next thread came rolling through:

‘of course babe

i’d cover your thighs in love marks and then lather your dick with my tongue

hot, sticky saliva dripping from my chin while you shove it down my throat as hard as you want’

you were ruining this poor boy, a couple small beads of sweat forming above his brow. he was fiercely bucking his hips into his hand now, but it still wasn’t what he needed — it’s still wasn’t you.

but it was good enough, and he pushed himself right to the edge again before quickly letting go. his fingers twitched and trembled while they flurried across the screen:

‘fuck

then you can relax and i’ll do the work

slide my dick inside your wet pussy and bend you over the edge of the bed

i need you so bad it’s been so long’

toge’s hand wrapped around his shaft again, pumping faster and more frantic than he’d been before. his eyes were squeezed shut and he could practically feel the walls of your cunt around his cock. he’s picturing you riding you him, hearing the soft slapping noise of your ass hitting his thighs with every bounce. your hair is falling around your face, messy stands in front of your eyes as they roll back into your head. you look so pretty, so perfect on his cock, so-

‘two more weeks toge

two more weeks until i’m moaning and whimpering in your ears

gasping for air and clawing at the sheets while you take me from behind

i want you to wreck me when you finally get home’

he could almost hear the illusion of your delicate moans, the way they roll off your tongue and right into his yearning ears. and he could almost see your face contorting in overwhelming pleasure while he grinds his hips into yours.

clusters of the quietest whimpers slipped through his lips while he squirmed and stretched out his legs. he was intoxicated with thoughts of your body on his, your name glued to his lips while strings of white flew onto his bare chest. he milked out every last drop of his seed, the sticky white substance covering his torso and dripping down his hand.

he dropped his phone to the bed, the only sound in the silent room being his heavy, breathless pants. it was satisfying, doing this while he texted you, but it still didn’t amount to the real thing. what he really fucking needed was for this goddamn mission to end early so he could come home to you.

[inumakitten]

headcanon — ❛ inumaki’s ways of asking for affection ❜

note! since inumaki can’t actually ask for affection, i made a set of drabbles on how he’d ask for kisses, hugs, + cuddles. 

includes! pda, inumaki being adorable

synopsis! inumaki’s different ways of telling you he wants affection.

ʚ hugs ɞ

while you’re talking to maki, you feel a hand slithering around your waist. it hangs on the small of your back, circles rubbed against the fabric. there was no need to look behind you to see who it was, without a doubt you knew it was inumaki.

arms encircled your stomach. the inhales and exhales inumaki took could be felt on your back, the heat of his breath warming the nape of your neck.

chuckling, you turn while in inuamki’s arms. flashing a grin towards your boyfriend, you ask, “is there something you need?” a teasing glint in your tone.

inumaki rolls his eyes. despite his reaction, you can’t help but notice the red blush coloring his ears.

“salmon.”

a laugh escapes your lips, finding humor in the way that inumaki huffs, pinching lightly at your cheek. batting his hand away, you pull him closer to you. guiding his chin to rest on your shoulder. one of your arms lay on his back, surrounding his waist.

maki watches in slight amusement as you kiss inumaki’s temple, seeing him nuzzle the side of your neck in response. small smirk edging across her lips, when you carry on with their previous conversation. not bothered by the fluff of white hair squishing your cheek.

the discussion continues, as if it hadn’t paused. though the wandering hands finding their way underneath your shirt and heating the expanse of your exposed skin, was rather distracting. you couldn’t help but feel content in the moment you were in.

ʚ kisses ɞ

the touch of a warm hand nudges against yours, fingers brushing the palm. encasing the digits with their own, as the thumb caresses what it could reach on the back of your palm.

glancing to your left, you’re graced with the sight of pretty violet eyes starting at you.

without so much of a warning, inumaki raises a finger to press against your lips. two gentle taps in the middle. it’s there that what he wants becomes apparent.

kissing his forehead with a smile, you pull away to watch pink flood his face, reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. he’d always get like that after every kiss, it was such a cute habit of his. despite his outward pda and clinginess, every touch by you seemed to fluster him. despite it being him who initiates such touches sometimes.

a sudden shake of inumaki’s head breaks you from your thoughts. bangs swayed side to side at the movement. undoing the zipper of his high collar, inumaki quickly points to his own lips. eyes closed and face scrunched in embarrassment.

holding the side of his cheek, you give a tiny boop to his nose. right before kissing the curse marks near the corners of his lips. you were about to pull away, to tease him some more, but you’re caught off guard by inumaki pushing closer. his lips making sure you don’t leave his own, like you previously attempted.

just as inumaki pushes in, he pulls away. probably at the expense of teasing you, as you did him. the laugh that comes from him at seeing you pout, makes your stomach flip. observing his wide grinning smile and hunched shoulders, feeling your own cheeks burn and increase in heat.

you kiss him again to shut him up.

ʚ cuddles ɞ

scrolling through mindless internet content on your phone wouldn’t have ended in such a bruise to the stomach, had not been for inumaki. at the sight of your back laying in bed and stomach exposed, he had taken the opportunity to jump on top of you. landing roughly, as his body collides with yours.

letting out a pained groan, you fix a glare at the boy curling against your chest. feet intertwined with yours, as his arms find their way under your own.

sighing, you let it go. there was no point in getting mad, when all you could see is a head of white hair. plus you really couldn’t stay mad at him. not when he’s cuddling you like this.

relaxing into the bed’s warm blankets, you idly pet the head laying on your chest. nails lightly scratching the scalp, massaging it. you sweep his bangs back, hands combing the strands away from his forehead.

you feel yourself relax in the moment, humming a sweet melody you heard when you were little. not caring in the slightest if you don’t remember the lyrics.

a minute passes and inumaki stirs in your arms. moving his head to look up at you, chin planted on his hands. legs tangled with each other, while your chests rose and fell in tandem.

you’re still brushing the hair from his eyes, ones which seem to glisten with adoration and love. you catch yourself smiling, caressing his face, as your thumb glides along his lips. the digit traces the curse marks across his face.

he was always so insecure about them. sometimes hated that he had such a curse power. not being able to tell you how he feels, can’t convey how much he loves you through words. you remember him writing all his feelings down on a purple scratch notepad. how he cried in your arms. how your shoulder was soaked with his tears.

it was the same day you told him you loved him. that no matter what he was the only one for you, nothing will ever change that. and it was the same day he told you he loved you too.

that day you both cried in each other’s arms.

“i love you, toge.”

those lovely violet eyes blink towards you. a blush creeps up his face, still he doesn’t let that deter him. grabbing your face with both of his hands, squeezing your cheeks together at the pressure. inumaki kisses all over your face, the sensation tickling each time his lips meet your skin.

“tuna mayo.”

there was this twitter thread, which shows the meanings of inumaki’s onigiri language and there was this one headcanon that “tuna mayo��� was inumaki’s term of endearment.

[azalea-mcyt]

IM REQUESTING AGAIN LMFAO HI OKAY SO HEAR ME OUT I FUCKING SAW A DTEAM HAND THREAD AND SAPNAP WAS THE FIRST KNE AND I JUST @*#*@**!!??!?!?#?!?!

https://twitter.com/muchlovedwt/status/1438088564105940995?s=19

LIKEE BRO TJATS FUVKING HOT NGL

SO YK SAPNAP BE8NG COCKY AND SHIT ANS BEING PROUD OF H8MSELF ( AS HE SHOULD ) AND READER IS JUST SCROLLING THROUGH TWITTER ( SAPNAP AND READER ARE PARTNERS ) AND THEY CAME ACROSS THAT THREAD THE DTEAM HAND THREAD AND OPENED IT SUDDENLY SAPNAP WAS BEHIND THEM READER NOT KNOWING SCROLLEE THROUGJ THE THREAS ONLY LIKING SAPNAPS AND SAPNAP JUST GRABBED READERS CHIN AND SAYS SOMETHING HOT LIKE UHMMM IDK JUST SOMETIHING ABT READER LIKING THWIR HAND LMAP

And he says if reader pleasures him good ( any kind of pleasure ) he will reward them with fingering them very good and reader does good and so sapnap rewards them with overstimulation degradtion + uh the goodgirl THINGY UH FUCK I FORGOT WHAT ITS CALLED LMAO UHM I FORGOT WHAT THE KINK IS CALLED LMFAO COMOLIMENT KINK??? I HAVE BAD MEMORY😭😭 BUT THAT ONE WHATEVER IT IS

Afab any prns

- 👾 anon

ℍ𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕪

Pairing: CC!Sapnap x fem!reader

Kinks involved: oral receiving (both male and female), little but of hair pulling, spit/swallow, praise, degradation, overstimulation

Pronouns: afab, she/her

Scrolling through Twitter, a picture came up on your feed. A picture of your boyfriend's hands.

Sapnap's hands were always pretty to you. Perfectly framed, with veins running beautifully through them. The things you would let those hands do, you thought.

So, of course, you liked the pictures. Every single one.

A sudden grab on your chin startled you, as it pulled your head to the side. Sapnap was looking straight at you, his amazing hands still on your chin.

"You like my hands then?" Staring into his eyes, he continued to speak. "If you can get me to cum, I'll put these hands to good use."

That feeling in your stomach grew. This man was too good to be true; you felt like a mere mortal bowing to a God.

Getting up from the sofa, you kneeled on the floor, allowing your partner to sit back and relax. A sigh escaped his lips as you pulled down his underwear.

You shuffled further towards him and kitten-licked the tip. Sapnap's moans were a little louder this time. God, was that a beautiful sound to hear.

Next, you wrapped your lips around the tip, slowly making your way down, then slowly pulling back up. His head was leaned back as he indulged in the feeling of you around him.

One of his free hands weaved its way through your hair, slightly tugging as if to guide you. And you gladly obliged, hearing his moans get louder.

It wasn't long after that until Sapnap reached his high. He spilled into your mouth, watching you swallow.

"You're so good to me," He told you, guiding you over to the sofa. "Now it's my turn."

He pulled down your leggings, running a finger up your clothed pussy. Shuddering at the feeling, Sapnap then took your underwear off, exposing you to him.

One lick up was enough to drive you crazy. Yet he still dived in. Every so often, he would tell you how good you tasted, and how much he loved you. All you could do was whimper and moan in response.

"You think you can take more?" Sapnap suddenly asked you. He spoke again moments later. "Too bad, you're taking it anyway."

One of his fingers were pushed inside of you, thrusting in and out at varying paces- all of which were enough to get you tightening around him.

He knew you were close, and he took complete advantage of that. Another of his fingers slid into you, and he thrusted them inside you quicker than before.

"Come on slut, I haven't got all day."

That was enough to send you over the edge. You moan embarrassingly loud, with Sapnap even having to cover your mouth.

But he didn't stop. He kept going past your orgasm. Your legs started to shake as your bofy couldn't handle anymore.

"Sap, stop." He immediately took his fingers out, sucking the slick off them.

He was a gentleman while he clean you up, making sure that you were alright, and that he didn't hurt you in any way.

"How do you like my hands now?" Sapnap asked, a sparkle in his eye.

👾anon your mind is just *chefs kiss*

xoxo,

azalea

[katyasrussianaccent]

you're so golden (corpse x reader)

Summary: You're a faceless youtuber that sings cover songs. What happens when a certain faceless streamer slides into your DMs after you cover one of his songs?

Author's Note: Don't hate me! This was gonna be a cute chapter but then I decided against that. Credit to @moontwinkles for the spilling scene idea. Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

The sound of your alarm wakes you from your slumber with a suddenness. Bleary-eyed, you roll over to turn it off, letting out a small sigh as your body and brain start to awaken. You’re going to meet Corpse. You’re going to meet Corpse. It bares repeating in your mind; the prospect still not quite registering.

You haven’t had the greatest sleep, your mind racing most of the night; skittish little thoughts that had you tapping your toes on the mattress in agitation as you struggled to turn them off. Sunlight streams through the cracks in your blinds, a warm glow painted in stripes on your wall. It was going to be a good day, tiredness be damned.

You get up, stretching your arms out as wide as possible and relishing in the relief as your muscles unclench themselves. There’s a little spring in your step as you walk to the bathroom, to wash your face and brush your teeth. You aren’t nervous as you pick out your favourite outfit, instead you feel excited. It’s funny how little scraps of fabric and thread can impact your mood so much, but you smile at your reflection, the feeling of confidence is nice, albeit rare.

The rumbling in your stomach signals that you need to eat something before you leave. Nothing too fancy, just some toast and a glass of juice. You can feel the nerves start to grow a little, the food sits heavy on your tongue, forcing you to swallow it. You grab your phone, scrolling as you chew. You go onto Corpse’s twitter, smiling at the picture he’s posted.

Out of curiosity, you go onto his likes. You always find his likes interesting; the random things he’s added gives you more of an insight to his thoughts and feelings. You chew the inside of your cheek as you scroll down past girls with perfect skin and bodies; your previous confidence now feels a little misplaced.

Deciding against letting it ruin your mood, you close the tab and go to grab your bag before locking your door and heading to your car. You text Rae to let her know you’re leaving and she replies almost immediately to wish you luck. Sitting in front of the steering wheel, you exhale as you start the engine and begin to drive. This was really happening. When Corpse had asked to meet, you were shocked. While you had discussed it, you had been under the assumption it would be a while before it happened. You just hope you don’t make an idiot of yourself; a tendency you had when you were nervous.

While you love the city, there’s something about driving on the open road. No noise, just the sound of tires on concrete. The scenery remains the same; nothing but trees and the occasional house far in the horizon. You’re meeting him in Santa Barbara; a place you’ve been to once in your life, so it might as well be brand new. It’s halfway between both of you, and while it’s still a few hours drive, you’ve got good music and some sunshine to keep you happy.

The drive flies in and before you know it, you’ve arrived. You’re meeting at a cafe that sells bubble tea; it was Corpse’s recommendation. It’s a charming little place, with white table and chairs on a cobbled patio area. The building itself is white brick, plant pots decorate the window sills and there’s a small crowd of people waiting in line. You turn off the engine, and grab the perfume out your bag, the smell of peaches invading your nostrils. With one last look at yourself, you exit your car and make your way to the cafe.

You’re not sure how you’ll find him, being faceless and all. A quick scan of the people around you, your eyes zero in on a figure dressed all in black, leaning against a wall that’s slightly in the shade. There’s butterflies in your stomach as you look at him from afar, your feet apparently unable to move on their own accord. He stands out amongst the brightly coloured outfits of everyone else, and you can see the sun glint against the chains on his jeans.

“Hi,” you greet, your hand going up to half-wave at him. He’s handsome; pale skin and cheekbones that disappear under the fabric of his mask. A mop of black curls are atop his head, falling out in different directions, and he brushes one off his forehead as he looks at you.

“Hey,” he replies and you smile a little. There’s a thick fog of awkwardness between you as you both take each other in, though trying not to look so obvious about it. You feel under scrutiny as his eyes move over you, and you meet his gaze before you both look down at the ground, a faint blush on your cheeks.

“How was the drive?,” you ask at the same time he does, causing you both to laugh. “Oh. Uh yeah it was good, thanks, how was yours?”

“Yeah it was good,” he replies, his eyes still on the ground.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

You scream internally as your eyes dart around, looking for something, anything to break this awkwardness. It shouldn’t be like this, you have such great chemistry on the phone and online, but there’s nothing right now. Is it you? There’s a niggling in your brain that says he was fine until now; until he saw you.

“We could go, uh, into the cafe? Get some food?” he suggests, breaking you from your self deprecating thoughts. You nod and you follow him to the door. He opens it and you dodge out the way as it narrowly escapes hitting you in the face. Corpse mutters an apology as he walks in, his eyes glued to the ground.

You order together; you get yourself a boba tea and a burger and Corpse does the same. He pays without saying anything to you, and while the day’s isn’t going quite as you pictured, the gesture makes your cheeks warm. You desperately hope it gets better. Maybe you’ve misread the situation and the chemistry you felt you had was just friendship on his part. Friends flirt all the time, and it doesn’t have to mean anything.

Your food arrives and you sit in relative silence as you eat. The times you do speak is stilted, full of one word answers and obvious observations. You go to reach for your boba as Corpse goes to grab salt, and the movement of his hand plus the crampedness of the table pushes your own hand back towards you, knocking the cup all over your neck and chest. Corpse shoots up in a speed that shouldn’t be human, his hand full of napkins as he comes towards you. The liquid is cold against your skin, and you look down to see your outfit now ruined, the fabric sticking to you in wet patches.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, I’m so sorry,” Corpse says, his tone panicky as he dabs at your neck. He continues to dab, his hands pressing at the neckline of your top and if this was another time, you’d feel all fluttery at his hands on your skin. But it’s not, you’re uncomfortable and the day has sucked so far and all you want to do is go home. He discards the napkin onto the table and grabs another, his fingers warm against your collarbone as he presses the tissue. He doesn’t realise that he’s travelling downwards to your chest before he presses once, twice, before retracting his hand back like he’s been burned, the napkin falling to the floor. “Uh fuck, sorry, I didn’t realise I - “

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. “I’ve always wanted apple scented boobs, guess I can check that off my bucket list.” It’s a failed joke but humour is a defence mechanism for you, even if it’s not very funny. Corpse widens his eyes a little, his gaze fixed on the napkin that’s on the floor.

He hands you some more napkins and you clean up a little more. Your skin feels sticky, and you smell of artificial apple; but the apple isn’t sweet, it’s bitter and slightly unpleasant.

“Uh, I should probably go home and get a shower, I feel like I fell into a vat of sugar,” you say, standing up and grabbing your bag.

“Oh, yeah, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so clumsy,” Corpse replies. You can tell he feels awful, and while you sympathise, he’s not the one that’s just had almost a full cup of boba spilled on him.

You shake your head, “It’s fine, really. I just feel really gross. Don’t worry about it.” You smile in what you hope comes across as reassurance.

“Let me walk you back to your car,” he says. You nod and walk out together in silence; something you had gotten used to throughout the day.

“Have a safe drive back,” you say as you get to your car.

“I will. Let me know when you get home?” he asks, and you nod.

“Shall do. Goodbye Corpse,” you say, opening the door and waving at him through the window. He waves back and you watch him through the rearview mirror as he disappears out of sight. You feel like an idiot for believing this was going to be good, like you ever had a chance with him. You’d been saying it since the start; that it wouldn’t work, you had nothing in common, nothing to talk about. And you were right. Sometimes you hated being right.

You turn the engine on and sit there for a second, your head pressing against the steering wheel. What a waste of time this was. Grabbing your phone, you tweet quickly.

“Oh well, let’s go wallow in self pity,” you whisper before driving off.

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