#in a way that isn't helpful and doesn't make me feel good

[wileys-russo]

Not sure if you’re taking requests but I’m a sad and anxious American who could use a bit of happiness rn. Thank you in advance but also no worries if this doesn’t spark anything.

Just a little fluffy something with Leah or Alessia at home, “there’s no way these are vegan” after surprising them with homemade brownies

special brownies II l.williamson, a.russo

"less you can't eat brownies, we have a match tomorrow." leah reminded sternly as you carded your fingers through the moody strikers hair, her head resting in your lap as she groaned loudly at your other girlfriends words.

"yeah leah a match i have to play on my period! at least let me eat some sort of warm chocolate if i can't curl into a ball and die." alessia mumbled miserably, rolling over and pushing her face into your hoodie covered stomach.

"don't!" you mouthed at the older girl who scoffed and was clearly ready to say something that absolutely would not help the situation. "i'll make you brownies for after the game tomorrow baby, i promise." you assured alessia, rubbing her back gently as she huffed, clearly not happy but somewhat accepting of the offer.

"with ice cream?" "with ice cream." "that vanilla bean ice cream in the blue container?" "yes lessi, i will make sure to buy that exact ice cream just for you."

"you're going to bake brownies from scratch?" leah snickered, lifting your shared girlfriends legs and settling herself onto the sofa, alessia digging her heels into leahs thigh mumbling about a foot massage, making the defender roll her eyes but oblige none the less.

"yes i am. are you going to try and tell me i can't? little miss 'childrens menu'." you narrowed your eyes skeptically, feeling alessia chuckle lightly before leah squeezed her foot too hard and her head popped up to shoot her a glare.

"well babe i think we all remember the last time you tried to bake. i, at least, can admit that i am not a good cook. which is why i'm dating one and a half of them!" leah grinned, quickly assuring the grumpy striker that she was the one and you were the half.

"half!" you protested, a little pinch to your thigh meaning you resumed scratching alessia's back where you'd paused momentarily, glaring daggers at the other girl a few cushions down.

"you do your best baby, and your best is good. but maybe you could just buy some brownies? that little cafe leah loves does them with the chocolate chips, we can grab a coffee and then heat them up later after the game." alessia mumbled into your chest, patting your thigh in an attempt to show support.

"do you both really think i'm that incapable of making brownies?" you asked in disbelief, the silence in response practically deafening. "wow! well the truth comes out." you scoffed in offense, both blondes heads snapping toward you as you attempted to wiggle out from alessias grip.

"no come on love don't be like that! baking just isn't for everyone. same as football isn't for everyone or maths isn't for everyone, its fine!" alessia held on tightly, tugging you back down and shuffling her body to lay on you more as you crossed your arms.

"everyone has their own special skill set baby girl, yours just doesn't include baking. more like...burning? hey i bet if we were ever stranded on a desert island you'd be able to get a fire going!" leah was clearly trying to be on the same supportive track as your other girlfriend but failing miserably as even alessia cringed at the attempt.

"no baby she didn't mean that don't-" but this time you managed to pull yourself free and roll out from beneath alessia, shooting up to your feet and taking turns glaring at the two blondes still laid up on the sofa.

"tomorrow i will not be coming to your game. i am going to spend the afternoon here baking and you will both come home to the best fucking brownies you've ever tasted-no actually the best vegan brownies you've ever tasted because i am that confident that i can do it. even without dairy!" you announced, stomping off to go sulk by yourself and look up some recipes.

"wait but babe you're still going to get regular ice cream right? not vegan ice cream? right? babe!"

~

you'd been so confident, you really had, which had made the fall from grace and back into reality a difficult one.

the reality that your girlfriends doubts weren't so far fetched and you might not actually be capable of baking, all the more prickly an acceptance to swallow.

which is what had lead to this disgustingly sneaky switch, the evidence of your previous three attempts scattered strategically around the kitchen for your lovers to see, and the evidence of the store bought brownies you'd rushed out to buy instead well hidden at the very bottom of the trash bins.

you'd just taken them out of the microwave to warm them up, very carefully stacking them up on a plate when you heard alessia's car in the driveway, leah playing passenger princess today.

they'd done their best this morning to grovel and sweet talk and try their very hardest to change your mind about coming to the game but you were stubborn by nature and once it was made up there wasn't much to be done to change it.

so they'd trudged off to the match like kicked puppies and you'd spent your afternoon burning chocolate and yelling at the oven trying to shift the blame before inevitably accepting your fate.

however you'd made such a fuss and a point both last night and this morning about your abilities that you may have accepted your fate, but you had no intent on letting your girlfriends do the same, the art of deception hopefully saving you the further embarrassment of eating your words with an audience.

"you did it!" alessias eyes lit up as she entered the kitchen first, hair damp and scraped up into a bun. "congratulations on the hat trick baby." you smiled, pecking her lips a few times before her loving gaze dropped down to the sweet treats on the counter.

"i think she plays better on her period." leah mused as she wandered in, the younger blonde shooting her a dirty look in response as leah kissed her cheek apologetically and wrapped you in a hug.

"you're so much prettier when you don't talk." you teased, squeezing her face in your hand with a wink as leah pulled a face and blew a raspberry on your cheek.

"less!" you laughed, turning around a few seconds later and already finding the striker with a mouthful of brownie, crumbs down the front of her hoodie and a blissed out look on her face.

"what? i was promised these!" she defended still with a mouthful of food making you wince and push her lightly. "yes you were babe and you more than earned them." you chuckled, leah reaching around you to take one for herself.

"babe there's no way these are vegan!" the milton keynes local scoffed after a mere sniff causing your eyes to roll as she took a cautious bite. "are too." you gestured your arms around to the plethora of substitutes piled around the kitchen as leah hummed skeptically.

"just tell her she did a good job, shut up, and stuff your face with chocolate leah." alessia defended, hugging you from behind as you smiled gratefully and kissed her jaw, pushing away from her as she shoved the other half of the baked good into her mouth and sent crumbs showering down on you.

"well i need a quick shower but ice creams in the freezer-" you kissed alessia's cheek since her lips were preoccupied making out with a brownie.

"-whipped creams in the fridge." you pecked leahs lips knowingly. "oi!" the defender grabbed at you as your hand collected with her ass with a wink, escaping to the bathroom for a shower and leaving them to their brownies.

which may have been a mistake.

when you returned it was to a welcomingly quiet living room, both of your blondes laid on the lounge watching a film, which judging by the bored look on leahs face and the concentrated one on alessia's, the film had been the strikers choice.

offering them both a cup of tea which was met with a resoundingly quick yes from each you disapeared to the kitchen, not hearing leah get up to follow you much to alessia's grumpy protests at being left alone.

"you know babe i noticed something very interesting about your brownies." leah hummed causing you to jump a little not having thought anyone was with you, flicking the kettle on to boil and raising an eyebrow at her questioningly.

"well you know i love a good jigsaw, yeah?" leah questioned, grabbing the plate of brownies which was remarkably untouched given alessia's desire to inhale the lot of them just moments before you ducked off for a shower.

"but with a jigsaw, all the pieces...have to match up." leah nodded down as your eyes dropped, leah having lined up the brownies which sure enough weren't even close to matching up together the way they would if you'd baked them in the tray you'd claimed to.

"well thats because-" "oh no no my girl, i wasn't asking." leah interrupted with a shake of her head and a finger pressed to your lips. "i know you didn't bake those, and they sure as shit aren't vegan." leah smirked knowingly, pulling your body closer into hers as she leaned down, lips ghosting your own as right as you tried to kiss her she pulled away, smirk growing wider as her hands slipped up your hoodie.

"the only question i want the answer to is, how are you going to make it up to us for lying baby?"

[prael]

Day 10: Gambit

Nmixx Lily x male reader smut

words: 3,300 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

"Ah Fuck," Lily sighed, fiddling with her hair.

Stylists spent hours doing her hair, makeup, nails, clothes, all for the camera. Lily just knows how good she looked today. The stylists did their jobs, but she did hers too. She put her face into that angle that she knew drove people crazy. She is a professional, even if she wishes she wasn't.

She waited for hours backstage. Lily waited and waited. They all did. All of the group were just sitting there, in that green room, playing on their phones. There wasn't much to do except wait, take a nap, or eat snacks if the managers would let them. If Lily had her way, she'd eat nothing but those little chocolate-covered pretzels. “They're so good,” she always tells you.

Eventually, she had to get up on stage, stand around and smile. Then came the dance and the singing, that stuff. The usual routine, the usual performance, the same one they'd done hundreds of times. It was a dance that was burned into her muscle memory. She didn't have to think, it was like she wasn't even in control of her own body. She hit every fucking note like the pro that she is, and everyone cheered.

It's not that Lily is ungrateful. She is grateful! She knows she has a lot. But... she just couldn't help but feel a bit unsatisfied.

Like there is some huge hole inside her, and she just can't seem to fill it.

Like there's some other way she's supposed to be living.

The rest of the show goes as expected. People clap. Everyone takes pictures and videos. And they're off the stage. It's a short ride back to their apartment. They eat, they shower, they go to sleep.

Most of them do, anyway.

Lily is pulling on a hoodie and sweatpants. She is putting on a hat and pulling it low over her eyes before fitting a face mask over her mouth and nose. Lily doesn't look at herself in the mirror, and she leaves her phone in the apartment, keeping only her wallet on her as she leaves. She finds your car where it's always parked. Lily doesn't know what she'd do if you weren't waiting for her there.

"Hi, babe," you greet her. "Good day?"

"Yeah, sure," Lily grumbles, rolling her eyes. She is in a pissy mood, but that's nothing new these days. It takes time for her to adjust to being free again and to be happy now that you're around. She isn't angry at you. Lily's angry at everything else. She knows that you know that, too.

"What do you want to do?" You ask her.

"I just want to get drunk," she sighs. She's still in a bad mood. You know what will help with that.

You know it's not the answer. The bottom of a bottle never solves anything. Yet, you still took the time earlier in the day to pick up her favourite bottle of wine, and you know it's waiting for her at your apartment.

So that's where you take her. She's a little less tense once you get her inside. She's kicking off her shoes at the door, pulling off her mask and tossing it away, throwing off the hat, her hair falling free to her shoulders. Her eyes close, and she lets out a long sigh. It's almost like she can finally relax here. Like the tension can drain away and she can just... stop.

"Lily, babe, you know I love you so this comes from a good place, and I know you love singing and dancing, but you don't have to be an idol if it makes you so unhappy." You say to her. She's looking at you like she wants to scream at you. She knows that she can scream at you, that you'd take it. That's what she loves about you.

But she doesn't scream, Lily only contemplates what you have said. She takes her time, letting her anger subside, her body relax and her mind to calm down. "I can't just leave. I don't even want to leave. I just want a break." Lily doesn't know how else to put it. "Like, maybe if I got hurt, or sick, or even pregnant. They'd make me take time off."

You know that Lily is only half-serious, but she sounds like she's thought this over before, and she has.

"You'd be a cute mom." You tell her, and she is bright red in an instant, the blush on her cheeks darkening her face.

"Hell yeah, I can fulfil my dream of being a milf," Lily playfully says, and for the first time today, she cracks a genuine smile before heading for the wine rack. She quickly finds her favourite.

"I'll be the stay-at-home dad while mommy is out strutting her stuff on stage." You tease, wrapping your arms around Lily's waist, holding her from behind.

She chuckles and pours the wine into the glass. "Imagine the controversy too. A big middle finger to all those delulu fans." Lily is giggling to herself as she drinks. "That'd make it so worth it. They'd lose their minds."

"Everyone would go insane. An active idol having a kid? That'd be crazy." You add to the conversation. Lily is looking at you with this smirk that is so uniquely her. She looks a bit like the devil when she does it, but it is so fucking cute at the same time.

Lily turns to you with the straightest of faces. In an uncharacteristically deadpan tone, she says, "Put a baby in me." Her lips twitch. You know that she's fighting the urge to smile.

You can't help it. You laugh, and you kiss her. Lily's mouth is warm from the wine. She is sweet and fragrant. She tastes so damn good.

"Put a baby in me!" She laughs into your mouth, but she is still trying to kiss you, and you're still trying to kiss her. It's all very chaotic. Your hands are still on her waist, her fingers on her glass, and she's trying to press herself against you, and you're trying to press against her.

She puts down the wine and then her arms are around your neck. "Come on," she says between kisses, "let's make a baby." It's ridiculous. This is ridiculous. Lily knows it's ridiculous, but that's why it's funny, and why you're still kissing each other. Her fingers are running through your hair and you're grabbing at her ass. She's pulling away just to smile at you, and you can't help but smile back at her. Lily is a ray of sunshine.

"Fuck," she whispers as you lean in, and you kiss her again. "Come on," she repeats and then starts pulling at your shirt. You help her take it off, tossing it away, not caring where it lands. "We're gonna make a baby, right?" She's looking into your eyes, and you can see how eager she is. "You're gonna cum in me?"

The two of you are no strangers to a little bit of roleplay, but this feels like it has transcended the norm. It feels different, it feels real, it feels serious, even if it isn't. Is it?

"Yes," you say, kissing her neck. "Yes," you say, kissing her collarbones. "Yes," you whisper as you pull her hoodie up and over her head.

She's not wearing anything underneath. She's never been much of a fan of bras or underwear. You love seeing her like this, bare, naked. She has the most beautiful pair of breasts, the perfect size for her petite body. She is all smooth curves and long, elegant lines, like the figure of a woman that has been drawn and then come to life.

"I'm not joking," Lily whispers into your ear as she wraps her arms around you. Her soft breasts are pressing against you, and she is kissing you on your neck and shoulders. "I want a break. I'm so sick and tired of it." Her hot breath is in your ear and she gently bites the lobe. "I want to be a mother."

"Fuck, Lily..." You breathe as your hands slip into her sweats and find her ass. Firm flesh and smooth skin. Her hips press into your body, and her hand comes down to your cock. She's groping you through your pants and she is squeezing and rubbing and tugging, and it's making you so hard.

"It's not the first time we've talked about kids. We want one. Why wait?" She asks you as she slips her hand into your pants and grabs hold of your cock, pumping it. Lily's hands are so soft, so warm.

"It's insane. You could be forced to leave the group," you remind her. But you can feel it, too, that desire. It is growing in you, just as surely as you are in Lily's palm. It's like she's cast a spell over you and you're falling into some deep trance.

"I know," she groans into your mouth, "I wouldn't be the first to leave, though." She reminds you, her voice growing breathless and excited. Her eyes are half-lidded. You can tell how aroused she is, and it's only making you harder.

"You'd really risk it?" You ask, squeezing her ass.

"I need this." Lily insists, looking at you. Her eyes are pleading. You can't say no to that face. You'd do anything for her, and you'd never deny her anything.

She's pulling down your pants and your underwear at the same time, and she is sinking to her knees before you. Her hands are holding your cock, stroking and fondling, her fingers dancing over the length of your dick and the swell of your balls.

Lily is looking at you. Her lips are parted, her tongue running along them, leaving a trail of spit behind. "Please," she whispers, and then she's licking you, tasting you, teasing you.

Your fingers are threading through her hair and you are holding her head steady as you guide yourself into her mouth. You watch her lips wrap around your cock as she takes it in her mouth, inch by inch.

Her tongue is pressing against the underside of your dick as she slowly slides forward. Lily takes more and more of you into her mouth, the hot, wet, heat of her throat taking the very last inch. She moans around your cock and you feel her tongue swirling around you as you start thrusting. She is sucking and swallowing around your cock. You're watching her head bob as she works your length, taking you to the very base, her lips kissing your crotch. She pulls off of you and takes a deep breath and she looks at you. There is a trail of spit on her chin, connecting to your cock.

"I want a baby," Lily repeats. You don't think she has ever been so insistent on something before. Her hands come to your hips as she pulls you to her, and she takes your cock back into her mouth, sucking you and bobbing her head. She's taking you in all the way and gagging on your dick. Her eyes are closed as she focuses on sucking you off, and her fingers dig into your flesh as she holds onto you.

"You're going to be such a good mommy," you tell her, and you hear her moan in response.

Lily's head keeps bobbing and you keep thrusting, meeting in the middle. You are so deep down her throat, the tip of your cock kissing the back of it and you're throbbing. You're trying to weigh it up in your head, possibly the biggest decision of your life and it's fighting for brainpower with having your soul sucked out of your cock. It's hard to concentrate.

Lily's tongue swirls and her cheeks cave in as she sucks. Her eyes are open now, and she's looking up at you, pleading, begging for you to let her have her way. Even with your cock between them, the corners of her lips turn up into a smirk. She pulls away and gasps for air, saliva dripping down her chin.

She's still stroking you off as you groan and your legs tremble, but she isn't finished. Lily stands back up and looks you in the eye. She's still stroking your cock in her hands, pumping up and down. Her thumb rubs the tip, teasing and playing. "Put it in me, please."

"Are you sure about this?" You ask her one last time, but you're already pushing her sweatpants away from her hips, and down to the floor.

"Absolutely," Lily says and turns away. She bends over and braces herself on the kitchen counter, arching her back. Such a beautiful, elegant posture. The defined muscles of her back lead down to her cute, perfect ass. A smooth curve of soft skin, firm and pert, but inviting. Your hand comes down, caressing and squeezing that lovely ass. Her hips rock as she presses into your touch.

Lily reaches a hand back and her fingers find her pussy, rubbing and stroking. She is spreading her lower lips and showing off her wet hole. "I'm ready." She moans.

Your fingers slip into her cunt and you're thrusting, plunging into her. She is hot, and slick, her walls clenching. She feels amazing and you're desperate to get inside of her, to fuck her. Lily gasps and her hips rock against your hand as she pushes herself onto your fingers. Her hair swings wildly and her mouth is hanging open. Her breasts sway as her body writhes, her stomach flexing and her hips bucking.

"Fuck," she breathes, and her voice is low, and her tone is desperate. She is panting, her breath ragged and laboured. "Fuck me."

Your hand slips from Lily's pussy, leaving her feeling empty, wanting, needing more. Your hands come down to her hips and you're pulling her to you, your cock resting between her cheeks, hard and throbbing and aching to be inside her. "Tell me what you want." You insist. Your fingers dig into the flesh of her ass, spreading and revealing. You're rocking your hips, teasing her.

"I want you to breed me," she insists, craning her neck back to look at you. Her face is flushed. She is sweating. Her body is burning up, feverishly hot, her skin glistening and shining in the light. She looks so damn sexy, and she knows it. "Please, fuck a baby into me," she moans and turns back away, closing her eyes.

You line yourself up with her entrance, rubbing your tip against her. This is the final line, and once you cross it, there's no going back. You push yourself into her, her cunt spreading open for you as you sink in. She's tight around your cock, squeezing, milking, trying to pull you in.

Lily is gasping and moaning as you push into her, inch by inch. You reach the base of your shaft, her ass pressed against your body. "Yes!" She hisses. Her hands grip the counter, her fingers clawing into it.

"You like that?" You ask, and you begin to pull out of her.

"Please, more." She moans. "Please, fuck me," Lily begs.

Your fingers dig into the flesh of her hips as you hold her in place. Your hips are rocking, pulling back. You're leaving her, almost, only the head of your cock still inside of her, and you're pushing yourself back inside of her, fucking into her. Your pace is slow, but each thrust is powerful. She's squeezing and clenching, trying to pull you in further.

"I'm going to fill you up, babe," you promise, leaning down to whisper in Lily's ear as she lays over the kitchen counter, your bodies connected.

Lily moans, "Please," she gasps, pushing her hips back into your body as you thrust. "Breed me like the daddy you are." Her voice is low, her tone husky and breathless, and her words pure filth.

Your hand is coming down, smacking her on her ass and she is crying out, a sharp gasp of surprise. Her hips rock as she presses onto you, trying to meet your thrusts and pull you deeper inside of her.

"Fuck," she moans and you can hear the smile on her lips, and you're smacking her again, the loud slap of skin-on-skin ringing out in the room.

"Is this what you wanted?" You ask, fucking into her, picking up speed and intensity. Your body is smacking against hers, and her body is shaking.

"Harder, Daddy," Lily moans. Your hand comes down, hitting her ass, leaving a mark on the firm skin. You're thrusting, pounding, pulling back and slamming into her again and again. Her hand comes back, reaching around, her fingers digging into your hips. She wants to keep you inside her. "Please, don't stop."

You are pushing into her, fucking her hard. Her breasts are shaking and her stomach is tensing, and her hips are bucking back and forth as you thrust in and out of her. Her hair is flying everywhere as she throws her head back, a look of ecstasy on her face. Her lips are parted, her tongue running across them as she pants. You know that she is close to orgasm. "Cum in me," Lily gasps. Her eyes are rolling back, her body shaking and her hips bucking, her pussy clenching and pulsing. She is on the verge.

You're so close, so very close, and you know that you're going to cum. Your balls are tight, and you're aching for release. Your cock is throbbing, your legs trembling. You can feel the pressure building inside you. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum." You grunt. Your thrusts become more and more intense, your fingers digging into Lily's flesh.

"Do it," she moans. "Fill me up, make me pregnant."

You thrust, pushing in as deep as possible and holding it there, and you cum. Your cock pulses, your balls twitching as your seed floods into Lily. Your cum spills out and fills her up. You keep thrusting, rocking your hips against hers as you keep shooting, and it feels like an endless stream, an eternity of bliss. There's a finality to it. This is it. You've committed. There's no going back. Lily's pussy is milking your cock, squeezing and clenching around it as you pump her full of cum. It feels so damn good.

"Oh, god," Lily groans, and her body is shaking, and she is crying out in pure bliss as she cums with your cock deep inside her. All of her muscles flex as she writhes in pleasure. She's gasping, panting, her body convulsing. You're not sure you've ever seen Lily cum so hard, so intensely. You're holding her, pulling her tight to your body, keeping her steady as she quivers.

"Fuck," she breathes as she finally calms down, her body going limp in your arms. You're both panting, catching your breaths. You're still inside of her, and she clenches her pussy around your softening cock. "We have to keep doing this. Until we're sure I'm pregnant."

It is a nice image. The two of you fucking over the kitchen counter, or in bed, or on the couch, every chance you get. Cumming raw into her pussy over and over again. And once she's got a baby in her, you can fuck like this some more, you can keep making her feel this way. You can be happy.

"Yeah, we do," you agree. This was the right choice, the only choice. You love her. "Come here, mommy." You tell Lily, and she is giggling as she turns and wraps her arms around your neck and kisses you.

[zyafics]

ANGRY GOD | 02

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — S2!Rafe Cameron x (F)Reader

Summary — Rafe always struggled with being the only person in his head. When he meets you on the balcony of Tannyhill, everything changes. As sweet and kind as you appear to be, you turn out to be a reflection of Rafe and his dark thoughts. A burnt soul. A perfect companion. But as much as he wants you, as much as you deserve each other, something stands in the way: your relationship with JJ.

Content — angst, suggestive themes, cheating (not on each other), minor blood kink, rafe does coke, reader smokes cigarettes, toxic dynamic, obsessive and psychopathic behavior, and subtle dubcon.

Word Count — 3.9K

lıllılı Deja Vu and She's Mine Pt. 1 by J Cole

Dedication — to @cybersunnie who read it first and gave me lovely feedback, ily my southeast asian bestie <3

Rafe looks for you everywhere.

Ever since that fateful night, he had searched every room and crowd for a glimpse of your face. Most times, he doesn't find what he's looking for, and a lump of frustration curls up his throat. A wasted effort, he tells himself, to look for someone who isn't his, but he does it anyway.

He's never been good at letting go of things that belonged to him.

Tonight's bonfire is on the beach. The firepit is surrounded by keggers lined neatly along the edges, and the salty tang of driftwood smoke hangs in the air. Flickering embers roared to the sky, while the drunken crowd moved in scattered clusters, their laughter coalescing with the music as they stumble over their steps. Rafe can't help but scoff at the very sight.

He had snorted a couple of lines before his arrival. Nothing calms him down quicker than strips of white powder that substitute for dopamine, but it still isn't quite the replacement he's looking for. It may make him feel lighter, unable to feel the depth of his soul sinking like an anchor to the bottom of the ocean floor, but it's ineffective. Riffled with the knowledge that there's something better for him out in the world, something that mirrors the use of a drug, something that can save him.

You.

Rafe sips on the beer he's been nursing for the past half-hour—coke and liquor are a hangover's bitch—and his eyes survey the mass of people in futile efforts. Everyone has arrived, including those Pogue friends of yours, but there are still no traces of you. Once again, Rafe believes that you've decided to forgo the invite to forget him.

Until he finds you off in the distance.

In the corner of the world, sitting on the shore and counting waves, with your legs drawn to your chest and your arms draped across your knees. Parties have always been a troublesome endeavor for you, rekindling old memories you want nothing more than to forget, but you always find yourself succumbing to one. It's a nasty habit you're unable to break.

You had slipped away—from the masses, from your friends, from JJ—for some peace on the edge of the earth. No one seems to have noticed your missing presence. At least, that's what you believe.

Something settles at your side, darkening your solace with its thick presence, and you turn to discover Rafe. He sinks into the empty space beside you, cold brew in hand, and refuses to meet your gaze. Your heartbeat skips, alarm bells activating and cautioning you to leave, but you choose to stay.

Silence engulfs the air and despite the heavy bass reverberating through the air and the flurries of chatters from Kooks and Pogues alike, none of that seems to matter. As always, with Rafe, it feels like you two are the only people remaining on Earth, spinning on its axis, waiting.

It isn't like this with anyone else.

"You've been ignoring me," Rafe announces flatly. His stare set to the horizon of the coastline, watching waves flatten into the salt-soaked sand inches away from his feet.

"I haven't," you defend, a little too quickly, wincing at the projection of your voice. "We just haven't been going to the same places."

He scoffs dryly, "Because you've been ignoring me."

You shake your head softly, but Rafe doesn't acknowledge the gesture. You doubt he cares. It mirrors you in that aspect, knowing exactly how his mind behaves—believing his version of events to be the only correct reality. Nothing you do, or say, will change it.

It's hard to talk to someone who's stubborn.

It's worse when the person knows you too well.

Because in some ways, he's right. Several invitations to various functions have been sent, but you've opted out of attending any of them. Partly because you don't want to be in that environment. Mostly because you're afraid of facing Rafe. You had assumed it'd be an easy facade to maintain—just as the rest of your friends suspected you simply weren't into parties—but Rafe sees directly through you, like glass.

He resists the urge to look at you. Fearing if he does, he'll never stop. It isn't enough for him to be within your proximity, he wants to have you, and it's a debilitating feeling to know he can't. Blood coats his senses, and he realizes he bite his tongue too hard.

Yet, he feels the heat of your stare on his profile. Your eyes sweep over every feature, every twitch of muscle as if you're committing to memory the days you haven't seen him. Pride finds him in that regard—to know he consumes your thoughts as much as you consumed him.

He begs to be wanted.

He wants you to beg for him.

"Your bruises are healing nicely," you say softly, admiring the faded damning colors of his assault to the healing yellows that smother his skin. "That's good."

His resolve breaks and Rafe turns. The corner of his lips lifts. "You would care, wouldn't you?"

You blink in surprise, but Rafe takes it as some protest of resilience. You won't admit it, as much as you want him, as much as you need him, and the anguish seeps into his bones. unable to detangle itself from skin. "Of course I do," you stutter a reply, "I patched you up."

"But it isn't the only reason," he presses, "Is it?"

His eyes meet yours, and it rivals the first look he's ever given you. Full of scorn and disdain, Rafe had once wanted nothing more than you to be out of his sight. Now, he can't have enough of it.

It evokes honesty in you. "It isn't."

Rafe grins, taking any small victory as a celebration.

You can't take it, deciding to break contact to reach into the pockets of your shorts. You fish out the lighter and a small box of cigarettes before torching the end of the stick and inhaling a sharp breath. Nicotine slithers into your system, calming your raging nerves.

Rafe watches with amusement. He had always hated a woman who smokes. It was unorthodox, dirty, and not someone he sees himself with. But when he watches the way the puff of smoke exits your lips, the calamity smoothening your features, he's never wanted to kiss you more.

“You smoke?” Rafe asks as you lower the cigarette to your side. The butt of the blunt brushes against the grains of sand.

“Yeah.” You say timidly. “It’s a bad habit I can’t break.”

"Interesting."

"What?"

"Didn't take you as a smoker," Rafe confesses, but something in his statement reeks of judgment. As much as you hate the need to be validated by others, something about Rafe leaves you desiring acceptance.

You scramble to form an excuse. “I only do it when I’m nervous.”

“I make you nervous?”

You don't respond, but you're sure the split-second expression on your face revealed it all. Pressing your lips together, you rip your gaze from Rafe to look back to the ocean currents, raging and coursing through the tides as if a storm is brewing. You hoped this respite would dissolve the tension in the air, but it doesn't.

Thick and hot, you can't decide if it's the heat of the firepit against your backside or the idea of Rafe's close—too close—proximity to you. Your truth. The persona you've carefully crafted on the verge of collapsing.

Rafe finally understands why you don't go to parties. Even if you don't explicitly state it; it's him. The way he can read you, understand you, and make you feel. A parallel of himself in you that feels like a reflection against a pond. It scares you. It terrifies him. Yet he can't get enough of it.

You clear your throat, taking another puff of your cigarette, before returning your gaze back to him. "You left your own party again."

Is this what you want to talk about? Rafe would rather push past the small talk, but he entertains it nonetheless. At least it's something to keep you close. "It's not my party."

"Right." You hum, inhaling a nicotine-saturated breath that hisses and chars the end of the blunt. "But you left it all the same. Shouldn't you be with your friends?"

"I could ask the same about you."

"I asked you first."

"Is that how you want to play it?"

Rafe cocks his head in challenge, armed with the mockery and condescension of his dripping tone. But it's not aimed at you, but rather for you. A provocation that asks: one of us is lying here, who will it be?

"You're baiting me," you announce, digging the burnt end of the cigarette into the sand to extinguish it. "It's not going to work."

Rather than take offense from your blatant callout, he scoffs out a smirk. His perfect teeth glistened underneath the moonlight, which can almost be read as fangs.

"Smart girl too," he muses, more to himself than you, before taking a swing of his beer. Directing his line of vision towards the darkened horizon, you watch him swallow with a bob of his Adam's apple. "I was looking for you."

"Me?" You repeat. "Why would you be looking for me?"

"Don't act dumb, princess. It's not cute."

Silence stretches among you, and the only soothing sound of this moment is the cascades of water meeting sand. Your heart doubles its tempo, reconciling with Rafe's words before he pierces the quietude with another confession. "They don't care."

This time, you don't play dumb. You know exactly what he's referring to. Rafe made a bold accusation that his friends don't care about him, and you have a sneaking suspicion that he is right.

From what you heard from your own group, no one is friends with Rafe. Not really. All they want is to get out of his way, to avoid being the receiving end of his wrath. Rapport is the closest method towards that settlement. A falsehood for security. He had come to the bitter realization on his own; that no one is real with him except you.

You don't take the time to be frivolous and reassure him with meaningless consolation. You cut straight to the chase.

"Then why come?" You ask, not knowing if he'll respond. But what you don't know is Rafe would answer almost anything if it came from you. "Why attend something when none of these people care about you?"

The instantaneous reply is a howling wind from the ocean, breezing over your skin and raising goosebumps on your arms. But you remain still. Unsure if Rafe will answer, you wait until he admits, "It's better than being alone."

All the air leaves your lungs.

Your heart pumps like it's about to burst.

Because Rafe confirms what you’re thinking.

And you feel the same way.

You're certain you're in an exact predicament but you don't have the courage to voice it. The Pogues only tolerate you because you're in this relationship with JJ, but you have a sinking feeling that it's just the novelty. Something short and fleeting. Something false.

You entered it under the assumption that JJ understood you—a burnt soul recognizing a companion. But that's proven to be completely untrue. JJ may have faced hardships, but his entire network is built on camaraderie. You never had that. Neither did Rafe.

Maybe that's why you gravitate towards him.

Maybe that's why you're afraid.

"Why are you here?" Rafe prompts, turning the spotlight back onto you.

You lick your lips, suddenly dry. "The Pogues invited—"

"No, don't give me that bullshit," he snaps, but his tone lacks the bite. All it demands is truth. "I mean, why did you come this time? You've been avoiding me for a reason."

You scoff. "You know."

A cruel smirk carves the corner of his mouth, framed with an innocent dimple. "I want to hear you say it."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you're a liar, princess. Just like all of them."

Fire ignites in your chest by his accusation, reminding you closely of that night at Tannyhill, and your hands squeeze into tight fists. Sucking on the inside of your cheek, and licking the residual nicotine sticking to your gums, give you a minor boost of confidence. "I thought if I didn't, they'd stop inviting me."

You exhale a blow of air, similar to your cigarette, but a heavy weight lifts off your chest. You don't turn to meet Rafe's eyes, but you feel the heat of his stare.

Rafe grins, self-satisfaction ripples through his features in unparalleled triumph. "Just like me."

"Don't be a dick," you declare.

"I'm not trying to." He says. "It's just ironic."

"Ironic how?"

He takes a second to answer, lingering on the moment by sipping on the rim of his beer, letting a slow, singular drop fall from the corner of his mouth. "Because every party I've seen you at, you're always escaping it."

You shrink under this observation, nails buried into the sand to find grounding. "I needed a break."

"All the time?" He taunts.

You say absolutely nothing. And Rafe chuckles dryly. "The girl who always leaves the party. The boy who needs it. We'll make a good couple."

You lift your head. "Is that your criteria for a relationship?"

"No. But I'll take any excuse to have you."

Your breath stutters in your throat. From your previous interaction with Rafe, you concluded that he cuts through the drivel. But it's different this time around. Now, it riffled with the knowledge of knowing you, of wanting you.

Rafe always had a single-minded ambition, the type to chase after his goal until he captured it within the palm of his hand. That's you to him.

Morals be damned. As long as he has you.

To be wanted like that terrifies you. With your heart palpitating in your chest, you feel the urge to rebuild your walls. To add that familiar and safe space between you and him. "Rafe..." You trail off in warning.

Instantaneously, as if he can read you, he knows why.

Frowning, Rafe says, "Hm. Forget you're with Maybank."

You don't think that's entirely true.

"I should get back," to him, but that part remains unspoken.

Rising from your seat, you dust off the sheen coat of sand under your thighs before motioning to leave. But Rafe snatches your wrist. His grip is firm but loose enough for you to slip out, only begging you not to.

You look down, however Rafe refuses to meet your gaze. In fact, he avoids it, opting for the dark coastline that rivals the turbulent feeling in his chest. "Why are you with him?" He whispers against the wind, his tone seeping with vulnerability. "Why are you with him when you can be with me?"

You don't know how to answer that. "He was nice to me."

"I can be nice to you."

You shake your head. "It's not the same."

"Why not?" Rafe asks wretchedly, lifting his head to finally meet your gaze and you read how broken he truly is. Your chest tightens. His icy blue eyes warmed with desperation, and his grip around your wrist tightens, like a beggar seeking approval.

For a moment, you considered lying. It's the easiest way out. But there's no one here but the two of you. No one to perform to. No one but an audience who knows you soul-deep. How do you lie out of this one?

"I think you need me," you whisper. "I don't know how to be needed like that."

If you were anyone else, he'd feel insulted. To insulate he needs someone—anyone—to function implies he's weak. That he's dependent on another. But Rafe hasn't felt this sense of gratification in years. A kinship that emerges from a soul recognizing a burnt soul. He can't lose that.

"Neither do I," he answers, almost pleading. "Let's try it out."

"Try what?"

"Us." He urges. "You and me."

You shouldn't, but you can't help but consider the proposal. It's awful, especially knowing you're in a committed relationship—as committed as you can be—and you try to build excuses and logic on why this couldn't work. Why it shouldn't work. But all of them fell flat.

"You hate me."

"I didn't know you."

"You called me a bitch."

"I'm sorry," he says sincerely.

"You called me a liar," you accuse, unmasking the sting from the label.

"You are," Rafe insists without missing a beat. "But I'll take it."

You chew on your bottom lip, gnawing on the raw, broken skin until you taste iron. "I don't know," you admit, voice low, chest heavy. "I don't know if I can save you, Rafe."

This time, he doesn't have a response. This time, he's rendered speechless. It's a confessional—what he truly desires from you is redemption. To possess a mirror that resolves him of his own sins.

His fingers loosen around your wrist.

"I have to go," you say softly, taking a step towards the exit.

But it isn't quick enough.

Rafe grabs you again and gives you one last tug, forcing you to land on his lap. Before you can move, he grabs the nape of your neck and pulls you close, forehead pressed against his, chest meeting the other.

You feel the rapid thumping of his own heartbeats.

"One taste," Rafe murmurs, his eyes on yours and they're pitch-black, all dissolved of his color. "Just one taste and I'll let you go."

"One?" You ask meekly, your heart threatening to spill.

"One." He confirms, reeking of the same desperation he's always been ashamed of revealing. But he doesn't care anymore. "And you can go back to Maybank and do whatever the fuck you want."

You search his face, trying to read him, but nothing but pure primal instinct coats his rugged features. He wants you—in a way that's so animalistic, he's actively holding himself back from taking more. A sick satisfaction curves up your throat at being desired by such capacity.

"Okay."

Rafe doesn't give you a moment to retract your consent before he drags your mouth down to his, silencing every pounding thought with a kiss.

Instinctively, you steel your spine from the assault before slowly unwinding. From all the venom and vile words spilled from Rafe's tongue, his mouth is surprisingly soft and tender. His kiss is rich with desire, gripped with desperation, and it pours all his silent confessions into one. Your heart has never raced so frantically but has never been this calm.

You want this.

Logic and reason chip away when you feel how warm Rafe is. How he laps over the broken piece of your bottom lip like worship, how he craves you with the depravity of a man receiving his last meal, licking you clean until you're nothing but bones.

It's intoxicating. Where has Rafe been all your life? Why haven't you done this sooner? Your mind can't find a proper answer until a slow, nauseating reminder strikes your drunken and lustful state. It's because you're taken. It answers. You're committed to someone who isn't him.

Pulling away, you breathe, "Rafe—"

"Not enough," he declares roughly, dragging your back and stealing another kiss. It's as if it's the only air he's willing to take. He demands it—it's his.

And yet, for all your stream of moral consciousness, there's little resistance.

You allow him to take you. Devour you. To suck on your bottom lip until a metallic tang is shared between you, and to feel the warm liquid ooze onto your tongue like sacred waters. He tastes so good, and Rafe's hands fall from your arm to your waist, tugging you along until you're centered on his lap. With an automatic roll of your hips, he groans, and you feel the growing erection form in his jeans demonstrating his obsession with you.

It's just one. But one kiss turns into two and three, and suddenly you can't stop. Nothing has ever felt as right as this moment with Rafe.

Pulling back a second time, your murmur against his swollen lips. "This is a bad idea."

"This is the best goddamn idea I've ever had," he breathes into your mouth, his hand straying to cup a handful of your ass under your shorts. "You taste better than I imagined."

"What do I taste like?"

"Mine," Rafe answers breathily, before cupping the back of your neck once again and aligning your mouth to his.

Addiction. Rafe is certain that's what this is. The way you rock against him, the way your body molds into his—like a perfect puzzle finding its match—he can't help but believe in fate. It infuriates him that it took him this long.

But even in a perfect moment, the illusion quickly shatters by a grating voice from the distance. Rafe wants nothing more than to ignore its bugging nuisance, but you can't seem to.

Because it's your boyfriend.

You rip away from Rafe to discover JJ's silhouette approaching the shore, searching for you. Panic zigzags through your chest and you swiftly leave Rafe's lap, brushing away any criminalizing evidence of your infidelity.

"That's one. We're done."

When JJ arrives, Rafe doesn't move. He doesn't even make a gesture to conceal the situation as JJ's eyes dart between the two of you, trying to piece together what you were doing with the Kook in the first place.

But no one reveals a thing. Not even you. You quickly apologize for leaving the party and fumble a flimsy excuse for Rafe's presence. And JJ's birdbrain accepts it, causing Rafe to scoff at the fool you're with.

When he takes your hand, leading you back to the party, you quickly accept—dragging yourself into the same space you beg to break from. And doing nothing but leaving Rafe behind.

He could leave now. After all, he came out to the shores searching for you. But there's a calamity that comes from being out here. Seeing the waters, watching the crashing of the waves. It allows him to truly think—away from the noises, away from the people, away from all the meaningless distractions.

Rafe swipes his thumb across his bottom lip, feeling the buzzing sensation left behind from your kiss, and collects a single droplet of blood. It must've spilled from you, or his bitten tongue, he doesn't know for sure. All he does is slip it right back into his mouth.

And for the first time throughout this entire night, Rafe grins. A real one. A devious one. Because he's coming to a familiar conclusion.

You parade among the people who don't give a damn about you, who don't know a single truth, and pretend you fit in their world. But you don't. You're a liar.

But as Rafe remembers the taste of your hot lips on his, the way your body fits in with his, the taste of your blood on his tongue—he realizes, so is he.

Because there's no way that is the last time he'll kiss you. That he has you. No. He had one taste and it wasn't enough.

Rafe is coming back for more.

Whether you like it or not.

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Navigation — Part 01 | Part 02 | Part 03 / End

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

When I was younger, I suffered what I've long considered an identity crisis. Along with cultural identity issues, I struggled with gender stuff. Around six years old, during kindergarten, I started getting the sense that I wasn't a girl. I didn't have language or even any sort of understanding for what that could mean, and so it was this sort of confusion without any way to relieve it. I leaned heavily into hyper-femininity, but that wasn't working for multiple reasons. I remember being desperate to be considered feminine, but my body type isn't a traditionally beautiful one, nor are my features. I *could* have been pretty, in a way that some marble *could* make a beautiful statue, but I never learned the art of sculpting. I could make my face pretty, but couldn't make the rest of me so.

Being in adolescence and considered ugly is hard for anyone, but while struggling with unresolved and unnamed gender feelings? God, it was the WORST. My behaviors in trying to access womanhood and traditional femininity were toxic at best, despite me being a feminist (I was feminist to other people, but not to myself, if that makes sense?), and as a whole, going through life up to my mid 20s was probably the worst part of my life. (I mean, who doesn't feel more secure in their 30s than 20s, but this is a very Specific kind of feeling, is what I mean.)

I'd been exploring gender a bit more in my 20s. I grew up in a very queer positive household (my grandpa was as gay as a jaybird, three of my mom's aunt and uncles were lesbian and gays, some of my extended/bonus family was queer, etc.), so when I came out as firmly bi in my teens, that was great! Except I was still struggling and couldn't figure out why until I began getting introduced to trans spaces, people, and cultures.

I came out as nonbinary at 24, legally changed my name six months later, and while I still was having issues, it was much better. I'd suffered from identity crises basically since I was born, and admitting to myself that I wasn't A Woman gave me a lot of relief. I struggled with the idea of masculinity, though (yay internalized androphobia), because of trauma and the cultural issues around toxic masculinity, and it wasn't until I was in my 30s that I accepted that my identity does include (what I try to make) healthy masculinity in my gender fluidity. It took me lashing out at a trans man doctor during the grippy sock vacation I took in 2021 to get it through my skull that, you know, being masc doesn't automatically make someone a piece of shit (which I was honestly, genuinely afraid of for so long, I later realized), but Doctor Dude was really gracious and non-reactive about it, and just let me burn myself out and then told me that maybe it could be good to be curious about things in my own time, and get to examining why I was afraid. "If anything, it might help with the fear," he said, and when I began that journey of introspection with the help of LOTS of therapy, I began to see it as part of my whole being.

I'm trans masc, and consider myself to be nonbinary and gender fluid. I wouldn't say that being A Man is one of my gender identity poles, but it does feel close, like maybe 85% Man at any masc moment. I leaned hard against being A Woman for a while, but have worked through a lot of issues with my concepts of womanhood and femininity, and while I wouldn't say Woman is on the axis of my gender fluid uhhh range, femme kinda is, alongside other things.

Being trans and learning about myself has allowed me to reconcile A LOT of shit and baggage and harm that I had been carrying for as long as I could remember. Being able to live authentically has brought me so much joy, and has allowed me to cultivate richer and more varied relationships, because I'm able to know myself better and allow myself to be fully present. Being trans has been a joy, honestly, as much as it's been difficult to get there. Living in my body has been made so much easier since being able to understand and claim my identity.

I've experienced trans joy, trans love, trans happiness, trans-formation, and so much more. I continue to cultivate those things, in spite of the political and social atmosphere of my nation and state trying to fuck that all up to hell. Being trans and being able to outwardly identify as such has been amazing, and has enriched my life. It's been wonderful. (The politics, not so much, but the work needs to be done, and I do my best.)

Sometimes I feel we do a disservice to trans people by framing their journey as some esoteric battle to escape their gender assigned at birth, rather than a very profound story of self-love and self-actualization. Many people feel they can’t relate to the desire to “become another gender” and thus don’t really “get” transgenderism.. but almost everyone can relate to the thrill and fulfillment of letting yourself be true.

[dirtylittlecubbs]

❥ Pairing ➳ Boyfriend!Jisung x Afab!Reader

❥ Genre ➳ Smut

❥ Word Count ➳ 1K

❥ Warnings ➳ Top!Jisung, Bottom!Reader, P in v sex, Unprotected sex (wrap it up before you tap it up) porn without plot, 2min mention because it's me, proof read only once so if you see any mistakes -no you don't- I wrote something and finished it yay me

“F-fuc-hmmph” Your moans are cut short by Jisung covering your mouth with his hand. “Shh baby. I told you we need to be quiet.” he whispers, hot breath ghosting over your ear. You can only groan into his palm. Your own hands squeeze helplessly at his sides, nails digging into his golden skin. There will definitely be marks later. 

You're laying on top of Jisung, back pressed to his chest as he fucks into you. Your body is secured in place by his toned arm wrapped around your middle. Jisung had been frequenting the Gym with Chan & Changbin recently and it was obvious he was bulking up again, much to your absolute delight. His broadened shoulders and thick arms had arousal pooling in your stomach every time you laid eyes on him. It only adds to your desire to have your boyfriend manhandle you every which way. 

Your body bounces with every thrust of Jisung's hips, his cock hitting that spongy spot inside you with impressive, mind numbing accuracy. As much as you want to be quiet, knowing your roommate Seungmin wouldn’t appreciate having to listen to you fall apart on your boyfriend's cock, you can't help the whines and moans that fall from your lips as pleasure rushes through you in waves. It feels so good. 

“I-I know baby, I know,” Jisung shushes, all too receptive to your cries of ecstasy. “You like having my cock inside you, yeah?” Jisung prods, his words teasing but you're far too gone to care. You try to nod as best you can against his shoulder to answer. Jisung chuckles, continuing his onslaught of dirty whispers in that low, grainy tone of voice that makes you keen. 

“Fuck baby- You're so t-tight. Feel so good around me-hngh” Jisung himself isn't faring much better. The feeling of your warm pussy wrapped around his length, the deliciously wet slide of your walls around him has him inching closer to the edge already. “Missed fucking this tight hole of yours.” Jisung grunts, placing hot kisses along the side of your neck. “I missed my baby soo-ah! So fucking much. My pretty baby-fuck!” He rambles on. He grabs your chin and turns your head to the side so he can press your lips together. 

The kiss is wet, and messy and you try your best to reciprocate Jisung's intensity, his desperation to taste you but your mind is practically seeping out of your ears. All it knows is Jisung's name and the feeling of his dick inside you. You can feel your high drawing near, the pleasure circling through your body and collecting in your gut. You're so fucking close. 

Suddenly, Jisung stops moving, hips coming to a halt. You might actually start crying. You were so, so close. You're about to whine, call out his name, question why he stopped but before you can even make a sound, Jisung covers your mouth with his palm again and plants his feet onto the mattress for seemingly better leverage. He takes his hand that's wrapped around your middle and brings it down to your clit instead. 

Without warning, he starts fucking into you harder and faster, drawing figure eights on your clit so fast you go cross eyed. Your moans get louder, the sound barely muffled by Jisung's hand. You feel the tightening of your gut as your orgasm approaches but it gets to you way faster than you were expecting.

You practically scream into Jisung's palm, your body jerking violently in his hold as your orgasm rages through you. Jisung doesn't stop fucking up into you either, chasing his own high, causing you to whine from overstimulation. It only takes a few more thrusts and your walls tightening around his cock for him to also fall over the edge, hips stiffening as he cums inside you.

He bites onto your shoulder to try and stifle the moan erupting from his throat, it does very little to silence him. You cry out at the feeling, the slight pain sending blissful shocks of arousal straight to your pussy. It's been a while since either of you came that hard. 

Jisung's hand slips from over your mouth and your bodies flops onto the bed. You're still on top of him, his arms wrapped around you, holding you in place. The both of you lay there for a moment, panting softly. It takes a minute for you to find yourself but when you do you finally break the silence. “Do you think we were quiet enough?” you ask breathlessly. Jisung laughs, albeit weakly. “Probably not but I don't think it matters anymore.” He replies, running his hands along your torso absentmindedly. The touch is gentle, soothing. 

“Why is that?” you question, shifting to adjust yourself on top of Jisung. The movement causes Jisung's dick to slide out of you, eliciting a groan from the both of you. “Mmph-Listen,” Jisung mumbles, pointing to the wall behind your heads. You stretch your ears, trying your best to listen for whatever it is Jisung wants you to hear. After a brief moment you hear it, soft gasps and moans coming from beyond your bedroom wall. A laugh escapes you at the sounds, breathy and full of disbelief. 

“Seems Seungminnie had plans of his own tonight.” you giggle, making Jisung giggle in turn. “Who do you think he brought over?” Jisung asks but before you can provide your guess, a muffled ‘Fuck- Minho-Hyung!’ rings through the apartment, answering Jisung's question. You stare at each other for a second, eyes wide with surprise before bursting out laughing. “There's your answer.” you laugh, rolling off Jisung and onto the mattress. “I'll get us cleaned up.” Jisung chuckles, getting up and heading to the bathroom. You hum in response, resting your head on your hands and sinking further into the duvet while you wait for him to come back. 

【Tagging】 : @skzms @bbyquokka @hanjibug @moonjxsung @kaciidubs @brownsugarbaybee

© dirtylittlecubbs 2024 | Do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works onto other platforms without my permission

[reocidal]

stardust — r. itoshi

PAIRING: rin itoshi x fem!reader

CONTENT: actor au, fake dating, hurt/comfort, swearing, depressive spiral, might be ooc!!

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

NOTE: @choccorin i love u, enjoy!

it starts off pretty harmless, this agreement. you've known rin for a while now, the longest out of anyone he's in contact with in the industry these days, so it's obvious that he'll come to you when he needs help. in this case, the problem here is his fans.

rin itoshi shoots up to stardom out of the blue, all golden champagne and party streamers and hordes of screaming fangirls scattered (generously) around the globe. he's not a bad actor, not at all, but no one really expected him to be as popular as he is now.

not that he goes viral for his acting — not at first, at least. it's actually a low quality video posted onto twitter by a fan that does the trick; she doesn't expect her innocent six-second recording to break containment like this. but rin, with his pretty face and long lashes and perfectly fitted dark clothing, bathed in some gala's brilliant lighting, somehow manages to capture the hearts of a few million people that night. and when they find out that not only is he gorgeous, but he's also good at what he does? jackpot. the fame he's suddenly achieved is nothing if not terrifyingly overwhelming.

however, despite the massive growth of followers that he experiences overnight, you know that you'll always love him more. and that is precisely why you say yes to what he asks of you.

you remember that day embarrassingly well, down to the fine details, like how your phone's battery was at 37%, and how rin'd had a queer expression on his face, not really his usual deadpan look, but not really anything else either.

"date me," rin itoshi tells you.

"excuse me?" this isn't happening, right? you've been horrendously in love with him for a few years now; surely this isn't how things are going to go! but even then, you're not sure if fate is on your side or not, because he shakes his head and continues, and dashes all your hopes in an instant.

"i'm not in love with you or anything," he clarifies. "i just need a fake girlfriend so some of these crazy people leave me alone."

"ah," you manage to say. you should refuse, tell him to find someone else. you've read enough romance novels to know exactly how this plays out, and just how painful it'll be for you. not to mention the fact that he's literally just told you that he doesn't have any feelings for you, to your face. everything tells you to not do it, but when have you ever been able to say no to him? "sure."

his lips curve into the briefest of smiles as he hears your answer. "thank you. we'll discuss this later, okay?"

"sure," you repeat, ignoring the way your stomach does an unceremonious flip at his smile. he nods and gets up, and you watch him leave, leave you behind, just as he always has.

and so it begins.

the routine the two of you follow is easy to slip into; acting like you're in love with him isn't difficult either, especially when you are in love with him.

to his credit, rin treats you perfectly on his part. despite keeping you at arm's length off-camera, he treats you like a princess otherwise, apologising a few hundred times for the media outrage caused by the reveal of your "relationship". and while it does hurt to be so close, yet so far from the one thing you crave, the way you're getting to see a softer — although probably fake — side of rin, and how he's treating you almost makes up for it.

and inside, everything stays (almost) the same, perfectly platonic and unchanged.

and the fangirls (somewhat) die down out of respect for his new relationship, so that's good, too. keep winning, rin itoshi.

you're scrolling social media one day when you stumble upon a video that's slowly but surely gaining more and more traction. it's about you and rin — specifically, your relationship. the person speaking breaks down every (visible) aspect of it, and comes to the conclusion that the two of you must be gaking things. the thought of this assumption (although true) becoming more widespread terrifies you; the last thing you want happening is rin's career being damaged like this. he's barely in his twenties and there's still so much left for him to do. you can't let him lose just yet. so, with shaking fingers, you send the video to him. rin leaves you on seen, but the next time you're seen in public together he kisses you, and your relationship is viral again, and you question your friendship for the very first time.

another day, another rich-people party. it's the usual, really, for you and rin — even though neither of you are particularly fond of this setting — as the two of you linger in a somewhat secluded corner of the room. rin's hand rests lightly on your waist just in case anyone turns their attention to you, but his mind seems to be elsewhere as he stares into the crowd. a sudden flash of light catches your eye, and you whisper-yell at him urgently. "rin."

he doesn't react, eyes still blank and unfocused.

"rin!"

he blinks, realising that you're talking to him.

"yeah?" he leans down to hear you better, face dangerously close to yours.

"cameras," you hiss.

his brows raise ever so slightly in understanding. "okay. can i kiss you?"

"what?"

"for the cameras, obviously," he deadpans. "i saw the video; surely you sent it to me for a reason and not just for me to watch, right?"

"right."

rin's hand leaves your waist so he can cradle your face with both hands and angle your face up. there's a guarded look in his eyes, something you can tell he's hiding. you don't know what, though, and it's not like you get any time to even think when he finally, finally leans down to kiss you. every thought in your brain evaporates into stardust as he presses his lips to yours. in front of you, a camera shutter snaps, but you can't really find it in yourself to care when all you can think of, all you can feel is the press of his lips on yours.

it takes exactly twelve sleepless nights after this (you've kept count) and one (1) conversation with your best friend to realise that this whole fake dating thing is taking a — negative, obviously — toll on your mental health, even more so as the lines between platonic and romantic begin to blur.

you'd thought the relationship was just for show. so why does rin bring you flowers on a bad day, even when there's no media around to see? he treats you like his girlfriend at home too, now, and it confuses you. rin itoshi is not your boyfriend, so why are you always in his clothes? and what's with all the physical contact? not that you mind, of course.

he's just gotten too absorbed into this relationship, you tell yourself. he doesn't know what he's doing to you. but you don't speak up about it, either. you let it continue.

but regardless of whose fault this is, the uurt that grows within you stays raw and heavy. he just has to be the one thing you cannot have, and it really is impossible to not fall for his (unintentional) boyish charm and the quiet concern he displays — for you and you only.

it's a particularly rough day, even worse than usual — which is concerning, considering that almost every day in the past two weeks has been the exact same level of bad, when everything comes crashing down. it's been terrible from the morning and you haven't even gotten out of bed yet, even though it's almost three in the afternoon. you're drifting in and out of unconsciousness; everything around you and your thoughts and feelings are all coated in an uncomfortable haze.

a tentative knock on your door rouses you awake and you blink. why's there someone in your apartment? is this a break-in? who could it possibly— oh. rin.

your mind flashes back to a certain moment a few months ago, so fast it gives you whiplash. you're half-collapsed onto a bar stool by your kitchen counter, rin kneeling in front of you as he examines your bruised ankle.

"you should really be more careful," he murmurs, and your heart aches at the tenderness in his tone as he gently presses the icepack against the bruise.

cold seeps through your ankle as he holds it there, and eventually you wince; he must've gotten distracted and forgotten to pull away.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry," he whispers, uncharacteristically nervous and breathless. the apology forces itself out of his mouth, words tumbling over each other in their haste. "did i hurt you?"

you shake your head, and although he sighs disbelievingly, he does not argue.

"how do i return your key?" he asks you as he's about to leave. you're a bundle of blankets on your sofa, unable to move, so he's locking your door for you. your best friend's coming to take care of you soon — she also has a key to the apartment, so you'll be fine. besides, it's an extra one, anyways.

so you take a deep breath and hope you won't regret it when you wave him away with a laugh and tell him to keep it. he nods, although expressionless, and says a simple, flat bye before he leaves. you wonder if you're delusional or if the tips of his ears really did turn red when you told him to take the key with him.

your best friend is halfway across the world right now; it's obvious that it's rin who's standing outside your bedroom door.

another knock. rin clears his throat, like he's about to speak; you narrowly beat him to it. "don't come in, i-i'm okay!"

"oh."

you cough a little as you speak, wincing at the dryness of your throat and how rough your voice sounds.

"you don't sound okay," he adds a moment later, painfully stiff. "you weren't answering your calls or anything so i got— i mean, i came to check up on you."

"i see," you respond quickly. why is it so awkward today?

rin clears his throat again. "are you sure you're okay?"

your throat tightens; you do not respond — you cannot respond. rin reads your silence perfectly, almost too well. he does not speak again, but you hear a single step (forward?) outside your door. and the doorknob twists, and the door creaks open.

you are buried in an unkempt mess of bedsheets and blankets. when rin finally sees you, his eyes widen.

you burst into tears.

rin has never been good at comforting people. today, he doesn't even know what's wrong. unsure of what to do, he just stares at you owlishly for a moment before taking a hesitant step in your direction. when you don't stop him, he moves closer. and when you nestle into his side as he wraps his arm around you, he deduces that he must be doing something right.

the warmth of his presence is unfairly comforting; you cannot help but lean into him, breathing slowly becoming calmer as his thumb rubs circles into your shoulder.

eventually you stop crying, though not without the embarrassment of having a whole entire mental breakdown in front of your beloved rin itoshi, about said beloved rin itoshi.

rin lets the silence stew for a second or two; you feel him swallow from where your head is now tucked in the crook of his neck.

"what was that all about?" he pulls back slightly, loosening his hold on you as you stiffen at his question.

oh. well, now or never, right?

"rin," you begin. "i don't think i can do this fake dating thing anymore."

"oh. why not?"

he's quiet, but there's no particular inflection or change in his tone.

you shrug. "it's not working for me anymore, i guess. too busy these days."

he opens his mouth to speak, then exhales slowly instead. "okay."

"cool."

"okay," he repeats. "then we'll end the agreement tonight."

"why tonight?" confusion colours your tone as you finally look up at him. when his teal eyes meet yours again, his lips twitch into a small smile.

rin works careful and methodical, starting the cleanup from one end of your room. technically he's still your (fake) partner, and you've done so much in the public eye — the amount of pictures of you and rin scattered across the internet borders on obscene — so surely you can let him do one little thing in private, right?

"let me do this for you, yeah? you've done so much for me these past few months, let me pay you back."

it's mortifying, but you let him fix up your room anyways. and when he leads you to your bathroom, you follow along obediently, watching as he fixes the water temperature and leaves you to clean yourself up while he prepares something for you to eat.

the hot water washes away a surprisingly large amount of the discomfort you've been feeling as of late, and it's like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders by the time you see rin again.

long-limbed 6'1" rin itoshi, dressed fully in shades of black and blue, rin looks incredibly awkward and out of place in your kitchen. it's a quaint little place, decked out in pink and brown hues, but a total contrast to him. it makes you let out a little huff of laughter, and you swear rin smiles when he hears it.

there's a plate of your favourite food placed in front of you; rin sits downon the chair opposite you.

"eat. there's something i want to talk to you about."

anxiety pools in your stomach — there's no way he knows, right? you should've never done this; you're no better than all those fangirls he'd been trying to get away from in the first place. and if he knows this, he— wait, is this his way of saying goodbye? it makes sense now — anyone would feel the same after a betrayal of trust like this.

he lets you finish eating before—

"i lied. to you. i'm sorry."

what?

he refuses to meet your eyes, gaze fixed on the table of front of him. the tips of his ears are very, very red.

"about what?" you manage to ask. this is not how you'd expected this to go.

"i, um." he's half-hiding his face with a hand; what you can see nonetheless is flushed, like he's running a fever. except he's not ill, just shy. really, what's happening? "i didn't need— fuck, i shouldn't have listened to shidou, i knew it was stupid!"

"rin?"

"ugh. i just— iaskedshidouforadviceandhesaidthebestwaytoknowifyoulikemebackisthisandi'msorryididn'tmeanforyoutogethurt—"

"wait, like you back? as in you like me?"

"oh." well, now that he's said that out loud now, what's next? he can't exactly take it back, can he? but to his surprise, you look pleased. like you wanted this. "um. yes."

"oh! rin, don't apologise!" you exclaim, much to his chagrin. (are you patronising him right now?) "i also have some explaining to do."

he cocks his head in confusion; you can see the question marks hovering above his head.

"you didn't exactly hurt me by fake dating me or whatever; i was sad 'cause you were sending me a bunch of mixed signals, y'know."

"huh? i was?"

"yeah? you said you weren't into me, but then you did all sorts of stuff that implied that you did like me."

"that's cause i do like you though."

you choke.

he seems to have regained composure again as he raises a brow at you. "you don't like me, though?"

"i do!" you squeak. "i've liked you this whole time— wait, you said it was shidou who told you to do this?"

"mhm, why?"

"he knows i like you, though!"

rin grits his teeth, pushing his chair back as he gets up. "no way, that fucking bastard… i'm going to go kill him right now."

"wait, rin."

he pauses. "what?"

"can you kiss me again, but for real this time?"

his eyes widen, just a little. "oh. okay. yeah."

when rin gets to your side of the table, he just stands there, staring down at you with unbridled adoration in his eyes, all the feelings that he no longer needs to hide. you recognise it now — it's that same look from the night he'd first kissed you. all of this almost overwhelms you, and in the end the only thing you can really muster up is a simple "hi."

rin smiles, fingers gently tilting your chin up. "hey."

and when he bends down to kiss you, it's even better than the last time. because this time it's real.

800 follower event.

© reocidal 2025.

[writer-ace]

Some ways that difficulty with change / attachment to routine impacts me, an autistic person, that aren't keeping a strict daily or weekly routine:

Difficulty with changes to established plans. This happened at work recently, where I was working on something following certain parameters, and someone came in and said that we should follow different parameters. My immediate reaction was that it wasn't what we had agreed to and it wasn't doable in the time we had, we couldn't make it good, etc. It felt like a betrayal of the plan and a bait and switch for me. But I processed it, I talked it through with my manager, we found a compromise, and ultimately that person had been right.

Difficulty with changes to expected processes. If I'm expecting a process to go a certain way, even if I haven't been told that it will go that way, a change to that process will throw me off and sometimes set me off. If I'm expecting that we're driving somewhere and it turns out we're walking, I will get agitated even if I don't mind walking there.

Difficulty with unexpected additional people being at something. A few years ago, I was heading to my parents' place for some holiday, and when my mom picked me up from the train station she told me that we were having a family friend over and she would be staying in the guest room that night. I found this very stressful, even though I like the person and her being there was a minimal disruption to anything else, simply because I hadn't planned for the change in dynamic involved in her being there.

Dislike of decisions made without me there. I think that this isn't an autistic thing necessarily, but I have a much harder time when someone shows up and says we're doing x than when I am involved in the conversation, even if x is the ultimate decision in the end. Knowing why we're doing something and feeling like I have some control over it helps me work through it.

Not every autistic person is the same, and what does or doesn't bother me has no real bearing on what does or doesn't bother other autistic people. One of the key things to note here, though, is that in basically all of these cases the issue is not that I dislike the change being made, it's that I struggle with the fact that a change is being made.

If these do bother you, one of the things that's helped me a lot is to force myself to go through the mental exercise of whether the issue is that I dislike/disagree with the change or whether my issue is just the fact that it's changing. Do I have a reason to want it to stay the same beyond the fact that I dislike change?

And sometimes the answer is yes. In the case of the first work example, there were suggestions that I fundamentally disagreed with and thought that our original plan was better, whether because of content or because of required level of effort in the time we had. But there were a lot of suggestions that I realized were right and doable. I could only distinguish those two because I forced myself to parse them out.

Sometimes you won't be able to work through this, whether because you don't have time or it's beyond your emotional regulation at that moment. That's okay! But figuring out why you're reacting can really help.

[scenetocause]

for a prompt— something something the contrast of Lando’s smooth legs vs Oscar’s hairy ones… basically Oscar thigh worship maybe😅 and/or Lando and Oscar comparing hand sizes

"You're like, proper hairy mate." Lando's got his hands on Oscar's thighs, nearly fucking spanning them because he has dimensions as bonkers as anything about him.

"Not really?" Oscar's seen Mark's legs when they're out on the bikes. Shudders, sometimes, at the thought of grey hair there.

"Yeah you are, look." Lando jams his own thigh between Oscar's. "You're all hairy, compared to me."

The temptation to tell Lando that's because he is actually some sort of hairless freak is strong. Except that it wouldn't be totally fair, since the guy has exactly the amount of pubes you'd expect and a bit of a trail down his chest that's more than Oscar can do, honestly.

It's just that on his arms and legs he only has the slightest dusting of soft, golden hair. Just enough to make his skin sort of glitter a bit, in sunlight, make him seem even more ethereal, a creature picked by god. And, apparently, Oscar.

"A bit, yeah," he concedes.

Lando looks up at him, sharply. "S'hot. Like it, like," his horrendous, huge fingers sort of bury themselves in the hair on Oscar's thighs. "Yeah, like that."

"Okay." He's basically used, now, to Lando doing weird sex things. Not like, weird sex things in a normal way - Oscar expected a bit of that but if anything Lando's more vanilla than he is - more like. Having sex in a chaotically incoherent way that doesn't match up to anything Oscar's ever done before.

It's endearing and Lando's not selfconscious about it. Doesn't seem to know other people don't do it like this, all over the top and strange. Lando gets off on things Oscar doesn't think he probably could - like this, just his hands in Oscar's thigh hair while he's grinding his cock against Oscar's left knee - except it's so blindingly hot watching him do it he's usually not far off joining him.

"Do you like it?" It must be pretty obvious he does. They're both naked and Oscar's dick is standing straight against his own stomach, twitching when Lando edges his hands higher, towards the seam of Oscar's hips.

"Yeah, I do. It's nice." Lando needs to be told, sometimes. Maybe he does know how weird he is, that not everyone gets off like this.

"Good." Lando's a bit pink, wild eyed in the way he gets when he's really enjoying something. "Cus I really like it. Looks so hot, with your cock like - yeah."

Oscar can't help preening a bit, reaching for his own dick even while he's leaning over to kiss Lando. Kissing's one of the few things Lando isn't utterly bizarre about, usually very much a giver in letting Oscar lead, surprisingly affectionate and gentle.

"Oh my god," Lando's eyes are like saucers, suddenly. "Could you, like - when you come, can you get it on, y'know."

"I can probably manage to jizz on my own leg mate, yes." Honestly.

"Fuck," Lando closes his eyes, moans, then seems to realise he needs them open if he wants to watch. "That's so hot."

It's clearly not going to last long for Lando, Oscar's knee already wet with whatever's leaking out of his dick. So he sets an aggressive pace, working his own hand to get him there before Lando does. It's just as well he's got such a strong competitive spirit because it's definitely not easy, Lando getting more and more worked up the more Oscar's wanking himself off in front of him.

"Mate," Lando's whining now. "Please, wanna see it."

Fuck. It's - honestly really stupid - impossible for Oscar to resist, when Lando starts begging him for whatever stupid sex thing. Barely remembers to direct his dick over his left thigh, spunk splashing over the back of Lando's hand and into the hair there.

The noise Lando makes is so loud it feels like it's reverberating through Oscar's head, drowning out his own.

Next time Mark has a go at him about shagging his teammate and not showing weakness and all that, he thinks, in the comedown, he's got a really good answer for him. Because Oscar must be a fucking strong bloke or he'd definitely be dead, watching Lando licking and sucking come out of his thigh hair, whimpering when Oscar pets his hair.

[allthinky]

OFMD fans on Bsky and to a lesser extent here are suggesting that we need to come together as a fandom, get over the divisions, etc. and in principle I am well in favor of that. The last thing we need is to show up as unhinged as we try to get the show picked up somewhere and Season 3 ordered.

But. A lot of folks were really harmed by the bullying, the name-calling, even doxxing? (I missed that, luckily, but certainly have been accused both of bad faith arguments and hatred for Izzy. [Ha. He's not real, for one thing -- also, he was drawn to be hated, right up until the middle of Season 2.] It's whatever. I've been trained in both argument and advocacy and can show up pretty...blunt? But still don't think people should encourage others to actually kill themselves over a tv show.)

I do think healing the rift is important. But.

It's not more important than respecting BIPOC and queer folks. I won't stop calling out racism and misogyny/homophobia where I see it, or at least suggesting that we can and should do better, especially for this show. For this show, omg!

That's the thing: for me, OFMD showed up not only during Covid but also during a huge life upheaval. One that made me incredibly cynical about the odds of justice anywhere in the world. And it said, in every episode: cruelty is wrong. Misogyny is wrong. Homophobia is wrong. Trying to protect your family, trying to become yourself, trying to make amends for your wrongs: these are still good. You can still choose a family, a life, a way in which you fight racism, colonialism, patriarchy. You may find only a grubby little band of weirdos, but they will make your life good. And also, late bloomers can still find true, queer, love.

I love how so many fans have recognized this and are willing to fight for it. But when there are fans who decide that Ed or Stede are clearly the bad guys, or need to suffer! Or that S1 Izzy is the good guy, or Izzy "deserved" a better ending ... These takes pull me out of the little home that the show built for me. I know, rationally, that such interpretations don't actually threaten what the show is, but they still pain me in a way I'm not sure I can fully explain.

(Worse yet, the attachment some folks have to Izzy seems to mirror my own attachment to the crew and the themes. We're all just unhinged. I can't help but feel it's messed up to love Izzy so much he should be front and center, when we finally had a show where the white masc dude wasnt front and center. Even while I think people have the right to enjoy what they want to enjoy. And who doesn't enjoy that little rat, losing when he thinks he should win. It's perfection!)

By 2.4 or whatever, Izzy is fine, he's learning how to be family, he is still a mess in all kinds of ways but whatever. He can be their dick. Their nightmare. Fine. But make him the "hero"? That's an insult. He can do heroic things -- as we all can -- but it's not his story. It's just not, and man, it feels good that someone else gets to be the hero for a change.

I'm really putting this here for my own edification. This isn't meta, this is just: why is allthinky so touchy about OFMD? I'm not done, but I'm done for now.

[uncle-fruity]

Decided to read the article. I absolutely believe that what the author calls "male flight" has some validity to it, but it doesn't seem to be a reason men have given themselves, and it seems reductive to put the decline of men pursuing education solely on misogyny. Not to say that misogyny isn't a factor, because I agree that the article's thesis lines up with historical trends of devaluing anything seen as "feminine" work, and I know enough sexist men to know that many do have an aversion to being in anything they consider women's spaces. I'm not sure that I fully agree that the main reason men aren't pursuing education is the kind of direct misogyny described in the article, but I also don't have any evidence to the contrary lined up, and it's certainly within the realm of possibility.

Early in the article, the author lists out other reasons that have been cited to partially explain the decline in men's enrollment:

[Image Transcript: Other reasons I came across while researching for this article include:

-- Men can make more money without a college degree than women can, so women need college more.

-- Higher rates of alcohol, drug use, gangs and prison for boys negate college as a viable option.

-- Colleges are usually left-leaning, so right-leaning students increasingly don't feel comfortable there. And more men than women lean right.

-- Men join the military more than women.

-- A man will sometimes have to provide for wife/kids before he can finish college. /End transcript.]

Unfortunately, the author did not give citations for any of those claims, nor did she spend much time explaining why she thought these reasons weren't major factors -- or not as notable as the reason she gives: the rise of women in higher education. It would have been nice to see where that information was coming from. Particularly the point about higher drug and prison rates would be nice to have some context for. To be fair, there is a section just before the part that I cited that does give some sources for some of the other reasons people have attributed to the decline of male enrollment.

And, actually, to be extra fair, I'm gonna post that part as well, because it might be helpful. So this is the part directly before the passage I just cited:

[Image transcript: The Pew Research Center has found that boys are more likely to think they don’t need a degree for the jobs they want, and when they do enroll in college, work opportunities lure them away.

Ruth Simmons, president of A&M University thinks “the problem is the way we treat our boys in k-12. They turn away from school because of the negative messages they get at school… Behavior that is rewarded for boys doesn’t fit well with good student behavior.”

Another college president, Donald Ruff believes it boils down to money. “Honestly I think it’s the sticker shock. To see $100,000 that’s daunting.” /End transcript.]

I have little to add about this passage, I just thought it would be helpful to include.

The author also does not seem to consider race in her argument beyond drawing parallels between white flight and male flight. As far as I could tell, this article gives few statistics about the races involved. Is the influx of women predominantly white or predominantly non-white? When we talk about men not enrolling, is there any racial element being considered -- are non-white men enrolling at higher or lower rates than they used to? Are we talking primarily white men not enrolling, or is this male flight evenly distributed across racial demographics? How do these demographics play out? Because, to me, it seems like misogyny and racism could both be at play here. If more black women than ever are going to college, it is likely that male flight is in tandem with white flight, but to actually make that claim with any amount of credibility, we would need more information, which the article does not provide/is not focused on.

To be clear, I do not have the answers to those questions. I am merely speculating. This is one of those cases where I'd need to spend more time looking at other sources to get a broader view of the issue, including the sources the author included, the ones she used to support her claims, and the Freakonomics episode she mentions.

On that note, there's this interesting passage, which comes off as sorta... idk... I don't have the exact words for it. Undermining her own point a little? I'll analyze this feeling I have more after the image transcript. (Also, the "they" that is mentioned at the beginning of this passage is referring to the Freakonomics podcast.)

[Image transcript: They mentioned that there is one subset of men who out-enroll women. Which subset might that be?

Gay men.

While only 36 percent of US adults have bachelor’s degrees, 52% of gay men do.

"If America's gay men formed their own country, it would be the world's most highly educated by far.” - Joel Mittleman

At the Joel Mittleman quote in the podcast, I leaned forward…yes… surely now we will wonder why only straight men aren’t attending college… yes? /End transcript]

I feel like this passage gives a passing glance at intersectionality and then just hand waves it away to prove something about straight men. It just strikes me as something that should be explored more if the argument you're making is that men are leaving for misogynistic reasons. Because we should all know by now that gay men are perfectly capable of being misogynistic and that there are definitely gay men who don't want to share spaces with women. Is it that gay men overall tend to be more in touch with or comfortable with femininity, and are therefore less deterred by the presence of women in the classroom? I guess I'm honestly just confused as to how gay men factor into this conversation and why this deviance from the overall trend is not explored. It seems extremely relevant to the conversation?

Also, the article up to this point has been saying that men -- as a general category -- are choosing not to go to college. Is it true that the article is talking about straight men only, as this portion seems to imply? Are we considering gay men as somehow not men or unaffiliated with the rates that men are choosing college? Does the presence of more gay men in academia also mean that this "male flight" is also in part due to homophobia, or is homophobia not being considered as a factor the same way race doesn't seem to have been factored in?

Finally, how do trans men factor into this conversation? Were they counted as women or men? Were they considered at all? If they were, that certainly is not represented here.

So, I guess my overall impression is that this is an interesting and compelling thesis, but the specifics are missing in a way that makes the author's argument fall flat. I think this article would really benefit from a more intersectional approach. I also believe, as with all social issues like this, that the problem is never just one thing, but a combination of things, all of which need to be considered to address the underlying systemic issues that get us to this point. I absolutely believe the author is on to a big part of the problem, but I think her scope is limited and she needs a more solid foundation of information to build her argument on.

Idk. Read the article for yourself and see how it hits.

Why aren't we talking about the real reason male college enrollment is dropping? (Celeste Davis, Oct 6 2024)

"White flight is a term that describes how white people move out of neighborhoods when more people of color move in.

White flight is especially common when minority populations become the majority. That neighborhood then declines in value.

Male flight describes a similar phenomenon when large numbers of females enter a profession, group, hobby or industry—the men leave. That industry is then devalued.

Take veterinary school for example:

In 1969 almost all veterinary students were male at 89%.

By 1987, male enrollment was equal to female at 50%.

By 2009, male enrollment in veterinary schools had plummeted to 22.4%

A sociologist studying gender in veterinary schools, Dr. Anne Lincoln says that in an attempt to describe this drastic drop in male enrollment, many keep pointing to financial reasons like the debt-to-income ratio or the high cost of schooling.

But Lincoln’s research found that “men and women are equally affected by tuition and salaries.”

Her research shows that the reason fewer men are enrolling in veterinary school boils down to one factor: the number of women in the classroom.

For every 1% increase in the proportion of women in the student body, 1.7 fewer men applied.

One more woman applying was a greater deterrent than $1000 in extra tuition! (…)

Since males had dominated these professions for centuries, you would think they would leave slowly, hesitantly or maybe linger at 40%, 35%, 30%, but that’s not what happens.

Once the tipping point reaches majority female- the men flee. And boy do they flee!

It’s a slippery slope. When the number of women hits 60% the men who are there make a swift exit and other men stop joining.

Morty Schapiro, economist and former president of Northwestern University has noticed this trend when studying college enrollment numbers across universities:

“There’s a cliff you fall off once you become 60/40 female/male. It then becomes exponentially more difficult to recruit men.”

Now we’ve reached that 60% point of no return for colleges.

As we’ve seen with teachers, nurses and interior design, once an institution is majority female, the public perception of its value plummets.

Scanning through Reddit and Quora threads, many men seem to be in agreement - college is stupid and unnecessary.

A waste of time and money. You’re much better off going into the trades, a tech boot camp or becoming an entrepreneur. No need for college. (…)

When mostly men went to college? Prestigious. Aspirational. Important.

Now that mostly women go to college? Unnecessary. De-valued. A bad choice. (…)

School is now feminine. College is feminine. And rule #1 if you want to safely navigate this world as a man? Avoid the feminine.

But we don’t seem to want to talk about that."

[arcaneconfessions]

Remember the joke "jayvik's last moments feels gayer than caitvi sex"? I personally think it's funny ,but I can understand why someone, especially a caitvi shipper, finds it annoying. Though yall gotta remember it's mainly joke and is not meant to be an attack against wlw ship so don't claim that someone saying it, is lesphobic immediately.

I must say though that I honestly think why a lot of people resonate with this joke is because, yeah it's funny to say, but I think it's mainly because the implications, or rather the emotions it brought out to the people. CaitVi sex scene is good and all, but feels very fanservice and it doesn't help the mood at all when you remember the whole Jinx situation. If the intention is to create a parallel similar to what happened with the "JayMel Sex that keeps cutting into Viktor" scene, well it didn't work that well.

Anyways, continuing on, the whole JayVik scene just screams love, whether it's platonic or romantic, where it gives you more emotional impact. It also helps with how Jayce and Viktor's dynamic is and their interactions with one another. Also, despite the difference in upbringing, they try and see one another as equals. There is some hiccups, but they always go back to one another as equal. The scene also feels wholesome or rather you can feel the understanding and connection between the them. Lastly, the lines they both said to one another. You know the feeling when you feel ashamed of something about yourself and what you did but someone you care about still accepted you and stayed with you or you acknowledging and deciding to stay with someone despite their flaws or possible hardships you'll face together due to uncontrollable circumstances. That whole scene feels like that (atleast to me), it's emotional, vulnerable, and very heartfelt. The JayVik end scene is not gayer literally, but rather what it really shows us is how the JayVik end scene has a more emotional depth, because it showed the viewers the profound undertsanding and care they both have to one another, making it more impactful compared to the CaitVi sex scene.

Another ship that gave a better emotional impact is TimeBomb. Their relationship dynamic for one another is always in the bg, except the whole s2 ep7 and part of ep9. And man, they make use of their time for those scenes effectively and efficiently. Powder and Ekko's dance and kiss scene has more impact then CaitVi's sex scene as well.

If any ya'll think it's this is just a complaint of someone against a sex scene in general hence not vibing with it, the JayMel scene gave a better impact that feels natural and not fanservice. Like yeah, they had sex like CaitVi but that moment is perfectly done and didn't feel out of nowhere. It served the narrative and symbolism. It showed us that, Mel can and will manipluate the situation in her favor, but also showed to us that she became attached to Jayce emotionally that she feels hurt by Jayce not being beside her when she woke up. At the same time, shows us Jayce, despite being well meaning, is turning into a politician rather than a scientist the closer he got with Mel, which unintentionally is like betraying Viktor in some way. The whole CaitVi scene also, supposedly, does the same thing and idea, but feels uneasy, offputting, underserved, so sudden or like " oh.... ok. This is happening" typa way. You can remove the scene and it wouldn't change the story. There isn't a direct effect on later scenes, like the scene where Mel is upset with Jayce and Jayce saying he went to Viktor bc he's dying. It also serves as a set up to show Mel's different side that's not political or scheming and manipluating something into her favor, but her emotions or personal stance in things.

Basically, the CaitVi sex scene does not properly serve the narrative or gave a major emotional payoff/impact as big as other scenes for other relationships to the viewers, unless if you're looking forward a CaitVi sex. It might have given a big impact for the wlw ship community, but for the character arc or the story's progression, it's very fanservice. Nothing wrong with fanservice, but don't be surprised if it doesn't affect other people the same way, especially if they're not as heavily invested on it.

Anyways, love ya'll. 💙💙💙

.

[ordowrites]

cw: minors dni, light Dom/sub, useage of "good girl", suuper mild pet play, overstimulation, Kaeya is a meanie, AFAB reader. self indulgent.

do not repost elsewhere, do not use for a-i. blank blogs and minors dni.

Imagine sitting on Kaeya's lap, facing him and your arms around his shoulders as you bury your face into his chest. Imagine one of his hands resting on your back as he does paperwork late into the night.

Imagine grinding your aching folds against his thigh as he easily ignores you, maybe even guides you a bit on pressure. He is totally unaware of your messy hair, teary eyes, flushed face and the wet stain on his pants. Of course, if you stop, he gives you a little pinch and scolds you. He didn't tell you to stop - so you whine a bit and continue to hump and grind against his thigh.

Of course, Kaeya isn't so unkind as to ignore you - he reaches down to play with your clit that gets you to jostle and whine.

"Please, Kaeya." you rasp, after feels like hours of this. You ache, you're on edge and you're so hot. Your legs quiver and like the meanie he is, he simply chuckles at your desperation. "Please."

"Please what, love?" He coaxes as he lifts his leg a bit so there's more pressure against your slick, hurting folds. You whine as you try to get relief from such a feeling. "It's only been an hour and a half. Surely you're more patient than this?"

You know this is affecting him as well - the bulge in his pants tells you this much. Kaeya peppers tender kisses on your cheek, capturing your lips briefly, and nips at your neck.

"Perhaps you'd like to sit in my lap instead? Be a good girl and stay as still as possible-"

"No!" You blurt out, frustrated tears pricking at your eyes. "Kaeya, please."

"Love, I'm busy working on some paperwork." It's an echo of this morning, you think. You had teased him quite a bit before taking off to work, leaving him high and dry. And you knew he's get you back for it - but you didn't think it would be in the meanest way possible. Humping his leg with no relief, orgasming doesn't end it, and you have to keep doing it, regardless. You are oversensitive and overwhelmed.

But this doesn't stop until you tap out.

While the thought of sitting on his cock makes you gush a bit, you know he'll just drag it out even more. And you know he'll take you apart, piece by piece with a smile on his handsome face. He'll degrade you in the sweetest way possible and he's just so - mean.

"C'mon, get moving." he chides, gently. "I'll be done soon, I promise. I'll even help you a bit."

With a shuddering a whine, you force yourself to continue - hips weakly moving against his thigh, his fingers working deftly against your clit. At least until you're nicely edged and moaning, stuttering out half curses when he pulls his hand away, ruining your orgasm in the process. His hands guide your hips more directly now, he doesn't care about the menial work in front of him (he's been done for the last twenty minutes).

"Such a good girl for me, aren't you?" You nod and he smiles. "We'll be done soon, I promise." His hands are pulling off your top. "Just a little bit longer, okay?" You nod again, clinging tightly to him and burying your face into his chest. He hums in approval, moving between rubbing your back and stroking your hair.

You know Kaeya will give you mercy soon - at least, you hope.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite scully and mulder moments from s5

in episode 1, mulder sneakily enters scully's apartment. he sits in the dark in silence; as she gets undressed for bed, he says “keep going, FBI woman”, which only slightly surprises her (her face is shocked, but she doesn't yell; just asks "mulder? what are you doing? why are you sitting in my bedroom in the dark?" which is an incredibly reasonable question! he tells her that he killed a man, and she thinks he is joking, so he clarifies that he isn't)

scully waking up in the hospital bed in episode 2 to mulder by her side- she’s worried someone will see him as they just spent a good amount of time faking his death, but he smiles, grabs her hand, sits on the bed, and kisses her cheek, saying “i’m officially among the undead” (WAHHHH)

(and when she is so worried about how he will have to confess everything, including killing that guy, he does his best to prevent her from dwelling on it- “hey scully, how about those yankees?”)

how she very seriously warns him that skinner is the guy on the inside, and he’s touching her face, saying no, he’s not; mulder knows that skinner made the deal with CSM, but she doesn't know he risked his career and life to save her

and then she offers to take the fall for shooting that guy, saying “mulder, if i can’t save you, let me at least give some meaning to what’s happened to me” (tears. TEARS)

(and when her family arrives to visit her in the hospital, he says he was just leaving, giving her one last kiss on the hand before heading out)

mulder coming by her bedside again after considering taking CSM’s deal to join the dark side, but ultimately refusing: “then why’d you come here if you’d already made up your mind?” she asks, and he laughs: “because i knew you’d talk me out of it if i was making a mistake” (the total trust they have in each other......)

when mulder leaves for his big hearing, she tells him that he’ll be in her prayers (and he kisses her cheek once more, telling her to ask the “father to say a few hail mulders for me, okay?”)

(she is literally laying in bed dying, and despite him never understanding her beliefs and her having, you know, imminent death on her own doorstep, she talks to god about him. intervening with the creator on his behalf. and he, instead of being dismissive of religion like he usually is, accepts the help with a joke and a kiss on the cheek... i feel like i could write a poem on the subject and my emotions still wouldn't be fully expressed)

they’re in the car on the way to a team building seminar in episode 4, and mulder leans over to scully, asking her to please kill him now

however, she immediately realizes he's come up with a new plan to get out of the whole thing by investigating a case: “you want me to tell them that you’re not going to make it to this year’s teamwork seminar?” (he grabs her shoulders, bending over a little to meet her eye level) “yeah. you see that? we don’t need that conference. we have communication like that, unspoken. you know what i’m thinking”

scully trying to start a fire to keep him warm after his body goes into shock- she asks if he has ever thought about dying, saying she was angry while she was sick, and talking about the struggle to give suffering meaning. and then after he makes some joke to get her laughing, she picks up him, placing his head in her lap (“i don’t wanna wrestle”, he mumbles, to which she replies “get over here. i’m trying to keep you warm”)

he asks her to sing as they cuddle, so he can know that she is awake and keeping watch. and then when she indulges him, his whiny ass requests the chorus, too <3

when he wakes up he is so scared to see that she isn’t there, but she was just getting some berries LMAO

mutual roasting in episode 5; she says she thinks the townspeople are so bored and obsessed with what they see on TV that they’re imagining a monster, to which he responds “i am alarmed that you would reduce these people to a cultural stereotype”; when he is spouting frankenstein comparisons to the case, she hits him with the “mulder, i’m alarmed you would reduce this man to a literary stereotype” <- they were having a nerd off!!!

“given the power, who could resist to create life in his own image?” “we already have that ability, mulder; it’s called procreation”

and the famous black and white dancing scene to cher music <3

in episode 7, mulder offers to stay with her while emily is dying, rubbing her back as he says so. but she says she wants to do this alone, so he walks away, and she climbs into emily’s bed

and at the funeral, when scully’s mother asks her if she is ready to go, she says she will stay a little while longer and get a ride back with mulder. soon after, she asks “who are the men who would create a life whose only hope is to die?”, and he answers “i don’t know. but that you found her… and you had a chance to love her… maybe she was meant for that, too” (doing his best to find the meaning in the suffering like they talked about in episode 4, because he knows she finds it incredibly difficult... yeah. and her choosing to spend more time with him than to go home and be with her family... whew)

scully refusing to let mulder fall for pusher’s tricks in episode 8, telling him to hang up the phone before he gets sucked into his games

linda bowman uses the same ability to push her will onto others to convince mulder that scully shot herself. he sees scully, begging him to make her stop, before she shoots herself and collapses. he screams, and imagines himself cradling her head. and when the real scully is in front of him, the mind tricks make mulder think that she is linda, so scully has to try and prove it is really her (“you killed her!” “your mother is tina. your sister is samantha. modell warned you- don’t play her game”). scully has enough time to save the day by shooting linda, and by the time he realizes it really is scully standing in front of him, she gently grabs his arm, calling for an ambulance. the terror of it all. and the loyalty that can inspire such terror...

in episode 9, she tries to explain how it would be physically possible for someone to swallow pounds of dirt, and he just smiles at her; “well… you asked me for answers. those are the best ones i’ve got” <-and listen, after his endless ghost and ghoul explanations, i think your lungs to dirt ratio sounds perfectly reasonable, scully

mulder also decides to dig up a grave in that episode, while scully warns him anything he finds will not be admissible in court. isn’t that just so Them? she’s not gonna stop him, but she will make sure he knows what they can and cannot use as evidence.

“i don’t think this was an act of grave robbing, scully” “no, that’s what we were doing” <- LMAO COME ON….

(there’s also a scene at the very end where mulder is stuck in endless mud and you can see scully helping him up, which greatly warmed my heart)

episode 10’s whole dynamic while scully is on vacation and he is back at the office, but especially this exchange over the phone:

“no, i don’t think it's witchcraft, mulder, or sorcery”

“yeah, well, maybe you don’t know what you’re looking for”

“like evidence of conjury or the black arts, or shamanism, divination, wicca, or any kind of pagan or neo-pagan practice? charms, cards, familiars, bloodstones or hex sins, or any of the ritual tableaux associated with the occult, santeria, vodoun, macumba, or any high or low magic?”

“scully?” “yes?” “marry me” “i was hoping for something a little more helpful” (i watched this scene 3 times because there was SO much to adore, including how serious his face was)

she finds him trapped inside an AI torture chamber in episode 11, and pulls him out, mumbling “you’re going to be okay, i’m going to get you out of here”, dragging his limp body to safety

scully walks into their office, where mulder is sitting, at the start of episode 12: “mulder…” “DON’T. don’t even start with me”

scully describing him as “characteristically exuberant” (“hope you brought your cowboy boots! yeehaw!") as she recounts what happened, and him describing her as “less than exuberant” (“well, obviously it’s not a vampire” “why not?” “because they don’t exist?”)

when scully tells mulder not to rule out what cassandra spender has to say in episode 13, she says the words slowly and carefully, and they lock eyes as he nods, recognizing the significance of the moment in terms of her own beliefs

when scully is in the hospital after the explosion in episode 14, mulder wakes her up by running his fingers through her hair, then giving her the gentlest smile; she asks what time it is, and he laughs- but this makes her self-conscious, so he explains “i’m not laughing at you. i’m just very happy to be standing here talking to you, that’s all” (screaming. btw)

(he then raises her bed a little so they can look at each other while he explains what happened, but a nurse shoos him away, saying she needs rest; he leaves with a thumbs up despite her yelling after him)

“the truth i’ve been searching for? the truth is in you” <- man hold on. hold on, man. MAN-

scully undergoing regression hypnotherapy to remember what happened to her during the explosion. mulder is sitting on the couch next to her, looking terrified as she screams. and despite not being fully present as she recalls the horrors, she taps at his hand next to hers on the couch, wordlessly asking him to hold it. when she comes to, she’s panting, and asks if he was there the whole time. he nods

and later they hold hands in the back of a cop car as they get taken to jail <3

scully breaking into mulder’s motel room while he is undercover in episode 18; he screams at her to get out, and denies being undercover, even though skinner told her everything. she stops his yelling with a breathy “oh, mulder, what did they do to you?”, and sets his poor broken fingers as he winces

(and then she is able to recognize him on the tape of the bank heist despite being masked because of his fingers <3)

then they jointly scream in the CIA guy’s face because they realize he was testing bioweapons and killing civilians… synchronized rage looks good on them

mulder decides to go by himself to investigate the mysterious manifesto in episode 19. not even a minute after he walks out of the door from where he was questioning a witness, he calls her to ask her to look through all of the x files, searching for a specific phrase, which she finds. and then we get to hear him say “scully, at the risk of you telling me i told you so, i think it’s time for you to get down here and help me” “i told you so”, she says with a smile

later, he’s rambling about his bug conspiracy, still wearing the clothes that got all bloody from being taken hostage, and she asks if he has gotten any sleep

scully visiting mulder in the hospital after he goes off the deep end, seeing bug people everywhere, breaking into someone’s house, and attacking skinner; she slips her hand into his as he is restrained, telling him she hopes he can see through this delusion: “you have to be willing to see” “i wish it were that simple” “scully, you have to believe me. nobody else on this whole damn planet does or ever will. you’re my… one in five billion”

the hug at the end of episode 20 as they find the x files in ashes </3

[romantic-misty]

about this kind of posts... I finally have to say smth because I'm annoyed both ways:

(sorry OP, I don't wanna offend you - I wanna offend some sort of ppl)

you shouldn't tell people your (actually human's) basic needs, if you need to beg for bare minimum it's not your fault they don't show effort nor even ask anything because it doesn't cross their mind to do simplest things somehow, they're just egoistic non caring assholes and you repeating yourself won't help much

some ppl can't truly guess some stuff which means they also can not question you on the matter they have no idea about so sure! speak your mind - tell 'em what you like and hopefully they will understand and remember - nobody is a telepath and you should inform others about your thoughts from time to time instead of forcing them to always jump around you or else "they don't give a fuck about you" or smth as it's probably untrue

just because EVERYONE doesn't mean you also have to be like this - if someone is manipulating/forcing you to do things you don't wanna because it's "normal" - believe me, it's not and even if - you have a right to be "weird" so different

not everyone has to say YES forever to something, people have moods and change their mind, remember to explain or at least tell someone you aren't in the mood or changed your mind but also don't forget asking each other if someone is into smth at the current moment unless otherwise specified like "you always can hug me unless I tell you to stop" and such, mistakes and accidental crossing boundaries happen but most important thing are good intention and a lot of discussing, don't break someone's trust constantly proving it wasn't a one time thing

if you weren't assertive enough and someone took advantage of you - don't blame yourself for not saying NO (especially if they were constantly making you feel unsafe to actually stop them or brainwashed you into thinking you want this etc.) - they should check if you're fine with smth and not use the fact you froze and was unsure or didn't have time to set certain boundaries, topis should also continue after certain actions and you can go back to it anytime! no matter what others say - it's never too much for the right person <3

you doing something you hate or what even traumatises you to meet someone's needs because it's compromise... no, it's not - if you're not enough for someone doesn't mean smth is wrong with you - it's probably not a match and that is ok! you will be loved elsewhere by being yourself, if someone cares more about their needs than hurting you with them then they're not a good person (yes, it's mostly about sexual needs) - and no, cheating isn't a proof you didn't give them enough, they can always leave but they're cowards and want to have both :)

if you sh or have depression - don't assume no one gives a shit about you just because they don't question you when you say "I'm fine" - harsh truth - even tho I totally understand why you say that phrase still nobody has to do anything besides accepting it - they might feel like you don't wanna talk about it as it's either personal or you don't trust them enough and maybe just prefer to take your mind out of this as topic is triggering so they won't risk making you feel even worse, say the truth or tell them why you don't wanna talk about certain things because lying to people might make them truly believe you, they have their own issues too they can be occupied with, they can be simply tired and even feel hurt that you don't want to open up to them or show their respect in this way and let you have space - you don't know what's in their mind so if you assume smth about them then think how they feel when you decide to hide the truth from them - as I said, you still have reasons and maybe right to but it doesn't make them immediately evil for not doing more/what you want without you actually TELLING them, I know it's hard and scary and some don't even deserve to know but there are those who truly love you and will understand and will help/support you - you're not a burden! I am aware you don't wanna worry anyone but you can as it's part of being a friend/partner/family and if someone acts like an ass towards you by calling you an attention seeker - they are the problem, not you

silent treatment is manipulation and if you try to show you being offended by that instead of trying to talk things through first you are not good, sorry not sorry

balance is everything but ppl don't wanna meet half way EVER so...

your needs motherfucker do you speak them

[infizero]

silver hasn't changed - he's just been put in different scenarios (a silver character analysis)

something that constantly frustrates me when it comes to discourse over silver's character is that people either treat him as a total uwu soft boy, OR they overcorrect and treat him as some unhinged asshole.

silver's always been a mix of both, but here's why i think it feels like he's gotten "softer" to some people:

silver has ALWAYS had sort of two sides to him based on what situation he's in. he's this pure-hearted, naive kid who refuses to give up hope and who cares about people deeply.

but part of his naivety is that he's very headstrong when pursuing his goals, and tends to see things as very black and white when other people get involved ("you're either with me or against me" kinda thing)

silver is not one or the other, he's both. HE'S ALWAYS BEEN BOTH. in 06 you see scenes of him ruthlessly trying to murder sonic, but you also see scenes of his relationship with blaze, or him taking in the beauty of the nature he's never seen before.

and these sides of him are intertwined as well. the brash and aggressive way silver treats people in the rivals series, for example, stems FROM his naivety and social awkwardness. silver genuinely expects people to just believe him and let him do what he needs to do without question. so when people demand he explain himself, or get in his way because they don't understand what he's doing, he gets frustrated.

(i also just don't think that the rivals series is a good frame of reference to point to when complaining silver is too soft nowadays, considering that literally everyone in those games is like 50% more aggressive than they usually are lol. espio literally tells knuckles, his friend, to his face that he doesnt care that the master emerald is missing and won't help him find it)

anyways, getting more into specifics, 06 and the rivals games show off how silver acts when he's on a mission - he's brash, he's aggressive, and totally focused on doing whatever's necessary to achieve his goals.

his next appearance after that is sonic colors ds, where he's way more chill and casually talks with sonic. which makes sense because there's no reason stated for silver being there; he doesn't have a goal he's pursuing at the moment, so you're able to see that more relaxed side of him.

he's aggressive again in his next game appearance, generations, because he thinks sonic is an impostor - again, there is a specific reason for him acting that way.

forces i don't count because silver is so egregiously out of character there ("i'm an optimist but i'm also a realist" - dawg no the fuck you are not) but he's definitely not an uwu soft boy there

in team sonic racing he's definitely a bit softer which makes sense considering it's just. car racing. and in idw for the most part he's either chilling, or helping the others face a threat, so again there isn't really a reason for that aggressiveness to rear its head.

but we DO see it come out in idw more recently!! as soon as he thinks something's up with "duo," he immediately jumps to that anger and brashness:

these moments are pretty in line with the aggressiveness he displayed in 06 or the rivals series, which i think goes to show that his character hasn't really CHANGED.

it's just that more recently, he's usually been in lower stakes situations where that softer side of his is spotlighted, while during his earlier appearances that more aggressive side was what was spotlighted. but both sides have always existed, and both sides continue to exist.

tldr: stop complaining about silver being too soft please for the love of god

[middle-ans]

may i ask for arranged marriage ceo lewis and model georgie pretty pls? <333

This one is so delicious to play with, thank you for the ask! To you and couple of anons who also asked for arranged marriage au (1599 words)

Lewis exhaled with the weight of his latest sleepless nights, rocking back against the solidity of the back of the chair in Sebastian's office. He hadn't taken a shred of relief from the fact that, on the advice of his assistant, he'd let other people's ears take the burden of his troubles.

“So this Rosberg situation isn't improving in any way?” Sebastian frowned, drifting his gaze over the man's inherent creases of imperfection on the silk shirt beneath. Not at all like Lewis.

“He's so intent on nibbling off as big a piece of the cake as humanly possible, that's all the lawyers have come up with. This farce, I don't know, sounds like madness, but the only legal way to stop his expansion is just this.”

“Marriage,” raising his eyebrows, Sebastian sighed. “With someone trustworthy and not mouthy to take over some of your assets, as well as property, real estate, cars-”

“Thanks,” Lewis rolls his eyes, tapping fingers on the armrest. “You're not helping matters by voicing all of that.”

“Your former business partner, co-owner of a stake in your magazine and part-time a man with little more than the prefix ‘ex’ to other roles in which I wouldn't imagine him anywhere near you, wants to strip you of the lion's share of your corporation,” he shrugs, letting out a disbelieving chuckle. “One has to make sure.”

“And by marrying someone who can divest part of the ownership with me I can salvage the situation.”

“Well,” the blond man's broad palm circles the spacious office, the most obvious of all. “You happen to be in a place that's a little more than just a friendly company to you. A twin company, I'd say. Vesper House has partnered with Hamilton Inc. for as long as it's existed, our models are on the covers of your magazines, where else would you find a confidant? Trustworthy enough for people to believe - yes, it could be Mr. Hamilton's husband.”

Lewis lets out a breath through his nose with a gasp of eagerness, turning back to the glass wall revealing the entire busy floor hallway. Faces worth a million and bodies on bars of gold wander routinely in grace between offices, pick any one and a few people will choke on their dry Martinis at an Upper East Side party. Still, that wasn't all Lewis was looking for.

“Any of them with the wisdom to carry on someone else's legacy?” he squints, clinging his gaze to the passing figure of a long-legged model, immediately abandoning it as the very idea, rejecting the option. “Knowing he has no real right to any of this? Someone capable of playing a love story believably for all the world to see?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, there is one someone.”

Pushing his foot off the floor, Lewis swings his chair back toward the CEO's desk, arching an eyebrow in intrigue.

“Who?”

“He's a relatively new face. But oh, what a promising one. I believe you haven't met him before? I put him on Vogue Italia, GQ once, but not - Samantha, can you check if George is here? George Russell, Susie's boy, ask him to come to my office - yeah, not your magazine. Bright, doesn't talk out of his ass, very dignified at parties, the only one who'll be sober and cheerful for the rest of the event. And, well. Something, a good feeling about him, yeah. I guess in a case this delicate, it has to be.”

Maybe there was something Lewis wanted to say there, but a brief knock came at the door behind him and it opened with a quiet noise, letting in the sound of the bustle of halls for a bit.

“Mr. Vettel, you wanted to see me?”

A snippet of Sebastian's smile is what Lewis sees first before shifting his gaze and body to the side to look at the model. And prejudice be damned, his easy short walk from the entrance to the vacant chair in front of the desk in loose white slacks, a simple shirt buttoned up to the beginning of the rise of his collarbones up over tanned skin, the casualness of the welcoming smile that someone who must be George Russell turns to Lewis makes the man settle a pool in his own mouth. He waits until George looks at his boss again to swallow spit, not wanting to appear an idiot, and of all times now he's definitely not in a position to prioritize a pretty face above his immediate concerns.

“I believe you've never met before?” Sebastian readily points his hand toward the man so far unfamiliar to the model, but Lewis foils his attempt with his own outstretched palm for George, mastering a relaxed curve of his mouth in a smile for a first impression. Sebastian holds back a surprised noise at the bottom of his throat, not at all the way Lewis usually prefers introductions to come, waiting for his name to escape another man's mouth, no, he parts his lips himself, all too turned torso towards the model rather than the man on the other side of the desk.

“Lewis Hamilton,” he lets out softly, taking the pleasant weight of George's hand in his own. “Hamilton Inc.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” George chuckles, squeezing fingers subtly in their relaxed grip beneath each other's wrists. “Magazines, fashion houses, TV shows. Nice to meet you, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Pleasure is very much on my side. And Lewis, please.”

Sebastian rubs his forehead in surprise, deciding whether to interfere with the flow, but clears his throat nonetheless, and a sharp sound breaks the contact of their hands, still gently, with the proper slip of fingers over skin in a brief goodbye.

“I called you in to discuss a potential job. Not exactly your profile, if I may, but no pressure to choose, you know. You see, Mr. Hamilton-”

“Lewis,” the man corrects insistently, continuing to consider the intricate shades of blue, green, and gray in wide eyes.

“-needs a special favor. And his case is quite-”

“That was you on the April cover of Vogue, wasn't it?” Lewis curves his mouth in a wider smile, exposing a blinding row of teeth, and George reciprocates in the most natural way possible; if Lewis pulls his chair a little closer he's sure to capture the blossoming blush on his cheeks, the lines of dimples in his generously presented toothy smile.

“I was, indeed.”

“That Brioni you wore, was exceptional.”

George tilts his head curiously, some strands of his curls flopping up against his high forehead and he squints in pleasant surprise.

“The finest of Italian, isn't it?”

“And the Loro Piana knitted collection for the February issue, yes, now I remember the face.”

“I might be hurt that you once forgot it, but if you pop a guess at my favorite shoot of the year for the third time right, I can excuse the offense,” George throws a leg over his foot, the whole elegance of his body shifting in an axis closer to Lewis, and men are the weaker sex to resist something that represents a true, delicious beauty of the whole expansion of skin even when all he sees of it is a few inches of chest, wrists, and ankles. He's already into it, desperate to find out more.

“That's a high stake,” Lewis smiles, licking his lower lip in the most humble way available. “But maybe, ah, I'd bet on Dior Homme, but you're a much more intriguing bird. Ermenegildo Zegna, perhaps?”

A giggle pouring from flushed pink lips smoothly, effortlessly, George nods, leaving one hand wrapping around the waistband of his pants, relaxed on the curve of his hip.

“You're very much right.”

Sebastian has to clear his throat not so glibly, raising an eyebrow at Lewis, but throwing a businesslike smile at George, and the model switches in the most discreet way, setting his attention back to the man at the table, still not getting rid of the soft smile.

“Husband,” he blurts out with a rush, Lewis rolling his eyes, pinching himself on the bridge of his nose. Couldn't have done it more subtly. “Lewis needs a husband to protect his share of assets in what is essentially his company, and he's looking for someone trustworthy, able to carry himself around safely in public for what should be a very public and convincing affair.”

“Couldn't have laid it out better even coming out of Harvard, Sebastian,” Mr. Hamilton sighs, turning his head again to the model, pleased not to find instant rejection there. “It's not as bad as it sounds, really.”

“Being your husband, you mean?” George drawls teasingly, baring his snow-white smile while the man next to him chuckles, shaking his head.

“As a matter of fact.”

“A marriage of convenience,” the model quietly savors the intrigue on the tip of his tongue, tilting his head. “For the world to see. It's high melodrama.”

“But worth playing, I hope?”

“Whoa, hold your hats, first we need a very clear legal framework-”

“Do you find yourself free for tonight?” Lewis leans on the armrest with his elbow, dancing his fingers along the edge of his lips. Sebastian drops his hands tiredly into his lap.

“I don't have any plans for the night, do I, sir?” George glances across the table, and Sebastian shrugs, playing with the clicks of his pen.

“You're your own man.”

“Well,” the model returns his attention to Lewis, replicating the shrug easily and casually. “Then I'd very much like to hear the backstory, Lewis.”