#like he thinks I don’t have any choice in the matter

[authorhjk1]

Dreamy Pink

(Shin Ryujin X Male Reader)

By @i-am-lifeform24

“The pink one is Ryujin being an actual princess (haven't decided on the time period yet). This one is completely the opposite to the black one. Here is Ryujin in control. And her advisor is the guy she uses when she needs to get off.” - Inspiration quote from @authorhjk1

“No.”

“Your highness, they are all very accomplished, winners of multiple wars!”

“Accomplished, but ugly. No.”

“Princess, these nations have stood with us for centuries. Surely you can think it o-”

Ryujin stares down the impassioned minister, crossing her arms, her pink, flowing dress sparkling as she looks up at the man from across the round table. “I see no reason why I have to do anything, minister. I will not be marrying any of these slimy men.”

You sigh, shooting the old man an apologetic glance as the other members of the council fidget in their seats. The princess has always been… difficult. Even standing behind her, you can feel how uncomfortable the room is getting. Funny, that all the most powerful lords and ladies of the country can’t get through to a much younger girl.

Steeling yourself, you take a step forward, “My apologies, minister, perhaps the princess misunderstands.” Ryujin’s catlike eyes dart left, the princess giving you a warning, shifting her lithe body in the pink mass of cotton so she can better stare up at you. You can feel the other members of the table hold their breath. Here it comes.

“Misunderstand what exactly, advisor?” Her voice is icy, pointed, like she can’t imagine why you would say something so stupid. Well, it is your job after all, and whether she likes it or not, you were put in this position to keep her in check, so keep her in check you will.

“That while you are the most beautiful princess on the continent, you are also the leader of the most powerful country on this side of the world.” You start, gesturing to the other nobles of the table. They straighten up, morning sunlight peeking through stained glass to illuminate their battle-worn features, as if they’ve broken free from the spell of a very bratty princess.

Ryujin raises her eyebrow at you, slightly nodding for you to go on. You watch her dress shine in the soft light, taking a deep breath, “You have to at least listen their proposals out. Agree to the minister’s plan to let the princes visit you.”

Ryujin scoffs, “I don’t want their mud on my floors. This castle was built by my father, and you want to bring these grungy foreigners here? To my paradise?”

You lean forward, and Ryujin’s eyes widen as your strong voice echoes throughout the ornate chamber, “A paradise built by alliances. Strong, long-lasting, powerful alliances. Do you believe that your honorable parents fell in love by the grace of God, your highness?”

Ryujin’s eyes narrow, and the whole room holds its breath. You glance at the minister across the table, the man slowly sitting back down, eyes wide, his robes shifting as he tries to sneak back into his seat. Your heart catches in your throat. It’s never a good idea to mention the late King and Queen in front of her.

Maybe if you apologize before it sets in, she’ll forgive you. You meet Ryujin’s gaze, stammering, ‘N-not to say that your parents were without grace. I’m sure that they would be very proud of you, your high-“

“You’re right.”

Wait, what?

Ryujin smiles at you, her dark eyes crinkling as she exhales, breaking her stare. She turns back to the council. “My Advisor is right. I apologize for my own lack of foresight in the matter of my engagement. Minister, let it be know that I will receive these… princes. I will leave the details up to you.”

“A…. A wise choice, your highness! We shall begin constructing the plans right away.” The old man shoots up with a wide smile, the other council members filling the room with excited applause. You look down at Ryujin, and the princess cracks a smirk at you, as if her jolt of anger was all one big, convoluted, prank.

You gulp, giving her a quick smirk back, stepping behind the sovereign’s large makeshift throne as the council chatters on. Ryujin straightens her back, adjusting her tiara to sit on perfectly on her neatly combed locks. Here, at the head of the table, she almost seems like a real ruler, not an aggressive orphan made to reign way too early.

Soon, the meeting concludes, and you find yourself at the large mahogany bowing to every council member that takes their leave. “Thank you, duchess. And yes, we will make sure that the princess attends your name day celebration!” You lean forward, holding the gloved hand of an older woman, the smile lines on her cheeks deepening as you smile at her. She leans beside your ear, letting the other nobles pass behind her, “Thank the Lord for you, advisor. The poor girl barely has things together as it is…” You straighten, giving the older woman a sideways grin, “Now that’s our sovereign you are talking about, duchess, with how large the kingdom is, I would say that she is doing much better than any of us could.”

The duchess opens her mouth to respond, “Oh no advisor, i’m sure….” Suddenly, her eyes widen, staring at the doorway behind you, and she trails off. “Nevermind! I shall see you on Saturday. Your highness.” She curtsies, and you turn around, just in time to see Ryujin, with her guards flanking her, and her arms across her chest.

“P-princess! I apologize, I'm blocking your way.” You start, stepping aside in an ill attempt to escape. With a bang, the large doors swing shut, and the guards shift uneasily as Ryujin grabs you by the ear and pulls you along the hallway.

“Ow! Princess! I was just escorting the duchess out! I didn’t mean anything by-” You grimace, the sharp pain coursing through your body as she drags you past ornate paintings and ancient keepsakes. The royal is surprisingly strong, her long legs strutting confidently on the velvet carpet. You wonder what set her off this time. She handled the meeting well, really, really well. If anything, you’re more than proud that she managed to avoid exploding at the council, or at you, for once, so what could she possibly want with you now.

Eventually, the thump of her heels on the soft flooring stops, and you find yourself in front of a large, gilded door. The guards follow closely behind, gloves gripping the hilts of their swords tightly as Ryujin addresses them. “Leave us, now. And make sure that none enter this wing for the next few hours. I will have a few words with my advisor.”

You shoot a pleading look at the knights, almost feeling their pity through their plated armor. ‘Sorry, boss. We’ll make it up to you.’ they seem to say, bowing quickly before marching away to the entrance of the castle wing. God, you’ve really done it now.

Ryujin drags you inside, not wasting a second, pushing you up against the warm wood. Your breath catches in your throat, the messy, victorian style bedroom a lazy backdrop to the princess’ intense stare. She pushes her covered breasts onto your chest. Arms, they stay pinned at your side, like she’s pressing a painting into a wall. Ryujin slowly cranes her lips beside your ear, “I barely have things together?”

You gulp, heart catching in your throat as you look down at the beautiful woman. Her gaze is icy, hands slowly rubbing the outside of your trousers. “P-princess, the duchess simply worries for you, we don’t have to do this again.” you squeak, like a mouse, hunted by this very turned on, catlike royal.

Ryujin does nothing but smirk, pulling your underwear down quickly, dropping to her knees as the cold morning air wraps around your erect member. Your hands slowly droop down, but you stay plastered on the wood, like she’s still pinning you there, like her body is still on you.

“Heavy. Good. You’re filling me up today.” The princess cups your balls, her fingers dribbling against the puckered skin as she squints up at you. Amidst short breaths, you can’t help but marvel at how the orange-yellow light glazes her skin, the thin, pink fabric of her dress covered in dark spots as Ryujin’s wetness spreads from her legs. She’s beautiful, and after that disaster of a meeting, she needs a way to relieve her stress.

Ryujin’s tongue darts out, teasing the leaking tip of your cockhead as she grips you by your base, “Hey.” Informal. Casual. Crude. She looks up into your eyes, and you stare back down at her, sweat forming on your forehead as you can’t help but throb in her soft hands. “Yes, princess?” you reply, your voice breathy.

Her gaze softens, her eyes now half-lidded as she slowly licks up the length of your shaft. Her dress has creeped up her thighs at this point, and you can’t help but notice her bare pussy lips in between her kneeling legs. Ryujin stares at you, a firm warning exiting her precum smeared lips, “Don’t ever embarrass me again… daddy.”

You harden at the words, wanting nothing more than to grab the princess by the neck and throw her onto the bed. Ryujin can tell, making a show out of keeping one hand jerking on your cock, while the other pulls her dress down her breasts, the mink revealing perfect, perky breasts.

She smiles, “I’m going to drain you now, and you don’t get to cum until I say so, alright?” Ryujin accentuates the last word with a kiss on your cockhead, the skin wet with her spit. You give her a slow nod, gritting your teeth. She’s asking you for the impossible.

But she’s also your princess. You are sworn to her.

“Yes… your highness.” You croak out the words as Ryujin smirks at you, “Good daddy, now come to bed, i’m riding you until you fill me with your seed.”

You stumble forward, watching as your princess sauntily sways her now naked hips. No undergarments in the council meeting? You’d have ot tell her off later, but in the meantime, the idea only does more to keep your cock hard and ready. Her pink dress stays bunched up around her tight waist, and you watch as her ass sways in the morning light, the dresses and books strewed around the floor nothing but obstacles for her long, supple legs.

Ryujin crawls onto the bed, peeling the rest of the pink fabric off her body, then kneeling on her heels as she crosses her arms, “Faster, daddy. I have a kingdom to run.”

Hastily, you strip, sitting on the edge of the bed, then swinging your legs so they are on either side of the kneeling girl. You’re careful not to meet her eyes. No matter how turned on you are, she’s in charge.

Soon, you’re lying down on your back, the expensive, gold patterned furs digging into the small of your back as your princess straddles you. Ryujin’s hair falls around her face in the soft yellow light, and you watch as her petite tits rise and fall, the princess grabbing you by the shaft, your cockhead rubbing against her pussy lips as she stares down at you.

Her eyes roll back into her head, “God, daddy, if only that old hag could watch me handle this.

“Fuck!” You groan. With a slap, the princess’ ass bounces on your thighs as she roughly takes you to the hilt. She’s always rough, calling you daddy even if you’re her toy, but a part of you loves it, loves letting her take control, loves letting the princess, in a twisted way, worship you with her body.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Ryujin moans, grabbing handfuls of the blankets around her as she bounces on your cock. You feel her walls get accustomed to you, the tightness suffocating, wringing you in a wet embrace.

You look up. She’s not even looking at you. Her Tiara stays skewed on her head, her breasts jumping with every bounce, her small hands resting on your thighs as the princess arches her back, gyrating her hips onto your waiting cock.

“P-princess, it’s so good.” You moan, hands reaching down to grab her soaked ass.

A slap resounds through the large room. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to touch me until I milk you dry, daddy.” Ryujin warns, her tongue coming out of her moaning mouth as she slaps your hands away, continuing her impassioned ride.

You give up, resorting to grabbing handfuls of cloth, watching as your beloved princess cums on your cock, over and over again, her breasts lathered in sweat, her taut stomach rippling under the force of her bouncing.

Ryujin opens one eye, panting, to grab you by the neck, “Kiss me, daddy…” You hesitate for a moment, wishing to savor the feeling of her drawing circles on your crotch, the glorious sensation of her royal pussy grasping onto every ridge of your unworthy cock, but in the end, you sit up.

“You’re beautiful, princess… please, i’m so close.” You beg, letting the girl hold you by the cheeks as your tongue explores her mouth, her hips still riding you, albeit slower, more deliberate, as if she wants to savor every moment too.

Ryujin looks up at you, her dark eyes mesmerizing as you feel the blankets shift. “Here, you belong to me… all your cum, daddy… it belongs to me…” She whispers slowly, pausing to grimace, as if your cock is somehow surprising her with pleasure after all these trysts.

You exhale, feeling it bubble in your core. Something about your aloof, icy princess demanding for you, demanding for your seed, burns all thoughts of stopping away. You need to cum in her, now.

Your lips find Ryujin’s neck, sucking on her clear, unblemished skin as your rough hands find her ass. This time, she doesn’t turn you away, the princess’ smile only getting bigger, as if she’s been waiting for you to take charge.

”Mmm, fuck! Fuck! Breed me! Breed your princess!” Ryujin screams, her hips now still as you fuck into her fast and hard. She’s sitting on your lap now, your chests pushed together, her breasts warm as you hammer into the royal’s pussy.

“Y-yes princess! It’s coming!” You grit your teeth, focusing on delaying your release for as long as you can, until the princess wraps her long legs around you, rocking her pussy lips on the base of your crotch. “Oh… oh! Daddy!” Ryujin groans, grinding her pussy onto you, not allowing you to thrust, her walls clenching, begging for your seed as she pins you down with the flower between her legs.

“I’m coming!” You roar, kissing Ryujin’s jaw as the princess’ eyes shoot open. She moans loudly as you fill her, your hot, virile cum making her body relax. You feel her in your arms, her tits shaking, her ass trembling as you fill the next in line to the throne with your seed.

It’s almost comical, that she’d get so frustrated with a stupid meeting, that this.is the only way she could relax.

Hey, you’re not complaining, sighing as Ryujin topples onto your chest, her hot, deep breaths in your ear her pussy still milking the last dribbles of cum from your cock.

You look down at her with a grin, “Is that all for this morning, your highness?”

Ryujin rolls her eyes, nestling into the crook of your neck, the fur blankets around you damp with the heat of your sex. “Mmm,..”

She flips you over, her legs spreading as you crouch above her, your cock exiting her pussy with a pop. Ryujin smiles, “No, daddy. This time, you’re going to use me.”

You smile, watching her bite her lip as the morning light fades. “As you wish, your highness.”

----------

Hi everyone!

This chapter was written by @i-am-lifeform24 . Thank you so much for the great chapter!

I hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Stay healthy!

[phantom-rats]

Ok, so- (said with intent to infodump)

Teruteru is such a performance of a person. I think a pretty integral part of his character is his tendency to self-aggrandize, if not outright lie about his upbringing and accomplishments. I often wonder if he’s actually ashamed of his background at all, or if he just knows that a certain subsection of people would think less of him for it. Because, at the moment, it seems they only want him around when he’s providing something for them… Food, primarily. And I think he would tell himself that he’s content with that, with embodying this persona and proving himself through his talent, but his desperate bids for attention through his weird and creepy behavior would say otherwise. He’s fun to dissect, because how much of what we’re seeing is really him? What would you find if you managed to get past that?

His arc in the simulation, short as it is, is very fascinating to me. Primarily because I don’t think Teruteru is stupid. He’s in such deep denial, from the very beginning, and the paranoia he’s doing a piss poor job of pushing down eventually bubbles over until he can’t take it anymore. But maybe if he didn’t feel the need to hide so much of himself, including his completely understandable levels of terror and concern for his mother, he wouldn’t have needed to do what he did… I wonder if he could’ve been talked down, if only he wasn’t so deathly afraid of emotional vulnerability… But then again, I do think he was genuinely looking for a way to get back home to his mom, no matter the cost. 

His mom seems to be the only person he truly allows himself to be genuine with… And, in some ways, the only person he seems to really deeply care for. His dad left him and he openly dislikes his siblings. I don’t think he has any friends and his classmates don’t seem to care for him too much (in canon, at the start, at least). It adds a whole layer of tragedy to his story both in the simulation and during his time as a Remnant, given that he… Well, he very likely killed her himself, if not cooked and ate her too. I really adore this part in his FTEs where he’s asked what his dream is, he gets so confused and just throws out some random answer that he thinks aligns with his persona (“My real dream is-! Having a cute, sommelier wife… maybe…?”). I think the culmination of his FTEs and arc in general is that, in the end, he wanted to make his Mom smile, and I think this desire extends to others too. But he wraps it up in so many layers of grandiosity and bullshit that it can easily come off as arrogant and attention-seeking. 

He wanted to make people happy, and he still does, but he’s not doing such a good job of it anymore. He hopes his cooking makes up for everything everyone hates about him, and it does, but he can’t possibly be satisfied with that. He acts like he is, because he knows it’s better than nothing. And they don’t have a choice but to keep him around. But he has to want more than that, doesn’t he? 

Sorry for the extremely long reply! As a massive Teruteru fan of several several years, I’m probably overanalyzing him a little bit- 

inauthentic

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Touch of Sweetness 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Loki Laufeyson

Sister series to mob!Thor

Summary: you make a new friend, but that’s not all. (short reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You wait at the door. You’re wearing winter clothes but you don’t mind. The stuff in your closet are the only untouched by berry juice. 

As you watch through the window, Jada scoffs and slurps loudly behind you. 

“What are you doing?” She asks. 

You know what she wants. She wants a reaction. Well, you might be sweating in this turtleneck but it’s not because of her. 

“Waiting.” 

“For?” She snips. 

“My ride.” 

“You have a car.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m saving my gas,” you argue. “Where’s Estelle?” 

“She went home,” she chimes in a taunting tone. Oh yes, she went home after they destroyed your wardrobe. “Those berries were good. Fresh.” 

You sigh and shake your head. A sleek dark green car rolls slowly along the curb and stops, idling as a dark figure leans over in the driver seat. That must be them. 

“Gotta go,” you say as you hook your quilted bag over your shoulder. 

“You are such a spoil sport,” she pouts. You open the door but she catches it before you can close it. She huffs as she sees the car, “oh, I see. Another day of fun with criminals.” 

You slow as a figure emerges from the other side of the car. Loki squints over the roof with obvious disappointment. You give a sheepish wave as you approach. You don’t think he knew to expect you, just as much as you don’t expect him. 

“You’re such a loser,” Jada calls after you. “And you’re gonna get hurt.” 

You ignore her as Loki scowls. He doesn’t say a word as he drops back down into the driver’s seat. You open the passengers’ door, “may I?” 

“Hm, haven’t much of a choice in the matter,” he drones as his fingers tap on the ridge steering wheel. 

“Sorry, I... I could’ve driven but Thor--” 

“Yes, he does demand all things happen upon his whim,” he slithers. “Do use your seat belt and close the door. I should hate to think of his whining should you get hurt upon my watch.” 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you shut the door and fumble to do up your belt. He pulls out just as you snap it into place. 

“That was a rather pleasant woman,” he remarks as he drives. “What was it she called you?” 

“Ha, that’s just my sister,” you say. “You know, sister things.” 

“I do have one and she’s just as endearing,” he turns lazily with his thumb. 

“She just woke up. She’s grouchy,” you explain and look around the interior of the car, trying to distract yourself from the tension. You can feel how much he doesn’t want to be there. “This is nice.” 

You run your hand over the wood finish of the dashboard. 

“Authentic. Vintage,” he assures you. 

“Oh,” you retract your hand, “I wouldn’t want to... leave fingerprints. Sorry.” 

He grumbles but says nothing. You suppose that’s better than rebuke. You sit back and watch the streets through the window. The silence is strangling. 

You subtly glance over at him. He’s an intimidating figure. Tall, lithe, unreadable like a feline. You want to apologise again, just for the fact he’s been sent on this errand. 

“What?” He says, startling you. 

“What? Uh, what what?” You murmur and turn your head straight. 

“Why are you staring at me?” He asks. 

“I’m not, I just... looking through the windows,” you lie. 

He huffs and rests his hand on the shifter lazily. You turn your face away, stewing in your embarrassment. 

“The forecast is rather positive. You will be overheated,” he girds. 

You look down at the turtleneck with the ruffled collar and sleeves. He’s right. Another shock of heat blazes in your cheek. 

“I thought it was cute,” you shrug. 

He hums again. He clucks his tongue and speeds up. He peers over at you. 

“You’re not a very convincing liar.” 

“I’m not--” 

“I wonder,” he interrupts, “why you would lie about a shirt.” 

“I’m not lying, it is cute.” 

“It’s... not unsightly,” he allows. “But I’m certain you have something more weather appropriate.” 

“Maybe I do but why do you care?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. 

“Suppose I don’t,” he utters. “I am rather bored by this entire chore and thus I try to distract myself.” 

“Mm, well, I am sorry you have to do this,” you say. 

“Isn’t your fault, isn’t your apology to make,” he rebuffs. 

You frown. There's nothing you can say to him that’s right. You’re used to that and yet he isn’t so vicious as Jada or her friends. He is just blunt. A strangely respectable sort of honest. 

Loki drives up to a grand house. It’s like a fantasy or fairytale. A modern castle. You’ve never been anywhere so fancy. You gape up through the windshield as he rolls through the gates and along the stone drive. Wow. 

“The flies will get in,” he reproaches. 

You snap your mouth shut and sit back. You sniff and twiddle your fingers impatiently. He draws up next to another luxurious vehicle and you undo your belt. You’re out before him. He’s probably just as eager to part ways. 

“Come,” he beckons you as he gets out. 

You obediently follow him. He takes you up the front steps and you stop to admire the stone lion statue. He opens the door and tuts to get you to carry on. 

You enter and let out a ‘woah’ as you take in the spacious entryway. He is unaffected by it all. There’s hardly anything that does impact him deeply. 

“This way,” he utters. 

He takes you through a door and along a hallway. He points you through an open archway and you step inside. It’s a large kitchen that matches the sheer exuberance of the rest of the place. The basket of berries is on the counter as Queenie flutters through the pages of a book. 

“Uh, hi,” you step through as Loki lingers in the hall. “I’m here.” 

“Oh, hello,” she looks up with a smile, “I was just looking for a recipe—where are your berries?” 

You make a face. “You know, I forgot them.” 

She tilts her head in disappointment, “that’s okay. More than enough here.” 

“Sorry, I... rushed out. Must’ve left them right there in the fridge.” Your voice piques but she just goes back to turning pages. 

You near her and turn to face the counter. As you do, your eyes flick back to the door. Loki watches you through it, eyes narrowed, cheeks pinched with skepticism. He bows his chin. 

“I will let my brother know all is in order,” he turns on his heel and struts off. 

“What do you think?” Queenie asks, unbothered by the man’s departure, “tarts or trifle?” 

[luvismenu]

Only When It's Us — JJK ,, index ,, about taglist

Chapter 02 — distraction ✎

fic summary: you both say it’s nothing serious, but with every touch and argument, it gets harder to stay away.

nsfw warnings: smut; lots of kissing, lots of touching lol, oral (male recieving, fem too? kinda), sucking fingers, doggy style, unprotected sex (shes using birth control so yep, be safe!) use of ‘good girl’

wc: 6k

📜 permanent taglist: @lovieku @kyuupii @fluttershypoo @deluluisdasolulu @ddanasjk @mar-lo-pap @jungkooks-wife @diamondjeon @nnybtitts08 @lil0u0 @butnotmontana @fr0ggieth1nk @minimoninini @whoa-jo @lola75111 @iswearimover5feetall @rispwr @leemonis-blog

📜 series taglist: @deepikhaprakash @rjooniesdimples @sweetmimosa28

abt series taglist: send me an ask w the series title !!

“i have to go.”

“why don’t you just come back home? you can start over, and this time, maybe you’ll be more like your brother.”

you sigh.

“mom, i don’t want to be him,” you say quietly, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. on the other end, you hear her let out a soft, disapproving tsk, a sound that always manages to make you feel a little smaller.

“aren’t you clearly struggling with school? if you were here with us, with your brother, we’d help you. you’d be fine,” she insists, as if coming home would magically fix everything.

you roll your eyes.

“i really have to go.”

“___, just listen to—”

but before she can finish, you end the call, staring at the blank screen for a moment.

there’s an unsettling feeling in your chest, one that refuses to fade, no matter how much you try to brush it off. its like a quiet reminder of all the things you’re trying to avoid.

go back home?

after everything you’ve been through to study what you want, to finally live on your own terms. every argument, every latenight fight with your parents, all just to claim a bit of freedom.

you worked so hard to break free from their expectations, to stand on your own.

you even transferred universities just to escape the constant pressure back in your hometown. no matter what you did, it was never enough. every choice was somehow wrong, not ‘their way.’

you can’t go back now.

not until you’ve made it, not until you have something real to prove them wrong. you have to be successful, if only to show them that your way was the right way all along.

“hey, are you done thinking? never seen anyone contemplate cheerios this hard.”

min yoongi’s low voice pulls you out of your thoughts. you look up, finding him behind the cash register, his lips curving into a small smile.

“just wondering if i can actually trust your store’s products. what if you are some sort of cheerio secret agent and you're trying to poison me?” you joke, handing him the money.

“oh no, you figured it out. we’ve been poisoning the cheerios. now how am i gonna explain to my boss that our mission failed?” he dramatically placesb a hand on his forehead as if you revealed his deepest darkest secret. you can’t help but chuckle, the tension in your chest loosening just a bit.

“bad day?” he asks, his gaze softening a bit as he opens the cash register.

min yoongi; your friend.

well, he's more like your senior. he graduated last year and he is working parttime at this convenience store cuz he thinks in this way he could spend some time outside.

you didn't question him about it any further.

you don’t usually come here unless it’s an emergency, and breakfast for tomorrow qualifies as pretty urgent, or so you tell yourself.

“something like that,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

he nods slightly. “well,” he begins, “i’m sorry i can’t give you a discount,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood.

you chuckle, the corners of your mouth lifting. “aw, that’s too bad. i thought i might get these cheerios for free.”

he smiles softly, “maybe some other time,"

you smile back at yoongi and turn to leave. but then you almost bump your head against a man’s chest, stumbling back in surprise.

that was close.

you look up to apologize, but your words get caught in your throat as you take in his appearance.

he’s handsome.

no, that doesn’t even begin to cover it. his face is sculpted to perfection, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. his dark eyes seem to pierce right through you, and his long, dark hair falls effortlessly over his forehead.

but there’s something else,

he looks... mad?

you quickly gather yourself, your cheeks warming slightly. “sorry,” you blurt out, stepping aside to let him pass.

as you walk out of the store, you catch a snippet of conversation behind you.

“are you still upset about her, jungkook?” yoongi’s voice carries just enough for you to hear.

you try to shake it off, not wanting to dwell on whatever is unfolding behind you. it’s not your business, after all.

you step outside, the cool air hitting your face as you leave the store, and try to focus on the tasks ahead of you.

“it doesn’t make any sense, hyung,” jungkook scoffs, the frustration bubbling up inside him.

“when did she ever make sense?” yoongi replies dryly, not backing down as he meets jungkook’s glare. the tension in the air feels thick, but yoongi isn’t afraid to speak his mind.

“from my point of view, you’re now a free man. free from all the bullshit you’ve been through,” yoongi explains, hoping to lift jungkook’s spirits.

“what bullshit? i was happy. we were happy,” jungkook frowns, his confusion evident. he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, struggling to comprehend yoongi’s words.

“that’s what she wanted you to think,” yoongi replies, his tone serious. “and to be honest, that’s what you always did. you did whatever she wanted. you changed for her.”

“i loved her,” jungkook insists, his voice a bit softer but still filled with conviction, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

“did you? really?” yoongi presses, searching jungkook’s eyes for any hint of doubt. he knows this is a tough conversation, but it needs to be talked out.

jungkook looks away and mutters. “you don’t get it,”

yoongi’s expression softens. he presses his lips together as he looks at jungkook, feeling bad for him. “i’m sorry, jungkook. but you really have to let it go now. it’s been two weeks. it’s time to start moving on.”

jungkook stays silent.

instead of responding, he reaches for a lollipop displayed near the cash register, the bright colors contrasting sharply with his gloomy mood. he hands yoongi some money, more than what the lollipop costs, as if he’s paying for more than just candy.

“do you want the change, or can i keep it as a tip for my great service slash friendship?” yoongi tries to lighten the mood, hoping to bring a smile to jungkook’s face.

and it does.

jungkook’s lips curl into a faint smile, a small but genuine response. “keep it,” he says softly.

as jungkook turns to leave, yoongi watches him go, feeling sad for his friend.

“bad day indeed.”

you're sat on a bench in the park near the convenience store, lost in your own thoughts. the quiet sounds of the evening settle around you, the faint rustle of leaves, the distant hum of traffic, and your own sighs mingling with the cool air.

you’re not really thinking about anything in particular, just letting your mind wander in that aimless way it does when everything feels overwhelming.

then, a loud voice cuts through your thoughts.

“no, i know you're hiding something from me!” someone snaps, his voice taut with irritation. “fine! have it your way then.”

curious, you glance over and recognize him immediately; the same man from earlier at the store, the one you’d nearly bumped into.

he’s pacing as he talks on his phone, one hand running through his dark hair in exasperation. his jaw is clenched, his brows furrowed, and you can practically feel the tension radiating off him even from a distance.

after a moment, he ends the call with an aggravated sigh, stuffing his phone into his pocket as he makes his way into the park, still visibly upset. he barely notices his surroundings as he walks closer to where you’re sitting.

he sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, muttering something under his breath as if willing the frustration to melt away. you can’t help but stare a little, like an idiot.

then his eyes snap open and land directly on you.

“got a problem with me?” his voice is sharp, cutting through the silence between you.

you blink, startled, and stand up instinctively. “excuse me?”

he turns fully to face you, his eyes never leaving yours. “i asked, you got a problem with me?”

“no.” you shake your head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“good.”

wow. nice attitude.

just as you’re about to walk away, he calls out again.

“never seen you around here before.”

“pardon?” you turn back, surprised.

“you’re yoongi's friend, right?” he asks,

you cross your arms, giving him a wary look. “why do you care?”

he shrugs, almost nonchalant. “my bad, just curious. never seen yoongi smile at a normal customer before, so i assumed.”

“oh,” you reply, softening just a bit. “well, i guess you could say we're friends.”

he raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you guess?”

you offer a small shrug of your own. “he used to help me when i was still a freshman, and he still tries to whenever he can. i'd say he's like my teacher, in a way. it’s not like we hang out or anything, though.”

he tilts his head, considering your words. “well, consider yourselves friends. trust me, he doesn’t just help anyone.”

you narrow your eyes slightly, still wary. “and who are you, exactly?”

“jeon jungkook,” he says, extending a hand with a surprisingly polite nod. instinctively, you reach out and shake it, his grip firm. “since you're yoongi's friend, i think we go to the same university. though this is the first time i’m seeing you.”

“same, i am ___,” you pull your hand back.

“what are you doing here, in the middle of the night? didn’t your parents ever tell you not to go out alone?” he asks, the way he talks is somewhere between teasing and serious. you can't quiet get what it is but something about it grates on your nerves, like he's playing at being concerned but in a way that feels almost mocking.

“i could ask you the same thing,” you shoot back, meeting his gaze head on.

he doesn’t flinch, only tilts his head slightly. “i always come here,” he says, his voice calm, almost like a matterof fact.

“same,” you respond. “during the day.”

he quirks a brow, “so why are you in my night shift?”

you scoff, a laugh slipping out before you can stop it. “this isn’t your place or ‘shift,’ you know."

“well, you come here during the day; i come here at night. sounds like shifts to me,” he says with a shrug, and you catch the playfulness on his face.

“guess i’m overtiming, then,” you say, glancing away to hide your own smirk. “don’t mind me.”

he stays silent.

“you’ve got your own shit to deal with, huh?” he says, his voice breaking the quiet.

“why are you talking to me?” you blurt out, catching him a little off guard. “i mean, you don’t even know me.”

he raises an eyebrow, unphased. “i could ask you the same thing,” he replies, mimicking your answer from before.

you narrow your eyes, folding your arms. “i don’t think i want to talk about my problems with a random stranger.”

“problems…” he echoes, looking you up and down like he’s trying to figure you out. “let me guess. got into a fight with your boyfriend?”

“no,” you say quickly, rolling your eyes. “i don’t have one.” for a second, you think you catch a flicker of surprise on his face. “what about you? girlfriend mad at you?”

his face shifts, something almost vulnerable passing over his features before he looks away. “guess you could say that,” he mutters. “since she broke things off with me.”

a silence stretches between you two.

“i’m… sorry to hear that,” you finally say, feeling the awkwardness settle around you.

you didn't expect that.

honestly, the idea of someone like him getting dumped hadn’t even crossed your mind. a guy who looks like that—that intense aura—doesn’t exactly seem like the type to get left behind.

you assumed he’d be the one calling the shots, the one walking away. but here he is, single and clearly dealing with the aftermath of something that’s weighing on him. its surprising.

a thought crosses yourmind.

if someone could leave him, someone who had a place in his life and a claim to his heart, maybe he’s not as perfect as he seems on the outside. maybe there’s something beneath the surface, something that’s harder to deal with than his looks would suggest.

it’s like a puzzle you didn’t even mean to start solving, yet here you are, wondering if there’s more to him than just that handsome face.

but then you shake the thought away. he’s a stranger. a random guy you happened to bump into, quite literally, at a park in the middle of the night. it’s not like you’ll see him again after tonight. or, at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

because, really, why should you care?

whatever his story is, it’s none of your business.

“anyway, hope you figure your problems out.” he says, his gaze flickering away as if he’s eager to dodge any deeper conversation.

“likewise,” you reply.

without warning, he pulls a lollipop from his pocket, holding it out to you. “here,” he says, waiting for you to take it.

you reach out slowly, raising an eyebrow. “thanks?”

he smirks, “again, did your parents never tell you not to take candy from strangers?”

“maybe i like to be a little rebellious,” you say, smirking back at him and he shakes his head smiling.

“well, go ahead, eat it. i don’t want you tossing it away. i spent a lot on that sucker,” he says, a playful grin spreading across his face. despite the oddness of the moment, a corner of your mouth quirks up.

you unwrap the lollipop, examining it with a critical eye before giving him a look that says it all.

he catches it, tilting his head in curiosity. “what?”

“i don’t think i like raspberry flavor,” you admit, holding the lollipop up like a trophy of sorts.

he squints at you, “you’ve never tasted one before?”

you shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. “i don’t like raspberries, so i’m guessing this is more of the same.”

he shakes his head, lips twitching into a smirk. “that’s pretty bold, making assumptions without even trying it.”

“just give it a taste; maybe you'll like it,” he suggests, a teasing smile forming on his lips, clearly wanting you to try it. deep down, he doesn't even like raspberry flavor; he just picked it out randomly at the store.

“uh, no thanks. i don’t want that nasty taste on my tongue,” you reply, scrunching your nose a little . “but thanks, you could have—”

your words are abruptly cut off as he grabs your hand, the lollipop still held tightly between your fingers. in one swift motion, he leans in, wrapping his mouth around it. his tongue swirls around the candy, and then he pulls it out, his lips glistening with a reddish-pink hue that matches the flavor.

you're completely taken aback, eyes widening in shock.

oh what the fuck.

“yeah, you’re right. it does taste nasty,” he says, licking his lips as he releases your hand. “give it to me, i'll just throw it away or something”

suddenly, the lollipop feels trivial compared to what he just did. you stand there, completely speechless, your mind and heart racing as you try to process what jus happened.

“what?” he stares at you.

“you’re good with your tongue,” you say, the words slipping out before you can really think them through.

he pauses, his eyes widening for a second, and he chokes on nothing, almost like he’s been caught off guard mid-breath. “uh, what?” he finally manages, blinking rapidly.

realizing how that might’ve sounded, “i just meant... the lollipop. you seemed pretty skilled with it,” you clarify, though you’re aware it’s not really helping.

what are you even trying to say?

he looks at you, a smirk playing on his lips now. “uh-huh, sure,” he says, teasing you. “that’s what you meant.”

you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “don’t flatter yourself, i was just making an observation.”

but the way he’s looking at you now, dark eyes glittering with amusement and something else you can’t quite place, makes it hard to pretend that slip of the tongue didn’t mean more than you intended.

“so, do you want to suck on it?”

“huh?” you blink.

suck on what now?

“the lollipop” he clarifies, a small smile playing on his lips.

oh.

you clear your throat, fighting to keep a neutral expression. “no, definitely not, especially now that you had your tongue all over it.” you try to scrunch your nose, but any attempt at showing disgust falls flat with the heat rising in your cheeks.

“alright then, just asking if you changed your mind,” he shrugs, still holding your gaze.

“i still don’t want it,” you say quickly, trying to sound convincing.

“okay.” he blinks, unfazed.

“okay,” you repeat, awkwardly.

he gestures to the lollipop still in your hand. “uh, so… are you gonna keep holding it?”

you glance down, pulling your hand back. “i’m gonna throw it away,” you declare, though it feels a bit ridiculous now, given everything that just happened.

“i hope so,” he says, one side of his lips quirking up.

why do you kind of like his smile?

you try to shake your thought off, tossing the lollipop into a nearby trash can, trying to act as casual as possible.

“well, guess that's the end of that,” you say, hoping to sound nonchalant. he nods as he crosses his arms.

you raise an eyebrow, mimicking his stance. “do you usually hand out half-eaten lollipops to strangers?”

he laughs, low and soft, the sound surprisingly warm in the quiet night. “only when they look like they need a little distraction.”

you tilt your head. “oh? and what made you think i needed one?”

his eyes meet yours, his expression softening. “just a hunch,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. “we all got stuff we’d rather not think about, right?”

a pause.

there’s something unspoken between you two, a quiet understanding in the way you hold each other’s gaze.

he's right.

you are stressing about things you'd rather not think about, things that seem to cling to your mind no matter how hard you try to push them away.

and then there's him, a stranger but somehow not, going through his own mess. you can see it in his tired eyes, the way he keeps looking off into the distance as if trying to shake off whatever weight he's carrying.

you realize you don’t mind it; you don’t mind his company, or even the strange comfort of this shared silence.

both of you are here, each trying to forget whatever it is that’s eating at you. maybe that’s why this moment feels so easy.

”yeah,” you finally say, “guess we do.”

“i gotta go now,” you announce, hoping to put an end to whatever weird tension is building between the two of you.

he doesn't say anything. no goodbyes, no attempts to stop you. so you turn and start walking away, trying to shake off whatever just happened.

but before you can take more than a few steps, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist. you stop, surprised, and turn back to face him. his grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough to make you pause.

you meet his gaze, and there's something in his eyes—something intense, something that makes your stomach flip.

“would you like a distraction?” he asks, voice low, almost like a whisper meant just for you.

you blink, not sure if you heard him right. “what?” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

instead of answering, he tugs you gently closer. your body stumbles forward, and your hands land on his chest to steady yourself. his heartbeat is strong under your palm, and suddenly, everything feels too close, too intense.

he looks down at you, his eyes flickering over your face like he’s searching for something. “i think i do,” he mutters. “don’t you?”

your mind is racing, trying to make sense of this.

is he asking what you think he’s asking?

he’s a stranger. someone you barely know beyond a couple of conversations and an awkward encounter in a convenience store.

yet there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, something that makes it hard to think straight.

“yes,” you hear yourself say before you can even process it.

his lips curve into a satisfied smile, and without another word, he leans in and kisses you.

the world seems to stop as his mouth meets yours. it’s not hesitant or soft; it’s urgent, as if he’s been wanting this for longer than the short time you’ve known him. his hands slide up to your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss.

your fingers clutch his shirt, feeling the heat of his body against yours. it’s messy and impulsive, and he doesn't even care that you’re both in the middle of a park, under the dim glow of the streetlights.

right now, all you can think about is him. the way he tastes, the way he kisses you desperately.

maybe you do need this distraction.

his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, letting the kiss deepen. his lips are soft, and you moan as if you're melting into the kiss. there's something about the way his mouth moves against yours; like he's been waiting to do this.

“wait—” you pant as pull back, your heart pounding against your ribs, trying to gather your thoughts. he looks into your eyes, his brows furrowing slightly as he asks in a low voice, “what happened?”

“we're... we're outside,” you point out, glancing around.

he tilts his head, his brows raising slightly as if that’s the least of his concerns. “so?” his voice is low and almost teasing, like he finds your hesitation cute.

you let out a scoffing laugh, “what do you mean so?wee’re literally in a children’s park.” you gesture to the swings and slides nearby, deserted at this hour but still... it’s a public space.

he pauses for a second, “my car’s parked just over there,” he nods towards a sleek vehicle at the edge of the park, his lips curling into a smile. “we could, uh... relocate or—”

before you can even process that, your curiosity gets the better of you. “wait— you have a car?” you cut in, a little surprised.

he chuckles. “yeah, and it’s a pretty one at that.” there’s a glint in his eyes that says he’s enjoying this back-and-forth with you, like it’s some sort of game.

you sigh, still trying to wrap your head around the craziness of this entire situation. “okay,” you murmur, almost to yourself, deciding to just go with it. what’s the worst that could happen?

he releases his grip on you, but only so he can grab your hand and guide you towards the car. the walk feels a little awkward now, a heavy tension hanging in the air. you're not sure what to say.

what’s the protocol for walking towards a car with a guy you’re about to hook up with?

as if sensing your nerves, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “come on, my car’s comfy. don’t worry,” he says with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. the way he’s holding your hand... it’s surprisingly tender, making it feel just a little less awkward.

when you reach the car, he opens the back seat door for you. you hesitate for a second, “you won’t, like, kidnap me or something, right?” you half-joke.

he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “for someone who’s so aware of the things you shouldn’t be doing, you sure do them anyway,” he teases. his words send a shiver down your spine, both a warning and an invitation.

but you ignore that nagging voice in the back of your mind. instead, you climb into the seat and he follows you right away.

“why are you—” your words are cut off as he crashes his lips against yours, the urgency in his kiss making you lose your breath. one of his hands grips your waist, pulling you against him, while the other tangles in your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head for better access.

the way his lips move against yours, hot and hungry, sends sparks shooting down your spine, and before you know it, you're moaning into his mouth, matching his intensity. your hands scramble to find something to hold onto, eventually locking behind his neck as if he's your lifeline.

“are we seriously gonna fuck in your car?” you gasp, your words shaky when he pulls away just enough to start trailing hot kisses down the side of your neck. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, drawing him closer.

“no,” he breathes and sucks on a sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his teeth grazing the skin before he soothes it with a slow lick. “just couldn’t stop myself,” he admits, voice low and breathy, and then his mouth is back on yours, devouring you with a hunger that makes your head spin.

your hands move restlessly over his broad shoulders, wanting to feel more, wishing his clothes were gone so you could touch him everywhere.

his hands roam your body like he's memorizing it, fingers pressing into the curves of your waist, teasingly brushing against your chest. each touch has you arching into him, wishing he'd just tear your clothes apart already.

it's all too good.

too overwhelming, and before you know it, five minutes have passed with the two of you tangled in each other. when he finally pulls back, panting, his lips are swollen and glistening. your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to catch your breath, both of you staring at each other in the dim light of the car.

he’s leaning back slightly, his hard on pressing against your thigh. it’s impossible not to notice how turned on he is, and it only makes your own arousal spike.

you're so fucking wet right now.

you’re laid back on the seat, eyes locked on him, watching the way he runs a hand through his disheveled hair, pushing it back revealing his forehead.

“hotel? or my place?” he asks, trying to catch his breath “hotel’s just a minute away, but my place… well, it’s a bit further.”

you can practically see the options laid out in your mind like a checklist.

a) go to the hotel, have your fun, and slip away without looking back. no strings, no regrets. just a quick fuck and disappear like it never happened.

b) go to his place, let him fuck the shit out of you, see if he’s worth all this heat between your thighs. maybe wake up in his bed with his arms still wrapped around you... and if he's good enough, maybe get his number so it doesn’t have to be a one time thing.

you bite your lip, your decision already made before you even realize it.

“yours.”

the drive to his apartment is quick, the tension between you both barely held back. you're glad it’s late at night, because the two of you can’t seem to keep your hands off each other and you don't want anyone witnessing it.

the second you step into his apartment, the door slams shut behind you, and it's a scramble to rid each other of clothing. shirts are yanked off, belts undone, pants shoved down until you're both stumbling towards his bedroom in a mess of heated kisses and needy touches.

“o-oh fuck—yes baby, suck it just like that,” jungkook throws his head back, moaning, his breath ragged. he’s sprawled on the bed, legs spread wide, hands gripping the sheets. you're on your knees between his thighs, sucking him hard, your lips stretching around his thick length.

you glance up at him, eyes half lidded, watching the way his abs flex as he tries to keep himself steady. “shit... you look so fucking hot,” he rasps out, voice rough. his gaze darkens, and he pushes himself up, one hand threading through your hair.

“can you take it, baby?” he asks, his voice low, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

you know exactly what he’s asking. you nod, barely managing it with your mouth full, and he smiles, almost wickedly, his eyes gleaming.

“good,” he murmurs, his grip tightening just enough on your hair. “tap me if it’s too much.” and with that, he starts moving his hips, fucking into your mouth with slow, deep thrusts.

you gag slightly as he pushes deeper, but you relax your throat, trying to take him in. the room is filled with the wet, obscene sounds of him moving in and out, his groans echoing off the walls.

“fuck—you’re taking me so well, baby,” he praises, his voice thick and raspy, sending a wave of heat straight to your core. each time his cock hits the back of your throat, it forces a choked gasp from him, his hands instinctively tightening in your hair.

your eyes water, tears pooling at your lashes, but you don’t stop, even as your throat aches. your nails dig into his firm thighs, using them for balance as he fucks your throat. you want to show him just how much you can handle.

“i’m gonna—” he grunts, voice rough and strained. a hot burst of his release fills your mouth, and you swallow it all, not breaking eye contact with him for a second. his chest heaves as he watches you, mesmerized, as your tongue slides slowly along his length, cleaning up every drop. his jaw clenches, the sight clearly driving him wild.

“get up,” he orders, voice still a little breathless, and you obey instantly, letting him pull you to your feet. “on the bed, all fours.”

you get onto the mattress, positioning yourself as he asked. there's a moment of stillness as you feel his gaze roam over your exposed body. your heart races, anticipation building as you wait for his next move.

“you’re dripping,” he murmurs, leaning in closer until his breath is hot against your soaked core. he licks a slow, deliberate stripe along your folds, and your eyes flutter shut, a soft, breathy moan escaping your lips. his mouth envelops your pussy, sucking and licking with an rhythm that makes your thighs tremble.

he pulls back just enough to catch his breath before moving up, positioning himself between your legs. his right hand trails upward, skimming over your skin until his fingers brush against your lips.

instinctively, you part them, taking his fingers into your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue around them. the low chuckle that escapes him tells you just how much he enjoys it.

“you like that, hm?” he asks. you moan softly around his fingers, your response muffled but desperate.

he withdraws his fingers, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk. leaning down, he wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you slightly until your back is against his chest. you can feel his length pressing against your ass, you move your hips a little causing a little friction.

his hands slide over your breasts, kneading them with just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

you melt into his touch, your head lolling back against his shoulder as his fingers pinch and roll your hardened nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

“want me to fuck you, baby?” his voice is soft against your shoulder as he places feather light kisses along your skin. he nips gently, his hands never stopping their teasing, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes when his fingers pinch just a bit harder.

“y-yes,” you mewl, voice shaky with need, “fuck me, jungkook.”

he squeezes your breasts harder, a groan rumbling from his chest as he sinks his teeth lightly into the curve of your shoulder.

“yeah? can i fuck you raw?” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“yes,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whimper. “p-please.”

his grip on you loosens slightly, and he leans back to look at you, his eyes dark, like he's stopping himself. “you sure?” he asks, one last time, his tone gentle but urgent.

you nod quickly, breathless. “i’m on the pill,” you assure him, and the tension in his shoulders eases.

“fuck. okay, bend over.”

without hesitation, you resume your previous position, arching your back and presenting yourself to him. he groans softly at the sight, his hand sliding down to rub slow circles over your entrance.

he teases you, slipping a finger inside, making you moan softly as your walls flutter around him. he withdraws his finger, watching the way you clench around nothing, desperate for more.

grabbing his cock, he taps the swollen tip against your slick hole. you whine, impatience leaking into your voice, “just fuck me already.”

a smirk curves his lips, and without another word, he pushes into you.

you grip the sheets tightly as you take him in fully, your walls stretching to accommodate his thick length. a choked gasp escapes your lips, eyes squeezing shut at the delicious burn that quickly morphs into pleasure.

each inch fills you so completely, leaving you breathless, your body trembling at the feeling.

“fuck,” he groans behind you, his voice low and rough, a sound that makes your toes curl. “you’re so tight, baby... taking me so fucking good.” the words are almost a growl, filled with barely restrained control as he fights the urge to pound into you.

his hands move to your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave marks, steadying himself as he sinks even deeper.

your moans spill freely now, raw and needy, muffled slightly by the pillow you bury your face into. he starts to move, slowly at first, pulling out just enough before thrusting back in, his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside you.

the rhythm is torturously slow, each stroke making you whimper, your back arching even further in a silent plea for more.

“please... more,” you manage to gasp out, your voice shaky. “jungkook, i need it.. need you.”

“yeah?” he rasps, picking up the pace, thrusts becoming sharper, each one driving you into the mattress. “want it harder, baby? want me to ruin you?”

“yes.. yes mmph- more!” you cry, your voice breaking as he slams into you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. your nails claw at the sheets, the friction of his hips against your ass making stars dance behind your eyelids.

his fingers snake around to your front, finding your swollen clit, and he rubs it in tight, quick circles. your entire body jolts, your hips bucking back against him as you let out a loud, broken moan.

“oh, fuck, that’s it, that's a good fucking girl,” he hisses, feeling you clench around him, your walls fluttering as you near the edge.

“you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he growls against your ear, bending over you now, his hot breath fanning against your neck. he bites down on your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to drive you wild.

“you're gonna cum like the good girl you are?”

“yes n-ngh.. i’m close.. s-so close,” you whimper, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. his fingers press harder against your clit, his thrusts turning frantic.

“cum with me, baby” he demands, his voice thick and commanding. that’s all it takes. your body shatters. your vision going white as you scream his name. your walls squeeze him so tightly, milking his cock, and with a deep, guttural groan, he loses himself too, spilling inside you as his thrusts grow sloppy.

he stays buried inside you, his chest heaving against your back, both of you panting heavily. he leans down to press soft, lazy kisses along your shoulder.

after everything that just happened. you've made up your mind.

you're definitely going to ask for his number.

a/n: erm.. don't get into random strangers cars !! haha

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Cold ~ Part 2

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST / CHRONIC ILLNESS MASTERLIST

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2,020ish

Summary: Logan becomes overprotective of you.

Notes: I hope this part makes some sense… I got sick yet again so I'm really craving someone to take care of me.

Cold ~ Part 1

Logan became a master at taking care of you during an arthritic flare-up. The consequence of that was that he also became a master at doing everything he could to make sure that you didn’t flare up. When is why he was marching towards you, with a clear look of anger.

“What are you doing?” He asked as you were stretching in the Danger Room.

“Uh, stretching,” you responded, continuing your movements. “I have a training session with Scott in a few minutes.”

“Not anymore. You’re not training.”

“Logan, I can’t gain more strength in my powers without training.”

“You’ve trained twice already this week.”

“And my current goal is three times.”

“You’re not ready for it yet.”

“I think I know what I’m ready for, Logan.”

“No. You don’t. I can sense that you’re overdoing it.”

“I’m feeling fine. I’m going to train.”

“Everything okay here?” Scott asked, feeling the tension as he entered the room.

“Yes.” / “No.”

“Okay, then,” Scott said, slowly backing up. 

“I’m training, Logan,” you argued, standing your ground. 

“Like hell you are,” he grumbled. 

The two of you stared each other down, trying to see which one of you would break first, though you both knew the answer. With a scoff and a stop of your foot, you grabbed your training bag and threw it at Logan.

“Since I’m so weak, carry that back to my locker,” you huffed, marching off.

Logan sighed, shoulders slumping. He didn’t want to be the bad guy in your life; he was just worried. He also simply cared deeply for you in a way he hadn’t cared for anyone in far too long. He hated seeing you in pain and would do anything to prevent the pain you were forced into constantly. Logan had even talked to Hank about somehow using his healing mutation to help you. Hank said it was impossible. So Logan was forced to keep a careful eye on you, no matter if that meant you were often mad at him. 

~~~

You did your best to avoid Logan for the next few days. But no matter how hard you tried, Logan was there, stopping you from training, or carrying heavy items, or using your mutation. The anger was festering inside of you, and it all came to a boiling point when you were called into a mission briefing. Everyone was already in the briefing room when you slipped in. You hung back by the door, trying to prevent Logan from seeing you just yet.

“The base that you will be infiltrating is in an interesting location,” Charles explained. The table everyone was surrounding changed to show the base. “It is several hundred feet down in the Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of Long Island. Due to their security system, there is only one way to reach it.” Charles’ eyes fell on you, causing the rest of the team to turn and look.

“No,” Logan immediately said. “No fucking way.”

“Logan, Y/N has been training for this. She has known about this mission for weeks now and is prepared.”

“Don’t care. She’s not a part of this. Find a different way.”

“Do I get any say in this?” You piped up.

“No,” Logan quickly responded, still focusing on Charles. “She’s not going. It’s too dangerous.”

You were growing angrier and angrier, forcing yourself to clench your fists as you felt the water pipes in the wall begin to tremble. Jean noticed and came over to your side, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Why don’t we take a break and reconvene later?” Ororo suggested.

“Later or not, Y/N is not going,” Logan argued.

“It’s not your choice!” You yelled. “It’s mine! I can do what needs to be done.”

“No, you can’t! You are too weak.”

A few gasps were heard throughout the room.

“Weak?” You repeated, both hurt and angered. “That’s what you think of me?” Suddenly, the pipes burst in the walls.

“Enough!” Charles commanded. “Y/N will be participating in the mission. And you will all be leaving at nightfall.”

You rushed out of the room, trying to hide the tears threatening to fall. You could hear loud footsteps behind you, already knowing who it was. A large hand caught your wrist, forcing you to stop, but you didn’t turn around.

“You can’t go,” Logan’s voice was stern but slightly wavered at the end. 

“You’re not in charge of me, Logan,” you replied, trying not to let him know how you were feeling. “I am going on this mission, no matter if you think I’m weak or not.” You tried to pull your wrist out of his grip, but his grip only tightened. “Let me go, Logan.”

“Not until you drop out of the mission.”

You finally looked at him, anger replacing hurt. “Let. Me. Go.”

“Y/N—“

With a flick of your free hand, the pipes in the hallway walls broke. The water shot out of the walls and pummeled Logan, throwing him back and away from you. You were breathing heavily as you stopped the water. Not wanting Logan to see how hard that was for you, you quickly left.

~~~

The jet ride was completely silent. You grabbed the pilot seat next to Scott so that you didn’t have to look at Logan. You could feel Logan’s eyes staring daggers into you.

“We’re here,” Scott announced, having the jet hover over where the base was located. He looked over at you. “You ready?”

“Yes,” you responded, determined.

“Great.” Scott stood. “Everyone get tethered up, then Y/N will clear a channel once everyone is ready.”

“I’m not going down,” Logan said. “I’m staying with Y/N.”

“We need you down there, Logan,” Jean said. “We’ll all be connected through the comms.”

“I can handle myself,” you added. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

You could see Logan’s jaw clench tighter. He let out a grunt before focusing on getting tethered up. Once you were sure they were all ready, you opened the bottom of the jet up. You took a deep breath before stretching your arms towards the ocean water and creating an open circular channel.

“Let’s go!” Scott said, jumping down first. Jean and Ororo quickly followed, with Logan lingering behind, watching you.

“Go, Logan!” You shouted. 

He watched you for a few more seconds before jumping down with the rest. You ground your teeth together as you began to feel the strain of using your mutation like this.

“Alright, Y/N,” Scott said over the comms. “We’re in. We’ll let you know when we need the channel opened.”

“Got it,” you responded.

As you let the water go, you stumbled back, falling to the ground. You could feel the achiness start to set into your joints. Maybe Logan was right. Maybe you were weak. The jet suddenly shook as it was hit. You fumbled over to the pilot’s seat, trying to steer the jet away.

“Guys!” You shouted into the comms. “We have a situation up here. I’m being fired on!”

“What?!” A chorus of voices yelled over the comms.

“It looks like they got a few of their own jets in the sky.” The jet rocked as it got hit again. “Shit!”

“Y/N?!” Logan’s worried voice flooded through the speakers. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” You quickly punched a few buttons. “I’ve gone into stealth mode. Hopefully, that holds them for a little bit, but that means you have to free those mutants fast.”

It was another ten minutes before Scott gave you the signal to reopen the channel. You reopened the bottom doors and focused all your energy on opening the channel. Unfortunately, that also meant that the opposing side could find the jet. The jet shook yet again with another hit.

“Hurry!” You urged. “We’re open for hits!”

Scott and Jean came up the tethered lines first, each with a mutant with them. Ororo was next, two mutants with her, and then Logan with the last one. He could immediately sense that you were hurting more than the strain on your face was giving away. Untethering himself, Logan headed for you, but the jet shook once again before he could get to you. You released the hold you had on the water as you flew up and rammed into the ceiling. You let out a cry of pain. Logan moved fast, sliding as he barely caught you before you hit the floor.

“I’ve got you, I've got you,” he whispered, holding you tightly against him.

“Hang on!” Scott shouted. “We’re going to get out of here!”

Everything hurt inside. You couldn’t even hold onto Logan, just laying against him limply as you cried. Logan did his best to hold you steady as Scott flew the jet every which way to avoid getting completely shot down. Jean ended up using her powers to keep Logan and you still as everyone’s hearts were breaking at the cries and whimpers of pain coming out of you.

It took far too long for Logan’s liking for Scott to lose the other jets and return to the mansion. As gently as Logan could manage, he carried you out of the jet and to your room. He laid you down before moving around the room to grab a heating pad, medication, and a change of clothes for you.

“You were right,” you whispered. If Logan didn’t have enhanced hearing, he would have missed it.

“About what?” He responded, bringing all the items over to you.

“I’m weak…”

“No, I— I didn’t mean it that way, sweetheart.”

“Yes, you did… and yes, I am… I shouldn’t even be on the team. I can’t even handle one mission.”

Logan sighed, trying to get his thoughts together before he spoke. You took it as a sign that he let you win. With a whine, you sat up.

“You can go,” you told him. “I can take care of myself.”

“No,” he responded gruffly.

“Logan,” you sighed. “I’ve taken care of myself before… flare-ups can’t stop me. I’ve got to keep living.”

“There. Right there. That’s why you’re the strongest person I have ever met.”

“But you said—“

“I know what I said, and I… I’m sorry. You are not weak. I just… I, God, I’m terrible at this.” His hand raked through his hair. “I—Sweetheart, I care so much about you. I am constantly worried about you, but it’s out of…”

“Out of what, Lo?”

He gave you a knowing look. “I think you know what.”

“I think you need to say it so I don’t go assuming things.”

“I… I love you, sweetheart. And I just hate to see you in pain. I wish that I could take it from you, and trust me, I asked Hank about it, and I—”

You winced as you placed your hand on top of Logan’s mouth to stop his rambling. “I love you, too. And I know that I haven’t said it enough, but thank you for taking care of me.”

His hand carefully wrapped around your wrist as he kissed your hand and moved it down to your lap. “Always.” He looked at you, wanting to kiss you, but he could sense the pain you were in. “What do you need?”

You looked away. “I… I can’t change.”

“Alright.”

“I need some heat.”

“I grabbed your heating pad.” He held it up.

“Could you hold me?”

“Are you sure? I’m a lot heavier than you and I—“

“And your body is my personal heating pad. Please, Logan.”

“How do you want me?”

You winced as you moved to lie down. Logan’s hand hovered over your body, not knowing exactly what to do to help. You moved onto your side, back facing Logan. He got the hint and carefully maneuvered around you so that he was the big spoon and you were the little spoon.

“Like this?” He muttered nervously.

“It’s perfect,” you replied.

“You sure. I can—“

“Logan. Just hold me.”

“Okay.” He leaned in and kissed the back of your neck before resting his head there. “I’ll hold you as long as you need, sweetheart.”

[siryouarebeingmocked]

Stop spreading misinformation.

Says someone about to do precisely that about men.

If women in general were around as many bears as they are with men, the attack rate from bears would be much higher.

Also, a strange man is actually unlikely to attack a woman, despite sexist stereotypes. Most attackers of any kind already know the victim.

Which brings the number down to, what, a few dozen men in over a hundred million?

Pretty good odds, I think.

“All bears will kill you” you’re perpetrating animal cruelty ideology that animals are monsters, and humans are above animals. Holy hell. Why are you so selfish? I’ve encountered bears while camping and hiking and if you don’t provoke them you will most likely be safe. My Dad saw one that was close enough he could touch him if he raised his hand. Nothing bad happened to him. You know this is the garbage thinking that caused ppl to hunt innocent sharks bc of the Jaws movie.

I love how you threw your toys out of the pram with all this meaningless blather and anecdata…

…and you hope we won't notice that you carefully removed the end of the sentence.

Or maybe you somehow thought it was irrelevant. Doesn't really matter.

murderer statistic used to justify womens' irrational sexist fears

Drink a molecule.

HAFW >Why's it up to women to brush aside and pretend not to be afraid of what is a more than non-zero chance of rape and murder?

The chance of murder or assault victimization is much higher for men, but y'all act like (and sometimes explicitly say) only women "have to" be concerned about being attacked by men.

Also, I love the implication that every single woman shares your fears. Which is, um, sexist.

Why's it that whenever men can't find dates there are ten million articles deeply pondering but when women say they'd prefer the bear- (We KNOW it's deadly) because unlike human men it won't act out of cruelty and malice, it's suddenly women's responsibility to police their frustration with men?

Most people don't like being told that they're considered more dangerous than a notoriously dangerous wild animal.

Also, plenty of women disagreed with Team Bear.

Also, you're assuming the choice was based on actual valid frustrations, and not a single member of Team Bear is a paranoid idiot.

You yourself seem to care more about the assailant's motives than the actual harm it will do to you, which is, uh, kind of proving the idea that you people are deluded.

Also, I love how you think discussing an extremely common human issue - one commonly found in ladies mags too - is on the same moral level as being vocally afraid of half the human race, especially compared to a bear.

More evidence for the delusion theory.

Logically speaking, you should be happy that men are reacting this way. This means many of them will have less contact with women.

Which should make women safer, right?

That's what you want, right?

Or is it really about having moral authority?

If it was a known fact that clowns made up 90% of all sexual-based offenses, avoiding them wouldn't be "irrational"

It would be if there were only 10 sex offenses a year. But something tells me you didn't look up any actual stats.

Also, most sex crimes are done by repeat offenders, IIRC.

khorne> You'll push forward your ideas like they keep you safe but they haven't and don't.

Khorne, you're assuming these people have enough self-awareness to even recognize that their ideas don't work.

People on Team Bear.

A tad optimistic.

Why women choose the bear: https://www.whoismakingnews.com/

Don't care. Still irrational. Most men won't hurt you if you get too close. All bears will hurt you if you get too close.

They are territorial, wild animals.

Also, quite a lot of women are not team bear. XD Quite a lot of women understand how sexist and stupid that choice is.

[winwintea]

Belladonna! forty-one ↬ bleeding truth

You and Renjun locked eyes as Karina threw on her coat and bolted out the door, her breath ragged and face tight with tension.

“Ready?” Renjun muttered, his voice low as he adjusted the rearview mirror. His expression was dark and grim.

“To expect the worst? Not even close,” Karina sighed, settling into the backseat. “But what choice do we have?”

The drive to the Airbnb Chenle and Yangyang had rented was awkward and no one dare spoke a word. (Chenle had insisted on it after claiming he couldn’t handle another night on a cramped double bed.) Renjun’s hand found yours more than once, his grip squeezing your own for reassurance. If Karina noticed, she didn’t say anything. She only stared out the window, her expression unreadable, and the silence between you all grew heavier by the second.

Your mind raced, spiraling through every possible scenario. If one of the JD’s… no, you couldn’t bear to think it. You wouldn’t forgive yourself. And if Kun was gone—well you weren’t sure what you’d do either…

As soon as Renjun parked in the driveway, Yangyang burst out of the house. Relief washed over you for a moment as he sprinted to meet you, but his face quickly erased it.

“Y/N, Renjun! Did you get the—”

“Your message? We got it,” you cut in, your voice trembling.

Yangyang’s face crumpled. “It’s bad, Y/N. It’s really bad…”

Karina and Renjun didn’t wait for explanations; they ran past Yangyang and vanished into the house. The panic gripped you harder with every step as you followed, your heart pounding louder with each echoing footstep.

“Jesus—bloody hell!” Renjun’s voice roared from down the hall.

“Fuck, fuck, where? And—why?” Your own voice was barely a whisper as you stumbled forward, afraid of what waited beyond that final doorway.

The sight that greeted you was worse than any nightmare, a scene you’d give anything to unsee. You wanted to believe it was a trick, a sick illusion. You felt the urge to pinch yourself, desperate for something to break this waking horror. But no matter how hard you wished for it, there was no escaping it.

Kun was gone. And he wasn’t coming back.

Karina ran toward Kun’s body, only to be yanked back mid-step by a firm grip on her arm. She twisted around, her breath hitching as she met Chenle’s serious gaze.

"No, please—let me go!" she begged, straining against him.

"I can’t," he said, his voice low but unyielding. "I don’t know if you’ll hurt yourself… or disrupt the crime scene."

In the chaos, you couldn’t quite read Chenle’s expression, but he wasn’t wrong. Slowly, Karina stopped resisting, her eyes locked on Kun as dread pulsed between you all.

You took in a shaky breath, scanning the scene for clues as your mind raced to catch up. Yangyang and Chenle were unharmed, though flushed and shaken. They looked like they’d been through a struggle but were breathing, at least.

“Look,” you said, brushing yourself off, determined to be assertive in this situation. “We need to call the police, but first, we should gather what we can. What exactly happened here?”

Yangyang raised his hand hesitantly. "Someone broke in while we were inside. That’s when I texted you. But… I don’t remember much after that. I felt this weird drowsiness come over me, and I must’ve fallen asleep. When I woke up and went down the hall, Kun was… lying there. I ran to get Chenle, but he was still asleep.”

Chenle nodded, glancing at Yangyang for support. “Yeah. When I woke up, Yangyang was frantic, yelling at me. It took me a second to understand what he was saying, but then I saw…”

A wave of nausea hit you hard, twisting your stomach, but you pushed it down, crouching beside Kun’s body. Renjun placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, his eyes filled with concern.

“You don’t have to touch him if you’re uncomfortable,” he murmured gently.

You paused, gathering your thoughts, then forced yourself to respond. “...It’s not that I want to, or that I don’t trust myself. Actually, I trust you more than I trust me,” you said, ignoring the suspicious glance Chenle shot your way. He wasn’t very good at hiding his opinions. “But if I don’t at least try…”

Renjun gave a small nod. “I won’t stop you. Just be careful.”

With a deep breath, you began examining Kun’s head, running your fingers through his hair until you found it—A wound to his skull. You felt a crack in the skull— no, several cracks, like part of it had caved under pressure. Your stomach churned as you felt the cracks. Renjun crouched by the body alongside you, checking it over for external injuries. The blood seemed to be pooled around his head.

You began looking his head over, lifting it up gently to investigate the back of his head. The warmth of his body made you shudder. You’d expected him to be cold, stiff, but... he didn't feel much different to how he was alive.

“His skull… it’s been flattened here,” you whispered, your voice trembling. Chenle leaned over and began investigating Kun’s neck.

Chenle leaned closer, brow furrowing. "…His neck’s been snapped too," he said grimly.

You hesitated but forced yourself to reach for his neck, feeling the slight break in the bone. Something wet caught your fingers, and you peered closer, frowning at a tiny, almost imperceptible puncture mark on the side of his neck. You couldn't see any shards of glass nearby from his glasses that might have caused it… That was definitely suspicious.

A pinprick. You swallowed, staring down at the strange wound. Whatever this was, it wasn’t random. 

You took a steadying breath and stood back up, brushing off your hands. “Finally done touching the body, huh?” Yangyang’s voice cut through the tense silence.

“Well, sorry for trying to make sure we don't all die!” you snapped back, eyeing him. “And what exactly are you doing up there?”

Yangyang was fiddling with something above the doorway, his expression unreadable. “Oh, right, we never mentioned it. Chenle and I set up video cameras around this door last night. Just in case... well, in case something like this happened.�� His voice wavered. “But every single one of them is trashed. I don’t know if there’s even any footage left to check.”

Your eyes went wide. Those cameras might be crucial.

Chenle chimed in, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry. I set them to auto-upload audio to my drive. Might not be the best quality, but there should be something.”

The five of you exchanged wary glances, a tense silence settling over you as the sound of police sirens began to wail in the distance. A million questions pressed on your mind, each one as heavy as the weight of Kun’s body lying behind you. You felt bad that the JD’s were tangled up in it now, just as much as you.

All you could do was brace yourself. The answers were out there, somewhere among the broken cameras and stifled whispers, and soon enough, it would all start coming to light.

prev ↤ belladonna! ↦ next

AUTHOR'S NOTE ↬ the urge to write "truth bullet!" after they find evidence is EATING AT ME. rewrote this 5 times bc i first killed kun AND chenle but then i caved and kept chenle alive. might kill him later for fun, idk im unpredictable like that.

SUMMARY ↬ you've been tasked with visting and inspecting the grand rose theatre, a theatre that's been plagued with mysteries over the years. all seems well, until a string of murders follows your visit. as you further investigate, you find yourself falling for huang renjun, the beautiful male lead, and your mystery murderer who leaves you love notes and clues about who they could potentially be. will you be smart enough to be a step ahead of the killer? or will you find yourself caught within their trap?

TAG LIST ↬ @aquaphoenixz @lyvhie @nerdsungie @nanaxwi @itsashley127 @syatchy @p-d1ddy @galacticnct @neocrashed @multifandomania @lotties-readings @odxrilove @clockwork--fandoms @hyuckies18 @kaciebello @marvelahsobx @injunnie-lemon @busy-daydreaming02 @ldh0000 @wony1e @polarisjisung @onlyhyunjin @roseangelxfuma @sunoopsis @mystverse @dudekiss3r

[tenisperfection]

I have seen people say Buck won’t date another man and not say bye to bi-Buck and that he will likely only date women from now on? But he’s still going to be bi

I wanted to wait to answer this after things have cooled off a little but I don’t want to keep talking or thinking about this. But yeah, Buck is a bisexual character. He’s bisexual if he gets together with Eddie or gets back together with Tommy or sleeps around with people of different genders, and he’s bisexual if he ends up with a woman. Being bisexual is not a card that gets taken away when you date someone who fits into the traditional definition of the opposite sex. I also don’t think it’s bad bisexual representation to show a character sleeping around, but it comes down to intent in some ways. If that’s the character’s only MO, sure, I can see how that might be construed as stereotypical bi rep. But Buck is one of, if not the most layered and fleshed out character on this show so I’m unsure what the perceived risk of that might be.

Before I go there though, I’ll say that I don’t think there’s anything biphobic about what Oliver said. You all know that I love the way Buck’s arc has progressed. As a bisexual person who also realized my sexuality well into adulthood, I will always be so grateful for his storyline in season 7 and the incredible care and enthusiasm Oliver’s taken when talking about his character’s trajectory.

I also love Bucktommy. I get being upset about the way the story went, because I am. We can have differences of opinion there. But I don’t think Oliver saying he wants Buck to fuck around with men and women was insulting in any way to the relationship his character was part of or any future relationship he might or might not be in. I also don’t think Oliver was insinuating that his character’s first relationship with a man after he realized he’s bi can’t be long term. Obviously there is no right or wrong way to be bisexual because there is no inherent morality in your sexuality. But in this case, it turned out that it isn’t long term. That sucks (for me personally), but it still isn’t a biphobic choice. We did lose a canon queer couple, but this show is so rich in terms of representation of queer characters and that doesn’t change. Losing this one couple you might have loved sucks, but losing them the way we did was not biphobic. There were choices in the episode I didn’t like as I’ve said, and there are choices that made me squirm a little, but none of them were because I thought they were being bigoted.

Now, getting back to intent, I think there’s a bigger conversation to be had about how a “Buck sleeps around” storyline would enhance his character, but Oliver mentioned how they could do it differently from what we’ve seen in previous seasons. Now, I do not particularly trust Ryan Murphy with bisexual characters and who knows how involved he’ll be with a potential storyline like that, but regardless, they could do that and we can talk about how that could add to Buck’s character. Like so many things on tv, it could be great, it could be bad, it could be just fine. What it isn’t though, is biphobic. I refuse to cater to this notion that a bisexual character sleeping around for a bit after a monogamous relationship is somehow inherently biphobic or insulting. That’s just me. We can see where they go with this, but Evan Buckley is a bisexual character and he will be that no matter where or with whom his character ends up with on the show.

[kingofthecotas]

perfect disaster (ever after) | ao3

soulmate au, 2024 | ~4.5k (explicit)

this is long (valentino has a lot of self-reckoning to get through) so feel free to read it on ao3 if you prefer!

finally done! thank you to everyone who's read this series ily mwah

----

Valentino goes to Jerez. 

Uccio rolls his eyes when he informs him, says, “I’ll be in the garage that weekend. I’ll bring the motorhome.” 

“Sure. Whatever.”

Valentino reaches out and flicks the crease of Uccio’s elbow, where his mark is, and his friend softens like he always does. “Cheer up.”

“Why Jerez?”

“No reason.”

“Not because of Márquez, then?”

Valentino scowls. Marc has been riding well, yes, getting to grips with the Ducati, losing the front too often, but Valentino has a team, he has Bez and Diggia to look after, and Marc—

He hasn’t seen Marc for months. 

“You need to decide what you want with this.” Now it’s Uccio’s turn to prod at Valentino’s mark, to send a comforting warmth up his arm. “It has been over for, what, nine years?”

“Well…” 

Uccio stares at him. Blinks. “Actually, I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Good choice,” Valentino says brightly. 

——

Jerez, Spain

His bravado evaporates once he’s in the paddock. 

Jerez is—he still hates it, just a little. He’d been sat in the garage, stewing about his stupid engine or gearbox or whatever, and then Marc had been cartwheeling through the gravel trap. 

He hadn’t called. Not until Mandalika, two years later. 

And he—

That had cracked the careful wall; he’d shown Marc his bloody viscera, held it out tacky and red in his hands. And Marc—Marc had let him. Marc had answered the phone. Marc had kept answering the phone, until Valencia. 

Part of Valentino wants to say fuck him. Another part sneers that it’s been this long, what’s the difference? If he’s feeling any kind of pull, it’s surely only the rotted dregs of what they had, the marks they both carry. Marc is Marc; there’s a reason they fell apart in the first place. 

Marc is Marc, but he is not the same: not twenty and wide-eyed; not watching Valentino’s every move, logging every reaction like he can’t believe it’s happening to him. He’s changed, Jerez and Sepang and Valentino calcifying everything about him. It hurts more now, now that he’s had a taste of how they used to be, how good they were. How Marc could brush a hand over the mark, the soul-piece, and Valentino would grab his face and kiss him. Helpless. Choiceless. 

He shouldn’t have gone in Valencia. He shouldn’t, because Marc had been upset—he’d been crying, however much he tried to hide it, red eyes, red nose—and Marc doesn’t fucking think sometimes. Just—reaches out. Races towards the gravel because he might not crash, he might win. Pushes his bike until he falls. Reaches for Valentino even when it hurts. 

Hurts so much, apparently, that he’s finally pulled back. Stopped reaching. Closed his eyes, turned his face away. Valentino—well, he’s tried not to let it sting. 

None of it matters when he spots Marc on the Friday, walking in step with his brother, and reaches a hand out with a smile before he can stop himself. “Marc—”

Marc rears away like he thinks Valentino’s touch will burn him. 

Like he remembers how his own pinched expression smoothed out, curled up in the bed in his motorhome, when Valentino touched his mark. Like he hates himself for it. 

(Because he’d been awake. Valentino is sure he’d been awake.) 

(Valentino had said his name. Marc had pretended to be asleep.) 

Álex says, “No,” and pushes between them, head tilted in a challenge.

Fucking—Christ.

“Good to see you,” Valentino forces out, and stalks away. 

——

“You’re riding well,” he tells Marc over the phone, instead of sitting down with Bez and saying talk to me, tell me what is wrong, the bike, the tyres, what is it? 

Instead of opening his motorhome door and walking a few hundred metres. 

Stony silence. Then, “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you—”

“No.” Marc sounds tired in a way that sits in Valentino’s chest. “Why—why are you doing this, Vale? It was easier—” He cuts off. “At least when I knew you didn’t want me—that was easier.” 

“Marc.” It’s like—a tooth hitting something hard, cracking, sharp cold pain, part of himself splintered away and falling to the ground. 

“Fuck, Valentino, stop. Just—stop.”

Helpless, he does.

“I’m not—I won’t—you made it clear, no? This—you wanted this. So I do not understand why—I don’t know what you want. I don’t know why, and it’s—not fair.” 

That hurts worse, somehow. 

“Valentino?”

“Yeah?” 

“Why?” Marc whispers.

And—what can Valentino say to that? Does he say that he still wakes up in the middle of the night in blind breathless panic, scrabbling for the part of Marc branded into his skin, begging for it to still be there? Does he tell him that the familiar bruise, the heavy numbness, is nothing compared to that half-second where the mark—his mark—had flaked away like ash and it had hurt deeper than he could ever comprehend? That it had been worse than he could have possibly imagined, that it proved every fear he’d ever had, that he—?

That Marc had been gone. That he will never change. That Valentino loves him anyway. 

Not because the universe told him to. Because he’s Marc. 

Valentino can’t say that. He can’t. 

Marc makes a noise that might be a laugh. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Marc—”

The line beeps. 

——

He watches Marc on the podium, watches him smile and cheer and play to the crowd, alive and utterly beautiful.

He looks away before anyone catches him staring. 

——

When he wakes up that night, gasping, the memory of it behind his eyes, the emptiness, the ash-smudge where Marc should be, he reaches for his phone. Stops. 

He remembers Argentina sometimes, remembers how the wet grass hadn’t hurt but the anger had, clawing out of his throat, and his arm had burned where Marc had clattered into him. 

He remembers how Marc stood on the side of the track in Sepang, too long, clutching his arm—and Valentino had thought it wasn’t that hard, it wasn’t even on purpose—

And now he thinks of Marc slapping a hand over his soulmark in Misano, of the way Marc had pulled away from him like a reflex three days ago. He thinks of the bone-deep bruise after Argentina—he’d felt it for days, and even in his anger had thought he didn’t hit me that hard—

He swallows. Exhales. Finds Marc, traces the shape of him. It throbs, that old bruise, like a half-healed injury. Does it hurt the same for Marc? he wonders absently, and swallows again.

In Valencia, had he—had it hurt? No, surely not, because Marc’s face that night—and the morning after, nothing but content. He hasn’t fucked it. Maybe. 

Maybe he has. 

He doesn’t call. 

——

Marc crashes. Again. Again. Again.

Assen, that’s a big one, and Valentino has to steady himself when the anger rears its head, ugly and familiar. Marc used to piss him off so much—still can, apparently. Selfish bastard, he thinks, and there it is, that’s what he hated from the first moment. No warning, no choice, just a twist of the cosmos and a soulmark that could vanish as quickly as it appeared, a soulmate that didn’t care. 

He’s lived that now, that nightmare, even if just for a heartbeat, and he’d spent long enough without being angry to truly recognise it when it returns. 

Fear. 

——

They were always meant to fall together, and that’s what made Valentino sick to his stomach. 

Because it should have been his choice. It would have been.

I wanted to choose you. I would have, anyway. 

It was so perfect, so fucking perfect, because of course it would have been. Of course. And he kept scratching and prodding and hurting, trying to prove something, and Marc always came back, because Marc believed in it. Until Valentino pushed too far. 

And he’s Marc, and he’s an idiot, and he never understood what it meant to carry a piece of Valentino’s soul in him, and he never understood what it meant every time he lost the bike, and he never understood that it meant forever.

Valentino—maybe he never understood that Marc is Marc, and he loves fiercely and he races hard and he wanted him. Marc loved him.

Not anymore, maybe. 

Anything. Anything Marc will give him now, he’ll lap it up like a starving dog. Anything is better than nothing. Anything is better than ash. 

——

Misano Adriatico, Italy

Valentino is chilled to the bone by the time the team finishes their post-mortem: fine rain that seeps through even his waterproof coat, sits in his hair. Bez shakes his head like a wet dog as he leaves. 

Franky must be annoyed at himself—he had the pace, and he wouldn’t have made the mistake of pulling into the pitlane. Pecco must be relieved. They’re expecting the ranch now: Misano, Valentino, food, friends, not-so-gentle ribbing, a race dissection. Valentino should send them off, tell them I’ll be right behind you, call ahead to make sure food is ready when they get there. 

But—

Marc. Marc, practically vibrating with the thrill of it. As if Aragón hadn’t been enough, golden under the sun, he’d rolled in heavy as the clouds. Inevitable. 

Valentino can’t—he can’t stop thinking about it, how Marc had been, objectively speaking, stupid, riding reckless, nothing to lose: everything that used to turn sour in his mouth when he pinned Marc against hotel walls and demanded he understand what it would mean to lose him. He can’t stop thinking how it had been beautiful. Marc had been beautiful.

In the end, he sends the boys off to Tavullia, sends Uccio to play referee. He might join them later.

For now, he lets his feet take him, a step at a time, past his own motorhome and towards Marc’s. It won’t be long, surely; it’s late already, and they have to clear the paddock before tomorrow. So he waits, rain clinging in his hair, in his clothes, until he shivers: sticky-cold, unpleasant. He waits. 

Marc is mercifully alone when he appears, huddled in his coat, and stops when he finds Valentino at the top of the metal steps. His eyes narrow, none of the thrumming electricity from before remaining. Maybe he’s thinking of the last time Valentino came to his motorhome. 

A second later—an awful awful second—Marc silently opens the door and lets Valentino follow him through, a miracle in itself. It’s stifling, though, as Marc puts his cap on the kitchen worktop, kicks off his shoes, and tilts his head at Valentino to tell him where he can stand, on the other side of the countertop. Barrier between them. Valentino does as he’s directed, rests on his elbows, tension heavy like a storm in the air.

One look tells him this is it. He has no more chances.

“Well done,” Valentino whispers, and the way Marc shrinks away from him now, retreats even further than before Valencia—it aches. 

“Thank you.”

“Can I—?”

“You probably will anyway.”

“Marc.” 

“Valentino.”

They teeter there for a long moment, cliff edge. Marc is forgiving, yes, but even he had limits; Valentino doesn’t know if he wants to find them. “You cannot say you don’t know what I want when you are being like this.”

The scowl that crosses Marc’s face is so petulant it could be funny. “Like what?” 

“Like—we were—I thought we were getting better.” 

“Better?”

Valentino decides to push. “It was good, no? In Valencia?”

Marc almost chokes; he’s angry, Valentino realises too late. “Valencia—?”

“Not for you then.” And he’s done it, found the edge and sent them tumbling from the sky.

Not for the first time.

“You left,” Marc snarls, face white, fists clenched. “That morning, you just—”

“You were pretending to be asleep!” 

Marc stops. “I—”

“Like you didn’t want to—” Valentino waves a hand. “So yes, I left. You ignored me.”

Marc gapes. 

“You died, also,” Valentino says. May as well, if they’re doing this. They’re going to hit the ground hard anyway. “You were gone, and it hurt. And—I will do anything to never feel that again. Selfish, yes. I don’t care. I always knew—you were going to hurt me.”

“Fuck you—”

“Please listen.” It’s a grace he doesn’t deserve that Marc does, that he waits. Maybe he wants to see the shape of Valentino’s insides one last time, wants them laid out bloody and exposed here in his motorhome kitchen. “That is what I—it hurt more than I could have imagined. And I imagined it a lot. As soon as you—the moment I had you, I was scared of losing you.” 

“You said you never wanted me.” A flash of Marc, pressed against the wall of his motorhome, clawing at Valentino’s arm. If I could rip you out of me, I would. 

“No, it’s—” And how can Valentino ever put it into words in a way that won’t lock him out for good? Yes, before. No, not at first. Yes, after. Yes, for years. Not now. 

“I didn’t die,” Marc says finally, words tiny in the gulf between them.

“Not for lack of trying, hm?”

Eyes rolled. Familiar argument. “I’m racing, Vale. That’s all.” 

And, “I know.” He knows. That’s all it ever was. 

“You said—” Marc swallows. “You wanted the choice.”

“Yes.”

“You would have chosen me.”

Easier to say it at five o’clock in the morning, half-asleep, terror still fresh in his veins. Valentino closes his eyes. “Yes.” 

“I don’t understand,” Marc says, wrung out of him, twisted and squeezed until he gives way. “I—”

When Valentino opens his eyes, Marc is staring back at him, cracked open, wavering. 

“You’re such a fucking—” And Marc laughs. “You’re so difficult. You would have anyway. You just—didn’t like that it wasn’t your decision.” 

What the fuck can he say to that?

“And you were so—” Marc gestures loosely. “You just—were you looking for an excuse, was that it?”

“No—”

“Any reason for you to prove something to the universe.” A flash of teeth: an animalistic snarl. “Because you never asked for this. You never wanted it. You wanted your tenth championship more than you wanted a soulmate.”

“I wanted you,” Valentino whispers. “I want you.” 

“You said—” Marc cuts off. Shakes his head. “You—I don’t understand you. I don’t know—I don’t know what you want.”

“I just told you.” The words are acid, because Marc doesn’t believe him. 

You still want me, right?

Too much—too much since then. Too much pushing and scratching, and their foundations have long since crumbled. He can’t reach out and find forgiveness, can’t conjure it up with the brush of fingers on skin. 

“You told me a lot of things, Valentino.” 

You rode well. You need to stop crashing. I want you. I love you. I never wanted this. I love you. I hate you. I love you. 

“Marc—” There’s panic now, cold and sickening at the back of his throat, because Marc might close up, tell him to leave, and that would be it: no more cracked door, no more answered calls. Gone for good. 

Nothing but an old bruise. 

“Why did you answer the phone?”

That makes him pause, mid-step. “What?”

“When I called, after your crash. Why did you answer?”

“I was concussed,” Marc says, mean, eyes narrowed, trying to hurt. Trying to see how much Valentino means this, if he’ll respond in kind. Blood for blood. 

“Ah, well, they should not have given you your phone, if that was the case.” 

Marc doesn’t crack. “Why did you call?”

“You know why.” 

“No, I don’t. You maybe—you wanted to make sure you didn’t lose your mark? Only because it hurt, of course. You wanted to remind yourself that all I do is crash?” Pushing, pushing, the way Valentino used to: pushing to the limits and beyond, scratching and snarling, testing the reaches of intertwined fate. “Fuck, Vale—give me a straight answer for once in your life.” 

Well, they’ve never been very good at that. Valentino drops his head, presses fingers to his pinched forehead. “You’re my soulmate.”

“That you don’t want.”

“Now who is difficult?” he retorts before he can stop himself, and Marc’s expression settles into something—somewhere between satisfaction and resignation. He pushed Valentino over the edge. Won the battle to lose the war. “No, listen—you are my soulmate. I did not want a soulmate.”

“I know.”

“I want you. Do you see?”

“No.” 

“I’m trying,” Valentino says quietly, and that seems to buy him a little more time, a little more grace. “Why—why did you—in Valencia, why didn’t you answer me?” 

Marc folds his arms, throws his walls back up. “Does it matter?”

“If we are being honest with each other, then…”

“If I—” Honesty comes as difficult to Marc as it does to Valentino, apparently. “If I opened my eyes, it was over. But you left anyway, so.” 

“And…you did not want it to be over?” 

The glare Marc levels at him this time is frigid. “You were the one who—”

“Yes, but—even then?” 

“Before, then, now.” Marc shrugs, like that isn’t monumental, seismic. 

“Oh,” Valentino says, exhales the word and watches it float away. His limbs are air, all of a sudden, because Marc is not the same as ten years ago and Valentino has been unforgivable and yet—

Marc wants him. 

Despite it all, he smiles.

“Do not—” Marc hisses. “Do not fucking laugh at me.”

“No—no. Sorry. I am sorry.” He shakes his head. “I’m—so fucking sorry.” For it all. Such a small word for everything he’s done. 

Marc’s tight jaw loosens. “You are getting good at saying this.” 

“We are never too old to stop learning, I think.” 

Silence. 

“Sorry,” Valentino offers again; Marc looks at him and he’s feeling fucking giddy now, helium-light, floaty. 

Marc swallows, says, “Valentino,” in a way that pulls him back to earth. 

He has no right to expect it to be that easy, not after everything. The lightness turns leaden. 

“You are not being fair,” Marc whispers, throat clicking as he swallows again, eyes shining. It’s worse, this, than his probing cruelty. “You—it is always up to you, no? You want me, you do not want me. I will keep racing. I will crash. You will change your mind again. I am not—I will not do that.”  

“I will not change my mind—”

“I think you will. I will race Pecco too hard, maybe. I will go to the ranch and you will get that look—like you remember it is the rest of our lives and it scares you, or like you hate me for something that I—I could not control any more than you could. I am not waiting for you to remember that you do not want me.”

Valentino drops his head again, presses his thumbs into the corners of his eyes. His head hurts. He’s cold. “You will be waiting a long time. For that.”

“How long?”

“Forever.” 

“That is a long time.”

“Yes.” 

“Look at me.” 

Valentino does, helpless. Marc’s expression is wretched; his eyes dance, side-to-side, until he’s found whatever he was looking for in Valentino’s face. He pulls his eyebrows together, turns the corners of his mouth down.

“I mean, I know the sex was good, but…” 

The laugh sputters out of Valentino’s chest, halfway hysterical, almost a sob, and Marc grins, triumphant, because he’s joking, he’s— “Don’t be a bastard.” 

“I am allowed this, no?”

Valentino tips his head, side to side. “You are allowed this a little, I think.” He lets himself smile. “Why did you answer the phone?” 

“You know why.”

He does. But— 

But. 

“I was not the one who—” and Marc stops this time, swallows the words. Like he knows they might hurt. Like he cares that they’ll hurt. 

There’s hope now, singing a thready song in time with Valentino’s pulse. If he can just grasp it—

“You should—you should come to Tavullia,” he says in a rush. “Not—not the ranch. My house. Please. You should.”

Marc stares, disbelief written openly on his face.

“I know—I know this means—it is forever. I know that. I will not—”

“The team will want to celebrate,” Marc says, dull.

“Oh.”

“But—well. We will finish early, probably. We have to prepare for the flyaways.” A shrug. “After that…”

“After that,” Valentino agrees on an exhale. 

Marc smiles. 

——

Valentino had meant it: they’d been good in Valencia. It had been good. It also—hadn’t been.

Valencia was—it was Marc upset, falling to pieces between his hands in all the wrong ways, fracturing until he slipped away like sand. Marc didn’t understand, thought he was playing Valentino’s game, and Valentino had thought finally, finally, he’d fixed it. It had been frantic, too frenetic after eight years without. It had been a supernova, brilliant and bright for an agonising second before the sky went dark again.

Not this time. Valentino is not ashamed to admit his elbows are starting to strain, arms taking his weight, but he’s not rushing this, not when he has Marc between his planted palms, staring up at him and grinning. Marc’s not drunk, but—pink cheeks, eyes shining dark in the half-light, hair a mess, smiling so widely it’s splitting his face. They used to be good; this might be better.

Valentino rolls his hips, bites his lip at the friction, forces his eyes to stay open because Marc’s smile melts into a perfect gasp, eyelashes fluttering.

Marc had made it to Tavullia. He had then made it no further than the sofa. 

“Vale—” he hisses, and there’s the scrape of fingernails, but across Valentino’s back, far from any soulmark. 

“Okay?” 

“Of course it’s okay—” Another broken-off inhale. Marc grabs Valentino’s right arm, just above the elbow; when he steadies himself, he slides his fingers up, traces the oh-so-familiar outline, and Valentino’s smooth, careful movement turns jerky at the burst of sparks. “Stop—fucking around.” 

Valentino laughs, light, and Marc’s mouth finds his, smiling again.

The quivering electricity fades, but Marc presses his big palm over Valentino’s mark and keeps it there, warm and steady, says here, I’m here, I’ll always be here without words. Valentino can feel it, the promise of it, beating with his pulse—not throbbing, not bruised, not anymore. He drags his hips up, slowly again, relishing the heat around his cock, watching Marc’s face as his sigh melts into something blissful. 

It doesn’t matter what the universe says; it never mattered, because this is Marc. He’s an idiot, and Valentino’s an idiot, but they’re here and they’ve chosen to be here. 

That—that has to mean something. 

——

“Vale.”

He cracks open one eye, forces himself out of the doze that had almost become sleep. “Mm?” 

“I have an early flight,” Marc whispers, warm against his skin. Cracking the door open, dismissing himself before Valentino has to. 

“You should go to sleep, then.”

Silence—then, in the dark of Valentino’s room, Marc smiles. It’s shadowed in the watery moonlight trickling through the curtains: Marc, silhouetted all silvery beside him in bed, the lines of his body, his mussed hair, his cheeks curved up as he beams. Hot breath ghosts over Valentino’s mark—his mark, his mark—and he shivers. 

“Long flight, yes?”

“Indonesia.”

“Ah,” Valentino says, like he doesn’t already know. 

“Not my favourite.” They’re heavy, those words; they carry a lot. 

“Not mine, either.” But, Valentino supposes, it’s a little like full circle, in a fucked-up way. Mandalika: Marc falls; he picks up the phone. And now, now—

Now he might finally have what he always should have wanted, what he only realised he’d miss when he nearly lost it for good. Forever. 

It’s as if Marc can read his mind, because he rolls closer, chin pressing into Valentino’s chest. “What…?” He stops. “What if I never had that crash?”

Valentino has been trying to avoid thinking about that, mainly because he doesn’t have an answer himself. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah.”

“I think I said at the time, yes?” Valentino reaches over to tap a finger on Marc’s soulmark, smiling when he sighs.

“Stop trying to distract me—”

“Without this, my mark, I would not have called. So that is something.” 

Marc tilts his head, like he remembers what they said on the phone that first time, like he turns it over in his head as often as Valentino does.  “You never—before that, you talked about it differently. You never said—you never called it yours.”

Another thing Valentino has no answer to. Maybe Marc just needs to say it, let it take form and hover between them. He hopes so. He’s gotten off lightly so far. 

“You know in 2015–”

Jesus. Maybe not.

“I was racing,” Marc says, unapologetic but like he needs to say it, needs Valentino to hear it. “Don’t look like that—we never fucking talked about anything before. We just had sex.”

“Good sex.” 

“Valentino.” 

“I thought you had a flight in the morning—”

“Valentino.”

Valentino sighs. “I know you were racing. I know it was nothing else. I know. I just—I was already—you had crashed so much, bad crashes that year, and it was like you didn’t care about yourself, or my races. There was so much, and there was Jorge, and the championship, and my soulmate had a death wish. It—everything. All of it.” 

Marc’s eyes glint in the thin darkness, watching him steadily. 

“Not an excuse. I—”

“You hurt me.”

“I know,” Valentino croaks. Hurt his arm. Hurt their marks. Hurt him so deeply it’s a miracle they’re here at all. 

He wonders if it means something, for that little part of him to live now among the rest of Marc’s scars. If Marc had ever felt his arm ache and not been sure which injury was digging old teeth in. If Valentino ever became, even for a while, just something else Marc had healed from.

But Marc is forgiving, or maybe just tired, and he tucks his head in, settles himself in Valentino’s arms. 

“It’s a long triple header.” 

“Yes,” Marc murmurs, and he doesn’t sound upset about the change in topic. It’s more than Valentino deserves. 

“What are you going to do after?”

“Get ready for the next triple header.”

Valentino curls his right arm around Marc’s shoulders, fingers finding scars and soulmark. There’s himself. There’s Marc. “Sensible. What about after that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You could come back here. You should.” 

Marc looks at him. Smiles. “And after?” 

“Ah, I have a race. And you have the test. Ducati, of course. After that, you will come back here again.”

A smirk, no sharp edge to it. “I will?”

“Yes,” Valentino says, and it sings between them, the certainty of it. The promise. “You will.”

[ferg0s]

Barou starting a new relationship with a shy girl and how he would go about it

The literal personification of trying to mix oil with water

He was used to everyone looking at him in times of need on the field - he was the king after all - so he didn’t even notice how you would take a step back whenever it came time to ordering food, or any sort of public speaking and interactions.

He naturally took the lead, and you followed suit. Thanking the lord.

He honestly didn’t even notice how shy you were- he just kinda assumed you like hearing him talk. It wasn’t until he passed by an aisle of cute keychains and decided that he wanted to get you one when he realized… he kinda didn’t know anything about you.

I mean he did. He knew your name, your height…. The colour of your eyes…. And hair… and…

“So what do you do?” He asked bluntly as the two of you walked down a park, ice creams in hand. The one he ordered. “What?” “Hobbies? Sports? What do you do in your spare time?” He asked as he looked at you, determined to get an answer. “You know… the usual stuff-“ you awkwardly chuckle. “I don’t know actually.” He was a little shit about it.

But after literally interrogating you for an entire hour, he managed to squeeze out an answer from you. You were completely cornered by him, and you shyly tell him your hobbies. He looks dumbfounded, because to him those are completely normal and healthy hobbies for someone to have. He was starting to think you’re a grave robber by the way you were acting.

Knitting? He will get you the yarn, and parade a scarf you made for him and show all his teammates. Collecting something? He will always be on the lookout for what you like, even going as far as asking his teammates to be on the lookout as well. Video games? He will learn to play your favourite game with you. Cute farming sim? Silent hill? Niche indie game that only 3 people know about? You best bet he will ask for a 4 hour lore deep dive.

Very supportive.

Lwokey will get annoyed at your shyness at one point.

At first he thinks it’s cute, but he’s not the type of person to fully baby anyone, and will force you to order your own meal. He wants the best for you :(

Will say his order and look at you to say yours, watching you stumble on your words as you try to order some fries and a sprite. And will say he’s proud of you after. But doesn’t do it often because he can see the genuine terror in your eyes - only does it even it’s the two of you in line on a slow day.

Slowly learns to accept that you’re passionate in your own way. He’s loud and proud, whereas you like to keep to yourself. In a way he likes that you’re so open with him, that you let him see the stuff you don’t show other people. Thinks it’s adorable.

Will 100% try to make you more comfortable and less shy. You bought a new dress and don’t want to wear it, he will bluntly tell you it looks good and it would be a waste of money not to wear it.

Encourages your fashion choices. Polly pocket platform heels? He loves them. Bold lipstick? He will buy you earring that match. He quietly realized he liked seeing you happy. And you were happiest being yourself.

He’s not a big fan of grossly obvious PDA. Loves holding your hand or when you grab his bicep when you two walk together. You like it because it doesn’t draw unnecessary attention and he likes it cuz you’re always attached next to him and he doesn’t have to worry about actually loosing you. Plus he likes it when you grab his bicep.

Took forever to convince you to come to one of his games. You were too nervous to get into an arena with so many people - said you could come with a group of his teammates girlfriends - but you hated the idea of being with people you didn’t know.

He got really good at spotting you in the crowd. Didn’t matter where you were sitting, he just trained himself to see you. You were too shy to loudly cheer like everyone else, blending into the crowd due to that. But it didn’t matter.

In a weird way. He likes that hes the only one who gets to see you this happy, because hes the same with you. Slowly learning to take his guard down, be more open.

You’re learning to be confident while he’s learning to be trusting.

[morablackbird]

I’ve had time to think, and I want to make something clear to all.

Now more than ever we should go out and vote, not just for who’s gonna run this bitch but for seats and for government. Look into your local polling places to see what the next election is on and vote

Because it was never democrats vs republicans, it had always been democracy vs autocracy, freedom vs fascism. I’m not mad about republicans voting in their best interests, or hell if their had been just about any other sensible republican candidate, nor am I upset about those who question our democracy and its ability to give us the representation we want.

My hope is that democracy lives on past these four years, even if we the people lose our rights and our freedoms, we must never give up and never give in to hate and lies. Because if democracy survives we can always bring it back.

Do not lie down and die, do not let them win. It is time we come together as American citizens both Democrat and true republicans cause I know you are still out there, to fight like hell. Do not hurt yourselves that is what they want, if you are so beyond the point of no return then keep living, do not die because they won, die because you fought back, die gloriously! Die with purpose! Fight what battles you can at home and do what you must beyond the home, protect each other, especially our children who shall suffer the most.

And speaking of which, if you are a woman, cis or otherwise, non-binary born female, or a trans male that has yet to fully transition. It’s time to use their tactics against them. They want a nation of Christian ideals? This whole ‘your body my choice?’ Then it’s time to be maliciously compliant. Let us all take up a oath to never lie with another cis male. Let us become saints of virtue and celibacy. Let us be pure and free of the ‘sin’ that is sex then.

No more sex, no more babies, no more shall we give them factory workers and no more shall we give our bodies to them. We are choosing to be pure in the eyes of ‘their’ god then.

I don’t know about you but irl cis men are really unattractive to me right now, and if I really want kids I can adopt.

And for those of you who are LGBTQ and so on. Fear not for I believe in the promise of a better tomorrow. I believe in it, and we have fought for many years to get this far. If you are a adult you understand these hardships and hiding has never been easy but we managed. The kids however need us more than ever, they need to know we are there for them and we should protect them even at the cost of our own personal freedoms.

To all my friends with immigrant parents, who were born here and raised up under the ideal of freedom of choice. We have failed you and we shall never forgive ourselves for it. This nation was built by immigrants for immigrants, and it should continue to be so. Yet we choose to blame you for our problems.

My grandpa used to tell a joke, that was less of a joke and more of a upsetting truth.

There is a room in which three men live

In this room is a feast fit for several

One man is a businessman

One is you

One is a immigrant

The businessman looks at the feast and scoots the majority of it to his side of the table and begins to eat while the other two starve

But being ‘generous’ he tosses you a leg of the smallest fowl and says

‘Better grab it quick, lest the enemy take it from you’

As he point to the immigrant with none.

So you hold on to your scraps in fear of having none when in reality it’s not the enemy coming from elsewhere, but the liars who tell you it is so.

Immigrants were never your enemy and they never should’ve been, because unless you are 100% purely Native American I don’t want to hear it, cause not even I am.

I come from a long line of preachers and speakers, I come from a ancestry of natives and pilgrims, I come from two sides of the same coin when it comes to the civil war, I come from many Puritans, Catholics, Christians, and so on, and no matter what their stance was in our government there was one thing they all clearly desired.

Freedom

Liberty

The pursuits of happiness

Democracy

Do not let them win, do not give up, do not lie down and die because they say you should.

Fight to live another day, keep going even when shit sucks, don’t give them what they desire,

never give up!

Do you hear me?

NEVER GIVE UP!!

Sincerely

Dove

[georgiapeach30513]

Hi peach ❤️ Mrs pasta checking in

It’s been a long week, huh? If you’re in the USA, like some of us, 😵‍💫 but I’m going to avoid the politics talk.

I hope you are faring well despite everything.

I have no shade to throw today but I do want to remind some people on here in the midst of a lot of toxicity (not politics related). There’s a small group on here that has turned into a hilarious mix of haters/antis/no longer sure what they’re supposed to be but they’re 100% counterproductive. Imagine being that bored with your own life you spend your days torturing yourself following someone you “hate.” But I guess some people like being miserable.

Ramen, try as he might, is not a very good liar and I don’t think he would make a convincing salesman 🤣 but I do think that he filmed a movie in 2022 and it was delayed a year to release, and now that some are feeling extra in their feelings about him, are seeking confirmation through searching the internet for bad reviews on his film so they can project more negativity onto him.

He’s actively worked on three (still working on the third) projects this year. None of these projects have been released and I don’t believe they’ve confirmed any release date for these films either (correct me if I’m wrong).

So if that’s the case, I think it’s wise to wait things out and see how the rest of these projects pan out and whatever he decides to do next. bemoaning and groaning on a movie that was filmed 2 years ago as a yardstick of a person’s current life and career is a bit of an interesting choice. I think most of his fans knew this movie wasn’t going to be an awards darling by any means and especially knowing that the rock and his crew are behind this..how is anyone surprised if it’s a goofy overblown exaggeration of a ride?

Besides, the actors that work on this film are all professionals. They all do this for a living and promoting a silly goofy probably not going to be a hit with critics movie and playing along with the silliness is part of the job.

Marketing. PR. Yes yes it’s all mostly lies and manipulation. A lot of us have tried telling some of you that Hollywood is a business first, and everything else second. If you sit here upset that a celeb would possibly play up or even “lie” about something while promoting a film, then you may want to get out of this fandom and check the rest of the world.

This is not me being mean or invalidating other people’s feelings. I’m just telling you all as someone who works in an industry that’s all about manipulation and selling, myself. I do it because it’s a job. I don’t agree with everything but they pay me. I separate my own personal feelings from my work and then I go home. Life moves on no matter what.

Peach, thank you for being ramen’s shining beacon of support. They really ought to start paying you and anni for the work you both do for this fandom.

😘❤️

Be well

Mrs. Pasta! I was hoping you would drop in this week because what a week we've had! But yes, there's a reason that I avoid politics here, and that's because this is my escape. And like most of us, we're just not in the best place.

Unfortunately it does seem to have a heavy dose of toxicity in our little corner on tumblr. I think there's quite a few groups that are a bit counterproductive instead of just enjoying the plethora of content we've been gifted, but hey ho.

Ramen is one of the worst liars I have seen. And I'm not sure what that means sometimes. This movie was filmed in 2022, and carried on into 2023, and of course, was originally set to released Christmas 2023, but who knows what was going on behind the scenes for it to be delayed until this holiday season. This movie was also never going to be a critical success. Movies like this are meant to be for audience success, but what do I know?

I actually find it quite commendable that he's been able to make himself be so busy this year with work. Compared to what his tone was in the GQ interview fall 2023, this is a stark difference. He's showing that there is work to be had if you want it. He's taking on smaller roles, and he still seems proud of that fact. However, as of yet, there is no release date for any of these projects filmed this year. I suspect Honey, Don't release should be announced soon-ish.

And I think you're right about expectations on Red One. Judging the trailers, I think we're getting exactly what I thought we would be getting. It looks like a fun, goofy, not too serious Christmas movie. And honestly, I love those. Not every movie was meant to be a critical darling, or be awarded. Sometimes you just want to have a good time.

I think if most people would look at Hollywood as a business everyone would be better off. It is just lipstick and rouge, and they show us what they want us to see. Sometimes there's some cracks in the foundation, and we see a bit of the lies and manipulations. And in this case this is a family movie, so to no surprise some people are playing up the family aspect of it all. Interesting, and yet not, all at the same time.

Sometimes you have to pick and choose what you want to see, hear, learn, and you just have to learn it's not that serious at the end of the day. It's entertainment, and when you look at it as such, you have a lot more fun. And honestly, a lot of us have been entertained lately.

Ooh, you got to watch talking about pay on here, it sends the wrong message, and people like to call you the p word. Anne and I, and so many of our mutuals and followers, just want to have fun. Isn't that was a fandom space, such as tumblr is supposed to be about? Not about constant drama and arguing, but enjoying an entertainer? Their work? Getting excited about public appearances? Spreading memes, gifs, and works of fiction?

Mrs. Pasta, as always it's a pleasure. And I look forward to your next drop in. As always, take care!

[firestarter91]

‘Gaius is the worst’

Yes indeed he is and not for the first time. He just wants a quiet life but he’s not going to get it so he needs to be more assertive and show some courage. It’s his job as royal physician and trusted advisor to not only the king but to his family to give advice and counsel, not stick his head in the sand and worse lie, he’s certainly not doing right by Morgana no matter how much he wants to pretend otherwise.

Merlin says to Gaius that he will go talk to her, because of course Gaius is a coward and would rather continue to fob her off. Meanwhile the poor girl thinks she’s going crazy, keeping the truth from her is not helping Morgana but Gaius seems more concerned with protecting himself (and Merlin) by trying to maintain the status quo but that’s not going to work for much longer, what’s he going to do when Morgana ends up burning not just the curtains or her bed and causing much worse damage?

Gaius warns Merlin to stay out of it, of course he should know by now that by saying that, precisely the opposite is going to happen. He doesn’t want to go through all the misery of the great purge again and risk Merlin’s and maybe Morgana’s lives which I understand but he must explain the possible repercussions to Merlin rather than just forbidding him from doing things.

The trouble with just telling him no is that without any reasoning behind his refusal to help, Merlin is just going to go off and try and do his own thing and not thinking of the consequences, which of course is exactly what happens. It really annoys me how Gaius keeps forbidding Merlin to do things but never explains to him why it’s not a good idea, you would think by now the penny would have dropped that communication is key here.

Merlin then takes Gaius to task about his refusal to help Morgana, he’s just done what he wouldn’t do. Gaius is beside himself because of course Merlin has ignored him but that’s really his own damn fault. Merlin tells Gaius that the years before he came to Camelot were the loneliest of his life (poor Will is turning in his grave at this point!), he then gives peons of praise to Gaius. Not sure why since I don’t think Gaius is that great a mentor or guardian for Merlin.

Merlin singing Gaius’ praises is annoying but it’s consistent with how Merlin sees Gaius but unfortunately there’s this clear dissonance between what we see and what we’re told. Gaius really didn’t teach Merlin much, he gave him a book on magic in season 1 then promptly told him not to read it and keep it hidden away, it’s like giving a cook a fantastic cook book then telling them they can’t cook any recipes out of it!

He didn’t give him any real training in magic, just told him to keep his head down and keep quiet except of course when Gaius wanted him to save Camelot, only then is Merlin expected to use his magic arsenal of spells despite having little guidance or knowledge of how to go about it. Gaius was more of a stumbling block to Merlin, not an aid, but clearly I’m not meant to feel that way because Merlin (and the showrunners) thought the sun shone out of his arse.

‘I guess Gaius did provide him company, a people to counsel with and the fatherly love. But that’s not the same.’

I completely agree, Gaius doesn’t do nearly as much as he should fraankly.

Gaius made a choice too by his sheer inaction, it’s a recurrent pattern of behaviour that the show seems to ignore. Gaius redeems himself slightly by saying he’s just glad Merlin’s back and that they were both right and doing what they thought was for the best but what Gaius was doing was what was best for HIM not for Morgana. the show keeps son wanting to make Gaius look noble and good all the times when in this case he deserved censure.

They almost always ended an episode on a Gaius/Merlin scene of them at home over supper, sometimes it was nice but other times I wished they’d hadn’t and this episode was one of them, it should have ended with Merlin and Arthur.

Merlin rewatch -- S2E3: The Nightmare Begins

Gaius is the worst

I hated Gaius so much in this. Not just the gaslighting but also how full of self-righteousness he was while his gaslighting was clearly failing already. Morgana's nightmare clearly hadn't stopped since s1e13 and her magic was leaking so obviously. He still thought drugging her was effective? “ I’ve taken good care of her”?She already recognised his own magic. “ (gaslighting Morgana) For good reason”? It's obvious the secrecy only fueled the outburst of her magic. The fact that Morgana told Merlin about her magic should prove that Gaius’ method couldn’t even keep her mouth shut. It’s good that she found Merlin. What if she ran into someone whose mouth wasn’t that tight?

Gaius just didn’t want to help. Merlin proposed so many ways that didn’t concern Gaius. Druid is a valid option. Uther wasn’t actively raiding druid camps at the moment. (Merlin failed because the plan was rubbish, not because going to the druid was a bad idea) And frankly, Gaius was the person who could talk to Morgana with the least risk! He used to practice magic so it makes sense that he had the knowledge. If Morgana could be more in control, there wouldn’t be more of this kind of ‘accident’ that put Uther into witch-hunting mode. If he’s that scared of getting into trouble, fair. What annoyed me was that he acted like he knew best. “ I will (take care of Morgana). As I’ve always done.” Drugging and gaslighting don’t count.  “ What makes you think that you know better than me?” Merlin knew much much better thank you.

The second confrontation between them was not bad since Merlin stood up for himself and Gaius did get his point in the end. I’m still a bit mad that Gaius used “ people’s lives are at risk” to scold him. If Morgana didn’t lose control Uther wouldn’t start to arrest people in the first place. Also I’m never convinced that Gaius taught Merlin about ‘ the good in magic and the right way of using it’. I’m sure Hunith gave him that impression too if that adorable fire dragon was anything to go by. And Kilgharah was the one to tell him about his destiny. Merlin also used magic to save Gaius at the very beginning. He always knew to use it for good. I guess Gaius did provide him company, a people to counsel with and the fatherly love. But that’s not the same.

How I wish the episode ended at the lovely Merlin & Arthur scene. Why did Merlin have to apologise to Gaius? He did do some stupid things but it’s not like Gaius was personally affected. If Gaius was willing to help Merlin wouldn’t have to act alone. Gaius saying “ it’s not your fault. You were only doing what you thought was right.” seemed to indicate that he was correct about keeping Morgana in the dark, which is frustrating. At least Merlin did reply “We both were”...

[S2E3] [other episodes]

[autumngracy]

Truly going insane watching my dad destroy expensive phones and laptops faster than I can fucking reorder them for him.

Doesn't matter how much help and advice I give him; my mans is just the clumsiest and stupidest motherfucker alive when it comes to electronics. Killed two phones the exact same way and two laptops the exact same way.

(Fucking up the phone charging ports by jamming the plug in unaligned. Spilling water on the laptops and then IMMEDIATELY trying to restart them. I mean. You'd think if you destroyed a multi hundred dollar device because of a certain really dumb and avoidable mistake you would, idk, remember to not make that mistake again ... fuck me).

Straight up lost a brand new cell phone replacement before even opening the box, and his memory is such shit I can't even tell if he even received it in the first place.

Meanwhile it takes me at least 4-5 years before needing to replace something, and usually it's because of shit like defective lithium ion batteries ...

"We're tight on money so I have to jack your rent up 3x," says man who goes through $500+ of tech every year because he has the memory, common sense, and manual dexterity of a garden slug.

It's not like phones and laptops are the only shit he goes through like this, either; we got lawnmowers, exercise equipment—appliances, you name it, he breaks it. Drives me fucking bananas.

[twinstxrs]

the gorgug-porter conversation is interesting to me because like. yea for the overwhelming majority of the conversation porter’s being shitty & trying to fit gorgug into a box that gorgug just does not fit into by trying to make gorgug’s relationship with his rage more focused on the aggression aspect of it. but then there’s also this specific thing that brennan brought up again in the ap, which is that gorgug’s relationship with his rage is wholly “this is a tool i use to protect my friends.” which isn’t a bad thing! but that’s his Whole relationship with it, & gorgug seems to place next to no value on his rage in relationship to himself. which is problematic, because it’s first & foremost his rage.

being raised in a household with a sort of toxic positivity largely meant that, whether or not it was his parents’ intention, gorgug internalized the message that more traditionally “negative” emotions such as anger are the wrong response to something. part of the reason he prioritizes his artificing is probably because it’s “fixing” things. in comparison to being a barbarian, which gorgug associates with “breaking” things. good vs. bad behavior, in his eyes.

it’s a totally unacceptable bar to measure a 16 y/o by, but i do think part of porter’s reasoning for not letting gorgug multiclass is him recognizing that gorgug generally does not value anger as a valid emotional response to something, at the very least for himself. & that directly conflicts with what being a barbarian is, because whether you like it or not, that rage is what fuels you. but again, barring a kid from pursuing something they deeply care about in part (not entirely, porter has a lot of more bullshit reasons) because of their fundamental values & world outlook is crazy.

so yes, 98% of porter’s reasoning is pretty shitty, immature, rife with a toxic view that there’s only one proper way to access rage, & generally not a good thing to do as a teacher, but also within that reasoning is the 2% of ‘there is a fundamental part of yourself that you only value if you can use it to take care of other people & you need to accept that as something that can take care of you, too.’ but that’s something to discuss with a therapist or a guidance counselor, not something that should hugely impact gorgug’s academic future.

[dykedvonte]

Ulysses obsession with the Courier is a special type of sad to me cause the Courier’s part was so important but so unwitting. They had no idea what was in the package they delivered and neither did he. Neither had an idea of what it could’ve done and the Courier was only caring out their job (mind you the Courier could be killed via notes in the express contract if they don’t). To them it was just another regular delivery to the divide and one that they likely thought would help, just like all the ones before.

It’s so tragic for Ulysses to hold so much ire to the Courier when it really was the case of it could’ve been anyone. Anyone could have delivered that package but they did and so he focused the blame on them and it destroys what he is trying to instill in the courier on a fundamental level.