#no one is probably going to care about this as much as me

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

i know nanami’s only 27, but i can’t help but think that he’s probably got a lot of “old man” traits that he’s acquired one way or another. maybe life made him that way, maybe he chose to act like he is in his 40s and not late 20s, but either way, having him around would be a very interesting experience to say the least because i’m pretty sure he…

he complains like a seasoned retiree. he’s got that heavy sigh, rubs his temple routine down to an art. the kind of man who mutters, “i’m too old for this,” when he’s only been awake for ten minutes. if you suggest staying out late, he just looks at you like you suggested committing a crime.

he has a very specific way of doing things. nanami doesn’t just go grocery shopping—he has a route. he knows which brands he likes, which cashier is the fastest, and he refuses to go on weekends because “that’s when the amateurs show up.” he folds his laundry a certain way, and god help you if you disrupt his system.

his idea of “treating himself” is so dad-coded. nanami doesn’t do impulse buys—when he does spend money on himself, it’s always something practical. “i finally got those orthopedic insoles” or “this is a quality briefcase; it’ll last a lifetime.” and he probably has one (1) expensive pen that he never lets anyone borrow.

he dresses like he’s ready to scold someone for stepping on his lawn. pressed slacks, polished shoes, dress shirts with the sleeves neatly rolled up. casual wear? good luck catching him in it. even his loungewear is suspiciously put-together—like, who wears an actual button-up pajama set in 2025? nanami kento, that’s who.

he drives like a dad. he never speeds, always uses his turn signal, and complains about “reckless drivers” while driving exactly the speed limit. the kind of man who refuses to start the car until everyone has their seatbelt on.

oh, and dating nanami as someone younger than him would be an experience. he already acts like he’s in his 40s, so the age gap (however small) feels so much bigger because he refuses to let loose. but deep down, he wants to—he just doesn’t know how. so to be in a relationship with him is to get used to stuff like this;

he sighs like he’s raising a teenager. if you stay up too late? heavy sigh. if you forget to bring a jacket? exasperated sigh while taking off his coat to drape over your shoulders. if you tell him about a reckless decision you made? pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs like you just told him you totaled his car. but beneath all that dramatic suffering, there’s genuine care. you might get an “honestly, do you have no sense of self-preservation?” but it’s followed by him adjusting your scarf, making sure your shoelaces are tied, and keeping a steady hand on your back when crossing the street.

he pretends to be annoyed by your energy, but secretly loves it. he acts like your enthusiasm exhausts him, but if you ever stopped being excited around him? he’d miss it desperately. when you drag him to try something new, he’ll complain the whole time (“this is a waste of money”), but afterward, he’ll admit—very quietly—that it wasn’t that bad. he likes how you remind him to enjoy life in ways he never lets himself. he’ll never jump in recklessly, but if you say, “just trust me,” he’ll hesitate… then sigh… then go along with whatever nonsense you’re up to, even if he acts like he’s suffering the entire time.

he acts like a responsible adult, but enables your habits in secret. “you shouldn’t be drinking so much caffeine.” and yet, the next morning, there’s an extra coffee waiting for you. “wasting money on little things adds up.” but somehow, that limited-edition item you wanted just magically appears on your desk. he talks a big game about being responsible, but when it comes to you? he has no self-control.

he takes care of you like an old-fashioned gentleman. he opens doors, walks on the outer side of the sidewalk, and insists on carrying heavy things for you. not because he thinks you can’t—just because he wants to. he likes taking care of you, even if he pretends it’s just out of obligation. if you try to carry something heavy, he just looks at you. doesn’t even say anything. just crosses his arms and waits for you to give up and hand it to him. if you call him a gentleman, he’ll scoff, “that’s just basic decency.” but if you really gush about it, you might catch the tips of his ears turning pink.

he thinks trendy slang is ridiculous. you use modern slang just to see his reaction, and it never fails to make him sigh like he just aged ten years on the spot.

“nanami, be so for real.”

“…so for real what?”

“you should just trust the process.”

“i’d rather not.”

if you ever jokingly call him “king” or “bestie” he’ll give you the look. he pretends he doesn’t care, but if you say something really out of pocket, you might actually get him to break character and let out a very exhausted, “what does that even mean?” (you’re keeping track of all the slang that makes him react the most so you can use it strategically. it’s your favorite game.)

he secretly likes when you cling to him. nanami acts like he’s too mature for overly affectionate behavior, but the first time you loop your arm through his or rest your head against his shoulder in public, he freezes. clears his throat. tries to pretend he doesn’t care—but his hand naturally comes to rest over yours, holding you there like it’s second nature. if you ever hug him from behind or whine “but i missed you,” he won’t admit how fast his heart is beating, but he will sigh and say, “i was gone for twenty minutes.” doesn’t matter. he still lets you cling to him as long as you want.

he plans the most responsible dates, but lets you drag him into chaos. nanami’s idea of a date? a nice dinner, a quiet café, maybe a bookstore. nothing loud, nothing unpredictable. your idea of a date? “let’s go to an arcade.” “let’s take a random train and see where we end up.” “let’s sneak into a rooftop at night.” he knows he should say no. but when you look at him like that? sigh. fine. but if you get into trouble, “i had no part in this.” (he’s definitely bailing you out of trouble five minutes later.)

he absolutely dads you when you get hurt. if you get a tiny scrape? nanami reacts like an overprotective father. “what happened?” “let me see.” “you need to be more careful.” and you’re like, “it’s a paper cut.” but he’s already pulling out a bandaid (which he definitely carries with him, because of course he does). if you ever get seriously hurt? he’s scolding you while carefully patching you up. “you’re too reckless.” “next time, call me.” but his hands are so gentle, and he won’t leave your side until he’s sure you’re okay.

he adores when you fall asleep on him. you knock out on his shoulder? he won’t move. his arm is numb, but he doesn’t dare wake you. if you fall asleep on his lap? his hand naturally comes up to run through your hair. if you curl up in bed and mumble “stay with me,” he’ll sigh, say something about how he has work in the morning… and then stay anyway. and if you ever catch him staring when you wake up? he’ll immediately look away. “you were drooling,” he lies. (he was watching you like you hung the stars.)

he acts like he’s too old for all this, but deep down? nanami loves you more than anything. and if loving you takes years off his life? so be it.

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: Your Future Spouse’s First Impression of You? ✮⋆˙

I. II. III.

Hey there! Welcome to my first pick-a-card reading on this blog page—I hope you all enjoy it! If I make any mistakes, please bear with me. Comment down what you felt about the reading and if it resonated with you and show some love, Your support means everything to me!<3

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you—go ahead and read both!

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

⊹₊⟡Pile I

First Things First: The Vibes Are Mysterious AF. Your future spouse’s first impression of you-Intriguing. Confusing. Obsessive. You are not someone they can just glance at and move on. this spread is screaming mystery, but not in a “cold and distant” way—it’s more like "Who ARE they? Why do I want to know everything about them?" There’s something about you that feels just out of reach, like you’re showing them a version of yourself, but they can sense there’s way more underneath. And that? That’s addictive. It’s the kind where they need to figure you out. They want to know what makes you tick, what you’re thinking when you glance away mid-conversation, and what you’re dreaming about at night. And it’s not in a shallow, superficial way—this person is genuinely captivated. But here’s where it gets interesting— because while The Moon makes them curious about you, the Eight of Pentacles makes them respect you. They see someone who’s dedicated, who works their ass off at whatever they care about. Whether it’s your career, hobbies, or just the way you present yourself—you give off this “I put in the effort” type of energy. Like, they can tell you’re serious about your stuff and that immediately makes you stand out. That alone makes them take you seriously. Okay, But Here’s the Gag—They Lowkey Feel a Bit…Uncertain? Now, listen—The Moon is also about illusions and uncertainty, so while they are intrigued, they might feel like they don’t fully “get” you at first. And that? That’s messing with them. They’re probably used to reading people easily, but you? You’re hard to pin down, and they love it…but also hate it?? It’s like, are they flirting with me or just being nice? Are they interested, or am I making this up? The Two of Wands here tells me that they immediately start thinking about possibilities with you—but they hesitate. Not because they’re uninterested, but because they’re trying to figure out where they stand. They respect you and your dedication, seeing you as someone with substance. They feel pulled toward you but also slightly intimidated or uncertain because you’re not easy to read (Love that for you😂). And darling, let’s be real—when someone is this intrigued by you from the jump, That’s a recipe for obsession. You might notice them observing you before making a move, trying to decode you.

This pile has the most unpredictable energy among the three. Your future spouse is unsure where they stand at first but feels a pull towards you. LOL, they might initially think “Whoa, Do they even notice me?” They might even romanticize you in their mind before truly knowing you (CUTE ngl) because your energy leaves so much to the imagination.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

⊹₊⟡Pile II

Ooooh, okay, let’s get into it. Babe, your future spouse’s first impression of you is giving emotional enigma meets graceful chaos, and I’m obsessed with how this energy is playing out. The moment they lay eyes on you, there’s an instant curiosity. You come across as graceful, emotionally intelligent, and balanced, but here’s the kicker—they know there’s more going on beneath the surface. Like, they can tell that you keep your cool externally, but they sense this quiet storm of emotions underneath. It’s intriguing to them because it’s like, "damn, how do they juggle everything?" when you meet them, or they just get the sense that you’ve got a lot going on but still show up with poise. It’s giving “this person could be drowning in responsibilities but would still remember to send their bestie a ‘drink water,’ text.” 😭There’s this duality to you that catches their attention. You seem emotionally available but also like you’re carrying something—like you’re transitioning into a new chapter, leaving something behind and they feel that energy before you even say a word. They immediately respect you but they also feel this lowkey urge to protect you, Because on one hand, you’re exuding this soft, nurturing energy but on the other hand, they can tell you’re used to handling your own business and might not even need them like that. And WHEW—does that intimidate them a little? Yes. yall pile 2 give me the energy of a particular line I heard on TikTok, which was something like "lead me when I want to be lead"😂So when they meet you, your future spouse immediately clocks that you’re in transition—maybe you’ve recently moved, changed jobs, ended a relationship, or you’re just shifting into a new phase in life. But here’s the real tea—they don’t just find you attractive, they find you mentally stimulating. Like, you’re not just another pretty face; you make them think. Your vibe is that of someone who has been through some shit but has learned and grown from it, and they immediately wonder, What’s their story? What shaped them into this person? And suddenly, they’re invested. “Holy shit, I need to know more.” You make them think—they don’t just want to know you, they want to understand you.

SO OVERALL This pile is soothing and warm, but also very self-aware and mature. Your future spouse feels safe and understood with you, like you’re someone they could see themselves building a peaceful life with. This is wayyyyyyy less confusion here compared to Deck 1; they pretty much immediately know you’re a rare find.

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⊹₊⟡Pile III

Your future spouse’s first impression of you? WHEW, they’re looking at you like you’re a whole standard—not just “crush-worthy,” but someone they gotta step their game up for. Their First Thought? “Damn, they’re sharp.” Like, no joke, the moment they meet you, they immediately pick up on your sharp mind and no-BS attitude. You give off this queen-level aura that’s like, “I see through people. Don’t play games with me". 💅. love it—but also have no idea how to approach you at first because you don’t seem like the type who’s easily impressed. Your whole energy screams “I’ve got my shit together.” And babe, they feel that. They’re looking at you like, “Okay, so this person is intelligent, confident, and carries themselves like they own the room—how do I not embarrass myself in front of them?” But it’s not just about confidence—you also have this elegance about you. You’re not loud or flashy; you’re just refined, polished, and unbothered in a way that makes people want to impress you. LOL also one thing, you make them feel like, "“Are they always this serious? Or do they have a goofy side?” You walk in, and it’s giving the main character energy without even trying. Here’s where it gets really interesting. Because at first, they see you as this composed, independent person who doesn’t need anybody. But then, there’s this subtle warmth about you that catches them off guard. I can feel that you’re someone who values fairness, generosity, and kindness—but only for the right people. You’re not out here wasting time. You know your worth, but when you do let people in? You’re the type to genuinely care, support, and uplift those around you. And that contrast? Whew. It messes them up in the best way. It’s like, “Wait… they’re not just powerful and intimidating… they’re actually thoughtful and kind, too? What kind of dream person did I just meet???” Your future spouse is immediately caught up in their head about you. Their first impression of you isn’t just “oh, they’re cute.” It’s deep admiration mixed with a little bit of panic.

Honestly, This is the type of first impression that lingers. They’re not just walking away thinking “Wow, that was a cool person.” No, no. They’re going home, replaying the conversation, trying to figure out how to impress you next time, and probably texting their best friend like, “I think I just met the most unreal person ever.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember 27: Public Sex

We have another one of these down. I'll probably stop at thirty. Also, Who knew she was so kinky. On another note, I just happened to have these ideas and requests for Dahyun that I really liked. This is probably the last time she appears though.

Length 2K

Dahyun X Mreader

“Let’s play a game!” The girls all knew what that meant. They looked at each other, wondering what the game would be this time. Sana always wanted to play dirty games when the group had finished off bottles of alcohol. Sana giggled as she placed the pirate on the coffee table in front of the group. “The loser has to do what the others say!” Sana didn’t care who lost; she knew she would get something out of it. The other Twice members agreed to play; it was usually fun to see what would happen. Each member took one plastic sword, putting it into the pirate’s barrel, hoping it wouldn’t pop up. Sword after sword went in, and the members were surprised they hadn’t caused the game to end yet. They looked at each other nervously, each member having one sword left. This would be the last round.

Sana went first, whining as she pushed in the sword. After the click, she was slightly disappointed to see the pirate still in the barrel. She wanted to be the loser; she knew the punished member would have the most fun. Momo went next, and the result was much the same, but she was happy not to be the loser. Mina followed, then Nayeon, Jihyo, and Chaeyoung. It came down to the final three: Dahyun, Jeongyeon, and Tzuyu. They stared nervously at the pirate. “Wait!” Sana said, having an idea of how to make it more exciting. “Everyone choose a hole, then we’ll go in order.” Sana’s idea was to have them choose now before the options become limited.  Jeongyeon, Dahyun, and Tzuyu each chose where they would put the sword, holding the tip inside and waiting. Jeongyeon went first, pushing in until she heard the click; she took a deep breath, happy it wasn’t her. Dahyun went next; the loser would be either her or Tzuyu. Pushing the sword in, she held her breath. The toy pirate popped up from the barrel as it clicked, making her the loser. Tzuyu breathed a sigh of relief as the pirate popped up. She wouldn’t be the one to get punished. 

“Dahyun, go wait in the kitchen. We have to decide your punishment.” Sana cheered, happy that the game was finally over. Dahyun hung her head as she walked to the kitchen. The others chatted about what to have the young woman do until they finally came to a decision. Once they called her back, Dahyun looked around, hoping her punishment wouldn’t be too rough. “Jihyo, do you want to tell Dahyun her punishment?”

“You should do it; it was your idea.”

“Okay! Dahyun, your punishment is you’re going to have to go outside and have sex with someone!” Sana said, clapping as she announced the punishment. “Isn’t this great you get to have sex!” Dahyun was stunned at the punishment. Truth be told, it wasn’t the worst thing, but she knew how Sana had come up with the idea. The older woman had talked to Dahyun about kinks before and knew Dahyun wanted to try public sex. “Oh! And you have to go out in this!” Sana said, pulling up a large coat and stockings. “You only get to wear this,” Sana giggled. The others laughed, seeing the outfit Dahyun would have to go out in. 

Dahyun whined as she grabbed the lack of clothes, stripped in front of the group, and put on her stockings and coat. She grumbled as she walked through the door and stepped outside the dorm. Walking into the streets, she could feel her phone vibrating as the members texted her to ask if she had found someone yet. It had just been a few minutes. It was like they expected the idol to fuck someone in front of the building. Dahyun’s plan was to go further away and find an alley that would be a more comfortable spot. Once she found one, she waited. She watched people walk by before happening to spot you. You would have to do. “Excuse me!” She called. You turned your head to the voice calling you. Seeing the young woman, you walked over before recognizing her as the idol. “Hi, I need you to do something for me.”

“What do you need?” You ask, eager to help the idol. Dahyun beckons you into the alley, going deep into it so people won’t notice the act that would happen. “Dahyun?” You call as you follow her.

“I just need something really quick.” Dahyun pauses as she turns around, moving her hand between the top of her coat, ready to reveal herself. She was getting wet thinking about what was about to happen. “I want you to fuck me. Can you help me with that?” You’re stunned at the request. You always viewed Dahyun as a pure woman, so to hear her asking for sex so blatantly was unexpected. Seeing your hesitation, Dahyun asks again, layering the lust in her voice. “I just really need a nice hard cock. Can you help me? I’m so horny.”

Dahyun opened her coat, revealing nothing underneath her jacket. Her black stockings fit tightly around her thighs. It was the only thing that she had on. She bit her bottom lip, a sly smile forming as the cold air hit her body. Dahyun's thighs were slick with her juices as she stared at you. As your eyes move from the hard pink nubs on her chest to her puffy lips, you feel your desires for the idol building. The night lights made her slick thighs glisten. She waits with bated breath for you to make a move on her. As you unconsciously reach out for her chest, she pushes it out to meet you. Your hand touches the firm mound, and as you squeeze it, Dahyunletss out a soft moan. Hearing your bias moan because of your touch gets you hard, and Dahyun notices. She slips her jacket off her shoulders, dropping it onto the ground before unbuckling your belt and pushing her hand into your pants. Wrapping her hand around your cock Dahyun licks her lips as her hand begins to move along your shaft. “Thanks for the help. I’ll make sure you feel good, too.”

Dahyun’s delicate fingers have your cock in a soft grip as she pulls it out of your pants. She glances down, sucking in a quick breath as she sees its size. “Oh, it’s so big already. You were thinking some naughty thoughts, weren’t you?” You nod, struggling to get a word out as she rubs the tip of your cock with her thumb. You would’ve never imagined Dahyun to be so  slutty, but here she was proving you wrong. Dahyun pushed herself onto you, continuing to stroke your cock as you groped her breasts, her hard nipples rubbing against your palms. You lean down and steal a kiss from Dahyun. 

You’re surprised to feel her tongue trace your lips but push for more. You explore each other’s mouths as Dahyun coats her hand in your precum. She rubs her legs together, becoming more aroused, her mind filling with thoughts of you stuffing her with your cock in the alley.  Dahyun moves one hand down to her clit, rubbing it softly as she jerks you off with her other hand. “Fuck me already,” she whimpers. 

You press Dahyun against the wall, getting behind her. You rub your cock against her cunt only for a second before ramming your length inside her; she cries out, your cock stretching out her tiny cunt. “Oh fuck!”  You don’t give her any time to adjust; her fleshy walls are squeezing tightly as you thrust deep into her cunt. Dahyun moans freely as you slam yourself against her ass, burying your cock inside her with every thrust. You grip her waist tightly, digging your nails into her pale skin. “Fuck, yes, deeper!” Dahyun moans, grimacing as her body bounces against yours, her tits swinging as another thrust makes you bottom out inside her. You move one hand to her tits, grabbing at them as you fuck the idol. 

Dahyun feels her core tightening; she leans against the wall to support herself as she feels her climax approaching. Just as she was going to say something, Dahyun felt your cum being pumped into her womb. A guttural moan escapes her lips as you trigger her climax. As Dahyun’s body shakes from her climax, you slap her ass, watching the soft flesh jiggle as she cums. You spank her again, leaving a handprint on her pale skin as you finish dumping your cum into her. Dahyun groans, moving a hand to her slit to feel your cum leaking out of her. You pull out of the idol and watch as she brings her fingers to her lips, tasting your cum for herself. The sight of the idol eating your cum turns you on and keeps you hard. 

As Dahyun looks over her shoulder to see you still hard, she smiles. Squatting before you, she takes your cock in her hand again.  You cum flows out of her cunt onto the ground as she strokes your messy cock, coating her hand with your cum. She drags her tongue along her palm, moaning as she tastes your salty cum again. “Let me clean you up. I can’t leave such a good cock messy.” Dahyun rubs your cum coated cock against her lips, staining them before she swallows the head. Dahyun moaned around your cock, bobbing her head slowly so her tongue could work around the shaft. You moan loudly, reveling in the feeling of her tongue lapping at the tip as she stops to focus on the head. You place your hand on Dahyun’s head, moving her from the tip to the base of your cock. You felt her lips against your pelvis as your cock hit the back of her throat. Dahyun doesn’t mind the roughness; she was actually enjoying the way you were treating her. As you let her go, she pops you out of her mouth, slapping her cheeks with your cock as she says, “Face fuck me. I’m all yours; treat me like the slut I am.” You’re stunned by Dahyun. You didn’t know what to do for a second but quickly settled on doing your worst to her. You would never get another chance to fuck the idol. 

You hold Dahyun’s head in place as you thrust into her mouth, plugging the hole with your cock as you keep it buried inside her throat for a few seconds before thrusting again. You enjoy every moment of her throat tightening around you. You knew you weren’t going to last long, but that didn’t matter; you were going to fuck Dahyun’s face. Dahyun’s face becomes a mess as time goes on. Saliva coats her chin as it runs down from her lips. Her make-up is ruined, mascara running down her cheeks as her eyes water. “I’m going to cum,” you groan as your thrusts turn wild. You pull out just as you cum, spurting your semen onto the idol's face. Your cum paints her face and lands on her hair. Dahyun sticks her tongue out, getting a few drops on it. She gleefully swallows them. You back up and take good luck at the messy idol. Dahyun’s body was sweaty; her hair was matted. Your cum hadn’t only stained her face but had managed to get onto her body. Cum still dripped out of her cunt. You thank Dahyun for the experience, bowing before you leave. Dahyun stayed in the same place, cleaning the cum from her body before grabbing her coat and walking back to the dorms, cum still on her face as she did so. 

The girls cheered for their members as she walked through the door. Dahyun had a tired smile on her face as she took off the coat and laid back on the couch, letting Sana clean out her cunt as she asked questions about her experience. The others pointed and laughed as they heard the story.

[pacofprunes]

DARK / TOXIC SQUID GAME REACTIONS TO YOU TRYING TO LEAVE THEM

CONTAINS — namgyu x reader, thanos x reader, myungi x reader, inho x reader, sangwoo x reader, saebyeok x reader

WARNINGS — toxic relationship, domestic violence, baby trapping, manipulation, guilt trip, prepare yourself for namgyus that’s the worst probably, mentions of suicide (thanos)

masterlist

THANOS / PLAYER 230 / CHOI-SUBONG — manipulates you / would let you leave and crawl back to him

doesn’t take it well at all. he’s going to laugh and think you’re joking, but after realizing that you’re not, he’s quickly going to scream at you. telling you that you’ll never find anybody better than him.

“do you really think anybody else will want you? if you leave me you’ll never find anyone else. you’ll never find anybody better!”

he’ll start breaking shit. punching walls, shit, he’ll even break your own phone if it’s in arms reach. if you still insist on leaving he’ll say he’s gonna overdose. he tells you that he’ll kill himself if you step out that door while pressing a blade up to his arm. if all else fails, he’ll totally act like he didn’t just beg you to stay and scream at you to go then and not to come running back.

“fine bitch, go ahead and leave! but don’t come running back to me for nothin’.”

in reality, he’s definitely stalking your socials, making fake accounts you haven’t blocked him on, stalking your friends accounts to see other photos of you, visiting the club every night (not that he didn’t already do that) to try to see if you’d show up. after about a month or so of doing this and going out and fucking other girls to get over you, he can’t do it anymore. he’ll send you some fake heartfelt text that he probably used ai to make and call you while making himself sound like he was crying, trying to make you feel bad and convince you that he’s changed and that he can be a better boyfriend. if you fall for it, you’re doomed. the relationships only going to be a million times worse than before. instead of knocking glass over and breaking shit, he might slap you. in public, he might grip your wrist ten times tighter, scared you’ll run away. when he finally lets go, his fingers will be embedded in your skin. he might even guilt trip you into getting a matching tattoo with him. “if you really loved me and forgave me then you would.”

if you really don’t go back to him though, no matter how many times you block him, you’ll get a new video sent to your phone from some unknown number of him fucking a new girl. he sent you the videos in hopes of making you jealous or something. he’s not going to stop for a long time. if you don’t go back to him, he’s going to harass you for the rest of your life. and if you do go back? you’re in for a world of hell.

NAMGYU / PLAYER 124 — would threaten you, would actually harm you

“you’re one funny bitch. you know how much shit i got on you?”

he finds it admirable, honestly. but still, fucking hilarious, that you, you, think you can leave him. what? when did you grow some balls? yeah, no. you just hurt his ego and that’s about the stupidest thing you could ever do to him. he’s not very empty with his threats. if he says he’s leaving? he’ll leave. (for like a week…) if he says he’s gonna hit you? you’re gonna be bruised for a while. if he says he’s gonna kill you? well, you haven’t gotten to that point yet. but keep this up and you sure will.

he keeps every nude and threatens to release it. sure you’re his and all, but that doesn’t stop him. so what if some other guy sees your body? he could care less. now if another guy touches you? let’s not think about what would happen. threatens to send the pictures to your family and threatens to send every sex tape of you two that he filmed behind your back.

“what the fuck is wrong with you namgyu? when the fuck did you film that?”

don’t raise your voice at him. once he hits you and you fall to the ground, he’ll keep kicking at you with his foot over and over until he thinks you’ve had enough. don’t speak up to him, don’t speak against him, and don’t piss him off. just sit there and be pretty, okay? he’s going to be bolder now. next time you two have sex he’s just going to shove the camera in your face. he’s going to manipulate and force you to take nudes for him since you don’t want to anymore after he threatened to send them out. sometimes he’ll force you to strip and then he’ll just take the pictures himself. all in all, sometimes he might just say no and leave it at that. but if you keep pushing, he’s going to threaten you. and if you still keep pushing, he’s going to go through with those threats. you really are just some whore to him, don’t think he’s above killing you.

MYUNGI / PLAYER 333 / MG COIN ★— would let you leave and crawl back to him (except he’s the one who crawls back), babytrapping

“really? fine, if that’s what you want then leave.”

he acts like he doesn’t care because he thinks his annoyance will make you turn right back around to him. he acts like he doesn’t care because he’s trying to not get so bent out of shape about it and move on quickly. but when he hears your footsteps disappear and the door shut, he immediately balls up his fists. you seriously left? he didn’t expect that, but whatever. he doesn’t need you.

he tries to move on but after barely even a week, he can’t do it. he contacts you, but when you block him, he makes more and more numbers. he thought you’d be running back to him, not the opposite. he sends you pictures of you two together in hopes you’d change your mind, but when you just keep blocking him, he’s knocking on your door demanding you open it up. he tries being nice but when you don’t open it, he starts banging on the door. really? you’d been together for months and you’d already gotten over him? no. no no no. you don’t get to just move on! what the hells wrong with you? when you still don’t open the door, he leaves and goes back to his place and sits on his bed while he ponders his next move. he decides for now just to stalk your page and harass you from more and more numbers. he’s not going to stop until you at least respond. oh, you’re gonna get a restraining order? you’re funny. you think that’ll stop him? don’t go back to him. if for some reason you give in, the next time that you two have sex, he’s going to make sure that you can’t leave. he’s sure that you’ll look so pretty with your stomach swelled up.

INHO / YOUNGIL / PLAYER 001 — straight up says no / baby traps / makes you feel like you’re going crazy

straight up, no. you want to leave? no. he doesn’t even care for an explanation on why, you’re not leaving. completely ignores your words and changes the whole topic. everytime you try to say you’re leaving he just completely overrides you with something different.

“inho, i’m serious. i’m leaving you! i’m packing my shit right now and i’m not coming back, i swear to you.”

“what did you want for dinner again? i have to go back out to get some groceries so there’s not too much…”

maybe it’s on purpose, maybe it’s not. but it makes you feel like you’re losing your mind. then he will deliberately go out of his way to make it seem like you’re crazy.

“i’m leaving because of what you’ve been doing behind my back, inho. it’s fucked up and you’re insane.”

“baby, you could follow me around tomorrow. i’ve got no idea what you mean.”

and he says it all with that stupid small polite smile that he gives everyone. you just want to strangle him. if somehow he can get you in bed with him after you just got so pissed, he’ll be more passionate than ever. he’ll treat you nice, focus on your pleasure before his and then quickly when you’re blissed out, he’ll pull out of you, slip the condom off and slide right back in. you don’t notice at all, but he makes sure to tell you like the cocky fuck he is. but he does it while he’s thrusting and when you can tell he’s about to cum. poor you, it’s too late to stop him :(.

“i’m about to fuck a baby in you — agh, i — i took the condom off. gonna have a beautiful—fuck—fucking baby with you.”

how could you leave now? do you have enough money to take care of a child without him? and would you really deprive your child of their father? you’ll get an abortion? he’ll find a way to keep you locked up in your house. you’re still going to leave? he’s going to guilt trip you to the max. and if that still fails? once again, he’s just going to find a way to keep you locked up in your house. he’ll figure it out as you go on, but for now, have your happy little family with him.

KANG SAE-BYEOK — straight up says no

she’s not going to entertain you at all. she might not even say no, opting to just stay silent instead. if you get in her face about it because she’s ignoring you, she’s just going to push you away. if you keep nagging her about it, she’s going to slap you. if you decide not to drop it, she’ll drag you by your hair and lock you in a room. are you stupid? don’t start this shit first thing in the morning.

“saebyeok, this isn’t working. we should go our separate ways.”

“no. did you hit your head or something?”

you should just drop it and move on with your day. nothing you say is going to convince her and if you piss her off too much, like said before, she’s just going to lock you away until you stop sounding ‘crazy’. she’s very cold, but she’s generally pretty nice to you still though. she’s a good girlfriend to you, just a little possessive, but it’s never gotten out of control. you just didn’t think the relationship was working and that it just wasn’t the right time. all in all, if you don’t push to much, you won’t see the shitty side of her that she never shows you. however, if you keep pushing the idea, she’s going to give you a real reason to break up with her.

SANGWOO — would let you leave and crawl back to him

“you want to break up? fine.”

it leaves you shocked at the sound of him not caring. it was as simple as that. you want to break up? bye then bitch! it hurt. it almost made you want to change your mind and say never mind and just stay with him, and that’s exactly what he wanted. that’s exactly why he said it like that. but that didn’t work and you just walked out the door. that’s fine though, you’d come back to him, he knows it.

he makes sure to post old photos of you two on his Instagram. not ones with your face in it, duh, but he posts the photos that you took of him where you’re behind the camera or ones where your arm or your hand is slightly showing. he knows you still stalk his socials. he’s posting these knowing that it’s going to hurt your little heart and make you crawl right back. he leaves every photo of you two up on every platform, not deleting a single thing. for a little while, he even keeps his pfp the same. you two holding hands. whenever he posts something, he always makes sure to put something in the caption that he knows you love. you liked tulips? he’ll put a tulip emoji in the caption. you loved cats? he’ll put a cat emoji in his bio. all these subtle things where you won’t know he’s doing it on purpose, but it’ll be so much of a coincidence that you’ll think this is a sign to run back to him.

he’ll tell his friends to ask about him to you whenever they talk with you.

“how are you and sangwoo doing?”

“oh he talks about you all the time.”

he tells them to act like they don’t know that the two of you have broken up. he makes sure to get in your head and eventually? you’ll come running back. if for some reason you don’t, he might have to pull some strings. spread some rumors about you so that your friends want nothing to do with you and so all that you have to run to for comfort is him.

[cute-little-fly]

Fuck, I relate so much to this it hurts, but seeing other people have this same experiences makes me feel not so alone on this. I realized I have never told my story so I will use this post to do it.

This is how I felt most of my school and high school years, except for a few friends that I managed to do until sixth grade of school and high school. So, in my case I have had friends, I have known what reciprocated friendship is like and that helped me so much. But I have also felt that sensation of being apart from everyone else by an invisible veil. Is very sad. I would really wish that we could be able to have better education as a society.

Even with all its problems for me school was better than high school. I managed to drag some people on my special interests like ants and insects. We fed them in school and got in trouble. I also managed to make everyone in school have a tamagotchi because I was obsessed with them. They sold them very cheap in the corner store near school. But I had to suffer so much before that, and even after that I struggled to maintain and have friends and still I felt appart sometimes. A lot of students came to my school only one year because their school flooded, then, they went away and I was alone again.

I remember I had this one friend in kinder garden whom I clung as if my life depended on it. Then, on first grade she told me she wanted to have more friends, to go and run and play and that basically she probably didn’t enjoy to spend time with me. I let her go, because she wasn’t forced to be with me all the time and I didn’t played like the other kids and I understood that. But I felt so broken. Even after that I expected that one day she would come back and I tried to. I had some friends during that time, short lived, only one was very close that was the queer guy everyone else bullied. I pretended to be his “girlfriend” sometimes, but we were really friends. Then he was put in other section so we could barely see each other and we started to have other friends, but still we kept in some touch and I didn’t felt the same trauma and rejection than with my other friend.

Then, in sixth grade of school I found my real and first girls friend group, they were all new girls that came from other schools for different life situations. They were trying to make me forget about thar friend (we never kept contact but for years, I still tried to befriend her again and again) until that moment I knew that she didn’t deserved me. My self steem was so low and I still clung to her so badly even if she barely talked to me, and I didn’t cared that she didn’t cared how I felt. My new friends made me see that, so I ended being loyal to them because they were the ones that actually cared for me and accepted me completely. They were the ones that supported me with my ants and tamagotchi. I think that was the best year of my childhood.

High school was ok I guess. At least I knew by that time that trying to be someone I wasn’t was not going to work, and that I could wait until I found my people. So I went alone to the high school library every day to read and play board games alone. I had some friend groups before them but didn’t worked, and they told me that I couldn’t hang up with them anymore. Just because I didn’t wanted to do some performance in class. Then, I met my new friends group there, in the next year, at the library. They were from another year, so I could only see them in breaks and after classes. But, it was ok, better than being alone 100% of the time.

I don’t use this blog for much personal stuff, but here I talk about autism sometimes so I figured that from my other blogs here is where it fits most :).

People underestimate how much it fucks you up to be subtly excluded as a kid. I would try to talk to my classmates and be met with disinterest or annoyance. The one friend I had, who I clung to and nodded along to his every word, had other friends he liked just as much or more. And his other friends didn’t care for me at all.

I look back at pictures from the time and see how separated I was from them. I remember knowing I was different. I remember posing questions about the world to the girls playing next to me and realizing that they had never asked the same ones to themselves. That the ways we thought couldn’t be more different.

I kept myself amused with my own fanatical stories and musings in my head. I would wander the playground on a circular path, imagining a friend and being sorely disappointed when it didn’t feel as real as I’d hoped.

There was a bubble separating me from everyone else, thin, and nearly invisible, but with a pearly sheen you could catch under the right conditions. I knew it was there, they knew it was there, and it changed me

[satellite-evans]

Hi! Could I please request a one shot where Harry is sick maybe during tour and his gf has to take care of him? Thank you! I love your writing!

a/n: thank you so much for liking my work, it truly means a lot! it's a little short but I still hope you'll like it <3

sick on tour

The hotel room is quiet except for the noise of the air conditioning and the occasional sniffle from the lump of blankets curled up in the middle of the king-sized bed. The curtains are drawn, shielding the bright city lights outside from intruding on the peaceful, dimly lit space. Harry has always liked his hotel rooms cozy—candles on the nightstand, his favorite hoodie draped over the chair, and the softest pillows he could find. But tonight, none of it seems to bring him comfort.

You stand at the edge of the mattress, arms crossed, watching Harry sulk into his pillow. His curls are a mess, sticking to his slightly damp forehead, his nose a little pink from the fever, and yet—despite looking absolutely miserable—he’s still trying to convince you he’s fine.

“I can do the show,” he rasps, voice hoarse and scratchy. He attempts to prop himself up on his elbows, but the movement sends him into a fit of coughing. You sigh and press a hand to his chest, gently urging him back down.

“Baby, no. You can barely sit up.”

He frowns, brows knitting together like a petulant child. “S’just a little cold.”

“You have a fever, a sore throat, and you sound like you swallowed sandpaper,” you point out, smoothing your fingers over his clammy forehead. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Harry grumbles something incoherent and burrows further into the pillows. You can tell he hates this—hates being taken care of, hates being seen as anything less than strong. But the thing is, to you, he’s always strong. Even now, curled up in a nest of tissues and blankets, he’s still the man you love more than anything.

Tour has been brutal on him lately. Night after night of performing, giving his all to the crowds that adore him, leaving every ounce of himself on that stage. He never complains—not about the exhaustion, not about the jet lag, not about the toll it takes on his body. But you see it in the way his shoulders slump when he thinks no one is looking, the way his voice is a little more raw each morning, the way he clings to you just a little tighter when he finally collapses into bed at the end of the night.

“I can’t cancel, though,” he whispers after a long moment, his voice laced with guilt. “They’ve probably spent so much money—flights, hotels, tickets, clothes and waited months just to see me. I can’t let them down, I just can't.”

You soften, understanding where his frustration is coming from. Harry has always carried the weight of his fans' happiness on his shoulders, always put them first. It’s one of the many reasons you love him—but right now, he needs to put himself first.

You take his hand in yours, rubbing slow, comforting circles over his knuckles. “Harry, sweetheart, I already spoke to Jeff. He and the team handled everything. They put out a statement, rescheduled the show, and made sure the fans know how much you care about them Not that they need a statement anyway. They know how much you love them.”

His brows furrow. “You—”

“I took care of it,” you interrupt gently. “So you don’t have to worry, okay? The fans love you, but they love you healthy and not sticky. You can’t give them the show they deserve if you push yourself too hard now. That is not what they deserve.”

Harry lets out a slow breath, his tense shoulders easing just a fraction. He still looks guilty, but there’s also relief in his tired eyes. “You really talked to Jeff?”

You nod. “Of course. Your health comes first, baby. Now please let me take care of you."

You slip out of the room quietly and return with a damp cloth, gently dabbing it against his forehead. The coolness makes him sigh, his tense shoulders relaxing under your touch. Then, you hold up a spoonful of honey-laced tea to his lips. He scrunches his nose but accepts it, swallowing with a soft grimace.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice slightly clearer now.

You smile and brush your fingers over his cheek. “Of course, my love.”

After making sure he’s warm enough, you reach for the small bowl of soup on the nightstand that you kindly asked form the hotel staff. “Just a little, H. You need something in your stomach other than medicine.”

"The fans would've probably ask for me to sing medicine tonight but they can't because I need it. The irony." He said, trying to lighten the room up with a joke but cough wave that crushed him once again.

"Drink Harry." You said sternly.

He looks at you like he wants to argue, but he knows better. You lift the spoon to his lips, and after a moment’s hesitation, he leans forward and takes a bite. A small, content sigh escapes him, and you can’t help but grin.

“You’re good at this,” he mutters, sleep beginning to weigh heavy on him.

“I'm just good at loving you lovie,” you reply simply, brushing back his curls as he lets his eyes drift shut.

His fingers reach for yours under the blanket, giving them a weak squeeze. “Love you more.”

You sit beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his fever-warmed temple. “Just rest, my love. I’ve got you.”

And with the way he sighs, relaxing into your touch, you know he believes you.

Tomorrow, he’ll probably try to argue again. Try to tell you he feels fine, that he’s ready to get back out there, to put on another show. But for tonight, he’s yours to take care of. And you wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

[scribes-of-valar]

𝘉𝘰𝘺'𝘴 𝘢 𝘓𝘪𝘢𝘳

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ ᴋᴇɴᴛ x fem! reader

「 ✦ A/N ✦ 」 I don't know what has creeped into my brain, but I've started rewatching the show and I literally wrote this in a day.

✬ summary ✬ Finally taking the plunge and ruining your friendship with Clark, you go on your first date but the next day he's acting like a whole new man. Not a good one. You don't know if your relationship can recover from his cruel behavior, but he's not going to give up so easily.

For the nth time, you stand before your mirror and find yourself dissatisfied. No outfit is right, each one is too little, too much, too slutty, not slutty enough. You haven’t even started on shoes yet, you would be in the grave before you were ready for this date. Throwing yourself down on your desk chair, you start tugging the stockings down your legs. 

You’re not sure why you thought tights would work during the peak of a Kansas summer, but you’re clearly not thinking much at all today. Head propped in your hand, you slump against the edge of your desk, fingers running idly over the scattered makeup on the surface. Even that hasn't gone right, your normal safeties failing you when you need them most. 

Maybe this was all a sign from the universe. You and Clark have been friends since you could walk, what if this stupid date was going to ruin everything between you?

Sighing, you reach for the only framed picture in your room. It’s silly, something Martha took when you were both too busy playing to see her. You and Clark, freshly five, sit around your old purple play table, the both of you covered in glitter and rocking some of the biggest tutus you’ve ever seen. You’re yelling at him in the picture, probably telling him to put his pinky up when he drinks his tea, and he’s just grinning at you.

It’s funny how that smile never changed. Something warm unfurls and blooms in your chest the longer you look at the picture. It’s Clark, he doesn’t care what you wear or if you’ve put on makeup or not. You both loved each other long before that was ever a problem, and it’s not going to start being one now. 

Sucking in a deep breath you put on the first outfit you’d picked out, a simple white sundress. You rarely get to wear it, anyway. Might as well test it out now. You check the mirror one last time just as someone knocks on your bedroom door. 

Clark calls out your name on the other side, sounding hesitant. “Sorry, um,” he chuckles and you can picture the way he must be nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “I got here a little early.”

You dart away from the mirror, kicking all the clothes under your bed. You slide the makeup into your desk drawer to be dealt with later. For now, you just need to make sure that he doesn’t see what a hot mess your room is. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you tug the hem of your dress down and shake off your worries. This is Clark. Your Clarkie, the boy you’ve tormented since you were a toddler. There’s nothing to worry about. 

“You’re always early, Clark,” you tell him with a soft smile as you open the door. 

His eyes widen slightly as he looks down at you. You did purposefully pick a dress that would emphasize certain aspects of yours. The pink flush on his cheeks is entirely worth it. Your eyes are drawn to the bunch of flowers in his hand and you grin. “Are those for me?” You gush, opening your door wider for him to step inside. 

“Yeah,” he holds them out to you, blue eyes stuck on yours. “I thought you might like them.” You bring them closer to your face, taking in the faint scent of the roses. 

“I love them, thank you,” you find yourself unable to stop smiling as you drop the roses in a glass of water by your bed. After building up your hopes and anxieties for a week because of this date, you're struggling to calm yourself down. 

Turning, you find him already looking at you with a soft smile that calms your racing heart just a bit. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a while,” he tells you, taking a step closer to you. His hands find your own, pulling you into him. “Not just the date,” he amends, smile stretching wider. “Asking you out. I think our friends were getting sick of listening to me talk about you all the time.”

You laugh, “I think they were getting sick of both of us. I feel so oblivious that it took me so long to realize you felt the same way.” 

He huffs, though his tone remains good-natured, “How do you think I feel?”

“Well,” you lace your fingers with his and step closer, “we’re doing it now, that’s what matters.” He ducks down and you feel your breath stutter, but he only leaves a brief kiss on your cheek, pulling back with a sheepish expression. A gentleman through and through. 

You’d never thought that knowing Clark for as well and as long as you have could be a bad thing. But now, sitting in The Talon and awkwardly dipping your fries in ketchup just to have something to do, you’re starting to realize it is. Being with each other nearly every day leaves you wanting for conversation. You both are already so caught up on what’s going on in each other’s lives that you’re struggling not to just bring up the weather. 

Clark groans and you startle, the noise breaking through the thick silence between you. He leans back in the booth, head resting on the edge and you find your eyes drawn to the strong muscles of his neck, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. 

Clearing your throat you glance away from him and push your plate away. “I didn’t want it to be like this,” Clark mutters, more to himself than you, but you hear him anyway. 

“It’s, well,” you pause, struggling for the words. Letting out a self-deprecating laugh, you shake your head. “I just don’t know what to do when we’re like this,” he peeks an eye open and you gesture between the two of you. 

His lips quirk up and he straightens once more. “I feel like I should be able to talk to you, same as always. But I don't know what to say, I don’t want to risk messing this up.” He trails off, glancing away from you and swallowing roughly. The same dreaded panic you’ve been feeling all week is thick in his voice. 

“Clark,” you utter his name lowly, reaching your hand out across the table. He’s slow to meet your eyes. “I feel the same way. We’re being stupid because I know that nothing you could say is going to change how I feel about you.” You narrow your eyes, taking on a teasing tone, “And you better feel the same way,” you scold. 

He huffs out a laugh, larger hand enveloping yours entirely and squeezing gently, “You know I do.”

You shrug, “Then we’re just being stupid, again,” you add, rolling your eyes. 

His eyes light up with mischief, a smile spreading as he stands from his seat. You jump back slightly, surprised by the sudden movement. “I’ve got an idea, come on,” he holds his hand out and you take it once more. 

You let out a surprised laugh as he takes off, dragging you out of the Talon behind him. “Where are we going?” 

He pauses for a moment, looking over his shoulder at you. It awes you, just how handsome he is. “It’s a surprise,” he winks and tugs you closer. 

“Your surprise is… the school?” You frown, taking Clark’s hand as he helps you down from the truck. 

“No,” he defends, shooting you a sarcastic look as he closes the door behind you. “We’re sneaking onto the field, like we used to. Maybe a little jog down memory lane will help,” he gives you a cheesy smile and you feel like you might melt.  

The sun hangs low on the horizon, its fading golden hues painting the sky in soft oranges and purples. The light catches in Clark’s hair, casting a warm halo around him. Sometimes he seems so overwhelmingly perfect that you wonder if you’ll ever be enough for him. Even when you were beginning to give up hope, he comes up with something so sweet, so thoughtful, that all you want to do is kiss him. 

Swallowing down the urge, you place your hand in his and let him lead you around the side of the school. “You know, we only used to do this to mess with the football players,” you tease. “Hard to do when you’re on the team, Clarkie.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Hey, we can still tear the seams on their jerseys- just not mine.” He throws you a grin, and it sends a rush of warmth through your chest.

The familiar path behind the school is darker now, but your steps fall in sync like muscle memory. The fence around the field looms ahead, a little more daunting than normal. It’s harder to climb in your dress, but Clark gives you a boost. One so strong you nearly fly over. 

Landing with a huff, you turn to glare at him as he pulls himself over with ease. “Too much torque in the thrust, Clark,” you grumble, brushing off your hands. 

He chuckles, throwing an arm over your shoulders as you both step onto the field. “Come on, we should get down there before the sun’s gone.”

Dew from the grass seeps its way into the thin fabric of your shoes as you walk toward the center of the field. The bleachers stand empty, the goalposts stretch high into the deepening sky, and for the first time tonight, you feel like you can take a breath. 

Clark shrugs off his jacket, laying it out on the grass and motioning for you to sit. You hesitate for a moment, but then you look down at the white fabric of your dress and decide you’re okay with sacrificing Clark’s jacket.

Clark lowers himself beside you, leaning back on his palms as he gazes up at the sky. The last streaks of sunlight fade, and one by one, the stars blink to life above you. You’ve always thought the sky above Smallville was different than anywhere else. As if the stars were reaching out to you. Considering your track record with meteors, it doesn’t seem that far off. 

For a while, neither of you speak. The quiet is comfortable, not at all like the stilted silence you’d felt in the diner. You’re content just being here with him, under the vast, endless sky. 

Clark is the first to break the peace. He shifts beside you, drawing in a slow breath as he disrupts the silence. “I’ve,” he hesitates on the word, “cared about you for a long time,” he admits, voice low and steady. “Longer than I ever told you.”

You glance over at him and find his gaze fixed on the stars. His jaw is tense, like he’s bracing himself for you to tell him this was all one big mistake and you’re better off as friends. A smile pulls at your lips at the ridiculous thought and you reach toward the small space between you both. Placing your hand over his, he finally looks at you. 

“I know things are,” he pauses, “a little weird between us right now.” He looks at your hand and flips his palm so he can lace your fingers together. “But I don’t want to lose what we have. If you’re willing to make it work, I am too.”

Your heart stutters, and for a moment all you can do is stare at him. At the boy who’s always been there, the boy who, despite everything, still makes your heart race. Your smile spreads, “Of course I’m willing,” you whisper. 

His breath hitches, and then he grins, the same grin that will never fail to make you lightheaded with infatuation.

Clark was meant to be here an hour ago. You’d made plans to go to a screening of some old movies at the theater. Sitting on the steps of your front porch, head propped in your hand, you look out at the farmlands around you. He only lives a few minutes away from you, you can’t fathom why he would be so late. 

You’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt, he’s not the type of guy to just leave you hanging. But there’s something humiliating about sitting out here all on your own. The wind has already fussed and ruined the hairstyle you’d so meticulously worked on. You’d already missed half of one of the movies. And the sun is beginning to set. 

Part of you is begging to just go inside and give up, but you're more stubborn half won't give in. Clark isn't like this, he wouldn't do something like this without good reason. 

A rumble sounds down the highway and your head perks up, crestfallen look replaced with something more hopeful. Getting to your feet, you grimace at the pins and needles tingling down your legs. Walking down the steps and getting a good look at the approaching motorcycle, your stomach plummets. 

Not Clark, then, though it’s odd to see someone beside you or the Kent’s driving on this stretch of road. Your hand tightens around the hem of your tank top as the motorcycle begins to slow as it approaches your house. Heart picking up, you take a step back toward the safety of the porch. 

Maybe they just need directions or maybe…

Your brain breaks for a moment as the rider pulls into your driveway. 

Maybe they’re Clark. 

Your jaw drops as he shoots you a smarmy grin, getting off his father’s bike and striding toward you with a swagger you’re unused to. “Hiya, sweetheart." You take a step back from him, brows furrowed. 

“Clark,” you spit his name out in shock, eyes darting between him and the bike. Knowing that he’s not dying somewhere in a ditch, your anger at being left waiting surges forth. “You’re an hour late because you were busy stealing your dad’s bike?” You demand, trying to ignore just how good he looks leaning against the post of your porch in that ridiculous leather jacket. 

“Sure,” he chuckles and rolls his eyes, brushing past you and heading back to the bike. “That’s why,” he snaps, like you’re slow. He straddles the bike and nods you forward. “You coming or not?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, you glance between him and the front door of your house. Again, giving him the benefit of the doubt, you choose to get on the back of the bike. Maybe this is all just one big act that he’s putting on to surprise you with something at the theater. 

He turns the key and you frown, “Helmet?” You ask weakly. He doesn’t respond, just laughs and peels out of your driveway. You squeal, grabbing on tight to his waist and burying your face in his back. 

This isn’t an act, and this definitely isn’t Clark. But whoever he is, you just got on the back of his motorcycle like an idiot. 

With every turn and rev of the bike, you prepare to feel the pavement beneath your palms. Still, as reckless and nauseating as his driving is, he manages to get you here in one piece. Though, where here is, you’re not sure. 

Clark swings off the bike effortlessly, grinning over his shoulder at a group of girls walking into the building behind him. He doesn’t seem to notice, or care, about the way your hands still tremble from the ride. You’d been too busy clutching onto him for dear life to pay any attention to where you were going and you’re starting to regret it. 

The building is nothing more than dirtied brick, the faded neon sign above the door advertising beer and live music. The bass thumps from inside, vibrating the gravel beneath your feet. From within, you hear jeering shouts, the telltale sounds of a crowd on the verge of chaos.

“Clark,” despite his odd behavior, you still find yourself stepping toward him and holding tight to his hand. The sheltered life of Smallville hasn’t exactly prepared you for backwoods, seedy bars. “Where are we?” You peer up at him and the glint in his eyes makes your stomach clench with trepidation. 

“Oh,” he laughs, tugging you toward the entrance, “you’re gonna like this,” he swears. Despite the way you dig your heels into the dirt, he keeps pulling, giving you no choice but to follow him into the bar. 

The air changes as you step inside, it’s worse than you thought it would be. Thick with heat and smoke, it pulses with the heavy bass of a song you don’t recognize. Multicolored lights flash across the writhing bodies on the dance floor. The scent of spilled beer, sweat, and something sticky clings to the air. 

Your fingers tighten around Clark’s arm as he moves forward, practically wrapping yourself around him. He weaves through the crowd like he belongs here. If you let go now, you know he wouldn’t stop, he’d just keep going, leaving you all alone in a place you want no part of.  

Clark drags you to the edge of the bar and slips a crumpled twenty across the counter. Wordlessly, and without checking for IDs, the bartender slides over two beers. Clark grabs one and to your utter shock, tilts it back, downing one long gulp. 

“You gonna stand there watching me,” he challenges, “or are you finally going to let loose and have some fun?”

“No, Clark, I’m not drinking. And neither should you! You’re driving us back,” you snap, eyes darting around the seedy crowd. 

Settling the half-empty bottle on the counter, he smirks, “Relax. We’re here to have a good time,” his tone almost sounds like a threat. Have a good time or else…

His gaze flickers toward the dance floor and your heart sinks at the mischief in his expression. “And I know exactly how to help you loosen up.”

Again, he gives you no time to protest or even form an opinion before he grabs you and pulls you toward the center of the dance floor. You feel like a leashed dog, no choice but to obey. 

The music shifts into something darker, slower, a sultry beat thrumming through the air. It charges the atmosphere of the dancers and the crowd sways, bodies pressed tightly together as they move with the rhythm. 

“Clark,” you glance around at the writhing bodies and swallow thickly. “I don’t-”

“Just one dance,” he cuts you off smoothly, voice low and coaxing. His lips curl up in a gentle smile as his hands find your waist. His grip is tight but not uncomfortable as he helps move your hips into the rhythm of the song. “Trust me.”

You hesitate, but it’s easier than you thought to simply fall into the slow, lazy grind of the dance. Your body moves in sync with his, despite the apprehension tightening through you. There’s something wrong with him, that’s clear enough. This isn’t the Clark you know, this is some bold, almost predatory version of him. 

One of his hands drifts up from your waist, dragging the hem of your thin tank top up slightly as his fingers brush against the nape of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine as his grip tightens, tilting your head back. You press your hands against his chest, eyes rounding in confusion. 

“Clark,” you whisper his name, breathless from the proximity. “What are you-”

He cuts you off, voice rough and breath warm against your lips, “Finally taking what I want.” His head dips down, lips capturing your own. It’s not the soft, gentle first kiss you’d always imagine you would share with him. This is hard, demanding. 

He’s claiming you, marking his territory as he slips his hand lower on your waist. He pulls you flush against him, hips pressing against yours. A heat slowly spreads in you, but it's overshadowed by the overwhelming feeling that this isn’t Clark. 

You push against his chest and you know he lets you go, the situation still under his control. He backs off with an irritated look, eyes narrowed down at you. 

Your breath comes in quick, uneven gasps as you stare up at him. “What the hell, Clark?”

“What’s your problem?” He snaps, hand flexing around your neck before dropping to his side. 

“You,” you hiss, eyes narrowing. “You’re not yourself, Clark.”

His jaw tenses, fists clenching by his side as he takes a step back from you. “Why? Because I’m finally doing what I want?” His voice is sharp, it bites at the fraying edges of your patience. The music around you picks up pace and somebody slams into you from behind. 

With a pained gasp, you stumble forward, rubbing the sore spot where their elbow had slammed into your ribs. Clark watches it all with a bored look. Gone is the gentle, considerate boy you’ve known your whole life. This boy before you is reckless and selfish, you don’t want anything to do with him. 

His attention flickers past you and you turn to follow his gaze. A pretty blonde sways in the middle of the dance floor, hips moving gracefully as her laughter rings above the music. Without a word or a second glance, he steps around you, striding toward her with the same effortless confidence he just used on you. 

Frozen by disbelief and anger, you watch as he slides a hand around her waist, murmuring something in her ear that makes her giggle. The crowd shifts again, blocking your view of the two. It’s for the better as you suck in sharp breaths, trying to keep the tears at bay. 

A lump clogs your throat and you rush toward the back of the bar, hoping there might be a bathroom to hide in. You just need a second away from the sweat and noise of the dancers. You stumble through a stained door and slam it closed behind you, wiping desperately at the tears rolling down your cheeks. 

After splashing cold water over your face and simply standing in there for a few minutes, you finally feel stable enough to go back outside. You’re just going to ask Clark to take you home and then you hope you never have to see him again. 

But when you return to the dance floor, heart still pounding its way up your throat, you can’t find Clark. You can’t even find the blonde. He’s acting like a jackass, but there’s no way he would just leave you. 

Right?

You rush outside, your stomach dropping like a stone when you see the parking lot. The motorcycle is gone. 

He left you behind. 

“Thank you,” your gaze stays trained on your hands, not ready to look at Lex. You feel his stare boring into the side of your head before he turns back to the road. 

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad you called me instead of trying to get home on your own.” He pauses, hand tightening on the steering wheel as he takes in a deep breath. “But what were you doing in a place like that?”

You slump in the passenger seat, rubbing a tired hand over your face. All you want to do is go home and wash this night away. You’re hesitant to tell him the truth, knowing he might give Clark hell for leaving you there. A part of you is still primed to protect him, but the other part, the one that was just left behind, can’t care. 

“Clark,” you tell him and his head whips around so fast you’re surprised you don't hear it snap. “He was acting weird tonight. Took me there and then left with another girl.”

“Are you serious?” He demands, sounding angry on your behalf. Right now, though, you don’t have the energy for anger. “Clark wouldn’t do that.”

You suck in a deep breath and finally look at him, “The one I know wouldn’t,” you offer vaguely, ignoring his confused expression. “Honestly, I just want to get home and never talk to him again.”

Lex chuckles a little, “You don’t mean that.”

“Try me,” you snap, glaring out the window. You’re debating calling Clark’s dad and telling him that Clark took the bike. If not just for petty revenge. Just the thought of it makes you feel tired. 

“I’m sure,” Lex starts, already sounding like he doesn’t believe himself, “he had a perfectly reasonable explanation for what he did.” You roll your eyes, giving him a deadpan look. His hand lifts slightly off the wheel in surrender. “There’s no excuse,” he amends.

“No, there’s not.” The car rolls to a stop and you look out the window, surprised to already be at your house. The porch light is off, your parents must already be asleep. “I really can’t thank you enough,” you tell Lex, offering him a weak but grateful smile. 

He waves you off, “Forget it, I’m glad I could help. If you ever need anything else…” He trails off, leaving the offer open-ended. 

You nod, opening the passenger door and stepping out. You’re just about to close it when something occurs to you. Clark always gives you a ride to school, you’re not going to have a way to get there after tonight. 

“Oh,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose in irritation. 

“What’s wrong?” Lex looks concerned and you offer him an apologetic grimace. 

“I actually do need something,” you tell him, sheepish and pleading. 

Clark wakes up with a fog clouding his mind, a dull pounding behind his eyes. Vague flashes of memory flicker through the haze. The sound of your upset voice, the thrum of music, and the feeling of your body pressed against his. It makes his cheeks flush with warmth, but none of it connects for him. Everything’s one frustrating blur. 

But he can figure that out later, his gaze drifts toward the clock on his nightstand and his eyes widen. He leaps off the bed, nearly tripping as he gets wrapped up in his sheets. He was meant to pick you up ten minutes ago. 

Clark throws on the first clothes he finds, raking a hand through his messy hair as he bolts down the stairs. His backpack is nearly left by the door as he rushes out. If he could, he’d run you to school. It would be so much faster, so much easier. But that would require explaining why he could do that, and he doesn’t think you’d appreciate him springing the truth of his abilities on you this early in the morning. 

You’re not exactly a morning person. 

He speeds down the road, the truck’s tires kicking up dust as he pulls into your driveway. Throwing the truck in park he doesn’t even bother cutting the engine before leaping out. Two steps at a time, he bounds up your front porch and knocks firmly on the door. 

His foot taps against the wood of the porch as he checks the watch on his wrist. If you hurry, you might both be able to make it to first period on time. After a minute of silence he knocks again, but he’s greeted with the same silence. 

He steps back, brows knitted together, and his gaze flickers toward the front window. He ignores the feeling of being a complete creeper as he peers through the glass. The house looks unnaturally still, none of your usual morning mess as you rush to get ready on time. The lights are off and he can’t hear anything inside. 

Your parents are usually gone before you even wake up. He can’t think of anyone else who would give you a ride. Or why you would even have anyone else drive you. A strange unease coils in his stomach and another brief memory flashes through his mind. It’s not much, just a pretty blonde smiling up at him. 

Jaw tightening, Clark turns back to his truck, climbing inside and heading straight for school. He’s sure everything’s fine. You probably had Chloe or Lana pick you up. Still, even with him being ten minutes late, he’s not sure how they would have gotten to your house before him. 

Pulling into the parking lot he frowns, greeted first thing in the morning by Lex’s ridiculously overpriced sports car. It’s parked right in front of the entrance and he wonders what business Lex would have at the high school. 

The passenger door opens and you step out, your bag slung over one shoulder. You turn to Lex, smiling as you give him a sweet wave. Clark watches it all with his shoulders tensed as something sharp and hot twists in Clark’s chest. 

He watches as Lex pulls out of the parking lot, jaw clenched in irritation. He throws the truck into park and gets out, heading toward the front doors. Inside, the hallways seem more crowded than usual but he still manages to make you out almost instantly. 

You’re at your locker, pulling out books as if nothing’s wrong. As if you didn’t get a ride with Lex Luthor and ditch him for seemingly no reason at all. 

Clark makes a beeline for you, tightening his grip on his backpack as he stops beside your locker. “Hey,” he calls, forcing a smile. “Did I miss something? I thought I was picking you up this morning.”

You don’t even bother looking at him, eyes stubbornly pointed forward. “Guess I made other plans.”

The coldness in your voice stops him in his tracks. His stomach drops, smile faltering as you continue to pretend there’s anything more for you to grab from your locker. “Okay…” He exhales slowly. “Did something happen?”

You slam your locker shut and he jumps. Whipping around to face him, your eyes are dark with anger as you glare up at him. “Really?” You snap and his eyes widen in surprise. “This is what you’re doing, pretending you don’t remember?”

Clark blinks, thrown off by the heat in your voice. “I-”

“Forget it,” you cut him off. You shake your head, looking tired. “Just leave me alone, Clark. Seems to be something you’re good at, anyway.” You whip around, storming off down the hall and leaving him reeling. He wants to go after you but you’re already slipping into your English class and he knows there’s no way he’ll be able to talk to you in there. 

He hovers in the hallway, stunned. What the hell happened last night?

His mind races, grasping at the fleeting memories. There was a bar, he’s not even sure how he found that place. He was dancing with you and then kissing you. His eyes widen at that, grimacing at the blurred memory of your rough first kiss. He’d been hoping for something a little sweeter than some backwoods bar. 

He remembers you being angry at him but that’s it. There are holes and gaps that he can’t remember no matter how hard he tries. There’s only one thing that could explain the reckless behavior, the memory gaps, and the way he felt like someone else.

Red kryptonite. 

His heart sinks and his head falls into his hands. He hurt you and probably scared you. You don’t even want to look at him now. Straightening up, he runs a hand through his hair and tries to think of a way to fix all of this. 

He’s not sure he can, not when he can’t even remember what he’s done to you. 

Admittedly, ambushing you outside of class probably wasn’t the best way to go about this. But he needed to make sure you couldn’t run from him. You walk out the door, books clutched to your chest, and head down. 

Clark falls into step beside you and you briefly glance up, rolling your eyes when you realize it’s him. You pick up your pace, clearly trying to put space between the both of you. “Wait,” he calls, stepping in front of you. “One chance to explain, please.”

You stop in the middle of the hall, uncaring to the students parting around you. “Clark-”

“I don’t remember everything,” he admits, voice low and desperate as he pushes through your objection. “But I know something happened. And I need to fix this.”

Exhaling sharply, you can’t seem to meet his eye. “There’s nothing to fix.”

That can’t be true. He won’t let that be true. “Please,” he presses. “Just… one chance.”

For a moment, you hesitate, teeth pressing into your lower lip as you take a step back from him. “Fine,” you relent, sounding wholly reluctant. “We’ll talk after school.”

Relief floods through him and he finally manages a real smile for the first time all morning. “Okay,” he utters, trying not to sound surprised. “Great, I’ll drive you home, and-”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “Lex is giving me a ride,” he opens his mouth to protest and you shoot him a sharp look. His jaw snaps closed and he sighs. “I’ll meet you at your house later,” you tell him, leaving no room for argument. 

His stomach twists as you turn and walk away. Lex, he scoffs and shakes his head. When did the two of you get close? One bad night and you’re already done with him?

The thought should fill him with anger, but it only makes his worry grow. Whatever he had done last night must have been truly awful. He hates that there’s a chance he won’t be able to fix this. But what makes it worse is knowing that it’s all his fault.

Clark’s in his room when he hears you pull up to the house. He doesn’t waste any time as he heads down the stairs. “What happened to ‘I never want to see him again?’” Clark has no shame as he listens to your conversation. He doesn’t appreciate how comfortable Lex sounds teasing you. 

“Yeah, well,” your voice loses its muffled edge as you open the passenger door. “I deserve an explanation.”

“Call me if you need anything,” Lex tells you as Clark opens his front door. Rolling his eyes, Clark jogs down the steps of his porch, heading toward you both. You turn over your shoulder, smile falling as you nod your head in greeting. 

Clark’s waited forever to finally tell you how he really feels about you. Years of pining all led to that one moment where you told him that you feel the same way. He’d finally gotten a chance with you, to be with you like he always wanted. He’s not going to let last night ruin everything. 

“Thanks, Lex,” you mutter, closing the passenger door and marching toward Clark. Lex lingers for a moment and Clark sends him a stiff smile and wave. Lex returns it with a smirk before driving off. 

“So,” arms crossed across your chest, you glance up at him with barely veiled apprehension. “Are we going inside?”

Clark glances back at his house and shakes his head. He holds his hand out to you and you give him a wary glare. “Please,” he asks, and after a moment you place your hand in his. He smiles and leads you to the barn. 

Call it nostalgia, call it desperation but whatever compelled you to actually hear Clark out can go bite it. He abandoned you at a club in a town you hadn’t even heard of. To go be with another girl, no less. You shouldn’t have even stopped to listen to him in the hallway. It’s a lack of self-respect, really. 

But there was something in his eyes that compelled you to stay. Last night, he’d been a stranger wearing Clark’s face. This morning, you saw the earnest sincerity you always do when you look into those pretty blue eyes of his. Giving in was an inevitability. 

Walking the familiar path to the barn you’re struck with a feeling almost like grief. Whatever could have bloomed between you and Clark feels like sand falling through your fingers. Unless he’s about to open those doors and reveal an evil twin, you’re not sure you could ever forgive him. 

Clark glances over his shoulder at you, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He throws the doors of the barn open and you roll your eyes at the dramatics. You slip past him and head inside, stopping short once you see what he’s done. 

Fairy lights dangle above the loft, illuminating what looks like a poorly built blanket fort. Christmas lights he clearly stole from his mom are hung haphazardly from the rafters. You can see the effort he put into making the barn feel special, even if the execution is lacking.

It’s the nostalgia of it all that makes you smile. Summer’s spent camping out in the barn, hidden away under blanket forts, and trying to scare each other with your bad ghost stories. It’s a time capsule of your childhood. And you know what he’s trying to do, how he’s trying to soften the hard edges of your resentment. You hate that it’s beginning to work. 

Clark heads up to the loft first, glancing over his shoulder and motioning for you to follow. You sigh, face blank as you work to keep up the cool exterior you feel slowly melting away. He offers his hand as you reach the top, and after a beat of hesitation, you reluctantly take it. 

Clark pulls you forward and keeps your hand in his as he leads you to sit down across from him. Sinking back into the plush pillows and blankets you prop your head in your hand, watching him with a bored expression. Sucking in a deep breath, he rubs his hands along the surface of his jeans, avoiding your eyes for a moment. 

“I didn’t want our first kiss to be in some bar.” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck before finally meeting your eyes. “I didn’t want our first anything to be there. I wanted it to be somewhere like this, somewhere that actually meant something to us.” 

His throat bobs as he swallows. Then he leans closer, reaching across the space between you, his fingers curling around yours again. The warmth of his palm is comforting, even if you don’t let him see that. “I don’t want to lose my best friend. I don’t want to lose you, you have to believe me. What happened last night, it wasn’t me.”

Your expression hardens and you yank your hand from his, putting distance between you. Clark’s face flickers with hurt, but you ignore it. “Why should I believe anything you say, Clark? What happened last night was an eye-opener. Clearly, we’re better off just being friends.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, looking like you’ve just punched him in the gut. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs. 

“Don’t I?”

Clark drops his head into his hands, fingers threading through his hair. His shoulders curl inward, and for a long while, he doesn’t speak. The silence between you stretches, thick with unspoken words. 

Maybe it would be better for you to just leave. Some space might do both of you good, and help you come to terms with the truth of it all. 

This was never going to work. 

Clark exhales slowly, then straightens, blue eyes meeting yours with an intensity that catches you off guard. “Alright,” he nods, some internal battle going on that you’re not privy to. “Stand by the window.”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What?”

“Do it,” he tells you, tone firm, and you find yourself struggling for a reason not to listen. Finally, with a reluctant huff, you get up and go stand by the window. 

The golden fields stretch before you bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The wheat sways gently in the evening breeze. Utterly boring and un-fascinating. 

You roll your eyes, “Clark, I swear-” 

A distant whistle cuts through the air. You whip around, expecting to see Clark behind you and instead find the loft empty. Your stomach tightens and you turn back to the window. A flicker of movement catches your attention, “What the…”

You press against the window, squinting at the field below. That’s when you see him. A very small Clark waves from the middle of the wheat, far too distant for how quickly he got there. Your breath catches and you find yourself waving back without thinking. 

There’s no possible way he crossed all that in under thirty seconds. 

But he’s not satisfied with just an impressive show of speed. Clark disappears and then reappears right below the barn window. Only, he’s not alone. 

Above his head, with terrifying ease, he’s holding a goddamn tractor. Your heart slams against your ribs. “Clark!” You shout, terrified this little stunt of his is going to end with him sandwiched into the dirt. He sets it down casually, as if it weighs nothing. 

A gust of wind pushes your hair forward and you turn sharply. Clark stands behind you now, cheeks flushed, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “What the hell was that?” You demand, eyes darting between him and the tractor outside.

“It’s what I wanted to tell you. What I’ve always wanted to tell you,” he concedes, his smile faltering slightly, his voice tinged with something vulnerable. 

Still stunned, you sink onto the couch as he begins to explain. About the crash landing. About his powers. How he’s different.  

Your best friend- your almost-boyfriend, is an alien. 

Of all the things racing through your mind, only one question comes to mind. “Why have you never told me?” You don’t ask him if he was from Jupiter or Mars, or if he’s got a secret eye hidden somewhere. You just want to know why he didn’t think he could trust you. 

Clark hesitates. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me anymore. That you’d see me as some freak.”

You snort, “You’re an idiot is what you are.”

 His head snaps up, blinking at you in surprise. “Clark, why would I ever care about what planet you’re from?” You shake your head, a smile creeping onto your lips as you shift forward, kneeling in front of him. Your hands find his, squeezing slightly. Then, hesitantly, you reach up, cupping his cheek. A smile spreads across your face as he leans into the touch. “I care about you, not about what rocket you crash-landed in.”

“More of a pod,” he corrects and you shoot him a sharp look that makes him laugh. He sobers quickly, smile fading, “I understand if you can’t forgive me for last night.”

“Well,” you muse, tilting your head. “It wasn’t really you, right? It was that krypto- karo-”

“Kryptonite,” he grins a little at the way you stumble over the word. “And, yes, it was. I would never purposefully hurt you, but it’s not an excuse.”

“It’s actually the only acceptable excuse,” you tell him, rolling your eyes playfully. “That or evil twin.” Clark’s eyes widen slightly and you narrow yours. “Do you actually have an evil twin?” You shake your head, “Never mind, we’ll talk about that later.”

You glance up at the twinkling lights strung above, the warm glow making the loft feel impossibly soft, impossibly safe. “Clark?” You ask and he hums, already looking at you when you glance back at him. “We can always try that first kiss again.”

His smile, soft and sweet, mirrors your own. As you lean in, his arms circle your waist, pulling you gently into him. Your fingers thread through the soft tresses of his hair as his lips brush against yours, soft, lingering, right. 

This. This is what you knew it would feel like. This is home and safety, everything good in your life. You smile against Clark’s lips knowing that no matter what evil twins or toxic rocks come at you, you’ll face it together.

end. — I do not own the characters or the TV Show Smallville, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © scribes-of-valar 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[revelboo]

incase you wondered if theres ripple effect from your fics xD

🤣 Infecting folks with my dubious tastes in music and TF smut at the same time

Even If It Kills Me Pt 16

Armada Starscream x Reader

• Sprawled on your back on your tiny berth among your blankets, you stare at the ceiling of Starscream’s habsuite and think about what he’d said. About there being no new Cybertronians. And sparklings. Wondering if they’re literally babies, tiny and helpless or fully functioning from the get go. Know he’s not really a machine, that he’s alive. Just not flesh and bone like you, but living metal. You’re trying to imagine what a sparkling might look like when the door opens and your head turns. Sucking in a sharp breath when you see him. “You’re hurt.”

• Leaning against the doorway, he waits for the mini-cons to get inside before crossing the threshold, shutting the door, and limping to his berth. Aware of you frowning up at him. “It’s not that bad,” he growls, trying to get at a sliver of metal inside a joint piercing his mesh. Can feel it, but can’t quite get it. Venting when Runway ferries you up onto the berth with him before he can tell the mini-con not to. And then you’re staring up at him with worried eyes. “You should have seen the Decepticons,” he adds, trying to play it off, because your worry bothers him even as it spreads warm through him. Unresisting when you try to climb up onto his thigh to see what he’s doing and Runway immediately gives you a boost. Little traitor.

• “Your servos are too big. Move your hand.” Swatting his servo, you straddle his forearm and run your hands into the gap in his plating at his inner elbow to grab the big, metal splinter. Feeling Runway reach around you to help you pull it free and to your alarm, he starts bleeding energon as soon as it’s removed. “Do you have any alien bandaids?” You ask and Starscream just frowns down at you. “A bandage? Tape?” Grimacing, you press your palm against the tear to try and staunch the leak.

• Spark settling at the fact that you’re trying to take care of him, he reaches to touch your cheek. “My systems will take care of it now that the debris is removed. I would have gotten it eventually.” Embarrassed, his servo lingers against you. You’re fussing over him, but he’s supposed to be taking care of you. Not the other way around. Even if having someone care about him is a novelty he still can’t get used to. Can’t tell you that it means so much to him. “But you did it much faster.”

• “You’re welcome.” Even if he’s pretty much incapable of actually saying thank you. Like it’s some kind of weakness to need help in the first place. “Hey, when you said there haven’t been any sparklings since before the war, why is that?” Don’t mean to ask that when it had clearly bothered him to admit it before. And it’s probably none of your business, but you’ve seen him with the mini-cons. Seen how he tries so hard to care for you. He’d be a good dad. Or, what had he called it, a sire.

• “The last hotspot died out a long time ago,” he says, cupping a servo against your back to nudge you off of his arm. Expression blank, you just wait and he smiles and flexes his arm. “We could harvest sparks from hotspots on Cybertron and those could be put into protoforms to create new Cybertronians. Any other way to create sparks was lost to us. There’ve been attempts, but they’ve been unsuccessful.” And they’re slowly dying out because of their millennia long war, something both sides are aware of, but unwilling to yield over at this point.

• So alien babies from literal cabbage patches? You’re not sure what to make of that, but they are giant, alien robots. It’s not like they can reproduce the messy organic way. The thought makes you nearly laugh and he gently nudges your head with a servo. “I’m just filing that under I don’t understand aliens, so it’s magic.” And one corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh at you. Imagining Starscream going out into a field to dig up a spark to put into a protoform. Would he just claim it as his and take care of it? How does that work? “For what it’s worth, you’d have been a good dad.” And it’s something you understand. Never even getting that chance to find out.

• “Please, don’t start leaking again,” he mutters and you laugh even though you look like you’re upset again. Why are you so fixated on sparklings? Or him as a sire? It’s not something he’s ever allowed himself to even entertain, but now the errant thought is there. Something he’d never thought to want, but now that you’ve brought it up, he’s painfully aware that it’s something he’ll never have. A family. Young Seekers to teach and raise. A mate to help him. And for some reason, it’s you he thinks of. Aware of how crazy the thought is. How taboo. Wonders if that’s why sparklings matter to you. If you’re interested in him as a potential mate and a part of him he doesn’t quite understand, wants that to be the case.

Previous

[cwittr]

sleepy girl ೃ࿔

pairings. choi seung-hyun “thanos” x fem!reader

warnings. somnophilia, high sex?? (he’s high), softer!thanos :,), breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, cunnilingus, takes a pic of ur pussy

an. no sg au !

thanos stumbled through the front door at around midnight. though he was a bit drunk he tried his hardest not to make too much noise. he shook off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, tossing them both onto the bench by the door.

he had been at a party one of the guys from the club was hosting. after a few lines he started thinking about you. you were probably wearing one of your tank tops and a pair of tight fitting shorts (little did he know the surprise waiting for him). just the thought of you made his cock throb, he was craving you; and that was enough for him to make up an excuse to head home.

he quietly made his way through the house, stopping in the doorway of your shared bedroom. thanos felt his cock throb when he saw your half naked body, arm draped over one of the large pillows while you were curled up in a fetal position.

he walked closer to you, pulling off his black shirt and unbuckling his belt. his large hands spread your legs apart, a shiver going down his spine when he saw your glistening heat. he laid down next you and finally released his pulsating dick from the tight confines of his boxers. he traced his fingers up and down your torso. you shifted in your sleep, pressing yourself against him. he let out a deep groan; he couldn't take it anymore.

thanos lined himself up with you and ran his cock through your folds, shivering at the feeling of your juices. he slowly pushed his cock into your tight cunt, letting out a string of quiet groans as he bottomed out. you shifted again, unintentionally rolling your hips into his. he gave up on trying to keep quiet. he let out a loud moan while slipping his cock in and out of your sweet slick. his fingernails dug into the skin on your hips, desperately chasing his orgasm.

you whimpered quietly, waking up just moments before.

"thanos..!" you whined, pushing yourself up against him.

"shh, i'll take care of you, baby" he whispered.

he pulled out and flipped you over so he was hovering above you. he lightly pecked your lips before slowly pushing himself back into your tight pussy.

"missed you all night, pretty...had to leave early cause' of you" he rambled while pumping in and out of you. his fingers dug into your hips, making you whimper in both pleasure and pain. he threw both of your legs up on his shoulders, trying to get as deep inside you as he could.

your silky walls clenched around thanos’ thick cock as your moans gradually got louder. you felt a fiery sensation in your lower abdomen; you were about to cum, and he already knew.

"want me to cum inside you, baby, hm?" he moaned, reaching down to rub your clit in sloppy circles. "cum for me, angel, let it all go."

"f-fuck.." was the only coherent word you said, followed by a string of loud moans, whimpers, and squeals. you moaned his name like a mantra. your vision turned white as your back arched off of the mattress, your cum gushing down your lower thighs and onto the sheets.

thanos let out a string moans himself, pushing himself deeper into your cunt than he has before. his head rested on your shoulder as he let out another series of moans, finally surrendering to the pleasure and shooting his white sticky seed into your womb.

he slowly pulled himself out of your throbbing pussy, your lip quivering at the lack of contact. he slowly kissed down your neck and chest, taking his time as he got closer to your glistening cunt. once he was face to face with your heat, he pressed a gentle kiss to your clit, making you flinch.

he licked up the mixture of the both of yours cum dripping down your thighs, pushing the rest back into your throbbing hole. your eyes widened as he pulled his phone out. he took three pictures of your sex and saved them to his private folder full of pictures of you. 

he went back down to face your pussy again, kissing your clit and gently suckling on it.

" 'ts t-too much.." you cried. he instantly pulled away and sat up to kiss you. "i know baby im sorry, we're done now okay? did so good f' me, just like always" he whispered, caressing your face softly and laying down before he pulled you to lay on his chest.

"i love you, my good girl." he whispered softly. he looked down and smiled when he saw you sound asleep, completely tuckered out.

[korebringerofded]

We Don't Talk About It- Zoro X FReader

Summary- It was easier to be casual, no strings attached with your fellow crewmate, but things get complicated. A/N- In the thralls of depression and managed to write something. No edit. No proofread. Rawdogging life rn. Don't judge me too hard. Warnings- Mentions of sex, fwb, cursing, reader is called 'my girl' by zoro like once, smut at the end, oral (f recieveing), Zoro a has big cock, Zoro almost (but doesn't) kill an npc.

Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated. All requests are open and you can find my entire masterlist here.

You wouldn’t necessarily say that your relationship with Roronora Zoro was complicated, you two agreed rather early on in your arrangement that it would be nothing more than casual sex, a heated passion of tongues and heat, hands desperately tearing clothes from sweaty bodies when the other felt that hot aching hunger that couldn’t go unsatiated.

Nothing more, of course. Just a fun and harmless way to let off steam. What’s the worst thing that could go wrong with fucking your crewmate anyways, right?

Nevermind all the times you would doze off in his arms, the ocean breeze ruffling his fuzzy green hair as you laid on his chest, all while your fingers easily traced along the sprawling scar across his chest. The whole time you lay there, all the famous sword-fighter can do is set your annoyingly cute face to memory.

You both swore it was casual, even when Zoro bought so many useless, pointless things, for the chance he would get to see your smile, hear the very laugh that kept him up at night. The way fiery rage would boil through him anytime he saw anyone flirting with you, touching you.

But of course, it wasn’t anything serious. Just casual, no-strings-attached, sometimes drunken, sex. Neither of you needed any distractions, after all.

Sure, maybe Zoro daydreamed about your taste, maybe he knew each and every place you liked to be touched. And yeah, maybe Zoro spent hours thinking about your lips on his cock, like you were his only relief, like he couldn’t cum without imagining your fucking eyes fluttering up at him,so glossy and wide, because fuck his own hand was incomparable to yours, no matter how many times he fucked his fist, it wasn’t the same as you.

But that was fine, normal even…right?

That’s exactly why you shouldn’t have cared, shouldn’t have felt a single thing as you stood at the edge of a crowded bar, the entire crew drinking and chatting and yet despite yourself, despite all the denial, you were noticeably distracted, eyes glued to the bar.

Zoro had (unsurprisingly) over-indulged, leaning against the bar with hazy and glossy eyes, a lazy grin on his face as a stranger, a young woman almost shamelessly flirted with him, a manicured hand trailing up his arm, probably admiring his toned muscles, the ones you had grown so used to, the ones you found yourself missing more and more.

You two weren’t exclusive, you had both fucked other people before and yet…that didn’t change the pang of jealousy that burned in your chest, spreading up and over your cheeks. You let out an audible sigh, making some vague excuse about needing air before pushing through the crowd and out into the cool, empty streets. You swallowed down the fresh air, letting the crisp breeze blow over you to cool your nerves, the heartache you chose to ignore.

You didn’t even need to look up to know who had followed after you, the familiar scent of sake and salty ocean air filling your senses, as Zoro leaned against the wall next to you. He was quiet for a while, the only sound on the near empty street was the festivities inside the tavern.

The entire time you could feel Zoro’s steely eye locked on you, his brows furrowed just slightly. He didn’t say anything, just occasionally glancing at you. You hated how it made you simmer, how much it affected you, even now. It all made your earlier frustrations bubble up as if they were fresh wounds.

You shot him a look, his tilted head, and slightly pink cheeks only making your anger burn and brew in your chest.

“What?” Your tone was sharper than you intended, making you quickly turn away from his annoying face.

"What’s with the cold shoulder?” Zoro huffed, moving to stand in front of you, a hand against the wall behind you, his hand going to your chin.

He leaned in closer and- you could smell that woman's perfume, lingering on his skin and you scoffed, pulling away from him.

“I’m surprised you remembered I was even here.” You rolled your eyes, hating the jealousy that burned through your chest.

Zoro could just blink at you, eyebrows furrowed as you pulled away from him, his eye scanning over you, the clenched fists, the anger that boiled.

“So…you’re pissed at me or somethin’?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“No.” You said sharply. “So go back to your new little friend.” You turned to walk away from him.

“Tsk.” Zoro let out a breath, a pang of irritation rushing through him. “That’s what has you so upset?” He wanted to laugh, his jaw tight.

You took in a deep breath, trying to keep yourself from saying something you’d regret. Still, you hated this nauseating jealousy that was building within your chest. You tilted your head back to look at him, his expression tight as he stared down at you.

“You were flirting with that fucking cook all night, and I get the third degree for talking to another woman?” Zoro laughed darkly, shaking his head as he got nose-to-nose with you.

“Since when do you care about that?” You huffed, tone coming out sharper than you intended. Sure, maybe you had been talking to Sanji that night but it wasn’t like that, not at all.

“I-.” Zoro took a step forward, his eye softening just slightly as his mouth hung open, so many unspoken words that danced on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill over.

“Of course I care.” Was what he wanted to say, was what every cell and atom in his body screamed at him to say.

The silence was so heavy, and your eyes on him so intensely only made it worse, he just wanted to kiss that damn look off your face and be done with this.

Instead, he tightened his jaw and scoffed, shaking his head in frustration.

“I don’t care. Fuck whoever you want. I will fuck whoever I want.” He snapped, hating the way his ears burned, hating the way the words felt on his tongue even as he walked away.

It was a lie, of course it was a lie.

Almost two weeks of the silent treatment from you was enough to descend the swordsman into shambles, his jaw tight and lone eye twitching. The entire crew could sense it, the tension, divide, the way Zoro watched your each and every move and how you, in turn, ignored all of his advances to bridge the ever growing gap between you two.

Maybe you were pushing this all a little too far, being too hard on the swordsman. You never agreed on anything exclusive, had never wanted it to be exclusive before. No matter how many times you tried to remind yourself of that, it didn’t soften the blow.

That heartache was probably how you ended up here, drinking entirely too much in a crowded bar. Nami sat across from you, equally drunk as you were. Countless glasses sat on the table the two of you leaned against.

You had definitely gotten too drunk, more drunk than you had intended to.Your mind was reeling and cheeks pink as you danced incredibly close with a man whose name you couldn’t even remember. You don’t even remember telling him your own name nor him telling you his. His hand curled around your hip, his warmth seeping into you as his leg pressed between your thighs. It wasn’t the same, of course. And no matter how hard you tried to push it from your mind, he wasn’t who you wanted.

You sighed, shamelessly tilting your head back as you felt this complete stranger push his thigh between your legs, bodies pressed so close your breasts pushed to his hard chest, the skirt of your dress pushing up more and more as his hands wandered over your thighs and hips.

And then all at once- as if an unseeable force just ripped the stranger away, leaving you blinking and gasping as your bleary eyes took in the scene before you.

Zoro stood there, his face twisted in rage as held the man up by the edges of his shirt, his chest rising and falling with barely contained fury. His eyes full of fiery rage, his breath coming out in deep huffs.

“Get the fuck out of here.” Zoro growled, dropping him and the minute the man's feet touched the ground, he shoved his hand flat against the man's chest, the impact sending a deep crunch echoing through the bar as the man practically flew, colliding with the wall in a sickening crack.

You could just stand there, stupidly drunk, doe-eyed and cheeks so pink it just made Zoro’s head spin more, the beer he had drank that night still simmering in his veins.

“We are leaving. Now.” He said, leaving no room for question as he grabbed your arm and started to pull you after him.

You immediately shoved his hands away, arms crossing over your hips as Zoro slowly turned back to you, the veins in his muscled arms twitching as he got nose-to-nose with him.

“Why did you do that?!” You snapped, shoving at his shoulders, though Zoro could just stare down at you, nostrils flaring.

“Why?” Zoro laughed humorlessly, like ice running down your spine. Zoro inhaled deeply, shaking his head.

Without another word, Zoro had you scooped up and tossed over his shoulder. He didn’t care that everyone in the place had witnessed the scene. He just ignored your curses, ignored the squirms and the way you smacked and hit him you ranted at him. HIs silence only made you more angry as he carried you out of the bar and down the dark street.

“Put me down, you piece of shit!’ You huffed

You hated feeling like this, so vulnerable, so furious, even when you knew you had no right to be.

And eventually he did put you down, waiting until you had stopped cursing and smacking him.

He was gentle as he sat you back down on unsteady heels.You could only glare up at him, cheeks pink from all the drinks you had, definitely too much.

“Do you enjoy fucking with me?” He asked, eye sharp and full of icy rage.

“Excuse m-.” You started, but Zoro moved forward, his hand slamming audibly on the wall behind you, trapping you in with his arms, the muscles twitching and tight.

“You ignore me for days, I go to find you, to try and fix whatever this is.” He waves his hand between the two of you. “And then, I hear from long-nose that you’re going out. I searched every bar in this fucking town and this is what I find.” Zoro growled, his hands trembling.

“Oh, so now you care what I do?” You scoffed, arms crossing over your chest, looking away from his steely gaze.

“Stop with the bullshit.” He snapped, jaw tight. “I’ve been goin’ fucking crazy, I don’t know what you want from me.” His tone was softer now, his eyebrows furrowed. “And seeing you with someone else it-.” Zoro shook his head, rubbing his neck with a sigh. “I almost lost it.”

Almost? You were sure the poor guy had a broken rib-maybe two, if he had even survived that.

“You could’ve killed that guy.” You muttered.

“I should’ve killed him.” Zoro said, a deadly serious look on his face.

There was a silence, a moment of shock between both of you, you were shocked that he had said it, and Zoro couldn’t believe he had been drunk enough to say it. He could just groan, rub his face in irritation before looking back down at your stupidly cute and sweet face.

“I have always cared.” He said suddenly.

“What?” Your voice was meek, eyes and sharp expression softening as you saw the look of desperation, the regret on his face.

“I…didn’t mean to hurt you, to…make you think I don’t care I-.” He stopped, his cheeks burning up and he sighed, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I care too fucking much, actually.” He continued.

“But you- you said.” You started, your heart racing at his closeness, at the rawness in his voice.

“I was just being shitty, I…was acting shitty. I was jealous, that’s it.” Zoro mumbled. “Please- I can’t take anymore of this silent treatment bullshit.”

Seeing how much it had affected him, the true regret and emotion on his face made your eyes flutter, cheeks burn up at his uncharacteristically soft words. The ache in your chest now replaced with a fiery thrum that echoed through your entire body.

“You were…jealous? Of Sanji?” You asked, a teasing smile on your face that only made Zoro scowl and pinch your cheek.

“Of course I was, stupid.” He mumbled. “Did you really think I would want anyone as much as I want you?” He asked, his hand brushing over your cheek, he couldn’t help but savor each touch, each glance.

“You want me?” You asked

He let out a dark laugh, letting his head slip to the crook of your neck so he could take in your scent, your warmth, like he was starved and worn.

“Every second of every day.This face, this body. I can’t think straight when it comes to you” He said in a low voice, his hands gripping your hips as if to emphasize his point.

You were both too drunk, too close and…when he looked up at you, neither of you had a shred of hesitation before your lips collided, neither sure who started it. Only that you both stumbled back to the ship. Hushed giggles and stolen kisses exchanged as Zoro clumsily lead you to an empty room. His hands moved quickly, almost desperately, over your flesh, spreading out under your clothes, his fingers trailing down the expanse of your stomach.

“Zo’, slow down. M’not gonna disappear.” You managed out, giggling softly as Zoro grabbed your legs and dragged you forward so he could press soft kisses down your ankle.

“Maybe I don’t wanna take that chance.” Zoro hummed, his steely eye watching each and every reaction, taking in each sound you made like it was a siren's song.

His rough, tanned hands dragged along your thighs, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch before his fingers brushed over the clips of your heels and he quickly, expertly, unfashioned them, letting the clatter to the floor.

“Ever the gentleman.” You teased, pushing up on your elbows as Zoro tugged off his shirt, his muscles tense and eyes hungry as he stared down at you.

“Gotta treat my girl nice, hm?”

Those words made you pause, your heart racing at the way his eyes locked on yours, the almost nervous expression on his face, like he was worried about what you would say, what you would think.

“I just-” He started, eyes flickering over your blushing cheeks, that damn smile.

It kept him up for weeks, that face.

You chewed on your lip, pushing yourself off the bed and standing before him, hands trailing over his scarred chest, tracing along each line, each mark. His scent made you dizzy, seasalt and cedar, sweat. You could almost feel his own heart beating as hard as yours was. You rested your hand there before leaning in and connecting your lips, it wasn't rushed or rough.

Your arms looped around his neck, neck tilted as Zoro slipped his tongue between your glossy lips, the taste of sake still on his breath as he invaded your mouth, his hands coming up to your hips, gripping the ends of your dress and tugging it up and over your head.

He had seen your body countless times, and yet for some reason this time felt so different, like it was the first time either of you allowed yourself to feel anything real from these fleeting moments. LIke Zoro let himself actually want you.

“S’ fuckin beautiful.” Zoro almost groaned, his fingers trailing over your hips, old scars. His mouth practically watering at your soft skin presented just for him. His fingers tugged away at your bra in a swift motion, a low hum at the hardened peaks of your nipples, the way your cheeks flushed.

His eye scanned down your body, his thumb hooking under the thin straps of your panties before he tugged them down, a starved expression on his face as he gently laid you back on the bed, pressing kisses down your ankle, up your thighs before he was settled between them.

“Been thinking about this for weeks.” He muttered, pressing soft kisses to your clit, around it, his tongue dragging slow and agonizing circles around your bundle of nerves. “Need to taste you, feel you cum until your legs fuckin’ shake.” He groaned, voice muffled and his cock pressing painfully against the bed, desperate for any friction as precum soaked his boxers.

He truly acted starved, his hands gripping your thighs tightly so you couldn't pull away or escape his touch, his hungered movements as his tongue pressed past your folds, curling and lapping up all your essence that he could. He shifted again, moving to suck on your puffy clit.

You were a mess, near sobbing as you came, once twice, coming up on a third time as Zoro continued his assault. He had moved so one of his expert fingers curled and twisted in your tight cunt while his tongue swirled over your clit.

“Z-Zo’.” You whined, a pleading desperate tone to your voice as you tugged at his messy green hair. “N-need you inside.” You whined, eyebrows furrowed and face hot with tears.

He smirked, a wolfish grin on his face as he pulled back, his fingers and mouth leaving your sex just long enough so he can tug his boxers away and leaving you feeling empty, the need and want for him growing even hotter in your core.

You couldn’t stop the gasp as you saw his cock, messy curls at the base and pulsing with need. Zoro had always stretched you out in a painfully delicious way, but it always shocked you regardless of that. Tanned skin, pink fat tip that he pressed against your slick folds, letting out a groan as your slick coated him, your warmth pressed against him and making his hands tighten around your hips.

“How bad you want it, hm?” He chuckled darkly, hips pushing forward so his tip pushed past your walls, stretching and aching for more, desperate for all of him.

“D-don’t be mean.” You huffed out, already panting from your previous orgasam’s, head still spinning and your stomach tight with tension.

“C’mon, you’re so soaked for me. Just wanna hear ya’ say it.” He said, continuing his movements, pushing his tip just past your walls before dragging his fat tip along her clit, her folds.

“Z-zoro. Please, I need you. Only you.” Your voice, the sweetness in your tone was enough to make Zoro snap, his hips slamming flush against yours. You scrambled to cover your mouth to quiet the moans and gasps that came tumbling out.

“That’s right, y-you’re mine.” He grunted, hands spreading your legs deliciously so his tip could burry deep into your plush walls that trembled around him, your desire soaking the bed, your thighs. “Only mine.” He groaned, his tense and fat balls slapping against your flesh as he continued pounding into your awaiting cunt which tightened and pulsed.

Zoro was delirious, drunk on the liquor he had drank indeed but more so with this, the teary look in your eyes, the bruising pace he kept, unrelenting and heavy as his desire boiled over, the cord snapping as he felt you tighten again, and he came deep in your cunt, letting his seed fill your womb. He had to mark you, remind himself you were his, only his.

Exhausted, you both collapsed there, sweaty limbs entangled, drunk on each other, on the passion.

And for once, neither of you left or recoiled. Zoro just tugged you into his arms, holding you there until you both drifted off.

Please do not copy, use my work, or put it through AI without my permission or I'll be really sad about it!!

[mrspasser]

For me it's Frozen II. I didn't see it in theater, luckily. My kids watched it at home one time when I was sick. It probably had to do with me being ill, but the whole thing was illogical to me, the story was too complicated for kids and I kept getting more irritated by it by the minute. I didn't care much for the first installment of Frozen, but it was okay. Frozen II, however, is on my blacklist.

Oh and there's a movie I streamed - I think it was with Liam Neeson, but I'm not sure - in which a perfectly normal pair of middle class parents suddenly start doing stupid shit that endangers their kids. I had to turn it off. I hate that kind of thing.

And Gothika. Mostly because it wasn't advertised properly and I was in the cinema with friends and had to leave about 10-15 minutes in, because I couldn't handle the scary vibes. I hate scary movies. They make my nerves go hay-wire and that feels awful. Literally.

What would you guys consider the worst movie you've ever seen? Not something that's fun to make fun of, nothing you ironically enjoyed, I mean just an absolutely miserable moviegoing experience that you paid for, hated every second, and wish you had walked out of and asked for a refund.

For me, no joke, Madagascar 3: Europe's Most Wanted. It did not even feel like a real movie to me. It made me see red! I was SEETHING with anger and annoyance throughout the entire thing, and I cannot for the life of me articulate why. I saw it once in 2012 when I was 15, I remember almost nothing about it now, but it struck a nerve with me like no other movie ever has before or since.

Tell me in the tags, which movie makes you disproportionately angry just thinking about it?

[angellic4l]

nine lives - d.m

in which; derek gets injured in the field and fem!reader isn’t happy with him.

content; tw! derek has bruises from bullets, kinda graphic desc(?), nicknames (doll, sugar, ma'am, etc,), cocky!derek x annoyed!reader, inaccuracies i’m sure but who cares, derek's abs, jj cockblocks(?) i suppose.

a/n; @darkmatilda requested this everybody say thank you matilda! i’ve been slacking w posting but my wips hate me apparently. kisses! wc: 1.9k

A sickly feeling still resided in your stomach. Your head was throbbing with the constant bombardment of ‘what if?’ and a million ways the situation could’ve been avoided. This and the three distinct crashes of go bags hitting oak desks, similar to that of three gunshots - at least in your addled brain - were enough to tell you that the irritation that’s been brewing was definitely still residing.

He’d been hurt in the field.

The thought almost made you gag, the anger overpowering, consuming every part of your body until you did something about it. It felt like it was begging you to purge it, cleanse it from your body, and god did you want to. However, the more logical part of you knew that throwing up wouldn’t make the frustration go away, wouldn’t stop the onslaught of worst case scenarios in your mind’s eye. The only thing it would serve for is making you feel even worse.

Opening one of the wooden desk drawers, you take out a water bottle and guzzle almost half of it down. In the midst of all of the stress and chaos, water was the least of your priorities. From across the room, a pair of eyes can be felt tracking you, watching each and every move you make. Against your better judgement, your head snapped up to see who it was.A futile action; you had already known that it was Derek staring at you but, since the incident, you’d made it a point to avoid him. Unfortunately for you, instincts had taken over a few moments ago and now the awkward jet ride had been in vain.

Realistically, you were aware that being mad at somebody for getting shot at wasn’t particularly logical, but you couldn’t help it, and so you’d kept your distance from Morgan. In place of your usual banter on the jet was an unusual silence, your ears were void of the usual 90’s hip-hop/R&B that came with him sharing his headphones with you, and he wasn’t warming your side with his usual presence because you’d sat away from him.

Familiar voices snap you both out of the staring contest that had started to ensue, your mind quickly recognising them as Reid and Penelope’s.

“He what?” Penelope gasped, manicured hands slapping over her mouth instantaneously.

In response, Spencer’s face had fallen flat, lips pressing into a thin line, signalling he’d probably just let something slip that wasn’t already common knowledge. Clearly, he’d just accidentally informed Penelope about Derek’s incident out in the field.

“Reid,” Morgan chided, before turning his attention to the blonde who stood in front of him now, “Baby girl, I’m okay. See? Still alive and breathin’.”

“But you… And the… Oh God,” Penelope stopped and started, trailing off before starting another thought. Whether it was because she was overwhelmed by the news or didn’t want to say the words out loud, you weren’t too sure.

Watching the whole ordeal from your desk only intensified the completely unreasonable anger you felt, tongue poking the inside of your cheek. Derek’s soothing murmurs to Penelope faded into the background as the different outcomes of today played in your head.

Derek had been shot at, standard for a field agent of course, but the bullets had hit him. If it wasn’t for his vest, he would be in the hospital right now. All because he’d taken a chance and trusted a deranged psychopath to put down his weapon at the hands of the FBI. God, the overwhelming urge to smack some sense into Derek Morgan only grew as you thought about the situation, how he hadn’t waited for back up, how he’d lowered his weapon without so much as an ounce of hesitation.

The opinions you harboured on the matter weren’t fair; you weren’t there, you don’t know what had actually happened, however any and all logic was proving to be out of depth in the cauldron of agitation that had been brewing since you’d been told what had happened. You knew that it wasn’t fair to blame him. You also knew that this response definitely came from fear rather than actually being mad at him, but acknowledging that meant opening up the door for something else entirely. Some things were better left untouched, in your opinion.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Based on the terribly sluggish nature of everybody’s movements and the slow ticking of the clock looming over the room, it was obvious that nobody wanted to be at work. In full fairness, it wasn’t usual to stay at the bureau after returning from a case, but the case had wrapped up quicker than expected. Hotch had announced on the jet that Strauss had ‘asked’ if it were a possibility. You figured it was to make up for the hotel rooms they’d prepaid for, what with the new budget cuts.

After what felt like the umpteenth time you’d caught yourself staring at Derek and watching him wince in pain, you chewed the inside of your cheek while standing up and making your way over to his desk. The bullpen was free from the team; Hotch and Rossi were in their offices, as was JJ, Reid was off in Penelope’s ‘lair’, and Prentiss was in the kitchenette making coffee. By the time you’d reached Derek’s desk, you were sure you’d be missing half of your cheek with the vice-like grip your premolars had on it.

Once you were fairly certain that opening your mouth wouldn’t be followed by an onslaught of swear words or beratement, you spoke to Morgan for the first time in hours.

“Come with me.”

“You tryin’ to kidnap me, doll? If you want me that bad, you can just say so,” he teases, attempting a soft snicker at his own joke before wincing in pain slightly.

“No. Just stop being cocky and listen for once, Derek.”

For a few moments, he leaves you standing in front of his desk, waiting for a response, and feeling like an absolute idiot. Finally, he gives you a look - accompanied by a small shrug of one shoulder - that simply reads as ‘touche’ and then he’s rising from his seat. Schooling your expression to keep it impassive as you turn to lead the way, silently relieved that he’s actually cooperating with you, you remain silent as you keep walking with Derek behind you.

Just down the hall from the bullpen and the other offices the BAU consists of, there’s a small, beige, forgotten infirmary room that nobody ever uses for its original intention. That changes today, you suppose. As Derek shuts the door behind himself, he opens his mouth after taking in the secluded room and the examination table that could double as a bed, but you beat him to it.

“Sit down, Morgan.”

“Sugar, you are desperate for it, huh?”

“Sit. Down.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender, “Yes ma’am,” before sitting on the bed of green plastic covered with a thin sheet of paper.

With Derek finally sat down, you open one of the dusty cupboards and pull out one of the 15 (you counted them once) first aid kits in there before turning back to face Morgan and placing it to the left of him. Unclipping the green, plastic case and opening it up causes one of Morgan’s eyebrows to raise.

“What’s that for, sugar?”

“You. I know you’re in pain and not saying anything.”

Your tone is firm, facial expression showing nothing but exasperation with him so, he relents with a sigh before grabbing the hem of his grey t-shirt and pulling it up so that you can tend to his wounds. At the sight of his bare skin, abs exposed to you and all, your heart rate picks up and the room feels like it’s getting warmer by the minute.

“Stupid decision, by the way,” you add in a murmur, praying to whatever is out there that he can’t tell how much his chiseled torso is affecting you.

“Mama, I’m just fine. Really,” he insists, but you’re already digging through the first aid box.

Remembering what he’d been told to do by paramedics, to keep the bruises cool and wrapped, you reach for one of the ice packs in the first aid kit. Before activating it, your hand hesitantly moves towards the wrapped section of his midriff to expose the bruised skin beneath it.

Morgan hisses slightly when your finger brushes a bruise rather than the white cloth, the sound causing you to retract your hand as if he had hurt you and not the other way around. You mumble a small sorry and return your attention to the ice pack next to him, picking it up and activating it with a cracking noise.

“This gonna hurt?”

“Not as much as getting shot at.”

“What was that for?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

By now, you’re pressing the ice pack lightly to the area of injury, barely any space between the two of you as he sits on the examining table with you standing in between his legs. Your gaze finally meets his - probably a good thing, you conclude, because staring at his abs any longer might’ve made you melt - eye contact unwavering.

“Don’t play that game with me. Since I got shot, you’ve been acting differently. Avoiding me, sitting away from me on the jet, hardly even making eye contact with me, this weird hostile attitude. Why?”

“Because, Derek, you got shot at and it was stupid. You should’ve been more careful.”

“Sugar, I know you don’t believe it was my fault I got shot,” his tone softens, “What’s really going on up there, hm?”

His finger lightly taps on your forehead, again reminding you of just how close the two of you are to each other, because you didn’t even see his arm move to do it. Both of you are yet to disturb the intense eye contact happening, eyes boring into each other’s - his searching for answers in yours, yours seeking relief in his.

“I shouldn’t have been mad at you for getting shot at. I’m sorry.”

“I just wanna know why, doll.”

“You scared me. A lot,” you admit in a whisper, fighting the urge to bow your head and nuzzle into the top of his chest.

Instead, you keep your head level as the both of you stare at each other, your hand still pressing the ice pack to his lower midriff during the interaction. Visibly, his face softens with your admission, and then his lips curve into a barely there smirk.

“Yeah? You care about me, sweetheart? Awh,” he teases.

“Seriously. You don’t have nine lives, D, you can’t risk losing this one.”

“Yes, ma’am. I am so sorry for forgetting that I’m not a cat.”

“God, you can’t ever be serious, can you?”

“Hard to be serious when there’s a pretty woman tending to my wounds, angel.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you mutter and let your eyes drop to his abs between you, momentarily distracted.

“See something you like?”

As you go to reply, lips slightly parted - though the words that should’ve come out hadn’t even fully formed in your head yet - the door swings open to reveal one Jennifer Jareau. Morgan turns his head slowly to look at her while you whip your head to the right so fast it could’ve given you whiplash.

JJ’s face contorts with confusion, you presume it’s because she only expected to find you in here - and certainly not extremely close to Morgan with your hand resting on his midriff.

“I’m so sorry. I’m not interrupting something, am I?”

“No, Jayje, you’re okay,” you reassure her.

“Hotch needs everyone in the briefing room.”

“We just got back,” Morgan grumbles.

“He said it was urgent. I’ll uh, let you two… finish up,” the blond says quietly, giving the two of you an awkward smile, and then closing the door behind her.

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 116

jack had gotten a bad hit.

sure, tackles and hits are just a part of hockey – but this one was worse than usual.

he wasn't even sure how he got himself into the situation, but during his game against the bruins, his head had been bent down far too much when he had tried to shoot off a pass along the barrier. when an opponent went in for the tackle, jack's head hit the boards in a nasty angle, and everything had gone black instantly.

the directions from the team doctors were clear: he needed to stay in a dark room, with no lights or loud sounds. he wasn't allowed to use his brain too much, since that would only worsen the concussion. no phone, no stepping outside the bedroom for at least three whole days.

thankfully, your apartment was the perfect place to keep someone who'd just gotten a concussion; the blackout curtains of your bedrooms were of the best brand, keeping the room perfectly dark during all hours of the day. that's why jack now found himself lying flat on his back on your bed, with his arms relaxing restlessly along his body, just as he had for the last 48 hours or so.

this wasn't the first time jack got a concussion. even back when he was a young player, he was too intense, too focused and too stubborn that he didn't care about the risk of injury when doing certain things on the ice, meaning that he had been forced to go through the boring process of recovering from head trauma several times. he recognized the feeling, and he hated it just as much as he had when he was still a teenager, when he was forced to stay inside while his brothers and friends could still practice. he wanted to do something, anything, but the pounding in his head limited his actions to pretty much none.

he felt helpless.

but even through the pain, there was one thing that made him smile.

you.

he was so thankful that you were there for him. he slept for most of his days, not having enough energy to stay awake for longer periods of time. but every time he woke up, you were there; reading him a book, telling him a story from your childhood, catching him up on the recent news. he was so thankful, because he thought he would have gone insane if he had to endure this all on his own.

"jack?" you asked from your side of the bed, voice hushed as it had been for the last two days. there was a small hum of an answer. "don't you want anything to eat? it's been…" you squinted, trying to make out the time from the clock on your wall. "seven hours since you had breakfast."

jack stayed silent, taking a few deep breaths before opening his eyes. "yeah, i think so."

your little nightlight, a lamp in the form of a fox in a far corner of the room, was the only source of light. jack could still make out your face clearly, probably due to the last two days of practicing his night vision. the concern on your face translated to worry on his, and then it was all just a downward spiral. you hated seeing him like this. jack was usually so energetic, so happy, so… tireless. seeing him like this really hurt you – and suddenly, you were back in your old mindset again. the pain and the worry and the anxiety all boiled up into one big soup of guilt. for the way you've treated him, for the way you care for him, for everything that has happened these last months. you stood up from the bed, about to make your way to the kitchen to cook something for him, but you stopped at him calling out your name in that raspy voice of his. "i'm sorry." when you looked back at him with a confused look, he spoke again. "for last week, for-"

"jack, it's okay." you shook your head at him, putting on a small smile. you didn't want him to worry about this now, not when his head was already overworked. "really."

now it was his time to shake his head – or, as much of a shake he could handle without his brain exploding from the jolt of pain shooting through it whenever he moved even an inch – and his voice was firmer when he spoke again. "no, please don't interrupt me now. i want you to hear that i'm serious about how sorry i am."

your heart fluttered like never before. not once until today had a man spoken to you like this. like you were someone worth apologizing to, someone worth fighting for.

"i am so sorry about pushing and pressuring you. i never should have." he took a deep breath. "you have your reasons not to trust me and not let me in, i understand that. however," his hand reached for your side, wanting you closer. "i also hope that in time, things might change. and i hope to stick along to find out if they do, without pressuring you, no matter how long it takes."

at this point, you wanted to throw yourself into his arms, bury him in kisses and hug the life out of him. but with the memory of his concussion still in your mind, you settled for leaning down to his height and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips for the first time in weeks.

maybe things would be okay, after all.

[random2908]

Ok, I have a lot to say about scientific glassblowers.

First, luckily, there are a lot of them in China who are very good. If, like me, you work in private industry, the government has rules against buying Chinese components. But there's at least one American company (FireflySci) that launders Chinese custom scientific glass components, so you can still get them. If you're in academia you can buy direct from China and save a ton of money, if you or a colleague knows enough Chinese to be able to find these glassblowers on your own.

Within America, you have to know, the quality varies immensely. Scientific glassblowing is one of those trades that takes like 20 years to master. So there is a huge tension between the old masters who are really really good but have significant limitations in their capabilities because they're using old techniques; and the younger glassblowers who are learning or inventing new techniques but don't have the hand-skills to pull them off successfully. In larger shops, you can have a mix of ages, and so get around this a bit--but larger shops mostly don't do (serious) custom work. And often these larger shops are an in-house shop within an even bigger company.

For a lot of things, though, any scientific glassblower will do. In which case, you can still find them scattered all over the country. When I was dealing in glass a lot at a previous job, we had a long-standing contract with a glassblower about two hours away, who did all of our simpler stuff. There was a closer one, too, 20 minutes away, I'm not sure why we didn't go with them, I think because they had too much work already to take a long-term contract with us. So, yes, you can still find glassblowers, although not in large quantities.

But sometimes you need something really precise. This is science, after all. And your local glass shop just can't do it.

So then you have to find an old master using newer techniques. (I recommend Mike at Spectrocell in Pennsylvania, careful of the spelling--there are many similarly named companies--but he sounds very old over the phone.) (I know a lot of scientists will say Jay at Precision Glass Blowing in Colorado is the only guy they will go to for serious work, and I have some rude things to say to such scientists; not that Precision Glass Blowing does a bad job (...at the glassblowing part, that is--buyer beware if you ask for extras from them, but their willingness to offer extra services, such as chemical handling, is why everyone uses them in the first place), but they're not the only, or best, option out there.)

Get talking with an old master, and they'll constantly complain about how they've run out of apprentices. It is a real problem. It is a dying art, within the United States. (And, despite "scientific" in the name, it is very much an art; "scientific" refers to the customer base.) When I was collaborating with the University of Michigan at a previous job, the Chemistry Department's glassblower, Roy, was complaining that he was in his 70s and it had been several decades since he last had an apprentice, and he was going to retire any day now and the university would have no one to replace him with. (It wouldn't at all surprise me if he's retire by now, and if you could no longer get custom glass in-house at the University of Michigan.)

The irony is that there's still significant demand! Not as much as there once was, because you can buy mass-produced beakers now, you don't have to go to your local scientific glassblower for some of the simpler components. But for anything at all custom? For anything at all delicate? That's still done by hand. There's still a glassblower, somewhere, probably in China, whose handicraft that is. But like all trades, scientific glassblowing in the US has been almost entirely undercut by the availability of cheap labor (even cheap skilled labor, even cheap mastery) in other countries.

the world is running out of glassblowers and yet you want to become a fucking doctor

[diushek]

The Shen Yuan that dies - really dies. He actually dies and doesn't transmigrate, but well, you know, death is a timeless thing and the flow of time itself in the world of the dead is so weird lol So, well, let me make up that all the demons and ghost kings and cultivators inhabit this powerful timeless space where the dead also go, and oh, there's Shen Yuan now -

So, Shen Yuan is just a silly ghost fire filled with pent-up rage, damn shitty novel, damn shitty author. Is he “alive” for something? Because of how much he hates PIDW and its fucked up ending. Get a lower-ranking ghost body because he's just... angry at Airplane. His new form is, ah, well, different and weird, but he can grow his hair to go unnoticed, and can steal some robes.

Get a small job eventually just because he was bored and although he don't need to eat, it would be nice to have extra money - and the tea house owner doesn't care if he's a human or a ghost as long as he's not creepy with the customers and serves their tables. It's a routine that gives him the quick financial support to get bad books, complain more - and maybe he's getting stronger because of it? Because of his anger at mediocre authors and repressed anger? Does it even make sense?

At some point, Tonglu opens. Shen Yuan has headaches and the desperate feeling that he must go, as if he summoned. He tells his boss he's going to be out for ghostly reasons - his boss is like, oh, you needed a vacation anyway. And Shen Yuan goes.

It's a massacre, of course. A mix between the Hunger Games and the Purge, but Shen Yuan has something they definitely don't: a lot of knowledge in shooting video games. And he doesn't have a gun, but hey, he can shoot resentful spiritual energy and it works like bullets or something - he soon discovers that the more ghosts he overcomes, he becomes stronger. He has more power to throw, more skills, a stronger body.

Go to the kiln. Have bloody fights. At some point he gets a sword and it takes him forever and nothing like a training sequence to use it properly. And finally, the kiln opens and Shen Yuan comes out looking... Well, stronger.

He returns to the teahouse to change and take a bath. The owner tells him that it's been thirteen years, what the hell, but lets him in and gives him hot water and clothes.

Shen Yuan's new body and new abilities are strange to him. He notices himself taller. Stronger. His hearing and smell have improved. His abilities seem to be more wordy, as if he could persuade people if he spoke to them in a specific tone, as if his words could bind them. Well, it's not a bad way to be dead.

Shen Yuan tries to continue working at the tea house, but the humans are clearly terrified by the powerful ghost king aura in their area, so there are hardly any customers. Shen Yuan just sighs and decides to leave. He has some savings anyway.

Ghosts run away from him. Humans either try to kill him or hide. Shen Yuan is fed up; no matter if it is in the mortal world or the ghost world, people are gossiping about him and how he has not taken a Territory, about how unorthodox he is, about how they are waiting for him to start his killing spree one day.

Shen Yuan learns to change his appearance from creepy ghost to normal human, hide his resentful energy, and camouflage himself in the human world. It's a long way from his old tea house, and so many years have passed that the kind owner has probably already died, so Shen Yuan gets another job at a bookstore. Nothing unusual. Just a boy who was once from a wealthy family and was disinherited when his older brother took over the family leadership because of their bad relationship. Now he must work to live.

People swallow that story like a good meal, some even feel sorry for him.

And Shen Yuan is having a decent afterlife. Boring, mostly, but with good days. He reads a lot, gets angry a lot, writes authors letters that reach their desks without them even realizing how the hell did this crazy guy find his addresses. Let's just say he's having an interesting life.

Then one day, he meets Luo Binghe.

He... He literally knows that he's Binghe. It couldn't be anyone else but Luo Binghe. He does his investigations, and apparently, Emperor Luo Binghe exists, he has been there all along. It's not like Shen Yuan knew it; the ghost realm and the human-demon realm are divided, and even if they have a common mortal ancestor, demons and ghosts don't usually meddle in their own things.

Not that Shen Yuan wants to be cannon fodder anyway; he keeps his distance in Binghe, works at that bookstore, gives friendly greetings to his customers, and keeps sending angry letters to authors.

And one day Shen Yuan receives a direct visit from Luo Binghe at his door. With a letter in his hand.

"This letter was on my Second Wife's desk," Luo Binghe says, with a fake smile. "No one but her can open or read it, so this Lord wonders after discovering the resentful energy signature on the paper, what missives does this Ghost King exchange with one of the Emperor's wives?"

Shen Yuan is not surprised that Luo Binghe knows who he is - ever so OP the Protagonist! However, it is more difficult to explain that his wife actually writes cut-sleeved novels that the fact that Shen Yuan was reading and criticizing them in the first place.

Well, he's been dead for over a hundred years, really denying that he's at least bisexual at this point in his life...

[harrysfolklore]

hi! i have a little bitch blurb request - piastri sis is on painkillers after a minor surgery or after being at the dentist and while carlos is taking care of her she says things she never would’ve DARED to say out loud - even about the fact she’s been infatuated with him longer than she’ll ever admit 😋

this was so fun write 😭😭 i love my little bitches so much

"Carloooooos," you slur through a mouth full of gauze, reaching blindly for him as the nurse wheels you out. "I missed you. Did you miss me? I was asleep but I missed you."

"Yes, mi amor," he tries not to laugh as he helps you into the car. "I missed you too."

"Your face is so nice," you pat his cheek clumsily. "Like... so symmetrical. Are you real? Maybe I'm dreaming."

He buckles you in carefully. "I'm real."

"Prove it," you demand, then immediately start giggling. "My mouth feels like clouds. Do clouds feel things, Carlos? Are clouds sad?"

"I don't think so-"

"We should ask Lando," you say seriously. "He knows about clouds. He's British. It rains there."

Carlos bites his lip to keep from laughing as he starts driving. You're staring at him with wide, unfocused eyes.

"Your hair is so fluffy," you reach for him, missing completely. "Like a lion. My lion. Did you know lions mate for life? Are we lions, Carlos?"

"Eyes on the road, eyes on the road," he mutters to himself in Spanish, fighting a smile.

"Oh! Spanish!" you perk up. "I know Spanish! Te... te something. What's the word? The love word?"

"Te amo?"

"YES!" you try to clap but miss your hands together. "Te amo! I love you SO much. Like... like more than pizza. And I really love pizza. I think I love you since the first time I called you a stupid little bitch."

"I'm honored-"

"But shhhh," you stage whisper. "Don't tell Carlos. He'll get a big head. His head's already perfect though. How is it so perfect?"

"Mi amor, I am Carlos."

You gasp dramatically. "No way! Since when?"

"Since birth, I think."

"Birth!" you suddenly look devastated. "I wasn't there for your birth! I missed baby Carlos! He was probably so cute. With tiny baby abs."

He can't hold back his laugh this time. "I don't think I had abs as a baby."

"Lies," you poke his arm, missing twice. "You came out of the womb with a six-pack. And perfect hair. And that smile that makes me want to take off my-"

"Okay!" he interrupts quickly. "How about some water?"

"Water is boring," you pout. "You're not boring though. You're exciting. Like racing. Vroom vroom."

He hands you a water bottle anyway, helping you drink without choking.

"My hero," you sigh dreamily. "Saving me from death by water. We should get married."

He nearly swerves. "What?"

"Yeah! Right now! Call Lando, he can be the flower girl. Oscar can be the ring bear."

"Ring bearer?"

"No, ring BEAR. He has to dress as a bear. It's traditional."

"Since when?"

"Since right now. I just decided. I'm very smart, Carlos. The doctor said so."

"Did he?"

"Mhmm. He said..." you scrunch your face in concentration. "Actually I don't remember. But I'm sure he did. Because I am smart. Smart enough to date you. HA! Take that, Instagram models!"

"What Instagram models?"

"The ones that slide into your DMs," you try to look stern but your numb face isn't cooperating. "I see them. With their perfect teeth. Well guess what? I have no teeth now! I win!"

"You still have teeth, mi amor. Just minus the wisdom ones."

"Wisdom..." you gasp. "Carlos! Am I going to be stupid now?"

"No-"

"Quick! Ask me something smart!"

"Like what?"

"Like... what's your favorite color?"

"That's not really a test of wisdom-"

"BLUE!" you shout triumphantly. "See? Still smart! And your butt looks really good in blue. Like REALLY good. Science fact. I used to stare at your butt when I pretended to hate you."

Finally, you reach home. Carlos helps you out of the car as you ramble about his "science butt" and whether lions know about race cars.

"Time for rest," he says, laying you on the bed.

"No," you grab his shirt. "Stay. Protect me from the tooth fairy. She's a thief, Carlos. A professional thief."

"I'll protect you," he promises, sliding in beside you.

"My hero," you mumble, already drifting off. "Hey Carlos?"

"Yes?"

"If we have babies, will they have wisdom teeth? Or will they be born wise? Like little wise lions...Or wise little little bitches."

You fall asleep before he can answer, drooling slightly through the gauze.

And Carlos can only smile.