#so i think he still believes these phrases

[peachjagiya]

Crazy to see older videos and moments cause JK was such an open book when he was looking at Tae. So many moments where it seems like he either had no idea or didn’t care how he was openly beaming, staring, laughing in the most smitten and endeared way. ❤️‍🩹 I think it hits a bit harder cause the past two, three years he definitely seemed more guarded, more overthinking and just not as openly expressive as before. Sure there were slip ups but overall he seemed like he wanted to control it more. Do you also got this impression? And sometimes it felt like he masked his inevitable fond or love by maybe pretending to be forcefully nonchalant or indifferent or at times even annoyed or appeared not as at ease as before. Eg. Suchwita comes to mind and ofc the - mind you heavily edited and also narritive serving - AYS. I think both scenarios would have looked way different with Jungkook during eg Dynamite era, where he was way less guarded, in general but also around Tae. I get it, still makes me sad a little. I am sure he had his reasons and I am sure Taehyung knew too but sometimes the comparison hits hard and also makes it obvious to me once again how much internal struggle there must be ❤️ what do you think? Maybe I’m reaching completely here, after all we can’t and won’t know! X

I am glad you phrased this like he wants to protect something. There's a few too many people think he's dismissive and cold towards Taehyung but I don't see that at all.

I see a guy who has matured into his feelings and I also see some pretty high stakes that only get higher with time, pressure, level of commitment, all those kinds of things. Of course he's keeping it close to him. That's where it's safest.

That's not to say he doesn't still wear his heart on his sleeve. You know, people seem determined to separate things out into "times Tae has been loud" and "times JK has been loud" but to believe they're being loud, you have to believe they're a pair, right? Tae told us about Hawaii but it was JK on the plane, JK in the photos, JKs hand on the neck. (And no I don't believe Tae shared it recklessly, that's another narrative that can get in the trash where it belongs)

Contrary to popular belief, he's loud in his own way.

💜

[fatigue-d]

Because I almost screamed when I saw the news, you'd feel my despair :

He get jealous of euthanized dogs.

Word : around 500

Inspired by @allphatauri and his amazing fanart :

--------------------------------------------------

Yuki took the news calmly, knowing deep down that he would not be chosen once again. Liam had never played a full season, nor beaten Yuki in the qualifying rounds, let alone reached his level. But the cycle repeated itself tirelessly, and despite all his huffing and puffing, crying and bleeding, the seat seemed so far away. Maybe it wasn't worth it, he knew what was waiting for him, just a second seat that would never trouble Verstappen. He'd seen it with Ricciardo and Pierre, completely decimated by the Dutchman, he didn't think he was up to his level. But nonetheless, the observation was the same:

He get jealous of the euthanized dogs.

How was this his fault? He'd been promised this seat since his arrival, he could die in it if he had to, the driver who took it having to force the steering wheel off Yuki's lifeless body. Christian knew, Helmut knew, everyone knew. Alpha Tauri had never really been his home, he'd performed for one purpose and one purpose only, that damned Red Bull seat. But in doing so, he had created his own gilded cage, become indispensable to the team, and needed to find a replacement if he was to finally have the chance to achieve his goal. But that wasn't up to him, as the phrase kept repeating in his head:

He get jealous of euthanized dogs.

He was still full of life, or so he hoped, he could still chase that batton he was told to catch. But in the back of his mind, he hoped he'd finally be able to rest, euthanasia was a rest like any other after all, it had the particularity of being eternal, that's all. He could already feel himself shuddering at the sting, his last ounce of life extinguished when he hadn't even been able to achieve a victory. But at least the deathbed he'd find himself on would be comfortable, bloody red, pinching yellow and deep black, as if to taunt the next puppy waiting his turn to die painlessly. But he wasn't there yet, the same blue-and-white blanket enveloping him as he watched his pairs join the destructive machine one by one under the bull's banner. His eyes attentive to every process, the desire to join him as soon as possible, but always with the same taste in his mouth:

He get jealous of euthanized dogs.

He knew one of them intimately, and Pierre made him believe he'd escaped the sweet breath of death. He didn't last long, his lifeless body quickly returning to the soft, warm blanket he'd once abandoned. Despite his ardor and eagerness to conquer all, there were times, in the dark Italian nights, when the scar of an injection adorned his shoulder, a constant reminder of who he was. Yuki had never dared touch her, even when the two of them were wearing their simplest clothes after a wild night out. The Frenchman never spoke of it, his eyes always gazing at Yuki with tenderness, knowing that he had yet to taste his slow, sinuous destruction by a team that would suck his talent down to the marrow, discarding him after his body had run out of energy, with only a swift, gentle and painless death to save him. Yet Yuki continued to huddle against his right flank, where he wore his death like an ornament, the Japanese man's eyes always pointed towards the mark he wanted to wear one day. After all:

He get jealous of euthanized dogs.

--------------------------------------------------

I hope Yuki gonna have his seat in RB a day , but now I need to scream or cry , or both.

[leftoverghosts]

round and round

canon!patrick zweig x nonchalant!user (gn)

or you're tired of arguing with patrick zweig.

requested by @diorrfairy this one is sfw, it wouldn't get spicy even after i begged it. :( xoxoxo

The city sprawls beneath you, the lights flickering like distant stars against the night sky. The cool air from your high-rise balcony is a welcome contrast to the heat building between you and Patrick. The panoramic view of the skyline feels like it belongs to someone else’s life, someone who doesn’t have to deal with the chaos you two have created.

Patrick needed a place to stay during his tour break, and, as always, you let him in. It’s a habit by now, one you don’t question. The familiar tension between you both is something you’ve grown accustomed to, but tonight, it's especially annoying.

“I’m too emotional? Maybe if you showed some emotion, we wouldn’t be here!” Pat’s always liked to play the victim.

You remain composed, your gaze still fixed on the nightscape below. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s frustrated, maybe even hurt. This is his coping mechanism; he brings everything to the surface when he wants his loneliness to become your responsibility.

“I’m not the one making things complicated,” you say, voice calm, controlled. As the wind stirs your hair, you take a slow, deliberate sip from your glass, your face a mask of indifference. You've heard it all before— the same accusations, the same frustrations. And yet, as soon as the tour picks back up, he'll be gone, proving that he never cared enough to change anything.

“Patrick.” His name is an admonishment as you turn to face him finally, one eyebrow arched, the air of nonchalance you’ve perfected hanging around you like a cloak. Patrick stares back at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t solve, frustration painted on his features.

He remains determined as he moves closer, his hand reaching up to cradle your face and slipping into your hair. “You always shut down. It’s like I’m talking to a wall. I’m here, trying to make sense of this, and you—” He falters for a second, before he steels himself again, voice tight. “You just float through it like none of it matters.”

“You know what you’re here for, what you’re good for, Pat.” It’s a cruel statement, but it is just one of the many hurtful things that have been exchanged between the two. He stares at you as if he can't believe the words coming out of your mouth before his hand in your hair tightens its grip.

You watch as realization dawns on Patrick's face, his features twisting in anguish. "How can you say that?" he spits, his grip on your hair tightening. You feel a sharp pain shoot through your scalp but you refuse to flinch. He can be rough, but you don't mind it, and deep down you know he would never truly harm you physically. He knows that the best way to hurt you is by withholding his affection and attention.

"You know it's true," you respond coolly, meeting his gaze head on. "You come back to me whenever things get tough and then leave when it's convenient for you. It's always been about what I can do for you, never about how I feel."

Patrick's eyes flicker with guilt and something darker. "That's not fair," he says, his voice strained.

You shrug, feeling a numbness settle over you. "Life isn't fair." It's a phrase that has become all too familiar to you over the years.

He knows you're right. He can't outwit you, so he does what he's good at and kisses you roughly, anger evident in the harsh press of his lips against yours. You let him, knowing that this is just another part of the twisted dance you two do. His other hand grips your waist tightly, fingertips digging in like he's trying to leave a mark, to prove that he was here.

When he pulls back, breathing heavily, his eyes are stormy with a mix of lust and resentment. "You think you have me all figured out," he says, voice low and dangerous. "But you don't know anything."

A humorless laugh escapes your lips. "I know enough. I know that by this time next week you'll be gone, off to the next city, the next bed, the next distraction."

Patrick shakes his head, jaw clenched tight. "It's not that simple."

[matrixbearer2024]

The more I think about it the more I realize how different my three takes on Ford are, three being how I see and write him as close to canon as possible- my time lord twins AU and my modernity AU. Just a cumulation of how many things can significantly change how a character is and I didn't notice by how much until I was talking about it with a friend and things made a surprising amount of sense. Case and point, this phrase!

"You're a good man."

There's three replies to that with how I understand Ford's character and please forgive me for rambling about this shit because I REALLY love picking up this man and dissecting him into atoms maybe I should make a youtube video-

Anyway, first off- canon!

"I try my best."

I genuinely think that after all of the things Ford's done, forgiveness is a barrier but not something impossible. In canon, ultimately he tries to make mends and he is atoning. For somebody who can hold a grudge for that long, I would think having your own faults must be hell on earth to live through as well. You can't exactly forgive yourself and you can only give as much as you have.

That's kind of the whole point to the series' ending in my mind. He just becomes more painfully aware of himself and the people around him not in the paranoid sense but just- how he is percieved or the consequences of his actions. He believes he can be good and is trying. Hence that response. Stanford's not refusing the idea, but he's not outright accepting it either because he's still working towards it.

Who said an old dog can't learn new tricks? Next!

"You don't know what you're talking about."

In my time lord twins AU, Stanford's hero complex and obsession with being special is cranked up stupidly high! On the run from Bill all across the multiverse he stumbles upon Gallifrey and realizes the state they're in is pretty damn precarious thanks to the Daleks and the Time Lords at WAR. In his mind at the time, all he could think of was saving as many people as he could.

Honestly, nobody would want to be in a war and frankly if it wasn't for the Time War and his Time Lord mentor things would likely be the same as canon. Ford believed too much that he was meant for great things and bit off more than he could chew!

Now carrying the title of the doctor, he doesn't believe he is a good man. He outright refuses it. A good man wouldn't have blood on his hands, a good man wouldn't have entire planets and civilizations kneeling at the mention of his name. A good man is respected, but that respect isn't born out of fear.

Stanford as the Doctor refuses this. He is not a good man. He damn well tries to be, but he knows not even forever could mend his mistakes and sins. He walks among the destruction of his own making, and he just lives with it.

Pretty depressing! Okay, let's look at something happier!

"I'm glad you think so. Thank you."

In the modernity AU, Ford hasn't done many if not most of the regrets that his counterparts often have. Yes he bickers with Stan a lot but it's never something that tears them apart, they could be having a word war over lunch but at the end of the day they're best friends again.

Ford still has his sense of justice and strong morals but in this case, it's not something he regrets and he doesn't exactly develop a hero complex because he doesn't believe he is special. He doesn't have that disparity with Stan and fundamentally that changes a lot of how he thinks.

It also helps that growing up, he's been humbled repeatedly by his brother or his peers. In this AU, he's always kept on his toes because the edge he has is only competitive enough against the many who are more than willing to work themselves to the bone for the same level of achivement.

If somebody tells him he's good, Stanford is just glad that's the perception of him and reacts accordingly. He's not often good at recieving compliments or god forbid flirting his poor brain can't keep up- but this much he is just thankful for the acknowledgement.

Tell me your thoughts or what you think about all this HAHAHAHA

[hexarcana]

Olive whoops and laughs when Stan hits the guy and sends him sprawling.

“Serves you right, jerk!” She laughs, her expression staying bright when Stan runs to her. “I’m great! He folded likens deck of cards!” She grins up at him “I coulda, maybe.. But it was cool watching you do it.”

She leans over the crumbled man, hands on tiny hips. After a moment’s thought she winds up and kicks the guy in the shin like she’d planned.

“That’s for calling me runt, you creep!” Satisfied she goes into his office to snoop around. “Good idea, I bet she can fix it.” She hops into the guys chair and peers at the computer and its many screens. She reaches down to the floor and grabs the man’s discarded cellphone. She props her feet up on the the unconscious con’s desk as she dials a number in and waits.

“Hiya Gran. You will NOT believe the night we’ve had.”

—

Aggie took virtually no time to get there once she had the whole story, first from Olive and then from Stan because frankly she wasn’t sure if she believed the twelve year old. Upon her arrival she met them at a back entrance.

“Well you certainly look like you’ve had quite the night.” Her hands are on her hips as she eyes Stan up and down and then Olive. “Is that blood?” She asks.

“It’s not mine, honest.”

Aggie sighs, and is led up the back stairway. When they reach the top o and they have to step over the still very wounded shyster Aggie looks at Stan.

“Was caving his face in really necessary?” She asks as Olive ushers her into the office. She bristles at the sheer amount of dark energy the place seemed to give off. When she made her way to the desk and sat, she took in the monitors. She watches the indentured spirits flit about the screen. She sees what are almost certainly child ghosts in a few of the rooms.? She scowls. “Actually, I take it back. I think caving his face in was too mild of a punishment.”

She rifles through his desk, unsure of what she’s looking for until she finds it. From the bottom drawer she lifts out a book. It looks pretty ordinary, almost like one of the old business books Stan has laying around in his office. Apart from the fact that it’s glowing, and has a picture of a skull on the front along with the phrase “The Dead And Your Workplace, 1984 Edition”

“If I had a nickel for every book of the dead I found that was dolled up to look like this…” She mutters, flipping open the pages. She allows both of them to come close to watch if they so desire, which Olive does. She goes right up to the desk and tries to peer into the book but a lot of it looks like gibberish.

“You can read that?” She asks. Aggie nods and flips a couple more pages until it she lands on one with a diagram of a retro computer, just like the one sitting on the desk. She looks between it and the diagram a few times before she laughs to herself. “You didn’t really need me for this but-“. She finds the plug-in for the computer and follows it to the wall. “This oughta do it.” She tugs it free and the computer shuts down with a mechanized boop. Nothing happens right away but about gen seconds later the entire building seems to erupt with distorted shouts and hollers as well as screams from the few patrons still roaming the halls. The trio watch as multiple intangible ghostly balls of light shoot up from the floor and up through the ceiling, undoubtedly the now free spirits getting the hell out of there. Two actually stop and materialize in the room. It’s the little girl and the morgue lady, though they look more like normal people now, less bloody and horrible.

“Oh, it’s you!” Even her voice sounds normal now, not so high and sing song. “Thanks for letting us out. Sorry about throwing you in the basement!” She nods at the morgue lady who honestly just looks like your average nurse now. She addresses Olive who had involuntarily moved close to Stan, and grabbed his arm fearfully at the sight of the woman.

“Yeah. Sorry for grabbing you and trying to dissect you. I don’t know what came over me.” She laughs, “Do us a favor and destroy that book, hm?” She takes the little girl’s hand and they vanish, leaving the room still and absent of any magical doings. Even the book has stopped glowing. Aggie looks at her granddaughter, still clutching Stan’s arm.

“They’re gone, Junebug.” She explains, getting up from the chair. “Poor things, that was a pretty nasty spell that creep roped them into.” She taps the book before tucking it under her arm. “Books like these let normal everyday people use stupidly powerful magic. So irresponsible.” She clicks her tongue disapprovingly in the direction of the slumped con in the hallway who is now cowering in fear from the spirits that had just shot up around him in just about every direction. She walks over to him, leaning over his battered form. “You best get yourself to the hospital, get your ugly mug fixed, and get out of this town. And if I hear of an operation like this cropping up again, you’ll WISH it was my guy with the brass knuckles and my granddaughter wailing on you. You got that?”

Stan sits back and lets the chaos unfold. He’s about to step into the office himself to lay into the guy, when he steps out into the hallway, red in the face and bellowing. As he rounds on Olive, he seems to be so blinded by rage he doesn’t know he’s left his back exposed to Stan.

This was almost too easy.

Tapping the guy on the shoulder, he turns around. A brief glimmer of recognition of what he’s allowed himself to do and BAM.

Stan punches the guy square in the jaw with his brass knuckles. He falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes. A gold filling lies on the floor next to his mouth in a pool of blood. He’s definitely out for the count now.

Turning away from the groaning sleazeball lying on the floor, Stan rushes over to Olive, paternal urges rushing through him.

“You okay kid? You did well there y’know”- he smirks. “Honest, I think you coulda handled this guy yourself. I almost got in the way.”

He looks back to the necromancing con-man.

“No idea what we’re gonna do with you now bub…” Stan said, cold spite etched in his voice. “I’m honestly kinda tempted to just hand you back to the poor souls you resurrected to work in your crummy tourist trap.”

The amateur necromancer groaned, either due to his broken jaw, or at the prospect of being tossed to a bunch of vengful spirits.

“Think we should get your grandma involved. No clue what we’re going to do with a bunch of dead people who don’t know they’re dead yet.” Stan said to Olive.

“One thing’s for sure anyway, next year, we’re stayin’ in.”

[platoniccereal]

dorian: what does the qunari priesthood tell your people about losing the war?

iron bull: ehn. the usual. water comes, water goes, but eventually the tides wear away the mountain. blah, blah, blah.

in addition to quite a few instances of the iron bull putting everyone around at ease with the qun, this. literally going 🙄🙄🙄 and mocking your own priesthood in the most exasperated tone. don't worry, guys, i'm not one of these qunari. you can trust me. :)

[askblueandviolet]

Macaque, you are a freeloader...

At least give The Mayor a kiss. 😗

MASTER POST

Asks Start 💙💜

Previous 💙💜

Next 💙💜

[carefulfears]

what do you think mulder thinks of diana fowley after biogenesis through amor fati? i don't think we really see anything on screen/in text (though i think it says a lot that he didn't have much of a reaction when scully came to his apartment & instead focuses on scully & their relationship lol)

yeah there’s basically NOTHING in the text but tbh i think finding out for certain that she was working with CSM really kindaaaa snapped him out of some things…mulder doesn’t give a fuck what people do to him, obviously, but it’s a different thing entirely to find out that your ex is involved in something like that. like there are MILES from “my partner makes me feel like shit and is maybe pretty abusive” and “my partner is like 3rd on the call list of a eugenics group that treats women like test subjects”

like, scully was right, diana was monitoring MUFON women and collecting data on them. she was heading up the tests on cassandra. she probably knew the truth about samantha the whole time. just nasty nasty shit.

she’s the villain in the amor fati dream: the dismissive symbol of abandonment that offers another path.

one of the most interesting scenes of diana’s character to me, is in the sixth extinction, when she comes to see mulder in the hospital. and she knows what the effects of the artifact are, that he can hear what she’s thinking. that, therefore, he knows who she works for and what she’s doing. (imagine your ex-husband/wannabe boyfriend/obsession finds out you’re lying to him because he can read your mind….shit is crazy!)

and she tells him that she knows he knows. but that he also knows that she loves him.

and she does love him. there’s no reason to lie about that then, she knows he would be able to tell.

scully knows it without hearing it, that’s how she gets diana to save mulder’s life, ultimately. she comes to her and begs. tells her to please just think of him, who he is, who he was when she met him, who he is now. in the end, because of scully weaponizing how diana feels, diana can’t go through with it. she gives her life to help him.

diana seems to be one of those influences on mulder that’s only really all that significant when she’s close by. it’s like how all the tension in the beginning builds up to him getting in her car when she tells him to, leaving scully, when diana is there instructing him.

i think being able to know who she truly was and her true intentions and allegiances, prior to her death, really goes a long way in the way he responds to losing her.

don’t get me wrong, i think he’s upset. you can kind of see the shock cross his face when scully tells him. but he stays focused on his goal, which is to express to scully how important she is to him, in the wake of how discarded diana always made her feel.

mulder loved diana and grieves that she was killed, he doesn’t have it in him not to, but mostly he…wanted something from her, right? he wanted that approval and “affection” and to please her. he wanted her to believe him. the first thing that she says to disarm him (in the end) when she can tell he’s uneasy, is, “hey. i’m on your side.”

learning who she really is, it’s easier not to crave her approval so badly.

(this is the crux of amor fati’s “last temptation.” it’s diana saying: you’re childish. you are going to fail. your path is not your own. “you have to let go, fox.” and it’s scully countering: we need you. this is who you are.)

(it’s why he responds in the end by telling scully that it’s her that’s the voice of truth.)

and then in death, diana’s not…there for him to want anything from!! so it’s like, again, yeah he obviously feels the loss, this was someone who meant a lot to him for over a decade. but also it’s likeeeeee freeing in a way? it makes things simpler in a way? (he’s able to communicate all of that to scully instantly after hearing diana is gone, after over a year of the tension hanging around it)

if you asked him about diana now, or even a year later, i think he’d be like…damn that’s crazy! 😭😭 mulder doesn’t have an awful lot of object permanence you guys sjdjsjfj

when scully comes to tell mulder that diana was killed, and he says to her, “you were my friend, and you told me the truth,” the language matters so much. that’s what scully called diana, “i know she was your friend,” and he turns it back onto her. you were my friend. you told me the truth.

in my opinion, it’s not that he doesn’t love and grieve diana, but that there’s a freedom in knowing the truth. knowing who someone is, and their intentions. knowing who has your best interest at heart. knowing where you stand in the world, what you want to do.

that’s really what allows for the openness and lightness of s7, in the wake of diana’s absence. mulder’s always seeking, always learning.

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

i could draw anything but i decided to draw this. carlo and rocco in 1932 aka my headache

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

btw

CHANGING STATES

Lately, something has taken hold / of me—not hunger, not shame. It is like a flower / blooming in the injury. —Richie Hofmann

On the evening Jeremiah decides he’ll drive thirty hours to Maryland, the other half of his mattress is cold and Madonna’s on the radio. In his bedroom, he taps his cigarette on the windowsill, the ash scattering into rainy blue hour, and listens. Time goes by so slowly, she goes, her voice singed through his boombox’s broken speakers. He’s meant to replace it, though he’s meant to do a lot of things: check the mail, make a quiche, buy lightbulbs, call his sister, take up cross-stitch, recycle an olive jar, move his bed to the opposite side of his room. But time goes by so slowly, and Jeremiah would know—he’s twenty-one, yet feels he’s been alive for much, much longer.

[gregoftom]

mannnn who up tearing up over the sticker scene

[dullahandyke]

And that's another thing. I reckon I've done a pretty decent job of excising the culturally Christian values from my mind (obvi not fully but getting there) but if theres one thing I do hold out hope in, it's a very obviously Christian angel swooping down from heaven to be my caretaker and hold my hand. I miss her where is she. Cant look at historical art of angels bcos I'm reminded of her and I get sad

[kerorowhump]

my boy best friend having trouble identifying/accepting envy?

actually makes so much sense for him

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"I...I feel just the same."

What a thought: Two lonely souls brought together in their time of need, a time when they were so crushingly alone-her, trapped by a marriage she couldn't break away from and with no one to turn to for help, him, feeling alone and adrift in the wake of his mother's passing. It seemed so...oddly poetic, an underscoring to the notion of their being meant to be, meant to find one another.

"Y-You know," he said after a moment, giving himself a chance to take a breath and brush away his tears (having been so moved by Emily's words, his heart gripped by a tidal wave of emotion). "I...I used to think, given that we met so soon after my ma died...like she had a hand in us meeting. Like from up in heaven, she looked at you, and she looked at me, and thought...we'd be good for each other. That we'd make each feel...happy. Less alone in the world if we had each other. I-Is that...silly, to think that?"

He squeezed Emily's hand in return as he said this-in some ways, it might've sounded like a silly notion, that June Pace would match her son with a woman she'd never met before, but at the same time, to his heart, it just felt...right. Like somewhere, up in her place in the heavens, the Pace matriarch was able to peer down, watch over her son, and bring him some good, finding a kindred spirit, in a way, someone in need of a friend, a confidant, a love. A heavenly matchmaker in a way-the idea of his mother playing Cupid was an amusing one, but also sweet, that she saw them both, and gave them a little nudge towards one another, knowing it'd be good for them.

(Was it just Randall's imagination, or did he feel a hand on his shoulder, resting comfortingly there? It reminded him of when he'd be doing something at home, and his mother would come from behind to place her hand on his shoulder, and lay a kiss to his black curls...)

[weidli]

oh so 1x22 really is exactly calculated to make me specifically go fucking feral huh

[yanderenightmare]

part one

TW: nsfw, dubcon, blackmail

fem reader

As promised, you receive the pictures in the mail while the payment is forwarded almost emmidiatly. You don’t know which makes you gawk more, the photos of you or the numbers.

You also get an email—an invitation. The photographer is asking you to dinner. Or, asking is putting it nicely—which he most certainly didn’t. It’s phrased like a notice from your boss—matter-of-factly, he’s picking you up at eight, wear something nice.

You think about declining, but then you think about your friend again and how you don’t want to cause her any trouble. A free dinner isn’t really all that bad, is it?

It’s worse, actually.

“You should have told me you didn’t have anything to wear. I would have lent you something,” is the first thing he says when you get in his car. He hadn’t opened the door for you or anything, just sat in the driver’s seat waiting.

And though your cheeks burn with embarrassment, you think you’re foolish for it. You hadn't really dressed to impress him, after all—something you might as well tell him, “Maybe I just didn’t feel like dressing up. You didn’t exactly leave a good impression last time we met, so I don’t believe I owe you anything.”

He scoffs with a grin—face turned towards the road as he starts driving. “You have a lot more bite without your friend.”

“She has too much respect for you.” You cross your arms and look out the window. 

“That’s for sure.” You hear him chuckle, but he doesn’t offer any more of a response. You’re glad to spend the rest of the drive in silence.

You feel underdressed at the restaurant. You hadn’t thought he’d take you somewhere so nice. Most of the other couples there are dressed as if for a gala, while you’re dressed as if you’re going to an office party.

He hasn’t tried too hard himself. But still, he fits in—fat watch on his wrist, kempt hair, neat shoes, dress trousers, and a silk shirt with one too many buttons undone—a nauseating skinny chain beneath the collar as well as the hint of a chest tattoo. You bet it’s one of those dumb tribal inks, probably with some mundane Japanese characters he doesn’t know the meaning of.

“Is this where you undermine all the models desperate for your recognition?” you sigh as you sit down.

“We haven't even gotten our menus, and you’re already causing a scene?” 

He’s the one who was rude the moment you got in the car. In fact, he was rude the minute you met him. “Might as well speed this along.”

He chuckles—his smile genuinely amused instead of angered the way you’d imagined—the way you’d remembered from last time when he sent girls crying. “You know, for a face like that, you have one hell of a tongue.”

He orders wine by the name with ease and swiftness before returning to what he was saying.

“I like that. Most models are dull, but not you.”

“I don’t agree. And I’m a model,” you snip, showing no interest in his flirting.

 “No? Didn’t you see the pictures?” Your attitude doesn’t seem to deter him—rather, it only seems to egg him further on. “I have them all mounted on my walls at home—you should come see.”

This makes you falter. Looking at him from across the table with rounded eyes. “On your walls?”

“Framed.” He smiles, finally having broken through—he only intends to take it further. Not that what he was saying wasn’t true. “I just couldn’t help myself. I consider it my best work.” 

The look on your face is something between disgusted and uncertain—speechless in a sense.

It makes him laugh again. “Does anything flatter you?”

The wine comes. He’s poured a glass for testing.

“Not when spoken by men like you.”

His grin grows as he swirls the liquid around, smelling it like a phony.

“That’s a shame,” he says before taking a sip. He nods to the waiter, and you’re poured a similar glass. Meanwhile, he looks at you. “I’d like to flatter you—I’d like to spoil you even. You seem like you deserve it.”

You sip your glass. “No need.”

“I’m not so sure about that. You currently work at a diner, right?”

You gaze at him from atop your glass, brows furrowing. “How do you—”

“I didn’t.” It’s a lie, of course, he’d searched you up and gone over every little detail he could find. “It’s clear from the looks of you—”

“Fuck you,” you snap, putting your glass down a bit too harshly, enough to make a little wine slip and spill.

He doesn’t mind it. “Oh, I want you to,” he says instead. “After I pay for dinner and drive you back. We can fuck right under my favorite portrait of you.”

You’re stunted by his crude words, but only for a second. “How about we skip dinner, and you go fuck yourself.” 

His smile doesn’t drop, even as you get up to leave. “Settle down, sweetheart.”

“Make me, jackass.” 

You’re on your way to go, but his next words have you halting. 

“Either you humor me, or I make sure your friend never models in the country again.”

You turn around to look at him. You don’t really know why you’re so surprised. The card he just pulled is the very reason you agreed to the dinner in the first place. But an incentive is very different from outright blackmail, and suppose you just hadn’t really believed he’d take it that far.

“It’s my impression you don’t want that,” he continues.

You sit back down. He tops your glass off.

“I could make her big, you know?” he offers while pouring for himself as well. “Really speed her career along—set her up for life. I’ll do the same for you, too, of course.” 

He swirls his wine, lifting it as if to make a toast.

“And all you gotta do is come back home with me.”

You don’t have the words.

“You won’t be disappointed,” he promises. “I’m good at it.” As if that’s your concern. “You’ll never want to fuck anyone else again.”

You hate how right he is. 

You’ve never cum sooner or harder before in your life, not with anyone else or on your own. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—so good, you’re screaming—moaning out in echoes throughout his giant penthouse, bouncing off the marble floors into all unlocked rooms, creating a cacophony of your undeniable pleasure.

He’s on his knees beneath you as you lean with your back against the window overlooking the city, barely able to stand as he buries his face between your soft thighs, canting his chin up while lapping hard at your slit and clit. His hard stare set on your face and the way you throw your head back while cumming in his mouth—your hand tussled in his hair, yanking on it hard enough to make him growl.

Your legs and feet give you little support. It's his hands that keep you up as you slide further and further down the floor-to-ceiling window until you’re almost about ready to drop your weight completely.

But he’s made you come undone three times by then, and just can’t wait any longer. 

He’s spun you around before you know it, making you face the pretty lights of the city skyline—his mouth hot on the shell of your ear, “I told you so, didn’t I?”

Your breath fogs the glass with your panting—knees wobbly, only standing thanks to the thick arms he’s got supporting you, each with a tit in their hand, giving them rough squeezes as he starts pounding away at your womb—hard enough to make the city lights blend in with the stars. 

“You won’t wanna fuck anyone else again.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Oikawa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist