#sorry if I had little to say at the end of this post

[annicht]

kitten dad | Kuroo Tetsuro

or when your persian princess get pregnant by the black tomcat of the hot neighbor

-> post timeskip Kuroo Tetsuro X fem! reader | strangers to lovers

-> wordcount: 7.5k

-> tags: soft nsfw close to the end, sloooow burn, mutual pinning, post timeskip

@ anni says: I had to take this out of my head. already thinking about part two. let me know if it's too much bc I found it very dragged, idk. hope you enjoy

Marching torwards your neighbor door, you question yourself how is that even possible.

Your cat, Lola, a white persian, lies lazily on the animal carrier, and you huff annoyed, looking at her.

“I thought you hated other cats, you little troublemaker” — you mumble to the cat like she can understand you. And for her lazy grumbling, you know she can.

You knock on the white door three times. It’s late enough for the guy already be at home from work, but not late enough for him to be sleeping, you think in your head, looking at the 20:37 appearing at your watch. He’s a corporate worker like yourself, you saw him many times in the elevator with his suit and tie and his badge—

You were dry cut mid thought by the door opening, and the delicious scent of musky soap invading your senses.

Kuroo is standing, puzzled, wearing grey sweatpants and a black tank top, slightly wet hair, tilting his head. The girl next door, he thinks to himself.

He had seen you around countless times on the common areas, in the elevator, in the pool in a skimpy bikini, even at the gym. But what could you possibly be doing on his door?

You look at him, allowing your eyes to fall in his figure for miliseconds, enough to take notice of his strong biceps on show. Scrumptious. Then you focus back on his face.

“Hi, neighbor. Your cat just impregnated my kitty.”

He just looks at you for a couple seconds, his eyes slightly widening as the words slowly sunk on his brain.

“Excuse me?” — He asked, blinking. He’s either really tired or you are saying the most unlikely thing ever, and he didn’t know what is worse.

You squint, still a little annoyed, but slowly getting amused.

"Sorry the suddenness... you're the owner of that black short-haired cat, aren't you?"

You ask, and as if on cue, the little fella appeared strutting and mumbling a grumble behind Kuroo's legs, apparently curious of who's in the door

Kuroo looks down at the cat and then back at you, his eyes widening a bit as realization sank in.

“Ah— yes…” He says slowly, his eyebrows knitting in a frown. “This is Loki, yeah”.

He looked down at the cat again, who is now sitting and looking up at you with his big, yellow eyes, as if he knew exactly what you were about to say.

Kuroo crouched down to scratch behind Loki’s ears, his lips quirking into an amused grin.

“Looks like someone had a productive week,” he said dryly, casting a glance back up at you.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Productive? That’s one way to put it. My vet bill is going to be very productive, thanks to him.”

Kuroo straightened up, the movement drawing your eyes to the way his tank top stretched across his chest. You swallowed quickly and forced your gaze to his face— a smirking face, of course.

“Alright, I guess I owe you an apology?” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Though, to be fair, it takes two to tango. Maybe your girl couldn’t resist Loki’s charm.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his playful boldness. “Excuse me? My Lola is a lady of standards.”

“Clearly,” Kuroo said with a teasing edge, his smirk deepening. “I mean, look at Loki—absolute catch.”

You tried not to laugh, but a small snort escaped, and you covered it with a cough. “Okay, fine. Maybe they’re both to blame. But seriously, I thought she hated other cats. I didn’t even know they interacted.”

“Cats are sneaky like that,” he replied, shrugging, his tone light but his gaze lingering on you for just a second too long. You felt a strange warmth creep up your neck and mentally cursed him for being so... distracting.

“Well,” you started, clearing your throat and glancing down at Lola, who was now staring at Loki with her usual haughty expression, “Anyways. Just wanted to let you know that. And to ask if you know anyone who might want some… persian mixed kittens? I figure that the least you could do is help me find a home for them after they born”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re already putting me to work, huh? I didn’t realize Loki’s charm would come with responsibilities.”

You shot him a flat look, though the corners of your lips twitched. “You do realize this is partially your fault, right? Or are you just going to let me deal with a whole litter of kittens by myself?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fair enough. Consider me on kitten duty.” His smirk softened into something a bit more sincere. “I’ll help however I can. They are Loki’s kids, after all.”

Something about the way he said it, the playful yet genuine tone, made your resolve to stay annoyed falter. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Good,” you said, a little less stern this time. “You can start by helping me figure out where to set up for them. I don’t have much space in my apartment.”

Kuroo’s grin returned in full force. “So what I’m hearing is... you’re inviting me over?”

Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by his boldness, but you recovered quickly, giving him a pointed look, raising your eyebrows smugly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, neighbor. This is strictly business.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and you hated how much you liked it. “Strictly business, got it.”

Loki chose that moment to rub up against Kuroo’s leg, his tail swishing as he let out a satisfied purr. Lola, still sitting primly in her carrier, let out an indignant grumble in response.

“Seems like they’ve got a complicated relationship,” Kuroo remarked, glancing down at the cats. “Enemies? Lovers? Frenemies?”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Let’s just call them… complicated.”

“Works for me,” he said with a wink, straightening up. “Complicated relationships are kind of my specialty.”

Before you could respond—because what could you say to that without your brain short-circuiting?—Kuroo kept going: “I’ll check around to see if anyone’s interested in adopting some kittens,” he added casually. “Can I have your phone number? You know… to discuss kitten details?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, catching the glint of mischief in his tone. You said back with a mocking hint of disbelief. “Uh-huh. Kitten details. Sure.”

Kuroo raised his hands in mock innocence, the smirk still playing on his lips. “Strictly business, remember?”

You rolled your eyes but relented, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “Fine. Give me your phone.”

He handed it over without hesitation, and you quickly typed in your number, labeling yourself as Kitten Lady. When you handed it back, Kuroo glanced at the screen and let out a laugh.

“Kitten Lady? That’s what we’re going with?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Fits the situation, doesn’t it? Unless you’d prefer something more creative, like Annoyed Neighbor Who’s Stuck With Your Cat’s Consequences.”

“I think Kitten Lady has a nicer ring to it,” he said, his grin widening.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the way his playful energy was starting to chip away at your annoyance. “Alright, then. I guess I’ll be hearing from you soon, Kitten Dad.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at the nickname but didn’t argue. “Kitten Dad, huh? I’ll take it. Has a nice familial touch to it.”

You sighed, stepping back toward your door with Lola in tow. “Goodnight, Neighbor,”

“Goodnight, Kitten Lady,” he replied smoothly, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you retreat.

As you reached your door, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. He was still standing there, Loki in his arms, one hand casually rubbing behind Loki’s ears, his eyes locked on you with an unreadable expression.

You quickly looked away, fumbling with your keys and stepping into your apartment, shutting the door behind you. Leaning against it, you let out a slow breath, placing Lola’s carrier on the floor and opening the little grid door.

Lola meowed lazily, peeking out of the carrier as if she were judging you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, setting the carrier down and letting her out.

Lola stretched and sauntered off, clearly unimpressed.

You rubbed your temples, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. This was going to be a long few weeks, wasn’t it?

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

Across the hall, Kuroo closed his door with a quiet chuckle, looking down at Loki, who was now lounging contentedly on the floor.

“Well, buddy,” he said, crouching down to scratch under Loki’s chin. “Looks like you’ve caused some chaos.”

Loki purred in response, blinking up at him with an air of smug satisfaction.

Kuroo leaned back against the door, a small smile lingering on his lips as he pulled his phone out to save your number properly. His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment as he read Kitten Lady 🐾.

He stared at it for a beat longer, that grin of his softening slightly. This might just get interesting.

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

Surprisingly enough —or don’t— he was the one to text first just a day later. You’re at work, sipping coffee after a meeting, scrambling some papers on your desk when your phone buzzed. The Kitten Dad name made you squint your eyes.

Kitten Dad: Hey, goodday sweetheart. You good? Just got asked when is little Lola due. A friend from work might be interested in having one of the kitties.

I look at the text. A friend from work? He text and I can’t help but imagine how is he at work. Is he a manager? A head? A director? Which department is he from? If I had to guess I would say Sales — he’s charismatic enough to sell sand in the desert.

I huff in annoyance with my own train of thought. Why am I thinking so hard about it? I take my phone to answer.

Kitten Lady 🐾: Hey. Vet said she’s due two weeks from now.

The response was simple, straightforward. Yet, as you set your phone down, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d sounded too curt. No, you told yourself firmly. It’s just a text. No need to overthink.

But then, your phone buzzed again, and against your better judgment, you snatched it up almost immediately.

Kitten Dad: Two weeks, huh? That’s soon. Let me know if you need help setting things up for her. I’m practically a cat expert now.

You bit back a smile. Cat expert, huh? You could practically see that cocky smirk on his face, the same one he’d worn when he leaned in the doorframe last night.

Kitten Lady 🐾: Oh, are you? Should I start calling you Dr. Meow?

It took less than a minute for his reply to come through.

Kitten Dad: Has a nice ring to it. Or Cat Whisperer. Either works.

You let out a small laugh, earning a confused look from a passing coworker. Quickly composing yourself, you turned back to your desk, cheeks warming for no apparent reason.

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

By the time you got home that evening, you were surprised to find Kuroo opening his door, like he was waiting for you to arrive to leave and talk to you. He was holding a small, rectangular package in his hands and greeted you with his signature grin as he walked torwads you and your door as you opened it.

“Evening, Kitten Lady,” he said smoothly. “Perfect timing.”

You blinked, shifting your bag onto your shoulder. “Uh, hey? What’s that?”

“Thought I’d swing by and help with that whole ‘setting up for Lola’ thing,” he said, holding up the package. “Got a starter kit—fluffy blankets, soft toys, and some other stuff. Figured it might make her more comfortable when the kittens arrive.”

You stared at him, stunned. For all the teasing and smug remarks, you hadn’t expected this. “You… bought stuff for Lola?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I mean, it’s partially Loki’s fault, right? I can’t exactly leave you hanging.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. There was a sincerity in his tone that caught you off guard. He wasn’t just trying to charm his way out of responsibility—he was actually being… thoughtful.

“That’s… really nice of you,” you said finally, unlocking your door. “Thanks, Kuroo.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, following you inside.

Lola, as always, was lounging regally on the couch, barely sparing Kuroo and Loki—who had, unsurprisingly, followed him to your place unbothered—a passing glance.

“She really does act like a queen, doesn’t she?” Kuroo said, setting the box down and kneeling to unpack its contents.

“She’s earned it,” you replied, watching as he pulled out a fluffy blanket and a tiny cat bed. “I mean, look at her. She’s unbothered by everything.”

“Clearly,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “She didn’t even flinch when Loki walked in like he owns the place.”

You snorted, crossing your arms. “She’s probably plotting her revenge for him ruining her peace.”

Kuroo laughed, the sound warm and easy, and you found yourself smiling despite yourself. He had a way of making everything feel light, even when you wanted to stay annoyed.

“Alright,” he said, turning back to the task at hand. “Where do you want this stuff? I’ll help you set up her little kitten corner.”

You hesitated for a moment, but eventually pointed to a cozy nook near the window. “Over there, I guess. She likes the sun.”

“Got it,” he said, grabbing the blanket and bed.

As you watched him work, his movements uncharacteristically focused, you couldn’t help but wonder: was this the same guy who smirked at you in elevators and flirted shamelessly by his door? Because right now, he looked… different. Softer, somehow.

“You know,” you said after a moment, “you’re surprisingly good at this whole ‘cat dad’ thing.”

He looked up, his grin returning. “What can I say? I have hidden talents.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. Maybe this arrangement wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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

The kitten corner was finally set up, and Lola had already claimed her throne atop the soft new bed. Loki, meanwhile, was having the time of his life pawing at one of the dangling toys Kuroo had brought over, batting it around like a tiny predator.

You were in the kitchen, rummaging through your cabinets for something to fix up while Kuroo lounged on the couch. The sound of his laughter floated through the room, warm and unrestrained, as Loki miscalculated a jump and landed in a comically undignified sprawl.

“You weren’t kidding about him being a troublemaker,” you called over your shoulder, smiling to yourself as you grabbed a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine you’d been saving for some occasion. This felt good enough.

“Hey, he’s a charming troublemaker,” Kuroo countered, his voice carrying an easy humor. “Loki’s got personality. You can’t fault him for that.”

You rolled your eyes, pouring the wine. “If by ‘personality,’ you mean a complete lack of grace, then sure.”

“Hey now,” he said, mock-defensive, “I’ll have you know he’s a highly sophisticated creature.”

Turning with the glasses in hand, you walked back to the couch and handed him one, tilting your head toward Loki, who was currently tangled in the blanket he’d been pouncing on. “Yeah, I can see the sophistication from here.”

Kuroo snorted, taking the glass from you with a murmured “Thanks,” before shifting to make room for you to sit. You settled cross-legged into the cushion next to him, a comfortable silence falling as you both watched the cats in their oddly synchronized chaos.

“So,” you said after a moment, swirling the wine in your glass, “what do you actually do? Besides spoil Loki and crash your neighbor’s evening.”

Kuroo grinned, taking a slow sip before answering. “I’m a PR manager for the promotion division at JVA. Basically, I work with the teams that keep the company and our sponsors happy. Events, campaigns, all that good stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. “JVA? As in the Japan Volleyball Association?”

“That’s the one,” he said, flashing a toothy grin. “Biggest name in the game. It’s a lot of work, but I like it. Keeps me on my toes.”

“Wow,” you said, nodding. “That actually explains a lot. You’ve got that… people-person vibe.”

“Oh?” he teased, leaning back against the couch. “And what vibe is that, exactly?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “You know. Smooth talker, always charming. Classic PR type.”

Kuroo chuckled, resting his arm casually along the back of the couch. “I’ll take that as a compliment. What about you? What’s the story with… what do you do, again?”

“Marketing manager,” you said, shrugging. “Different industry, same chaos. I work for a firm that handles branding for retail clients. It’s mostly brainstorming ad campaigns and arguing over budgets.”

“Sounds intense,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “But you’re good at it, huh?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “I mean, I guess. I like it. It’s creative, and it keeps me busy.”

“Busy’s good,” he said, nodding. “But it doesn’t leave much time for stuff like this, huh?”

You glanced at him, unsure what he meant, but his gaze was fixed on the cats now. Lola was swatting half-heartedly at Loki, who had resumed his enthusiastic assault on the dangling toy.

“No,” you admitted softly, swirling the wine in your glass again. “Not really. I guess I don’t usually let myself slow down.”

Kuroo looked at you then, his gaze steady but unreadable. “Well,” he said after a moment, his voice lighter again, “it’s a good thing you’ve got me to force some downtime on you, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, is that what this is? A public service?”

“Exactly,” he said with mock seriousness, raising his glass in a toast. “Here’s to kitten diplomacy and responsible downtime.”

You clinked your glass against his, unable to hide your smile. “Cheers to that.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax. The warmth of the wine, the sound of his laughter, and the soft chaos of the cats were all more comforting than you’d expected. Maybe Kuroo wasn’t just a charming troublemaker after all.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind him crashing your evening.

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

Two glasses of wine in, and you were feeling a little loose, the warm buzz in your cheeks spreading to your limbs. The evening had been lighthearted—talking about work, random anecdotes, and occasional jokes about the cats and their ridiculous antics.

You were now sitting cross-legged on the couch, your messy bun more of a loose cluster than a tidy knot, strands of hair falling against your flushed cheeks. You animatedly gestured with your hands, describing some recent event at work. Kuroo is now leaning forward with that usual relaxed, playful energy that made you forget there was anyone else in the room.

“—and I swear, if I have to sit through one more ‘group synergy’ meeting, I’ll scream,” you finished with a dramatic sigh, dropping back onto the couch, rolling your eyes.

Kuroo snickered, leaning back, arms crossing behind his head as he relaxed. “Group synergy? That sounds like a nightmare. You really don’t like your coworkers, do you?”

You shot him a teasing glare, settling deeper into the couch. “I’m professional, I swear. But, seriously, it’s the worst. A whole hour, and not one person had anything worth saying. They spent half the time discussing what color the logo should be on our next campaign. I almost fell asleep.”

“Well, at least the logo’s going to look great,” Kuroo teased, reaching for his glass and taking a casual sip.

You snorted and looked at him sideways, the wine making you more comfortable than you intended. “You’re one to talk. You’ve probably sat through worse in PR. What’s the worst meeting you’ve ever had to deal with?”

Kuroo tilted his head, thinking. “Hmm, I guess the worst was this entire week-long campaign brainstorming session where we just talked about the idea but never actually did anything. People in that room were like… walking around in their own little PR bubbles. I nearly lost my mind.”

“Is that why you’re so laid-back now? You survived that chaos and just decided to become a permanent chill vibe?”

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “I figured if I could survive that and still be sane, I deserve to kick back a little.”

You shook your head, still grinning. “I can’t believe you’ve been in that world for so long. You must have some stories.”

Kuroo’s eyes sparkled with mischief, and you realized you might’ve just opened a can of worms. “Oh, definitely. A lot of interesting ones. You know, the kind where you end up questioning your life choices. And not only work-related.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “You’re gonna have to elaborate on that.”

He leaned in, his voice taking on a more conspiratorial tone. “Alright, alright. So, there was this one relationship I had.” He started, and you raise one eyebrow, not expecting him to just switch from work to personal relationship so quickly “She was a wild ride—great at first, but things got a little… crazy. Started out all perfect, you know? But then she started bringing up wedding ideas after a couple of months, and I’m like, ‘Whoa, hold up.’”

You laughed, raising your glass, poiting at him, remembering the topic from earlier, but not entirely knowing the story. “Wait, wait—this is the ex who nearly got you to the altar?”

“Yup,” Kuroo said with a smirk, swirling his glass, “but I guess she wasn’t the ‘I Do’ type, if you know what I mean.” He winked, and the playful lilt in his voice had you biting back a smile.

“No way. Did she have one of those ‘we need to talk’ moments?”

He nodded dramatically. “Oh, she sure did. But instead of talking, she got me into a whole emotional spiral. I was supposed to pick out wedding rings, and I—” He cut himself off with a laugh, shaking his head. “I mean, talk about commitment issues. You would have thought I was getting married to someone else the way she freaked out.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “That’s insane. What did you do?”

“Well, after a long string of very loud discussions, I ended up booking a solo trip to Thailand for some ‘soul-searching.’ I didn’t come back with a ring, but I did come back with a lot of souvenirs and a much-needed reality check.”

Your lips curled into a smile, impressed. “I mean, I don’t blame you. That sounds like a red flag festival.”

“Exactly.” Kuroo leaned back, letting out a chuckle. “I don’t think she ever quite understood why I ghosted her after that.”

You shrugged, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Well, sounds like you dodged a bullet. She was probably a headache.”

“Oh, definitely,” he said with a wink. “But, hey, I’m better for it. You live and you learn, right?”

Your expression softened, just for a moment. “Yeah, I guess so. Can’t say I’ve been any better at picking ideal relationships either.”

Kuroo’s gaze flickered to you for a moment, and the sudden shift in the air wasn’t lost on either of you. You could feel the tension coil between you, subtle but undeniable. He tilted his head, his tone more curious.

“You’ve had your fair share of messy affairs?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, but your fingers fidgeted with your wine glass. “I mean, I was in an office relationship once. It was… well, it was a disaster, to be honest. Started out all hot and heavy, you know? But once we hit that *‘what’s next?’* phase, everything went south.”

“Office romances are always a gamble,” he said, voice quieter now. “Especially when someone can’t handle the post-work hours realities.”

You let out a soft laugh, but there was a certain edge to it. “Yeah, and the worst part? I thought we were solid. But he ended up freaking out when things got serious. Real ‘let’s keep it casual’ kind of guy.”

There it was again—the unspoken weight in the air. You could feel it creeping closer, like the world had just tilted slightly. You were both leaning in, caught in this space where the conversation could go anywhere—or nowhere.

“Funny how that happens,” Kuroo murmured, his gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips and back again.

You swallowed hard, lips slightly parted, suddenly aware of how close he was. “Yeah,” you said softly, the atmosphere thickening. “Funny…”

A long beat of silence followed. Then, as if the universe itself had just cleared its throat, Kuroo’s smirk deepened, and he leaned back slightly, breaking the tension just enough to let you both breathe again.

“Well, at least you didn’t nearly get engaged,” he said with a teasing grin. “I think that takes the cake on ‘bad decisions’.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh, relieved for the lighthearted tone again. “I’d be so much better at picking next time,” you said, looking at him with a sly grin. “I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering down to your lips once more. “Oh? What exactly does that lesson look like?”

You felt the heat of his gaze, and the sudden closeness seemed to make the space between you shrink even further. The way he was looking at you, the slight tilt of his head—it was almost like he was waiting for you to make the next move. It made your heart skip a beat.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus, but it was hard to ignore the way your body seemed to lean in just a little closer, drawn to him like a magnet. “Maybe…” you began slowly, your voice soft but carrying the weight of something unspoken, “maybe I’ll go for someone who doesn’t have a one-way ticket to Crazy Town.”

Kuroo’s lips curled into a half-smile, but it wasn’t as playful anymore. There was a hint of something else lurking beneath. He leaned in, ever so slightly, as if testing the waters. “You know,” he said quietly, “sometimes, a little bit of crazy isn’t always a bad thing.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Is that so?” You met his gaze head-on, not backing down, but feeling your pulse pick up.

“Yeah,” Kuroo replied, his voice lower now, his tone shifting, “sometimes it’s just the right kind of chaos that makes things… interesting.” His eyes never left yours as he spoke, the words heavy with an almost tangible tension.

For a moment, the space between you seemed to dissolve entirely, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was this close to crossing that line. The line you both knew was there, but neither of you had acknowledged it yet.

“Is that what you’re offering?” you teased lightly, though you could hear the slight quiver in your own voice.

Kuroo’s smirk widened just slightly, but the warmth in his eyes remained. “Maybe…” His voice trailed off, but the way he said it made you feel like there was more to it, like he was almost daring you to take it further.

You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning in just a little, your lips almost brushing as you whispered, “Maybe I’m not sure if I want to risk another ‘chaos’ just yet.”

Kuroo's gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest moment, and you could feel the charged atmosphere shifting. The space between you was narrowing faster than either of you could pretend it wasn’t. He leaned in a fraction more, and his breath was warm against your skin. “Maybe… that’s a risk worth taking,” he murmured, his voice now barely above a whisper.

Your heart raced, the distance between you two was practically nonexistent now. You could feel the heat of his body, his presence taking up all the space in the room. The playful teasing was gone—replaced by something far more intimate. More dangerous. His hand reached out, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that had your breath catching in your throat.

Before you could respond, Kuroo's fingers slid gently down your jaw, and his thumb lightly grazed your bottom lip. The gesture was simple, but it felt like the world had stopped. The kiss was inevitable now.

Slowly, almost too slowly, he tilted his head, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most deliberate way. The touch was electric, sending a spark of heat rushing through your veins. You were almost caught off-guard by the intensity of it, but it didn’t take long for your lips to part, inviting him closer.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you in deeper, as the kiss grew more urgent, more demanding. The world around you melted away, the only thing left was the heat between you two. His lips moved with a teasing confidence, making sure you felt every second of it.

His tongue lapped on your wet cave like a thirsty man that haven’t seen water in years, and the sweet taste of wine made your head spin, chasing his own tongue in a soft sucking move that drove him insane.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours, both of you trying to catch your breath. His lips curled into that familiar, mischievous grin. “Guess that’s one way to make a decision,” he said, voice low and raspy.

You opened your eyes to find him watching you, eyes darkened with something more than playfulness. There was still a hint of the teasing smile on his lips, but now it was accompanied by something far more tempting.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice a little breathless, “I think I’m starting to see what you mean by chaos.”

He chuckled, his hand still on your neck, fingers tracing small, absent circles on your skin. “Well, I’m not all bad at it,” he said with a wink. Without warning, Kuroo tugged gently on your arm, pulling you toward him until you were no longer leaning back on the couch. Before you could fully process it, you were perched on his lap, straddling him with your knees on either side of his thighs, the space between you two completely gone.

For a moment, you just sat there, a little stunned by how naturally it all happened. His hands slid to your waist, holding you firmly in place as his gaze swept over you. “You look better here,” he said, his voice deep, eyes never leaving yours.

You couldn’t help but laugh, trying to hide the sudden nerves that started to bubble up in your stomach. “Well, this is a bit of an upgrade.” You gave him a teasing smile, your hands resting on his shoulders, but the tension between you was palpable now.

Kuroo’s fingers tightened just slightly on your waist, his expression turning more serious. “Better be careful. We’re both dangerously close to making some bad decisions here.”

“Are you trying to scare me off?” You tilted your head, the edge of a challenge in your tone, but deep down, you weren’t sure whether you wanted him to back off or pull you even closer.

“Nope,” Kuroo said, his lips curling into a grin as he gently tugged you even closer, your body now pressed against his. “Just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting into.”

Before you could respond, Kuroo’s lips found yours again—hungry, a little less playful this time, but just as consuming. Your body reacted immediately, the heat between you two igniting in an instant. There was no more teasing, no more games. The only thing that mattered was the feel of his lips on yours, the way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you even closer, if that was possible.

When he finally broke the kiss again, he exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against yours. “You sure you want to keep going?” he whispered, his voice low, but there was no mistaking the desire in it.

You grinned, your fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw, the touch almost affectionate now, despite the electricity between you. “I think,” you said slowly, your lips curling into a mischievous smile, “I’m already in too deep.”

Kuroo’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your waist as his smirk returned, cocky and satisfied. “Good. Because I’m just getting started.”

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

The make out session felt like it went on for hours straight. Enough for Loki and Lola engross themselves in the biggest nap, both balls of fur tangled on the fluffy bed.

One of Kuroo’s hand is sliding up your thigh, his long, slender and strong fingers slightly entering the hem of your cotton shorts, squeezing the flesh in his palm. His free arm is sneaked around your waist, pushing you flush against him on the couch as he spreads his legs, making yours spread in the process.

Your hair is as messy as it can get, your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are darkened and dilated, your white dress shirt have three buttons open and is half slid down your shoulder, exposing just a teasing piece of your black lacy bra, making the cleavage a white canvas for his lips to paint with soft red marks.

In swift subtle moves, your body unconsciously grinds down on his hard erection strained through his pants, offering a delicious type of friction that sends a wave of pleasure through your bodies and is both a torment and a relief. The movement makes Kuroo groan inside your mouth, and you swallow his noises like it can feed you phisiologically speaking.

You two are like a couple of horny teenagers dry humping each other on the couch and almost completely out of it. Almost.

That’s when a couple of knocks and a door bell incessantly ringing filled both your ears. Not from your place, but from Kuroo’s. And he groans deeply.

He completely forgot the boy’s night he planned hosting with Bokuto and Kenma in his place, and he mentally curses the past Kuroo Tetsuro for his life choices. But how can he had antecipated that a cat visit to spoil Lola and Loki’s future offspring would end up in his hot neighbor straddling his lap like a five course meal?

When his phone started buzzing on your coffee table with “owl guy” on the screen, he shouted from under you a “I’m coming, damn it”, more huffed and annoyed than he would like, but he didn’t care at the moment.

The scream pacified the guy out there for now, and he collapsed his head on the crook of your neck, mumbling against your skin.

“I gotta go, apparently” — he said while placing soft kisses on your skin, trying to come down from the high and dissipate the intensity between you. You hummed, already resigned with the fate that the momentum between you ended.

“Mkay…” You said, nuzzling in his hair, breathing in the scent of his musky shampoo, trying to tattoo it on your memory. “Go before the guy out there lose his patience,”

He huffed a chuckle on your neck, making you shiver, and you proceed to desintangle yourself from his lap as he stands up. Now standing, Kuroo whistle to Loki, calling him with a soft “Come on, boy” that makes you want it was meant for you. The black cat stands up with his ears perked up, slowly walking behind Kuroo.

You two don’t bid goodbye, not feeling the need to, and the things feel even more unfinished than ever.

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

As Kuroo leaves your door, hair messy, traces of smeared pink lipstick on his lips, his jaw and his neck, ragged breath, wrinkled clothes, Bokuto’s eyes widen and he tilted his head like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“I…” Bokuto started, looking from his door to the door he left “Bro, did I miss your door?”

Kuroo just rolled his eyes, trying to hide a smug smile, walking torwards his door to enter, not bothering answer his question, making the owl guy let out a boisterous laugh

“Ohoho, boy’s night just got a hot topic!”

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

Kuroo’s splashed in his couch, sipping from a bottle of water, while Bokuto is sitting on the counter stool, sipping one of Kuroo’s fancy scotches, looking at Kuroo with a funny face.

“Wait, bro, let me see if I got this straight… Your cat… banged the hot neighbor’s cat.. And now you’re doing the same?” Bokuto summarized the story that Kuroo just told him.

“That… sounded… animalistic”

Bokuto snorted, nearly spilling his drink. "Oh, come on, bro. You can’t tell me it’s not poetic. It’s like… fate. Two star-crossed lovers”

Kuroo sighed, rubbing his face with one hand while reaching for his own drink with the other. “First of all, no. Don’t call it fate. Second, Loki didn’t ‘fall in love.’ He just knocked up her cat, and now I’m stuck playing awkward in-law.”

Bokuto wiggled his eyebrows. “And you accidentally ended up in a heavy make-out session with said cat’s owner?”

Kuroo shot him a deadpan look. “Yes, Bokuto. That’s exactly how it happened. I tripped and landed with my tongue in her mouth.”

Bokuto gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “That’s insane! How’d you even keep your balance?”

Kuroo exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

Kenma, who had been half-listening while scrolling through his phone, finally spoke up from the other end of the couch, locking the phone and tossing on the coffee table. “So, are you actually into her, or was this just the wine?”

Kuroo opened his mouth, then closed it. A beat passed. Then another.

Bokuto leaned forward like he could smell the hesitation. “Ohhh, you like her.”

Kuroo groaned, tilting his head back against the couch. “I never said that.”

Kenma didn’t even glance up from his phone. “You didn’t have to.”

Bokuto grinned wildly. “Dude, you totally do. You’ve been all ‘hot neighbor this, hot neighbor that’ for months, and now you’re sitting here, looking like you just crawled out of a romance novel—messy hair, lipstick all over you, breathing like you ran a marathon—”

“Alright,” Kuroo cut in, pointing a warning finger. “I met her yesterday. There’s nothing there. We’re done with this conversation.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes at the topic, but his mind was already back at your place, back to the way you felt on his lap, the taste of wine lingering between kisses, and the way your fingers had tangled in his hair like you belonged there.

Yeah, he was screwed.

Bokuto smirked behind his glass. “You know that’s sus, bro. You never not wanna talk about the girls you hook up, sometimes you even share too much for our ears sake. And now you’re done with this conversation? Weird as hell. Are you high on catnip or something?”

Kuroo scoffed, taking a slow sip of his water, trying to ignore the way his ears burned at Bokuto’s words. “I just don’t feel like giving you two a play-by-play of my night, alright? Not everything is meant for your entertainment.”

Bokuto gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Kuroo Tetsuro, keeping a secret? Scandalous.”

Kenma hummed, eyes narrowingskeptically. “It’s either serious or embarrassing. Either way, he’s hiding something.”

Kuroo groaned, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Oh my god, can we talk about something else?”

Bokuto, ignoring him completely, turned to Kenma. “Serious and embarrassing is my guess. I mean, look at him—he’s got that ‘I just realized I have a crush’ face.”

Kenma finally looked up, golden eyes scanning Kuroo for a long, quiet second. Then, with the precision of a seasoned gamer landing a final headshot, he muttered with a smug smile, “You’re overthinking it already, aren’t you?”

Kuroo opened his mouth, but no words came out. His jaw tightened.

Bokuto’s grin widened. “Ohhh, he is.”

Kuroo scowled, sinking deeper into the couch. He hated how well they knew him. He hated even more that they weren’t wrong. His brain had been stuck replaying the feel of you against him, the way your breath had hitched when he’d gripped your thigh, the way your lips had parted right before he kissed you again— everything seemingly so physical and superficial, but there’s a deepth he’s not familiar with in the slightest. Is it the cat connection? Is it because you two shared too much right before the make out session and he realized how you’re a mix of smart, successful, hardworking, independent and authentic wrapped up in devastatingly hot body and pretty face?.

Shit.

He needed to get a grip.

With a sigh, he grabbed the scotch glass from Bokuto’s hand and took a sip himself. “I swear, you two have way too much time on your hands.”

Bokuto just wiggled his eyebrows. “And you have a hot neighbor on your hands.”

Kenma smirked slightly, going back to his phone. “This is gonna be fun to watch.”

Kuroo exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “I hate both of you.”

Bokuto just laughed, spinning the empty glass in his hands. “Nah, you love us. Just like you looove—”

“Finish that sentence and I’m throwing you off my balcony.”

Bokuto made a show of zipping his lips but kept grinning like he’d already won. And, honestly, maybe he had.

Because Kuroo was distracted. He was so distracted.

Even as Kenma and Bokuto bickered about what game to play next, his mind kept drifting back—to your place, to the taste of wine and heat on your lips, to the way your fingers had tugged at his hair like you needed him.

It was supposed to be a casual thing. Just some alcohol-induced fun. That’s what he’d told himself when he went for the kiss. But the way his body was still thrumming with leftover electricity and his mind was yearning for a deeper connection told a different story.

And the worst part?

He wanted more.

A lot more.

With a quiet groan, he tipped his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers. Maybe he really was screwed.

Kenma’s voice pulled him back to the present. “So, when are you seeing her again?”

Kuroo scoffed, grabbing his phone from the coffee table. “I don’t know. Whenever Loki and I happen to bump into her, I guess.”

Bokuto snorted. “Dude, your cat is literally dating her cat. You have the perfect excuse.”

Kuroo glared at him, but his fingers hovered over your name in his messages. Should he text you? Would that be weird? Too soon? Too obvious?

Before he could overthink it, his phone vibrated with a new message.

Kitten Lady: Hey, I was thinking about making some arrangements in the kittens corner tomorrow. Wanna come help me with it?

Kuroo blinked, rereading the text. A slow smirk spread across his lips.

Kenma, eyebrows widden in a stunned expression, muttered, “He’s smiling. This is worse than I thought.”

Bokuto clapped his hands together. “Boys, we have a situation!”

[vettelsvee]

I'M SORRY, JULIET | Mick Schumacher

Mick Schumacher x Secret Girlfriend Vettel!Reader

SUMMARY: You're secretly dating Mick, both of you hiding it from everyone in your families until you get so happy about him getting his first points in Formula 1 that your father, Sebastian, ends up finding out

WORD COUNT: 2404

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of teen pregnancy (age 17 from Seb and Hanna), angst. Settled on 2022 British GP

VEE'S NOTES: I missed so much posting about Mick so I had to bring him back... even that means Seb is the "bad guy" here. Hope you like it and thanks for reading! I'll be waiting for your opinions <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

You hadn’t attended a Formula 1 race for longer than you could remember, and truthfully, you never thought you would again until Mick Schumacher started turning your world pink.

The boy had known you since you were a child, back when you would occasionally attend races hand in hand with your grandfather, Norbert. Your relationship deepened every time you saw each other in the paddock or at family gatherings, and despite the age difference between you, you grew closer and closer until you eventually fell in love with each other.

Even before your relationship began, you were both fully aware of the obstacles in your way. It wasn’t just the fact that Mick was six years older than you, but also that you were the children of two drivers who weren’t just former rivals and friends, but also were like family.

All of that, combined with the inevitable pressure from the press if they ever found out about your relationship, mattered little to Mick. One afternoon in mid-June, when the Schumachers and the Vettels had gathered together, he had decided to confess his feelings for you. At first, you were completely in shock, hearing from the lips of the very boy you had loved for years that he loved you too.

So, of course, when Mick asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend, you didn’t doubt to say yes.

Neither of you cared what others might say because, for now, no one knew about your relationship.

And there you were now, standing in the Aston Martin garage alongside your mother and your three younger siblings, watching the race with great enthusiasm as Sebastian drove the emerald-green car.

To the outside world, it might have seemed like you were simply there for one of the most important days in your father’s career since it was his 35th birthday. But in reality more than watching your father, you wanted to see your boyfriend.

Hanna noticed the tense expression on your face. Smiling warmly and without taking her eyes off Emily and Matilda, who were playing tag nearby, she stepped closer to you.

“Are you okay, Y/N? You seem like you’re in another galaxy.”

Your body tensed at the question, something that happened every time someone in your inner circle mentioned directly or indirectly your secret boyfriend. You tried to hide what was on your mind, but the combination of your mother’s presence and your nerves made you say more than you actually wanted.

“I’m nervous because I want dad to finish in the points,” you said with as much conviction as possible, though it wasn’t enough to convince Sebastian’s wife. “And well… I’m also worried about Mick.”

Hanna raised an eyebrow, curious, but not pressing. She had once been seventeen too. More than that, she had gotten pregnant with you at that age, and she knew that your concern for Mick went beyond simple friendship. Mothers developed a sixth sense when it came to their children, and she knew you too well to be fooled.

“Mick? Why would you be worried about Mick?” she asked, making sure not to pry too much or reveal how much she already knew.

“Well… he’s having a really good race today,” you replied, lowering your gaze to the floor. “I’d like him to get a high position,” you explained, “even though with the piece of crap car he has we can’t expect much.”

Hanna nodded understandingly, reading between the lines of your words.

“I get it, sweetheart. I was the same way with your dad when he started racing,” she said, deliberately choosing her words to make you overthink. “Mick has a lot of talent, but he’s not in a team that helps him shine, so I understand why you care so much.”

“If you ever need to talk about Mick you know you can trust me, right?”  Hanna added,

You appreciated your mother’s words, though you remained cautious just in case she was digging for something that might expose your relationship. How naive you were to think she didn’t already know you were dating one of Sebastian’s best friends’ sons.

When the checkered flag waved and the twenty cars crossed the finish line, your eyes remained glued to the leaderboard. Not only had Carlos, one of your best friends, taken his first victory, but both Mick and Sebastian had finished in the points, placing eighth and ninth respectively.

Your father earning two points on his birthday was amazing. Your boyfriend earning three? Even better, especially since it was his first time scoring points in Formula 1. Saying you were emotional was an understatement, and no matter how much you tried to hold it in, a few tears escaped down your cheeks. You wiped them away quickly to avoid drawing attention.

Hanna, still by your side as she fed the youngest member of the family, noticed you approaching with a hesitant expression, as if you wanted to ask something but were afraid to.

“Can I go to Mick’s garage to congratulate him?” you asked cautiously. “It’s his first time scoring, and I’d like to say something to him in person before we leave for Switzerland.”

“I know you’re excited for him,” your mother said while burping the baby, “but I think it’s better if you stay here. It’s your dad’s birthday, and honestly? I doubt Haas would even let you see Mick.”

You nodded, though sadness crept in. You looked at the monitors, seeing the top three drivers already celebrating on the podium. Even from your location, you could hear the Spanish national anthem playing over the speakers.

“Mum,” you tried again, “come on, let me go congratulate Mick. I’ll be back quickly, and I’ll be here by the time dad gets back!”

Your exaggerated gestures and the way you waved your arms were too adorable, and Hanna couldn’t help but see herself in you. She remembered how she had felt when she started dating Sebastian, wanting nothing more than to see him every chance she had. As much as she tried to be the responsible mother, sometimes she just couldn’t help it. This was one of those moments, one where she gave in to the charms of her eldest, the spitting image of her father.

“Make sure you come back as soon as possible,” she relented with a small smile. “I don’t want your father calling me a bad mother for letting his baby do grown-up things.”

“Thank you, mum!”

With that being said, you sprinted off, weaving through mechanics, fans, and celebrities scattered around the paddock. You checked your phone to see if Mick had texted you, but there was nothing. That only made you hurry toward the Haas garage. Seeing it empty, you quickly turned around and headed toward the hospitality area, which was further away. While dodging anyone in your way, you sent Mick a message telling him you were on your way and that you had to be quick before your father returned.

When you arrived, the first thing you saw was Mick soaked in champagne, holding a bottle in his hand. The Haas team members, including Guenther, were celebrating. You felt out of place and your insecurity crept in, making you want to turn around and leave. But then Mick saw you, and the moment your eyes met, you knew you had made the right choice.

Mick immediately broke away from the group and rushed to your side, hugging you tightly. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, even if just a quick peck, but his rational side reminded him that now was not the place.

“Congratulations, Mick!” you exclaimed, your excitement taking over you. “Oh my God, oh my God! I’m so proud of you!” you squealed, throwing your arms around his neck.

“I finally get to see you, princess. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to,” he murmured playfully. “Although, I’d love to do a few other things with you.”

Your face turned bright red, something you had grown used to ever since you started dating Mick and were used to hear his endless compliments.

“How was the race?” he asked. “Did you like it, even though I probably looked like an idiot who doesn’t know how to drive?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mick!” you scolded, lightly hitting his arm. “You scored points for the first time. If that’s being an idiot, then I don’t know what that makes me.”

“That makes you the love of my life.”

Mick pulled you even closer, and just as he was about to kiss you, completely ignoring the risks, a voice interrupted.

Or rather, someone did.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Mick Schumacher?!”

As soon as you heard your father’s shouts, you and Mick pulled apart. You stood frozen, your face turning completely pale as Mick began cursing himself. How was he supposed to explain to the man who was like a father to him in many ways that he was dating you, his daughter?

You didn’t stay silent. You, who had a temper as strong as the man who had given her life, stepped between Mick and your father, trying to ease the tension that had formed over a simple show of affection.

“Dad, stop! It’s not what it looks like!” you exclaimed, nervous but determined.

“What do you mean it’s not what it looks like?” Sebastian scoffed, unwilling to believe your words. “Come on, Y/N, you were about to kiss him!”

“Yes, because Mick is my boyfriend,” you stated without hesitation. “We’ve been secretly dating since last month because we didn’t want to say anything just yet,” you explained without caring about the consequences. “So don’t act like this and use your fucking head and be reasonable for once.”

The Aston Martin driver was stunned, unsure how to react to the news that his daughter had a boyfriend, and that it was none other than the son of the man he considered his best friend, who had once been his mentor.

Mick watched as Sebastian looked at you in disbelief before shifting his gaze back to you, focusing all his attention on you.

“Y/N, this is insane… Mick,” he gestured toward him, “isn’t just any driver, he’s the son of—”

“I already know, Dad!” you interrupted, your tone sharp. “And? Does it matter? I don’t care who his father is, or who mine is, or the relationship between you two,” you tried to keep your voice steady. “We love each other, we take care of each other, and that’s the only thing that should matter to you.”

Mick alternated his gaze between father and daughter, finally mustering the courage to say something. But, before he could even open his mouth, Sebastian raised his right hand, silencing him immediately:

“Stop trying to fix this. You’ve fucked up, Mick,” he muttered as he stepped closer, his voice low enough that not even you could hear it. “My daughter is too young, and you know you could get into serious trouble if this gets out,” he added before stepping away and moving back toward you. “ I just sort of saved you from shit talks about you, so consider yourself lucky.”

“You can’t blame Mick for this, Dad,” you interjected defiantly. “We’re adults, and we can make our own decisions, so just leave us alone already.”

“You are not an adult, Y/N Vettel, you’re still a kid,” Sebastian snapped, his voice filled with unfiltered anger. “Stop acting like you are, because all you are is a reckless little girl.”

“Let me remind you that when you were 17 you fucked mum and you got her pregnant.”

You threw it out without thinking, and immediately, you regretted it, placing your hands over your mouth as if that could fix what you had just said. You knew you had been the most beautiful mistake your parents had, but you didn’t think about the impact it could have in their lives, especially in your father’s.

"I'm sorry, Juliet," the older driver began, trying not to let his anger and, especially, the pain he felt from your comment show. "But it's time to leave."

"Dad..."

"Not 'dad' or anything, Y/N," Sebastian said, raising his voice and making it sound harsher than he had intended at first. "Do you think it’s funny for me to see my daughter rubbing herself up against the one I consider my son?"

Mick paled as he heard his mentor’s words, feeling completely awful because he knew Sebastian was right. You threw him a look, but didn’t have the strength to answer. You were so in shock that you didn’t know how you hadn’t just left yet.

"And you, Mick," he said now, shooting a penetrating look at the young man, "I thought you could show a little more respect for our family and everything we’ve built together all these years."

Having said that, Sebastian took you by your shoulders carefully and started walking back to where the rest of your family was, not giving you or Mick a chance to say goodbye.

"We don't choose who we fall in love with, Sebastian," Schumacher blurted out, still frozen in place.

Your father and you turned around. The look of disappointment on Seb’s face made Mick feel a thousand times worse than he ever thought he could, but it was the sight of your tears falling rapidly that made him start crying.

"I expected you, more than anyone, to agree with this," he continued, pointing at you and himself, "because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that your daughter deserves someone good who can make her life the best it can be. If I can’t be that person because you won’t let us..." he pointed at himself, "...then I’ll be okay with it being someone else."

Vettel swallowed hard, not knowing what to say to the German’s words.

"I just want Y/N to be happy," the boy said again, "and if I have to let her go for now until you can accept and see that I’m really in love with your daughter, and that she’s the love of my life, I’ll be willing to do so."

With that, the young man turned around, trying not to look back, hoping to hear some words from those he had considered his family for so many years.

But, unfortunately for him, you and your father didn’t.

[lipglossanon]

Until the End

Real son!Leon S. Kennedy x real mom!reader (one shot)

Warnings: incest, dead dove, mom/son, simp Leon, cnc (reader’s “not” into it at first 😉), kissing, dirty talk, teasing, oral (f receiving), just the tip 😩, unprotected sex, creampie, mommy kink to the extreme

not proofread ✍️ it’s been a while since I’ve worked on anything so hopefully this doesn’t suck lmao the ending is just kinda meh

shoutout to the discord; I posted some of this WIP and they gave me the inspo to finish 🤭

title from the Breaking Benjamin song

It’s a quiet affair when you sign the divorce papers. Your husband—of twenty four years—deciding that he’d rather live overseas with his secretary instead of sticking it out; it’s not something you would have foreseen, but as they say hindsight’s always 20/20. It upset you at first but once the indignation died down, you realize you feel more relief than anything. Things have been strained for years and then in the last five, he’s barely been home long enough to chat about your days. 

The one who took it the hardest out of anyone is Leon. Your husband offered him a place to stay, but he chose to live with you (being a mama’s boy through and through). After his father left, Leon angrily refused to speak with him anymore and instead focused on his work and trying to pick up any slack around the house. Not that you hadn’t already been doing that for years, but it’s sweet of him to want to take care of you. 

He dotes on you now, making sure you’re eating and drinking and taking care of yourself. His friends tease him about it or rib him about having a milf (which you had the unfortunate chance to overhear as you walked into the living room). Meeting Leon’s mortified gaze, you smile tightly and walk through to the kitchen. He kicks them out and apologizes profusely to you, face buried in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin as he murmurs how sorry he is and promises it won’t happen again. 

Things go back to normal for a while. The absence of your husband is something you don’t even notice anymore. Leon is more than capable of moving out and living on his own, but he says it’s closer to work and easier to keep an eye on you if he lives at home. Besides, he told you with a serious face, he doesn’t have a girlfriend to make things awkward so for now you just need to chill out and let him take care of things. 

He gets a promotion at work, no longer relegated to being just a traffic cop, and you couldn’t be more proud! Your offer to take him out to a nice dinner gets turned down; in its place is an evening of take out and drinking. Since it’s the weekend, neither of you are worried about being hungover the next day, so you both end up drinking more than you usually would. 

Later, Leon walks with you from the dining room to the living room, each of you laughing at some silly joke that you can’t even remember. 

Settling together on the couch, he tucks into your side, face nuzzling against your neck like he used to do as a little boy. You giggle and run your hand through his hair. 

“You’re so sweet, Leon,” you murmur, “but aren’t you a little too old to be cuddling your mom?”

“Uh uh,” he whines, making you laugh harder, “always need you, mama.”

“Okay, okay,” you pat his head, slumping further into the couch, the alcohol buzzing through your veins, “my little boy’s all grown up.”

Feeling maudlin now at remembering that the passage of time waits for no one, you sniffle and it draws Leon’s attention.  

“What’s a’matter?” He mumbles, hazy blue eyes sharpening to see your tears, “mom?”

You smile and cup his cheek. Neither of you have shied away from physical affection; however, you remember on more than one occasion you thought Leon went overboard with cuddling and snuggling with you. Now that seems like a silly thought, he just missed you during his long hours on duty. 

“Nothing, just so proud of you,” you smile, dropping your hand to rub his shoulder. 

He kisses your cheek and you coo softly. Moving closer, he lands another soft kiss to the corner of your lips. Blaming it on the alcohol, a warm thrum of heat sings through your stomach. 

“Mama,” he whimpers, lips clumsily landing on yours. 

You freeze, body heavy and thoughts slow. Leon presses his mouth more firmly against yours and you gasp, lips parting under his and he eagerly kisses you harder. Whining, you try to tug your head away but he follows you, kisses becoming rougher while pressing you deeper against the couch. 

Your hands come up and tangle in his hair, but instead of pulling him back they scrape against his scalp, making him groan deliciously. He shifts, pulling away to tilt his head at a better angle before pressing another hot kiss against your lips. You sink into it, clit pulsing in arousal, mouth tingling from each sloppy kiss from your son.

Finally, you twist away, panting heavily while Leon rests his forehead against your jaw. 

“Mama, why’d you stop?” He presses a soft kiss under your ear, making you shiver.

“Leon, this—this isn’t right,” you plead, eyelashes fluttering as he nips and sucks your neck.

“Just this once,” he murmurs, lips dragging against your skin and sending chills down your body. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you, mommy.”

His words and actions are muddling your mind… and you’ve been lonely for so long. Swallowing, you breath out a shaky breath, mind made up.

“O-okay,” your body feels hot, muttering that out loud.

Moaning, he bites your jaw then kisses your cheek. “Thank you.”

He shows his appreciation by kissing the breath from your lungs; your son’s excitement ramps up your own, cunt pulsing with need as slick fills your panties. Wet, drugging kisses pass between you until you completely lose yourself to the feeling, making out with Leon until your lips are swollen. 

You jump, feeling his fingers trail along your thigh, slipping under your skirt and brushing against your panties.

“God, you’re so wet. Wanna bury my face in your pussy.”

You moan, and he teases your cunt through the soppy fabric.

“You can’t,” your hips grind down into his hand.

“Okay, promise I’ll behave,” he chuckles.

Without another word, he flips your skirt up and slips your panties down your legs to bunch at your ankles.

“Oh mommy,” he moans, fingers tracing your slit up and down before circling your clit, “your pussy’s so soft. Fuck me.”

Your hips buck and he bites his bottom lip, fingers rubbing up and down your pussy lips. 

“So, so soft,” he whispers, eyes glued to where his fingers are touching, “my stubble’s gonna feel so rough when I kiss her, mama.”

You whine high and reedy but shake your head, “No, no, this is all I’m allowing, Leon. You promised.”

“Just a kiss or two,” he murmurs, voice low and smoky, “she needs it, look how soft and sweet she is, just begging for my mouth. C’mon, mama, just let me have a couple of kisses.”

Your resolve cracks at his pleading. 

“Just a couple, then we stop,” you try to sound firm but your voice comes out breathier than you’d like. 

“Mmhmm, thank you, mama,” he kisses the side of your cheek then the corner of your lips.

You feel a little disappointed that he stops to kneel between your legs. He brings his hands up to spread apart your cunt, slick dripping from your hole as his mouth hovers over your mound. 

“Oh fuck, mom,” Leon whines, tongue lapping at your clit, “so fucking wet. Am I making you this wet? God, your pussy’s so fucking sexy.”

Another groan and he’s fluttering his tongue across your pudgy bud before sucking it gently into his mouth. He pulls back and kisses the hood of your clit. You moan softly and cant your hips up. 

“W-we shouldn’t, baby,” you plead, fingers tangling in his hair again, but not pushing him away. 

“Been wanting to do this forever, dreaming about how I wanna lick your pretty pussy til you cream all over my face,” he pants, dilated eyes watching your face, “gonna make you cum over and over tonight.”

“Fuck,” you gasp as he thrusts his tongue into your pussy, walls clamping around the slippery muscle, “Leon! 

He hums and grinds his nose against your clit as his tongue fucks in and out of your hole, spit dripping down your ass onto the couch cushions. Your eyes flutter as your orgasm winds tight in your abdomen. 

“Need to eat you out everyday, mama,” he pulls back, slick shining across his lips and chin, “treat this pussy like she deserves. Don’t you wanna feel good?”

He sucks your clit back into his mouth, hot tongue flicking against the sensitive bud. It only takes a few more teasing licks before your climax breaks over your body like a tidal wave. Toes curling, your hands tug on his hair making him moan, tonguing at your fluttering cunt until he finally pulls away with one last sucking kiss. 

He crowds you on the couch, thick forearms hooking under your knees to keep you spread open. He nods down to his jeans; your eyes flit from his face to the bulge pressing obscenely against his zipper. 

“Pull it out,” he murmurs, blue eyes nearly black. “Take my cock out so I can stuff your cunt, mommy.”

Shaking your head, your voice cracks, “No, baby. That’s going too far.”

He whines, “But it hurts, mama. You’re being so mean. At least jerk me off.”

Biting your lip, his pouty mouth has you reaching forward, undoing his pants and tugging them down his thighs. You gently ease his dick from his briefs, uncut head sticky with precum. You both moan when you grip his stiff cock, the blood hot skin against your palm turning you on more than you ever thought. Thumb pressing against the slit, you smear the pearlescent sheen across his tip until he’s whimpering. 

“Mommy,” his hips thrust forward, “it’s sensitive.” 

He sags forward, and your legs slide up his arms until your calves press against his biceps. This new position has his dick grinding against your swollen cunt, the head grazing across your pudgy clit. Your fingers loosely circle the base of his cock, the backs of your knuckles brushing against his balls. 

“So good, fuck,” he chokes out, humping your pussy. “Just let me cum like this, let me mark you up, mama. Yeah, just coat this sexy fucking pussy with my cum.”

Keening, you let go of his cock to feather your fingers against his heavy balls. “You can, you can cum all over me.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, pink lips parted and eyebrows furrowed as he watches his cock slip between your pussy lips to rub against your hole. “Mommy, just let me put the tip in, please? Promise it’ll just be the tip. Please.”

You know you should say no, but then again you should’ve put a stop to this before it even started. Just the tip wouldn’t be so bad, you think, eyes greedily taking in his fat, drippy tip. It wouldn’t hurt to let him try it out.

“Just the tip, Leon,” you murmur, flicking up to meet his blown out gaze. “But only this once.”

“Thank you,” he groans, “love you so much, mama.”

Moving one hand from his hold on your leg, he grips his cock and guides the head to your clenching hole. His thumb presses down on the head as he rocks forward, slipping the tip into your wet cunt. You suck in a deep breath at the same time he grunts. The other hand gripping your thigh tightens, fingertips tightly digging into the soft skin. 

Leon blows out a breath, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “You feel so good.”

He ruts the head of his cock in and out of your pussy, the wet schlick loud in the otherwise quiet living room. Your hands move over your head to drape over the back of the couch, fingers grasping at the cushions. 

“Can I—,” he cuts himself off, eyes squeezing shut. “Can I go a little deeper, mommy?”

Your slick hole clenches down on him and he whimpers. 

“H-how much deeper?” You hear yourself say, mouth running away from you. 

“Just an inch or two,” he gasps, feeling overwhelmed by the heat of your cunt. “Pretty please, mommy.”

You nod, eyes unable to look away from where he’s splitting you open, dick driving deeper and deeper—going so much farther than a few inches—into your pussy until he’s completely buried in your pulsing walls. 

“Leon!” You cry out, head falling back as your cunt stretches around the fat girth of his cock.

“Sorry, mama,” he practically slurs, pussy drunk already. “Didn’t mean to, it just slipped.”

You whimper at the pleasure pain of his tip kissing your cervix as he grinds himself against your cunt. Clit rubbing against his pelvis makes you squeeze and clench around his dick, in turn making him groan from deep in his chest. He barely pulls out before fucking back into your sopping wet hole. 

“So perfect,” his face pinches in pleasure. “God, mom, your pussy—gonna make me cum so fast.”

You dig your hands into the couch and roll your hips down into his thrusts, “You need to pull out, baby. It’s bad to cum inside. You’ve gotta pull out of mommy’s cunt.”

He makes a broken sound from the back of his throat and drives his cock into you with harsh, pounding thrusts. 

“No, I’m gonna cum in you, make you nice and full,” he bites out, sweat dripping from the straight line of his nose onto you. “Stuff you so full, mama.”

You can’t hide how his words make your pussy clamp down on his cock, his own hips stuttering as your cunt tries to milk his cock. 

“Yeah, mommy, squeezing me so good, so fucking good,” he pants. “Fuck, ‘m gonna cum.”

He reaches down, hot palm a brand across your mound as his thumb teases your clit. You thrash against him, but it’s no use as he strums your swollen bud in rough little circles that makes your thighs tremble. 

“Leon,” you moan, a second orgasm quickly building in your core. “Oh god, I’m so close.”

He doesn’t stop the frantic pumping of his hips, fucking his cock into your squelching heat while he rubs your clit—his blue eyes jumping between your face and your pussy. Mouth dropping open, he groans, mumbling praises and promises under his breath. Pinching your clit between the knuckles of his first and middle finger, he gives pulsing squeezes to the sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re cumming loudly. 

Your back bows, fireworks going off in your brain, dimly realizing that Leon’s gripping your hips as he wildly fucks your cunt. 

“Fuck, fuck, mom,” he chokes on the word, burying himself balls deep in your soft, wet walls and spilling his thick cum as deep as possible. 

You whimper, squeezing down on him as the hot splash of his spend fills your cunt. He eventually stills, hips still snugly pressed against you as close as possible. Slick and jizz begin to slowly leak out from around his softening cock. He hisses when he pulls out, then immediately whimpers, fingers playing with his cum dripping from your hole.

“Leon, stop, it’s sensitive,” you gasp, eyes slipping closed when his fingers slide up to rub across your fat clit. 

“Sorry, mama,” he pulls back only to drop to his knees, eyes dark, mouth hovering tantalizingly close to your sloppy cunt. “Let me kiss it better.”

[berfgrimm]

butterfly | choi su-bong (thanos) x reader

pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, semi-public, enemies to lovers (ish), oral, choking, spanking, heavy on the dirty talk, manhandling, overstimulation, name calling, pet names, pain kink, mentions of humiliation kink, mentions of death/violence. i’m sorry if I forgot anything.

note: hey, so this ended up being 12.5k words and i have actually gone insane from writing it. my app crashed trying to post this. please enjoy as i am exhausted.

———————

The first experience you had with Su-bong was at work. You were employed at a small dance club in Seoul called Temple, where you would bartend on weekends. It was a part-time gig to help pay the bills, and the general vibe of the club was mellow. Until the first night Su-bong showed up with his friends.

You were a fan of his music before you met him and you had a little bit of a crush on him, so you were excited to see him at your place of work. That first night, you’d intended to compliment him on his talent, however, you didn’t get the opportunity. The group of men ran you ragged, ordering drink after drink, causing chaos on the dance floor, interfering with the DJ, hitting on every girl that looked their way. When Su-bong found cause to speak to you, he wasn’t polite to you, but he wasn’t rude — something about his demeanor was off, and you attributed it to the drugs and alcohol.

After that night, Su-bong and his friends would show up at Temple most weekends, and their behavior only worsened. The group managed to get away with their antics since Su-bong was friends with the club owner; this created more problems for you. The easy nights generally ended with you having to clean up broken glass and spilled liquor. On the worst nights, you’d find yourself replacing broken furnishings or cleaning up forgotten panties. You gave your notice the night you had to clean up after Su-bong’s friend who didn’t bother to relieve himself in the bathroom.

Even though Su-bong wasn’t the worst of his group, his celebrity status made him the face of the problem in your mind. You had to leave a job you enjoyed because of a group of disrespectful grown men. You stopped listening to his music after that, and you felt your crush on him slip away, instead being replaced with resentment.

Which brings you here. At these games where your bunk is directly next to his. It’s a cruel joke. A few years have passed since your time at Temple, and you’re positive he wouldn’t remember the damage he caused. You wouldn’t dare bring it up to him, because it didn’t matter much.

The first game and vote have been completed, and everyone sits around the room, some talking, others too scared and traumatized to speak. You sit on the floor with your back against your bed, doing your best to ignore Su-bong, who stands next to his bed with his new buddies, Nam-gyu and Gyeong-su, talking louder than everyone else. You are beginning to get a headache, so you rub your head to help alleviate the tension.

“Can you please talk quieter?” you ask, trying your best to keep your voice calm, but finding it difficult given the situation. “My head is killing me.”

“I’ve got something that will help with that,” Su-bong laughs, crossing towards you as you peer up at him.

It’s the first time you’ve really gotten a good look at him since you arrived. From this angle, with him standing above you, he’s almost…intimidating? No, not that. He wasn’t scary, but the look that he gives you creates a sensation in your stomach that certainly isn’t welcome.

“Not interested,” you reply, looking back to the floor. “Please just keep the volume down. Or if you can’t help it, maybe take it somewhere else.”

“This is my bunk,” Su-bong says, sitting on his bed, crossing his arms and staring at you. The smirk is faint until he runs his tongue across his lips to wet them, which he does slowly. Your eyes lock onto the movement, and you feel trapped for a moment, your thoughts shifting, but you remind yourself to stay focused.

“And this is my bunk,” you retort, gesturing behind you, meeting his eyeline again. “I asked nicely. I figured you’d have some decency in you, buried down deep beneath all of the drugs. Guess not.” You lower your gaze to the floor again, the anger starting to snuff out the other feelings he gives you.

“You think you’re better than me.” The words sound like he’s hurt, but instead his tone is agitated. Looking into his eyes from your spot on the floor, you see an animated expression on his face. It’s intense, like he’s ready to challenge you to a fight.

“Most of us have debt because of real problems,” you say, waving your hand dismissively. “I’m not here because I made a bad investment on some fucking Monopoly money.”

“Then, why are you here?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he laughs. “You’re here, same as me. I watched you press the circle, and I can see the patch on your jacket. Drugs, crypto, medical debt: all money spends the same, and you need it too. You act like you’re above it all.”

“I'm taking it seriously,” you snap back. “Should I be more like you and treat this like it’s schoolyard fun? When we just saw all of those people get killed?”

“So some strangers died, and you’re going to walk around like you’re dead, too,” he laughs, shrugging his shoulders as he waits for you to say something in response.

“Whatever,” you sigh, turning your head away from him.

“You’re just mad because I’m right,” he laughs.

“I’m not mad,” you reply.

“But I’m right.” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and it takes all of your might not to say anything sarcastic to him when you look at him again. “Okay, you’re not mad,” he shrugs. “Then you’re into me.”

“Into you?” you laugh. “That’s funny.”

“I saw you staring at my mouth before,” he says. “You could tell that I know how to use it, huh, señorita?”

“Don’t call me that,” you say.

You ignore his actual question because maybe, just maybe, he’s not far off. And maybe his cockiness turns you on a little bit, but you won’t admit that out loud, not after the way he and his friends acted at Temple. That doesn’t stop your body from reacting and remembering that little crush you had on him because there’s always something about a guy with an attitude. But his arrogance can only take him so far, and right now he’s testing your patience from running his mouth like this.

Well, while you’re on the subject of his mouth, you weren’t staring…he talks a lot, and raps a little, so of course you find your focus drifting to his mouth. The lighting at the club was never good enough for you to truly see him. But now under the bright lights of this dorm, you have a clear view. His teeth are nice, his lips look soft, and his tongue…no, you can’t think like that, not in front of him.

You realize you’ve been quiet too long and when you tune in again, you see that he’s already pulled his friends back into a conversation. You let out a steady sigh of relief, glad that you didn’t get caught daydreaming about this clown in front of you. At least that’s what you hope.

You drop your head against the bed behind you, and close your eyes, trying to ignore the conversations around you. Instead, you think of how truly scared you are, deep in your chest. Of course you didn’t want to stay in a place like this, surrounded by hundreds of scumbags who are drowning in gambling debt. But maybe Su-bong was right: you need the money just as badly as they do, just for less nefarious reasons. You’re no better than the others.

The sensation of another person beside you pulls you from your thoughts and back to the present. You tilt your head in their direction, peeking from one eye to see the failed rapper looking back at you. With a groan, you close your eyes again, leaning your head back to your previous position.

“Just because our bunks are near each other doesn’t mean we’re friends,” you mutter.

“You talked to me first,” Su-bong shrugs.

“And now I regret it,” you respond.

“I get under your skin.” You can hear him laughing as he speaks, and you try to keep from proving him right. “It’s easy with you, I can tell,” he continues. “I’ve barely done anything and you already hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you reply, flatly, still not looking at him. “I don’t even know you.”

“You can get to know me,” he mutters.

“What is it?” you ask. “Do you have a humiliation kink? You like when someone talks down to you?”

“I bet you do,” he retorts, and this catches your attention. You raise your head and look at him incredulously; of course he’s fucking smirking. “I saw it before,” he pushes. “You can scowl at me all you want, but you can’t hide your eyes.”

“You’re irritating,” you groan, rubbing your hands over your face.

“So, you’re not wet right now?” he whispers.

“No, I’m not,” you reply — too quickly; he grins wider now, and you try to think of something to recover.

“Guess I’ll have to try harder then,” he smirks, squeezing your thigh and fuck, you jump at the contact.

He swoops away before you can respond, and you can immediately feel shockwaves hit your body. No one has touched you in so long, and all it took was a thigh squeeze from some idiot named after a comic book character for your body to react. You feel flush all over, lightheaded, from one fucking touch.

Now you start to feel hatred towards him. No, hatred is too strong, but it’s definitely rage because what gives him the right to have that effect on your body? Beyond the way he treated you at the club, he’s kind of a loser. He’s a washed up musician, he’s a drug addict, he’s annoying, and his debt is in the billions.

Pick a struggle, you think, as you stand from the floor, taking a few steps out into the open to get a better view of your surroundings.

You look into the crowd of other players in the center of the dorm to try to find him. When you spot him, you clench your jaw, frustrated. He talks animatedly, probably about nothing important, because he doesn’t seem to be very scholarly. He appears to ramble to anyone who will listen and some who won’t, but at least he’s excited about something. No, don’t sympathize.

Still…he looks passionate. Even if what he has to say doesn’t matter to some people, it matters to him. He cares about something. Maybe that passion spreads into other aspects of his demeanor…especially with his mouth…and his hands…

You feel the heat returning to your cheeks and you need to cool off. Your gaze drops from Su-bong, and you quickly make your way through the crowd towards the exit of the dorm. Unfortunately, in your journey, you have to pass Su-bong, who spots you coming and steps into your path.

“Was that you I saw staring at me, señorita?” To your surprise, Su-bong places his hand under your chin, tilting your head towards him.

“There are almost four hundred people here,” you say, shoving his hand away. “I wasn’t looking at you, asshole.” You hope you sound convincing, but you doubt it from the way your body has been betraying you today. Judging from Su-bong’s expression, he isn’t deterred, but his eyes scan your whole face, searching for something. Before he can speak again, however, you sidestep him and continue your trek to the bathroom.

Your hands tremble as you stand at the sink, looking at your reflection in the mirror. Why are you this rattled? He’s just some burned out musician with an attitude, and your emotions are wrecked. You have anger towards him, and annoyance, but you feel desire as well. Maybe you’re confused? After the events of the day, who would blame you for having your emotions mixed up?

You splash some water on your face and around to the back of your neck. The coolness helps you regulate your body temperature enough to make the sensations begin to subside. Still, you have a headache that you hope will be alleviated by your soon-to-be relaxed demeanor.

When you reenter the dorm, most people have broken off into smaller groups, milling around the bunks as opposed to the center of the room. Thankfully, you don’t see Su-bong just from a quick scan around the room, so you make a beeline to your bed.

“Thank God,” you mumble when you don’t see Su-bong in his bed. Rolling your shoulders, you try to rid yourself of that last bit of tension you feel, as you lay in your bed.

The thin mattress doesn’t do much to calm you, but it’s better than the hard floor that you sat on before, so you don’t complain. Closing your eyes, you begin to take slow, deep breaths, relaxing your limbs into the mattress, hoping that you can drift off to sleep.

“You never told me why you’re here.”

The sound of his voice, smug and annoying, makes you want to scream. You were so close to absolute comfort, hopeful for peaceful sleep, but now you feel the tension begin to form in your jaw again almost immediately. Reluctantly, you open your eyes, rolling your head to the side to see Su-bong sitting on his bed, staring at you expectantly.

“That’s none of your business,” you echo your exact sentiment from earlier, hoping he’ll take the hint.

“Well, what did you—?”

“What am I doing that indicates to you that I’m interested in having a conversation right now?” you interrupt, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Please, tell me, so I can stop doing it.”

“You complain a lot,” Su-bong laughs. “But you’re still desperate just like the rest of us.” He pushes every single one of your buttons, relentlessly, and you begin to wonder what it would be like to punch him in his face, but no, you can’t resort to violence.

“Jesus Christ, you don’t know when to quit.”

“You’d be surprised how long I can last,” he smirks. The charm has worn thin, and you don’t feel the sensation in your stomach like you expect; maybe the crush is gone again. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Su-bong practically giggles at his own words.

“Shut the fuck up!” you snap, your voice louder than you intended — loud enough to silence some of the other players in nearby bunks, but you’re undeterred. “You talk so fucking much,” you continue, sitting up on the edge of your bed so you can really see him. “All I’m thinking about is how I want you to leave me alone!”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he says, most of the teasing now absent from his tone, but there’s still something that you can’t place. Excitement?

“Oh, that’s right,” you say. “You get off on being talked down to. Well, get it from somewhere else. I’m not interested.”

Before he has another opportunity to speak, you lay on your bed again, with your back to him this time, and you cover your head with your pillow to block out the noise. You think you hear Su-bong say something, but you don’t acknowledge him, instead you focus on getting some much needed sleep.

———————

After successfully competing in the six legged race, you begin to think that you might not be able to handle another game. You’re only a few million away from having enough money to pay off your debt, but it weighs heavy on your conscience. The blood on the soles of your shoes makes you queasy and sad, knowing that all of the lives lost over the last two days probably thought the same thing you’re thinking right now: one more game.

Sitting on your bed, you stare down at your jacket that you have draped over your lap. You trace the circle on the blue patch, disappointed in yourself for placing everyone in danger once again. All for the sake of money.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it out safe this time, señorita.”

“Oh, come on,” you groan, rolling your eyes. You hoped that maybe he’d take up residence elsewhere, perhaps closer to his friends, but, much to your dismay, Su-bong kept his bunk next to yours. “I told you not to call me that,” you say, tossing your jacket onto the bed next to you.

“What would you like me to call you?”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t talk to me at all.”

“That’s not very nice,” Su-bong’s tone is playful, bordering on sing-song as though he thinks you’re friends.

“Well, I’m not a very nice person,” you reply.

“I’m starting to see that,” he answers, laying on his bed with his hands behind his head.

“I think you’re not used to people who aren’t going to put up with your shit,” you say. “You got so comfortable with being surrounded by yes-men, you forgot what it’s like to have someone genuinely dislike you.”

“I thought you didn’t know me to not like me,” he retorts, turning onto his side and propping his head on his hand. “It’s been twenty-four hours. What changed?”

“This isn’t the first time we’ve met.”

“Oh, that’s what it is!” Su-bong’s face lights up, a wide smirk spreading across his lips. “We hooked up, and I never called you back. I’m sorry, señorita. I’m sure it was the best you ever had but I’m not into relationships.”

“You think we hooked up?” you laugh.

“Well, if we haven’t before, we can try it tonight.”

“First of all, you wouldn’t even know what to do with it if I gave it to you,” you say, not missing the amusement on Su-bong’s face. “Second, I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t remember me. You were usually pretty faded by the time I’d see you.” The smirk starts to drop from Su-bong’s face and you can practically see him searching his memories for your face. “Don’t worry,” you wave your hand, giving a shrug of your shoulders. “I probably wouldn’t remember me either if I was you. All of the cleaning up I had to do after you and your friends were around, I used to think it was what I deserved: picking glass off of the floor and cleaning up piss. But now? Now, Thanos, I’m starting to think you’re right. I’m not better than you. But the good thing about that is that you’re not better than me anymore either. So, I guess I should be happy.”

Su-bong is silent for the first time since you’ve met him, and your body feels thankful. The look on his face is unreadable, and unfortunately, you worry that you took it a step too far. That is until he swings his legs off the edge of the bed so he can sit up, pointing at you with a look of realization.

“Club Temple,” he says, slowly nodding his head. “You’re that bartender.”

You’re unsure of what it is about his words that sets you off, probably the borderline dismissive way he spoke, but your fists clench and you envision yourself punching him directly in his face. Before you can act on your impulse, however, Su-bong speaks again.

“Butterfly,” he laughs.

“What?” you snap.

“I remember you,” he goes on. “I used to call you ‘butterfly’.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to catch you,” he grins, as if it’s a good joke, but you roll your eyes. Still, you feel it: the flutter in the pit of your stomach because now he looks at you with the same intention from the day before when he was standing over you. “You were quiet, but you were sexy. I wondered where you ran off to,” he says as he stands from the bed, slowly sauntering towards you, and planting himself beside you on the mattress. “I always thought we would have hit it off. The way you gave me everything I asked for, I figured you’d listen really well.” You try not to squirm from the way the fluttering begins to increase, but his voice is suddenly deeper and the way he presses against you spreads warmth through your whole body. “I didn’t realize that you had a mouth like this,” he whispers. “Though I thought of other things you could do with your mouth…”

“Alright,” you mutter, feeling yourself begin to flush, so you press your hand to his face, shoving him away as you stand from your bed. “At least I know you’re still an asshole.” You venture a few steps from the bed, avoiding eye contact with Su-bong for fear of him seeing the impact his words have on you. From the corner of your eye, you see him lying back on your bed laughing; you can’t figure out if the feeling it gives you makes you want to fight or fuck. “When I come back, I want you off of my bed,” you say, turning abruptly and storming away before you do something you regret.

The bathroom is beginning to be the safest place for you as of late, so you find yourself clutching the same sink as the day before, staring into the same mirror, on the verge of a breakdown. You wonder if punching the mirror will help alleviate this vortex of sensations in your body, but you have to keep your calm. With another game tomorrow, you can’t afford to bust your knuckles nor can you lose focus like this. A quick splash of water over your face and a couple of deep breaths will have to suffice.

You make sure to walk slowly back to the dorm, taking enough time to reset your emotions before you have to face Su-bong again. One more close call with him, and you may not be able to control yourself again.

When you get back to your bunk, Su-bong is nowhere to be seen, and you feel a pang of disappointment. You suppose you should be relieved, for your sanity and for your body, that he took your advice and made himself scarce, but with the way your body has been betraying you for the last twenty-four hours, you don’t trust your emotions right now. You hurriedly slip off your shoes and climb into your bed before your body starts making more decisions for you, and prepare for another greatly needed rest.

———————

Playing Mingle only proves to complicate things further, as far as your resolve goes. You try to find a spot on the turntable that puts you far away from Su-bong, but you quickly realize that you haven’t made any alliances during your time playing the games. All you can do is hope for the best.

The first number called out is ten, and you quickly try to locate a group that only needs one more player, but you find it more complicated than it seemed to be. You begin to panic and the numbers on the clock appear to tick faster, until you feel someone grab you by the wrist.

“This way, señorita!”

Su-bong tugs you along with him and his group, hurrying towards an open room. He shoves you inside first, where you stumble forward into the back wall of the room. When you turn around to watch the others pile into the room, Su-bong crowds you quickly, pressing his hands flat against the wall behind you to box you between his arms.

“There you go,” he smirks, pressing his body to yours. “Stay just like that.” The way he speaks, hushed so only you can hear, making his voice sound deeper than normal, you can feel it rumble through your whole body.

And you fucking whimper.

Su-bong looks more satisfied and absolutely tickled at your reaction, and with a lick of his lips, he tilts his head to catch your gaze. You set your hands on his hips, firmly shoving him away from you to be able to breathe again. You feel overheated and wet, it makes you blush in embarrassment as the other players in the room look at you suspiciously.

For the next couple of rounds, you put as much distance between yourself and Su-bong as you can. Sometimes you catch him staring at you, but you can’t let your mind wander, not when it’s quite literally life or death. One round, he tries to pull you into his group, but you snatch your hand away and dash to find a different group to align with.

When the final round begins, you’re nearer to Su-bong and his remaining friends than you wanted to be, but you can’t focus on that. Instead you start doing the math: fifty rooms, one hundred and twenty-six people…the last number has to be two. You spare a quick glance around and see who you could grab that doesn’t already have a group. There’s no way you’ll be able to be in a room alone with Su-bong, especially if he touches you again, because you’re sure you’ll break. That’s when you spot Min-su just a few feet from you.

When the turntable stops, and the number two is called, you reach for Min-su, but someone else’s hand wraps around your wrist — of course it was Su-bong. All you can do is run along with him, knowing you’ll waste valuable time if you try arguing. Instead, your heart pounds harder in your chest. Su-bong shoves you into the room and hurries in after you, slamming the door shut before turning to grin at you.

“You’ve been flying away from me all day, butterfly,” he smirks. “Guess I caught you now.” You try to feel relieved from surviving the game but with your body already in overdrive, Su-bong slowly closing in on you only makes it worse. “I heard you earlier,” he says, stalking closer towards you. “Whimpering. You finally gave yourself away.”

“I’m not gonna fuck you in this room,” you say, shakily. Su-bong licks his lips, eyeing you up like he was prepared to pounce; the sensation in your stomach begins to spread throughout the rest of your body from the way he makes no effort to hide his staring. He now stands directly in front of you, just as he was in the first room; he’s so close, you can feel his breath on your face.

You both stay silent for several moments, and all you can think about is if he would put his hands on you one more time, he’d push you past that last hurdle. But instead, the gunshots ring out on the other side of the door, startling you.

Your next move is purely automatic, so frightened by the noises, you don’t realize what you’re doing right away. You place your hands on his hips and press your face against his chest, instinctively looking for comfort from your fright. Realizing that you’re seeking solace in the arms of Thanos, you quickly begin to pull back, but he wraps his arms around you to keep you in place.

“You’re okay,” he whispers. “I have you.”

The tone of his voice is different. He actually sounds sincere. It’s a new shade for him, and the way his hand gently rubs your back doesn’t help the fiery sensation under your skin. It does, however, soothe the fear enough for you to be able to focus on him instead of the scene outside of your room.

“I can feel your heart beating,” Su-bong mutters. “Is it because you’re this close to me?” You laugh in spite of yourself, but with your face pressed into Su-bong’s jacket it sounds more giggly than you intend. “We have a few minutes…” he begins to slide his hands down your back and you gently shove him away before he can do whatever he’s planning on.

“There’s a camera right there,” you say, pointing to the wall behind you.

“I always liked an audience,” he smirks.

“Oh, yeah?” you laugh. “Not worried you’ll get stage fright like you did during that last rap battle? Or was it the drugs that time?” You worry that you may have crossed a line, but when he scoffs and crosses his arms with a grin, you know he’s prepared to snap back.

“You like watching me perform?”

“I used to,” you nod.

“We could have a performance of our own right now.”

“I doubt you’d be a good fuck,” you shrug. “It’d probably be a waste of time.”

“Is that what you think?” Su-bong asks, backing you towards the wall again. You nod your head slowly, this time not caring if he can see the way you stare at him. “That’s funny,” he nods. “Because you look like you want to kiss me right now.”

“If only to shut you up.”

Before Su-bong is able to reply, the lock disengages for your room, signifying the end of the game. You slide past Su-bong, taking your leave, not giving him the opportunity to make another innuendo. You slip into the crowd in an effort to get lost among the other players, but you can almost feel Su-bong creeping along behind you.

As you walk past one of the side corridors of the labyrinth, Su-bong finally makes his move. You feel his arm hook around your waist, hurriedly pulling you along with him into the dark space of the side corridor before you’re spotted by any guards.

“No cameras here,” Su-bong mutters, spinning you around and pinning you back against the wall. His hands land on your hips, and you take a firm grip on his biceps, both of you breathing hard in anticipation.

When he finally kisses you, there’s no more buildup, no more suspense because now you’re past all of the pretense, and you both need this. The kiss is sloppy, all tongue and teeth and soft moaning into one another’s mouths — your head reels with pleasure and excitement.

While he has you distracted with the kiss, Su-bong’s hand slips into the front of your pants, and past the waistband of your panties. You feel him just as his fingers press into your folds, swirling through your wetness.

“Fuck,” you gasp into his mouth, and break away from the kiss to look down at his hand that begins to tease you.

“Have you been like this all day?” Su-bong asks, leaning his forehead against yours. “You’ve been pretending to be so mad, running your mouth, and the whole time you’ve been soaking wet.” Your lips stay parted and you let out soft pants from the feeling of his fingers touching everything except your clit. “What turns you on the most, huh?” Su-bong continues, kissing your jaw tenderly. “To be treated like a good girl or to be treated like a slut?”

You can’t find your words to tell him that you like both because now his fingers gently brush over your clit and your moan gets caught in your throat. Su-bong chuckles, taking a step closer so he can grind himself against your hip. One of your hands finds its way to his hair, fisting enough to tug his head back away from your face.

“You’re gonna fuck me here?” You’re almost breathless as you speak, but the look in Su-bong’s eyes, arousal and excitement, drives you to keep going. “You’ve been talking about it for two days,” you continue, rolling your hips against his hand, desperate for friction. “Throw me down right here and fuck me. Show me what all of that attitude was for.”

“I guess I have my answer,” Su-bong mutters, and you set both of your hands on his shoulders now to brace yourself. “You’re begging me to fuck you on the floor of this place…I don’t think a good girl would do that.”

This time you whimper again, not because of how he touches you but from the way his voice sounds: strained but sharp. You can’t stay still, squirming against him, unable to compose yourself or even look him in the eyes. You aren’t ashamed of how you’re acting, because fuck, you really do want him, but you’re flustered.

“After the vote,” he begins, moving his head along with yours, trying to get you to look into his eyes while his fingers still tease you. “I’ll meet you in the bathroom. You can show me how much of a slut you really can be.”

You want to say something sarcastic in response because you’d prefer not to give him the upper hand, but your instincts kick in and all you can do is nod slowly. Su-bong’s fingers tease your clit again, and you whimper in response, grabbing him tighter to keep him close. When you finally make eye contact with him, of course he looks smug.

“Yeah? Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding faster. Su-bong kisses you, just as sloppy as the first kiss, and slides his hand from your pants again, much to your disappointment. So you whine in protest, which seems to be your new favorite reaction to him.

“Shhh,” Su-bong hushes, breaking the kiss. “You can wait.” He slips his fingers into his mouth, cleaning the taste of you from them. “Mmm,” he hums, pulling them from his lips with a pop. “I know what I’m going to do to you first…”

“You love to fucking tease, don’t you?” you breathe, shoving him away from you.

“I guess we both do,” he retorts, adjusting his pants to try to hide that he’s obviously hard. “Pull yourself together, señorita.”

Su-bong disappears from the hallway, leaving you turned on and slightly annoyed. You take his advice and straighten your pants to look more presentable before you follow after him.

For a moment, with your emotions heightened, you find yourself worrying that if you vote out of this hell, you won’t be able to see Su-bong again. You didn’t want to vote in favor of staying just so you could get railed in a public bathroom, and with the amount of money you garnered, you’d be able to successfully pay off your debt. You press the ‘X’.

When you walk towards the red side, you catch a glimpse of Su-bong’s face, scrunched up in anger as he signals that he has his eyes on you. The gesture makes you laugh, although you know he’s serious. And as the numbers creep higher, you think that maybe you really will be going home at the end of the vote.

You didn’t expect the vote to split 50-50. The mixed emotions return to your chest, but as you start to wander back to your bunk, you spy Su-bong creeping out of the dorm, presumably on his way to the bathroom. You give him a few moments for a head start before you make your way to join him. You reach the bathroom just in time to see Su-bong ducking into the women’s room, so you sneak in immediately after him.

“I thought the women’s room would be nicer than the men’s,” Su-bong says, peering around the room, giving a peek into each of the stalls. “I’m disappointed.”

“Life would be boring without disappointment,” you shrug, watching him carefully until he finally turns to face you, a serious look on his face.

“So,” he begins, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms. “You wanted to get away from me again, butterfly?” When your eyebrows furrow at his words, he taps his finger on the circle patch affixed to his jacket, then nods his head towards you. “Did you get scared thinking about being alone with me?” he smirks.

“No,” you reply, running your hand over the ‘X’ patch. “I figured if we made it out of here, you wouldn’t care that we missed our bathroom rendezvous.”

“Hmm,” Su-bong hums, breaking his gaze with you and staring to the side in thought; he appears to weigh his options for a few moments before answering. “Well, good thing we’re still here,” he says. “But if we had voted out, I’d find you so we could finish what we started.”

It’s a mix between a threat and a promise that gives you a flip in your stomach and a flush to your skin. Su-bong notices the change when he speaks, which brings a more pleased smirk to his lips. He tips his head to the side to eye you up, the wheels turning in his head with what you assume are completely devilish ideas.

“Come here,” Su-bong commands, beckoning for you with a crook of his fingers. You move closer to him, and he grabs your hips to guide you backwards to the sinks. “I want you to take your pants and panties off,” he whispers, eyes locked with yours. “And stand right here, so I can see you.”

Su-bong stops you when your back hits the wall perpendicular to the sinks, then releases his grip on you, taking a few steps back and crossing his arms. He stares at you expectantly, so you begin to do as you’re told, stepping out of your shoes first before working your clothing down your legs to pool at your feet. You also take the opportunity to remove your jacket, dropping it along with your other clothes. You keep your eyes on your task, a tinge of nerves making you too shy to look back at Su-bong just yet.

When you are naked from the waist down, you straighten your back, pressing yourself against the wall as you were instructed to do. With a slow breath out, you finally look to Su-bong, who has his gaze locked on your lower half.

“Put your leg up there,” he nods his head towards the sink nearest you, and you fucking blush thinking of being on display for him. “Do you need me to help?” he asks, his tone clearly amused as he already begins to stalk closer to you.

“Someone could walk in,” you say, finally, when he places his hands on your bare hips.

“No one cares what we’re doing in here,” he laughs. “By the end of this, you’ll never see them again. They’ll be dead or disappeared.” His hand slides down your thigh, gripping it firmly and helping you lift your leg to press your foot to the side of the sink. You lean your weight to the wall behind you, bracing yourself against the cold tile with your hand. “Besides that,” he begins, casually slipping his fingers through your wetness. “A little slut like you, I’m sure you don’t really care if anyone sees you.”

“Maybe…” you breathe, studying his face as if you want to memorize it.

“If I would have known you were like this, I would have fucked you at Temple.”

Su-bong lowers to his knees in front of you, eying you up like he’s about to have his last meal. Before he dives in, he bites along your inner thigh, each one harder than the last, making you yelp in surprise. Su-bong laughs against your skin, turning his bites into kisses now until he reaches your wetness.

The teasing starts slowly, a gentle brush around your clit with the tip of his tongue but not quite touching it yet. It’s softer than you expect from him, but with how badly you’ve been aching for him, you aren’t sure how much teasing you can take. As though he can read your mind, he starts to trace his fingertips around your entrance, getting his fingers nice and slick for what comes next.

It feels like forever before he touches your clit, and even then, the contact is so tender, it’s almost nonexistent. You whine in response, hoping he’ll take the hint, but of course he doesn’t — intentional or not, he’s driving you crazy. You thread your fingers through his short locks, trying to urge him in to put some fucking effort in, but he doesn’t allow you to move him.

“C’mon,” you whine, sounding more tantrum-like than you would have liked.

“You made me wait, now you can be patient too.”

“This is different,” you retort, breathless. “I was teasing you with words…you’ve got your mouth on my pussy…”

“Mmm,” he hums against you. “That’s a good point.”

Su-bong finally gives you what you want, licking your clit more directly, with more pressure than before, and at the same time, he slips his index and middle fingers inside of you. All you can do is moan and tip your head back against the wall, the sensation of someone touching you after so long becoming too much very quickly.

“You’re tight for a slut,” he mutters against you, his mouth sounding wet and the heat from his breath blowing against your already hot skin. “No one has touched you like this in a while, hm?”

You clench around his fingers as they pump into you, shallow thrusts as the speed of his tongue increases. A thought pops into your head that makes you grin: maybe you can bully him into going faster.

“Fuck, go faster,” you groan, grinding yourself against his face. “Unless you’re just bad at eating pussy.”

He freezes, his face still pressed to you, tongue halfway through a lick. You’d be mad that he stopped if you didn’t know what would be coming next. When he finally sits back so he can look up at you, his eyes have darkened, and he appears incensed by your words — so you decide to give him one more push.

“I knew this wasn’t going to be worth my time,” you mutter.

Su-bong unzips his jacket, pulling it off of his arms and spreading it on the floor; he removes his cross necks as well and stuffs it into his pocket. He grabs your hips, harder than you expect, and yanks you down to your knees on the floor with him. You allow him to do as he wishes with you, and you find yourself on the floor, your body resting on the clothes to put a barrier between you and the tile.

“Spread your legs,” he commands. You do as you’re told, spreading your thighs wide and giving him an eyeful of the way you’re now drenched because of him. He doesn’t speak again, but quickly drops down onto his elbows to bury his face in your wetness.

He surprises you with just how voracious he is, his mouth claiming your clit immediately, and his fingers slipping back into you. From this angle, his pace is faster and fuck, those long, slender fingers go deeper with each thrust. You moan out, pressing your hands to the ground beneath you and arching against him. You swear you can feel him laugh in response.

Su-bong’s free hand grabs the thick of your thigh, pulling your leg to hook over his shoulder so your heel presses to his back. He doesn’t let go of your thigh, but holds it harder, feeling like it’s enough pressure to leave bruises on your skin.

The way his fingers pump into you is better at this angle, digits curling up with each hard thrust. But his mouth is a revelation. He alternates between tonguing your clit and sucking, the absolute perfect back and forth to match how hard he fingers you.

“Fuck,” you moan, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging, much harder than you intend, but he growls against you. Of course he likes to get his hair pulled.

Su-bong shoves your leg off of his back, instead pinning it to the ground so he can keep you spread wide open for him. Now he increases the speed of his torture on you, sucking and thrusting so hard that it starts to hurt but fuck, it gets you that much closer to climaxing. Maybe you aren’t any better than he is if you’re getting horny from a little bit of pain. But you can’t think about that, you have to get off. All you need is to give him one more push

“At least your mouth is good for something,” you pant.

That does it. Su-bong’s pace increases and you can’t stop the moans that start to claw their way from your chest in response. He’s erratic and forceful and it’s exactly what you need to push you over the edge, tumbling towards your climax.

“Oh, fuck!” you moan, arching your back, both of your hands grasping his hair to keep him right where you need him to ride out your high. “Fuck, baby.”

Your first orgasm brought on by someone else in so long and you can feel your legs trembling from the intensity. He doesn’t stop until you release your grip on his hair and drop back onto the floor, panting and squirming.

“Mmmm,” he hums against you, finally pulling back for air and sitting back on his knees to peer down at you. “It was ‘asshole’ earlier, now it’s ‘baby’. It just took my tongue to get you to change your mind, hm?” You feel a flush hit your face at his words because you hadn’t realized you’d called him ‘baby’. He sucks the taste of you from his fingers before he scoots closer to lean over your body and rests his weight in his hands at your sides. “Is this what it’s like when you’re a good girl?” Su-bong asks, licking his lips. “I like you this way… but I think I prefer the slut.” There’s a playful glint in his eyes, but when he kisses you, it’s gentler than you expect.

“Are you getting soft on me now because I called you ‘baby’?” you joke against his lips. He rests all of his weight on one hand to use the other to take hold of your wrist and press the palm of your hand against the bulge in his pants.

“Does that feel soft to you?”

“Is this why you talk so much shit?” you ask, rubbing him over his pants. “With the attitude you have, I’d expect you were compensating, but, fuck…and you got this hard just from eating my pussy?” You swear you can see him blush, but he quickly chuckles and sits back to rest on his knees again.

“What can I say, I love a slut who’s needy,” Su-bong retorts.

You sit up so you’re closer to him, working his pants and briefs down his hips until you can free his erection, and fuck if you don’t feel your mouth water from the sight. You try to hide the look in your eyes that you’re sure gives away just how badly you want him, but Su-bong chuckles.

Before he can speak, probably to tease, you spit on his erection so you can begin to stroke him. You angle him toward your mouth so you can suck on the head of his cock, getting a taste of the precum that has already leaked out.

“How does that taste?” Su-bong asks, his hand resting at the base of your head, urging you to take more of him into your mouth. “Have you been thinking about it since you met me?”

He wasn’t wrong: you had been thinking about this moment since you arrived at the games. Sure, you’d thought about hooking up with him when you first met at the club, but a torrid, illicit bathroom hookup was not what was on your mind back then. You thought of kissing, holding hands, making love, and other sweet things that were far from your mind right now. Instead you want to know what it feels like to choke on him. And maybe you have to let yourself loosen up a bit to get it.

You pull off of him, glancing up to peer into his eyes. You motion for him to stand up, and he obliges, staring down at you while he slowly strokes himself. Sitting up on your knees in front of him, you peer up at him from under your lashes, your tongue teasing the head of his cock.

“You like to tease, don’t you?” Su-bong asks, inching his hips forward to encourage you to take him deeper.

“I just want to be a good slut for you,” you whisper, the tip of your tongue still gently toying with him.

“Oh, yeah?” Su-bong chuckles in surprise, stopping for a moment to pull in a quick breath. “Show me what you can do, then.”

You take him halfway into your mouth, bobbing your head along with the stroke of your hand. Su-bong lets out a quiet groan, his hand holding on the back of your head, showing restraint by not applying any pressure. You hollow out your cheeks, sucking harshly on him as you pick up your face but you don’t take him any deeper, not just yet.

“If I had my phone, I’d film you right now and make you famous,” Su-bong mumbles, holding his hands up in front of him as if he was a director framing a shot. “I don’t know what debt you have but I know what you could have done to pay it off.”

The implication of his words makes you moan around him, which in turn causes Su-bong to give a thrust of his hips against your face. It catches you off guard when he pushes himself deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. When you gag around him, he lets out a deep moan that you can feel vibrating through your body, landing straight between your thighs.

“Jesus,” Su-bong breathes. “Do that again.”

He sounds strained, like he’s struggling not to sound too desperate. You grab his hips with both hands so you can hold him still when you start bobbing your head over him, taking him all the way into your mouth. Su-bong rocks his hips against your movements, giving an extra nudge so he can steal a few more centimeters of space in your mouth. When he gives you a particularly hard thrust straight into your throat, he grasps the back of your head, keeping you in place. You gag on him, struggling to maintain his girth, but the feeling makes you clench around nothing, because, fuck, it feels so good.

“Damn,” Su-bong groans, releasing his grip in your head so you can back off, but you don’t.

You can feel him staring down at you still struggling to contain him in your mouth. Until you swallow around him, and he stutters out words you can’t understand. He pushes at your shoulders to signal he needs a moment, which you quickly oblige, taking in a few deep breaths.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, running a hand through his hair. “If I die in these games, at least I get to go out after some good head.” When you attempt to grasp him once again, Su-bong grabs your wrist, stopping you. You peer up at him, trying to give him a look that translates into you begging him to keep sucking his cock, but he shakes his head. “Get up here,” he rasps, pulling you to your feet by your arm.

The way he grips your arm, hard enough to hurt, makes you whine. Not in protest because you can’t handle it, but because it feels good, and you want more. Su-bong hears your moan, and stops tugging at your arm long enough for you to get your footing.

“You like that?” he asks, and you nod in response. “I should have known.” He yanks you towards the sinks, spinning you around and holding you firmly by your hips. You can feel that his grip is much harder than before, because now he’s trying to test your limits.

One of his hands lets go of your hip, and slides up your back, forcing you to bend over the sink. Your hands grasp the sides of the sink for support as you watch Su-bong’s reflection in the mirror. You get an idea that immediately puts a smirk on your face; just because you’re giving him the upper hand doesn’t mean you can’t have a little bit of fun.

You take a step back so that you’re pressed against Su-bong, and you start grinding your ass against his erection. He lets out a deep groan, lowering his gaze between your bodies so he can watch the way you rub against him. You watch him lift his shirt up his stomach so he can get a better view of what you’re doing. Seeing Su-bong like this, pupils blown, licking his lips, giving you a glimpse of his body while he grinds along with you…fuck, you could come again just from the sight.

“You want it inside of you, or would you rather keep playing with it?” he asks, his hand not holding his shirt giving you a hard slap on your backside. You lurch forward and whimper from the contact, giving him your best pleading eyes through the mirror. “Say it, señorita,” he teases, angling hisnhips so he can tease the head of his cock against your entrance.

“Fuck me,” you plead. “I need it. Please, baby. Make it hurt.”

“Jesus,” he laughs, squeezing your hip hard enough to make you arch. “I should have done this years ago.” Su-bong pushes inside of you, burying as deep as he can go. He pins you between himself and the sink, the porcelain hard against your hips. He doesn’t move immediately, but revels in the feeling of you squeezing around him. “Fuck,” he whispers, licking his lips and tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling with a groan. “You haven’t felt it like this before, have you? Are you sure you can take it? You’re shaking already.”

You hadn’t realized that you were trembling, but when he calls attention to it, your first instinct is to feel shy about it. But no, you want him to use you, to manhandle you, to fuck you until you can’t take it anymore. You’ll have to stroke his ego to get him to really give it to you the way you need it, but you’re not embarrassed of the way you’re going to act.

“Please fuck me,” you whine, swaying your hips, trying to get him to move. Su-bong stares at you in the mirror for a moment, eyes darting around your face before he grabs you by your shoulders to pull you upright with your back against his.

“Yeah?” he whispers in your ear, looking at you in the mirror. “You’re begging me? Do you need anybody or is it just me?” His hands slide up your shirt, cupping your breasts and squeezing them roughly; you see him smirk when he rubs his thumbs over your hard nipples.

“You, just you. Please!”

Su-bong growls as he bends you at your waist again, forcefully pressing you over the sink. You brace yourself on the sides, unable to lift your gaze to find him for his hand that holds you down by the back of your head. He slowly shifts his hips back, pulling all the way out until it’s just his tip inside of you, and waits for you to start squirming.

When he snaps his hips forward again, he drives you against the sink hard, the pain immediately evident in your hips. And you clench around him from the sensation. He repeats the motion again, harder, and you whine, your grip on the sink slipping.

Su-bong starts a pace. A slow and hard pace, driving you against the edge of the sink over and over until the pain starts to numb and your pussy aches from how roughly he thrusts into you. He still holds your head down, pressing it against the porcelain near the taps.

“What is it that you said before?” Su-bong begins, speaking gruff and deep as he keeps his slow pace. “That I ‘wouldn’t know what to do with it’? Do you still think that?” Your eyes water because he’s fucking mocking you. He can see and feel everything that he’s doing to you, but he needs to hear you tell him; he wants you to eat your words.

“No, my pussy’s yours,” you whine, one of your hands blindly reaching behind you to grab his forearm. ”It feels fucking great. You’re so big, no one has ever stretched me like this.”

Su-bong grabs both of your arms, bringing them behind you and holding them against your back to pin you down to the sink. You briefly wonder how many bruises you’ll end up with by the end of the night, but you don’t have much time to be distracted as he uses his grip on your arms for leverage.

He starts to thrust into you again, and fuck it feels so good to have him pounding you into the sink. You hear his breath come out in heavy huffs as he sets his pace, speeding up from what he’d previously done. You can’t help yourself, moaning in a way that you never have for anyone else before: needy and whiny.

“You love this, don’t you?” Su-bong asks, breathless, but still determined to get those sweet sounds from you.

You start to feel tension building in your stomach again, and you are desperate to get another climax, so you struggle against his grip to signify that you want him to free your wrists. He quickly obliges, instead holding you firmly by your waist with one hand, spanking you hard with the other. You moan as you brace yourself on the sink again, working against him to try to get him deeper if it’s even possible.

“Spank me again,” you beg, your voice sounding unlike your own as his hips start to thrust faster.

“Oh, are you a bad girl?” Su-bong asks, and you can actually hear him smirking.

You nod furiously, and he quickly slaps your backside again, hard enough to make it sting. Your legs tremble beneath you, and you know it won’t take much to get another orgasm. You bring one of your shaky hands from the sink to your thighs, but Su-bong catches your wrist to bring it behind your back, pinning it there.

”Uh-uh,” he chides. “This pussy belongs to me, isn’t that what you said? I’ll decide when you can come.” You moan his name in the most pathetic way you’re able to manage, and he laughs in response, landing another slap to your ass.

“Please,” you moan, dropping your head forward next to the faucet, and closing your eyes. “I’ll be good for you…I’ll come as many times as you want me to.” You aren’t even sure if you’re going to be able to keep your promise because your body is already weak, but you need it right now.

“Shit,” he moans, leaning over you to press his weight against your arm and back. “That’s so sexy…I’ll give you what you want only because you’re being such a good slut for me.”

Su-bong reaches around front of you, rubbing circles on your clit. The sensation makes your knees buckle immediately and you moan louder, swearing and muttering his name. Su-bong’s hips plow harder into you, faster still, and the speed at which he teases your clit increases along with it. It’s only another moment before you feel yourself crashing over the edge.

You’re sure someone will be able to hear you moaning Su-bong’s name, because you can almost feel the vibrations echoing off of the walls. Your body quakes with your orgasm, the sensation flowing through you all the way to your fingertips. Su-bong slows his thrusts until finally he stops, still buried deep inside of you. His hands set softly on your hips, giving you a moment’s reprieve to catch your breath.

“You good?” he asks, quietly, rubbing one of his hands over your backside.

“Mhm, keep going,” you mutter.

“Needy,” he chuckles, slowly pulling out of you with a small groan.

When Su-bong pulls you away from the sink, you feel the dull pain from how he’s handled you so far, but now, he shoves your back against the wall between two sinks. You pant softly, staring into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, until he presses both hands against the wall on either side of your head.

When he leans in to kiss you, you expect him to be rough, but it’s surprisingly soft, and tender. While he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to wrap your fingers around his length, stroking at a steady pace. Su-bong groans into the kiss, but breaks away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes closed.

“Mmm,” he hums, rocking his hips against your hand. “I thought you wanted to be a slut. You’re playing with me like I'm your boyfriend.”

“I can’t keep my hands off of you,” you reply, stealing a kiss that makes him smirk faintly. Your free hand slides under his shirt, touching his skin softly for a moment until you dig your nails in just a little. Su-bong inhales sharply the smirk on his lips spreading wider. “You like it, anyway,” you tease.

“I’m only letting you have a break before it’s my turn again,” he responds, tipping his head back to look into your eyes. His face displays mixed emotions as he tries to keep his composure, but you can see the amusement as well — the break must be over.

Su-bong grasps your wrists, moving your hands to set on the sinks on either side of you. He keeps his eyes trained on your face as he reaches between your bodies to rub your clit. You mewl in response; you don’t want to stop because you need more, but fuck, you’re so sensitive from your romp thus far. You break eye contact with Su-bong, your head lolling forward as his slow torture of your clit spreads a shiver throughout your body.

“I thought you wanted more,” he teases, tilting his head around to try to catch your gaze. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to take it. My butterfly wants to fly away again.”

“I want you so bad it’s making me fucking angry,” you reply, when his head nudges yours to signify he wants to see your face.

“Yeah?” he laughs, grinning at you with heavy, lust filled eyes. You feel his fingers move closer to your entrance, his middle and ring fingers slipping inside of you quickly. “This is what you want? For me to make you come again? Tell me how good it is.” Su-bong starts to pump his fingers into you roughly, his hand angled so the heel of his hand rubs your clit as he goes. “Tell me” he says, his free hand grasping your throat, not yet applying pressure, but only holding you.

“It feels so fucking good,” you moan, grabbing his hand that holds your throat and urging him to tighten his grip. His eyes flash briefly with concern, but you nod your head quickly.

“Put your hands back on the sinks,” Su-bong commands, so you quickly grab the sinks again, using them for support as you feel your next orgasm beginning to build. “You can only let go if you need me to stop. Otherwise, you stay just like this. Remember, this belongs to me now. Right?”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding furiously as you keep your eyes on his face. He studies every emotion on your face, as if he needs to commit it to memory, until he starts to finger you harder and faster.

His grip on your throat tightens and you drag in a ragged breath while you can. You close your eyes, trying to maintain your composure, but his grip tightens again. You can feel his rings pressing firmly into your skin. You use your hold on the sinks as leverage to grind against his hand, feeling yourself inching closer to release.

“Oh, god,” you gasp. “Please.”

He fingers you harder, curling them inside of you to get you right where he wants. The hand that holds your throat now cuts off your ability to breath and you feel almost euphoric at the sensation. Su-bong’s eyes never leave your face, searching for any signs from you that it’s too much. When his grip loosens briefly, you pull in a ragged breath mixed with a groan, but you’re thankful for the air. You start panting, losing any shred of inhibitions that may have been left over.

Su-bong doesn’t let up, but keeps thrusting his fingers, trying to get them deeper with each push. He still applies some pressure to your throat, not cutting off the air supply completely, but enough for you to feel his rings digging into you. The tightening in your stomach increases, fluttering out slowly into your aching limbs until finally it snaps. You let out another desperate and loud moan to reverberate off of the walls of the bathroom, repeating praises around Su-bong’s name as if it was all you knew. You use your grip on the sinks to help you grind against his hand, to wring out every second of your climax.

“You’re so sexy,” Su-bong mutters in your ear, his deep voice sending another wave of pleasure through your body. He keeps working you with his fingers until your legs start to quake and you become overstimulated, so you grab his shirt with one hand, fisting it hard.

“Please,�� you gasp. Su-bong slows down until he stops again, letting out a moan in your ear, as if he’s just as intoxicated from this moment as you are.

Su-bong grasps your hips with both hands, keeping you upright as you feel your legs turning to jelly. You lazily drag your eyes to his, watching his eyebrows raise in question — he’s checking on you again. You nod, and watch the way he brings his hand back to your throat to soothingly rub the marks that his rings left. In your heightened state, your heart skips a beat because who knew he was so fucking considerate.

“How about this…” Su-bong begins, stealing a quick kiss from you before he takes a few shuffled steps backwards towards the pile of clothes.

You watch him spread the clothes more evenly before he sits on top of his jacket and shoves his pants and briefs down to his ankles now. He grasps his cock, slowly stroking his hand over it a few times while he looks at you.

“If your pussy belongs to me, you can come over here and make this yours,” he nods his head to his lap. You realize that he could ask for you to do anything in that moment, and you’d do it without question.

You make your way over to him on shaky legs, and he notices quickly — he responds by extending his hand to you, which you happily accept. You step one foot over him and lower to your knees, straddling his waist and putting just enough pressure between your overly sensitive pussy and his length. Su-bong hums in satisfaction, pressing his hands to your hips to urge you to very softly grind against him.

“I used to think about this,” you whisper, your voice soft because maybe you’re afraid to admit it after all of the annoyance he gave you. “Fucking you.”

“Was it like this?”

“No,” you shake your head, your hands taking hold of his shirt and bunching it up around his ribs. “But I like this better.”

Su-bong lifts his arms up, allowing you to pull his shirt over his head and discard it. Placing your hands to his chest, you shove him to lay on his back, and use that pressure against his chest to help you grind yourself against him a little harder.

“Are you trying to come again?” he breathes, holding your hips, to steady you. All you can do is shake your head, but still you keep grinding, dragging yourself back and forth along his cock. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he says, one hand sliding under your shirt to squeeze your breast.

You dig your nails into his stomach and the moan he lets rattle from his chest is gorgeous. He grabs your hips more firmly as if he’s torn between letting you continue and throwing you down and finishing himself off. You keep pushing him, scraping your nails along his chest until he finally cracks.

Su-bong guides your hips backwards enough for him to reach between your bodies and slide himself inside of you. You both moan together, and you drink in the way it feels to have him inside of you again, stretching you out.

“Go ahead, it’s yours,” Su-bong says, his voice strained. He takes his hands off of your hips and props them behind his head, letting you ride him as you see fit.

With your hands still on his chest, you start at a steady pace, but you know you won’t be able to take it for very long. The sound of your skin slapping together echoes through the room, mixing with your moans of his name and Su-bong’s heaving breaths. It drives you to move faster, rolling your hips so you can chase your fourth climax of the day.

Your limbs feel as though they are on fire, an ache resonating through your whole body but you couldn’t stop — you needed him. Faster and faster you move until your rhythm feels sloppy and you start to lose your steam. Su-bong, sensing this, sits up and wraps his arms around your waist holding your bodies together so he can help you move along with him.

You take the opportunity to kiss him, sloppy and wet because you couldn’t have it any other way. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging on it as you pull him even closer to you. You find yourself moaning into his mouth as you feel another climax approaching. He growls in return, breaking the kiss and focusing on getting you off.

This time, when your climax hits, Su-bong fucks you through it, your entire body feeling like it was alight. You shake and moan and beg for something but you don’t know what. Your hands grab his back, nails digging in and clawing up his back; he fucking loves it as much as he loves when you pull his hair.

“Good girl, my good girl,” Su-bong groans.

He shoves you backwards so he’s on his knees while you are now on your back, the whole time keeping his length buried inside of you. He pins your legs to the floor and begins to fuck you again, harder and relentless. You feel yourself still shaking with the remnants of your previous orgasm that now begins to fade into yet another one when his fingers make contact with your clit.

Su-bong pistons his hips harder, driving himself deeper into you than you imagined possible until finally he reaches his own climax. You hold your hands around his waist, helping him along as he keeps driving into you. He moans your name, mixed with nonsensical mutters and needy groans as he fills you up with everything he has.

When he collapses on top of you, Su-bong bites your neck hard, and you can only whine out a raspy sound that you don’t even recognize belongs to you. With his body on top of yours, you can see his back, emblazoned with a tattoo of his own name, now covered in your scratch marks. The sight sends a chill through your body: you certainly made him yours.

“Someone will be in soon, I’m sure,” you whisper after you both stay silent for several minutes trying to catch your breath. You tighten your thighs and arms around his body, trying to get one more feel of him before he moves, and you feel his lips press to your neck where he had just left a deep bite.

“Hmm, you’re right.”

Slowly, Su-bong climbs off of you, taking care to make sure he doesn’t hurt you beyond what you already did. It takes you both several minutes to clean yourselves up to appear even remotely presentable, during which you steal a few glances at him to compare the marks you left on one another.

As you zip up your jacket, the last article of clothing you need to put on, you take another look at yourself in the mirror. You notice the distinct mark on your neck from where Su-bong’s hand gripped you earlier, along with the bite mark he left. You zip your jacket the whole way to cover your neck, just as you spot Su-bong’s reflection in the mirror. He stands several feet behind you, sizing you up with an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?” you ask. He locks eyes with you in the mirror.

“If we don’t make it out of here…” he trails off, leaving an uneasy feeling in the air that crashes you both back to the reality of your situation.

“Don’t think like that,” you say, turning to face him again. “We’ll get out of here and pay off our debts, then get back to our lives. We’ll forget all about this place.” You shift your weight between your feet and immediately feel the throbbing of pain in your body; you pull in a sharp breath in response. You can still feel him all over you.

“You’re going to forget about everything, hm?” he grins in response, crossing closer to you and tugging at the collar of your jacket to see the mark he left on your neck. ”My butterfly, always trying to fly away,” he teases. You smile in response, and bite your lip to try to hide it from him before you speak.

“I’m not flying this time. I’m running.”

“You’ll slow down one day,” he laughs. “Then I’ll find you, and I’ll reclaim my property.”

“Oh, I’m your property now, am I?” you grin. Being referred to as ‘property’ isn’t something you’d normally derive pleasure from, but with Su-bong…you fucking love it.

“Mhm,” he nods, taking hold of your hips carefully, so as not to aggravate the bruises he left there. “You might think that you’ll forget everything about this place, but you won’t forget about those five orgasms I just gave you.”

“Well,” you begin, tracing one of your fingers around the circle on the blue patch that is affixed to his jacket. “You’d better think about that when you walk up to that podium tomorrow, then. Because if I make it out of here without you…I’ll have to find someone who’ll get me off six times.”

You steal another kiss from him, this one deeper and more passionate than before. When you pull back, you see the smug smirk on Su-bong’s face, and this time, you match it. You shove him away from you playfully, and leave him alone in the bathroom with his thoughts.

As you slowly walk back to the dorm, you realize you can smell Su-bong all over you, feel him and taste him, as well. Your body aches with what he did to you, and you know he’s right: you won’t be able to stop thinking about him if you get out of this place. The way his voice sounded when he promised that he would find you makes your mind race with what else the two of you could do, but for now you can only hope that tomorrow, he presses the ‘X’.

[overadores]

･ ⟢ ⋮ last look ゛༝. ✦ daniela avanzini

"And then some days you wake up

pairing.ᐟ daniela avanzini x reader.

about.ᐟ Daniela never meant to let Y/N in, but from the moment they met, there was no stopping it. Their bond was fast, messy, and unbreakable—until one tragic night shattered everything. Now, drowning in loss and memories, Daniela must find a way to move forward, even when it feels impossible.

genre.ᐟ heavy angst. hurt no comfort.

cw.ᐟ established relationship, major character death, car accident, language.

wc.ᐟ 1159 words

a/n.ᐟ this is for anon who requested angst before valentines :D and i highly recommend to listen to the song while reading 'cause it'll hurt so good. Don't worry guys, I'll post fluff for after this (maybe)

and everything's perfect."

Daniela met Y/N.

It started at a college party, the kind neither of them wanted to be at. Daniela was nursing a drink, staring blankly at the crowd, and then Y/N was just there, somehow weaving herself into Daniela’s life with an ease that was both infuriating and magnetic. They became friends quickly, laughing too loudly in coffee shops, sneaking out of boring classes just to sit in the library together, talking about everything and nothing.

They had their ups and downs—fights that ended in slammed doors, silent treatments that stretched too long, reconciliations over shared cigarettes on apartment balconies, but through everything, they stayed.

They always stayed.

Tonight, Y/N had called her just minutes before, voice laced with urgency as she reassured Daniela that she had picked up the anniversary gift. Their car had broken down earlier that week, leaving Y/N no choice but to take the motorbike. Daniela had laughed, telling her to be careful, that they had all the time in the world.

“You should’ve just taken a cab,” Daniela muttered, gripping the umbrella tighter as she stood under it.

“I would have, but someone forgot her keys inside the apartment,” Y/N shot back, teasing. “It’s fine, Dani. Just a little rain.”

Daniela sighed, shaking her head even though Y/N couldn’t see it. “You always say that. Just get home, okay?”

“I’m almost there,” Y/N promised.

Then a sound—a sickening screech of tires against wet pavement, the sharp impact of metal against flesh and bone. The phone clattered to the ground, and Daniela’s heart dropped.

“Hello? Y/N?” Her voice was tight, frantic. “What happened? Why is there someone screaming?”

Silence.

“HELLO?”

Then the call disconnected.

The world didn’t shatter in an instant. It crumbled slowly, piece by piece, as Daniela stood frozen in the middle of their apartment, her fingers gripping the phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She redialed, over and over, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. The minutes stretched, heavy and suffocating, until the call that ended her life came.

Y/N was gone.

In the days that followed, Daniela didn’t remember much of the funeral. Just hands on her back, voices murmuring words that meant nothing, and the crushing weight of absence. Everyone told her they were sorry, but sorry didn’t bring Y/N back.

Sorry didn’t make it hurt any less.

She couldn’t stay in the apartment anymore. Their home—once filled with laughter, warmth, and half-finished books—now felt like a mausoleum of memories she couldn’t escape. Every corner held a ghost, every room a whisper of Y/N’s laughter.

She moved out. She had to. Their apartment—no, her apartment now—was too much, too empty. Instead, she bought the house they had been saving for, the one Y/N had been so excited about. It felt like an insult to do it without her, to step into a dream they had built together alone, but she did it anyway.

Packing was the hardest part.

She wandered into Y/N’s office, surrounded by shelves coated in dust, boxes filled with remnants of a life they had planned. Her fingers traced the spines of books Y/N had promised to read, their framed pictures still clinging to the walls, the office chair still tucked neatly under the desk as if Y/N would come back at any moment and sit down.

She slid down the wall, a drink in hand, staring at nothing. The apartment was silent now, unbearably so.

Then, a voice.

“You know you can just get rid of it, right?”

She turned, and there she was. Y/N, sitting beside her, the same lopsided smile, the same teasing glint in her eyes. She wasn’t real—couldn’t be, but Daniela didn’t care. She just looked at her, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“You know I can’t do that,” she murmured.

Y/N smiled softly. “But keep our photos, though. We looked happy there, and you looked too good in your twenties.”

Daniela let out a broken laugh, her chest tightening. “I know. You always tell me that.”

Y/N just gave her a soft smile. “It won’t always be like this.”

Daniela shook her head. “And why wouldn’t it? What’s going to change it?”

“Time.”

Y/N leaned her head on Daniela’s shoulder, her presence warm and familiar. “It wasn’t your fault, Dani,” she whispered.

“But why does it feel like it is? Why does it feel like I’m being eaten alive by this guilt?”

Y/N wiped away the tears that spilled down Daniela’s cheeks. “It’ll go on like that until it doesn’t.” She held Daniela’s face in her hands, pressing their foreheads together. Daniela broke, her sobs raw and unrestrained. Her mind kept replaying the doctor’s voice, the moment the world shattered around her.

“It was the drunk driver who was at fault, my love.” Y/N continued, her voice calm, even as tears traced silent paths down Daniela’s cheeks. “You’ll feel guilty and hungover and just... shit.”

Daniela choked on a sob. “I should’ve been there.”

Daniela shook her head violently. “How do I move on from this? What if I don’t want to? What if I just want you here, because I can’t—I can’t let you go?”

Y/N smiled sadly. “My love, you’ll just hurt yourself more if you do that. There are things that need to be let go.”

Y/N pressed a kiss to Daniela’s forehead, the ghost of a touch, the whisper of something slipping through her fingers. The two sat in silence, Y/N fading into the dim light of the room, until Daniela was alone again.

And she knew—truly knew—that she wasn’t coming back.

The house felt hollow.

The walls echoed with silence.

The bed was too big.

The books stayed unread.

Daniela tried. She really did. She went through the motions, unpacked, made coffee in the mornings, and went for walks, but there were still nights where she reached for her phone, muscle memory dialing Y/N’s number before she remembered. There were still days where she set out two plates instead of one, still moments where she turned to share a joke, only to be met with nothing but empty air.

She had known love. Had lived it. Had lost it.

And now, she had to figure out how to keep going without it.

It wasn’t a grand moment of healing. It was small things. Breathing. Moving. Letting time pass. It was placing a book on Y/N’s shelf instead of leaving it empty. It was standing in the kitchen without breaking down. It existed. Surviving. And sometimes, that had to be enough.

One day, it wouldn’t feel like this. One day, it wouldn’t hurt so much. One day, maybe—just maybe—she’d wake up, and it wouldn’t feel like the world had ended.

But not today.

'Cause Y/N was not just a chapter in her story. She was the whole damn book.

[washthatheartoutwithsoapy]

☆ Natalie Scatorccio SFW Alphabet Headcanons ☆

Warnings: cursing, substances

A/n: my first real Tumblr post, so sorry if my rambling writing sucks

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Natalie loves affection once close. I think it's safe to say she didn't get much affection from her parents, so when she got with you, she couldn't get enough.

She not as affectionate in public, but she'll still hold your hand and fiddle with fingers.   When you're alone, like lying in your bed, she will be physically on top of you. She'll trace your skin and twist your hair, and give little kisses.

She's also an amazing listener.

She gives you really shitty gifts, like random stuff she finds on the literal street. Like a little chiped dino, or a note written on a random card she stole from her dad's old deck (oops).

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

A friendship with Natalie would probably start with bonding over music or just you always showing up. You'd definitely have to work hard to be friends with her, not because she doesn't want to be friends, but cuz she's not very open. Once you're close, she never thinks it's real, and she'll act nonchalant, but she really loves you.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

DEFINITELY A CUDDLER. Like I said earlier, she will lay on top of you, all sprawled out. She likes laying between your legs with her face buried into your stomach, while you mess with her hair. Or if you need to be held, she'll be big spoon, and when I say her arm and legs are around you tight, I mean tight. There is not moving. Her face will be in your neck and her hand on your stomach.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Her idea of being settled looks a lot different than others. Being settled with her would look like a beat up place, probably apartment, with you, with a job that gets things paid, but still leaves time for you. She doesn't need a luxurious place, it's not what she's used to.

Cooking, she's alright. She aways had to fend for herself and make food, but its nothing special, and its normal for it to be a little burnt with her.

Cleaning does not exist to her. I mean, she's not disgusting, she changes her sheets and sweeps, but it is not organized. Clothes, makeup and other various shit all over the floor, the bed is never made, and a grimy ass mirror, etc.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

She would probably break up when she's pissed, at you, something else, or both, and storm away. She definitely regrets it and her methods.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

At first they hate the idea of commitment, but then she falls in love with you for the first time and she'll give you everything.

I don't think she give a shit about being married, but that doesn't mean she isn't committed. After a few years if you really wanted to get married, she'd do that for you, but in her head she doesn't get marriage or deem it necessary.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

She's definitely a rough houser, but she never hurts you, at least not on purpose. One time you were messing around and you hit your leg on your nightstand and got a huge bruise. She could not stop apologizing, she felt so bad. She's also gentle with you, with soft touches, especially when she's high.

Emotionally she's surprisingly gentle. If your upset, she there and supportive. She doesn't say much, just listens and hugs you, or anything else you need.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Natalie loves when she gets hugs. She's either really excited, with a big grin on her face, or she's burying her face in your shoulder. Those last awhile.

I don't think hugs are everyday, but whenever she needs it or you need, there's definitely hugs. Or when she's won a game, celebratory hugs!

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Not quick. She's too scared to say it. So either you'd have to say it first and she would blush and say, "Love you too..." Or it will come out during some happy moment, and she didn't even mean to say it. She's so happy when you say it back.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Natalie is not a jealous person. When Jackie and Travis hooked up, the only thing she gave a fuck about was his well-being. Not to say if you were flirting with someone she wouldn't be jealous, she'd probably be more sad than anything and worrying she did something wrong.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

You definitely get the taste of alcohol and pot, which isn't always the greatest, but you get used to it. The skill makes up for it, she knows exactly what to do for the mood, but she usually takes it slow. Sometimes she breaks though and giggles.

She obviously loves kissing your mouth, but also: your neck, jaw, stomach, and shoulders.

She likes kisses on her: mouth, neck, forehead/head, cheek, and back.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

She's not very acquainted with Kids, and has never wanted them. But one time you guys were out and found a kid that got separated from their mom. You'd never seen her so gentle and caring while you looked for their parents. She gave them a little paper star.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Asleep, she'll stay in bed as long as possible, especially with you. She's definitely right up against you, hogging the bed, and her breath is terrible. Her eyeshadow also smudged, cuz she never takes it off before bed.

Once she's up, she's in the bathroom all morning, doing, God knows what. No breakfast.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Cuddling and smoking. She smokes almost every night, because it helps her sleep. Sometimes you guys go out an just walk the streets or go to the park and just talk and take pictures with your shitty camera. The night always ends with passing out in whatever shirt she'd been wearing all day, sometimes she's still in her jeans.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

She's not someone to drop her whole past on you immediately, its something that gradually happens. You figure out her family life pretty quickly though since she struggled with letting you come over after what happened with her dad. If you ask her something, she'll answer, maybe not immediately, but she will when she's ready.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

They don't get angry at you often as long as you don't make assumptions about her. If you say something that upsets her, she will make it known. She doesn't get mad for no reason though, even if she can get a little aggressive with others, not you.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Natalie is a very good listener. Sometimes it doesn't look like it when you're rambling, and it looks like she's fallen asleep, but she listens. She will bring up details that you don't even remember telling her.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

One summer you brought her on your family vacation, and the two of you snuck out to the pool in the middle of the night. For some reason it holds a special place in her heart. You swam, laughed, and made out. She just never got to do shit like that with someone.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

What really gets her is when people talk shit. If you're not one to stand up for yourself she'll definitely tell them to shut the fuck up, along with some other not nice words. If you can do it she'll watch and pat you on the back after and ask if you're alright.

She doesn't expect anyone to be protective over her, and she prefers to stand up for herself. It makes her feel more in control, all she needs is your support. If someone said something behind her back, she'd be fine with you giving them a word.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

She's not someone to make a rose petal path. All she cares about is having fun.

On dates, which she doesn't love cuz she's broke, her only goal is to make you laugh and smile

Anniversaries, a little more effort, like picking some flowers that will be dead the next day. She'd make you a cassette tape with music that makes her think of you.

Gifts, like I said above, and those little trinkets she finds and gives you randomly. Its basically trash, but you love it.

She won't do any tasks unless you ask or they bother her. And she'll probably complain the whole time, but she'll do it for you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Obviously addiction. If it bothered you, she wouldn't do them around you, but she likely wouldn't stop. Maybe she tried at first, but she couldn't quit.

She also chews her nails til they bleed. And she impulsively cuts her hair, she always has new layers. She's also bleached her hair ever since her dad's death, and it's also dead.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

She puts effort into her makeup and outfits for herself and no one else. She spent forever perfecting her eye makeup, to something she likes. To hear how she presented herself unsettled people, she'd be proud of herself. The eyeshadow is just a part of her now, she never washes it off, only touches it up in the morning.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

In other relationships, she didn’t give a shit, but you...if you left her you would be the one to break her heart. You guys separated for a week, and it was the worst week of her life (dramatically). She tried really hard after that.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

I heard someone say she's secretly good at math, and I totally see that. She doesn't tell anyone, but one day you see her math homework, and you make her help you. She complains the whole time and doesn't show her work. She sucks at explaining, so you just stop asking her for help.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Anyone who talks shit. If her partner is gonna talk behind her back or be disrespectful, she's done. Warning and she's done.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

I said before she always smokes at least a little before bed. She also never undresses or only partially. She doesn't own pajamas. I guess we saw her in pajama like clothes in the cabin, but she wore them like all day too. So I stand by what I said, she doesn't give a shit. She lays on her stomach and takes up the whole bed, which is in total disarray.

A/n: thx for listening to my ramble♡💋🙊

[anodymalion]

sorry to post about american football on here but I finally watched the Kendrick Lamar Super Bowl halftime show and. holy crap. the framing of it with Uncle Sam is genius. a stand-in for the concept of america constantly interrupting Lamar telling him to stop being too loud, too political, too Black, this is just supposed to be fun entertainment, why don't you play that calm R&B instead? I had no idea how this performance was going to work, considering that the Super Bowl halftime show demands a certain level of mainstream palatability and toothlessness which really isn't Lamar's thing. but turning it around to make the performance itself about the tension between him and that palatability is a brilliant threading of the needle. especially with the little nods throughout to the awareness that a lot of the audience just wants to watch him perform Not Like Us and doesn't care about anything else he has to say. basically feels like the biggest fuck-you he could slip by the network to the idea of mainstream america trotting out a Black man to entertain them and then demanding that he not say anything that would challenge the status quo. especially considering this is a sporting event where the players are mostly Black men who are irreparably destroying their brains and bodies for the sake of entertainment so that the network can sell mega-expensive ad slots, yet players like Colin Kaepernick face extreme backlash for doing any sort of protest. all this in a stadium that removed their "End Racism" sign while the sitting president whose actions demanded that removal is in attendance. like holy SHIT

[ohmybueckers]

Never Strangers: Chapter Three

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: binge drinking, I think that’s it???

Authors Note: heyyyyy guys. Sorry this chapter took a hot second to come out and sorry it’s a lot more filler than other chapters - a LOT more was supposed to happen in this one, but I realized I could cut them into two and get this one posted faster. Which means 1. chapter four will come out a lot quicker than this one did and 2. it will be a lot more exciting than this one (based on the ending you can see why). anyways xoxo enjoy!

“No fucking way!”

Brooke braced herself on our kitchen counter, examined my phone like she had never seen one before. I was very aware of the fact my behead was still intact and I hadn’t even washed my face this morning, but I knew Brooke would classify this as an emergency that needed attending to ASAP.

“There’s no way,” I groan, wondering how my mission of avoiding Paige and all feelings associated with her at all cost had blown up in my face less than twenty four hours after getting here. “How does she even know?”

Brooke looked equally puzzled, her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowing before her posture straightened comically fast like a puppet. She shouted, “Adria!”

I was still confused, now even more so. “What?”

“Her story from last night must have gotten to KK, which somehow made it to Paige.”

In recent years I have become what my friends have lovingly referred to as “chronically offline” - it had to have at least been 2 days since I had opened Instagram, and I certainly didn’t follow the younger girl last night. Safe to say I had zero clue what she was referring to. “What story?”

Brooke grabbed her phone from the kitchen countertop, typing quickly before shoving her phone back in my face. Sure enough, Brooke and I were the stars of the story, both holding our glasses and wearing big smiles (certainly a symptom of the cheap wine). How Adria managed to find my account to tag me, I was not sure. All I knew is that Paige most likely saw it, and that a shameful part of me was at least a little happy that I looked good in the photo.

There was certainly no erasing Paige’s memory, so this text was mine to tackle. “Alright, how do I even respond to this?”

From the way Brooke looked at me, you would think I just suggested transferring again. “Respond? You’re kidding, right?”

I shrug, not exactly enthused by the idea of interacting with Paige on my first full day, but not enjoying the alternative either. “I mean, she knows now. It’s kinda rude to not say anything, isn’t it?”

“What’s rude is talking to a girl as if she’s your girlfriend, treating her like your girlfriend, and then disappearing out of nowhere and lying to her about it. You know exactly why she’s trying to hit you up again,” Brooke grabs my shoulder with care, a gesture I leaned into, “If she thinks you’re easy enough to let her in again, you gotta show her she’s dead wrong.”

My mind felt like it was destroying itself trying to figure out the truth. Part of me wanted to listen to Brooke, who had never once led me astray in her advice and had enough experience with fuck boys to know how they tick - even if the fuckboy in question was actually a girl. Everything she was saying matched the image I had built up about Paige in my head for years. 

Once my heartbreak molded into anger, it became a hell of a lot easier to get over Paige, at least enough to date other people at Minnesota. Anger became comfortable for me - except the occasional nights I spent alone in my dorm, looking back at old photos I couldn’t bring myself to delete permanently from my ICloud. Nights where I wondered if I actually had it all wrong, and if somehow I let myself get too comfortable hating Paige to consider any alternative to what was my truth. Was it pathetic to hold on to a grudge from over three years ago? I really didn’t know sometimes. 

I shut my phone off, reassuring Brooke that I was not going to fall back into Paige, which she seemed to accept fairly easily. Brooke ultimately just wants what’s best for me, and the last thing I wanted was for her to spend her last year at UConn worried about me. She had the LSAT to focus on, not my situation with my ex.

Which is why I conveniently forgot to inform her when I decided to respond to Paige that night, waiting until the sun had set and nearly twenty four hours had passed before sending a simple “yes”, throwing my phone on my bed and taking a long shower before I could decide I made a grave mistake. 

———-

The first day of classes came quick, which I was thankful for - there’s only so much time a girl can spend in her poorly air conditioned apartment, and it’s not like Storrs had that much going on when school was not in session. What I was not thankful for was my packed Monday schedule, starting with an 8am economics lecture that I wouldn’t have taken if it wasn’t the last one available to satisfy a requirement, and ending with general chemistry (again, would not take if I didn’t need to squeeze a science credit in). 

If my 3 alarms weren’t enough to wake me up, I could rely on the sun blazing through my apartment at 5:30AM. After making a mental note to finally order some curtains, my full morning routine commenced, the one I saved for special occasions (or for when I simply could not fall back asleep): 20 minutes of pilates, followed by a citrus scented shower, a full makeup routine, and styling my nearly black hair in loose curls. 

By 7:30 I was ready to begin my walk to the business school, smoothing out my floral sundress and hoping it would instill some confidence in me. I would probably lean back into wearing jeans within the next week, but I still had some belief in my mom’s insistence that dressing well on any first day or impression mattered. I guess it did make me feel pretty, in a “belongs more on a Hollister catalogue than a college campus” kinda way. The dress did not fix the way my my first day nerves seemed to wreak havoc on my body, causing me to barely shove a protein bar down my throat before my body decided that was all the breakfast it could handle.

If I were still in Minnesota, my walk to classes would have been a whole lot louder. It was not often I had a commute where I didn’t curse the incompetence of Minnesota drivers. This was not the case in Storrs, partially because there were no drivers. Aside from the shuttle that passed me as I turned onto Alumni Drive, the only sound to accompany me was Beyoncé serenading me through my headphones. While Minnesota was simply a college with a large city unrelated to it, it was evident that Storrs would be almost nonexistent without UConn - if Minnesota was a city school, this felt almost like summer camp in comparison.

 I didn’t know exactly what to make of it yet, but I promised myself I would keep an open mind. I had to. There was no turning back now. 

———-

The day ended up being just as exhausting as I anticipated, potentially even more so. I’m used to liking first days. The idea of a new start each semester usually feels exciting, but this time I may have bit off more than I can chew. Syllabus week at Minnesota was a breeze, my calendar filled with classes where we just went over standard course expectations followed by frat parties I pretended to have interest in. The second my economics professor began lecturing after covering the syllabus for a measly 10 minutes, I knew he did not roll that way.

I genuinely have no idea how I made it through my high school schedule every day: multiple AP classes, followed by an afternoon job tutoring middle schoolers, with mock trial practice shortly after. It’s a miracle I found time to actually have a social life. Clearly my stamina had depleted severely, as by the time I stepped into my history discussion (seriously, who holds discussion when there isn’t anything to discuss yet), I had already made an emergency stop for coffee and was contemplating whether it was possible to take a nap in my thirty minute passing period before my chemistry lecture.

I made quick stop in the bathroom to fix my mascara and ensure the concealer under my eyes wasn’t crumbling (it was). Leave it to a hot September day and a bathroom with yellow tinted lighting to deplete my confidence: my once voluminous curls fell flat to my face, frizz accumulating at the roots. My concealer which had been matched to fit my warm skin tone now made me appear sallow, and my eyes were not fooling anyone - I was truly, undoubtedly tired. Not much I could do at this point other than use a generous amount of travel size dry shampoo, wipe the remnants of my mascara from under my eyes, and hope that the lighting in my discussion wasn’t as harsh.

I stepped into the classroom and was quickly overwhelmed by the size of it - not because it was too big, but because it was intimately tiny. I had been comfortable in my two previous classes, the large lecture halls allowing me to fade a little into anonymity - just another body struggling to stay awake as my professor explains the importance of studying economic law in the most monotonous tone possible. Looking at the long fake wood table and the twelve chairs, four of which were filled, I realized my streak of avoiding introductions had ended. 

After a quick scan, I chose to set my stuff down next to the person who scared me the least: a tall girl with pin straight long black hair, dressed in black baggy cargo pants and an oversized SZA shirt, complete with silver rings on her fingers which were currently in use scrolling her laptop. I offered a customary closed mouth smile as I sat down and set my book bag down on the table. 

There was a short pause where the only sound to hit my ears was the hum of the far too harsh overhead lighting as I took out my laptop, before I heard a deep voice ask, “long day, huh?”

As I turned to face the girl and processed her statement, it was evident that my attempt at looking put together was no longer working, especially now that the humidity had done a number on my hair. To be fair, I did feel like I was about to crash. “Tell me about it,” I replied, face flushed. I began to wonder if I should have sat next to the frat boy who was scrolling on UConn’s barstool account instead.

Maybe she took pity on how embarrassed I looked, because the smirk was erased from her tanned face and was replaced by a look of sympathy. “Hey, I don’t blame you. My 8AM econ lecture was brutal.”

The gears turned in my brain before I realized just what she had said. “Wait, which econ class?” After the taller girl recited a number from the schedule on her lock screen, I grinned. “We’re in the same lecture!”

“I cannot believe he would teach that much content on the first day.” She rolled her brown eyes, “Ok, let me guess. History and economics classes, leather planner… you’re pre-law, aren’t you?”

I mean, she technically wasn’t completely wrong. “Yes?”

“Then why haven’t I seen you try out for mock trial?” She asked, a perfectly shaped brow raised high and the Colgate smile smirk returning to her face. Her voice was low and teasing - definitely the flirty personality type. I could recognize it all too well.

Not wanting to explain my long and complicated history with the organization, I settled for the easy answer. “I just transferred here.”

“Well, we’ll be at the org fair if you want to sign up for a tryout spot,” She smiled, “Just tell them that Alex sent you.”

“Going to take a wild guess here and assume you’re Alex,” I quipped, though I will admit the effort did bring a small smile to my face. “I’m Maya.”

“See! I can already tell you’re clever enough for us,” Alex joked, a ring clad hand bracing her head on the table as she stared at me. I noticed the way she scanned me, her eyes falling down to the v neck of my dress before tracing back up to my smile. I suddenly felt the need to smooth out the bottom of my dress against my legs, my hands feeling very sweaty. 

 Before I could respond, the TA announced the start of the period, and both of our heads turned to the front. The rest of discussion was spent typing notes on when my paper was due and what constitutes academic dishonesty, all while trying to ignore the way the girl next to me kept shooting looks my way.

————

The one benefit of my packed Monday/Wednesday schedule was that my weekend was essentially four days long. I had two classes on Thursday, both criminally early, but it meant that I was done by noon and ready to enjoy a few days with nothing on my agenda… at least once I finished all of my assignments my professors had mercilessly assigned on the first week. 

A groan left my lips for what had to have been the third time in ten minutes as my eyes squinted to make out my general chemistry textbook. I had read the same paragraph around 5 times now, and each time I seemed to understand it less. Even though Adria invited me to study with her on the patio of her favorite coffee shop, I was sure she was about to tell me to leave. “I don’t know how I did AP Chem in high school, this is like a whole other language to me now.”

Adria laughed, looking up from her organic chemistry book (the contents of which I’m pretty sure would give me an aneurysm). “Not a STEM girl?”

“Definitely not a STEM girl,” I shook my head, unsure why the version of me who picked her schedule over the summer decided taking a notorious weed out course was a great idea. Taking a quick sip of my matcha, I added, “But I don’t know if I’m necessarily a law girl either. Been a real pain trying to figure it all out.”

“You will, I promise. Besides, I can always tutor you,” Adria reassured me softly, a gesture that would be a lot sweeter if there wasn’t a tiny voice in the back of my head nagging me for needing a pep talk from someone so much younger than me. If Adria can have everything figured out, why can’t I? “Enjoying UConn so far though?”

“Yeah, it’s been okay! I’ve met some nice people in my classes,” I think about how Alex quickly spotted me yesterday morning in lecture and gestured to have me sit with her and her mock trial friends. Turns out sitting through an 8AM lecture on law and economics was a lot easier when you had a friend next to you. “I think Brooke wants to go to bars this weekend though, and I just know the lines are going to be awful.”

Adria lit up at this. “There’s a party being thrown by members of the mens basketball team tomorrow - someone basically rented out Huskies. I got access to one over the summer and it was a ton of fun - you should come!” 

My mouth opened, trying to form a response. On one hand, it’s not like I had any concrete plans yet, and staying in on the first weekend after classes just felt wrong. But the words basketball rung in my ears like an unwelcome echo. Brooke’s warning that Paige was everywhere on campus rung true already, already overhearing her name in conversations more times than I could count. Seeing her and possibly talking to her? That was a whole other ball game, one that I weren’t sure I was ready to play. It wasn’t even necessarily that I wasn’t over her yet, but rather that we hadn’t spoken beyond a couple of short text exchanges in years (the most recent of which Paige hadn’t even responded to). Running into her was bound to be awkward, and I was determined to avoid the discomfort.

“Oh Adria, I don’t know…”

Adria cut me off, her voice insistent and almost desperate. “Please come. Brooke usually ends up leaving with some guy and I don’t want to be alone. All of my other friends can’t come, they have to be dry for sorority rush.”

I scoffed, though there’s no bite as I joke, “So you’re saying I’m your last option?”

“I’m saying I saved the best for last,” Adria gave a sheepish shrug. “If it helps change your mind at all, the women’s team won’t be there. KK said they were all going to Ted’s.”

I knew that there was no point of basing my choices at UConn based on whether or not I could run into Paige, but I would be lying if I said the reassurance wasn’t helpful. “I guess I could be convinced.” 

Adria clapped, her smile big enough that agreeing already felt like the correct decision. “You won’t regret it, I promise. Pregame at yours?”

————

If there’s one thing I learned after two years going to college in the midwest, it’s how to throw a damn good pregame.

I felt the bass of my music from my JBL speaker course through my body as I set a shot glass back down on the faux granite countertop, wincing as the cheap tequila flowed down my throat. Brooke, Adria, and Brooke’s friend Marley stared at me, a mix of both amazement and slight concern on their face. On nights out, I have been known to pregame heavy, especially nights where I don’t know most people there. For one, it means I spend less money, plus it gives me some much needed extroversion to make it through the night. 

“Damn girl, I did not know you could drink like that,” Brooke whistled, sipping on her High Noon tenderly. Her and Marley had other plans for the night, some frat event. Brooke claimed the only reason she would be caught dead at a frat as a senior is because Marley’s boyfriend was the president and so they got special treatment, but I had my suspicions she might have a frat crush of her own. 

I felt the buzz as the four of us left our apartment, Adria and I running to catch our bus in order to avoid the thirty minute walk. In my alcohol induced giddiness, I noted how the sky faded from a bright blue into a mosaic of purples, pinks and yellows as the sun set over the lush trees. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Adria’s phone face me as I gripped the pole, looking out the window of our bus with the amazement of a kid in a candy store. I had spent the past week unsure of what to make of Storrs, but it felt almost romanticized in this moment.

Unfortunately, the picturesque moment did not carry into Huskies, an establishment that was far more of a restaurant than a true bar. A tennis game played over the TV, paired with the speakers blasting Drake as we were surrounded by a sea of girls with bleach and tones and Princess Polly crop tops. The basketball players seemed almost allergic to mingling with their invitees: aside from one or two attempting to chat up one of the girls, they all stood at their own table sipping beers and looking like they would rather be anywhere else. 

Adria ordered us drinks as I snagged us a table. Soon enough we stood side by side, sipping on Captain Morgan and Coke and a tequila sunrise respectively, unsure of what to make of what we were seeing. “It was a lot more exciting over the summer, I swear,” Adria looked apologetic, “Maybe it’s just one of those things where we have to get drunker?”

I was making a mental note to take two Tylenol before bed for the sake of my tomorrow morning self when a man’s voice emerged from the crowd. 

“Adria, you made it!” A pale man with floppy brown hair and impossibly long legs emerged, grin on his face as he wrapped Adria in a side hug. She returned the hug and the smile while brushing a braid away from her face, though hers seemed more forced. She finally pulled away when he began rubbing her arm, her face lighting up upon making eye contact with me.

“This is my friend Maya, she just transferred here.”

He grinned, reaching a hand out to shake hers with a firm grip. “Hey, I’m Noah. You made a good choice!” 

“He plays for the team, I think he might be a bit biased,” Adria remarks, earning her a shocked look from her friend who quickly turned his attention away from me and onto her.

“Me and some of the guys were going to play some darts, you wanna be my partner? I’m sure we can find a partner for Maya as well,” Noah gestures to me without turning his head, as though I am an afterthought. While it’s not like I’m dying to play drinking games with a group of NBA hopefuls, it wouldn’t hurt to at least act like I’m there.

Adria clearly did not want to play as well, as she stuttered out some half-assed excuse. “I think we’ll stay here! Don’t want to risk, um, losing this table.”

Losing this table? Looks like I also needed to make a note to teach Adria how to lie. It was beyond obvious that Noah wasn’t buying it, but I guess  he was choosing not to be confrontational. With a cough, he replied. “Right, um, well I’ll catch up with you later tonight then!”

The second he was well out of earshot (not that far, considering the volume they were playing Passionfruit at), my interrogation began. “Who was that?”

Adria looked down at her drink, looking uncharacteristically unconfident. “That was my in to this bar. We met over the summer.”

I nodded, watching as Noah stopped to chat with a mix of guys and girls under the flashing blue and pink lights. “Well I’m pretty sure he wants to get with you.”

“Oh trust me, he’s tried.” Adria deadpanned, evoking a laugh from my glossed lips. “He’s still a good guy, and I like being his friend. But I’m not into him like that.”

“Is it KK?”

Adria bit her bottom lip, and for a moment I feared I had gone too far, like we weren’t quite at the point in our friendship where that wouldn’t be a sensitive subject. I was ready to retract my question when she spoke softly. “We’re not exclusive… at least I don’t think so. I haven’t been with anyone else, but who knows if she has.”

Man, Adria really liked this girl. Some part of me was thankful to give some advice to her for once, although it’s not like my history gives me the authority to give relationship advice. “Have you tried talking to her about it?”

“Absolutely not.” She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I’m way too scared to hear the answer.”

I felt a pang in my chest, relating to that feeling all too well. I’ve always had a tendency to protect my peace too hard, avoid asking questions to escape conflict - through the years, I’ve discovered it almost never ends well. “But do you think you might be hurting yourself more by not knowing?”

Adria took a pause, staring off as Noah and his friends began frat flicking to some song that did not warrant that at all. “I am not drunk enough to think about that right now.” 

We both laughed, silently agreeing to down the remainder of our drinks at the same time. The ice had melted well with the remainder of my sunrise, dulling the burn of the tequila. This was probably a good thing - I’m pretty sure my tolerance was lowered over the summer, because I felt my body get warmer than anticipated despite the air conditioning working overtime. Adria set her drink down on the table, turning to me once more. From the glint in her eye, I knew she was about to return my line of questioning. “What about you? Are you looking to get set up, because I’m sure that’s the reason those guys invited all of us here in the first place.” 

“First of all, I’m gay,” I began, examining the crowd in front of me. “I’ve been here like a week, haven’t really had the time to think about hooking up with anyone.”

“Well, what’s your type?”

I thought for a moment about my (limited) history. “Tall, athletic, nice eyes…”

“Paige.”

I rolled my eyes, though I would be lying if I said the blonde was not included in my thought process. “I mean it, I’m done with her.”

“No, no. Paige. Right over there.”

It felt like my heart plummeted to my ass, the effects of the alcohol consumed unable to keep me cold as a chill rushed through me. Before my brain could tell me not to look, my head snapped to the front. Two girls now stood at the front of the bar, talking to the male players. One girls laugh cut through the crowd, and I saw a small smile erupt in Adria. That must be KK. The girl next to her, hands shoved in the pockets of her cargo pants, didn’t even need to say or do anything. I could tell Paige Bueckers from any crowd.  

---

taglist (open!): @paiges-1vur @unadulteratedcyclepaper

[traincat]

So @softgrungeprophet just posted about John Jameson/Peter Parker, a thing I have nothing for, but it did remind me that I had a Spideytorch WIP where Jonah tries to set John and Peter up and so Peter comes up with the brilliant idea of fake dating Johnny to get out of it, only for John and Johnny to start dating, a thing which will obviously not drive Peter mad with jealousy. Ft my not remotely in order writing practices.

Anyway I don't know when I'll finish it so have a thousand words of people making bad decisions.

--

It was a regular Friday afternoon and Johnny, free of all social and superhero responsibilities, was just trying to relax and maybe catch up on a week’s worth of reality television when a full-grown man hit the side of the Baxter Building going eighty miles an hour.

“Did I scare you? Sorry,” Peter said, not sounding very sorry at all, as he climbed gracefully through the window.

“Of course you scared me! Not everyone has a built in magic spider danger sense!” Johnny said. He looked down at the carpet and the new red footprints there and made a face. “No, it’s fine, track what had better be paint all over my apartment.”

“Thanks, Torchy,” Peter said, as if Johnny had been in any way sincere. “Don’t worry, Reed’s little robot friends will steam clean that right out. Listen, I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

With friends like these, who needed Doctor Doom.

(blah blah blah)

“I just need you to pretend to be in a relationship with me,” Peter said. “For one, two months, tops. Or however long Jonah has left on this earth. Either or.”

(blah blah blah)

“Look, here’s the deal,” Peter said, rolling his eyes, “and don’t ask how this happened, but I accidentally told JJJ I’m bisexual and –”

“Wait, you did what?” Johnny cut him off. His voice was dangerously high even to his own ears. “You’re what?”

“I just told you it was an accident,” Peter said, still in that tone like it was no big deal and he accidentally came out to major newspaper publishers every other week. For all Johnny knew, maybe he did. For all Johnny knew maybe he put on a rainbow spider-suit and shouted it from the top of the Empire State Building every single Friday Johnny had ever been off-planet.

“How do you accidentally tell your former boss you’re bisexual?” Johnny demanded. Then, his own voice somehow rising even shriller, he added, “You haven’t told me you’re bisexual!”

Peter shot him a look that said that he was pretty sure he just had. As if Johnny wasn’t sitting right in front of him, currently losing his mind.

“The bad news, apparently John Jameson came out to his dad a few months ago,” Peter said.

“That’s the bad news,” Johnny said, his voice both flat and scathing in a way no acting coach he’d ever had would believe he was capable of. “Really.”

“Well, good for John, I guess,” Peter allowed, making a face like he wasn’t quite about all of that. Johnny was going to smother him by the end of this conversation, probably. “But bad for me. Because now Jonah wants to set us up.”

There was a strange static-y sound ringing in Johnny’s ears, like someone had scrambled all his frequencies.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Could you rewind? Maybe to the beginning of this conversation?”

“You’re not listening to me, Johnny,” Peter said. “Jonah basically implied that John and I should get married. The other day I caught him looking at brochures for catering halls out on Long Island. And look, John’s a great guy, but –”

“Great,” Johnny said, his face in his hands. “Fantastic. I’ll send you two a fantasti-toaster.”

“But he’s not my type at all,” Peter said. He reached over and closed his fingers around Johnny’s wrist, tugging his hand effortlessly away from his face and leaving Johnny no choice but to look up into that big brown imploring eyes. “Now, She-Hulk, on the other hand…”

A strangled noise of rage tore itself from Johnny’s throat.

(Peter asks Johnny to be his fake boyfriend to some Bugle event)

--

(Bugle event, Jonah awkwardly talks to Johnny and says something mildly homophobic in an incredibly well meaning way.)

“That’s very… something of you, Mr. Jameson,” Johnny said.

“My daughter Mattie bought me a book,” Jameson admitted.

(blah blah Peter runs off and John and Johnny talk on a balcony)

“You know, that’s the thing about Parker,” John Jameson said, his voice light and casual. “Every time I’ve ever seen him he’s had some beautiful model hanging off his arm.”

Johnny snorted, thinking of the Black Cat, and Mary Jane, and even Carlie Cooper with her whole hot librarian vibe. Dorrie Evans, the prettiest girl in Johnny’s high school, talking Johnny’s ear off on a half dozen of their dates about how Peter Parker was so smart and how he was interested in politics and an inch taller than Johnny and probably much more in touch with his feelings. Yeah, right.

“Tell me about it,” he said. “They should ban him from fashion week for the models’ own good.”

They probably already had. Johnny would have to ask.

“No, I meant…” John trailed off. He smiled ruefully, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said, realizing he’d cut John off. “What were you saying?”

“I was complimenting you,” John said, his eyes twinkling. “What I said about Parker and beautiful models – I meant you.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, floored. He felt strangely like blushing, but that was silly. Johnny was a famous space explorer. It was hardly the first time a handsome astronaut had called him beautiful.

It was, perhaps, the first time it had happened to him on earth. And the first time it had happened outside of a hostage situation. And the first time Ben hadn’t been there to threaten to beat the astronaut up.

“You are here with Peter Parker, aren’t you?” John asked. “As his date, I mean.”

“Allegedly,” Johnny said. He’d meant it to come out under his breath, but it didn’t, and he suspected his eyeroll wasn’t quite as internal as he’d intended either. John laughed, but not unkindly.

“He does have a habit of disappearing, doesn’t he?” John said lightly. “I get it, though, as the son of a newsman. The number of dinners my father actually made it to the main course without rushing off to take a call or chase a story...” He trailed off, sighing ruefully, the corners of his mouth quirked up. “That must be why they get along so well.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Johnny asked, feeling emboldened, maybe, by the way John was looking at him, by the fact that he had called him beautiful.

He definitely wasn’t feeling spiteful over the fact that he was supposed to be here with Peter and Peter had, of course, ditched him, caught up in fifteen other different things, just like always. Things that were more important than Johnny. Things that Johnny could have helped with, maybe, if Peter had asked.

Or maybe things Johnny couldn’t have helped with. After all there were plenty of reasons he might have found Peter’s shirt abandoned in the corner of the men’s room. Things that might have everything to do with, say, the Black Cat instead of Doctor Octopus. 

“Of course,” John said. His hand landed next to Johnny’s on the balcony railing. “You can tell me anything.”

(Johnny admits Peter only brought him as his date to get Jonah to quit it.)

“My father does have that way about him,” John said ruefully. “He’s trying to be very supportive. My foster sister bought him a book. He said he’s thinking about starting a podcast.”

“Elderly Bugle subscribers, watch out,” Johnny said before he could stop himself. Luckily for him, John laughed.

[John kisses Johnny at some fancy event]

--

So now Johnny was a homewrecker. Either of his fake relationship, or of Peter’s future Daily Bugle society page wedding to John Jameson, certified American hero. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

--

Johnny stared at Jonah. Jonah stared at Johnny.

John tucked into his steak like he wasn’t sitting in the middle of the world’s most awkward dinner. Johnny guessed he must have had experience getting through dinners with J Jonah Jameson, but he could have taken a little pity on Johnny, a novice.

(And then somewhere in here Peter would have gone insane.)

[jackels-in-space]

╔⏤╝MAKE A TRADE: PART 1╚⏤╗

Renata Glasc was a wanna-be Chem Baron and was becoming a pain in the ass for Silco's business. He sent Sevika to negotiate a deal to bring Glasc Industries and bring it to heel. Sevika didn't know what to expect but she didn't think it would lead to this...

Also posted on AO3 W.C: 3.7 Tags under cut off - no smut but still reference sex

Tags: Former Sex Worker!Sevika (it's just mentioned at the end), Shimmer strap, sex as part of business negotiations? Imma be real this is just yapping the smut happens in part 2. flirtation, top!renata, switch!sevika

Renata Glasc and her budding empire were situated in the deepest part of Zaun, spreading across the lowest levels capable of housing life. It meant that the Grey was prominent and anyone wanting to visit Glasc Industries had to have a high-quality respirator.

Sevika didn’t like wearing the masks. It felt too claustrophobic, making her skin itch and her heart rate spike now and then. Add in the thickness of the smog, the fact that she had to cover all of her skin because of the Grey and the tiny laneways of Old Zaun, Sevika was not having a good time.

Shrouded in permanent night, Glasc Industries was a toxic lighthouse in the dark, tubes of neon chems lighting the way to the main office. There were plenty of workers moving about, equally covered, masked and goggled up, and none stopped the Right Hand as she moved towards the heart of Zaun’s lowest industrial complex.

An outsider, like a Piltie, would have thought that the choice to go so low, so deep that you were almost touching bedrock, would be a detriment to business and yet, there it was strong, powerful, a testament to Glasc’s identity.

Sevika sighed, the noise being altered by the respirator as she pushed a door open with her glove covered hand. There must have been some sort of seal because it required a fair amount of effort to open it up and then…there was another door, just as heavy. Renata really was making an effort in deterring people from coming to her office.

The inside of the main building was less derelict than its outside but just as dark. The receptionist area had grey tiles darkened by pollution and age, the walls that were probably a lavish purple wallpaper now black, and any metal now an oxidised copper or tarnished iron. It was probably one of the nicer looking places down this deep, especially with the collection of noxious plants and tubes of circling chemicals.

“I’m here to see Glasc,” Sevika grumbled out, resting her arm on the countertop as she looked down at the receptionist.

The theory that there was a seal on the door must be correct as the receptionist, wearing a far more stylised mask, had her arms bare as she wore a short-sleeved, buttoned up shirt. There was a long coat hung up on a coat rack off to the side.

The little redhead looked up from her bookkeeping, her eyes widening slightly before nodding and putting her pencil down.

“Of course, Ms Sevika.”

She picked up a telephone, holding it with one hand to her ear as she quickly dialled in a number.

“Ma’am, Ms Sevika is here to see you,” the receptionist said efficiently, pausing as she waited for her boss’ answer. “Of course.”

The phone was put down and with the same hand, she indicated to a hallway on Sevika’s left.

“If you could take the elevator to the sixth floor, please. Her office isn’t hard to miss. Sorry I can’t show you, Ms Sevika. Someone’s got to man the desk.”

Her head jerked down to the table and Sevika quickly looked over and down. She huffed out a laugh, the noise rattling because of the respirator. Two guns sat in easy reach.

“Shit, you get a lot of trouble then?”

“Ain’t my place to say but uh…if you wouldn’t mind…could you bring it up with Ms Glasc?” the redhead asked and the twinge of the muscles under her eye implied a shy smile.

Sevika gave a non-commital grunt and nod of her head before walking over to the elevator. 

Renata Glasc wasn’t even a Chem-Baron but the power and technology she was amassing might as well have made her one and that…that was a threat. Glasc Industries was in partnership with Madame Margot and her Vyx’s before shimmer had been brought to market, the range of aerosolized chem’s being a key interest to the Rapture Walk. Why Silco hadn’t extended a hand of business to the woman, Sevika had no idea, because now Finn and Smeech were having a hissy fit of Renata’s exclusivity.

So, of course the best option was to just outsource their tech from Renata.

Sevika was here to make a deal as Ms Glasc had refused to go out to Silco and seeing the guns the receptionist had, the Right Hand could only assume that someone had been attacking her industry (probably the shitheads Finn and Smeech.)

The elevator dinged when she had reached the sixth floor and she slid open the protective grating. 

Renata was waiting for her, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She was as tall as Sevika, if not taller by a small, miniscule amount that Sevika would rather ignore. Her hair was black with two sections starting to become white at the roots already and her eyes had a semi-permanent pink ring around the pupil from shimmer usage (the drug had only been on the streets for a year so how much had this woman consumed?) A blue-black blazer was thrown over her shoulders in such a casual manner that had the Right Hand’s eyes twitching in suspicion; she was hiding something, probably a gun.

“Glasc,” she acknowledged, stepping out of the lift.

“It’s Miss Glasc,” the woman bit back, her mask adding a slight rumble.

“Mhm,” Sevika hummed out, not fazed by the biting correction.

Many people had tried to instate some sort of rank or title upon themselves and the only one that had managed to make it work was Margot but does Sevika call her madame? Fuck no. The only person that has earned her respect was Silco and as such he gets to be called ‘sir’ and ‘boss’.

“Not very polite, are you, dolly? Exactly what I expected from Silco’s little hound.”

Sevika had to momentarily look away and grind her teeth, biting back the urge to punch her. After a moment, she rolled her eyes back to Renata and shrugged, feigning boredom.

“We gon’ do business or not?”

Renata looked Sevika up and down, one of her eyebrows raising in appreciation before nodding and pushing off the wall. Her arms uncrossed themselves, and rested by her sides as she walked. The Right Hand’s eyes were immediately drawn to the industrialist's left arm. 

Talons that were similar to her own glinted in the artificial light. They looked cleaner, a silver metal instead of Sevika’s copper plating, and seemed to faintly glow with pink-purple chemicals.

“You got a good piece there,” pointed out Sevika, trying to suss out who Renata was.

Was she like Margot and Reni, where the odd compliment helped with negotiations?

Or is she like Finn and Sevika’s gonna have to beat her down as violence is the only language she speaks?

Maybe she’s like Chross and Smeech: opportunists?

Sevika followed her as they walked towards Renata’s office.

Renata took her blazer off, folding it over her right arm. It meant that her purple waistcoat and sleeveless shirt were shown off and that she had a complete prosthetic from shoulder to finhertips. There was a hint of burn scars on her shoulder blades peeking from the edges of the waistcoat. Sevika could imagine the now-healed wounds spanning across Renata’s torso. 

The industrialist flexed her bionic arm and the glow of shimmer became more prominent.

“Why, thank you. I’m sure you recognise the design?” 

The Right Hand did. It was very similar to hers. On instinct, Sevika rubbed her prosthetic over the poncho. It was a year and she still didn’t know how she felt about it.

Renata spotted the motion, her head tilted to the side to watch the other woman from the corner of her eye. 

“How’s it treating you, sugar?”

“It’s…fine…” Sevika gritted out, lying. 

It wasn’t fine and it seemed that Renata knew that, somehow. There was a pinch in the eyebrows and the respirator shifted as if she too was grinding her teeth. 

The other woman clicked her tongue as they entered her office, the noise sounding unnatural from the muffling effect of her mask.

“Sit down,” she instructed, indicating a pair of chairs in front of a solid looking desk. 

The trip down to the lower levels had admittedly taken it out of Sevika. The combination of reduced oxygen and excessive clothing having made her hot and bothered and not in a fun way either. She slumped down into the chair, legs splayed out and her head tilted back in exasperation. It was probably overly relaxed for a business deal but within the first few minutes of meeting, it seemed that Renata had some sort of respect for Sevika and honestly, vice versa. Perhaps it was the fact that both had lost their left arm, a tale that neither would explain to the other. 

Renata moved about, the clatter of tools making Sevika’s ears perk up. She was in the process of lifting her head when Renata, with such ballsy confidence, sat on the edge of her desk, one foot on the empty chair, the other between Sevika’s legs, the toe of her boot coming close to Sevika’s core. 

If Sevika was a lesser woman, she’d screech and cower away, demanding to know what game Renata was playing but she wasn’t; she knew what the other woman’s aim was. So, she raised her head and lifted an eyebrow, keeping her breathing and heart rate slow. 

Renata leant forward, her elbows resting on her thighs and Sevika spotted a screwdriver in her right hand. The respirator did make it hard to read Renata’s expression but the relaxed eyebrows and half-lidded eyes implied some sort of attraction. 

“Take your poncho off.” 

“Why?” Sevika replied, putting in an effort to sound indifferent. 

“I made that arm of yours. I want to see how it’s holding up.” 

“You…you made my arm?” 

“Silco didn’t tell you? Hmpf, funny that.”

Sevika didn’t say anything afterwards, reaching to unclasp her poncho and pulling it off. Immediately, the loss of the extra fabric started to cool Sevika down. She sighed in relief as she tossed the red cloak to the side. 

“You can take your respirator off too, doll.” 

The Right-Hand raised an eyebrow, suspicious. 

“I know what business you and Margot have, Glasc. I ain’t trusting you or your air.”

The industrialist merely rolled her eyes and reached up to take off her mask. It hissed slightly as the seal was broken. 

She was an attractive woman with the respirator on and she was stunning with it off. Her lips were full and a soft, dusty pink colour. There were smile lines, but they were more likely formed from smirks than actual smiles; Glasc didn’t seem the type to really smile. Sevika couldn’t help but watch the way her tongue darted out as she lifted the screwdriver to hold in her mouth.

The other woman’s eyes lit up with glee, or was it smugness, when she caught the brawler staring.

Janna, she’s as bad as Margot.

Renata shifted so she was nearly off the edge of the desk and reached for Sevika’s hand, lifting it with ease. Her hands were steady as Sevika relaxed her shoulder muscles, letting the arm be twisted around as much as the joints allowed it to. She was analysing the metal work.

Then, Renata tugged on the prosthetic, her body deceptive about how much strength she had. Sevika was pulled forward, near enough face planting into Renata’s chest if she hadn’t quickly placed her other hand on the desk, between the industrialists’ legs.

Yeah, definitely another Margot.

“What are you doin’?” Sevika demanded, trying to get her arm back when she looked up at Renata, the shimmer glow of her eyes was brighter. “How? There wasn’t enough time for you to knock some back…”

Sevika’s eyes widened when she saw part of Renata’s bionic arm raise up and fill up with sloshing shimmer, the pink-purple chem casting a glow on the sharp angle of the industrialists cheekbones. So, that’s how Renata had been consuming enough shimmer to cause the colour change but then…why wasn’t she sprouting tumours like the rest of the poor fucks that had been chugging the chem the moment it was for sale?

Whatever process that was happening was cancelled, the shimmer draining and the vial that had raised settle back into the main body of the arm.

“It’s a prototype I’ve been testin’, sweet cheeks,” Glasc stated after taking the screwdriver out of her mouth. “I know this arm intimately so there should be space to put in a distribution unit unless you want a whole new arm?”

“How much is that gonna cost me, Glasc, hm?”

“Well, with the tech Silco wants from me…” She paused, having located a screw in the shoulder platting of Sevika’s arm. “And this upgrade as well as the specialised shimmer for it…’bout three percent share in the business and two-hundred units of condensed shimmer a month?”

“Fuck off.” Sevika tried to pull out of Renata’s grasp, but the woman had found a way to disable Sevika’s arm and when the Right-Hand looked down, she saw the chems used to power her prosthetic dripping down her claws and onto the ground. “The fuck did you do?”

“Just unplugged a cable. Don’t worry, doll, when we’re done with making a deal, I’ll put it back together and reinstall the chems. Free of charge.”

“How generous of you,” Sevika gritted out, her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

She was back to grinding her teeth, forced to be in proximity with someone more annoying than Finn and more fucking manipulative (and, admittedly, more attractive) than Margot.

“Mm, very generous,” Glasc purred. “I don’t do acts of charity. Only for pretty girls like you.”

Pretty isn’t the usual descriptor people used when talking about Sevika’s body; brutish, strong, even handsome were the usual words thrown about but never pretty. Not since she was younger, inexperienced about the world and doing a job so far from where was now.

It caught Sevika off guard.

“Fuck you,” she bit back, the only decent response she could come up with.

“You could though, I would prefer fucking you.”

The lecherous grin the industrialist wore felt both predatory and sinful. The tip of the screwdriver that had disabled Sevika’s arm was dragged up her neck, following covered glowing, blue scar tissue to her cheek. The slight sharpness of the tool combined with how sensitive the scar tissue was, it made Sevika shiver.

Her back momentarily arched and her jaw dropped for a moment as she hissed or groaned as the head of the driver pressed down on a sensitive area on the meat of her cheek, sending a spike of something through her body. She had managed to desensitise the brunt of her healed wounds, but her face and neck were the two areas she just…couldn’t bring herself to touch. The rest could be hidden away but those scars…

The other woman was watching, studying. Renata knew all too well the healing process of scar tissue, how impossible it felt to return to normalcy after the loss of a limb. Sevika’s long sleeved top made it hard to judge how much of her torso had been affected by whatever caused the blue spiderweb, but Renata assumed it was a fair amount.

Sevika was vulnerable, obviously touched starved (Renata was the same, spending years in isolation before letting someone touch her after the fire), and it was a vulnerability Glasc was going to take advantage of. Always thinking on her feet, Renata could switch up a plan. She was originally going to strong arm (metaphorically) into the deal she had mentioned but then…well…she didn’t expect the Right Hand of the Eye to be so fucking hot.

When Silco had contracted her to build an arm for his second-in-command, he hadn’t mentioned what or who Sevika was and because Finn decided to be a little bitch and attack her factories, Renata hadn’t had an opportunity to find Sevika and suss her out.

From rumours, Glasc knew the woman to be a loyal dog, willing to take control of situation. Janna’s tits, she did more of Silco’s work than Silco himself so that meant Sevika had a very interesting set of skills. Renata would need those later and thus the long-term benefits outweighed the immediate.

She smirked as she put the screwdriver down. The foot that was between Sevika’s legs (the entire position was just a slight tease of pleasure) moved as Renata used that leg to hook Sevika in. The industrialists mechanical hand dragged up Sevika’s arm, talons scratching through the long sleeve top as Renata made her way to grasp at the longer sections of Sevika’s hair. Her organic hand cupped the other woman’s scarred cheek, her thumb swiping across blue scars.

Sevika gasped again at the overstimulation, Renata’s leg only helping to deepen the arch. They were so close, just what Renata wanted.

“So pretty,” she murmured, angling her face down to brush their noses. “You’ve not let anyone touch you.”

This was about creating a biological connection, binding the two women together in hormones and emotions so that they had something to last them years.

“Glasc, what are you doing?” Sevika asked, justifiably suspicious.

They were so close that every moment of their lips could be felt.

“I want to offer a new deal.”

“Okay?”

Renata tightened her grip.

Sevika wasn’t a fool. This was a similar tactic Margot had used before and always failed.

“I have this prototype for the Rapturewalk that needs testing…help a girl out and I’ll settle for two percent and a hundred-fifty units every four weeks?”

Sevika rolled her eyes.

“You want me to fuck you just to get a better deal?”

“No, I want us to spend a good night together. The better deal is just me showing how generous I can be,” purred Glasc. “Besides, testing the shimmer strap with someone other than Margot will really piss her off.”

The air seemed to have left Sevika’s lungs as she pulled back as much as she could with Glasc’s grip on her.

“I’m sorry. The fucking what?”

-/-/-/-

Having her arm disabled was about as worse as not even having it on. She had to use her long sleeve shirt to tie it close to her torso, so it wasn’t swinging uselessly by her side. Even with her poncho on to cover it, those close to her had noticed it (and the fact she was only wearing her chest bandages and a ripped-up tank top) and tried to question her about it. She only waved them off as she headed up to Silco’s office.

Her boss immediately spotted the issue, turning his attention from reports he was reading to Sevika. His eye was getting worse.

“I take it Glasc Industries will be a problem?” he coldly asked, hands folding neatly on top of his desk.

Sevika slumped down on a couch, her legs splaying open.

“Glasc is a piece of work, but I managed to score a good deal for us.”

She twisted her neck, feeling it crack and release tension.

“And what does she want?”

“I managed to haggle it down to two percent share and seventy-five units of highly concentrated shimmer every three weeks.” Sevika leant forward, unbottling one of the finer quality liquors Silco had in his office and pouring a solid amount into two glasses. “In return, it’s what we agreed upon; Glasc handles most of any necessary technological development, and she gets to keep her business with Margot. I get my arm fixed up too even though the bitch was the one that fucked it up in the first place.”

As she was talking, she had stood up, using her fingers to carry the two glasses over to the desk. Silco accepts his with a nod, watching his Right Hand as she leans against the desk.

“Seems disproportionate…there’s something else, isn’t there, Sevika?”

He was taking a sip of his drink when Sevika spoke:

“I’ll meet her at Babbette’s in two hours and will be assisting her in developing her shimmer line of sex toys for Margot.”

Silco chokes. He tries to cover it up but the sting of small amounts of alcohol going into his airway caused him to cough. Sevika just looked down at him, finding a small amount of humour at seeing her usually stoic boss frazzled.

“You good, sir?”

Silco had put down the glass, rubbing at his throat and waving off her concern.

“I feel like I should be asking you that, Sevika.” Even in a moment of complete embarrassment, he still managed to sound like he always did; in control. “Are you comfortable with such a deal? If you aren't, I'm sure we can come up with something else.”

Sevika sighed and took another sip of her drink.

Admittedly, it had caught her very off guard, experiencing a flashback to the past when her father had died and she had nothing left, nothing to get her by as she rebuilt her life.

Sex was just sex to her, nothing special. Being a sex worker for half a year when she was eighteen wasn’t an issue and Babbette was probably the best person she could have been working for. Probably why, when Sevika and Renata had finished coming to an agreement about what would be happening, she had suggested booking a private room in the brothel.

Besides, since the accident…somehow it felt…nice that Renata wanted her. The industrialist understood the struggle of losing a limb and how much it fucks with everything going on in her head.

“Appreciate your concern, sir, but I’m fine with this.” She meant it. “I know it’s setting up for something down the line. Could’ve helped her with her Finn issue but she chose me instead. That implies she’s planning something and if getting into her bed means getting the drop on her in the future, then I’ll do it.”

“No-one can deny your loyalty to the cause, Sevika. If she causes you any trouble though, deal with it in whatever way you deem necessary; no matter what the clean-up will look like.” Silco raised his glass in a salute. “So, tell me about this Finn issue of hers.”

[naomihatake]

LaDs' Rafayel rambling — "Oceanic Nightfall" tender moments

!!!!!slight poilers ahead. I also made a comparison with Caleb after his return (*cough*, coming back from the dead - it's written in a small font if you wanna avoid reading it)

This man is so special to me, to be honest. Last night I watched one of his limited Tender Moments card, Oceanic Nightfall — and when I tell you that I was absolutely flabbergasted with how angsty it was. I saw the card's image and thought "oh, this is gonna be spicy". I was so mistaken, oh Gods 🥲

That card is anything but spicy; sure, there's a lot of tension between them in the second half of the card, my heart was doing gymnastics when she entered on him being ass naked in the bathtub with a paintbrush in his hand. I hadn't expected him to be so shameless, considering I don't think at that point they were exactly lovers (or probably just at the delicate line between friends and lovers). Not that surprising, because it's Rafayel, after all; he does act strange a lot of the time if we take into account the usual standards.

I adore the fact that MC didn't walk away and the fact that she didn't give in easily. She told him square in the face that his manipulation tactics don't go unnoticed by her and I absolutely adore that, lol. Yes, gurl, say it out loud for everyone to hear.

Also, she calls him annoying and he seems to be pleased by that. Rafayel is so pleased with the fact that she does view him differently than others.

I have to admit that his tantrum with the glass had my jaw drop to the floor because I absolutely despise such behavior — I am hater through and through of that gesture, especially since she hadn't done something deserving of such a reaction.

Let's take another scenario as a comparison: when MC throws a glass at Caleb for what he's done to her, for locking her in his apartment and being an ass with his overprotective, obsessive tendencies. I completely understand her point of view and I think he deserved it, to be frank (as someone that appreciates and loves him as a character overall). I think she should've done worse, if you ask me, but that's another story (I am a hater of controlling behavior, sorry not sorry)

Actually, Rafayel's gesture triggered me. It took me several seconds to process what happened because I couldn't believe it — to the point I'm not even sure if the glass just slipped from his hand or if he really threw it on the floor (I'll do a rerun of that card just to be sure, but I don't think I misinterpreted it).

Despite it all, that made me fall for his character even more. This is a card from the beginning of their relationship, since before they even got a chance to kiss, so I think that makes it even more interesting. In later cards and events, it is shown how complex Rafayel is; he is deeply in love with her and stops his manipulative tendencies. The only people he's cruel with have nothing to do with her. Their begining seems very abrupt and he does act like an absolute menace, like a pitiful crybaby sometimes.

Later on, these moments just end up being part of who he is as a person. I know I kind of bullied him in this post until now. Truth be told, he's very mature and he's shown as being a very wise person, regardless of his childish tantrums — and they're not even exactly childish, they're just part of a very troubled personality. He's shown taking care of MC, protecting her, giving her wise advice in a way someone very old would. His soul is, indeed, old, especially since he remembers his past lives. He's watched the world change and crumble before his eyes and he's still there, in Linkon.

Rafayel can be a child in a good way, like the time when they ran in the rain together because he never did that (he's a Lemurian, it doesn't rain underwater); in several tender moments, he encourages MC to be kinder with herself, to find herself in the small things of life, to pursue her little dreams and the bigger ones. His devotion to her is undeniable, and as time passes by, there are less and less tantrums from him. It's almost as if he's found his own emotional security and stability once she appeared in his life.

Even in this card, Oceanic Nightfall, Rafayel tells her that he's changed since she appeared in his life. She questions his strange behavior and it seems like he's a bit self destructive — that makes him such a relatable and real character.

Rafayel is full of flaws and insecurities and they make him so much more beautiful; he's perfect because of his own imperfections and I love him that way. He shows that he tries to change for the better, even if it's shown as a slow process. Also, he does that for her alone. He doesn't care about other people and I think that's very interesting. I like him a little cruel, a little heartless; he has all the rights to be, considering his life (or lives) as a Lemurian.

Also, if anyone has some thoughts about this, you can share them <3 I'd be happy to hear some more opinions on this (I know that the Rafayel girlies are down bad for him exactly because he's got a twisted personality and I wholeheartedly agree 😫)

[mortalityplays]

a bunch of things that I know are going to sound really corny (which honestly I think is half the cultural problem - the idea that non-coercive parenting is touchy-feely, ineffectual or just kind of cringe - but that could be a whole other post)

the main thing was that they always explained things to me. if I wanted something I couldn't have, they explained why (from 'we can't afford that', 'it's bad for you', 'it's dangerous', all the way up to 'it's made by a big company that treats its workers badly, and we don't want to give them money'). If I threw a tantrum, they either waited it out until I got tired and bored or they redirected what we were doing ('we have to be patient and wait in line. if we don't wait in line, we can't go into the theatre. we can't wait in line if you scream and upset people. okay then, we're going home.')

beyond that, they always spoke to me like a full person. they asked my opinion on things and took it seriously, and asked me why as much as I asked them. apparently I had a phase as a toddler where I always wanted to be the first one on the swings / down the slide, and would throw almighty fits about it, until my mum took me aside one day and said 'why do you want to be first? are you worried the slide will get used up?' I laughed like it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard, and never kicked up a fuss about taking turns after that.

on the granular level, they focused on positives over negatives. My mum would draw little good behaviour charts for me, featuring e.g. me walking a long winding path through the woods with my soft toys. the path would be made up of, say, 30 stones, and every day that I was well behaved I'd earn a sticker on one of them. when I reached the end of the path, I got to pick a treat. something like a new plastic animal for my collection, or a day trip to the aquarium.

I do remember them sitting me down once and asking me to come up with what I thought would be an appropriate punishment if I ever did something really bad. I think my first suggestion was something like 'no TV', which was a real nice try because we didn't have a TV at the time. I don't remember what I finally decided on, it might have been 'no dessert for a week'. We wrote it down together and I signed my name, and they sealed it in an important looking envelope which they put in my dad's filing cabinet (for important documents). This would be unsealed if I ever did something Really Bad. the eventuality never came up, but the act of participating in the exercise kept me mostly on the straight and narrow. It's funny, the conceptual punishment itself wasn't even that bad. It was the seriousnes of the adult commitment I'd made to Behaving Well that did the trick.

When I DID do the standard naughty stuff, my parents would just sit me down and explain to me seriously why it was wrong and what impact it had caused for other people. They'd ask what motivated me, and why I acted on those feelings in that specific way. They would, of course, tell me they were disappointed. If necessary, they would tell me how things would have to change as a result of what I'd done. They were always, always open to hearing out my side of the story, and always, always took my feelings seriously even if they disapproved of my behaviour. they would ask if I was ready to say sorry and get a hug. if I wasn't ready, if I was still upset or angry, they would give me space in my room and ask me to come find them when I wanted to make up. and I always did, because I always knew they would accept it.

I am exceptionally lucky in that my parents never hit me, grounded me, confiscated my things, banned me from my hobbies or threatened any of these actions to make me behave as a kid. as an adult it has made me realise how very very long a road most people have to traverse before they can take a statement like 'no rule that must be enforced by threat is legitimate' seriously.

[cosmicqueen10]

Lord forgive me for the cringe fest that is the real me. (Keep reading to get the whole story cause it's a still a lot for me to take in, thnx).

But thank you big sis for recording this which I was unaware of at the time because I was fully glued to Aleks who has bewitched my heart since November because of Lighter from Zenless Zone Zero and then rewatching Solo Leveling S1 but dubbed just to hear his all out performance as Sung Jinwoo.

Him being my first ever celebrity to meet and talk to at my first ever convention literally sent me on Cloud 9. Sorry the audio is kinda hard to hear at some parts. Some of that interaction I don't remember every little detail and some things I forgot or didnt get to say. Like telling him how I wished I could be more stronger and capable like Jinwoo and how he said I can and its all about perspective, I don't remember some of that exactly. I was in such a daze.

This is what I drew for him and Yuri to sign. Took me five days, lots of sleeping shifts between the couch and my bed working on it. Seriously hope to get this laminated ASAP since I did use some colored pencils in this piece and don't want this to smear or worse.

Big sis gave me $200 which means I also could get a print. Plus Lighter is single and not dead. He doodled on it as thanks for me drawing for him and being so modest about me praising him for being an amazing artist himself, I have seen some speedpaint videos of his.

Aleks himself is very cute in person, sweet, modest, and I got to shake his hand after the end of this video cause my sis had to stop recording to take our photos. And let me tell you ... best damn handshake of my life. Warm and calloused to a T. ☺️

I know he doesn't like smiling in photos but tbh my eyes always get too beady like my mom's when I smile in photos.

Out of all the photos I took those two days at Megacon, only like 2 of them I looked decent. Like with Yuri I looked fine. That's a story post for another time.

Got overwhelmed and went to the bathroom a lot those three days cause I was a nervous wreck, slept not so well, and now I'm fully sore and may just hit the hay after posting this.

Overall, Aleks went from being my #2 favorite voice actor to now tied with Yuri as #1. Even though I told him he's #2. I did tell Yuri that as well and asked if he could tell Aleks they're both tied. Honestly those two be busy bees. I'm a face in a sea of tens of thousands weebs. But I needed this, wanted it, despite the not so good moments that happened before and after this ...

Oh the day after I wanted to say hi to him again and update him on the whole #1 thing but his line was more packed and even at closing time the line still be packed. I legit parked myself nearby like a shameful giant ... God if he saw me like that, I doubt it cause again packed line but still 😑. Forcing me and big sis to wait until closing time but after that it lead to us struggling to get an Uber to drive us back to our hotel cause night traffic be hell in Orlando especially before Super Bowl Sunday; I don't get the appeal of it tbh. All cause of my selfish wanting. 🙃 Again, cringe case.

Yeah. This selfish Demon in human flesh is a mess still after all that. But at least meeting him, Yuri and others made me feel alive, free, over the moon and back. And I wish it never ended. I miss it so much. Maybe in another life, I get to have more moments like that with others outside my family. Like friends. And someone very special to me. If only. This moment is my safe haven. Paradise. Heaven.

Aleks Le, if you ever find this post, then thank you. I'll always love and support you and your endeavors. In voice acting and for being your driven, intense, goofy, crazy, beautiful self. With all my ❤️.

[russilton]

Hiiiii I saw your post where you said that you wrote 400 words of the red bull george au. First of all, yayyyyyyyyy that’s amazing. I am very happy for you :) every word counts and the fact that you wrote 400 of it is truly great. I am so invested in the story and can’t wait for it (not pressuring you in anyway to release it soon. I’ll happily wait for it because i know the wait will be worth it)

I wanted to ask something if you don’t mind. You don’t have to answer of you think it’s big of a spoiler or it’s something you would like to keep a secret. I understand. First question: Would the fans eventually learn about George and Lewis’ relationship and that they are together? Second question: Will Susie and Toto be like George’s non official adopted parents? I live for those dynamics where Susie and Toto practically adopt George.

Another one I waited a year and a half on I’m so sorry whoever sent this—

Honestly I’ve basically plotted the majority of the story onto tumblr already so it’s legitimately hard to find spoilers, but I do intend for the fic to mostly wrap up either directly after January 2022 or mostly thereabouts, because I’m hesitant to dive too far into the 22 season because it would end up drastically different from reality and honestly I think what made the original au so easy to plot is the developments of the 2021 season make it really easy to tie plot points to— with the strong exception that without Perez in the Red Bull, Max has no chance for Masi to cheat and hand him a win in Abu Dhabi. Because in fic I refuse to allow that reality.

Going Public

If George and Lewis were to ever come out as together in that universe, it would be long, long after the end of that story. Honestly it would likely come some point after Lewis’ retirement, I doubt even the most trusted would know about the extent of it with very few exceptions like MAYBE Bono or Shov. Perhaps Toto years down the line.

Part of it is really because the shape of their Relationship in the Red Bull au is so massively different to what we normally approach on fanfic- they spend a good 6 months fighting and antagonising each other, and the next 4 months barely speaking because George is deep in his own hell. Lewis and George basically go from on top of each other every weekend to cold turkey from the summer break through to Abu Dhabi, It’s a rocky start to any relationship, even without adding the hell George is personally going through joining a new team and building what little trust he had from the ground up, and Lewis trying to balance looking after himself and trying to figure out how the hell to look after George or if George even wants that.

It’s a rough first year or two is what I’m saying. The last thing they would want is anyone finding out what’s going on between them, and how that would effect their lives or reputations— they’re already facing weekly prying by the media to see if they’re trying to kill each other yet— but it’s better than when people question if they’re too close, and queries about if George was ever loyal to Red Bull or if he was a plant start flying. People find pictures of young George chasing Lewis for autographs, it’s not hard for accusations to grow, and Horner or Marko would waste no time lying about it if they could bring George down a peg further.

So among that, their relationship is kept as wrapped tight as possible. George moves to Monaco like all f1 drivers do, so it’s easier for them to meet quietly without anyone seeing, but they don’t really go out together for anything more than dinners around the globe as teammates in restaurants that know how to be discreet. They’re not a naturally affectionate pair, it’s not hard to act like they’re just friends in public— RB George is about 5 times as neurotic as canon George and isn’t really chill and goofy, spending your formative years being micromanaged by assholes and then getting a brutal public reality check will do that— so it’s not something they find especially hard to maintain for a few years, it’s only when they’ve been at it a while that Lewis starts to get nagging feelings that it would be nice to be able to sit by George at pool sides when he’s tanning, or go running together, or get George a little drunk in a club so he could see that rare affectionate side. But he also keeps that to himself since George still seems antsy about it, and even years out from his move, George finds it hard to shake the media linking to his past as a bull. It’s hard enough being the man who publically fell out of his team into another one. Being the first Gay f1 drivers would be a lot to add to that, without adding accusations George slept his way into his seat.

But I think, quite a few years down the line when George is creeping up over 30, and Lewis into his mid 40’s, they might get quietly married. They’re not really interested in being in the centre of a big event like that, especially as Lewis expands further on his brands outside of F1 and George chases championships at his side, they have a lot going on. It’s a paperwork thing, but they still don’t tell many people.

It’s only when Lewis has fully retired, and George wins his second Championship that they might quietly let things build. A congratulatory instagram post from Lewis that leans a little into fond, George’s reply’s back that seems just as affectionate. Fans chalk it up to a good teammate relationship until George shows up with Lewis at an event for one of his charities, and more questions swirl about how they ended up so close. They’d probably end up dropping it on everyone in some end of year socials post years after they got married, something about celebrating an anniversary together. They don’t specify which. They’d probably be annoyingly short about the whole thing, tell people as little as possible about how it happened until they’re both retired. It’s such a big story as it is they don’t really need to complicate people’s shouting by adding confusion about timelines and team politics. If George is asked about it while racing, he’d probably say he’s no different than before, it’s just now people know about it. If people tried to pry, he’d shrug and tease them to wait for a future book about it. There probably would be a book some day tbh.

It’s a weird one- I genuinely go back and forth on if they would ever willingly tell anyone, as much as I’ve described this scenario here, I think they’re an equal chance they would just tell absolutely no one until they’re both retired, only to drop it one day with little to no explanation and tell the world that’s all they need to know. They’re both progressively minded and would want to use themselves to further acceptance in their sport, but RB George is so dictated by the trauma he goes through, and that has echo effects. He spent so long isolated and aggressively private despite a veneer of cockiness, I think he would find that hard to move from from the need to keep himself to himself, and Lewis honestly isn’t much different. When you’ve had your entire life paraded across a stage to be criticised, there’s part of you that wants some things to stay yours and yours alone, and after all they’ve both achieved, I can see how they don’t really want their relationship to be put infront of that.

Toto and Susie

George and Toto is such a complicated dynamic in this au, for so many reasons. For one, Toto doesn’t half paternally raise him through his formative years, when they meet and begin to interact properly, George is Toto’s shiny new driver he’s not sure what to make of, because Lewis essentially coached Toto into choosing him.

Toto is shrewd and business minded when he’s not letting his heart rule his head, and he doesn’t have any kind of bond with George to do that. He treats George similarly to how he likely treated Valtteri at first, he’s looking for someone who falls in line and doesn’t fight or cause problems with the team, to set them up and maybe win a few times till they find some future champions material- Toto doesn’t necessarily think George isn’t, but he doesn’t really know what to make of George. He shows up with two wins under his belt and some sparks of potential that could be gold dust, or they could just be light catching water. He has to be realistic no matter how much Lewis throws his weight behind George.

George doesn’t fare much better when it comes to being approachable. He is, for lack of a better word, traumatised by how Horner treated him like a beloved team member and then a pig for slaughter the second he faltered. Marko was even worse, George is used to being berated for any kind of car damage, or having his seat threatened if he fumbled more than one race in a row. The first time George has a horrible session and qualifies low, he probably has to stave off a panic attack. He’s trying to be strong and capable, trying not to act like a fragile wuss, but a cloying part of him is terrified the rugs going to be pulled from under him again, and then he’s truly fucked bc Red Bull would demote him, but Merc might fire him, and he’d have no one.

George is a good liar, Red Bull made him one, but he’s not that good, Lewis would probably drag him aside for a chat, try to reassure him sessions are shit sometimes and Lewis has had plenty of bad ones, the team doesn’t care as long as he’s trying, but for a guy like George that doesn’t really help much, even as he tries to fake a grin and wave Lewis off. That’s probably when Lewis would have to step in and speak to Toto himself.

I don’t want to set a precedent of Lewis fixing George’s problems, because George very much has independence a lot of the time, but this early after the move, George is handling a lot, and not wanting to really talk about any of it for fear of losing it all again. Toto knows some of why George split from redbull, he has to to even consider hiring him, but he’s not especially aware of how George ended up in that situation, how quick the switch up was, how deeply that fear sits in George’s gut. Lewis can’t share all of that, but he can fill in some of Toto’s gaps with what George has told him, and at least point out that when he’s comfortable, just how fucking fast George is.

With that knowledge I can see Toto developing a kind of softness for George, and at least attempting to learn more. He might ask to meet with George a little more in brackley, ask him about his history, and point out they’re not going to fire him over a shitty result or two, he’s not Christian. Toto’s bluntness would be… comforting to George, it may be harsh at times but he knows Toto doesn’t really seem to care to lie to him about it. He tells George bluntly about what they don’t want him to do, and well, George can work with that.

There’s probably also a time Toto tells George that Mercedes intended to offer him a junior seat, but by the time they’d got a contract drafted, George had signed with Redbull. George probably goes slightly white at that, and when probed, will try to say ah well, can’t change the past, all while sounding like he desperately wants to. Susie probably slaps Toto for that one.

I think with time George and Toto would build their own rapport. George learns to relax and tease Toto with maybe a little less ease than Lewis, and Toto learns George will always laugh when he insults Horner, and that part of George is still a kid who grew up too fast and could still use some praise. Toto has three kids, he can do that. George won’t ever say he needs it, but he might lean a little harder on Toto after a mechanical DNF when Toto tells him it’s not his fault, and he gets more comfortable grabbing Toto for a celebratory hug when they do win. The trust takes a long time to develop, it’s a little less paternal than in real life, but it is there. Toto is an authority figure George doesn’t have to be quite as terrified of.

As for Susie, I think George would like Susie a LOT. Lewis loves her, it’s an easy introduction. She’s a smoother voice than her husband and even if George isn’t Scottish, it feels closer to being home, the same ways Lewis does. Susie has whip fast whit and an energy about her that just makes people relax, and George is no different, he likes when she visits the team and always gets a good laugh out of him. George particularly would enjoy watching her and Lewis poke and tease each other, she’s known Lewis so long her quips dig deep, and that’s particularly hysterical to George

Maternal is difficult for George- she’s forever linked to Toto and it’s hard to forget that, so that keeps George at some distance. But she’s also so very different, and when Toto invites him and sometimes Lewis over to their home in Oxford, she’s always the one to greet him at the door and welcome him in. Susie knows all about hostile team environments and would probably happily insult Redbull with a glee and ruthlessness that would make George choke but actually relax a bit. George wouldn’t be caught dead calling her a maternal figure any day, but if he finds Susie’s presence eventually relaxing, that’s between him and God.

[ganondoodle]

got this reblog on one of my posts were i talked about being anxious about the future of the zelda series after totk and-

i even went back and unblocked them just to check my own post and check twice what they meant exactly- but i still dont know how they got to these conclusions

i never said i 'want a good uwu ganondorf' (bc that would mean hes aligned with hyrule bc thats how goodness works!!!!11!1!!!), i also dont think of any of the zeldas as 'whores' (seriously, where did that come from?? neither me nor the addition of someone agreeing with me said anything like that??? did they think bc the addition called tloz misogynistic means we think zelda is a whore????? huh???)

its also funny how they say they want zelda to stay a simple fairytale rather than have 'people like me' bc .. one point i talked about in the og post was how the evil arab thing VS good white people media likes to do so much is so normalized here that its simply seen as a simple harmless fairytale trope instead of a big underlying issue in general media and the writers might not even realize it (which is worse) bc the most 'generic' appeal is to people who dont think of it as a problem in the first place, because it is so normalized

(huh, i wonder about what kind of person that part was about .. hmmmm)

(ALSO funny they mention princess hilda as nuanced villain ... like ... wow they are so nuanced about purple haired people!!- like guess why we want a nuanced/less badly/less flat written ganondorf and what he, in particular, has not in common with other villains! its not his hair color! .... or was that point supposed to mean .. look we have one female character that is a villain, its not misogynistic! idk honestly)

(and the classic, "you just call it this/dont like it bc its not what you wanted !!!!!!!2!"1!112!!")

also funny how its 'never gonna be progressive enough' like asking for the franchise to maybe put a little more thought and nuance into their white divine right vs evil desert man simulator instead of making it worse is already asking too much

(i dont know what the last point has to do with anything??)

(also yes totk is racist, like most if not all of the franchise and a alot of other media as well, shocker- you can still like it though, i and plenty of other people are still fans of it, we just wish they did a little more with their stuff and maybe not make the racism problem WORSE)

(also yes the hyrule monarchy is also evil :))) )

(and also not so secretly so either :)) )

[solitaireships]

I feel like I should say since there's been a recent uptick in a lot of communities I'm in/see stuff from a lot of white people pretending to be Asian, but you are not welcome here if you are in anyway stealing from Asian cultures for clout or the aesthetics of it

This includes if you're white and you give your self inserts Asian names, I truly do not care if your f/o is from an anime, you should not be using an Asian name under any circumstances. I hate that whenever I see someone using an Asian name online, I feel like I have to start searching their account to see if they're actually Asian or just a white person who likes the aesthetic of it bcs far too many white people will use Asian names here just bcs it sounds cool, with no regard for the actual cultural meaning behind it. Meanwhile actual Asian people will be mocked for their names, or treated like their names are too hard to learn to pronounce, or discriminated against based on their names

Asian cultures are not a fun little costume for people to dress up with. They aren't just a nice aesthetic, they aren't just a thing you can borrow from bcs you think it sounds cool