#the way they look at each other is actually so insane

[creamflix]

cw: mentions of sex & reader menstruating, nothing detailed or explicit [for nsfw].

read part one here

three years.

three whole years of loving each other in your own chaotic way.

but when the anniversary actually rolled around, you felt like someone had hit the reset button on your social skills. standing in the kitchen that morning, you blurted out, “it’s our anniversary. we’ve been together for a long time,” as if that wasn’t blatantly obvious.

sukuna blinked at you from where he was tying his tie, raising an eyebrow like he couldn’t believe what just came out of your mouth.

“no shit,” he deadpanned, though his lips twitched like he was holding back a smirk.

you huffed, crossing your arms. “i’m just saying. it’s... a big deal, y’know?”

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, brushing past you to grab his keys, but you caught the way his gaze lingered for a moment longer than usual.

truthfully, neither of you were handling it well. anniversaries weren’t exactly your forte. it wasn’t like you didn’t say “i love you” to each other, but those words carried weight between the two of you — too much to just toss around casually.

and now, faced with the unspoken expectation to do something, both of you were stumbling like teenagers on a first date.

sukuna spent the entire morning at work distracted, fidgeting with his pen and snapping at his coworkers more than usual.

am i supposed to plan something? he thought. i was the one who proposed, does that mean it’s my job? the pressure was getting to him.

finally, he decided to keep it simple: your favorite takeout from university, a nostalgic callback to the start of everything.

meanwhile, you spent your day spiraling in a completely different direction. romantic gestures weren’t exactly your specialty, but the thought of doing nothing felt worse.

so, you left work early and dove into something utterly out of character — a full-on romantic dinner, complete with candles, music, and a dish you’d only ever made once before.

by the time the evening rolled around, both of you were a mess. sukuna trudged through the door first, looking disheveled in his wrinkled work clothes, seven plastic bags in hand, each one stuffed with takeout containers. he didn’t even bother taking off his shoes before stepping into the living room.

“yo, i got —” he started, but froze mid-sentence when he saw you.

you were standing by the dining table, decked out in an outfit that screamed special occasion, with your hair done and everything. the table was set like something out of a movie: a full spread of homemade dishes, soft lighting from the candles, and an awkward tension hanging in the air because, honestly, what the hell were the two of you doing?

“...what the fuck,” sukuna finally said, his voice soft with something you couldn’t quite place.

you shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “i figured... i’d try something different.”

he stared at you for a beat, then down at the bags in his hands, then back at you. “you made all this?”

“yeah.” you shifted on your feet. “thought it’d be nice. but uh, if you don’t wanna eat it, we can always —”

“shut up,” he cut you off, a grin breaking across his face. “you’re insane, you know that?”

“takes one to know one,” you shot back, but your cheeks were burning.

he dropped the bags unceremoniously on the counter and crossed the room in a few quick strides. before you could say anything else, his arms were around you, pulling you into a hug that was somehow both firm and gentle.

“you’re ridiculous,” he mumbled against your hair. “but you’re my ridiculous.”

you rolled your eyes but melted into his embrace. “yeah, yeah. happy anniversary, jerk.”

he laughed, low and genuine, and for a moment, the awkwardness faded. the food didn’t matter. the plans didn’t matter. just being here, in this little apartment you called home, with him holding you like the world didn’t exist outside these walls — that was enough.

even after three years together, the idea of using the typical, sugary nicknames made you both cringe harder than nails on a chalkboard. no “babe,” no “sweetheart,” no “love.” for some reason, it just didn’t fit.

instead, you’d toss out things like “dude,” “bro,” or, on particularly annoying days, “boy,” just to get under his skin. the way sukuna’s eye would twitch every time you called him that? priceless.

but sukuna wasn’t innocent, either. his repertoire of names for you was a mix of creative insults and borderline threats, delivered with just enough affection to remind you that he didn’t actually mean them.

“woman,” “brat,” “shit for brains” — those were the classics. and when he was in an especially foul mood? let’s just say the creativity really started flowing.

the funniest part? even in public, neither of you switched it up. at restaurants, when a waiter would ask for your order, you’d say, “he’ll have the steak,” and sukuna would fire back with, “she’ll take the fish,” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

no “my love” or “my darling.” just “he” and “she,” like a couple of reluctant coworkers at a team lunch.

the one time you tried something different, it didn’t end well.

“what’ll it be, babe?” you’d asked one night, trying to suppress a grin as you glanced at him over the menu.

sukuna lowered his menu just enough to shoot you a look so disgusted you swore you could taste lemons in the air. “what the hell did you just call me?”

“babe,” you repeated, forcing the word out like it physically pained you.

he grimaced, his nose wrinkling. “don’t ever do that again.”

you’d burst out laughing, and from that moment on, the unwritten rule was solidified: no “cute” nicknames. not unless you wanted to ruin the meal for both of you.

and yet, despite all of that, there were moments when the truth slipped through. when you were out with friends, you’d proudly call him “my man,” as if daring anyone to challenge the claim.

and sukuna wasn’t any better — he’d talk about you to his buddies like you were the most important person in the world, casually dropping “my lady” into conversations like it was nothing.

but back home? it was business as usual. “yo, dude,” you’d yell from the kitchen. “did you put the laundry in the dryer?”

“hell nah, woman,” he’d yell back. “do it yourself.”

sure, it wasn’t the most conventional display of affection, but it was yours. no sickly sweet terms of endearment, no over-the-top romantic gestures — just you and sukuna, trading insults and sharing a love that, in its own weird way, felt perfect. would you trade it?

absolutely not.

you and sukuna had never been the type to ooze affection. no heartfelt “good lucks” or mushy “come home soon” texts.

instead, your love language was passive-aggressive threats with just enough bite to keep things interesting.

“don’t fuck it up,” he’d said before your job interview, leaning casually against the counter with a smirk that hid the way his eyes lingered on you a second longer than usual.

“look who’s talking,” you shot back, adjusting your jacket in the mirror. “aren’t you the guy who choked on his coffee before his last one?”

“watch it, brat,” he muttered, grabbing his keys, but his lips twitched.

underneath the snark, though, there was always something unspoken. a silent, shared understanding that you were rooting for each other, even if neither of you would ever outright say it. and during that waiting period — the nerve-wracking limbo between interviews and callbacks — the usual jabs quieted.

it wasn’t a truce, exactly, but you both found yourself going easier on each other. sukuna would make sure you had coffee in the mornings, leaving it on the counter without a word. and you’d restock his energy drinks without him asking, slipping them into the fridge while he wasn’t looking.

when the calls finally came, first for you and then for him, the celebration was as understated as your relationship. no grand hugs or squeals of excitement — just a knowing look exchanged from across the room, a rare, genuine smile curving both your lips.

“guess you didn’t screw it up,” he teased as you set your phone down, but his voice was softer than usual, the edges rounded out by pride.

“guess you didn’t either,” you replied, tossing the comment back at him with a grin.

and maybe — just maybe — there was a fleeting kiss in the mix. something quick and almost shy, as if lingering too long might make the moment too heavy.

“don’t think this means you’re off the hook,” he muttered afterward, trying to play it cool, though his hand rested on your waist a beat longer than necessary.

“wouldn’t dream of it,” you quipped, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze.

this was just the start, the first step in what would be your new life together. and even if it wasn’t wrapped up in the typical trappings of romance, it felt right. because with sukuna, love was never about the obvious.

it was in the things left unsaid, the quiet gestures, and the stubborn refusal to admit just how much you cared — though, deep down, you both knew the truth.

you still remembered the first time sukuna kissed you.

it wasn’t some grand romantic setup or a scene out of a cheesy romance flick — it was just… sukuna. blunt, stubborn, and perfectly him.

it was after graduation, a so-called “first date,” though neither of you called it that. he had taken you to the same drive-in you’d always gone to during halloween, the one with the faded screen and popcorn that tasted more like cardboard than butter.

but this time, they weren’t showing the usual campy horror flicks you two loved to make fun of. no, this time it was la la land.

you’d raised an eyebrow when he mentioned it. “really? la la land?”

“what? you’re too good for musicals now?” he shot back, pulling into the lot like he wasn’t questioning himself at all. but you caught the way his grip on the steering wheel tightened just a bit, like he was bracing for you to laugh at him.

“no, just didn’t know you had a thing for jazz hands,” you teased, grinning when his scowl deepened.

the movie started, but naturally, the two of you barely made it through the first twenty minutes without bickering. the popcorn bag was snatched back and forth between you, each accusing the other of hogging all the caramel-coated pieces.

“you’re eating all the good ones!” you snapped, clutching the bag protectively.

“you’re imagining shit, woman,” sukuna retorted, leaning over to yank it back.

in the heat of the squabble, with your faces inches apart and insults ready to fly, he kissed you. just leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, all sharp and sudden, like he had decided there was no other way to shut you up.

you froze, your brain short-circuiting for half a second, before he pulled away with a smirk that made your blood boil and your heart race all at once.

“what the hell was that?” you demanded, staring at him.

“you were being annoying,” he said, like that was the most logical explanation in the world. but his smug expression faltered just a little when you glared at him, lips parted like you were about to really let him have it.

“you don’t just kiss someone and then pull away like that, you asshole,” you huffed. and before he could reply, you grabbed him by the collar and kissed him back, pouring every bit of your irritation — and maybe a little something else — into it.

the second kiss was different. softer, slower, and entirely mutual. neither of you pulled back this time, and when you finally did, both of you were slightly breathless.

“still annoying,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

“still an asshole,” you shot back, crossing your arms, though your cheeks burned so hot you were glad for the darkness of the car.

after that, there wasn’t much attention paid to the movie. there was a lot more kissing, though, a lot more bantering between each one. and while neither of you would ever admit it, kissing him made you feel like a stupid, giddy teenager. like you wanted to kick your feet in the air and giggle, even if the thought made you cringe internally.

it was ridiculous, it was messy, and it was entirely the two of you. just the way you liked it.

your relationship with sukuna had always been a clash of opposites.

back in your college days, he was infamous for his revolving door of women — never the same face twice, always someone new on his arm. sukuna, the loud, reckless heartthrob who could charm his way into anyone’s bed.

and then there was you: exclusive, reserved, someone who didn’t let just anyone close enough to even try. while sukuna’s name was tossed around in gossip, yours carried a quiet weight, a mix of intrigue and admiration.

it wasn’t that you were some saint — far from it. you weren’t a stranger to sex, but you didn’t hand it out like candy at a parade. your friends teased you about your “dry spells,” but you’d always brushed it off. you had standards, that was all.

meanwhile, sukuna? standards weren’t exactly his thing, or so it seemed.

so, when the two of you somehow transitioned from bickering frenemies to a full-fledged couple, there was an unspoken tension between your histories. you knew who he was, what he’d done, and he knew exactly how tightly you held your walls up. still, you worked together, two stubborn halves of something that somehow clicked.

until one night, when things heated up unexpectedly.

it started innocent enough — if “innocent” was a word that could ever describe sukuna. a clumsy makeout session in his dimly lit apartment, his hands tangled in your hair, your breath mingling with his as he pressed you against the couch. it wasn’t your first kiss, far from it, but this one was different. there was a weight to it, a hunger neither of you had acknowledged until now.

“you’re terrible at this,” you muttered against his lips, though your shaky breath betrayed you.

“yeah?” he shot back, his voice low, teasing. “seems like you’re still here, so what does that say about you?”

you rolled your eyes, but before you could quip back, he kissed you again, harder this time. his hands moved to your waist, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

it escalated quickly, too quickly. his mouth moved to your neck, and you felt the scrape of his teeth against your skin. a shiver ran through you, your hands gripping his shirt to ground yourself. this was sukuna — your sukuna — and yet, this was a side of him you hadn’t faced before.

you froze slightly when his hands wandered lower, testing the waters. for a split second, you weren’t sure what to do.

your mind raced with contradictions: the part of you that wanted to pull him closer, to let yourself get lost in him, and the other part that wanted to smack his hand away and call him out for moving too fast.

“seriously?” you blurted, breaking the kiss and glaring at him. “do you ever not act like a horndog?”

he smirked, cocky as ever, though his hands eased up. “what? you didn’t seem to mind a second ago.”

“maybe because i was too distracted by your terrible kissing technique,” you shot back, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“you’re full of shit,” he said, leaning back with an exaggerated groan. but there was something softer in his gaze, a flicker of hesitation that wasn’t usually there.

“look, if you’re not into it, just say so. i’m not gonna —”

“shut up, sukuna,” you interrupted, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him back down. your lips crashed against his, and this time, there was no hesitation.

it was messy, passionate, a clash of teeth and tongues that left you both breathless. every time you thought you’d had enough, he’d kiss you in a way that made your head spin, and you’d find yourself pulling him closer all over again.

maybe you’d slap him later for being an overconfident ass, but for now? for now, you let yourself get lost in him, in the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world he’d ever want. and, as much as you hated to admit it, you didn’t regret a second of it.

sex with sukuna was its own breed of unique — a stark contrast to the wild stories he carried in his history. where you once expected a whirlwind of dominance and filthy words, what you got was something raw and unexpectedly tender, the kind of connection that made your chest ache in the best way. it wasn’t the slow, candlelit romance people wrote songs about, and it wasn’t some grand kink-fueled adventure. it was quiet, comfortable, and somehow, so deeply you two.

sukuna had his reputation, sure. tattoos, a sharp tongue, and an aura that practically screamed i don’t care about your feelings. in his youth, you imagined he’d been the kind of guy who thrived on power plays in the bedroom, leaving women weak-kneed and breathless for all the wrong reasons. hell, he probably relished in it, back in the day.

but that wasn’t what you got.

instead, he was gruff, but not in the way you’d expect. it was the kind of gruffness that came with holding back, with trying to temper himself into someone who could make you feel safe and seen. when he leaned over you, his usual arrogance was softened by something quieter, something he didn’t say out loud but you could feel in the way his hands traced over your skin.

“this okay?” he’d grumble, his voice low, trying to sound nonchalant, but you caught the way his eyes searched your face for any hesitation.

you’d nod, a little too bashful to form words, and he’d pause, eyebrows raising just slightly. “i asked if it was fine, not if you could sit there like a scared rabbit.”

“sukuna,” you’d groan, slapping his shoulder. but your face would heat up anyway, and he’d smirk like the cocky ass he was, though his hands stayed steady, patient.

if you didn’t answer quickly enough, he’d ask again, his actions slowing to a near halt. “hey,” he’d say, leaning down just enough so his lips brushed your ear, “you gonna tell me, or do I have to stop?”

“don’t stop,” you’d finally mutter, voice barely above a whisper, and he’d let out the most obnoxious chuckle, something halfway between pride and amusement.

“thought so,” he’d say smugly, resuming his movements — but gentler than his tone suggested, always so much gentler. it wasn’t about control or ego, though you knew he liked to push you just enough to make you squirm. no, it was about making sure you were there with him every step of the way.

it was new, this side of him that catered to you, the way he’d catch your gaze when he thought you were feeling shy or uncertain. sometimes, you wanted to throttle him for the way he’d tease you, like it was a sport. other times, you wanted to melt into him for the way his hands would guide you, steady and secure, like he had all the time in the world for you and no one else.

but your favorite part? it was always the aftercare.

where sukuna usually thrived on chaos and crudeness, after sex, he was different. softer, quieter, almost dazed. he’d hold you like he was afraid you’d slip away, his arms wrapped around you a little tighter than usual.

“you good?” he’d ask, his voice gruff but quiet.

you’d nod, and he’d huff, pressing his chin to your head. “drink some water,” he’d grumble, even as he was already reaching for the glass on the nightstand.

he wouldn’t joke as much, at least not in the way that made you want to kick him. instead, he’d run his fingers absentmindedly through your hair, muttering about how you’d better not go passing out on him. he’d press lazy, almost featherlight kisses to your temple, your cheek, anywhere he could reach without moving too much.

and if you curled closer to him, burying your face in his chest, he wouldn’t say anything. he’d just hold you tighter, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your back, grounding both of you in the moment.

sometimes, you’d laugh to yourself, thinking about how this man — this loud, sharp-edged, unapologetically rough man — had turned into a vanilla sap just for you. and other times, you’d bite your lip and blush at the thought that he was yours. completely and utterly yours.

you’d never admit it out loud, but the way he took care of you? the way he toned down all the bravado and just was with you? it made you love him more than words could ever say.

the first real fight wasn’t the playful sparring you and sukuna usually indulged in. it wasn’t the sarcastic quips or half-serious insults that usually left both of you laughing by the end. this time, it was different.

the argument started small, something inconsequential, but quickly spiraled into a storm of raised voices and sharp words. sukuna’s tone was harsh, and your stubbornness was just as sharp. you were used to challenging each other, but this felt heavier, like neither of you was willing to back down.

“you’re not even listening to me!” you snapped, your voice breaking in frustration.

“yeah? and you’re so damn perfect at communicating?” sukuna shot back, his words biting.

the tension was suffocating, the air in your shared apartment thick with unresolved emotions.

and then it happened — he grabbed his jacket, slammed the door, and left.

the sound of the door shutting echoed in your ears, and you froze, your chest tight. sukuna didn’t just leave. not like this.

he left home.

it wasn’t just an apartment. it was the place where you built something together, where you shared quiet mornings and loud, chaotic evenings. it was the place that held laughter, tears, and everything in between.

and now it felt unbearably empty.

you wanted to scream, to throw something, to lash out at the ache in your chest. but you knew that chasing him down with your usual fire would only pour gasoline on the flames. so you swallowed your pride, slipped on your fuzzy slippers, and bolted out the door.

you spotted him a few blocks down, his tall figure unmistakable even under the dim streetlights. his pace was fast, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. he looked pissed, but there was something about the way his shoulders hunched slightly that made your heart clench.

“sukuna!” you called, your voice louder than you intended.

he didn’t stop.

“dammit, will you stop walking for one second?” you yelled again, jogging to catch up to him.

when he finally turned around, his expression was a mixture of anger and surprise. “what the hell are you doing?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “it’s late.”

“yeah, and whose fault is that?” you shot back, before taking a deep breath. no, not this time. no more yelling.

“look,” you started, your voice softer now, though your chest was still heaving from the sprint.

“i’m sorry. i mean it. not the sarcastic, biting kind of sorry. a real one. i shouldn’t have — ” you paused, struggling to find the right words. “i shouldn’t have made it about winning. i was wrong.”

sukuna stared at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. the silence stretched, and you felt the sting of tears prick at your eyes.

“...dammit,” he muttered, his shoulders dropping. “i was a dick too.”

you blinked, surprised. sukuna rarely apologized, and when he did, it was never straightforward.

“yeah, you were,” you replied, a small, tentative smile creeping onto your face.

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “you don’t make this easy, you know that?”

“neither do you,” you shot back, stepping closer.

he sighed, his hands leaving his pockets to pull you into a hug that was as awkward as it was comforting. “you’re lucky i didn’t get too far,” he grumbled into your hair.

“you’re lucky i chased after you,” you countered, though you clung to him just as tightly.

and just like that, the tension broke. it wasn’t perfect — there were still things to talk about, wounds to mend — but in that moment, wrapped in each other’s arms on a dimly lit street, you both knew this was home.

sukuna would never say it outright — hell, he’d rather swallow nails than admit it — but he had your back when it came to that time of the month.

he tracked your cycle like a tactical mission, not because he was obsessed with you or anything (his words), but because it was easier to prepare than to deal with the aftermath of being caught off guard.

“what, you think i like listening to you whine about not having your stupid chocolate?” he’d grumble, dumping a bag of your favorite snacks onto the counter with an air of exaggerated suffering. but there was no mistaking the care behind the gesture, no matter how much he tried to play it off.

medicines? stocked. pads and tampons? stocked. heating pads? ready to go. hell, he even had a backup stash of painkillers tucked into his drawer at work in case you ran out at home.

he wasn’t perfect, of course. sukuna had zero patience when you were in one of your mood swings, snapping at him for breathing too loudly or sitting “wrong.” but he’d weather it, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath.

“you done yelling at me, or you wanna go another round?” he’d ask, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.

but the moment you started crying — whether it was over a sad commercial or pure frustration — his entire demeanor shifted.

“hey, hey, cut that out,” he’d say, pulling you into his chest despite his grumbling. “you’re not allowed to cry over dumb shit while i’m around, alright? i’ll give you something real to cry about.”

when you were touch-starved, he’d let you cling to him, even if it meant sitting through a three-hour movie you’d already watched ten times. when you were touch-repulsed, he’d keep his distance but stay close enough to hand you water or make sure you were comfortable.

and when you were too tired to shower, he’d step in without hesitation, grumbling all the while. “can’t believe i’m doing this,” he’d mutter as he adjusted the water temperature and gently washed your hair. “you owe me a massage or something after this.”

he’d change the bedsheets without complaint, tossing you one of his oversized shirts afterward. “don’t stretch it out, or i’ll kick your ass,” he’d say, but you both knew he didn’t mean it. he even kept a corner of his closet stocked with clothes he didn’t mind you ruining — shirts and sweatpants that were practically yours at this point, though he’d never admit it.

“don’t get used to this,” he’d say, watching as you shuffled into the living room in his clothes, burritoed in a blanket. but the way his gaze softened as you curled up on the couch, finally comfortable, betrayed him.

for all his rough edges, sukuna handled you with a quiet kind of love — grumbling, sarcastic, but steady. he might call it “dealing with your bullshit,” but deep down, you both knew better.

it wasn’t a night you’d easily forget — not because of the celebration itself, but because of what came out of your mouth when you were deep into a rum-induced haze.

the bar was alive with the thrum of music and the clang of glasses, laughter and shouting merging into a chaotic symphony that somehow suited you and sukuna. the two of you had ridden in on bikes, looking like a mismatched pair of rebels — him towering, tatted, and menacing, and you just as fierce but smaller, less overtly intimidating.

"you know," sukuna drawled, leaning against the bar with a lazy grin that had been charming women for years, “if you weren’t already mine, i’d be trying to pick you up right now.”

you rolled your eyes, though your own grin betrayed how much you enjoyed the rare moment of his playful charm. “you’re an idiot,” you shot back, taking another shot and wincing as it burned down your throat.

but then, in the lull between his next teasing remark, you blurted it out. “i love you.”

the words landed like a hammer.

sukuna froze, the smirk slipping from his face. the rowdy atmosphere of the bar seemed to fade into static as he stared at you, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly, as if he was trying to gauge whether or not he’d heard you correctly.

"what?" he asked, voice lower than usual, his usual bravado stripped away.

you blinked at him, too tipsy to care about the weight of what you just said. “i love you, stupid. don’t make me say it again.”

and just like that, it was as if someone had pulled the rug out from under him. sukuna, the guy who had once been a whirlwind of hookups and no-strings-attached chaos, was sober in an instant. not because he didn’t like what he heard — no, it was the opposite. it was because those words had been lodged somewhere deep inside him, waiting for the right moment to claw their way out, even if he refused to admit it to himself.

he didn’t say anything right away. instead, he paid the tab, his movements oddly methodical, and threw his leather jacket over your shoulders.

“c’mon,” he muttered, voice gruff as he guided you to the door.

“what’s the rush?” you slurred, stumbling slightly as he helped you onto the bike.

“the rush is you’re drunk and saying shit you don’t mean,” he snapped, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

you didn’t protest after that, leaning into him as he drove the two of you home. by the time you reached the apartment, he was practically hauling you inside, grumbling about how you were a lightweight.

as he set you down on the couch and pulled a blanket over you, the words escaped him, unbidden and softer than he’d have liked.

“i love you too, idiot.”

he thought you were out cold, your breathing slow and even. but the faintest smile tugged at your lips, and a quiet mumble escaped you:

“heard that.”

he froze, a flush creeping up his neck. “shut up and go to sleep,” he barked, but the gentleness with which he tucked you in betrayed him.

you didn’t say anything else, and neither did he, but the air between you felt lighter, warmer. it wasn’t perfect or grand, but it was yours — messy, stubborn, and just enough.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[lichenes]

Hi, could you do a young silco x nb! reader where they have been friends for years and have been pinning HARD on each other, and one of them(your choice idk who) over hears the other talking about how they feel, and basically, they are kinda forced into confessing...that kinda leads to smut with feelings..pleasethankyouso

Silco falls to his knees for you in this one btw. Just so you know. Tried to write the smut as gn as possible!! CW: vanilla sex?? nothing wild ig, no reader genitals mentioned, gn!reader, silco and reader being oblivious wc: 838 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

You stretched your body walking into the bar part of The Last Drop. “Morning.” You said to Vander who was preparing the bar for opening. “It ain’t quite morning anymore, luv.” You looked at the clock which displayed 7:30pm on the dot. “I couldn’t sleep all night...” You said still blinking back sleep from your eyes.

“Your shift starts in half an hour, by the way.” Said Silco appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “Clients don’t show up until like 10, relax.” You mused, a bit startled by his sudden presence, nevertheless happy he was there.  

You were dressed in your usual work clothing, nothing special, just a pair of slacks, a loosely fitted dress shirt and an apron meant to keep the uniform at least partially clean. You were wiping down the tables before more of the guests arrived, final touches as Vander liked to call it. You were the only person serving food and cleaning tonight so you had your hands full. 

Silco felt cornered. Mesmerised - he was mesmerised by you. Sitting at the bar and nursing a glass of whatever was cheapest, he purposefully ignored you. Were he to pay you any mind, he would go insane. Not an hour ago did he overhear you confessing your infatuation with him to your coworker.

“Okay, who is it then?” Said the newest addition to the staff. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop… truly, he was just about to ask you something menial when he heard his name being spoken. It rolled off your tongue with such adoration when you were sure he wasn’t listening. “I’ve got my eye on Vander…” Commented the girl. 

“Not my type.” Silcos heart beat faster. “You fancy Silco?” You hummed affirmatively, creating a memory for him, he was sure he’d never forget.

Vander waved his hand in front of Silco’s face, waking him up from the daydream. “You alright?” Silco’s face didn’t give away the whirlwind of emotions he was going through right in this moment. Although, he had slightly more colour in his face. “Yeah- listen.” He beckoned him closer. The bar, despite being quite loud, didn't offer enough privacy to say such things at full volume. 

“They said they fancy me.” Vander looked at him in disbelief. He then chuckled. “What, like you didn’t know?” Silco’s face went pale. He grabbed the bar’s edge. “Mate, everyone in the undercity knows this. The whole, you know, back and forth you lot have going on.”

Silco stood up. He was a calculated man. His actions were meticulous. Years of yearning. Months of planning a confession and that’s how he finds out the love of his life actually reciprocates his feelings!? He wasn’t following a script or a plan. “I need to find them. Now.”

You were taking your break in the back when Silco burst through the door. You smiled at him and just when you were about to greet him he closed the door and ran up to you. “Silco?” You questioned his erratic behaviour.

“...for years, and it feels like he doesn’t notice it!” 

He smashed his lips into your own ones cradling both your cheeks as he lowered himself to the floor, finishing his descent on his knees. You reciprocated the kiss, craning your head down so that he could stay close to you. 

You enjoyed the moment as much as you could, afraid it was to flee as soon as you separated. 

When you did, you put your foreheads together. Laughing slightly you looked at him and caressed his cheek with your thumb. “Took you long enough.” He then felt it, the hunger he suppressed for so many years. He dove back in, greedier than before. You moaned in surprise but welcomed it nevertheless. 

You battled for dominance for a moment, in the end he won. There never was questioning it. “I need you.” You managed to get out.

“I’ll make you need me even more.” 

You were resting your back on the door of the room which was locked to prevent people from interrupting your tryst. Silco had one of your legs propped on his hip, holding onto the neighbouring cabinet was the other thing keeping you upright. 

He was thrusting into you with vigour that was making you go cross eyed. Your arms around his neck were only adding to the experience, you needed him closer, right here - right now is all that counted. 

You saw white when he put his cold hands onto your most sensitive spot. A few circles is what got you to the edge and his blissed out words spilling from his lips - ‘come for me’ - for me. You’d do anything for him at this moment. 

And so you followed his instruction, causing his own orgasm after your own. He put his head on your shoulder when you both were basking in the afterglow. You brushed his bangs out of his face. His eyes were twinkling. 

“Tell Vander he needs to find a replacement for you tonight, I need you all to myself.” 

.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ masterlist

[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (7)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 4.1k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: jealous jungkook, denial of feelings, communication gap

A/N: sometimes, I feel like, hesitation keeps us from saying the things we truly want to, and as a result, we let moments and opportunities slip away. it’s something that stays on my mind a lot. anyways, how's it going so far? lmk your thoughtsss muah <3

part 7: hyacinth exhaust

That night, after returning from the jazz club, you slip out of your dress, the smooth fabric pooling at your feet as if shedding the weight of the evening. You wipe away your makeup with slow, deliberate movements, your reflection staring back at you in the dim light of your bathroom mirror.

Yet, no matter how much you try to focus on the mundane actions, your mind keeps drifting back to him. To Jungkook, to the way his touch felt against your skin, and the way his dark eyes seemed to burn into yours in the intimacy of his shop.

Dressed now in your pajamas, you sink into the embrace of your bed. The room is silent except for the faint hum of the night, but your mind is anything but still. You stare at the ceiling, trying to quiet the flurry of emotions swirling inside you, but one thought refuses to let go... the way Jungkook had held you, the way his hands lingered on your waist as though letting go was the last thing he wanted to do.

Your fingers graze your lips instinctively, and your breath catches in your throat. You imagine, for just a fleeting moment, what it would have felt like if you hadn’t been interrupted. If his lips had actually brushed yours. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, making your knees feel weak even as you lie down.

You shut your eyes, the image of his face filling the darkness behind your lids. The raw intensity in his gaze, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

A gasp escapes your lips, and your eyes snap open. You sit up abruptly, scolding yourself as if chastising a wayward child. “Ridiculous.” you mutter under your breath, scandalized by your own thoughts. You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the lingering sensations, the dreamy warmth of his hands on your skin.

Yet, as you lay back down and pull the blanket over yourself, a new thought creeps in, uninvited and persistent. What was Jungkook thinking in that moment? Why had he pulled you close, and why hadn’t he said anything? You try to make sense of his actions, analyzing every fleeting expression on his face, every word he didn’t say. Was it an apology? A confession? Or something else entirely?

//

Jungkook sits alone in the quiet of his shop, the bruises on his face and hands dull compared to the fire still smoldering in his chest. He hasn't moved an inch since you left and frankly speaking he has no idea how long it has been.

He leans against the counter where you had stood earlier, where your hands had tended to his wounds with such care. His fingers trace the spot on his waist where your hands had steadied him, the memory of your touch imprinted on his skin.

He thinks of you in that red dress, the way it clung to your form, your hair cascading like silk down your shoulders, and the single piece of jewelry resting against your collarbones like a work of art. He’s never seen anything or anyone, so breathtaking. And the way you felt in his arms… it was intoxicating, consuming, and maddening all at once.

Jungkook lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair, disheveled from the night’s events. He doesn’t regret pulling you close, not for a second. But the look in your eyes when you’d stared at him, shocked and vulnerable, it sparked something inside of him. He closes his eyes and remembers the moment, the way your lips were so close to his, he could feel the faintest whisper of your breath.

If only…

But the sound of your phone had shattered the moment, and now he’s left replaying it over and over in his mind. He doesn’t feel the sting of his bruises, doesn’t care about the fight that landed him there, either. All he can think about is you... how you looked, how you smelled, how you felt.

And just like you, hours later, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, Jungkook is left wondering what could have been. What should have been. And why, despite everything, he can’t seem to let you go.

//

The morning drifts by in a blur of floral arrangements and the subtle fragrance of fresh blooms, but no matter how hard you try to immerse yourself in the simple rhythm of your work, your mind keeps drifting.

Each time you catch a glimpse of the world outside through the front window, you feel a strange tug in your chest. The sight of Jungkook's motorcycle shop next door, with its metallic sheen and the rumble of engines echoing in the distance, brings a flush of thoughts you’re not quite ready to confront.

You can’t stop yourself from looking... just a quick glance, but it’s always too late when you realize how obvious you’re being.

Stop. Focus. You scold yourself. But the thoughts of last night and the way he held you still linger, buzzing in your mind like an unfinished sentence. Each moment in your shop, amidst the petals and greenery, feels like an attempt to outrun the emotions circling inside you.

You try to bury yourself deeper in your work, but it’s harder than you expected. The soft petals of roses, the scent of lilies, and the way the light dances through the leaves in your shop don’t bring the same comfort they used to. There’s a lingering, unanswered ache, a pull that keeps tugging at your thoughts. Is he thinking about it too? You can't help but wonder.

By noon, you’ve rearranged a dozen bouquets, but you’re still no closer to shaking the tension building in your chest. When you hear the chime of the doorbell, you expect a customer, but the moment you glance up, your breath catches in your throat. It’s him. Jungkook. Standing in your doorway.

Your heart flutters, and for a moment, the room feels too small, too charged with the weight of everything unspoken between you two. You can’t quite process what’s happening. Why is he here?

The lingering warmth of last night, the rawness, the tension, all of it floods your system in a wave that leaves you dizzy. You freeze, a thousand questions crowding your mind. Is this about last night? Is he here to talk about…

But then you catch his smirk. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s there, and the knowing look in his eyes makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. It’s as if he can read you better than you’ve ever wanted to be read. You stand there, frozen, staring at him as he walks in with that same casual confidence. The soft light of the afternoon highlights the bandage on his forehead, the slightly bruised knuckles, and the faint discoloration on his lips.

“The town fair… meeting.” he begins, his tone smooth and easy, as if there’s nothing strange about this moment. “Are you free at 8?”

Your jaw tightens, your hands gripping the counter for support as you process his words. That’s what he came for? A meeting? Your mind stumbles over itself, partly relieved and partly disappointed. Of course, your meetings had been neglected, and with the town fair fast approaching, it made sense to get back to planning. But after last night, this was the last thing you’d expected him to say.

His words hang in the air, and for a split second, your world goes quiet. That’s why he’s here? Not to explain himself, not to apologize, but to talk about the meeting? You can feel the weight of your disappointment settle heavily in your chest. It’s such an ordinary question, but it carries so much more.

You swallow hard, trying to clear the confusion swirling inside you. What did you expect? You almost laugh at yourself for being so wrapped up in the unknown. You’re both just here to do your job, right? Focus, just focus.

“Uh… yeah, I’m free at 8.” you answer, your voice more subdued than you’d like. You watch him closely, but his gaze never falters. He’s unreadable, and that only frustrates you more.

Jungkook notices the slight hesitation in your answer, the way your lips press together as if you’re holding something back. He watches the faint struggle in your expression and lets out a quiet chuckle, his amusement barely contained.

The sound sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. What’s so funny? you wonder, but his knowing look only flusters you more. Somehow, you sense he understands exactly what’s going through your mind but he says nothing about it, choosing instead to let the moment hang between you.

“Great.” he says simply, turning to leave as if this encounter hadn’t completely scrambled your nerves.

Once the door shuts behind him, you slump against the counter, a wave of frustration crashing over you. Your breath comes out in a heavy sigh, and you run your fingers through your hair, tugging at it in embarrassment. What was that? You curse yourself for getting caught up in the moment. For a split second, you thought...maybe… but now you feel foolish.

As Jungkook walks away from your shop, his mind buzzes with a mix of emotions he hasn’t quite been able to untangle. There’s a quiet ache in his chest, a heaviness that has nothing to do with the bruises on his face, but everything to do with the way you’ve been occupying his thoughts.

He feels guilty for not addressing what happened, for not saying the things that linger in his mind. He knows there’s something between the two of you... something unspoken, something electric. But for now, he can’t find the words, can’t find the courage to break the fragile silence that’s settled between you both.

Still, part of him can’t help but enjoy it. There’s something so raw, so honest, in the way you just reacted to him... shifting your gaze when he looks at you, the nervousness in the way you bite your lip.

It’s a vulnerability he finds both terrifying and beautiful. What is this feeling? He doesn’t know, but it’s addictive, this pull between you. And as much as he wants to reach out, as much as he wants to close the distance, he knows it’s not the right time. Not yet.

//

By the time the clock ticks to 7:50 pm, Jungkook’s thoughts shift from everything unsaid to the meeting ahead. The town fair is only days away, and while he’s been consumed by the tension between the two of you, there’s work to do. He’s been postponing it, letting the quiet between you both weigh on his mind, but now, there’s no avoiding it.

When he walks into the community center, the space between you both feels different... less heavy with anger and resentment, but still thick with something else. His heart skips a beat as his eyes land on you. There’s a shyness in the way you hold yourself, a carefulness in every movement, and it’s so achingly tender that it almost takes his breath away.

The way you glance up at him, then quickly look away, the subtle tension in your posture... it all makes his chest tighten with something he can’t quite name. You’re trying so hard to keep it together, to keep everything professional, but Jungkook sees it.

He sees the war in your eyes, the confusion, the desire, and it makes his stomach twist in ways he doesn't expect.

He can’t help but smile a little, though he tries to hide it. You’re adorable when you’re flustered, and it’s hard to not let himself be lost in the softness of you.

On your side, you’re fighting a losing battle. It’s impossible to focus on the work in front of you when your mind keeps drifting to him. The way his voice resonates in the room, the way his eyes linger just a moment too long on your face. You can’t help but notice how his lips look, even with the slight bruise due to his injury.

And it drives you insane. The way his lips move when he speaks. Stop. You mentally scold yourself, but it doesn’t work. You can’t stop thinking about how they would feel against yours, the warmth of his breath, the ache you feel deep in your chest every time you’re near him. It’s maddening.

And yet, it’s the unspoken distance that hurts the most. He’s not acknowledging last night. Not a word. He’s acting like everything is fine between you two, but inside, you’re anything but fine.

You’re on the edge, torn between the need to confront him, to ask him what happened, and the urge to keep everything locked away. So, you do what you’ve always done... you keep things professional, distant, focusing only on the task at hand.

But it doesn’t help. Every word he speaks pulls your attention to him like gravity, every movement a reminder of how close you both are, and yet so far. And you hate that he’s not addressing it, hate that he’s pretending like the elephant in the room isn’t there.

But you can’t bring it up either. If this is how he wants to play it, so be it. You think, frustrated. You’ll ignore it, too. You’ll focus on work instead.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is struggling in his own way too. He can feel the tension in the air, the awkwardness that hangs between you two like a storm cloud. It gnaws at him, but he doesn’t know how to fix it... at least not yet.

He’s been holding onto this weight, this feeling, for so long, and he’s terrified to say the wrong thing, to ruin the fragile connection you’ve started to rebuild. He needs to talk to you, to apologize, to explain himself.

But he’s not ready. The town fair is close, and once it’s over, once everything is settled, he thinks he can finally confront this feeling, this undying need to bridge the gap between you two. Until then, he’ll hold on. He’ll wait.

//

The days leading up to the town fair are filled with a vibrant buzz, with only two days left until the big event. The streets are alive with the sounds of hammering, excited chatter, and the constant hum of preparations. Jungkook and his gang have been hard at work, constructing the main stage in the town square, and it’s coming together beautifully.

It’s a large, sturdy wooden structure designed to host performances and speeches, with twinkling fairy lights already strung along its edges, waiting for the evening to transform it into something magical.

Jungkook’s hands, calloused from hours of hard work, move with a quiet determination, and the pride in his eyes reflects his goal of making everything perfect for this fair.

Your friends, Namjoon and Taehyung, are overseeing the game stands while Seokjin negotiates with the food stall owners to ensure everything is in place. At a distance, you spot Juwon, playfully practicing a dance piece with the little kids in the empty garage outside Mr. Jung's house.

There’s an infectious energy in the air, a sense of community that has everyone working side by side, each person contributing to the fair’s success in their own way.

You, too, have been working nonstop the past few days, carefully selecting flowers and arranging them. Now it’s time to bring everything together. The town square is alive with energy as vendors set up their booths and entertainers prepare their acts.

The fair is always a highlight of the year, but this time, there’s something in the air... a subtle, unspoken anticipation that makes the preparations feel even more special.

Your eyes scan the scene in front of you, ensuring everything is coming together as planned. Near the entrance of the square, a set of elegant floral arches stands tall, each arch overflowing with roses, lilies, and orchids, their sweet fragrance drifting in the warm air. The sight of them fills you with a quiet satisfaction.

You direct Mr. Han’s sons, Jisung and Seojun, to hang a delicate garland of jasmine and wisteria near the stage. You want the flowers to cascade down like a waterfall, both subtle and bold, infusing the space with color and life.

It’s no small task, but you trust the teenage boys since they’re quite attentive and skilled, always listening to you with care. You watch as they arrange the blooms, your heart swelling with pride as the town transforms into a stunning display of nature’s beauty.

The sun is high in the sky, and it's Sunday, your usual day off. With your shop closed for the day, you can fully focus on the fair. The past few days have been a blur of activity, leaving little room for anything else. Your mind has been consumed with the endless tasks at hand, pushing aside the thoughts that seem to surface only when you're still.

The strange tension between you and Jungkook has lingered in the background, the unspoken moments between you two too charged to ignore, but you’ve kept yourself busy, refusing to dwell on it.

Every time your thoughts begin to drift towards him, you quickly redirect them, focusing on the work at hand. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t fully escape the way your heart skips when he’s near.

The air is thick with the approach of the fair, and it seems that your mind is unwilling to let go of the thoughts of him. You’re guiding Jisung and Seojun to place the final touches when you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“Y/n-ah...” Mr. Kwon calls out, his voice warm and familiar. You turn towards him instinctively, but the sight that greets you makes your eyes go wide. Standing beside the town head is someone you hadn’t dared to expect. Tall and broad-shouldered, his face is a blend of nostalgia and familiarity that makes your heart stutter.

For a moment, you stand frozen, your mind struggling to catch up. But then, your body takes over. The writing pad slips from your grasp, forgotten, as your feet move on their own. Before you realize it, you’re running.

“Sunjae!” you cry, your voice breaking with unfiltered joy as you close the distance between you. Without hesitation, you throw your arms around him, pulling him into a fierce hug, the kind that speaks of years of longing and unspoken words.

Sunjae’s laugh bubbles up, deep and rich, the same laugh that once echoed through your childhood. His arms wrap around you tightly, grounding you in the familiarity of his presence. In his embrace, the years seem to vanish, the weight of time and distance melting away.

“Y/n...” he murmurs, his voice brimming with warmth and affection. He holds you firmly, his presence both steady and comforting, as if no time has passed at all.

When you finally pull back, your hands remain on his shoulders, your eyes scanning his face as if trying to memorize him all over again. A wide grin spreads across your face, your cheeks aching with the intensity of your emotions.

Sunjae wasn’t just anyone. He was Mr. Kwon's nephew and your best friend growing up. The two of you had been inseparable, navigating the highs and lows of childhood and adolescence together in this very town. Late-night conversations, shared dreams, and countless laughs were the cornerstones of your bond.

But everything changed when Sunjae moved to Seoul for college. Though you’d stayed in touch for a while, exchanging calls and texts, life eventually got in the way. The demands of adulthood pulled you in different directions, and the once-frequent communication dwindled until it all disappeared.

The last time you’d seen him was five years ago, during Christmas break, when he visited for a brief holiday. You still remembered how he’d talked excitedly about his new life in the city, his job, and all the changes that had come his way.

Yet now, here he is, standing in front of you once again, as if those five long years had been just a fleeting moment. The weight of his presence is almost overwhelming, filling you with a joy that makes you momentarily forget everything else.

From a distance, hidden behind a pillar, Jungkook watches the scene unfold, his entire body tensing at the sight. You’re running towards some guy, a man he doesn’t recognize. His eyes narrow as he takes in the way you throw yourself into the man’s arms, your face lighting up with a smile so radiant it nearly stops him in his tracks.

The sight sends a pang through him, sharp and unfamiliar. Jealousy? Frustration? What is this? he wonders as his fists clench at his sides. His nose flares, watching you linger in the man’s embrace, your laughter blending with his in a way that feels far too intimate. The ease between you two, the way this man looks at you.. as if he knows you deeply, as if he’s someone important, sends Jungkook’s mind reeling.

Who is this guy? The question bounces around in his head as he fights the irrational urge to walk over, pull you aside, and demand answers for feelings he doesn’t quite understand himself. He stays rooted, his jaw tightening with every second he spends watching the exchange.

It’s been days since the two of you have had a proper conversation. With the town fair looming, the both of you have been caught up in an endless whirlwind of work from meetings to discussions to planning and managing your respective tasks. Conversations between you and Jungkook have been strictly professional, each interaction brief and to the point.

Yet, Jungkook would be lying if he said there weren’t moments when he’d catch himself stealing glances at you. Times when he’d see you stressing over a task or laughing with someone else, and he’d want nothing more than to pull you onto his lap, hold you close, and kiss you senseless. But just as much as the distance between you two was bothering him, it was unavoidable given the circumstances.

“Woah woah, stop glaring at the poor guy, you’re going to set him on fire.” a voice behind him teases. Startled, Jungkook turns to see Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi standing nearby, each wearing matching grins that only deepen his irritation.

“Who’s that?” Hoseok asks, nodding toward you and Sunjae, his tone dripping with curiosity. “Looks like they go way back.” he observes, wiping the sweat off his face. Jungkook scowls, trying to brush it off. “I don’t know. Someone she knows from before, I guess.” he shrugs, trying his best to sound unbothered.

“Someone she knows from before, I guess.” Jimin mimics in a singsong voice, nudging him in the ribs. “Dude, your face is literally screaming jealousy.” he laughs.

“Shut up.” Jungkook grits his teeth, his ears turning red. “Ohhhhh look at him... he's down bad.” Hoseok chuckles, leaning casually against one of the pillars, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s written all over you. Don’t even bother denying it.” he grins.

Jungkook glares at all of them, but his friends are relentless. “Look at him clenching his fists.” Yoongi points out, amused. “You want to deck the guy, don’t you? Be honest.” he jokes. “I do not.” Jungkook snaps, but the sharpness in his tone only fuels their amusement.

“Sure you don’t.” Jimin quips, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s not like you’re standing here fuming while they’re hugging like long-lost soulmates or anything.” he teases, winking at Hoseok and Yoongi.

Jungkook groans, running a hand through his hair, his annoyance at their teasing barely masking the storm of emotions swirling within him. He shoots them a pointed look, but they just exchange knowing glances, clearly enjoying his turmoil.

“Relax.” Yoongi finally says, his tone softer, though the smirk remains. “Why don’t you just ask her who he is? Or, you know, tell her how you feel instead of sulking behind pillars like a teenager.”

“Not sulking.” Jungkook affirms under his breath, but his friends’ laughter follows him as he walks away, his gaze flickering back towards you one last time. Who the hell is he to her? The question gnaws at him, refusing to let go.

taglist:@kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey @shellyyy177 @daskewl @blackswan18 @korian97 @minimoninini @ericawantstoescape (lmk if i missed anyone<3)

<- part 6 // part 8 (coming soon) ->

series masterlist

[flowerspeakz]

Lmao I remember seeing images of vi as a pitfighter and thinking "noo spoilers 😭" (I didn't want to know ANYTHING about season 2 before watching it--get the best experience, yk?).

But like,,, Vi's pitfighter phase was so insignificant? Like actually so brushed over? I totally forgot about it because it had one stupid montage and that's it.

Why did she even become a pitfighter? Ik that it's her coping with her life falling apart, by why pitfighting? And also where's the pitfighting happening? And why is that vander replacement there? What??? Can they not like continue the insane worldbuilding they had from before please?

ffs I'm tired of people claiming that people critiquing arcane have no media literacy and want to be spoon fed. Be so fr the first season of arcane is so so SO GOOD because the reasoning behind characters' decisions were explained/shown before the decision was made. (silco choosing that kid to be the first human shimmer weapon because that kid fucked up his recon mission on vi/powder/mylo/claggor so badly, powder wanting to prove that she isn't a jinx because mylo keeps dissing her about it, marcus being a mess of a dirty cop because his family's safety is in silco's hands, etc, etc)

Characters are not real people. Sure, a real person can make decisions out of left field. Yeah, real people have microexpressions that can tell you a lot about what they're thining. But a character's motivations and how they think should be clear to the audience (generally, ofc there's exceptions im not stupid yo).

Yeah, I know why each character did what they did in s2, but not in the way I did in s1. Not in a way that matters.

I mean, I totally forgot that Mel and Jayce were in a relationship in s1. Where did that go?? I guess people are so obsessed with jayvik that they were probably celebrating that the writers forgor about that important character/plot point. You're telling me not a single character has ANY curiosity??? Jayce sees that Mel is a mage and doesn't, yk, insist on getting the full story??? And vice versa??? Even if they implied that that conversation happens off-screen that's not enough. Seeing how these two very close characters express these very traumatic events to each other would be such a good look into their internal mindscapes and how they view the crazy shit that just happened to them. But nooo. We can't explore their relationship together because jayce needs to be obsessed with viktor.

GOD I want a bi character in a show to come out of a same-sex relationship and end up in a "straight" relationship just to watch the internet fucking implode. Every bi/plurisexual person deserves a smooch on the forehead and a little voice that tells them 'love who you love, nothing could make you less queer than you are. yeah, people sure do think otherwise but fuck them ong holy shit'

omggg dont even get me started on caitvi... can we not get a healthy wlw relationship that isn't rooted in codependency and general toxicity?? "people just cant let lesbians have anything can they," i've heard people say in response to people criticising the caitvi sex scene... NO! I want sapphics to know that they can have healthy, non-abusive relationships where you, yk, actually talk to your partner and ARENT just the dirt under their nails. tf.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

S2 Entry 2: Soothe the Goosebumps

Image credit: @neverscreens

Summary: Carmy’s girlfriend (who he calls Darling) soothes him down from an impending panic attack with apple cubes. (1346 Words) FLUFF.

Warnings: Swearing, hurt, comfort, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, finger sucking (light), impending panic attack (panic attack doesn’t happen), praise kink, feeding kink?, subby!Carmy. Mentions of Donna Berzatto.

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in CB Journals Season 2 and will be tagged with #cb journals s2.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Prompt: String Lights

“Do you not decorate for Christmas?” she asked. “Not even string lights or a mini tree?”

No. Fuck Christmas.

The silence, and the subsequent recoil evident on her face when I looked up from the apple I was dicing, is what told me I’d said that aloud. My stomach flipped. Hands abruptly turned cold for some reason. Heat flooded into my face.

I can’t even begin to explain to you the biblical level of shit I was in that week. That whole month, honestly. The review didn’t go well—we weren’t given our star, which meant that not only did all my bullshit that I pulled in the restaurant after having that mental fucking breakdown after the walk-in incident severely strain all my interpersonal relationships, it also did fuck all to give us any sort of results. If we’d gotten the star, then maybe, maybe, it would’ve stung just a little less. The wounds haven’t gone away—the repeated flare-ups of fighting between Sugar, Richie, Syd, and me are evidence of that—but the star would’ve been salve on the cuts. Maybe taken away some of the burn. No, it just redoubled everyone’s rage at me (including my own. I was getting dangerously close to hating myself more than I hate the fucking Devil at this point). So, the burst of fighting at the top of November turned into all-out war for the rest of the month. We’d found something of a balance before—minus the flare-ups—where I’d do a new menu every month using seasonal ingredients. I’d be mindful of what the kitchen staff could do, Syd and I would actually properly collaborate on them, so she didn’t feel voiceless (even if working with another person drove me fucking insane sometimes), and Richie and I would, generally, as much as we both could corral our familial trauma, try to stay out of each other’s way. Sometimes even get along a bit.

“Carmy?”

Now? Now I lost all fucking control of my restaurant. Syd and I were battling over the menu because even when accounting for her notes, she wanted to scrap whatever I did. Richie was so far out of my grasp that Sugar maintained a demilitarized zone between us, acting as the Secretary of State—or I don’t know, a fucking messenger pigeon—bringing things back and forth, all while trying not to (and failing on multiple occasions) explode at either of us for our bullshit. And it was bullshit. We’re fucking adults, I keep trying to act like a fucking adult and get a handle on myself so this doesn’t fucking happen again—I’m in therapy, for fuck’s sake!—and yet Richie and Syd insist on being fucking children about it.

In retrospect, I don’t blame Syd. If your coworker spiraled off the fucking deep end, and all you got out of that was the trauma of surviving that spiral, would you even want to fucking look at them again? She worked her ass off to make The Bear what it is, she put stock in her own identity as a chef, and wants, more than anything, to be able to take pride in her work.

I said I wouldn’t stand by and let her do to herself what I did to me, right?

Am I not her Devil?

So here we are, December three days away, still without a fucking menu.

“Baby? Sweetheart? Hey.”

Shit. Shit. Fuck. I dropped the knife onto the cutting board. “S-sorry. Sorry, I-I should explain—”

“I just wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction.” She held her hands up, palms out towards me. “It’s okay. It just caught me by surprise is all.”

“Christmas-Christmas is fucking traumatizing.” Why did it come out like a question? It’s a fact. It was fucking traumatizing. I closed my eyes, trying to retreat to the quiet dark, where it’s stable, where it’s safe. “My-my mom, she would, uh, she would do this-this big feast. Seven Fishes... And it was-it was always such a fucking disaster. And-and she would always explode at the tiniest thing. I-I hate fucking Christmas and New Years a-a-and-and fucking birthdays. Fuck birthdays.”

Something burned in my chest. A deep sort of fiery sting that took me two heartbeats to recognize as stomach acid bubbling into my esophagus. I grasped at the pain as if I could somehow get ahold of it and remove it from me, could toss it away like a wet paper towel, but all I found was the front of my apron.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay.” Oh no, Darling sounded worried. I fucking hate when I worry her. I pried my eyes open and found her expression contorted in concern, eyebrows scrunched together, corners of her mouth turned down. “What’s wrong? Pain? Nausea?”

I tried talking, but I couldn’t produce sound past the hot iron burning my insides. Blindly reached for the quart of water and chugged a few sips down. It provided some relief initially, but the flames came right back.

“Hold on.” She rifled around the cabinet above my head and pried off the lid of the baking soda container. Put two pinches in the quart. Swirled it. “It’ll taste weird, but it should help.”

Metallic. Metallic, bitter, kind of salty? Like I licked a dirty penny or something. Weird doesn’t sum it up, it’s fucking disgusting. She rubbed up and down my sternum as I gulped this vile concoction down.

“It’s a base, it’ll help neutralize the acid,” she explained. “Just take little sips until the burning stops.” I’m sure she knew I understood the logic, but I appreciated her talking to me anyway. It was comforting. Something to focus on. Something to drown out the memories of ma’s yelling bubbling away in the back of my head.

Goosebumps exploded on my arms when I took another gulp of the baking soda water. It just kept getting worse. Now the weird taste was lingering on my tongue well after the water was gone, but my chest still burned like a brand was on it. Darling rubbed her hands up and down my forearm, trying to soothe the goosebumps away.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

I responded too slowly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Not even giving me this horrible shit; it was helping the heartburn.

“No, about the whole…” she gestured in a wide circle. Ah. About Christmas and shit. Got it. “It’s gotta be tough. With. How much those things are engrained in society and all.”

I shrugged a shoulder. Grimaced and got another wave of chills on the next sip of baking soda water. She picked up an apple cube and pressed it to my lips. It wasn’t meant to be an intimate gesture—I’m getting better at reading her face and knowing what the intention behind anything she does is—but something deep in my core tightened and warmed when she fed me the morsel of apple, when the tip of her finger rested just a second too long on my lips. I must’ve had a certain look on my face because she made the cute little cooing sound that meant she figured something out. Cupped my face with her other hand. Stroked my cheek.

“That better, pretty boy?”

She brought another apple cube to my lips, kept her eyes locked on mine—this piercing gaze halfway between interrogative and fascinated, like she was a cat observing a new toy, trying to figure out how to pounce on it. My navel flooded with heat, dick twitched in my sweats. Half of me wanted to shrink in place, become tiny and insignificant, small enough to fit in her pocket like a pathetic but endearing pet. The other half of me got lost in her eyes, in those shimmering river stones, in the perfect architecture of her eyelashes, as if admiring a fine work in some pretentious fucking museum somewhere. She let me suck the tip of her thumb clean. Dragged it slowly over my tongue.

I nodded. Yes. Yes, it’s better.

The fuck was I even stressing about before?

Tags: @carmenberzattosgf @jess248 @catharticconsolation @persymons @morgthemagpie @glitch0o0 @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly @fridavacado @lumoslemon @cyarskj1899

[nerdieforpedro]

WIP Wednesday

The last one I did may have been in September. 👀 Been a long time. Haven’t really been writing much fanfic. Stuck on different papers for school. I was tagged by @evolnoomym and she shared ideas so I will too! ❤️ @pr3ttynpiink also tagged me and looks to be cooking up some fun new fics. 🥰

I want to write something for Modern Din and Christmas to go in my series: This is the Neighborhood Din, but it will likely need a chapter between that to make sense. (Every so often I care about making sense). Also more Luke doing Jedi yoga on his lawn and Poe & Finn being boyfriends because I want it all!

I need to write a new chapter of Weddings 101 with Dieter. Kinda left on a cliffhanger and a lot happened in my mind that should be posted 🤣

There’s a little over a month until the DMAMC 2025 challenge is due, haven’t written anything. Actually forgot about it, but fear not! I’ll think of something. 👀 My character is Pero Tovar (I doomed myself by picking him 😭 like the level of difficulty). But maybe I’ll revisit a pairing I’ve done.

Random but working on a Baldur’s Gate 3 fic and bugging @perotovar (Erin beta read for me what I have so far), @megamindsecretlair reads the snippets I send her and @soft-persephone looks at the pics I send her and is honest 🤣🤣🤣). Everyone’s favorite moody (for many a legit reason) and murderous pale elf who’s a vampire Astarion and an OFC. Things that happened between these two: a lot of staring, mocking Gale (everyone’s favorite past time- he makes it easy but also the wizard is really nice insane like everyone else but nice), drying some hair, hugs and some tears. Lots of angst, fluff and comfort. Haven’t decided on smut yet, is likely but I’ll see how it reads.

Didn’t realize that A Safe Place for Us was up to chapter 7 on AO3 and only 5 on Tumblr 👀 My bad. I should be able to post one chapter on here before November ends. The formatting and graphics take me the longest. 🤓

I also have a secret Santa fic things I’m supposed to be working on for a discord group but I also have not started. 👀 Unsure of which direction it should go in. I’ll figure it out, eventually I think.

The first paragraph of chapter five of “A Safe Place for Us”:

Waking up to Dieter takes getting used to for Aisha. It’s not unwelcome, she’s just not used to someone clinging to her like he does. Every morning he stays at her apartment is one where he has his arm and head somewhere on her. Chest, stomach, thigh, back, ass one time because he enjoys scissoring her entrance wider and scooping his spend that drips out of her back in before pumping his fingers to stir his cum within her.

Yeah…chapter five is…a ride so to speak. 👀 Forgot we had a strong start.

I found a WIP that contains Marcus Pike angst:

His romantic relationships and come and gone just like yours but you always had each other. Though, you treated yours as ways to work off the need you felt for your friend. To distract yourself, even when you were with your other partners, you’d think of him during the throws of passion, even when having simple meals and they may chew too loudly. You loathed your behavior toward your partners and your friend, biting your lips to not utter his name while under someone else.

“Marcus…”

Is the only name you want to say but can’t.

Hmm….might be a good holiday one or something. 🤔

That’s the ideas for now. Always a lot and never finished. ✅ Would it be Nerdie if they were? 😎

Have a happy Thanksgiving, holiday, days off of work and stay safe!

NPT: @chaithetics @schnarfer @inept-the-magnificent @yopossum @djarinmuse @604to647 @secretelephanttattoo @magpiepills @maggiemayhemnj @murder-wife @sin-djarin @syd-djarin @morallyinept @westside-rot @tinytinymenace @sunshinehaze1 @soft-girl-musings @goodwithcheese @jolapeno @bluestar22x @clawdee @romanarose @beefrobeefcal @bitchesuntitled @bitchwitch1981

[yan-springlove]

Powder Blues AU

So I've been thinking about the different ways Powder×Jinx could work given that Jinx leaves Zaun and Piltover.

I think it'd be a slowburn in regards to Powder being able to see Vi and Ekko, and a slowburn between Jinx and Powder. In a things-get-worse-before-they-get-better way. So welcome to this AU I made for them!

I got inspired by one of my fav fics where two siblings' bodies get molecularly mashed into a single one thanks to a quirk--but retains the consciousness of both siblings. Much like how our Ekko hopped into Powder's Ekko through the arcane anomaly!! Except the other Ekko didn't retain any sort of control or consciousness.

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/45335362 if u wanna check it out. Its MHA--Touya and Fuyumi centric, wonderfully written)

Powder would probably try to account for that--but what if she wasn't completely succesful?

So Jinx and Powder are stuck in the same body sharing control instead of complete separation. They can't hear each others thoughts, so they have to talk with the same mouth (taking turns) if they want to communicate.

This has so much potential for various scenes!! But here's my idea for how it goes:

---

Powder finds that she has to convince Jinx she's real and not just another facet of Jinx's mental instability. As Jinx is currently wandering Demacia via airship, Powder is trying to convince Jinx to visit Vi and Ekko.

With enough willpower, Powder finds she can move Jinx's body---up until Jinx starts fighting for control of those parts again (like if Powder is doing something Jinx really doesn't want to aka going back to Zaun and Piltover)

Gaining control is kind of a coin toss over who has the most willpower and focus on moving the way they want when theyre fighting for control.

They find out that when one of them sleeps, the other has unimpeded control.

So every step farther away from Zaun Jinx takes, Powder retraces them when she has control. Keeps hoping eventually Jinx will get tired of running and let her go back.

Needless to say, they don't get along very well at the beginning due to clashing goals.

Resentment wells up in Powder, stuck in Jinx's body. It keeps growing until she becomes bitter. Sad. Her comments about Jinx's actions during the day to day adventures go from curious, exasperated, etc--to attempts at cutting insults and dry, sarcastic mockery. Tired. She's exhausted with Jinx's shit.

She's so close to seeing Vi, yet so far.

---

On the other side of the coin; Jinx feels like she's just gone some new kind of insane. But unlike Powder, she's grateful to have company (that can't die) again. At the start she just bickers with Powder for the fun of it, along with the rest of their conversations.

That changes when Powder uses Jinx's confessions/conversations to herself or her voices while thinking Powder was asleep. (Haven't decided what she'll use against Jinx, but I know Powder doesn't actually know/mean the full impact of what she said--she doesnt have the full picture of Jinx, yet. She's angry and fed up with Jinx and lashes out after week or months of trying to keep it in).

Jinx goes quiet. She doesn't talk to Powder for days after that.

---

Thats when their relationship starts to change.

With a few days of silence from Jinx, Powder uses that time to travel to Zaun/Piltover. But she stops outside the city, because the fact that Jinx retreated so far that she hasn't even tried to take back control the whole time worries Powder.

She apologizes for what she said, and talks about the feelings that had been festering since she arrived in Jinx's body. About Vi (and Ekko).

Still no reply.

So Powder gives herself a day to explore Zaun and Piltover without looking for Ekko or Vi. Tries to get Jinx to talk while exploring the cities, but it just ends up with her continuously having one sided conversations. Powder finds she doesn't mind, though. Somehow she knows Jinx is listening.

Powder shares all the differences she sees in Jinx's reality vs her world. Tells Jinx stories about her family. Ekko. Benzo. Heimerdinger. Mylo. Claggor. Vander. Silco.

Vi.

While she told Jinx that her Vi is dead, she never shared the intimate details of the experience.

This time, she tells Jinx how it happened. How it felt. What it's been like for her all these years mourning and missing Vi.

How Jinx's Ekko showed Powder what she looked like in this world when he visited.

How much she just wants to see her sister. To hug her one more time.

Up on a rooftop alone and looking down at the two cities, Powder lets herself cry out everything that's been rotting in her the past few months living in Jinx's body.

When she's done, it's Jinx that carefully wipes Powder's tears away. That whispers hoarsely, "I'll take you to her."

---

next up in this AU is a Vi, Jinx, and Powder reunion (+ Cait and Ekko)

---

Bonus: I like to think that Jinx would ask for more stories of Silco and Vander.

[bignarfworld]

Since some of you guys we're having a ball with the "Shintaro makes the kagepro music canon" i decided to give more examples of songs that he made and what inspired him

Hibiya tells him about his experience in a time loop himself, Shintaro really sympathized with him and made Kagerou Daze based on what Hibiya told him

Konoha's State of the World is based on the few things Haruka could remember while trapped in the daze and looking at things through Konoha's eyes (Shintaro misses Konoha too, not as much as Hibiya but he still does)

Jinzou Enemy is one of the hardest ones he had to do, but he felt like he needed to make it, he wants to put into words and tell Takane what he did to her in one of the routes (Route XX) because he earnestly believes she deserves to know his failures. So he writes a song in Ene's perspective and how she ended

Children Record is the one he had a blast doing because he has immense respect for the Mekakushi Dan and he wanted to make something in homage to the gang

After a heart to heart with Marry where he tells her he misses his father sometimes and Marry reciprocates by telling him how much she misses her mother, he writes Gunjou Rain and ACTUALLY sings and plays it to her with a guitar on a day where she's feeling really down and longs for Shion (and it's raining). She BAWLED her eyes out not just from the raw emotion but also because it was INSANELY GOOD and it's one of the few moments where Shintaro grows some balls and goes his way to comfort one of his friends. He taught Seto the lyrics and he sings it as a lullaby for Marry once in a while

At some point he kinda opens up a bit about his music to his closer friends (namely Ayano, Takane, Haruka and Seto) and they're all in shock at how absurdly talented Shintaro is as a composer, singer, lyricist, producer and etc. and they're mesmerized with how much heart he puts into each song as his way of showing affection to the people close to him. He makes Additional Memory alongside Ayano (she came up with the lyrics)

Shissou Word was made as a gift for Kido, but he never let her saw it because he thought the other members of the mekadan would find him weird for, you know, writing songs out of their past. Yuukei Quartet makes up his mind and he ends up playing to her eventually (she loved it)

Remind Blue kinda comes out after he puts together what he knows from the mekadan's members backstories into a song

Summertime Record is where he puts his entire heart and soul and sweat into a song, he wanted to write a song that sounded like a happy ending to the mekadan AND Haruka in specific. He loves the guy, he's one of his best friends, and he wanted to write something that made him feel comtemplated and praise him for enduring so much. It's the last song he goes his way to actually sing to someone else (in this case Haruka), Shintaro couldn't help but tear up through the whole song, but it was the "Remember, it's all over. Our secret base, our adventure..."/The story of getting lost in that day part that made his voice crack while singing, barely holding it together while singing to him and not crying

Just like i said in the previous one: the thing with Shintaro is that he sucks with trying to be direct with his emotions so he makes music to express how much he apreciates his friends even if he's blunt and and asshole sometimes (once Shintaro Kisaragi, always Shintaro Kisaragi)

[librarygarten]

Hello, i loved all your LU scenarios, specially the ones where the chain reacts to their games, they were so well written.

I was wondering if you could do some scenarios where the reader talks about some Zelda trivia with the chain, like the development of some games (Majoras mask was made in just one year and the director of Zelda don't like it, there were supposed to be more dungeons in Wind Waker) or the reception of their releases (Four swords adventures sold less than a million copies, WW was poorly recieved unlike TP for it's art style, this changed as time passed, etc.), perhaps some easter eggs or cameos (Talon and Ingo looks like Mario and Luigi, Link appears in other games as a cameo).

Okay, but why is this lowkey me 😭. My autistic ass would NOT shut up about their games, even if I was telling them stuff they didn't want to hear about.

It was a peaceful day. The chain had found an inn to stay at for the night. Nobody was injured. Supplies and spirits were high. Until Wind decided to ask you a question.

“So, if our adventures are games, does that mean you know everything that happened during them? Like everyone we met, everything we did, EVERYTHING?” Wind asked. Some of the other Links brustled, clearly uncomfortable with the question and what you might say. You smile nervously. 

“Basically? But you don’t talk in the games, so I don’t know anything you said.”

“But who made the games? How do they know about our adventures?” Wind asked.

“Oooh boy.” You scratched the back of your head, “There’s a company called Nintendo, they made most of the Legend of Zelda games. I think Four’s games were made by a different company, though. That’s why some of the details are a bit screwy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Four snapped his head up to look at you, forgetting the weapon he had been working on.

“Oh, uh…” you stammered, “Well, the other company made your games, but they didn’t use the same stories as Nintendo did, so the lore gets a bit weird. Like, your Ganon is probably a completely unrelated guy from the Ganon that Time, Wind, Hyrule, Legend, and Twilight all had to deal with. The way he randomly turns into a pig in your game after getting that trident or whatever doesn’t match up at all with how Ganondorf turns into a pig after being sealed away by Time’s Zelda in an alternate timeline where Time dies during the final battle.”

“Wait, there’s a timeline where Time DIED?” Twilight is behind you now, and you’re not sure when he got there. You turn to look at him, his face full of panic.

“Yeah, Ocarina of Time kind of broke the timeline into three different paths. The game was so popular it became, like, the most important part of the timeline. It actually sold so well that the people who made the game made a sequel to it, Majora’s Mask, in under a year, which is kind of insane. For context, Ocarina of Time took over twice that long to make.” Time raised an eyebrow at your explanation, but decided he didn’t want to know more.

“Wait, if there are multiple timelines, how can you know which of our adventures are ours and which were just really similar? The many timelines means there’s infinite possibilities.” Sky asked, reminding everyone that he was the only Link to ever attend school (and remember it), and apparently he studied multiverse theory???? Moving on.

“Well, there are some differences between languages, I guess? Like, in the English version of Link’s Awakening, there’s a quest to get a mermaid’s lost necklace, but that was just a change the translators made. In the original Japanese, the quest is to get the mermaid’s bikini top.” You chatter on, missing the blush that creeps up Legend’s neck and ears. “And some of the items in Wind Waker are mixed around between the English and Japanese versions. Like maps, heart containers, and rupees are in each other's spots.”

“Can we go back to the part where there’s multiple Ganons, apparently?” Wild gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. You hadn’t notice him sit down. Actually, the whole chain seemed to be listening now. Wuh-oh.

“Oh, well, not at one time. Unless the dragon cutscenes from Tears of the Kingdom happen after Skyward Sword and Breath of the Wild is after all the other games. Then, Calamity Ganon was just kind of… chilling under Hyrule Castle while Four and Time dealt with their respective Ganons. But fans still argue about where your games fit on the timeline.” You shrug, trying to downplay how absolutely terrifying dealing with two Ganons at once would be.

“Wait, why do fans argue? Isn’t there an official timeline?” Hyrule asked. You groan.

“Yes, but it was published before Breath of the Wild was released, so we need to figure out where it is on the timeline based on the stuff in game, which is hard, because there's so many easter eggs.”

“Easter… eggs?” Warriors tilts his head.

“Items or decorations that reference other games. Like, in A Link Between Worlds, Legend’s house has Majora’s Mask hanging on the wall for no discernable reason. And in Breath of the Wild, there’s areas named after places in Link’s Awakening, like Koholit Rock and Goponga Island, which makes no sense because those places were dreamt up by a wind fish. Not to mention the fact the ruins of Lon Lon Ranch can be found, but there’s no way that structure would have been in as good of condition as it is for how old it is. And Lurelin village is an almost exact copy of Outset Island, but again, the timing is just too far apart.”

“But you never answered my other question.” Wind tapped your shoulder, stopping what would have been an hour-long rant on where Wild’s games fit on the official timeline. “How did ‘Nintendo’ or whoever else know about our adventures with that much detail?”

“UHHHHHH………. OH WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME.” You quickly stand up from the table and launch yourself out the nearest window, escaping the conversation. (You were on the first floor. You’re fine).

[dearabsolutelynoone]

“Gleaming, twinkling…

…eyes like sinking ships on waters.”

(Gold Rush, Taylor Swift)

[winkle-pickers]

Covenant

[psalmsofpsychosis]

The Average Alfred Pennyworth Portrayal: *is Bruce Wayne's capable and somewhat cryptic butler*

Gotham!Alfred Pennyworth: *threatens an 11 years old boy to eat his dinner proper because if he doesn't he'll be too light in weight by the morning and the Balloonman will come for him and will tie him to a balloon and send him to the skies to die because he's rich and corrupt and forever guilty*

[newvision]

Every time I drink wine I am will graham looking down at a shot hannibal and we have become each other and he is bleeding out and I am savouring the moment by drinking wine the way he does and I gloat like god often does and he takes the violence the way I did every time he violated me and he almost dies from a distant form of violence but what ultimately really kills him are my hands the way I said I’d do it anyway who wants another glass

[chaotic-trav]

Merthur is what bakudeku wishes it could be . I said what I said

[silusvesuius]

nelvas Problematiq*eyes roll back into my skull* *falls flat on my face with cardboard cutout physics* ((7 hours later)) *wakes up in barren wasteland* I know everything now.

[13eyond13]

actually stunned by how gay The Beatles has been all this time and I just never knew