#they would do anything for each other no hesitation

[lyvhie]

omg hiii, i’ve been in my haechan feels lately, especially with him looking unreal from the seoul shows. can we get possessive haechan?? like i swear that man loves his girl down bad, absolutely in love, and he’s so possessive of her like not in a toxic weird way, but like a hot cute endearing way like a way that would make me push him into the dressing room of a clothes store and give him the most best and deserved head he’s ever gotten bc if there’s anything i love, it’s a man who’s down baddd

── .✦ moments of appreciation

lee donghyuck x fem!reader

𓂃 ࣪˖ ࣪cw: smut, fluff (?), oral (m), deep throat, public sex. 𓂃 ࣪˖ a/n: hi anon... you're so right... i think about this everyday, i meed him in every ways possible, you dont get it... please, enjoy!!! (no, i have nothing for valentine's day, maybe next year, babes 😜😜)

Donghyuck never thought he could love someone the way he loves you. He couldn't quite put into words everything that made him love you, you were simply it for him, perfect in all the right ways.

Yes, you had your imperfections, but to him, love was never about perfection. It wasn't about logic or reason, it simply was. Anyone could love something for all the good it offered, but real love, the kind that mattered, was about embracing everything, even the flaws. And that's exactly how he loved you—completely, without hesitation, without conditions.

He had thought about this before. You could break his heart, shatter him beyond repair, or commit the worst sins imaginable, and he would still love you—helplessly, foolishly. It didn't matter if it sounded irrational, maybe even a little insane. The truth was simple: he would do anything for you, no matter the cost.

But the best part? You were his. No one else's, just his. The thought alone made his chest swell with something dangerously close to obsession. Out of everyone in the world, you had chosen him, and that was a privilege he would never take lightly. You were his, and he was just as much yours, bound to you in a way that felt absolute, unshakable.

And that’s why, even after what felt like days sitting on that little couch, watching you step out of the dressing room in a different outfit each time, he still felt like he was having the best day of his life. Then again, every day felt like the best as long as you were in it.

Really, was there any better way to spend his time than watching his pretty girl try on pretty clothes?

“What do you think about this one?” You asked again, the same question you’d been repeating since the first outfit change.

Donghyuck looked up from his phone, his eyes immediately locking onto you.

“I've never seen anything more beautiful in my life,” he said with a bright smile, letting his gaze travel up and down twice.

“Hyuck, come on,” you rolled your eyes. “You said that the last fifteen times. You’re being useless,” you huffed, crossing your arms.

“How is it my fault that you look stunning in everything?” he shot back, tilting his head with a smirk.

You sighed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I need actual feedback, not just you being a flirt.”

Donghyuck leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he gave you a once-over, this time, with a more thoughtful expression. “Okay, fine. Turn around.”

You did as he said, giving him a little twirl before facing him again, an expectant look on your face.

He hummed, tapping his chin dramatically. “I mean… it is a really nice outfit,” he said slowly, making you narrow your eyes at him.

“But?”

“But I still think you are the best part of it,” he grinned, dodging the throw pillow you immediately launched at him.

He got up from his seat, laughing as he walked toward your grumpy figure, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Aw, don't look at me like that, gorgeous," he teased, pressing a kiss to your cheek and chuckling when you turned your face away. "Why are you so worried about this anyway?" he asked, tightening his grip slightly when you tried to pull away.

You hesitated for a moment before sighing. "It's for the reunion," you admitted, avoiding his gaze.

Donghyuck blinked, then tilted his head. "The high school thing?"

"Yes, the high school thing," you huffed. "I don't know, I just... want to look good. It's been years, and I'll be seeing people I haven't seen since we were all awkward teenagers."

His lips curled into a teasing smirk. "Ohhh, I get it now," he cooed. "You wanna show off a little, huh?"

You shot him a glare. "It's not like that—”

"It is like that," he interrupted, grinning. "And honestly? You should. You're hot. Let them eat their hearts out."

Despite yourself, you couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head as he pinched your sides playfully.

"I'm serious, baby. You're stressing over nothing. Just look at you," he said, taking your hand and turning you toward the mirror. His arms wrapped around your waist again, and he rested his chin on your shoulder. "You're breathtaking, the most beautiful woman in the universe and beyond. You could show up in pajamas and still look like a goddess."

You thought you'd be used to his endless flattery by now, but somehow, you never were. It was always sweet, never failing to make your heart skip a beat.

You glanced at him through the mirror, your worries slowly fading as he pressed a soft kiss to your neck.

"You're so dramatic," your tone warm as you rolled your eyes but leaned back into him anyway.

"I'm just telling the truth," he murmured, pressing his nose against your neck. "It's not my fault my overthinking girlfriend needs constant reminders of how stunning she is."

You huffed, but the way your lips twitched betrayed you. "Well, maybe if someone gave me actual opinions instead of just approving everything i wear, I wouldn't have to overthink."

Donghyuck chuckled, swaying you gently in his arms. "Fine, fine. If you really want my expert opinion..." He paused, pretending to scrutinize your reflection in the mirror.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting. "And?”

“Don’t wear this dress.”

“What? Why?” You frowned, glancing at your reflection. “I actually liked this one the most. Does it really look that bad?”

“I never said that,” his hands trailing up and down your waist. “You look incredible, love, but it feels a little too formal for the occasion. The second one you tried fits the vibe better. Plus, it’ll probably be more comfortable… you know, in case we need to make a quick getaway.”

Yeah, he wouldn't admit it, but he wanted you to wear it just for him. You looked too beautiful in it, almost unfairly so, the idea of anyone else seeing you like this, soaking in the sight of you, were a big no-no. Unwanted attention (read: any attention that wasn’t exclusively his) was simply not an option.

“Oh, so you’re already planning our escape before we even get there?” You raised your brows, crossing your arms. “Really?”

Donghyuck chuckled, tightening his grip on your waist as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Baby, please. I know you," his voice laced with amusement. "You won't last more than an hour before you start getting annoyed at half the people there. You'll smile, nod, pretend to listen, and then, you'll be counting the minutes until we leave."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze in the mirror, a smug grin on his lips. "So, yeah, I'm already planning our escape. Just being a good boyfriend and thinking ahead.”

"Okay, maybe you have a point," you teased, rolling your eyes as you turned to face him, looping your arms around his neck. "Guess I should thank my thoughtful boyfriend for planning ahead."

"Just doing the bare minimum for my girl," he smiled, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. "Now that we've finally settled on an outfit and I’ve reminded you how perfect you are, can I spoil you and pay for everything you liked?"

You held his gaze, your heart doing that little flutter it always did when he looked at you like that, like you were his entire universe. It was almost overwhelming, the way his eyes softened, filled with something so pure, so consuming.

If love had a shape, a form, a physical presence, you were sure it lived in the way Haechan looked at you. The same way a loyal pet would gaze at their favorite person, full of unconditional adoration, unwavering and endless. His pupils were blown wide, his expression a mix of devotion and something deeper, something you couldn't quite put into words.

“Baby, please, don’t tell me you’re going to refuse again,” he whined at your silence, pouting a little. “Why do you love to ruin my happiness? It's my duty to—”

“I love you, Lee Donghyuck,” you said softly, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss.

He was surprise by the sudden words and actions, but his shoulders instantly relaxed as he melted into your embrace. He kissed you back with equal passion, murmuring between the kisses, “I love you too,” before peppering your lips with more soft kisses as you pulled away, only for him to chase after you, craving more of your touch.

You couldn't help but giggle at the way he whined in protest when you pulled away for good, placing your hands on his chest to stop him. Biting your lip, you glanced around before tugging his hand, a playful glint in your eyes as you whispered, "Come with me." And just like that, you pulled him into the dressing room.

"What are you doing?" he asked, slightly confused, though he wasn't exactly opposed to whatever you had in mind.

"Just saying thank you for being the sweetest boyfriend ever," you murmured, sinking to your knees in front of him, your hands sliding up his thighs as you looked up at him.

Oh, he knew exactly what was happening. God, he couldn't believe it. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his heart pounded, the sight of you like this making his pants uncomfortably tight.

"Are you sure, love?" his voice softer now, laced with anticipation. His eyes flickered to the curtain, hesitant for only a second as you unbuttoned his pants. "This isn't really the best place to—"

A low groan slipped from his lips as your hand firmly cupped his growing hardness, cutting off whatever weak protest he was about to make.

"Be quiet, Hyuck," you scolded, palming him again. He sucked in a sharp breath, biting his bottom lip to stifle any sound as a dark spot began to form on his underwear.

“Fuck, hurry up,” he hissed, any previous hesitation now completely forgotten.

You smirked at his impatience but didn’t tease him, at least, not too much. Slipping your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, you tugged them down just enough to free his cock, standing hard and eager, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip.

You wrapped your fingers around his length, stroking him slowly, savoring the way his breath hitched with each movement. His chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm as he leaned back against the wall, his gaze locked onto you, dark with need. His cock twitched in your grip, another bead of precum spilling from the tip, proof of just how desperate he already was for you.

You merely smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his tip before running your tongue along his length, savoring the way he tensed under your touch. His head fell back against the wall, his breathing growing heavier, his thighs trembling slightly as you took him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him in deeper.

"Shit—" He bit down on his fist to muffle the groan that nearly slipped, his other hand instinctively threading through your hair, not to control your pace but just to feel you closer, to ground himself in the pleasure you were giving him.

The muffled sounds of the store outside felt like a distant hum, completely drowned out by the way your tongue moved so perfectly against him. His not-so-soft moans filled the small space, each one making your core tighten with satisfaction. You sucked on the tip of his cock before slowly pulling away, letting it slip from your lips with a sinful pop, but your hand never stopped stroking him.

"Hyuck, you're being too loud," you scolded in a hushed tone, glancing up at him with a mix of amusement and warning.

“Don't stop,” he whined, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with desperation. His hips jerked forward instinctively, chasing your warmth. Even the slightest brush of your lips against his tip had his knees trembling.

You let out a soft chuckle, watching the way he was falling apart just from your touch. His fingers tightened in your hair, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to push you down onto him the way he so desperately wanted.

“You’re so needy,” you teased, your breath ghosting over his sensitive tip, making him shudder.

“And whose fault is that?” he shot back, his voice strained, breathing heavily.

Instead of answering, you wrapped your lips around him once more, taking him in deeper this time. His head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, a broken moan escaping his lips as his grip in your hair loosened for a moment, only to tighten again when your tongue flicked over his slit.

Was he dead, and this was paradise? If not, it had to be the closest thing to it. His legs nearly gave out when he felt your throat tighten around him, the sudden sensation ripping a loud moan from his lips. Your nails dug into his thighs in warning, silently telling him to keep quiet. He bit down hard on his lower lip, his breathing ragged as he fought to control himself, but with the way your mouth worked on him, it was becoming nearly impossible.

He looked down at you, and what a sight. The way your lips stretched around him, the glint in your eyes as you took him deeper—it was enough to make his head spin. The pleasure was overwhelming, pushing him closer to the edge. His hips moved on their own, chasing that high, silently begging you to go faster, to take him there.

You gave in to his desires, quickening your pace, sucking with more intensity, while your hand skillfully massaged his balls, each movement pushing him closer to the edge. The rhythm of your actions seemed to drive him wild, his breath ragged as he struggled to hold on.

His body tensed, his head spinning as he reached his peak, hot spurts of cum filling your mouth. His fingers tightened in your hair, urging you closer as his hips jerked forward, riding out the last tremors of his climax, unwilling to let go.

You pulled his cock out of your mouth, knowing he would have kept you there if he had his way. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, glancing up to see his face in pure satisfaction, eyes shut and head leaning against the wall. His hand now gently ran through your hair, his breath still heavy as he mumbled how good you were, the words dripping with praise.

You let out a soft giggle, adjusting his clothes as you noticed how disoriented he looked. As you stood up, he finally met your gaze, his eyes dark with desire. Without warning, he leaned in, pulling you into a kiss that was intense yet tender. “God, I love you so much, baby,” he whispered against your lips.

“Me too,” you replied, a playful smile on your face. “I think the whole store heard you,” you teased, gently biting his lower lip before pulling away to meet his gaze.

“Then I guess they know how much I love you now,” he shrugged, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, making you laugh. “Maybe I’ll be quieter next time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Next time? I think this one was enough, don’t you? We could have gotten caught.”

“But we didn’t,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “Next time, I’ll make sure you're the one making all the noise.”

↝ taglist: @yizhrt, @sinisxtea, @peterm4rker.

[sirhamburrger]

yoichi isagi is just a little younger than you. that’s what you find out, at least, when he and the other blue lock players are first introduced to bastard münchen.

this has held true, for obvious reasons, alongside the three undeniable truths that will hold true for as long as michael kaiser and alexis ness play for the team, and you keep managing it.

but you're think you might want to add another to this relatively short list, because -

yoichi isagi is persistent. good for getting the results that bastard münchen wants, but not so good for you.

see, it's been approximately three years since the blue lock project concluded, three years since yoichi and his friends have been signed to the team for the forseeable future. and three years in which he hasn't stopped trying to garner your attention. not even once.

he goes to fill up the team's water bottles with you, helps keep the team in line when the coaches are away, thanks you after every match won for your hard work and dedication.

the mutual attraction isn’t a question. the fleeting but also strangely lingering touches, and the murmured 'thank you's make sure of that. yet you can’t bring yourself to open up to him.

michael and alexis know. they know that deep down inside, you want something serious with somebody who can give you everything. and you’re just unsure - scared, even - if yoichi can do that for you.

but now it's nearing midnight on valentine's day, and you're holding on to someone as the whole team stumbles out of a local pub, completely inebriated. alexis is laughing and michael is laughing and you're laughing, drunk off your ass and feeling like you're on top of the world.

in a split second the pavement rushes up to meet your face, and you're pretty sure the person you're holding on to is being dragged down alongside you -

you fall to the ground, and it knocks the air out of your lungs. well, more accurately, you fall on top of someone, and the two of you are sprawled on the cold ground.

"m'sorry," you slur, trying to get to your feet. "lost my balance for a second there."

"no, it's fine, really!" yoichi squeaks, and you're nodding along, relieved.

wait - yoichi?

your vision is still spinning when you finally push yourself up onto your elbows, the heat of another body underneath you keeping you grounded. you blink down, disoriented, and there he is - yoichi isagi, wide-eyed and flushed, his hands hovering uncertainly over your waist like he's not sure whether to steady you or let you go.

"uh -" his voice cracks slightly before he clears his throat, his breath a little too warm in the cold night air. "are you okay?"

you let out a breathless half-laugh half-scoff, still trying to regain your balance. "yeah. more embarrassed than anything, honestly."

his lips quirk up into a crooked smile, soft and a little uncertain. "you, um… you really shouldn’t be embarrassed. i mean, considering the situation."

you tilt your head. "what situation?"

he hesitates for a moment, his hands finally settling at your waist, a firm but gentle presence. you hate yourself for liking it. then, as if spurred on by the alcohol or the moment or just sheer desperation, he blurts out, "you falling for me, obviously."

you stare.

then you groan, shoving at his chest. "that was genuinely so horrible."

"right?" he laughs, his grip tightening instinctively when you shift like you’re going to roll off him and onto the ground. "but, um -" his smile fades slightly, something nervous but determined taking its place. "since it’s still technically valentine’s day, and, you know, we’re already kind of on top of each other… would you want to go on a real date with me? sober. tomorrow."

your heart stutters.

it shouldn’t surprise you, not after three years of this - of him, of this unspoken thing lingering between you. and maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the way his hands feel warm even through the fabric of your clothes, but for once, you don’t think too hard about it.

you just nod.

"yeah," you murmur, allowing yourself to smile. "i’d like that."

yoichi exhales like he's been holding his breath this entire time. his grin is wide and a little stupid, and before you can call him out on it, alexis and michael are dragging you both up with raucous laughter, half the team still stumbling around in the background.

but even as the night carries on, you can still feel the ghost of yoichi’s hands at your waist, the warmth of his body under yours, and the undeniable certainty that maybe - just maybe - this is something real.

© sirhamburrger

bastard münchen’s manager is just a little older than yoichi. that’s what he finds out, at least, when he and the other blue lock players are first introduced to the german team.

there are three truths, noa tells them, that will hold true for as long as michael kaiser and alexis ness play for the team, and you keep managing it.

number one: michael kaiser is the core of the team. number two: wherever michael kaiser goes, alexis ness follows. and number three: the only person who kaiser and ness listen to is you.

you’re interesting, yoichi thinks. not exactly quiet, but not assuming either. the first time he speaks to you is at his first ever practice with the team. it’s not going well, not at all, because -

“micha and alex giving you a hard time?” you say bluntly. you’re speaking english now, not the german you speak with the coaches and regulars, but yoichi still finds himself depending on his translating earpiece to understand you.

“have they… have they always been like this?” he takes a sip from his bottle, immediately stepping to the side when he realises raichi and the others are waiting to receive their water bottles.

you eye him with what looks like mild interest, then look off to where kaiser and ness roughhouse on the field still.

“if you mean since they were fifteen, then yeah, they’ve always been like that.”

“you’ve known them a long time, then?”

“you could say that.”

you toss them each a towel, yelling something in german, and ness shouts something back. and isagi’s not really sure, but he thinks it sounds something like “love”.

“should i call you that too?” he jokes - or tries to, at least. his smile quickly fades as you shoot him a withering stare. “l-love, i mean-”

“not unless you wanna get trashed on the field later at practice.”

you turn on your heel and walk away, and yoichi isagi falls in love a little bit, just then.

© sirhamburrger

[muxshwriting]

compelling

Feud-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

summary: Feyd can no longer live with only a portion of his wife and strives to find who she truly is || word count: 948 || masterlist

once again, I have been peer pressured (someone very politely requested) and I am being forced (I wrote this in a peak of artistic inspiration) to publish a third part to voiceless and articulate. Enjoy!

REQUESTED: I've read all your Feyd stories and I love them! Would you please consider doing a continuation of "Articulate" where Feyd is so desperate to win over his wife that he asks her new friends for advice? Thank you.

Ever since you’d postponed your day with him, Feyd had been unable to think of anything else. He couldn’t imagine what else you spent your days doing, what was more important to you than him. As he began craving your presence, he noticed just how much time you spent out of your chambers, elsewhere.

He approached you one evening when you were getting ready for bed. “Y/N?” He stopped calling you ‘Wife’ when he noticed the subtle flinch that accompanied its use. “Where do you spend your days? You always return with such happiness.” He meant nothing by it, a simple observation that you always glowed a little brighter afterwards.

You hesitated before answering, hearing horror stories of what Feyd has done to servants. “I- My handmaiden and some of the other maids, they spend their days teaching me things about our house, about Geidi Prime. I enjoy their company.” You admitted.

Feyd frowned. “Your handmaiden? You’ve been hiding away with your handmaiden all this time?”

“Do not speak of her with such disdain! She is my friend. You will do her no harm or I will never forgive you.”

“What?”

You mistook his confusion for insult. “You heard me-“

“You misunderstand, my love.” That title was a new one. “I am simply surprised. I worried you had filled your time with another lover. That I would not be so kind towards.”

The endearment that slipped from his lips did not escape unnoticed by you and you felt your heart fluttering slightly within your chest. The careless and childish hopes from the beginning on your marriage had the nerve to peek their heads towards daylight and it took all your might to push them back down. He was just a possessive man, claiming what was already his. He could not love you, not the way you wanted him to.

“Oh. No! I would never- I would never take a lover Feyd. I am not a traitor.”

“I- I was not trying to imply-“ It was the first time you had ever heard Feyd be uncertain in anything, stumbling over his words.

He reached out to you and you let him slip your hand into his. His body was mere inches from yours as he stood silently, staring down at you.

“I’m sorry.” It was a murmur of an apology you never thought he was even capable of. “Please tell your handmaiden… thank you from me, for taking care of you.”

Your eyes soften as you take a small step so you’re truly in each other’s space. “I shall pass along your message. Goodnight husband.” There’s a softness behind your words that Feyd hasn’t heard in a while and he’s very grateful for its return.

In the days following your discussion, you and Feyd had minimised some of the distance between you, but not all. There was space Feyd couldn’t cross alone, no matter how much he wanted to. He needed help, aid from someone who knew you far better than he did.

Reluctantly, Feyd made his way down to the servants quarters. He stops silently outside the door, suddenly nervous to enter.

He knocked and your handmaiden opened the door, paling at the sight of the Na-Baron. “My Lord Feyd.” She bowed before him, slipping out into the hallway. “How can I assist you?” Despite your assurance that your husband would never hurt her, your handmaiden still had fear when stood in front of Feyd.

Feyd seemed unsure of himself now that he was stood in front of someone about to ask for their help. “I wish to help my wife.”

“Is the Na-Baroness unwell?”

“She is fine.” Feyd said shortly. “But our marriage…” He does not wish to continue and your handmaiden knows it.

Slyly, she looks him up and down with a knowing look. “It’s called love. She feels it too.”

“She-“ Feyd stopped himself. “She loves me?”

“And you love her. She’s just hesitant to give you all of herself.”

He took a moment to breathe, his head spinning from the realisation that his wife loved him. “I love her…”

“Then tell her that.” Your handmaiden pressed. “Tell her she is loved.”

Heeding your handmaiden’s words, Feyd approached the evening much differently than he normally would. He greeted you as he entered your chambers, a small smile across his face as he offered to help you change and you, surprised, allowed him to.

He couldn’t stop the giddy feeling his heart had when you leant into him as he pulled the pins from your hair. You let yourself lean in, praying that life had finally dealt you the perfect hand.

Beyond either os your notices, you handmaiden had slipped into your chambers, aiming to help you get ready for the evening. But upon seeing your gentle embrace with Feyd, a knowing smile spread across her lips and she turned on her heel to slip back out again. Her shoe brushed against the floor for just a second and you glanced up at her.

Silently, a conversation passes. A frown, a smile, a nod. A look towards Feyd, a glance you made in his direction. He’s aware of all that is going but blissfully choosing to ignore it, his eyes almost slipping shut as he runs his hand down your back and letting it settle at your waist.

No words are exchanged as the evening progresses, but the light touches continue and you never find yourself out of Feyd’s space for more than a second. It isn’t until you’re in bed and wrapped in his arms that you speak.

“Goodnight my love.”

Feyd smiles against you and murmurs the same sentiment back, finally slipping into sleep.

[cherry-coffees]

Would you write caitlyn with short chubby reader? Just fluff maybe reader is a lil insecure about her body type compared to the other women cait had been seen with?

Yes, ofc I will lovely! Hope you like <3

cw: mentions of body dysmorphia, insecurity, comparison to others

You love Caitlyn.

I mean, obviously. She's been your girlfriend for a little over a year now. You love going out with her in Piltover, always proud to be seen next to the Caitlyn Kiramman. And you love the nights when you just stay back at the Kiramman manor, especially when Caitlyn tugs you in to rest against her chest, her chin settling on the top of your head. She loves it too, you know, when your nights are filled with sleepy cuddles and soft kisses. You always seem to be in tune with each other, fitting together like yin and yang.

You know Caitlyn loves you: she shows it in her every word and action and gentle forehead kiss she gives you at the end of a long day. But sometimes, you can't help the slight tinge of insecurity that overwhelms your thoughts.

You've seen the other women Caitlyn's been with: Vi, Maddie, even the women that approach her at bars with heated eyes and flattering words. They're gorgeous. You are, too, at least from what Caitlyn tells you every day. But you've seen certain patterns: clear skin, muscular, slim, taller than you...

You just can't help but wonder what makes you different. Why she chose you over all the girls in Piltover that look like tall, skinny models. Caitlyn can have any girl she wants: half of Piltover is in love with her beauty and strength.

So when Caitlyn suggests a beach trip that a few of her friends are pushing for, you're less than thrilled.

"Hey darling?" Caitlyn calls from her office. She's been in there for a few hours, sorting through her usual paperwork she needs to fill out to keep Piltover running.

You glance up from your spot on the couch in the next room. "Yeah? What's up?"

You hear the shuffle of papers and the sound of her desk chair before your girlfriend appears in the doorway, flashing you a smile that always seems to make you weak. "Mel asked me about going to the sea for a few days," Caitlyn eyes you with curiosity. "She extended the invitation to you as well. We can walk on the beach, go swimming, have a bonfire...what do you think?"

You blink, staring at her silently for a second. "Oh, uh— the beach?"

"Mhm."

Your gaze drops to your lap. "Oh."

Caitlyn's eyebrows furrow, picking up on your less-than-excitement at the idea. She moves to you, sitting on the couch beside you. "Darling? Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you bite the inside of your cheek. "It's just..."

It's just that you'll be surrounded by Caitlyn and her friends. Mel is gorgeous: slim and fit, as are her other friends. You can't imagine being in a bikini by the water, beside all these other girls. And you know Caitlyn loves you, you know. You just can't help but wonder if she's ever had these same thoughts you're having right now. Would she notice that you didn't have the same body type as these model-like women?

"It's just what?" Caitlyn clasps one of your hands between her own, stroking the back of it with her thumb. "Talk to me, please."

"I-" you hesitate, your voice coming out small. "I don't know about being in a swimsuit in front of everyone."

"Oh," the word falls from her lips in a hushed breath, and that's all you have to say. Caitlyn knows. You've confided in her about your insecurity in your body type previous times, but that doesn't make it any easier.

"Look at me," Caitlyn coaxes your head to angle up, your eyes meeting her icy blue ones. "My darling. You're so beautiful, I'd love to see you in a bikini or swimsuit or anything else you decide to wear."

A flicker of doubt crosses your expression, and Caitlyn's heart aches. "Thank you, Cait. But I know I don't look like— like Vi or Maddie or-"

"Woah, woah," Caitlyn cuts you off, her features contorting into further concern. "Why are you bringing them up? You shouldn't be thinking about them. You're my girlfriend, not them."

"But they were," you burst out, unable to help your thoughts spilling out. "They were, and I can't help but notice that I don't look like them, that I'm not your usual type in girls. And it makes me worry if you're really happy with me."

You don't have time to say anything more before you feel a pair of soft lips on your own. Caitlyn kisses you gently, her hand cradling the back of your neck to pull you into her. Your eyes slide shut and you lean into the touch before she pulls back a few minutes later, her breath ghosting over your lips.

"Darling," Caitlyn's eyes are so soft that it makes your heart ache. "You are the only girl in my eyes. I adore you, truly. Your heart is the most important thing to me, what I love the most about you, but I also love your beauty. There is no one in the world more beautiful to me than you. I am the happiest with you, more than I could ever be with anyone else."

"You really don't mind that I don't look like all the girls that hit on you?"

"Love, I don't pay attention to any other girls besides you. I don't remember what they look like, and I don't care," she presses her lips to your arm, trailing gentle kisses down the length of it. "My sweet darling. I love you more than anyone in this entire world. I'd be in a room full of people, and you'd be the one who catches my attention every time. You're sweet and loving and beautiful and mine."

Caitlyn raises her head, placing another peck to your lips. "If you don't feel comfortable going, we won't. But I always want you beside me, my love, wearing whatever you want. And I hope you know how much I adore you."

"I do," you exhale, slight guilt creeping up on you for making your girlfriend worry. "Sorry, I know you love me, I-"

"Hey," Caitlyn murmurs. "It's okay. You're okay. I'll remind you how much I love you every day, if you need it. It's okay to feel however you do, just please promise me you'll always come to me when you need me."

"Okay," you mumble, and then Caitlyn's tugging you right back into her arms where you belong. And you feel safe and loved and so undeniably hers that you forget all about the what-ifs. You're here with Caitlyn. And honestly, that's all you really need.

I really really hope I did your request justice! I know body dysmorphia, insecurity, and comparison are different for everyone, so I hope this is what you were hoping for. I honestly think that Caitlyn would just shower you with all her love if you felt insecure about anything, so I hope I conveyed it well!

Much love <333

~Cherry 🍒

[lubdubology]

Fools Rush In

SYNOPSIS: On a day meant for love, you’re sure feeling a shortage of it. Until Logan shows you, he’s not as unaffected by you as he lets on.

PAIRING: Worst Logan x fem!reader 

WC: 2.5k

WARNINGS: angst; swearing; mentions of alcohol consumption; mentions of self doubt; brief mentions of death/gore; dual POVs

A/N: If you saw this posted after Valentine’s Day, no you didn’t. Here’s my entry into the Loveuary Challenge that @yxtkiwiyxt and I hosted! Just some angsty fluff with a happy ending for our favorite Logan. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

In hindsight, you should have seen this coming. 

Who agrees to a lunch date on Valentine’s Day? 

But he had seemed nice and kind. You had spent the last few weeks talking through the dating app, discussing all those typical online dating things—jobs, pets, hobbies. Things seemed to click. You liked the same things. Seemed to have a vibe. 

Hell, he had been the one to suggest lunch this Friday. 

And here you were, dressed up and sitting alone, nursing your glass of wine desperately trying to ignore the stares from the other patrons. Thirty long minutes have dragged by, each one sinking you further and further into your seat and gnawing on your self-esteem. Embarrassment licks at your skin and you want nothing more than for the floor to open and swallow you whole. 

Anything but the pitying stares burning into your flesh. 

Downing the rest of your wine, you pull some cash from your wallet and toss it on the table before leaving the restaurant. You swear every eye in the place watches you leave, murmured gossip following you out the door. 

God, you hate dating.

There’s a chill in the air and the cold nips at your ankles as you walk down the sidewalk towards your apartment. But you relish the discomfort, the cold easing the burning shame staining your cheeks. 

Walking up to the building, you find Logan outside smoking a cigar. As if today couldn’t get worse. 

You hesitate for half a step and contemplate turning around, avoiding your apartment completely, but then Logan looks up, his sharp gaze already on you and you know there’s no escaping him now. 

Ever since Wade brought him home from the Void just over a year ago, you two have been dancing around each other. There was no denying he was a handsome man—you weren’t blind—but it was his mysterious gruffness that pulled you in. Logan seemed alone in much the same way you did—wandering through life just looking for someone to understand you, to listen without judgement, shoulder those heavy weights that threatened to sink you.

You knew he came with more baggage that most—disgraced superhero in his world and all that—but it never bothered you. If he was truly as bad as everyone in that universe thought, he wouldn’t be so hell bent on atonement. Regret basically oozed from his pores. 

And while he hasn’t fully opened up to you, you know he’s showed you a fair share of his dirty laundry. It started as quick run ins in the hallway, simple hellos and goodbyes. Then longer trudges up the stairs together, hands full of grocery bags, bitching about the weather and other inconveniences. Those simple interactions rapidly grew into an odd sort of friendship—Logan would spend time with you, watching bad reality TV and you would spend time with him, mostly making sure he didn’t kill Wade due to his antics during game nights. 

Except there was always an undercurrent of attraction that neither of you knew what to do with. You’d lean into him on the couch and he’d sling an arm around your shoulder or rest comforting hand on your thigh. Logan would gravitate towards you in group outings, tucking into your quiet acceptance of his discomfort before you’d sneak him out. You’d join him on the roof, sharing puffs of his cigar and eating food you’d smuggled in your jacket. 

That slow burn between you was warm but never burned. Until you tried to stoke the flames higher and it blew up in your face. As the countdown struck midnight on New Year’s Eve, you had leaned in and kissed him—something you had been imagining for months. 

What would it be like? Would his lips be soft or firm? Would he inhale sharply at the press of your mouth to his? What would he taste like? Would he grip your arms to pull you closer?

Instead, Logan’s entire body had stiffened, his eyes wide and instead of pulling you towards him, he pushed you away. And then, without explanation, he left, your cheeks burning in shame. 

So, seeing him today, on a day for love, was the last thing you wanted. 

You cross your arms, steeling yourself as Logan assesses you with his sharp gaze, his cigar burning between his fingers. The scent curls around him, familiar and grounding in a way you now hate. 

“You’re dolled up pretty,” he says, flicking the butt of his cigar to the ground and grinding it out beneath his boot.

You desperately try to ignore the flutters in your belly at his words. “Yeah, well, it was a wasted effort,” you mutter, hoping he drops it.

Logan frowns. “What happened?”

You sigh, debating whether to brush off his question, but something in the way he’s looking at you—steady, expectant, like the friend he used to be—makes the words slip out before you can stop yourself. “I got stood up.”

You don’t miss the way his posture stiffens and his jaw clenches and you can almost feel the indignation simmering just under the surface. But then he looks away, gaze dropping towards his feet before he says, “Guy’s a fucking moron.”

The way he says it—so matter of fact, like the idea of anyone standing you up is so unfathomably unimaginable—sends a rush of warmth through your chest. This is the Logan you miss—the one whose instant reaction is to stand by your side, be that shoulder to lean upon. But it’s not enough to cool the sting of humiliation or the frustration bubbling beneath your skin that has been threatening to boil over for over a month.

“What does that make you then?”

Logan’s eyebrow quirks at your sharp question and the brief whisp of softness between you slips away as your words fully hit him. His expression hardens, morphing into that guarded look that’s become all too familiar to you. “Wanna run that by me again?” he asks, his voice low, rougher now.

“You heard me,” you reply, lifting your chin just enough to meet his gaze, feigning a confidence you don’t entirely feel. “What does that make you? You’re the one who walked away when I kissed you. Didn’t even give me an explanation, just tucked tail and ran.”

The air between you thickens, charged and heavy, and for a moment the sounds of the city fade. All that exists is just you two, standing arm’s length out of reach, an awkward tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Logan takes an almost hesitant step forward, eyes narrowing as he attempts to read your face. “You think I walked away because I didn’t want to kiss you?” His voice is quieter, but barely controlled frustration is laced in his tone. “You really think I’m that much of an asshole?”

You scoff, crossing your arms tighter across your chest. “I don’t know what to think, Logan! You pushed me away and left me standing there like an idiot. And now you’re acting like you care when you’ve barely spoken to me since.”

Logan’s nostrils flare as he exhales sharply through his nose. His fists clench and unclench at his sides and you can see the muscle jump in his jaw. You’ve seen all this before—Logan at war with himself, all those emotions he won’t voice out loud screaming within the confines of his skull. Normally, you’d have the patience for this, allow him space and time to wrangle his emotions. 

But not today. 

“Don’t worry about it, Logan,” you say, voice tight with frustration. “Just shove it deep down where it can’t hurt you. You’re good at that.”

You don’t give him time to respond before turning on your heel and walking into the building, leaving him out in the cold. 

+++

The moment you walked away, the door slamming shut behind you, Logan could feel it. The sharp, gnawing realization that he fucked up.

Again.

Every inch of him screamed to just follow you, chase after you, explain the mess in his head that so often scrambled his intentions, to tell you that he does want you, that he always has. But his self-doubt and regret choked him, clawing at his throat and rendering him mute. 

Now, he’s just hoping he hasn’t lost you for good.

Nerves crawl up his spine and for a brief moment, he hesitates before knocking on your door. Thankfully, you answer, opening the door only enough to peer up at him, your expression drawn and tired. 

You’ve dressed down, your fancy date dress exchanged for comfortable lounge pants and a slightly too big shirt that hangs off your shoulder. Your face is scrubbed of makeup, your cheeks rosy all on their own. 

You’re lovely and Logan blinks at you, forgetting for just a moment what he was doing there. Feigning a cough, he shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks slightly on his feet. 

“Look, I—" he starts, then stops, exhaling hard through his nose. 

You remain silent, watching him with guarded eyes but giving him the time to find the right words. You understand him in a way he doesn’t deserve, accepting of flaws that run deep and make him difficult to love. 

Logan shifts again, pulling one hand from his pocket to rub at the back of his neck. “Can I—will you—fuck.”

The briefest flicker of a smile dances across your lips and it’s then that he knows you’re not totally lost to him. 

“I’ve somethin’ to show you,” he finally manages, nodding back towards his apartment. 

You raise one eyebrow and cross your arms across your chest. “Something to show me?” you repeat, tone skeptical. 

Logan nods, his heart beating just a tick faster as you open the door wider, taking half a step out of your apartment. With a slight hesitance, you follow him and a surge of relief washes over him. Opening the door to his apartment, Logan doesn’t miss the way you stop short as you shuffle in behind him. 

The lights are dimmed and he’s lit every candle he could find, plus a few cheap tea lights he found at the corner store. A soft glow flickers off the walls, casting long shadows across the room. The small kitchen table is covered and set with two place settings, a vibrant spray of red tulips in the middle. 

You’re silent as you take in the space, eyes darting from the candles to the table and back to Logan’s face. He shifts on his feet, suddenly uneasy at the quiet way you’re taking everything in. 

“I, uh—“ Logan clears his throat. “‘m not very good at all this. But I figure with it being Valentine’s Day and all…” He trails off and vaguely gestures towards the room.

You turn to look at him, really look at him, and something in his chest tightens. He’s fought in wars, stared down death more times than he can count, yet standing here waiting for your response makes him more anxious than he’s been in some time. 

“You did all this?” you ask, your voice soft as you walk around the table, rubbing a tulip petal between your fingers. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I know it ain’t much, but—“

“It’s everything.”

Your voice remains soft, but words hit him like a punch to the gut. Logan’s eyes snap to yours, searching, hoping that you aren’t just talking about the candles or the flowers. That you mean the effort, the thought, the way he’s desperately trying despite all the walls he still has built around himself. 

You take a slow step towards him, the candlelight dancing in your eyes. “Logan,” you whisper, and it’s not disappointment or hesitation he hears in your voice. It’s something soft, something lovely, something that makes his pulse hammer loudly in his ears.

Logan swallows hard. “I know I messed up. And I don’t always say the right thing. Do the right thing.” He exhales, voice rough around the edges. “But I didn’t want you thinkin’ I don’t care about you. ‘Cause I do.”

Your eyes glisten, and for a moment, he thinks you might cry. Instead, you let out a small breath of laughter, shaking your head. “Oh, Logan,” you sigh, stepping close enough to feel your warmth. “You idiot.”

His brow furrows and his lips part to retort, but then your fingers curl into the hem of his shirt, tugging him forward, closer. You lean up, eyes focused on his mouth and his breath hitches in his throat. 

“I’m not a good man,” he murmurs as your lips over just over his, your breath warm and damp. 

Your eyes flick up to his, your grip tightening against his shirt. “You are.”

“I’ve hurt people.”

Logan knows he’s stalling, that he should just close the gap between you and kiss you like he’s been wanting to for months. But he needs you to know he’s not worth this, not worth your grace and acceptance and your determination to love him. Needs to give you that one final opportunity to see what he truly is. 

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes soft. “Do you regret it?” you ask, no judgement to your tone. 

He’s still haunted by the memories of his previous world. The blood, the carnage, the piled bodies of his friends—his family—all because he was too selfish, too stubborn to see what was right in front of him. Their screams echo in his mind, the one lingering reminder of all the ways he’s failed. 

You seem to read him, your hand coming up to rest against his cheek and he sighs. “Every damn day,” he finally answers, his voice thick. 

Your thumb brushes against his cheek, gentle and tender in a way that almost destroys him. “Then you’re not the monster you think you are, Logan.”

That’s it. That’s his breaking point. 

Logan closes the distance between you, finally, finally, pressing his lips to yours. It’s not gentle or soft—he’s waited too long for that. Instead, he kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s never tasted anything as sweet or as lovely as your mouth against his. 

You make a soft, desperate sound against his mouth and it nearly undoes him. Logan grips your waist, pulling you flush against him, his hands rough but reverent as he slips them underneath your shirt. You respond in kind, tangling your fingers into his hair, holding him there like you never went to let go. 

He’s not new to kissing, to loving someone. But it’s never felt like this, like the beginning of something instead of the end. 

You pull back, breathless, and start laughing, a soft giggle that warms him. 

“What?” he asks, a laugh of his own threatening to break through. 

“Nothing, just,” you beam up at him, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Logan.”

He smiles back. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

[deathofacupid]

synopsis: in which what begun as an arranged marriage, blossomed to love. for sukuna, at least. a/n: for my beloved @salsakiyoomi, whom i wrote this for, and who also inspired me. it's, like, 1.7k words, so definitely longer than i'd thought. banner credits to @/aquazero.

"do you think," he begins, his voice a hesitant murmur, so unlike the usual booming pronouncements of a king, that you almost miss it. "do you think it would be fair… to give us a chance?"

you glance up from your book, a collection of ancient poetry, the words blurring as you try to process his question. "sorry?" you ask, genuinely unsure if you’ve heard correctly. the firelight dances in his usually sharp, confident eyes, softening them in a way you’ve never witnessed.

he clicks his tongue, a nervous tic you’ve only ever seen him display in moments of extreme agitation, and shakes his head slightly. a flush creeps up his neck, staining his pale skin a delicate pink. it’s a startling sight on the usually stoic king.

is it embarrassment? fear? the thought is so foreign, so incongruous with the image of sukuna, that you almost dismiss it. almost. yet, as he stands there, fidgeting like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, you can’t fathom any other explanation.

sukuna clears his throat, the sound rough in the sudden quiet of the room. "i think… we could try," he says, the words coming out in a rush. a pause hangs in the air, thick with unspoken possibilities. "us."

you blink, your mind struggling to catch up. "what do you mean? we are married, are we not?" the words feel hollow even as you speak them.

"that’s different," he grumbles, scuffing the toe of his boot against the expensive rug. "that’s… not real."

you close your book, the leather binding snapping shut with a sharp sound. setting it aside, you watch him pace, a restless energy radiating from him. you’ve never seen him this… uneasy. vulnerable. it’s unsettling. "we sleep beside each other. we eat together. we share the same last name. what is not real?"

the answer comes quickly, almost too quickly, as if he’s been rehearsing it in his head. "our love. that’s not real."

you shake your head, a small, involuntary movement. "well, of course. we agreed that—"

"—fuck what we agreed to," he interrupts, the crude language shocking you into silence.

"sukuna," you breathe, your eyes widening.

gathering a sudden burst of courage, he steps closer, taking your hands in his. his touch, usually so demanding, is surprisingly gentle. "petal," he whispers, the nickname he only uses when he thinks no one is listening, "i want more."

"i… i don’t think that’s wise," you stammer, instinctively pulling back. the hopeful light in his eyes dims, and your stomach clenches.

"you don’t love me, sukuna," you continue, your voice trembling slightly. "we wouldn’t work like that. things are… perfect right now. the arrangement we have, we’re at the top. we don’t have to worry about… feelings. we—we don’t have anything getting in the way."

"who’s to say they would get in the way?" he counters, his voice laced with a desperate plea.

"we know they would," you insist, the years of carefully constructed logic solidifying your resolve. "and what makes you believe that—that i feel the same?"

"nothing," he admits, his gaze dropping to the floor. "i don’t know. but if we’re already ‘married,’ would it hurt to…?" he trails off, the question hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken desires.

"besides," you say, grasping at any logical argument, "we’re awful to each other."

"i don’t mean any of it, though," he protests, his voice rising in frustration.

"you did before," you remind him, the memory of his cruel words stinging even now. "and i don’t know if i can be with someone like that."

"people change," he whispers, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of understanding.

for a fleeting moment, you waver. you allow yourself to imagine it: a life with sukuna, not as a political alliance, but as something… more. a warmth spreads through your chest, a dangerous, tempting feeling. but then, the cold reality of your responsibilities crashes down on you. you can’t risk it. you can’t risk the stability you’ve worked so hard to achieve.

what if it all goes wrong? what if you have an irreparable fight? what if he uses his power as king to ban you from the battlefield? you love being out there, fighting alongside your troops, protecting your people. you won't be confined to some gilded cage. you won't be stripped of your purpose.

"no," you whisper, the word a death knell to his hopes. "no."

love was a liability, a weakness to be exploited. and you, you were strong. you had to be.

"petal," sukuna breathes, his voice thick with a desperation that claws at something buried deep within you. he reaches for you again, but you recoil, the chill in the air a stark contrast to the heat that had pulsed between you moments before.

"don't," you say, your voice flat, devoid of the warmth he craves. "don't do this, sukuna."

his eyes, usually blazing with arrogance, now flicker with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. he looks like a wounded animal, cornered and confused. it almost breaks you. almost.

"is this about the throne?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "is that what this is about?"

you clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms. "it's about what's best for the kingdom," you say, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "it's about… stability. it's about ensuring our people are safe. love is a luxury we can't afford."

he laughs, a harsh, broken sound that echoes through the opulent room. "a luxury? you think this is a life of luxury? living a lie, pretending to be something we're not, for the sake of appearances?"

"it's the life we chose," you reply, your voice unwavering, even as your heart crumbles inside. "it's the life we have to choose. there's no other way."

he stares at you, his gaze searching, probing, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve. but you’re a fortress, built on years of expectations and responsibilities. you won’t yield.

"you're wrong," he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. "there's always another way. you're just too afraid to see it."

he turns and walks away, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. he doesn't look back. you watch him go, your breath catching in your throat. a single tear escapes, tracing a lonely path down your cheek.

as the door closes behind him, the silence in the room is deafening. you’re left alone with your carefully constructed world of duty and obligation, a world that suddenly feels cold and empty.

you’ve won. you’ve protected the kingdom. you’ve made the right choice. but as you stand there, the weight of your crown pressing down on your head, you can't shake the feeling that you’ve lost something far more precious than anything you could ever gain.

the victory tastes like ash, and the silence screams with the echo of what could have been, a haunting melody of a love that was never given a chance.

a love that was a liability, a weakness to be exploited. and you, you were strong. you had to be.

"petal," sukuna breathes, his voice thick with a desperation that claws at something buried deep within you. he reaches for you again, but you recoil, the chill in the air a stark contrast to the heat that had pulsed between you moments before.

"don't," you say, your voice flat, devoid of the warmth he craves. "don't do this, sukuna. you're playing a dangerous game, one you're destined to lose."

his eyes, usually blazing with arrogance, now flicker with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. he looks like a wounded animal, cornered and confused. it almost breaks you. almost.

"is this about the throne?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "is that what this is about?"

you clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms. "it's about what's best for the kingdom," you say, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "it's about… stability. it's about ensuring our people are safe. love is a luxury we can't afford."

he laughs, a harsh, broken sound that echoes through the opulent room. "a luxury? you think this is a life of luxury? living a lie, pretending to be something we're not, for the sake of appearances?"

"it's the life we chose," you reply, your voice unwavering, even as your heart crumbles inside. "it's the life we have to choose. there's no other way."

he stares at you, his gaze searching, probing, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve. but you’re a fortress, built on years of expectations and responsibilities. you won’t yield.

"you're wrong," he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. "there's always another way. you're just too afraid to see it."

he turns and walks away, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. he doesn't look back. you watch him go, your breath catching in your throat. a single tear escapes, tracing a lonely path down your cheek.

as the door closes behind him, the silence in the room is deafening. you’re left alone with your carefully constructed world of duty and obligation, a world that suddenly feels cold and empty. you’ve won. you’ve protected the kingdom.

you’ve made the right choice. but as you stand there, the weight of your crown pressing down on your head, you can't shake the feeling that you’ve lost something far more precious than anything you could ever gain. the victory tastes like ash, and the silence screams with the echo of what could have been, a haunting melody of a love that was never given a chance.

and in the quiet solitude of your gilded cage, you realize that the greatest sacrifice you made was not for your kingdom, but for yourself. you sacrificed your own happiness, your own chance at love, and in doing so, you condemned yourself to a lifetime of regret, a slow, agonizing decay of the heart.

the crown is yours, but the cost… the cost is everything.

[cece693]

hello! i absolutely adore your writing for hannibal!! i was wondering if i could request yan! hannibal x reader who is aware of hannibals facade he puts on for others but not of his true nature. perhaps reader feels insecure in their relationship as they have a hard time telling whethe or not the facade his kept up between them as well? reader does not understand how deep hannibals devotion truly goes... perhaps with smut if youre up for it!! thank you so much, apologies if this was a bit of a loaded one!

Are We Real?

pairing: hannibal lecter x gender neutral reader tags: themes of sex/smut but nothing too graphic, hannibal's half truths and lies, reader is blind to hannibal's hobbies, they do love each other, hannibal isn't ready yet to reveal his whole self, will prolong this because he kinda wants the reader to stay away from his darkness

You know the exact moment Hannibal’s eyes settle on you from across the room. There is a certain gravity to his gaze that no amount of polite banter or refined charm can hide. You sense it even when he’s smiling benignly at a colleague or glancing at a passing waiter. Your relationship with him has been a series of carefully choreographed dance steps—fluid, hypnotic, and still somehow laced with an undercurrent you can’t quite name.

What you do know is that Hannibal Lecter puts on a facade for others. He presents himself as a well-mannered gentleman, the perfect host and brilliant psychiatrist. There’s an elegance in his every step, a graceful precision that makes you wonder if his entire being is a meticulous composition. You’ve seen him entertain guests in his lavish home, that impeccable façade never faltering. You admire it, even when it disconcerts you.

And yet, you sense something more behind his polished exterior—like smoke curling beneath a locked door. You’ve been close enough to feel the heat but have never glimpsed the flames that feed it. It leaves you in doubt. You’re not naïve; you realize he is a man with secrets. Still, you don’t understand how profoundly they run. You only know that the devotion he shows you—beautiful, patient, and intense—feels real, even if your insecurities whisper otherwise.

Tonight, the firelight in Hannibal’s study paints warm hues against the walls. You sip a drink from an ornate crystal glass as Hannibal’s fingers trace a light path along the nape of your neck. There is no one else in the house; the last guest left hours ago, no doubt charmed by the evening’s tasteful conversation and exquisite meal. You can still feel the buzz from the wine, or perhaps it’s from the press of Hannibal’s body close to yours.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks, voice carrying its usual gentle confidence.

You tilt your head, leaning slightly back so you can see his face. His eyes skim over you carefully, always reading and analyzing, though you know he’d never say it so plainly. “You,” you admit softly. “I can’t always tell when you’re being genuine. You have this…way about you.”

His expression doesn’t flicker; Hannibal’s composure is as still as a sculpture. “In what way?”

You hesitate. “I know how you are with other people. It’s like you put on a mask. I just—” You swallow the lump in your throat. “Sometimes I’m afraid that mask is there when we’re together, too.”

He moves behind you with such grace you barely sense the shift. His hand drifts from your shoulder to the small of your back, fingertips ghosting along your shirt’s fabric. You exhale shakily, aware of his presence more than ever. Hannibal’s voice resonates in your ear, low and sure. “I would never insult you by offering anything but my truth. Perhaps my truth is simply more guarded than most.”

He turns you by the shoulders to face him. The proximity makes your breath catch. “I do wear masks,” he confesses, “but only so that I can navigate a world that might not appreciate the depths of my true self.”

It’s a strange, cryptic admission. Part of you wants to probe further, to question him about what he truly means. Another part is appeased by the sincerity in his gaze, the gentleness of his voice, the way his hands settle on your hips.

Before you can formulate a response, Hannibal’s mouth brushes over yours. The kiss begins soft—testing, almost cautious. It’s as though he wants to ensure you accept him, which you do without hesitation. Your arms slide around his waist, drawing him in closer, wanting that reassurance that he is here, truly with you in this moment. He tastes of fine wine and the lingering spices from dinner. Each movement of his lips is smooth, meticulous, yet surging with an undercurrent of passion. Hannibal is skillful at everything, and kissing is no exception. Your head reels, heart pounding in your chest. For this small window of time, you are the only person in his universe.

Your insecurities fade ever so slightly, replaced by a warmth that starts in your chest and flows through your veins. His lips move along your jaw, pressing small, heated kisses down to your neck. His hands slide beneath your shirt, palms ghosting across your skin in a way that sends shivers rippling through you.

He whispers your name, soft and reverent, against your throat. You lean into the sound as though it might slip away if you don’t hold on tight. “Come with me,” he murmurs. It’s not a request; it’s a promise. He takes your hand and leads you down the darkened hallway to his bedroom, a space usually locked from the prying eyes of visitors. The door closes behind you with a quiet click, and the rest of the world disappears.

Your breaths mingle in the dim light as Hannibal slips out of his jacket, hanging it neatly. Everything he does is methodical, a routine so practiced it’s almost ritualistic. You begin to unbutton your shirt, but his fingers stop you. He looks at you, and for a fleeting second, the mask he wears for everyone else seems to vanish entirely.

“We can shed more than our clothes tonight,” he says, voice laced with meaning. “If you’d allow me.”

You swallow, unsure whether that statement should comfort or unnerve you—but something inside you wants more. You nod, letting him take the lead. His hands are gentle but firm as he undoes each button of your shirt. You watch his face; for the first time, you catch the glimmer of something undeniably fervent in his eyes. It’s an unsettling intensity, yet you feel no fear—only fascination, arousal, and a sense of being deeply wanted.

He slides your shirt off and leans in to kiss you again. Slowly, languidly, Hannibal makes sure every inch of you is kissed, touched, worshipped. His mouth travels down your chest, pressing reverent kisses along your skin. You’re guided onto the bed in a graceful dance: Hannibal’s arms cradle you, preventing any graceless stumble.

Beneath him, you can’t help but arch your body upward, craving any ounce of contact he’ll spare. When his hand slips beneath your waistband, the sharp inhale you take betrays your excitement. His fingers brush the sensitive skin there, and you gasp at the electric spark.

He is thorough—everything with Hannibal is thorough, from the care he takes with each article of clothing to the methodical way he traces over your skin. In his eyes, you see desire, yes, but also something that looks alarmingly like possession. A part of you wonders if you should be afraid of that fierce devotion. Another part finds it dizzyingly irresistible.

Hannibal kisses you deeply, swallowing your soft moans, his own breathing labored and intense. The space between your bodies narrows with every shift of his hips, until there is nothing but heat and friction. You cling to him, nails lightly digging into his back as he angles himself in a way that sends delicious sparks coursing through your core. There is no doubt about his passion—his unspoken devotion. With each thrust of his body, each exhalation of your name, he offers wordless proof that, here in this moment, you and he are the only reality.

When release finally comes, it washes over you in a shuddering wave, your lips parted in a silent cry against his shoulder. You feel his grip on you tighten, as if he’d fuse your bodies together if he could. His own climax follows, and for a few long, breathtaking moments, you can feel the steady hammer of his heart racing as wildly as yours.

The room is dark and quiet. Your breaths gradually even out, and your limbs feel pleasantly heavy under the silky sheets. Hannibal presses a tender kiss to your forehead before sliding away just enough to meet your gaze. There’s a charged silence, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside. You turn on your side to face him. Your mind stirs with questions—about him, about the future, about the masks he wears for the rest of the world.

Hannibal studies your features, a peculiar softness in his expression. “You have always seen more than most,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Yet you do not run. For that, I am grateful.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he raises a hand to gently cup your cheek.

“I will not ask for your blind trust. That would be unfair.” He sighs, a small, almost weary sound. “My nature is complex. But you must believe me when I say my feelings for you are entirely real. I would sooner do harm to myself than allow harm to come to you.”

His intensity stirs something deep within you. Part of you is still in the dark about what lies at the core of Hannibal’s being. But you see nothing but sincerity in his eyes. You remember the evenings spent in quiet companionship, the affectionate gestures he bestows with careful intention, and the unwavering attention he grants you in crowded rooms. You nestle closer to him, pressing your body against the warmth of his. You choose to believe in his words—for tonight, at least. You will let yourself feel assured that his devotion is genuine, even if it’s wrapped in the many layers of a man who is far from ordinary.

As Hannibal slides an arm around your waist and pulls you closer, you rest your head against his chest. The steady beat of his heart lulls you into a sense of peace. With each breath, you begin to let go of the nagging doubts. In the end, you decide, whatever mask Hannibal wears for others, the version of him in your arms feels achingly real. And for now that is enough.

[chrrybbmb]

SWAN SONG ( TEASER )

STARRING ... DANCE TEACHER!M. YOONGI X BALLERINA!READER

WORD COUNT ... 0.7K

SUMMARY ... noun. swansong: the final performance or activity of a person's career.

yoongi believes that a dance teacher has three purposes.

1) to preserve and innovate the art of dance.

2) to build discipline and confidence.

3) to ensure nothing but perfection.

the third purpose takes priority over the top two. the beauty of dance is lost entirely if performed by an ugly duckling with two left feet and no sense of rhythm. being a dancer was sacred, and mistakes were blasphemy.

failure is unacceptable. a dancer who stumbles is a disgrace. a dancer who hesitates is an insult. a dancer who fails to meet the standard is not a dancer at all. there is no room for weakness, no patience for imperfection.

perfection is not a goal; it is a requirement. those who cannot achieve it must leave. those who refuse to push themselves must be pushed out. a dancer must be weightless, effortless, untouchable. anything less is embarrassing.

yoongi does not tolerate embarrassment.

yoongi’s own professional career had come to an end after he married his then-dance partner. a publicity stunt. he told the public it was love. in reality, he knocked her up.

marriage ruined him. not because he cared for her, but because it made him weak. a dancer with responsibilities is a dancer with distractions. a dancer with distractions is useless. his technique wavered. his endurance declined. he could still move, still command a stage, but not the way he once did. not the way he demanded of himself.

so he quit. before the critics could say what he already knew. before his name became synonymous with failure. he stepped off the stage, off the floor, and into a new role. teaching. training. breaking others down before they could break themselves.

perfection had slipped through his fingers. he would make sure it never slipped through anyone else’s.

yoongi thinks maybe that's why he's so fascinated with you.

the deer in headlights type, never congregating with the rest of the class. always hiding off in a corner, practicing your technique, watching yoongi teach with wide eyes and parted lips.

you weren't what yoongi envisioned when he thought of a dancer, but yet he still finds a bit of himself reflected within you.

yoongi doesn’t like contradictions, but you are one. unpolished, hesitant, yet relentless in your pursuit of something just out of reach. he sees it in the way you move—tight shoulders, shaky landings, the kind of stiffness that comes from fear rather than lack of ability.

but he also sees the way you watch. the way you dissect every movement, every correction, as if memorizing them will make up for what your body refuses to do.

it reminds him of himself. not the him that graced stages with effortless control, but the him that came before. the one who pushed through bleeding feet and bruised ribs because stopping was never an option. the one who wanted, desperately, to be more.

and maybe that’s why he hasn’t told you to leave.

because every time he looks at you, he wonders if you’ll prove him wrong.

yoongi doesn’t hand out second chances. he doesn’t waste time on lost causes. but with you, he hesitates.

you’re not the best in the class. you’re not even close. your turns lack precision, your extensions lack confidence, and your footwork is just a little too slow. but you don’t quit. you stay late, repeating the same movements long after the others have left. you take his critiques without flinching, without excuses, nodding like each correction is a gift rather than a condemnation.

it’s infuriating.

because you should have broken by now. you should have crumbled under the weight of his expectations like so many before you. but you don’t.

and worse—yoongi keeps watching.

he watches the way your fingers twitch at your sides, the way your lips press together when you concentrate, the way your chest rises and falls after a particularly grueling sequence. he watches, and against his better judgment, against everything he’s ever believed, he starts to wonder—

maybe perfection isn’t the only thing that matters.

[yandereunsolved]

𑂅 ❊ Yandere Omega Kieran Duffy (RDR2) ❊ 𑂅

It wasn't often that Kieran was brave enough to step into your space, breathe near you—or even exist, quite frankly. Despite holding far beyond platonic feelings towards you, he always runs. Skittish. More towards you than any of the others.

He wonders...

Can you sense his heart skipping beats when he dares to take in your beauty?

Do you recognize the thickening of his scent whenever you address him… or when he hears your voice?

Are the pathetic sounds that escape him when you're around not enough of a hint?

He needs you. Need, needs you. Like every moment you're apart, he can feel his dumb bunny brain telling him to run towards you. To let you latch onto him with your fangs. To let you own him. Because he deserves it.

And now, for once, he's doing something about it.

Some of your most treasured cloth items are now in his possession. And he has no intent on giving them back unless you make him―and he would love it if you did. It's shameful how much solace they bring him. They are the ones he managed to steal before they were washed. They still smell like you. All of you. And they're a wonderful addition to his makeshift den.

His nose twitches gently as your scent wafts into it. His mouth waters. He stuffs his face deeper into his sacred pile. His cheeks flush at the simulation, a sense of belonging enveloping him.

His sandy, sepia-dappled, fluffy ears stand at attention. sensing something.

"Kieran."

His body instinctually freezes at the sound of your voice.

Words tumble from his quivering lips before he can process them, "I-I... I swear it isn't what it looks like!"

His head whips around; immediate regret sinks into his fur, down to his dick. You're displeased and ready to hunt. Your ears are at attention. Your bottle brush tail is swinging behind you. It's mesmerizing. Your scent is pungent, causing his nose and tail to involuntarily twitch. It's something out of one of his wet dreams.

"Then what does it look like?" You seethe. You bare your fangs, reveling in how Kieran sinks back into his nest of your things.

"Because to me it looks like a little rabbit has been stealing all my damn clothes so he can get off on them."

Oh. This is so much better than a dream.

"No...? So anyways―nice weather we're having. Hehe."

He looks up at you with that faux innocence. His legs spread open like he's in heat. You step into his space, tilting your head to the side, observing him―determining the best way to handle him.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't snap your neck and leave your carcess at Dutch's feet."

Too many reasons.

But if that were his fate, he'd happily accept it.

He scrambles for a good answer, scent thickening, wishing his tongue could be of better use to you.

"Having an Omega would boost your status within the gang, right? And I can be good. I've been good before!" Each word is accompanied with a soft stutter that you can't help but find cute.

"Beg for it."

Kieran's heart nearly stops beating. 'This is the opportunity I have been waiting for.'

"I want to be yours. Your Omega. Your bunny. Your Kieran. And I'll do anything to be just that―as long as I'm your only one... please?"

You pounce on him without warning, shoving him into the ground; one hand holding a fistful of his shirt while the other leaves feather-light touches along his ears. Something about his words―his cadence. It awakened something inside of you.

"And what would you do if I got another? Hmm? If I found an Omega who better suited my needs."

You nip at his neck, near his common carotid artery. He lets out noises that spur you on. He seems into it. Too into it. Naughty little bunny.

"Kill them, naturally," he responds without hesitation. His body stiffening for a moment.

"Oh, ho, ho. Look at my Omega finally growing some teeth of his own."

He purrs with adoration, trying to push himself further into you so you can scent him.

"Teeth or not. I'd let myself be slaughtered if it pleased you."

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

PART TWO TO THE CLIFF'S SISTER THING PLEASEEEEEEEEEEE

A/n: Idk what else would happen in the second part, I hope soft smut is ok 😬

Warnings: Mostly fluff, light smut, grinding, fingering (f receiving), mentions of masturbation, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Part 1

A week had passed since Cliff's birthday, James never left, you didn't want him to. After he kissed you, his warm lips against yours when you were at your lowest, everything felt better.

Maybe it was a temporary fix, maybe Cliff was pulling his hair out from the heavens above, but you got better. Showering became a regular occurrence again, you didn't wear Cliff's clothes as often.

Most importantly, you got back into playing bass. You swore it started raining every time, hard, thunder and lightning, the whole thing.

James didn't leave your side, he held you at night, he went out for breakfast with you, cooked with you. Very rarely were you apart, maybe it was a bad thing, a sign you needed more help, but even a temporary fix was better than nothing.

You'd just gotten out of the shower and were brushing your hair as you came into your room, finding James already splayed out in bed waiting for you. He smiled at you, eyeing you in your towel. You rolled your eyes at him, not needing him to say a word to know what he was thinking.

You went to the closet, looking through your clothes and tossing a shirt along with a pair of shorts to the ground. "You don't really have to put those on, do ya?" James asked, sitting up in bed, eyes never leaving your figure. You gave him a look and turned your back to him, closing the closet door and bending over to pick up your shirt. "Might as well just drop the towel." James teased, though he was looking away out of respect.

You thought about it for a moment before dropping the cloth. James's eyes widened, cheeks heating up at the sight of you, even if you still had your back to him. "I don't really need clothes, do I?" You teased.

"Yes! Yes, you do, you-you really..." He trailed, gaze wandering back to you before he snapped his head back away. "You do, you definitely, definitely do." You giggled and got your clothes on before crawling into bed next to him. Your bed wasn't especially small, you didn't have to touch each other, but it was more comfortable to curl up to him.

James got comfortable with you, laying on his side and wrapping his arms around you. He kissed your forehead, sending a little jolt to your gut.

You laid curled up against him, listening to his heartbeat in the silence that fell across the room. "We should go on a date." James said abruptly.

You raised your brows and looked up at him. "A date?" You repeated. "Haven't we gone on one?"

James made a face and shook his head. "We haven't left the house." He said with a small shrug, a thought crossing his mind and concern started spreading over his features. "When, uh, when was the last time you left the house?" He asked, voice low so as to not come across too accusatorily.

You thought for a long few moments before finally answering. "A month, maybe... I never really left the house before Cliff died, I'm pretty sure it was grocery shopping." James listened, nodding along. He knew you were never exactly extroverted, he was surprised it had only been a month, and it made sense in September, but it was November now.

James exhaled softly and smiled warmly down at you. "So, a date, then? Just, like, a lunch, or something." You chewed your cheek, mentally debating it. You didn't want to say no, you wanted to go, but you didn't know if you could bring yourself to leave the house.

James saw your hesitation and knew what was going through your head, he wasn't as oblivious as people thought. "How about this, we say yes, and tomorrow you'll get all pretty and we'll go, BUT, and this is only, like, a backup plan, but we don't have to go, alright? No one's making you do anything."

It was a reasonable enough plan, you were going until you couldn't, it would work. Right?

You agreed and pecked his lips. Of course he chased the kissed, wanting more and more until your breathing was heavy and you were tugging on his hair.

James pulled you on top of him, his arms wrapping around you. His hands ran up and down your sides, grabbing your ass through your shorts. A soft groan left you as your hips bucked against him, rubbing on his hard on through his boxers.

"James-!" You gasped, pulling away a bit.

James's arms tightened around you. "Shh, shh, it's fine, just keep going." He encouraged, adjusting your position so your clothed cunt was pressed against his thigh, clit catching on the fabric of your shorts. "First date, first day outside together... we can have more firsts." He mused, pecking your cheek. "C'mere." He pulled you back down, letting you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

His hands went down to your hips, guiding you against his thigh. Low groans left him, your little thrust bumping his cock, it wasn't enough to make him cum but that wasn't his priority right now. He listened to your muffled whines, the little sounds you were making only adding to his arousal.

He made you feel so small, not in a negative way. He made you feel safe, protected, like nothing could get to you. James was bigger than you, taller, stronger, he wasn't one for fights but he was big enough that most people didn't even bother.

You'd never left the house with him, but you'd seen how people treat him. You knew what it felt like to be with him. "Jamie..." You muttered, lifting yourself up the best you could to look at him.

He smiled up at you, loving your reactions to grinding on him, your eyes filled with a desperation, pouty lips parted slightly. "You're doing so good, sweetheart, just keep going." He mused, hand slipping further down your body, dipping into your shorts.

He gave your ass a quick squeeze before the tip of his middle finger teased your hole. You gasped softly and he pushed it further in. "Keep going." His voice was low but firm, he didn't move his hand, letting you fuck yourself on it.

Your whines got needier and louder, a knot building in your gut. His name was the only thing filling your mouth, coming out in moans like a sultry mantra. The knot tightened before finally snapping and you were left a twitching mess on top of him.

James littered kisses all over your face, pulling his finger out of you as he did so. "You did so good, sweetheart, did so good for me." He purred. "Tired now, right?" He asked, letting you slide off of him when you nodded.

You laid by the wall, you preferred it because it let you sleep facing the wall while still feeling safe, James pressed firmly against your back, his arms wrapped around you.

This time you felt his cock against your ass. "You-you can keep going..." You muttered, out of breath.

James chuckled softly and shook his head, kissing the back of your back. "No, I'm staying until you fall asleep."

You looked back at him over your shoulder, eyes fluttering. "Until I fall asleep? Do you always wait until I fall asleep?" You asked, hoping against all odds he'd say no. How could he just leave you? He helped you fall asleep and then he just ditched?

"No, of course not." You let out the breath you'd been holding, relaxing more. "I'll stay until you fall asleep then I'll go to the bathroom, I'll be gone two, three minutes tops." He assured, placing more kisses along your neck and shoulder. "Sweetheart..." He spoke, waiting a moment before repeating himself. "Sweetheart?" He leaned over you seeing your relaxed expression, sleeping.

James kissed your cheek, despite saying he would leave he stayed put, making sure you weren't waking up before discretely making his way to the bathroom.

The next morning you went about your plan, smiling more than usual while he watched you do your makeup. It's not that you stopped smiling after Cliff, well, for a while you did, September would never be the same... maybe you did stop smiling and didn't want to believe it.

James didn't let go of you, always touching you in one way or another through dressing and breakfast, giving his opinions and encouraging you the whole way through, even going as far as tying your shoes for you.

The front door opened to a light drizzle, James's hand on your hip and he kissed your cheek. You leaned against him and he led you to his car which was still parked down the street.

The rain didn't let up, a low thunder rumbling in the sky.

Cliff approved.

[bitchinbarzal]

We’re a team | J Middleton

summary: your five year old has a genius plan to get her parents back together.

-

You weren’t sure when the shift had happened, but things with Jake had become tense. It wasn’t just the natural awkwardness of co-parenting with your ex—the man you’d once envisioned forever with—but something deeper.

It started subtly. Jake showing up to drop Jade off with a frown, responding to your polite questions with clipped answers. You figured it was hockey stress or exhaustion from travel, but then you noticed it was mutual. You’d catch yourself rolling your eyes at his texts, your patience wearing thin whenever he questioned something about Jade’s schedule.

And then there were the accusations.

“You don’t think I should be spending as much time with her?” he had snapped one evening as you tried to wrangle Jade into her jacket.

You blinked “What? I never said that”

“Jade told me you think she should be with you more. That I’m too busy with hockey to be a proper dad”

Your stomach dropped “Jake, I would never say that”

“Well, she didn’t pull it out of thin air” he shot back, the hurt clear in his eyes.

It had spiraled from there. The next week, you picked Jade up and she asked “Mommy, why don’t you want Daddy to have a girlfriend?”

You nearly choked “Excuse me?”

“Daddy said you got really mad that he was dating someone” she continued, swinging her legs happily.

Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel “When did I say that?”

Jade shrugged “You just did”

You tried to brush it off, but irritation simmered in your chest. And when you saw Jake at drop-off the next day, you didn’t hesitate.

“I don’t care who you date” you told him, your tone sharper than you intended.

Jake’s brows furrowed “What?”

“I don’t know what you’ve been telling Jade, but she said—”

“I didn’t say anything to her!” he interjected, throwing his hands up “She told me you were the one saying stuff about me!”

The argument escalated, voices rising in the entryway as Jade sat quietly in the middle, her head ducked.

Finally, you sighed, rubbing your temples “What is going on?”

And then, a small voice broke through the tension.

“I lied”

Both of your heads whipped toward Jade.

She looked down at her hands, swinging her little legs “I lied” she repeated softly “I just… I wanted you and Daddy to like each other again”

Silence.

Jake knelt in front of her “Baby, what do you mean?”

Jade sniffled “You don’t laugh with each other anymore. You don’t hug. I thought… if you got mad, then maybe you’d talk more. And then you’d want to be together again”

Your heart clenched.

You crouched beside Jake “Oh, sweetheart” you murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Jake’s expression was pained as he cupped the back of Jade’s head “You don’t have to do that, okay? Mommy and I both love you so much. We’re always going to be a team for you, even if we aren’t together anymore”

Jade sniffled “But I miss you both”

Jake glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression. It had been so easy to focus on the friction between you two, but in doing so, you’d missed the way it affected Jade.

You took a deep breath, softening “We’ll work on being better, okay?”

Jade hesitated, then nodded.

Jake shot you a look, a silent agreement passing between you.

That night, after tucking Jade in, you lingered at the door “Maybe we can be better about this” you admitted “Less fighting. More talking”

Jake exhaled, running a hand through his hair “Yeah. I’d like that”

And for the first time in a long time, the tension felt like something you could mend.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Mame is fielding one of my favorite shows, what is the world coming to?

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

(This was gonna be ready yesterday and then I realized I'd missed 2. Sigh. I'm doing well.)

Feb 2025 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

ThamePo (Fri YT) ep 10 of 12 - SHUT UP. I love them more than anything. I love how nervous and hesitant Thame was the next morning. Def the younger boy who bagged the experienced older dude. This show makes me go “aww” a lot. I do hate this part of the plot though. Because I loathe parasocial fandoms with every fiber of my being and this is why.

The Boy Next World (Sun IQIYI) ep 6 of 10 - The plot has gone wildly off the rails, like into Days of Our Lives waffle iron territory. It is utterly absurd. But I'm still watching it.

The Heart Killers (Weds Gaga) ep 12 end - I love Style so much. The perfect Brat but he is playing Petruchio not the shrew! Ironic and very kinky twist on the original. I also love how most BLs are like “we’re gonna separate them for 2-5 years in the final ep” and Kant & Style were all “fuck that noise.” 

Summary

Jojo directs this action romcom about assassin brothers (Khao & Joong) meets tattoo artist ex-booster (First) and very flirty mechanic (Dunk) conmen. I dithered over how to rate this. It felt like an 8 show wearing a 9’s britches. There were dropped threads, forgotten characters, and unfinished plot lines even with a particularly long run time. And, for me, it doesn’t have significant rewatch potential. But it was fun (when one applies no expectations or logic) and I enjoyed the wildly unhinged relationships and, weirdly, music. I mean nobody claimed that we needed Taming of the Shrew only with gay Thai hitman, but we really needed it. And no one asked for Petruchio as the gayest brat ever to strut his perfect skin and copped-top across our screen, and yet we loved him for it. Sure it didn’t make sense, was utterly absurd, but it was terribly earnest and sexy about it. IN the end this goes hand-in-hand with all these other absurd crime pieces we’ve been getting since KP, and frankly I like this one the best from Thailand so far. 9/10 but I’m slightly uncomfortable with that decision.

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 16 of 24 - It’s cute. They were cute. I enjoyed it. But I am still mostly just looking forward to the next couple.

Sangmin Dinneaw (Sun iQIYI) ep 7-8 end - I forgot to watch this one for over a week, goes to show how engaged I am. Anygay, ep 7 amnesia trope is ago. A lot the ep was fuss in hospitals so I went ahead and watched the finale as well. It was fine.

Conclusion

Given its charmingly simple premise and a solid lead pair, this could’ve been quite an tidy little BL, but it went all weird and slapstick and overtly sexual (and I enjoy high heat). It was a little bit like YYY meets modern Thai BL but mixed with early Japanese pinks. All very strange. I ended up being half bored half annoyed half confused half embarrassed. And if that’s too many halves for you, now you know how I felt. 5/10 

Flirt Milk (Sat YT) ep 4 or 10 - Umm plot? Where are you?

Ossan‘s Love Thailand (Mon YouTube) ep 6 of 12 - Workplace harassment, form of... Thai BL. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

When it Rains it Pours (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 10 - Is the live-in boyfriend meant to be perceived as a psychopath or just a controlling monster? I love how blunt Sei was with him. Such and honest little bean. Ah, controlling monster.  Well, I really hope they can resolve this in the final episode. Despite all of the pain I’m enjoying it, it's being true to itself.

This is JBL doing its thing and toeing the Tokyo in April party line. I don't know why anyone would expect anything different. Go watch Eternal Yesterday and drink me later. This is what Japan DOES with BL at least half the time. The more JBL we get, the more of this kind of show we get with it. It's a numbers game - just add bruises.

Heart Stain (Korea Weds IQIYI) eps 3-4 of 8 - I have to admit that the only reason I even tolerate love triangles as a trope is because of K-dramas. But I still don’t like it. That said, I do like all of the honesty and conflict that's built into this story and frankly dealt with because of the trope. And I love how massive Woohyeon is so baby girl. The lap sitting was extremely cute. The teacher finding them lap sitting was also cute. And the handhold drag afterwards was cutest. The whole scene was adorable. 

FC Soldout (Korea Thurs iQIYI) eps 5-6 of 8 - Tiny idiots. Every. Single. One. (@heretherebedork you must be loving these boys.) Give me a sec to talk to a character: Captain. Sweetcheeks. You know there are better ways to exhaust your adorable boy-toy late at night than forcing him to do physical labor, right? Or, at least, not that kind of physical labor.

Eternal Butler (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 9 of 12 - Oooo. emotional Ever 4. Poor baby. I did want to see him kick ass. Hopefully that’s the beginning of next week’s episode. 

Impression of Youth (Taiwan Weds Viki) eps 6 of 9 - Very little happened in this episode. Lots of flashbacks. And stuff we’ve already seen.

Fight for Love (Vietnam YT) ep 2 - Ooo 2 timing? Coils within coils, tongues within tongues, my goodness these boys are getting around. It’s all very messy gay drama llama ding dong but... comedy. It’s a new one on me. But sooner that than Thailand’s Only Friends version.

Exclusive Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 1-2 of 12 - Shy aspiring singer inherits funeral business. Nice to have something more from Taiwan to watch. But this is extremely odd, and somewhat extreme behavior, given the premise. That is a lot of personnel and sunglasses just for one guitar-playing influencer. Even if I agree that he shouldn’t be allowed to play. Surreal that it’s a mafia funeral business, although I suppose it makes sense. It’s not creepy, but the creep-factor is high with this show. It's also v thirsty already. I kind of like the sides, but they seem to be in a different BL. So far, mostly whiplash but I'm not mad about it.

Checkered Shirt (Korea YT) ep 2 of 8 - It remains awkward and cute, but a little boring for a short. 

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 19 of 20 - Today in: how to tell your suicidal stepbro you wanna d**k him out. 

It's airing but......

Gelboys (Thai Weds iQIYI) ep 1 of 7 - I’m immediately terrified by the fact that he’s carrying a guitar around. It’s slow with that dirty gritty high school authenticity thing from OG Love Sick. Which is not my favorite style of any show, let alone BL. I always get Kids PTSD. I think I’m gonna give this show a pass. It’s just too far out of my wheelhouse. I don’t have patience for this right now.

The Last Time (Thai WeTV) trailer - from 2024, not sure about this one, looks dark. Since it's also difficult for me to get hold of I am giving it a pass until I know about the ending.

Speaking of which...

In Case You Missed it

I Will Turn Back Time (China Gaga) 6 eps - Spies report it does not end well. Stepbrothers trope = yeah! but all other messaging = boo. I'm not gonna bother.

End of year wraps are here!

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MY BEST & WORST BLs of 2024

Best Kisses (and sex scenes) of 2024

BL's 2024 Quirky Awards

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Next Week Looks Like This:

2/21 Bali Hai (Thailand ????) no MDL listing, only rumors, unsure on deets.

2/27 Secret Relationships (Korea iQIYI) - Stars Wei's Kim Jun Seo. Adapted by Cradle Studio (Kakao). About clever and resourceful Daon who has worked hard to overcome being poor. His cheap ways annoy his coworker, Sunghyeon but after “an incident” with his parents, Daon grows closer to him. But Daon also has feelings for his former tutor. This has the signs of a classic Kdrama all over it: Office setting, love triangle, lead suffering for his self-actualization. I’m optimistic about a longer treatment.

2025 Line Up

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BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Got nothing. Frankly you're lucky this came in a somewhat timely manner, with any screen caps at all. It's chaos 'round these parts.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[jynmelshian]

the thing about melshian is that melshi comes across as a very serious, loyal, devoted person who sets his eye on something he wants and does anything he can to get it — unless he knows for sure that he can't. he needs confirmation, or hope, that what he wants is achievable, otherwise he won't even try. hence how he's so adamant to tell cassian that there's no hope of escaping. he's 100% sure there's no point in thinking about it, so he wants to make sure no one else is wasting their time with it. and then this changes when cassian flips the whole operation round on its head and shows him that there IS a way out, there IS a reason to hope. and then melshi shows no hesitation in helping with the escape plan and fighting his way out. he seems to me like someone with quite a one track mind, stubborn but sensible. and then cassian is flighty like this is a core aspect of his character. he doesn't stay in one place, he doesn't stay in one relationship, he's not good at vulnerability, and up until the narkina 5 arc he has run away from every sign that the rebellion IS right and IS his calling and IS the only way to be free. he is deeply loyal to a few select people, but even in those dynamics he finds it hard to commit, and he certainly can't commit to a cause at the beginning of the show. narkina is the first time we see him step up to the mantle, take the reins and fight not only for his own freedom, but for the freedom of everyone around him. before, the acts of rebellion he's taken have been selfishly motivated but also out of loyalty to at least one person: avenging clem as a teenager, and getting money and clearing his name to protect himself and maarva. one could argue that there was still selfish motivations in stirring revolt at narkina, because he wanted to be free and knew that the only way for him to get out would be to take everyone else with him, but i think any potential selfish motivation went out the window when he realised how much he'd need all the help he could get. and it showed that he can be a team player and can be a leader - or at least a stepping stone for other leaders to function and progress the cause.

and who is by his side as he steps into this role? melshi. even with the little glimpse we get into melshi as a man, it's apparent how well they complement each other. the wordless conversations they have, the way cassian's conversations with kino reveal so much about melshi's ideology and the way he expresses himself and what he shares with cassian, it all points to a man of ideals, someone who refuses to conform and maintains his pride and takes shit from no oppressive system. he's untethered because we get no insight into his life outside of narkina, but we understand the level of dedication he shows to the things he cares about, and how he's obviously already fired up and ready to rebel since long before cassian showed up, he just needed a spark. as duncan pow put it, he was waiting for someone like cassian to show up, to show him that someone else does think like him, someone else is not going to stand for how narkina 5 treats them, and that someone is giving melshi permission to stand up. he's sort of the perfect foil for cassian if you think about it. and i do think about it.

and it culminates in the scene on the cliff face: "stop saying that" becomes "tell me they're leaving". if melshi is the no bullshit, won't waste his time on idealism if he doesn't think it's achievable, probably the least optimistic guy but definitely the most headstrong and stubborn, than of course he'd find cassian's constant "they're leaving" at the very least annoying, because he's convinced himself they're going to get caught and he's not going to be able to climb back up. but there's something kind of idealistic about cassian, how he's fundamentally pragmatic but also optimistic, something that's established in the scene where he tells maarva he has enough money for them to "get away". and the loyalty we've only ever seen him show to his family and closest friends on ferrix now extends to his fellow rebel and escapee and manifests as giving hope, and that rubs off on melshi, because how can it not? it actually makes a difference, hearing cassian say they're leaving, even if they're not. it's the hope that counts, and it's the fact that he has someone there as constant reassurance. a constant reminder that he's not in this alone and he no longer needs to hide behind his own rationalisation and pessimism to survive. there really is hope, and cassian is a walking reminder of it.

and to think that they reunite in the rebellion a little way down the line, and die on the same day for the same cause, and it all started in a slave revolt and a prison break and one man giving another man hope. it's a beautiful and underrated dynamic, i think.

[fall0utmind]

Epilogue

Hi guys - it's here

we are done - thank you so much for all the support you have given me - it's invaluable

ao3 here!!

Feedback would be much appreciated - alt ending coming soon

Love you all - Aoif

*6 months later*

It’s cold in Italy; it's unseasonably frosty but dry, at least. Marc steadies himself on the driveway, taking some deep breaths from behind the wheel. He refused a lift from the airport, choosing instead a hire car to ensure a quick escape if it’s needed. Now he’s sitting in the car, trying not to have a panic attack.

He stares up at the imposing building in front of him. The ranch house sits proudly at the edge of the property– all brick and wood with big windows which probably spill the light in during summer. It has changed, from ten years ago. Marc doesn’t know why that shocks him. His hands are shaking.

He cannot fathom what he’s doing here, in Tavullia on a random Monday in January. In a few weeks, he’ll be at the Ducati factory, filming and testing as their newest rider. He thinks he might be insane.

Valentino must have heard him pulling in, the loose scattering of gravel crunching under the wheels. Marc can see movement inside; his heart is beating out of his chest.

Things between him and Vale have been better, since Aragon. It has taken a lot of awkward conversation and a couple of fuck ups to even get to this stage. Marc’s slowly been getting used to the boys, whilst keeping Vale far away from his family (who still haven’t come around). They have been tentatively dating, trying to figure out how to fit into each other’s lives without implosion.

Marc has refused anything more than a couple of low-key dates on race weekends and spending time in Vale’s hotel room. Meeting on non-neutral ground feels like a big step, and now Marc is here, back where it all went so wrong the first time, potentially feeding himself to the lions.

He screws his eyes shut and breathes deeply. Alex will be here at the weekend. They will get through it. He steels himself to unflex his fingers from where they grip the steering wheel. His knuckles are white.

The front door to the house creeps open, Valentino emerging from behind. After all of these years, he still makes Marc slightly breathless. It has been a long time since he’s seen Valentino like this, dressed in a loose hoodie and sweatpants, his socked feet without shoes. Marc climbs out of the car, heading around the back to grab his bag before locking the doors and shuffling forward.

Vale stands on the threshold, looking as unsure as Marc feels - his hands reach forward before pulling back. Marc decides for him, wrapping his arms around Valentino and allowing the older man to pull him in and press his lips to the crown of Marc’s head. Marc smiles into his chest. It is good to know that he is not the only one who is nervous.

When they pull apart, Marc tilts his head towards Valentino and finds soft eyes already watching him, startlingly blue in the morning light. Valentino’s lips twitch upwards as he tilts his head down to brush a kiss against Marc’s mouth.

Valentino takes Marc’s bag before he can protest, lugging it down the hall and setting it down in what Marc assumes is Valentino’s room. There is a bike sitting by the footboard, one of Vale’s. Marc’s breath hitches, the rumours were true then. The sheets look fresh, untouched. The sun filters through the large windows located adjacent to the bed. Valentino shows no signs of hesitance in welcoming Marc into his home. It makes Marc’s heart contract, beating double time at the show of familiarity and trust.

The unease slowly slips off Marc’s shoulders like satin as he relaxes into the space. It’s just the two of them for now. It’s nice, there is a settled kind of peace in the air – a contentedness rolling off both of them. Valentino tugs him around the house, giving him a tour. He never got to this point last time, only saw brief flashes of parts of the house back in 2014. He pushes the memory away and smiles as one of Valentino’s dogs trails curiously behind them, occasionally nudging a wet nose into the back of Marc’s knees.

He could settle here, Marc thinks. The thought catches him off guard and makes him do a double-take. He stares at the gentle slope of Valentino’s shoulders underneath his too-large t-shirt. The way he looks so soft and gentle here. Marc doesn’t realise that he’s stopped, even when he feels the soft brush of fur against his calves as the dog pushes past him. Valentino pauses, looking back over his shoulder. His face is relaxed, his eyes adoring, tinged with concern as he notices Marc has paused.

“Marc, Angelo, what’s wrong?” He says, striding back, cupping his face gently. His gaze tracks over Marc's frame, assessing for hurt or pain, his hand grazing over Marc’s arm.

Over the past 3 months, Valentino has relearned Marc’s body. It was difficult, to come to terms with the chronic pain Marc faces daily. Sometimes, Marc would shuffle into his hotel room, late after a race, his arm stiff by his side, looking dazed and in pain. Every time, Valentino would run a bath and painstakingly massage his arm and shoulder until the pain lessened, kissing away the tears which gathered in Marc’s lash line.

It has been difficult for Marc to allow himself to be looked after; he is learning though. Now, he just smiles, small and closed-lip. He kisses Vale, once, twice.

“Nothing, mi amour. I love you.” He whispers.

Valentino answers with a grin and a soft “I love you too”.

It is worth everything to Marc.

*

Cohabiting with someone you used to hate is odd.

They spend two days in a strange kind of domestic bliss. Their nights are spent wrapped around each other in Vale’s bed, satiated and sleepy. Valentino wakes up every morning to prepare Marc a coffee, just how he likes it, and delivers it with a sweet kiss. In the intervals between cooking or meetings, Valentino wraps his arms around Marc from behind and kisses his forehead softly.

Marc thinks he could get used to domestic bliss.

Valentino whines and complains when Marc asks to use the gym.

(“You’re supposed to be on a break”)

But he sits and watches Marc work out each time without fail, revelling in the way Marc flushes prettily when he catches Vale staring.

(Cardio usually ends up being done in the bedroom).

On Wednesday, Valentino pulls Marc towards the garage to show him the impressive bike selection he keeps. Valentino has spent years (and a lot of money) amassing his collection, including a few of his old MotoGP ones. Marc looks awed, his fingers trailing over handlebars and pausing on the bright ‘46’ of Vale’s 2005 Yamaha. Valentino watches with adoring eyes.

Marc is holding back a million questions, crouching to inspect each machine before moving on to the next. He appears at home among the bikes. Even so, Vale can tell Marc is antsy without one to ride. He desperately wants to appease Marc and show him around the track but also recognises the history here. Marc won't ask to ride, not after last time, and Valentino's pushing won’t go down well.

Valentino pretends to fiddle with a bike, tuning it up a bit, watching as Marc becomes more impatient. He hopes to time it perfectly, waiting until the last minute to ensure the younger man will agree.

“We can ride, if you’d like?” Vale asks quietly.

Marc’s answering grin is wide.

Valentino hurries to pull out the bike he’s been tuning for Marc, unable to contain his excitement. The deep red ‘93’ is already in place.

When he turns back, Marc is half undressed, always so eager. But he has stopped still at the sight of the bike. He inches forward, running his hands across the throttle, a questioning look in his eyes. Valentino laughs uncomfortably, suddenly embarrassed.

“Well, you know- you need it for the weekend. And I was hoping you might need it again a bit more regularly going forward.”

He scratches his neck awkwardly, regretting his decision to be so forward. What if Marc doesn’t want to come back, or it is too much too soon?

Marc nudges against him, drawing Valentino’s attention back to reality. The smaller man pushes onto his tiptoes and presses a kiss to Vale’s lips, effectively wiping out any other thoughts.

“Thank you”, Marc whispers. It’s so painfully honest that it hurts.

Valentino kisses him again.

He brings his hands to Marc’s waist and is momentarily distracted by the bare, warm skin he finds. Of course, Marc is still half undressed. He pulls back to look at Marc shamelessly.

There are miles of tanned skin on display, unblemished other than his arm. Marc’s been somewhere hot over the break, Valentino saw the photos on Instagram. Marc with his friends, shirtless, his built chest and abs on full display as he laughed to the camera, golden sand and the crystal ocean behind him. Valentino is not ashamed to admit that he practically salivated when he saw them. It is no different now, with Marc standing in his garage. He doesn’t think Marc’s beauty will ever get old.  

Marc looks amazing like this, slightly dishevelled, glowing with happiness. Valentino wants to keep him here forever.

He kisses Marc firmly one more time and pushes him in the direction of where their leathers are hanging up side by side.

“Come on, let’s ride” He suggests, knowing that if they don’t go now, Vale will become sidetracked. Marc is all too happy to oblige.

It’s a good day to ride - clear and a little cold, but bright. Marc takes a few laps to settle into the track, evidence that it has been a long time since he was last at the ranch. Guilt churns in Vale’s stomach, maybe if he was kinder, less bitter, that would not be the case. The thought is cast aside soon enough as they’re chasing each other around the track, just like old times. The sound of laughter is loud and bright; it can be heard above the familiar two-stroke engines as they roar around the circuit.

The unbridled joy of riding is only slightly dampened by the undercurrent of fear radiating off Marc. Valentino observes the way his shoulders are slightly hunched, how he holds himself back, just a little, pulling the angle of his bike a smidge more upright than usual. Marc is scared he will fuck it up, push too hard, and send them both toppling into anger and misery once more. Valentino wants to put a stop to it.

He can practically see the memories flashing behind Marc’s eyes and he hits each apex. Vale tries to be a comforting presence, to show Marc that he’s safe. But Marc only fully relaxes when Valentino pulls him into a tight embrace after they finish their first quick laps. After that, they’re off, racing wheel to wheel like they were born to do.

Valentino quickly discovers that he no longer cares when Marc edges him across the line, content to kiss him thoroughly when they pull to stop, wiping any residue of worry off the younger man’s face.

Later, Valentino takes Marc back inside, pushing him towards the shower and grinning when Marc tugs him along too.

He has never been one to deny Marc what he wants.

He nudges the younger man into the bathroom, grabbing two of his fluffiest towels from the warmth of the airing cupboard en route.

By the time Valentino has locked the door Marc is already half out of his clothes, a pretty flush spreading from his cheeks down his chest. Valentino trails his eyes up and down Marc’s body, saliva pooling under his tongue.  

He gently pushes Marc up against the marble-countered sink, the smallest hint of pressure on his hips. Valentino bends down to reach Marc’s lips, making the younger man push up into his touch.

The kiss isn’t gentle, it’s deep and wanting, yearning for more. Valentino pushes his hands under Marc’s legs as he hops to sit fully on the counter, his fingertips searing the soft skin there. In return, Marc wraps strong thighs around Valentino’s waist, grinding up to seek friction. By the time they pull apart, they are both achingly hard.

Valentino regretfully breaks away, leaving Marc panting on his countertop so he can reach into the lavish shower and turn on the taps.

He knew that the ungodly amount of money he spent on this bathroom would be beneficial one day.

Once steam has filled the room, he pulls Marc to his feet, letting the younger man strip off his underwear before pushing him into the warm spray.

Valentino watches for a moment, wondering how he got so lucky, before he too steps out of his clothes. He brackets himself in behind Marc, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s waist as water pours over them. Marc leans into his hold.

Valentino chases a water droplet which rolls down Marc’s neck, sucking a mark lightly onto the juncture of his shoulder as his hands trace patterns onto his hip. Marc’s head falls back, his eyes fluttering as he groans quietly.

Valentino keeps going, following the trail of the water, spinning Marc around and pushing him against the wall. He sinks to his knees, fascinated by the way Marc’s eyes screw shut, his face scrunching. Valentino spends a long time laving his tongue across Marc’s abs, admiring Marc’s reactions as he licks across the younger’s hip bones and bites. Valentino could stay here for years.

(He couldn’t, his knees already hurt)

Marc’s quads tense as Vale sinks his teeth into the delicate flesh, strong muscle bracketing Vale’s head. Marc leans his weight against the wall, slightly boneless as Valentino continues to nibble on the soft skin, sucking until there’s a line of pretty purple bruises from mid-thigh to his groin.

It’s one of Vale’s favourite things to do, leaving blemishes on Marc’s tanned skin, like blots of ink on paper. Staining Marc and making him Vale’s own, after so many years. The added bonus is that Marc is always so pliant when Valentino does it. He goes limp and far away, his eyes dazed when they’re not rolling back in his head. He is reduced to a mess of whining and pleading.

Valentino is not immune.

Marc is above him, his legs shaking and whining as Valentino mouths everywhere but his dick, which is hard against his abs. Precum smears across his stomach, washed away by the spray of warm water sluicing over them.

Valentino takes pity on him, slipping one hand around his thigh and putting his mouth where Marc so desperately wants it. He licks a strip up Marc’s dick, revelling in the way his moans shift up a pitch. Marc releases little hitching breaths as he finally, finally, takes Marc all the way, sucking without hesitation.

Marc’s hands are scrabbling for purchase on the tiles. His moans get louder as he loses himself to the feeling. His brain is mush as he slips into another headspace, floating, the only thoughts are more and Vale. He can’t produce any words apart from Valentino’s name which he whines out. Marc brings a hand to his mouth, trying to stop the needy whines from slipping out.

Valentino taps his hip, “No, no. I want to hear you, Bambino”.

Marc groans, long and low, his hips bucking into the warmth of Vale’s mouth. The older man pins his hips against the wall. Marc’s knees damn near give out as Valentino begins to suck in earnest, laving his tongue over Marc’s head and drinking him down to the hilt.

The only sensations Marc registers are the wet heat around him and the finger biting into his hips. The rest of the world is static.

He’s getting close far too quickly, only spurred on when he looks down and sees the older man looking back up his blue eyes steely, almost engulfed by his blown pupils. Marc tries to gulp down the whimper in the back of his throat, his hips bucking of their own accord. Valentino hums around his dicks before pulling off with a wet pop. He smirks up at Marc.

Valentino loves Marc like this, whining, fucked out, and desperate.

He pulls himself to his feet, ignoring the way his knees pop and protest, instead pushing himself against Marc and kissing him soundly. Marc can taste himself, bitter on Vale’s tongue. He groans pitifully.

Valentino breaks the kiss, only to trail his lips across Marc’s jaw, sucking more bruises into Marc’s neck until there is almost no space left unblemished.

(Marc will pretend to be annoyed later, complaining as he secretly examines the bruises in the mirror, a pleased smile on his face.)

Marc pushes on Vale’s head.

“In me? Please?” he whines.

Valentino chuckles, “Later, Carino. We have no lube”

“I don’t care, fuck me, please Vale” Valentino groans, the temptation rising as Marc pleads.

“No, Tesoro. I don’t want to hurt you. We do it like this for now, okay? Come on Gattino, show me how pretty you are.”

Valentino is quickly learning the best way to get reactions from Marc, to cause the younger man to become dazed and pliant like he is now. He punctuates his request by rolling his hips into Marc, gripping his ass and encouraging him to grind against Vale.

Marc does so readily, rutting them together until he is almost sobbing, squirming under Valentino’s hands. They’re both getting close. Marc makes a glorious sight in his arms, his eye wide and doe-like, his muscles clenching and unclenching as he chases release.

Vale wraps his hand around both of them, gasping at the added friction. He connects their lips again, more panting into each other’s mouths than actually kissing.

“Come on, Bambino, come for me” Valentino whispers, bucking up to chase the pleasure.

In the end, that’s what does it for Marc. He shakes and whines as he comes, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his eyes screwed up. Valentino follows soon after, pushed over the edge by the vision of Marc falling apart.

When he comes back to himself, Valentino gently washes them both, soothing hands against Marc’s body as the younger man drifts. Marc is always quiet afterwards, his head blissfully empty.

Valentino steers Marc out of the shower and deposits him onto the ledge, fetching one of the towels and wrapping it around him, watching the way the younger man curls into warmth. Vale tenderly helps Marc dry, kissing the exposed sections of skin. Once Marc is changed, Valentino focuses on himself, perfunctory, already thinking about what to cook for dinner, considering what Marc likes.

The younger man looks warm and content, wrapped in one of Valentino’s hoodies, too long in the sleeves, clinging more to Marc’s chest and shoulders, where it’s loose on Vale. It settles somewhere inside of Valentino, a place he’s beginning to associate with home.

*

They were right, back in Aragon, it hasn’t been easy, not by any stretch of the imagination. It took Marc two months to feel secure that Vale wouldn’t just up and leave. Even now there are moments when they both tense, waiting for the other to land a blow. Moments where it threatens to blow up in their face, a bated breath when a sharp-edged comment slips out.

Every time though, one of them stops back, unloads the gun, and lowers their fists. They use words now, communicating in soft-spoken apologies and reassuring touches.

“you’re the one who left last time”

“And I said I’m sorry amore”

“Sorry doesn't fix everything, Vale.”

A soft sigh and a light touch on the back followed.

“I know, I know. A sorry does not even begin to cover half of the things I have done. Yet I am still sorry.”

Marc looks away.

“Marc, please”

A sigh, “It is okay. I am just hurting, not angry, just a fresh wound Vale”

Valentino holds him close until it gets better and doesn’t let go, even after.

The childish avoidance from before is gone; hindsight has shown them that was not a good strategy. They still have their squabbles, occasionally digging too far, but it is better now, less vicious.

Still, Marc has to text his mum twice on the first day, just to confirm that they haven’t killed each other yet. His parents were reluctant for him to come to Italy; they are still wary, unwilling to trust Valentino as easily as Marc does, or is learning to. They cannot resist the occasional jab at the older man, comments designed to stir up guilt; Marc is dreading the day that they all have to be in the same room. Alex is just about coming around, albeit reluctantly. For now, he is content to watch on suspiciously, waiting for even a slight slip-up from Vale. Ultimately though, they just want Marc to be happy, and if that is with Vale, so be it.

As Valentino promised, they have taken every second slowly, catching up on everything they’ve missed. Valentino refused to sleep with him until Marc won in Phillip Island. Even then Marc had begged and begged until Valentino laid him carefully onto the bed in his hotel room and took him apart slowly, carefully. Until Marc was drooling into a pillow, crying.

Afterwards, Valentino wrapped him up in his arms and held him until he came back into his body. He had picked Marc up, and washed him in the shower, taking care to press kisses against any part he could reach. He wrapped Marc in a soft fluffy towel and slept next to him until dawn broke on the following day.

It's odd for them, to take it slow when they are so used to 300kph. But it’s good. Different, but good. Soft and unhurried as they have all the time in the world. They both knew if this was going to work, it had to be different. They couldn’t make the same mistakes as before.

They owed it to themselves to at least try.

So now they spend their days in a sort of bubble; a world which other people aren’t privy to – not yet. In this world, Valentino fucks Marc gently on his bed and kisses him breathlessly in the kitchen. He whispers, ‘I love you,’ against Marc’s lips mid-kiss, his neck when they hug, and his hair as the younger man sleeps in his arms. Valentino has a different version of Marc from the rest of humanity - one who is soft, pliant and sweet. He loves both versions of Marc and all of him, so long as they’re his.

*

On Thursday, people begin to arrive for the race.

Marc doesn’t know why he agreed to this plan; he has basically treated himself to an undercurrent of sick nerves in his stomach for the whole day, possibly the weekend. His heart beats faster and louder every time he hears a new car pulling into the drive.

Valentino keeps Marc tucked into his side for as long as he can before he is swept up in the duties of being Valentino Rossi. Marc is embarrassed that by 9 am he is still hiding in the house. By the time Luca finds Marc, he’s a mess.

Intuitively, he knows that he’s safe, but a part of him can’t quite let go of the anxiety.  His therapist warned him that this may happen, his brain playing tricks on him, convincing him that something bad will happen. She said that it stems from what happened last time, their eventual ruin. Marc hates it.

When they eventually have to leave the safety of the house, Marc keeps his chin up, shutting down any hint of nerves or anxiety. Outwardly, he is the picture of calm indifference, inside he’s a mess. His only reassurance is Luca’s presence and the knowledge that Alex will be here soon.

Marc nods at everyone he passes, ignoring the double takes, and pretends that he knows what he’s doing as he casually loiters at the front of the house for Alex. By the time his brother pulls up, Marc is vibrating out of his skin, only relaxing once Alex has gathered him into his arms.

The plan is to act as though Marc and Alex arrived together, so they enter the foyer together, greeted by an enthusiastic Valentino.

 “Marc, Alex. Allora, it is good to see you”

Marc now understands the ungodly number of espressos the older man had this morning. Alex shoots Valentino a sceptical look, bordering on unimpressed. Marc has to disguise his laughter with a cough.

As usual, it is all being filmed; the crew are eager to shove a camera in Marc’s face, their eagle eyes focused on Valentino’s hands trailing Marc’s waist when they stand together. Valentino dutifully points out which bits of merch to sign and where. He is acting more detached than Marc has seen him in a while. It burns, sour and acidic in the back of his throat.

Marc wishes they had talked about this, where they stand and who knows. It didn’t seem important to discuss before now, with too many other things to keep on track of. Marc assumes (hopes) that they can edit anything out as needed.

When the brothers have finished dutifully signing, Valentino signals for the filming to stop, shooing people away. Marc is tugged into a side room. It’s becoming increasingly apparent that Valentino is a bit like a teenager in the way he can’t keep his hands off Marc. He draws the younger man into a kiss, pushing him against the closed door.

Marc groans when he pulls away, changing Valentino’s lips for a second before giving up, his head thunking against the door.

“Oh, come on, my brothers out there” He whines, only pretending to be annoyed at Valentino's constant eagerness. The older man laughs in delight and presses one last kiss to Marc’s lips.

“Sorry Amore, I can’t resist. You just look so beautiful and I do not want you to be nervous, you seem nervous”

“Of course I’m nervous, everyone is staring at me” Marc says flatly

“Ah well, it is probably because your ass looks good”

Before Vale can finish the sentiment, there is a loud knock on the door.

“I can hear you, you know. Please stop”

Valentino smirks, pressing one last kiss to Marc’s cheek before he opens the door and lets them out.

Alex looks mightily unimpressed.

“Now now, baby Marquez, my house, my rules.” Valentino jokes, no heat behind his tone and his eyes dancing with humour. Alex groans.

“Franco is with the boys in the garages, I hear he’s looking forward to seeing you”

The effect is immediate, Alex flushing brightly at Vale’s teasing. It makes Marc cackle. With one last tap low on Marc’s waist, Valentino is gone, back to play the entertainer to his loyal subjects. Marc watches the older man go, before turning toward Alex and dragging him toward the garage.

*

It is strange, Marc thinks, that only days ago, Marc and Vale were here alone, kissing in peaceful moments between riding, training, cooking, and living. Reacquainting with one another and deciphering how to fit into each other’s lives.

There is no peace now.

Whilst Valentino plays the gratuitous host and welcomes every guest, Marc and Alex are left abandoned amongst a sea of people hungry to know why. Marc holds his head high, portraying a sense of disinterest even as he feels a hundred curious eyes on him.

It’s not exactly a secret that Vale and Marc are back on friendly terms, with Valentino being complementary in interviews and talking to Marc in the paddock. But to see Marc at the ranch will be a shock for many. Many more will be upset.

Marc tries to remember whose stupid idea this was. Entering the biggest event Valentino has ever put on right at the start of their relationship. 10 years of the 100k di campioni. Marc Marquez is in attendance.

The headlines practically write themselves.

To make matters worse, they’ve reshuffled the teams. Marc doesn’t know whose idea it was, whether it was Valentino, one of the boys, or someone else entirely. But Valentino was adamant that they had to race together.

Marc wondered whether it was to prevent any issues when one of them beat the other. Even though they were both fine with that, others might talk.

Either way, the team announcement was delayed until it became public knowledge that Marc was in attendance. It is bound to cause a commotion.

Marc guesses that going from enemies to friendly enough to be teammates (by choice) is quite the leap. The sudden reshuffle means that Pecco pairs with Luca, Franky with Alex, and Cele and Marco are together.

Marco muttered something about it being unfair that one of the teams has 17 world championships – Valentino laughed at the time but Marc thinks Bez was being dead serious. He doubts many other people have considered that yet. It’s only a matter of time before they see the two of them on the track and realise it might be slightly unfair. Oh well.

Marc keeps his head down as he drags Alex toward the garage. He tries to swerve around the people he doesn’t want to see, keeping out of the way of cameras. It’s funny really. He knows that he’ll be in the clips anyway, but if he tries to make himself smaller or irrelevant, maybe people will talk less.

(It’s wishful thinking)

Marc lets out a sigh of relief when they make it to where Pecco is chatting with Bez on the threshold of the building.

Releasing Alex’s arm, he greets the boys fondly, ruffling Bez’s hair and clasping hands with Pecco. He has a moment of panic when he belatedly realises that Alex has never really interacted with the boys. He questions whether they will play nice after everything which has happened; especially due to Alex’s protectiveness.

The worry doesn’t last long; they greet Alex kindly, albeit with a little awkwardness. The tension dissolves when Franky approaches, falling instead into boyish teasing as he wraps an arm over Alex’s shoulder. It feels natural, almost easy. Marc exhales, the tight coil in his stomach loosening slightly.  Alex deserves happiness more than anyone he knows; Marc would do anything to keep him content.

The good-natured ribbing continues, but Franky takes it in his stride, simply pressing a kiss to Alex’s cheek and grinning smugly when he flushes. He must be used to it, growing up in this environment with these boys who are almost like family.

Pecco nudges him, subtly so the others don’t notice, content to let them continue to throw childish barbs at one another whilst he accosts Marc.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”, he teases. Marc rolls his eyes, shoving Pecco back lightly.

“Holding down the fort I believe”

Pecco huffs, an amused tilt to his lips.

The boys have taken well to him and Valentino tentatively dating, happily including Marc on race weekends. According to Vale, they have been asking for Marc to train with them at the ranch for months.

Marc feels such a swell of love for his new friends and their acceptance. It is like he has somehow adopted the children Vale has gathered over the years, in an odd way. He knows some of the younger ones admired him when they were growing up, before he and Vale imploded. It has almost come full circle, everything falling so easily into place. If Marc thinks about it, he feels this is a long time coming.

He fits in here - another teacher for the younger ones, someone who understands the pressure of being a champion and being on a bike that doesn’t love you as much as you love it. Someone who knows what it’s like to win, to lose, and to overcome the impossible.

There is a sense of belonging that Marc hasn’t felt in some time.

While the boys mess around, joking and laughing, Marc peaks his head out to look around. Hidden in the alcove of the garage, he scouts the people who are already here. He recognises some familiar faces - riders from the grid, some of the lower leagues, and one or two from different events and classes. It’s quite the lineup.

Marc shelters for as long as he can, unwilling to go out and face the music. He really wishes that he and Valentino had thought of some answers to the inevitable questions before they dived headfirst into this.

Eventually, though, his plan is foiled by Mig, who shuffles them outside, ever the leader in the academy.

“Stop being hermits and go mingle”

 Marc pouts at Mig until the younger man pats his cheek, mocking but not cruel.

“Do not be a baby, you are too old for that.”

It just makes Marc scowl, before he changes tact, going wide-eyed and innocent in the hopes of persuading the younger man to let him stay. He sees the moment Mig clocks onto what he’s doing.

“God, I see why Valentino thinks you're adorable. You have a face like a disgruntled cat, although your puppy eyes are pretty adorable”, he smirks.

Marc gapes at him whilst the others burst into rambunctious laughter.

“Ay, Mig, you were not meant to tell him that” Marco giggles

Luca smiles, “Stop flirting with Vale’s boyfriend, he will get mad, you know what he is like”

The comment confuses Marc, and he frowns. He doesn’t know what Valentino is like. It startles him, the realisation that he has no idea how Vale talks about him.

Pecco throws an arm over his shoulder, grinning as he puts on a high-pitched voice, imitating Vale.

“Allora, stop staring at him”

Cele chips in, also mimicking Vale “Marc’s so perfect. It’s so unfair”

Mig chokes out his impersonation between fits of giggles “I am definitely not jealous but I will kill you if you so much as look at Marc, even though I can’t bring myself to make it more official than the occasional coffee.”

Alex is giggling along, unaware of Franky’s awed face watching him.

Marc doesn’t know how to feel.

Bez nudges him, “We are only taking the piss, it is funny.”

“We have had to put up with the old man pining for too long,” Pecco adds

“Ah well, that is what happens when we get old. A good impression of him though.”

It comes from someone new, not one of the boys. Marc jerks, he knows that voice.

Behind Franky stands Dovi, a wide smile on his face as he observes the group, clearly privy to their previous conversation.

The boys fall silent, their gazes snapping between Marc’s shocked face to Dovi's one of amusement. Luca leaves first, excusing himself and patting Dovi’s shoulder as he goes. The others follow suit, slowly slinking away to give them some privacy.

Marc stares at Dovi in silence, stunned and unsure what to say.

It has been playing on his mind recently, the fear that he might have hurt Dovi. Even though they agreed to remain friends, he feels guilty. Dovi doesn’t deserve that pain, it isn’t fair.

“Hey, none of that. Don’t feel guilty, you two deserve happiness.” Dovi declares, tapping Marc twice on the chin.

Marc grimaces. Dovi laughs; he doesn’t look sad, or annoyed- quite the opposite, Dovi looks like he’s glowing with happiness. In fact, now that Marc thinks about it, squinting at Dovi, he does look unusually happy, less tired, brighter.  

“You’re tanned,” Marc says, changing the topic, suspicious of Dovi’s

Dovi shrugs, “Australia does that to you”

“Australia?” Marc parrots back, unable to hide his confusion.

It’s then that he hears a distinctive accented voice. He lifts his head, searching and sees Casey talking to Pecco a few feet away. His jaw drops.

Casey and Dovi are here and Vale hasn’t said a thing. He cannot begin to fathom why Valentino would invite Dovi after everything between them.  

Marc flicks his gaze back and forth between Casey and Dovi, noting how the latter's cheeks begin to redden. He grins slyly.

“Oh, ohhhhhh. Is this a new thing?” Marc asks. Suddenly a few more things make sense.

Dovi chuckles a little,

“Um, yes. Fairly. After everything that happened, y’know with you and Valentino. I had a lot of thinking to do. As it turns out, Australia is good for that. And maybe I have a type.”

“Oh, and what type is that then?” Marc pushes cheekily; he can’t help the wicked grin that slips onto his face.

“Crazy bastards who look good on motorbikes.” comes the response, not from Dovi but from Valentino who wraps his arms around Marc and rests his chin on his head.

“Hey, don’t talk about my boyfriend like that” Dovi teases.

Casey wanders over and cuffs Valentino on the shoulder in reprimand before he slings his arm over Dovi’s shoulders.

Huh, Marc thinks. He leans back in Valentino, unable to help the way he relaxes.

Looking at Dovi and Casey now, he can see they’re happy, both adoring. It’s sweet. Marc realises that he is genuinely over the moon for them both. Dovi deserves someone simpler, less messy than him. And Casey is the perfect mix of grounded and still a little unhinged.

 Even Valentino seems happy, no longer glaring at Andrea with barely concealed jealousy.

As Casey and Vale begin to bicker, he meets Dovi’s eyes, smiling wide.

Maybe things have a way of working out in the end.

*

Of course, social media blows up when the official VR46 account posts videos of Marc at the ranch. Valentino’s subsequent repost goes viral. Marc is giggling at the insanity as he lays in bed on Friday night, his head pillowed on Valentino’s chest. The boys have clearly taken it as a challenge to see who can break the internet the quickest, posting pictures they have snuck of Marc and Vale from the past three months. None of them are incriminating but if you look hard enough, you can see the softness in Vale’s eyes in every photo.

(Luca unofficially wins with a photo of Valentino and Marc asleep in someone’s motorhome. Not cuddled, but close enough that their hands are touching.)

Marc is still smiling as he falls asleep to the sound of Valentino's heartbeat, their legs entwined.

The weekend continues without a hitch, much to Marc’s relief. He spends most of the time mingling with the boys, sometimes being pulled into conversations with non-MotoGP riders who ask him about Ducati next year. Marc is thankful that no one asks about him and Vale, he doesn’t think they need any more drama.

Luca wins the Americana race for another year running, dominating the field. Marc giggles when Pecco hugs him for just a fraction of a second too long, eliciting whistles from Bez and Mig. The atmosphere is pleasant - laid back rather than overly competitive.

By the time the main race rolls around, Marc is enjoying himself so much that he forgets to be nervous. He has naturally fallen into the rhythm of riding here, watching as Valentino skids through the dirt, approaching the line to hand over to Marc. It’s electric, the roar of the bikes, the screaming crowd, Valentino swerving toward him, a glimpse of wild blue behind the visor.

When Marc takes over, they are already leading. Marc bears down, grinning manically as he hears Pecco hot on his tail. He throws himself into every corner, grasping for the win, catching the bike as it threatens to slip out from underneath him. He skids too hard around one corner, wrangling the bike under control just in time, letting Pecco close in next to him. Good, Marc thinks, a real race.

They fly together through the laps, Marc edging into the lead once more, swinging his leg out for balance, his gaze laser-focused on the racing line. This is his element. He pulls away from Pecco, the speed of his cornering just too much for the younger man to keep pace.

Valentino is there, cheering as Marc thunders over the line, pulling him into a hug as he slows to a stop. The crow roars. Marc beams, flipping his visor up. He desperately wants to kiss Vale, holding himself back from jumping right here and now. He settles for a knowing look shared between them as the others begin to crowd around and celebrate.

Before Marc knows it, they are being shepherded over to where a makeshift podium has been set up. They are awarded their stupid necklaces and champagne as the others watch on.

Marc stands on the top step, gazing up at Valentino next to him.

He sees a God, the man who broke his heart and is now piecing it back together again.

He sees his past, his present, and his future.

Valentino meets his gaze, “Okay, Bambino?”

Marc grins

“Yes. With you, yes – always”

Valentino glances around quickly, and shrugs helplessly, pulling Marc in. Marc laughs, gasping slightly as Vale wraps one arm around his waist and the other around the back of his neck. Marc’s hands come to rest on Valentino’s hips.

“Vale, the cameras” Marc giggles.

Valentino grins, “They can delete it, or not I don’t care. I have the greatest treasure in the world, I don’t mind people knowing that.”

Valentino presses their lips together right there, in front of everyone. Marc beams into it, delighted, there are still purple-red hickeys sitting on his neck and Valentino’s arm around his waist. It feels like home.

Marc deepens the kiss, holding Vale by the roots of his curls. Someone hoots next to them and there is plenty of wolf-whistling from the crowd; Marc can hear Alex laughing.

Fireworks go off behind them. Marc breaks away from Vale, still smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt.

“I love you”

“I love you too, mi amore”

*End*

[doodle-pops]

An old idea started popping back in. What if the elves met their s/o, who is the valar of the underworld? Their s/o technically lives in a completely different realm beneath Arda, where demons and evil spirits reside. There are all kinds of stories about their s/o and how monstrous they are. But when the elves somehow end up falling into a hole that leads to the underworld and meets their s/o. They first appear terrifying, but then their s/o takes a less threatening form and the elves find out their s/o is like the sweetest person in the whole world. Their servants are also like really polite and welcoming, and then turns out that their s/o and their subjects are technically misunderstood and wrongfully feared. Their job is just guarding the evil souls and spirits that enter their realm, keeping them imprisoned. It kinda becomes like a Hades and Persephone situation when they start seeing each other. Their s/o is pretty loving but avoids serving them any food in the underworld because if they ate anything from the underworld then they would become bound to it. Then the valars and the elves' families get involved and order them not to see each other because of their s/o's bad rep. Which of the elves might be stubborn enough to go against those orders and maybe take a bite out of the forbidden fruit so they could be with their s/o in the underworld? And which of the elves would bitterly follow those orders?

A/N: Once again, you strike hard and put the cherry atop the cake with these ideas 🤌. I need to visit your brain for some ideas. Do you take reservations? What days? 😂

Defies all and stays in the Underworld. Loyal, stubborn, and deeply in love, they reject the warnings of others, willingly binding themselves to their s/o by eating the forbidden fruit.

— Fëanor, Celegorm, Amrod, Fingon, Aegnor, Glorfindel, Maeglin, Beleg

Secretly defies orders but doesn't eat the fruit. Too cautious to risk being trapped, they’ll keep seeing their s/o in secret, finding ways to visit without breaking the ultimate rule…

— Maglor, Caranthir, Curufin, Amras, Celebrimbor, Angrod, Gwindor, Elrohir

Torn between love and duty, they desperately want to be with their s/o, but the weight of their responsibilities makes them hesitate…

— Fingolfin, Ecthelion, Rog, Egalmoth, Gil-Galad, Elrond, Elladan, Erestor

Bitterly follow the orders but cannot bring themselves to defy the Valar or their families…

— Turgon, Finarfin, Finrod, Galdor, Thingol

[strangegutz]

I'm curious about Lily. I saw the comic where she said her goodbyes to Eddie. And I understand she's a "black widow" as well. Does she fall in love ever?

(I'm Aro myself, so I kinda related to the pain in the breakup comic. Where you care deeply about this other person, but it just isn't romantic and the proper thing to do is say goodbye if you can't reciprocate.)

Eddie and Lily did love each other, both romantically and just caring deeply for one another. Lily cares deeply about the people she surrounds herself with, and loves men the way an artist loves a muse, but is hard pressed to fall in romantic love with anyone, except for Eddie. Not wanting to admit their feelings until it was already over was just them not being good to each other. Neither of them could see themselves committing to anyone, let alone each other, thus the split. All of the husbands she had were simply part of her work.

I hesitate to fully call Lily aromantic, she certainly doesn't feel lonely being single, though that might be helped by her healthy sex life. She's the kind of lady where if something blossoms, it will, but it's not something she needs to feel fulfilled. Before they reconnect, Lily misses Eddie, but would be equally happy to have him back in her life platonically as she would romantically or sexually. Kinda a simple and complex lady all at the same time!

All that being said, feel free to divorce that comic from anything I've said here, it can live on it's own, and interpret what I've said here as you wish, sexuality and attraction can be seen differently for everyone!