#they're so doomed it hurts

[vmuromuro]

himikochako

sorry guys. this is kinda a rough first post. hi ^^

Have togachako to ruin your soul <3 I've been waiting for this to be animated for so long and I just had to draw smth for the occasion. I love them so much

[logan-lieutenant]

i didn't win the wheel: episode 7 (pt. 1)

[they read the intro cards, it's quite cringe]

Logan: "You know what the honor is..." (tries to gesture)

Alex, interrupting: "Because nothing says Tour de France like mad stats."

Logan (after waiting): "...You get to spin that wheel."

Alex: 😊😊

i know, i know, i start every episode out with The Bit. and this could be a paragraph almost identical to the last intro because at first it looks same-old, same-old: logan is describing the activity like he's reading his own death sentence, alex still has not learned how to play to the audience, they both brighten up a little bit on the **iconic** line. but there are some differences. the body language. the way alex is once again posing so awkwardly so he can face logan. the way he looks right at logan immediately, and then the laugh just sort of tumbles out of him and he can't even keep his head up, and the way logan turns to him and his eyes track the movement of alex curling in down and towards him and then he uses the card to gesture and bring alex back in as it's time to start the game

i was rewatching this moment listening to their voices and their laughter when the thought came to me suddenly: "it's like they're taking care of each other." and i didn't even know how to elaborate on that more but it just felt so right that i had to keep examining it and now it've got it. the thing is, they're both struggling at this point. a lot. logan for obvious reasons, but alex too, very much so. silly season is hitting williams hard. there's rumors of antonelli, rumors of sainz, rumors of a mid-season replacement. on top of that, checo's contract is at this point being both ridiculed and questioned because of his failure to meet the goals, and what are people benchmarking him against? not max, his teammate, but logan. because logan can now outqualify him. and that's not "oh my god look at how well logan's doing!" it's "oh my god look at how absolutely dogshit checo's doing" (the general discourse, not my opinion). even when the williams upgrades make an actual improvement, nobody notices or cares because everybody else makes bigger improvements. and while williams doesn't have the worst pr situation on the grid, ever since australia they've needed some serious image management and that hasn't been attended to enough. jv is publicly and aggressively courting carlos, making outrageous claims about How Well They're Doing, and the longer the team goes while pretending the logan situation doesn't exist, the more aggravated the fans get. the team isn't doing anything to address the growing tension, and they don't have the on-track performance to do the work for them, so who's left carrying such a huge portion of the entire team's image? alex. he's walking on a wire to avoid falling into the absolute shitstorm of william's pr while still supporting and representing the team that's given him a second chance. he has to juggle being compared to logan and outperforming his car and people saying he deserves better and his team principal's fumbling and knowing he could have all this resentment and bitterness and jealousy from logan and that's not there. and because he's already created this image of sunshiney cutesy cuddly cat dad, he can't afford to have a single moment of visible anger or frustration, even though that's literally how racing drivers just are. so in many ways he's completely trapped in multiple situations and he doesn't know what logan's thinking or what anyone else is thinking and he's overwhelmed.

and logan doesn't have anything. no team support, no chance at another team, no certainty about literally any event in his future from the next few years to the next few weeks. his last few moments with alex are starting to feel like a consolation prize, starting to feel even more painful because of how aware he is of the time running out. and logan can see past the disoriented rambling and the hyperactivity and the media personality, he knows alex is overwhelmed. and it's not something they feel they can talk about with each other because they're scared of hurting each other, of driving a wedge between them when every goodbye feels like the last. but here's logan, unable to feign interest, unable to give the camera anything to work with because he's tired and he's bitter and he just wants to stop owing these people. but alex is there, kind of looking like he forgot they were filming today, and logan can't do much but he can do this. he can make alex laugh. he can remind alex that it's fun to be silly, you can make something silly out of this stupidity, that it's okay and the resentment at the whole thing doesn't need to be there and that they're going to get through this and they're actually going to have fun. he turns all the way into alex and watches his reaction, eyes him up and down, and his smile gets a little sadder and a little more mature as he lets alex half-fold towards him because "logan that isn't even funny how am i laughing every single time". and it's become this sort of ritual for them. it's literally just A Bit but it's their way of stepping all the way out of formula fuckup life and into just this little bubble of each other and a game. "okay, we're going to let this go now. we're going to forget that it's stupid and we don't want to be their social media guinea pigs and we're both being mistreated yet expected to deliver performances like we're not. we're just going to forget that and we're going to have fun with each other and it's going to be nice because we can do it together." and even with everything that's happening, logan is the one who initiates that. he flicks the switch for both of them. and alex's laugh is amusement, yeah, but it's also just relief– the beautiful dissociative relief of leaving everything behind for just a little bit. it's gotten to the point where alex visibly waits on that cue. he looks fidgety and frustrated and out of it and like a kid who got dragged to his mom's book club until logan starts even the beginning of the sentence and then he looks over and the smile starts to flit across his face and then the channel changes. logan's carrying them both over the threshold.

[the question is about average speed]

Logan (such a dumbass annoying smile): "Can I answer in miles per hour? I'm kidding ha ha HAA 😎😎😎" *smacks table* "Ah that's funny..."

Alex:

Alex:

Alex a million years later: 😂

ah, we haven't had one of these in a while. logan being a little shit just to annoy alex. alex being so annoyed and then so endeared he basically short-circuits. that was such a stupid joke and even the way he laughed was like "i just made the STUPIDEST joke >:)" it like has the tone of a dad joke but not even that it's just stupid... and he's the only one who laughs. even though it's obviously forced because that's pretty much part of the joke, it's supposed to be so not funny it actually is funny.

and then logan moves on from that and heads straight into thinking-too-hard-about-this mode and alex is processing on internet explorer speed. he laughs first when logan looks over at him with that stupid shit eating "did you hear that STUPID joke i just made" look and then he does the signature blush and look away (seriously we might have heart-eyes piastri and fuck me-eyes leclerc but what about cast-down eyes albon because he literally cannot hold eye contact when he's flustered which is 80% of the time in logan's presence) and then as logan starts musing about the question alex is like– i swear, he's playing logans expression over again in his head. he's tilted in logan's direction, not looking at anything, and i swear to god he's just remember logan's dumb shit-eating smile and thinking about the joke itself and then suddenly he's laughing. and he doesn't mean to and it even sounds unexpected like it's taking the breath out of him and then he literally has to interrupt himself like, "um! sorry!" because it takes him some time to regain his composure. logan crept out of the shadows just long enough to drop a shit joke and now he's huddled back but that moment is sticking way longer in alex's head than it should. bringing himself back to the game and out of his own head/imagination nearly pains him.

(will continue soon but jeez i had a LOT to say!)

[blueberry-tenya]

I think this is the general vibe with Noa & Mae's relationship, considering the Shakespeare inspiration all over the reboots

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

I finally got around to watching the clone wars so here are some Ahsoka and Anakin headcanons that wont leave my brain

They both steal each other's stuff and complain when they catch the other one doing it 

As Anakin’s hair grows longer he finds himself looking for hair wraps or something to push it back 

And he stumbles on Ahsoka's stash he borrows them mostly when she’s off on a mission so she won’t complain 

But she suspects him of doing so cause they’re never in the correct spot he also steals some of her simpler hand wraps when he’s training 

Ahsoka's just as bad tho she’ll steal Anakin’s cloaks and shirts all the time cause for some reason the council failed to give her comfortable clothes  

It all comes to a head when Ahsoka is debriefing the council and Anakin and she stops and goes “Is that my head wrap?” 

The change of topic is so abrupt that no one reacts for a hot second 

And then Anakin goes into full-on defensive mode like “What? No your device must be defective cause this isn’t yours” 

Which Ahsoka calls him out because “Jedi’s don’t lie so just come clean sky guy I know that mine. And are those my kriffing hand wraps?! Take those off you’re gonna mess them up!” 

Anakin is still defending himself and Obi-Wan is stepping in scolding them for using this line for their petty and selfish arguments  

And then Anakin says “Wait snips is that my cloak” “Don’t change the subject just cause you got caught” “No no you can’t talk about getting caught you little hypocrite that’s my cloak!” 

Obi-Wan is still chiming in half-heartedly but he knows better than to stop a full-on argument between those two 

Especially when they’re throwing each other words back at them like “I thought you said I should keep warm” “And I thought you said I need a hair wrap with all this hair” 

The argument only ends cause Windu threatens to hang up the com 

After the debriefing ends Anakin calls Ahsoka back and the argument starts right back up again 

Ahsoka always gets ready with her music playing 

And Anakin in true big brother fashion doesn’t want Ahsoka to know he likes her music so instead he’ll just turn on their version of shazam and stands by the speaker in what he thinks is a normal fashion 

It always goes something like this “Master what are you doing?” “What do you mean snips I’m not doing anything” “Oh so you’re just standing in my doorway with your device on for no reason” “Yep” “Okay when well have fun”

And in bratty little sister fashion she turns off her music and lights and leaves him in the doorway 

Later on she makes a playlist of all his favorite songs and sends a link to it 

All she hears is a grumbled “thank you” from the other room 

Anakin also plays his music out loud sometimes and it took a small amount of time to realize the songs Ahsoka complains about the most are her favorites 

He adds them to their shared playlist and ignores her when she plays those songs more 

Over time they make a lot of joined playlists

Some to work out and train to, some to hype them up before a mission, some to wind down after a mission, some to play when they have nightmares 

It’s something that they both enjoy more than they probably should 

Obi-Wan jokes that some of those playlists will be the death of him 

Ahsoka runs abnormally hot to the point where she could wear shorts in winter and Anakin runs cold enough to be confused for a corpse  

Obi-Wan Padme and Ahsoka all agree that he needs to get checked out cause no way is it healthy to be that cold 

They're both fine in their rooms where Ahsoka can blast the AC and Anakin can turn the heater up as high as he needs 

But the common room is where the bickering happens such as “Jesus snips I didn’t realize we lived on Hoth” or “I’m so sorry master that every room can feel like Mustafar” 

I also know that they both get nightmares like Earth-shaking soul shattering nightmares 

Some where they get abandoned some when they can’t save each other in time and some where they have to kill each other  

Not a lot of words need to be said when Ahsoka wakes Anakin out of a dead sleep with tears in her eyes or when Ahsoka wakes up cause Anakin is checking in on her for the third time that night 

They both just grab as many pillows and blankets as they can carry so they can make the world's best pillow fort 

Obi-Wan has grown accustomed to finding them cuddled up on the floor while the credits of a shitty old movie roll in the background  

When they get older I feel like they unlock the childhood nickname status 

Don't get me wrong snips and sky guy are their normal nicknames and will never go away but those are mostly used when they’re out in public or on the battlefield 

When they’re around people they trust like Obi-Wan and Padme you’ll hear questions like “You good Ani?” or “Be safe Soka”

[atthebell]

the thing to me about the doied stuff, and this is only partially because i hate angst so i wouldn't be that interested in it lingering, is that if it weren't for the entire shitshow that the server had already become and then worsened into, i don't think it would've taken qcellbit very long at all to figure out it wasn't actually roier. i think he would've figured it out pretty damn fast on his own, and then with pepito's help would've really been like "hey, that's not adding up," and would've gotten to the bottom of it immediately. like i'm not trying to be optimistic atp i truly think that would've been solved very quickly and we would've gotten our beautiful reunion.

but because of purgatory in the first place and then cellbit taking breaks and then the reset (where ccs were told not to do lore heavy stuff and then literally weren't able to regardless), we didn't get any of it. cellbit had to shrug off pepito's attempts at pushing him in the right direction because the admins weren't ready for it/wouldn't allow it (and because he and roier both didn't feel up for heavy rp stuff at the time), and roier never got saved and cellbit never came back to the server at all before the final event. so i think it's a bit unfair to be like "cellbit always said he'd recognize an imposter roier and then he didn't!!!!" when in point of fact he literally could not do so within rp. he had to keep his mouth shut and not get suspicious about any differences, and roier himself was barely ever rping anything differently anyway (and said so explicitly). so what we got was a whole lot of nothing, not through either of their faults (and i don't want to blame anyone other than higher ups and broader communication issues for the choices made here).

idk it just rubs me the wrong way when people ignore meta reasons for things when they really are important for this kind of stuff within the narrative. like, it's not cellbit's fault either that his murder arc got cut short and never got a conclusion-- that was directly because of purgatory! despite him being told literally days beforehand that he could keep going with the arc and get to do all the stuff he planned! it's not baghera's fault that her federation experiment stuff got dropped completely!!! it's not antoine or charlie or max or pol's faults that their shit got ruined! it's not any rper's fault that they were not communicated with appropriately/plans were abruptly changed on them and therefore they couldn't execute any of their planned lore. it's where the cards fell, because of decisions out of their control, and that blows and means there's no canonical closure, but that doesn't mean that like. qcellbit canonically failed to recognize someone else in his husband's skin. it just means that cellboier didn't get to do what they had planned (like four times over, tbc, because they had stuff planned before the eggs went missing, before purgatory, before the reset, and then even after the reset) and the story never got to be finished. which is depressing and disappointing but it feels inaccurate to frame the characters themselves as at fault.

[gaytranszoro]

sorry okay im rewatching whole cake w a friend and got obsessed with the vinsmokes this time around okay. sorry. however i am a liker of themes and motifs and doomed characters. sorrey.

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

'What a strange feeling it was; to look into your eyes and onto the end of the world. In that moment, did you see the same thing?'

>>> Next <<< Previous

(Destiny Bond; a Pokémon fancomic --- pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11, pt.12, pt.13, ???)

[torgawl]

never thought i'd see people try to argue or analyse wriothesley's murder in regards to his personality. i think people are missing the point. the situation has nothing to do with him and has everything to do with an extremely traumatic environment that made a small boy think the only solution so save himself and the people he cared about was to take the life of his abusers. it's not supposed to be rational, it wasn't premeditated, it wasn't about getting away with it. if you read his description of the murder you can see how out of it he was. his goal was to protect himself and his siblings and that's what he did. that's why he admitted to the crime so easily and why he is keen to associate the fortress as a rebirth place. he was just young, lost and traumatised and that's about it when it comes to the extension of it all.

[asitrita]

Over half of my Doffy & Rosi playlist (actually, over 75%) is the exact same as my aph Spain & aph Portugal playlist.

[mediumhonor]

because who am i without immedaitely making a rambly run-on braindump meta post as soon as i sign in anywhere BUT ANYWAY...

i need to go off about how different arthur and john’s dynamics with dutch are, how dutch’s ‘you’re just like me’ @ john in rdr1 isn’t just a villainous throwaway line but is actually the culmination of years of projecting onto john and years of trying to mold john into his image. the fact that dutch managed to shoot john from such a distance in rdr1 + the fact that he can double-wield so effectively really just. makes me think of how good of a gunslinger dutch is and there’s no way much of john’s gunslinging prowess isn’t part of dutch teaching him....

i just. hm. think arthur ‘eldest daughter’ morgan vs john ‘golden boy favorite youngest brother’ marston duality is pretty neat, and how both of their identities are so entwined w dutch’s perception of them even (in john’s case) years later to the point where neither of them can directly kill one another...

and of course, arthur's constant need to impress dutch/for his approval vs john's total lack of effort, because i think john left the gang for the first time because he's always seen dutch for who he is in some capacity, and dutch's favoritism successfully alienated him from everyone else. that being said, the only other person besides abigail who john has verbally admitted to loving is dutch.

i could say more about arthur and john's dynamic and a lot of arthur's resentment coming from imo john having the agency to leave the gang for the first time that i think a lot of people write off as arthur being angry at john for being a deadbeat (which is. you know. true too).

the van der linde cult is so fun... and by fun it makes me want to cry

[archivist-the-knight]

love looking at the "who would win in a fight" memes and going "they'd all be friends and have tea NEXT"

[poptartmochi]

i think that i will never be able to rid myself of Magdalena, despite my disdain for her source material, because she's just such a fun little inversion character 🤧

[conditionvarietysilence]

made yet another zakkura playlist to cry myself to sleep to tonight. yeah i'm fine, why do you ask

[litchi-jelly]

just finished episode ignis and i am feeling not so good

[a-little-ray-of-fantasy]

An analysis on how Sir Pentious' character design represents his personality and development perfectly (beware of Hazbin Hotel spoilers)

Let's get this out of the way: Sir Pentious is a snake, an animal mostly known for generally believed negative traits such as poison, deceit and betrayal. We don't know WHY he's in Hell, maybe he was a "snake oil salesman" considering he comes from the Victorian times and he's into hyping up what he does, or maybe he was into war. Thing is, he's a Sinner whose design just scream "Evil".

(BTW, a snake could also represent "fertility": looking at you, Egg Boiz!)

He always had eyes all around him not just because of a stylistic choice.

Sir Pentious always felt like he was watched, and had to watch out for any danger.

"Everyone here is too nice: obviously it must be a lie! I can sense they are planning to kill me, but when?! HOW?! I must be PREPARED!"

Sadly, he's been constantly berated by other demons, far more effective in destruction, status, cruelty and charisma. Alastor won't ever bother to remember him, Cherri always ones up him, and the Vs, the ones he admires to most, won't care less about him.

To the point that Vox sent him as a spy without the intention to save him if things were going to fail. Heck, he even openly tells him to die while calling him a failure.

So of course he's got reasons to have trust issues, or taking everything so seriously, being constantly reminded of what he can't accomplish. So he puts an air of grandure that may be very flamboyant, but is VERY frail.

But, if we have to be frank here, his biggest source of insecurities... is himself.

He has eyes on his tail (his softer, more vulnerable side, which is ironically made even MORE lieable to getting hurt because of how sensitive those organs are), and inside his hood, so he could look out better for danger when on alert mode.

Heck, even the mark on his hood kinda resembles one eye.

Problem is, when you see his hood folded, when he's at ease, neutral or sad, those are not looking at outside sources.

They're looking at him, at his back. A constant stare that happens everytime he lets his guard down and shows how vulnerable he is. A gaze that can sense all of his weakness, his struggles, his insecurities.

And it's all him.

Pentious constantly believes that his inferiority complex will fade away once he'll accomplish something grand that will make others accept him. But he is his biggest critic, his worst enemy: HE is the one who believes he's a failure, that he'll never gain approval from others.

This show takes place in Hell, but this is Sir Pentious' personal Hell: insecurity born out of self hatred. Doomed to feel everyone's gaze upon him, including his own. Believing the danger to his self esteem is from others, when it's really from him.

But then he's accepted at the Hazbin Hotel: Charlie forgives him, he bonds with Angel, Husk and Niffty who don't care a bit about what he's accomplished or not, or what he's done in the past.

He feels more comfortable in showing his vulnerable side, and no one judges him for how easy it is for him to get emotional.

Of course he's still very insecure, considering how he struggles to confess to Cherri, but notice how he stops building machines or planning to attack others as soon as he starts bonding with the others: he doesn't have a reason to destroy or attack, now that he knows he's loved.

And his final design, when he goes to Heaven, shows how much he's changed, yet stayed the same. He may have died a hero, but he's still the same awkward snake we've come to love.

Speaking of love, let's talk about that!

No more eyes on his tail, now it's just on his chest (showing he's opened his heart), his glasses are now heart shaped, and even the markings inside his hood resemble kiss marks more than anything else.

And look: the mark on his hood is now heart shaped!

Why all these hearts? Why did all the eyes disappeared from his body? Even his eyes that were looking at his back?

Simple: love. Love defeated his insecurities and self hatred. He died for love.

He died protecting his friends, his new family, his new home.

He confessed and kissed Cherri knowing full well he wouldn't have made it, and yet he went anyway.

The usually cowardly and timid Pentious actually faced a great danger with courage and determination: he acted selflessly by putting himself in harm's way, he didn't steal (naturally) and by going against Adam he did indeed "stick it to the man"!

He used his weaponry knowhow and battle experience not to conquer, but to save his loved ones.

His only thought up until his demise was: "I'll go down protecting them".

And he's been rewarded not only by becoming an angel, but also being spawned directly in front of Emily and Sera, two Seraphim, the highest rank for an angel to have, who have also been depicted as snakes of fire throughout history! Sir Pentious, the lowly demon considered a failure by everyone, actually has been noticed by the Seraphim! He's come so far!

He's now come to represent the REAL symbolism of a snake: the duality of death and rebirth, transformation and immortality (ironically a reference to the fact he's been around since 1888 without ever dying from any Extermination or blessed weapons).

And isn't so poetic that a snake, the "source of the original evil", was the first sinner to ascend to Heaven? Or that this episode was released on February 1st, or National Serpent Day?

And of course, as the Bible itself says:

"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends."

(John 15:13)

And knowing him, I'm confident in saying he'll keep helping his friends even in his new position, like the soft hearted noodle he's always been, but was to afraid to show it up until now.

[tasteleeknow]

RASPBERRY PIE

minors dni. minho x fem!reader. 4k words content warnings. pet names (sweetheart, angel). mutual pining. sweet/shy reader. perv!minho. corruption kink. food play. dirty talk. oral (m rec.). soft!dom minho.

you bake your quiet neighbour a warm raspberry pie.

He's pretty sure he's utterly fucked from the jump – he finds himself attached so early he almost convinces himself you're a witch in disguise; that maybe he'd moved in next door to a creature designed to trap men like him. A siren, maybe. The sweetness was an act; all the soft tones and doe eyed looks were just a trick to lure him down beneath the waves.

He was determined not to drown.

And then you show up with the pie, a little flushed from working around a hot oven. It'd been 6 months – 6 months since he'd moved in, and as he opens the door to find you in an apron with little pink stains, a feeling of approaching and inevitable doom settles in his chest. Finally, you'd come to take him.

"Hi," you greet with a shy smile. "My friend brought me over far too many berries yesterday so..." you look down at the golden pie, carefully decorated and clearly still warm, "...well I made this. For you."

If he was wise, he'd politely decline, close the door, and never be faced with the reality of the sweet little siren in his apartment, offerings of temptation and all.

"For me?"

You look up at him through long lashes. "Do you like pie?" you ask. It's the way you say it, like if he doesn't you might genuinely hurt inside – like with a simple rejection of your offering, he had the ability to snuff out some little candle alight inside you.

"I like pie," he says.

Then you smile. Like it's the best news you've heard in weeks. "Oh, good."

He steps aside, his body betraying him. The siren enters with her warm pie and soft smiles – and he knows, unequivocally, that he's fucked.

He keeps his distance as you comfortably navigate to the kitchen to find a place for your offering. The apartments were all pretty much identical as far as he knew. The two on this floor, his and yours, were mirrored. He imagines that just on the other side of your joining wall, you took the same steps he did he each morning, in parallel.

You fiddle a little with the delicately placed raspberries atop the pie as he approaches from the other side of the island. You wear a tiny silver ring on one finger, much like one he wears on his own. He'd spotted it before, during short interactions in the elevator. He suppresses the urge to comment on it now, to ask if it meant anything to you.

He doesn't need to know you. He couldn't afford to. He was finding himself attached enough without it.

Then you pluck one little berry up in your fingers and bring it to your lips. He watches you. He watches you and he knows that he's walked willingly into a trap.

"Sweet?"

You look up. "Hm? Oh." You nod. "They're lovely. My friend gets them from this farm near his parent's place."

Friend. His. He sits in the feeling that stirs in his chest for a quiet moment. It's a rotten feeling. He doesn't like it at all.

"He brings them often?" he finds himself asking.

"Not at all. He just happened to come by after being there for a weekend. He doesn't go there often, I don't think." Your accompanying smile is almost enough to snuff out the rotten feeling before he has time to digest it. Almost.

Then he considers that this might not be the only pie. You may have made this other guy a pie just like it... maybe it was bigger, maybe you'd used the sweetest berries in his pie.

He kicks a cat toy across the floor as he stuffs his hands in his pockets, a little embarrassed by his own internal monologue. Witchcraft, turning his brain into mush.

"You have a pretty view."

He looks up to find you brushing your hands down your apron and rounding the kitchen island. You seem drawn to his floor to ceiling windows, a little moth to the light.

He follows.

"Mine isn't nearly this nice," you continue once he's standing beside you. "All I get is the construction site and a concrete wall." Then you close your eyes, head tilting back a little to let the sun's afternoon rays bathe your face. "Don't get the sun like this, either," you add, a little dreaminess leaking into your already sweet voice.

Oh, he's fucked.

"You like it?"

You blink up at him, eyes adjusting to the light again. "Hm?"

"I mean if you really like it, you're welcome over anytime, whenever." He wonders if this is part of your spell work, making him say stupid shit. Maybe he'd be better off if you were casting spells on him, if he had a reasonable excuse for being so fucking braindead. "For the sun," he adds, like it makes it better.

A small breath of laughter slips from your pretty lips. "It does get a little gloomy over there, on my side of the wall."

It was hard to imagine anywhere you were being gloomy.

"I should go," you continue after a short moment of comfortable silence, each of you basking in the sunlight. He really should appreciate that more, he notes. Then he considers the fact he'll associate this little patch of warmth with you each time he attempts such a thing.

"Sure," he says, following you from a safe distance to the door. "Thank you. For the pie."

"You're welcome."

Everything is fine. He's alone and he survived the encounter. Then he's faced with the pie. He stares down at it, warm and made with careful hands.

He plucks a berry off the top. He thinks of the berry you'd eaten in the same way.

Everything is fine.

He hesitates as he goes to pluck a second berry. Instead of lifting one from the crust, he presses the tip of his finger a little against the surface. Warm. He breaks through. His finger is coated in syrupy, red filling when he pulls it free. It's sugary sweet when he sucks it clean.

Shame. That's what he feels next. Because sweet gestures of neighbourly kindness should not trigger the kind of thoughts creeping their way into his head.

He wonders if the little siren's cunt is as warm and sweet as the little offering she brought him. He considers doing the right thing, having a cold shower and sitting in the morning sun with a slice of pie.

But apparently, today, and the day before, and every day for the past 6 months, Minho was not wise and he wasn't very good. Because he let the thoughts of his sweet little neighbour stew for months, and this is where it'd led him.

He stands there, one palm pressed flat on the kitchen counter, the other buried in his sweatpants, and he thinks of the sweet little siren with her sweet offerings, and he imagines sinking his hard cock into her warm, sweet cunt.

—

It's hard not to deflate entirely as you close your apartment door behind you. You'd expected too much from a single pie, you suppose. It would entirely out of character for him to ask you to stay for a slice, to take the opportunity to finally have a conversation longer than an elevator ride.

You sigh, dropping your forehead against the cool surface of the door. It helps a little. You're overheated, both from the cooking, the warm sun, and the heat that had bubbled up from the inside as the pretty - yet frustratingly reserved - man next door had watched you move about his space.

You hadn't lied, his apartment was far nicer than yours. You could imagine basking in that patch of sun any chance you had. You wonder if he does the same, if he sits there after a shower, chest bare and hair still a little damp - letting the sun warm his skin.

You leap back as a knock on the door jolts you out of your daydream. Sighing, you press your palm to your forehead - head thoroughly rattled - as you pull the door open.

Oh.

"Hi," Minho says casually. He's a little flushed compared to when you'd left him minutes earlier. He shouldn't be. There were no stairs between your apartments.

"Hello, again."

He glances over your shoulder, getting a clear view of your empty living room. "It is darker in here," he says, still casual.

"Oh. Mm, yeah. I miss your sun already."

His eyes fix back on you. Then he pulls his lip between his teeth slightly. He has something to say... something he won't say.

"Why'd you make me the pie?" he asks.

You blink. "I... had a lot of berries from-"

"Your friend. I know."

You're officially confused. His eyes drop down your dirty apron before returning to your face. "You only made one?"

"Is it bad?" you question.

He pushes some hair away from his eyes. "No," he says quickly. "No, it's... nice." His eyes sweep down your body again. "Sweet," he adds.

"I only made one."

His eyes jump to yours before a brief look of confusion flashes across his pretty face. He seems to remember his own question soon enough. "You didn't want to give it to," he gestures vaguely behind you, "your friend?"

"No," you answer simply. This entire interaction was drifting into territory you weren't sure you were ready for. If his questions got any more interrogative, you might find yourself wondering how to answer them in any other way than 'Oh, the pie? I baked it for you because I have a huge, embarrassing crush on you, even if you've seemed intent on not knowing me.'

"He doesn't like pies?" he asks.

You can't help following the path of his fingers as he fiddles with the chain hanging around his neck. They brush his skin as he strokes the metal back and forth.

"I... don't understand what you're asking me," you say as you pull your eyes from his neck. "Is something wrong?"

He readjusts his position in the doorway, pressing his hand to the frame and freeing you from the constant distraction at his neck. He leans over you a little like this.

God, he's pretty.

"You a witch?" he asks.

"I'm sorry?"

"Did you put something in it?" he continues, still leaning well and truly into your space. "Something to make me-" he cuts himself off, brows furrowing.

"Are you asking me if I poisoned the pie?"

His voice drops, like someone might overhear, despite you both being entirely alone on this floor of the building. "I'm trying to figure out why all I can fucking think about is how you might taste on my tongue."

Your head rushes, all the heat returning. Then your eyes drop to the floor.

"Look at me, sweetheart."

You don't. His shoes are safer. He was flirting. More than flirting. He wanted you.

His fingers guide your chin up, it doesn't take much, a nudge. "I'll leave if you want," he says. "Never mention it again. Just tell me what you want."

"Did you like it?" you find yourself whispering. "The pie."

His lips crack into a lopsided smile. It's tiny, but it's a smile. "Loved it, sweetheart. Sent me to heaven."

"Would you... would you like to come in?"

He nods.

You go to turn, to let him follow you. But then, instead, you take his hand and lead him in. He's warm. You imagine all the sun he gets over there must've absorbed deep inside him over time. Maybe he could leave some of it behind here for you - that heat might leak from him if your kept him here long enough.

He follows where you lead, his hand still grasped firmly in your own. You're not sure why you lead him to the sofa. You aren't sure what you're expecting next. It's why you find yourself simply standing beside the piece of furniture waiting for him to say something – to let go of your hand maybe.

Instead, his thumb begins brushing over your skin. He's quiet, seemingly unhurried to break the tension building.

"I asked my friend to bring the berries," you confess quietly, eyes focused on your interwined hands. Confessions were always so much easier with your eyes downwards. "I wanted to make something for you... specifically."

"Why's that?"

His thumb continues against your skin. He doesn't make you look at him like he had before.

"Because I... wanted you to - I wanted your attention."

You can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, "So you baked me a pie?"

"I'm good at baking."

"You are," he agrees. Then his other hand reaches for the hem of your apron. He rubs it between his fingers a little. "Messy though."

You look down at the patterned splotches, pink on white. Then he releases your hand, taking that warmth with him. He only allows you a few seconds to miss it though. That same hand snakes around the back of your neck, skin on skin.

Your eyes are drawn to his without thought.

"Are you always messy?" he asks.

You nod, chewing on your lip a little.

He seems pleased with your answer, a small hum escaping his throat. "I like messy," he says, sounding a little far away. "Do you like messy, sweetheart?"

Your eyes drop to his lips, a little stained from your pie filling. "Yeah," you breathe.

He tugs you towards him before your have time to suck in another breath, attaching himself to you like he's starved. You can't help gasping a little into his mouth as he presses you into him with a hand to your back.

Holy fuck. Surely you'd wake up slumped against the door any second. Maybe someone hadn't just knocked on the door. Someone had opened it and knocked you out and you were dreaming about your pretty, brown eyed neighbour.

He groans a little before taking your lip between his teeth. No. No you were definitely awake. "So sweet," he mumbles as he releases you, his breath ghosting over your wet lips. "Can I have you?"

–

It's hard to keep his head on straight as you look up at him with those big sweet eyes. Can I have you? His stomach rolls as he waits for you to say yes. Please say yes. 6 months of denial and he was desperate.

You'd made that sweet little gift for him. Just for him. His little siren.

Then you're pressing against his chest, forcing him down onto the sofa. He looks up at you, at the stained apron and the hair sticking a little to your temples from the time spent making his pie.

Then you lower yourself to your knees.

Oh, fuck.

Your hands only have to brush his legs for him to get the hint. He spreads them, allowing you to shuffle closer to him – settling between his thighs.

Then you look up at him. "Can I taste you?"

He's keeping you. His head drops back as he collects himself. Then, "You want my cock in your pretty little mouth?"

You nod, fingers pressing lightly into his thighs.

Minutes ago he was fucking himself into his own hand imagining how warm you'd feel around him. Now you're between his legs, lips wet, asking to taste him.

He's careful to keep his eyes on you as he frees himself, intent on catching each and every reaction you make – he's keeping it all.

You're a little hesitant as you reach for him. "You're good, sweetheart," he encourages. "Touch me however you like."

It seems to be all you need. In the next second your soft little hand is wrapping around his length. His head drops back again as his eyes close.

It's a mistake, closing his eyes. He's not prepared when your wet lips press to the tip of him, soft and warm. He groans, hand automatically making a home in your hair. He needs grounding. He needs –

Your lips wrap around him. His little siren was sucking his dick into her sweet little mouth. His hips jump a little. "Oh fuck, that's right. You're all warm for me."

You hum a little around him. Then, you take him deeper. Hot little tongue dancing over his sensitive skin.

"Good girl," he groans. "Take it for me, sweetheart." He resists the urge to spill himself right here, right against your tongue. "Hm? You taking it for me?"

His hips jump again as he fucks himself into your hot mouth, wet and sweet and just for him. You'd wanted his attention. You'd come for him. Just him.

"You mine?" he gasps as he forces his head up to look at you. "You gonna let me fuck you?"

Your lips pull off him slowly, a little suction at his tip sending his head spinning. "Do you want to?" you ask, lips swollen.

He leans forward enough to begin lifting you, encouraging you to climb into his lap. Each hand rests at your hips as you settle yourself there, his leaking cock pressed between you.

"So bad," he answers.

You shift a little in his lap. He imagines you squirming on his cock.

"Me too," you confess. It's quiet, like it's bad.

Sweet siren.

"Sit on me," he instructs. "Want you to bounce on me, sweetheart."

You eyelashes flutter as you blink a few times, processing, deciding. Then you shift, reaching up under your dress and tugging your underwear down.

Something in his stomach stirs when he realises you were leaving the rest on, apron and all.

You grasp him in a soft hand, guiding him beneath your clothes – then you sink down. He's transfixed by the little sound that escapes your lips as you take him in. That, and the way your cunt feels squeezing around him. He might have to keep you for fucking ever.

Hot and sweet and wet and better than he'd imagined as he'd fucked himself against his counter minutes earlier. Better than any of the scenarios he'd dreamed up over the months he'd spent thinking of his sweet little neighbour.

You fall into him with a sigh once you're full seated, cock buried deep.

"Doing so well," he says, hand squeezing a little at the back of your neck.

You mumble something into his neck in response. He can't quite make it out, but he swears, it almost sounds like a tiny 'thank you'. He has to keep himself from filling you at the thought of it.

His hands return to your hips. You must take it as a prompt because you lean back from him enough to begin lifting yourself off him and dropping again.

It's slow at first, a little swivel in your hips, grinding yourself down into him.

The apron prevents him from seeing how his cock looks slipping in and out of your little cunt. He hasn't even seen it, that sweet little hole between your legs.

Instead, he feels.

–

It makes sense that a man as pretty as him would have the prettiest cock. One you wanted to taste. One that would have you slippery and ready to take him.

There's this vein that throbs in his neck each time he drops his head back with a groan. His neck. God you want to lean forward and bite into it. But he might not be into that. Next time, you think. Or the time after that.

God you hope there's a next time.

His fingers dig into your hip as you sink all the way down again. It feels a little like he's resisting, holding back.

"Minho?"

His head lifts, eyes a little glassy as he blinks at you. "Hm?"

"You can fuck me," you tell him. "However you want. I want you to fuck me."

He blinks again. His fingers dig into your skin harder.

"Tell me when you wanna stop. Just tell me," he says.

You nod. Then he's leaning forward and tugging you against him. His lips press to your skin just at the crook of your neck.

Then you're falling. He falls over you. Then he lets go. He presses you into the couch cushions as he drives into you, hair falling over his face. He's even pretty like this, with parted lips and brows slightly furrowed.

Your skin slaps together as he fucks himself into you. Messy, he'd said. He liked messy.

That's what he gets as he continutes to drive into you, as you begin to drip around him, as he fucks that wetness into you and over your thighs and then the sounds it all makes.... messy.

"Wanna fill you," he mutters. "God, I wanna fill you so bad. Wanna fuck my cum into your sweet cunt."

You squeeze your eyes shut as he continues, overwhelmed.

"You can take it for me, angel. I know you can. Sweet little thing made just for me. I knew it." He's muttering so much you're hardly sure he even knows what he's saying. His fingers are almost painful as they dig into your skin, like he can't hold onto you hard enough.

"Fill me," you gasp.

He eyes lift from where you join together to lock on your face. "Yeah?" he asks, a slight croakiness breaking his words up a little. "I'll make you all warm and sticky inside, hm? Just like your pretty little pie? That sound nice?"

Oh god. There was something inside you, something made for this – for him. You knew this was going to ruin you forever.

"Please."

He falls over you, then he bites. He bites into you as he floods you full.