#i really... did not want to draw them back to back

[voidingintotheshout]

I shouldn’t answer this question because I’m tired and grumpy, and that usually gets more of a blunt answer than usual but I need to explain my own perspective on this, not that anybody cares — in two phases.

Phase 1: the big answer to this is not whether I continue to engage with media once it is problematic, but whether I pay for it or not and whether I tell other people about it when I am engaging with it. Like J. K. Rowling is an author, I didn’t really like and I won’t pay for her stuff ever again because she’s made it clear that all of the money she gets is going to be spent fighting trans people and that is not acceptable to me and her awful personality has made it so that I’m not really interested in rereading the boy wizard books again because honestly, I just found them to be silly. HP Lovecraft on the other hand I do read occasionally, but I don’t tell my friends or other people that I do because he is problematic and I don’t want to start a conversation about problematic people because I find those conversations exhausting. So did I read The Shadow over Innsmouth, yes. Will I tell other people about it? No. Did I like it? Yes.

Phase 2. For people that I used to follow and then found out that they are problematic (musicians, writers, etc.) I find that I have to draw a line between things of theirs that I liked a lot that were important to me before I found out there were problematic and things that I discovered of theirs, or they released after they got called out. I find that I will occasionally but less frequently go back to the things that I really loved that I already have but I usually don’t enjoy them as much or as frequently. The things that are new that I either didn’t get around to or that they released subsequently I find that I have very little interest in getting new stuff that they have made. Like they are frozen in amber at the time they became yucky. 

how do you reconcile with liking morally imprehensible content and problematic media?

i dont reconcile w anything bc i dont give a shit thanks for sending me this batshit ask tho

[teaboot]

hi! friend problems anon here. So, I've known this girl and her sister for my whole life, lets call them sis 1 and sis 2. Sis 1 is around my age so I've connected more with her, but in the past 5 years sis 2 has been the person I text most, and is the person i tell most things and we've got a roleplay going. This itself isn't the problem, i'm good friends with both sisters. This is just to state like, how much of a connection we've had BEFORE I started having issues. Sis 2 likes to talk a lot about her friends and school and such, while I'm more introverted and very very focused on my fixations and such. I love talking to her, and I love listening to her talk, really I do. But sometimes I say some things about my interests or hey this cool thing happened on tumblr today (this is my first social media account but I'm not super young? so it feels like a big milestone for me and I wish the people in my life cared more about that) And it kind of feels like she doesn't really care? like she responds a little about a small detail about what I said and then continues with the rp. or just doesn't reply. or talks about doing things with her friends that I kind of feel left out about. And it makes me feel like I don't really matter. And this isn't a recent thing either, its just been building up in me. So I sent a message about it, which the app SAID she saw, but she then didn't reply or speak for the whole day. which. obviously made me upset and i deleted the message. So last night i asked sis 1 if she was mad at me, and sis 2 came back the very minute I sent the message. So I asked her what that was about, that i sent a message to, and she said "the app sometimes says i've seen things when I haven't, whatd you say?" And I sent the message again, and again it said she saw it. and she still has not responded. and I don't know what to do because whats the point of talking things out if she's not even going to talk. TLDR My good friend makes me feel like what I have to say doesn't really matter, or that she doesn't care enough to make it matter, and when I tried to talk to about it she ghosted for a day. then i talked to her sister about it and she reappeared, only to ghost again when i resent the message

I think- and I’m not close enough to this to be certain, so you’d know better than me- that there’s a chance that, while she IS a friend who you can enjoy some level of trust and mutual enjoyment with, she may not feel capable or comfortable handling the deeper connection you’re reaching out for.

This doesn’t mean she’s a bad friend, or that she doesn’t care about you- but if it is the case, then she may just not be the right person for that kind of connection.

My mother told me once, when I was having a hard time with my bio father and feeling like he was emotionally available but physically absent, like he SAID he loved me but didn’t take the initiative to be present- “we can’t make people love us the way we need to be loved.”

I love my bio father. I love him deeply. He did his best, and he never once hurt me on purpose, and he’d let me cry when I was sad and hang up my drawings on his fridge and let me nap with him on the couch, but he was never the kind of man who could be there. He was never the kind of man who would go out in public, in crowds, or to my school- and no matter how I explained it or how I asked, it never seemed to click for him that sometimes, when you love someone, you suck it up and do boring shit you don’t want to do.

He loved me. He still loves me. But if I need someone to attend an award ceremony, or a school competition, he was never going to be that person.

My mom- she was similar. She’d show up, when she could, and she wouldn’t complain- would talk and talk about how proud she was, and support anything I set out to do, but work kept her away, and she didn’t really grasp emotional availability. Emotional intimacy, or being vulnerable.

So if I needed someone to rub my back while I cried and talk about my fears, I went to my bio father, and if I needed someone to cheer me on from the bleachers or get back at a bully, I’d go to my mom.

I have friends now as an adult who I go to when I’m sad, or depressed, or need to talk about the past, and they do the same with me.

I have other friends who I see far more often but will likely never know that side of me.

I know my bus driver by name, about her family and her cats and her favourite lipstick, and she knows about my work and what I do at the gym, and talking to her is nice. I enjoy her company. But she’s never going to come to my house for coffee, or know about my relationship with my step-parents.

Because nobody can be everything. Almost nobody in the world can be everything, but that doesn’t mean they don’t love you- the way they express the love they have for you just doesn’t match the love you need to have in order to feel loved.

If you want to have that conversation with her, if you really want her to try to be that person, you can have that conversation, but she may be looking for something else that YOU aren’t able to provide HER.

Maybe that can be discussed. Maybe you can both work towards the middle. Or maybe that’s just not in the cards, and you can enjoy what you DO get out of your relationship as it is, and seek that other support elsewhere.

Which is to say, I doubt very much that she doesn’t care about you or your feelings- but she may just not be the right person to provide what you’re seeking.

You don’t buy your squid at the gas station, after all. It doesn’t mean you can’t still go to the gas station

[thatonegrimm]

Hi, new anon here--absolutely loving everything you post, I just wanted to come in & say I really love the way you characterize the saja boys with what little concrete info we got from them, and new stuff from you has made it a delight to open my phone in the mornings this last week or so <3

If you aren't totally swamped, could I potentially request Saja Boys or Huntr/x reacting to a reader with OCD tendencies? Either with the sort of classic ones I also relate to having no sense of safety (check the lock X times, touch/turn the doorknob every time you walk past, etc.) or the more mundane ones that can present themselves. Somebody who's used to it & does sometimes wish their brain wasn't like this but will only get like, a little self conscious about being caught out, instead of getting anxious about it.

For some examples I don't see often in media etc., I can't have conversations while trying to stir smth in my drinks bc I have to do it 42 times & if I lose count I have to start over, so I just. Stop talking or looking at the other person, even though I'm listening, and don't respond until I finish my count. It's caused some fun conversations! Or the intricacies of the Candy Rituals, "no it has to be blue before red" or "sort them all by color and then eat them according to group size," or "eat the kitkat from the top down layer by layer nope I broke a layer in an Unacceptable Way instead of an Acceptable Way, I can't eat this at all now." Why does it have to be this way! Wish they could tell you, really, they'd LIKE to rip open the m&ms and dump them in their mouth but if they do the brain will ITCH. for DAYS.

Apologies if this is out of left field or you're uncomfortable with it! Mostly I just wanted you to know how much I'm enjoying your work, and how much joy it brings me to read the stuff you're posting. Hope you have a great day!

- (since i do expect to come back eventually I will label myself 🪐)

Thank you for the request! This wasn't an uncomfortable request for me at all, I'm glad your enjoying my work. Here you go!💌

🌙 Saja Boys x Reader with OCD Tendencies

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

🧿 Jinu 

He noticed it one week in. The way your fingers brushed the doorknob every time you passed it, even if you weren’t leaving the room. A light tap. Sometimes a turn. Sometimes you paused, then did it again.

At first, he thought it was just absentminded.

But then one night, he stood in the doorway watching you come out of the bathroom. You touched the knob, walked two steps, paused—then circled back to do it again. Twice.

When you caught his eye, your shoulders stiffened.

“Habit,” you said quickly. “Weird one.”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “You always do it in threes.”

You froze. “Yeah. Sorry. I know it looks—”

“You don’t have to explain it,” Jinu interrupted, gently. “I just want to know if it helps.”

You blinked. “It… keeps the world in place.”

He nodded. “Then I’ll make sure no one touches that knob but you.”

The next day, he put a little charm above it. Just a tiny blue sigil, like a lock. Like backup.

He never mentioned it again.

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

💪 Abby 

You were halfway through mixing honey into your tea when Abby leaned over and said something funny. You didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink.

You were counting.

And you were almost to 42.

Abby blinked. “Hey—are you mad?”

You shook your head but didn’t answer.

Not yet.

You reached 41… 42.

Then you exhaled, set the spoon down, and looked up. “Sorry. I just have to stir it a certain number of times or it feels wrong.”

“Ohhh,” he said, drawing the syllable out like it clicked in his brain. “Tea math. Got it.”

You snorted. “It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s science,” he declared with a shrug, plopping down next to you. “I won’t interrupt next time. Stir with honor.”

Later, he brought you another mug. “I stirred it for you,” he said proudly.

You raised an eyebrow. “How many times?”

He grinned. “Forty-two. I counted out loud.”

It wasn’t perfect. But the thought behind it? That made your whole chest ache in the best way.

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

📚 Mystery 

Mystery walked into the living room just in time to see you glare at a pile of gummy bears like they’d personally offended you.

He didn’t say anything.

Just sat beside you, silent and still, watching as you sorted them by color—then by number—then lined them up by shade.

You reached for the blue one, then stopped. Your hand hovered. Too many reds. It would throw the whole thing off.

He leaned in slowly. “Want me to eat the excess red?”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “You always eat blue before red.”

You stared at him.

“How do you know that?”

“I live here,” he said plainly. “You’re very consistent.”

For a second, you wanted to sink into the couch. “It’s dumb, I know. I just—”

“It’s not dumb.” His voice was soft. “Your brain is loud. Rituals keep it quiet. That’s not dumb.”

You looked down at the gummy bear army. Mystery held out his hand.

“Give me the red,” he said. “I’m good at destroying things.”

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

💋 Romance 

Romance was used to watching people eat beautifully plated desserts. Watching you eat was a different kind of performance.

You peeled the wrapper off your KitKat carefully, broke off one stick, and began the slow disassembly—chocolate coating, top layer, inner wafer. You were meticulous. Focused.

Then… crack.

Wrong break. Jagged. Uneven.

You froze.

Romance, mid-conversation, fell silent too. He saw the shift in your shoulders. The stillness. The subtle horror in your eyes.

He reached for the ruined piece.

“May I?”

You handed it over.

He bit into it without fanfare, smiling at you like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

Then he reached for a second bar, broke it gently, and offered it to you. “Start again,” he said softly. “I’ll guard this one.”

You laughed. Just a little. “You’re weird.”

“So are you,” he said with a wink. “It’s perfect.”

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

🔥 Baby 

You doubled back halfway to the van. Again.

Baby watched from the passenger seat as you tugged at the door to the dorm, then the gate, then the latch. Checked them. Tugged. Pulled. Pressed the code again, even though you’d already done it twice.

It was the third time in five minutes.

When you climbed into the seat beside him, your face was tight.

“I know it’s locked,” you muttered. “But it doesn’t feel—”

“Want me to check it next time?” he asked simply.

You blinked at him.

“I can lock it after you, and then you can lock it again. Two locks. Like a combo move.”

You stared. “Wouldn’t that be annoying?”

Baby gave you a blank look. “You sit through my anime rants. This is the least I can do.”

The next day, you locked the door.

He locked it again.

You both nodded.

It wasn’t about logic. It was about peace.

And Baby? He’d do it as many times as it took.

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

M-List

[jeonscatalyst]

I was able to watch Jikook’s entire Live yesterday. Yes, those two kept me up late and now I look like a panda… but it’s okay, because I love them.

Let’s do a little recap of some of the things we learned from that Live:

• Jimin and Jungkook are, without a doubt, closer than ever. It’s so evident in everything… they genuinely love being around each other.

• Jungkook works out a lot… but he still ate six Krispy Kreme donuts and then had ramen right after with Jimin

•Jikook watched AYS in the military together.

• Earlier in the day, Jimin went shopping with his Yoongi and Namjoon hyungs. He was just tagging along since they were the ones who said they wanted to shop but somehow he ended up with three large bags of stuff while the others barely bought anything. Jungkook said he wants to go too.

• For some reason, Jungkook really wanted to apply lip balm on Jimin’s lips (he said they were dry) and playfully wrestled with him over it but Jimin wouldn’t let him.

• Just like in the past, we learned that Jungkook is still obsessed with going into Jimin’s bedroom. He goes in, takes tons of photos and videos of Jimin, some of which he sends to their group chat. According to Jimin, Jungkook comes in, watches him while he sleeps, takes pictures and videos, and then leaves.

• They take funny pictures of each other while sleeping and we actually got to see two of them during the Live. Doesn’t that suggest they’re around each other a lot when they sleep?

• Jungkook said he thinks Lives are better when it’s just him and Jimin.

• Jungkook desperately wants that YouTube channel. (Please!)

• He loves drawing cute, silly pictures of Jimin or with Jimin. We’ve seen some of his masterpieces before, and we got to see another one during the Live. (So cute!)

• Jungkook is tactile as hell. He’s always been touchy, but now it seems like he genuinely can’t keep his hands to himself when he’s around Jimin. And we’re not just talking about handshakes or shoulder and nape rubs… he literally wants to put his entire hands inside Jimin’s clothes because “it’s warm in there.” 😏

• Jikook still fluster the hell out of each other. Jungkook is much better at handling it now, while Jimin still can’t quite hold his own like Jungkook can.

• Their giggles? The most beautiful thing ever.

• Jungkook watched and loved K-Pop Demon Hunters. Jimin hadn’t seen it, but he had watched a few clips and knew a bit about the songs. Jungkook said he cried while watching it.

• All the other members had gone out and Jikook were the only ones at home.

• Jungkook read a comment out loud: “You guys look so good together.”

• Jungkook is still Jiminipedia. He knows his man isn’t going to sleep until he games a little. And let’s not even talk about the huge smile on his face when he said it.

• They did a pinky promise playfully and cutely … Jungkook held Jimin’s little hands and sang, “I promise, I will come to you.” (Do with that information what you will)

• Jungkook still finds Jimin incredibly cute and endearing.

• They watched some of their old performances together. Jungkook visibly cringed at his younger self.

• Jikook are back with the memes and inside jokes.

• Jimin still gives the best hugs.

JIKOOK ARE SO IN LOVE!

I might have missed some things. Will add as needed.

[lyxchen]

Having to keep watch at night can reveal things about people…

Also tagging @izzyfishie cause this is inspired by your headcanon of Gi-hun sleeping on top of Sang-woo and being like a weighted blanket for him <3

[deerspherestudios]

Asking about Mycheal’s sense of morality and thoughts on kindness sort of got me thinking - what are his thoughts on justice?

Some examples on what I mean (that you do not have to specifically address!): If someone has harmed someone else, does he think that justifies hurting them back in any sense? And if someone in power continually abuses that power, does that justify hurting or killing them to prevent more harm in his opinion? Does it depend on the degree? Where does he draw the line? Or is it completely unacceptable - does he think we should always try to use mercy to solve conflicts? What about in situations where mercy can’t be used? And how does what he’d say verbally on the matter differ from how he’d actually act in a satiation where justice might be needed (eg. he says that he would never hurt anyone in any situation, but in reality there might be situations where he’d bring harm - or he says that he would hurt someone to prevent more damage but couldn’t bring himself to in reality). I’d be interested how his isolated upbringing impacted his thoughts on right and wrong as well - I’d imagine he prioritizes interpersonal relationships over the good of the whole (of any group he’s been rejected by especially), but, if so, by how much?

Again, these are just examples of generally what I’m going for by asking for his take on justice, please don’t feel pressured to answer any of the questions in that wall of a paragraph specifically! I’d love to hear your thoughts on his opinions in the area of morality in general - whatever comes to mind, even if it doesn’t relate to any of my example questions or the points I brought up. Thank you so much for your time and the love you pour into your work, and I hope you have a wonderful day!

Oo now this is a doozy of a question, from an anon no less :-0! I actually love these kinds of questions, but save them in my draft for months until I'm up to answering since I wanna do my best for them haha. Now's the time for this question to shine!

Long!!!!!! (possibly mad?? character opinions about justice and morality???) ramble below:

Regarding justice, I find myself struggling to answer to be honest! While I, the creator, have my own views on it, I'm not sure how someone like Mychael would feel about the concept of justice. This kind of thing warrants a society, of which he is isolated from. You don't really bother to be justified if something you did was wrong unless it's in the eyes of someone else, if that makes sense? Otherwise you'd end up arguing with yourself. And when stuck between committing a crime to survive or moral righteousness, it's obvious which one he would go for.

From your example, he's not really the type to believe in "an eye for an eye" as he's a pretty forgiving person. But of course, an extreme situation would change his mind like any of us!!

Now morality is a pretty nuanced topic, but after digesting the question a bit and gathering my thoughts, for the sake of conversation, I think his sense of morality can be simplified into a few traits:

First, he tries to be kind in all situations.

In the past, he's seen cruelty and kindness, how humans are capable of both, and the effects of those actions. Whether it's towards himself or others, he obviously prefers the latter treatment over the former. No matter what, he'll try to do the good thing (or at least, what he perceives to be the good thing) in most situations. He's aware it's naive to think so, but when you claw for something to live for, he insists "kindness above everything" is the best he could hold on to without losing himself.

Second, at times, he will be self-serving.

Just because he tries to be kind, doesn't mean there aren't moments where he'll be selfish. While his self interest isn't his top priority, in the rare instance he wants or needs something for himself, he'll likely skew odds in his favor. This is kinda clear from the game itself with how he treats MC when they start pulling away from him (another example is how he got his chickens and it's implied he does shoplift groceries/supplies no matter what he wants you to think.)

And finally, mercy is a tricky thing.

Let's say we equate mercy to forgiveness or compassion. Already in the game we see Mychael being callous towards the injured rabbit but also refuses to kill Rosie even though she doesn't really serve a purpose anymore other than being an attachment for him. With that said, you are definitely correct in saying "he prioritizes interpersonal relationships over the good of the whole" since with his background, interpersonal relationships are few and far in between. He might forgive a lover of his for murdering someone in front of his face, but wouldn't do the same for a stranger. He doesn't have the same sense of a judicial system like us humans, so with the above traits combined, he'd brush off the frankly heinous crime easier than most.

I hope that answers the question? Re-reading my answer a bunch I'm not even sure if I gave the points you're asking for but mmMM I spent spoons on this so have it like so 🫴❤️❤️❤️!!

[lizzieisright]

i really love the way you write abby it’s always so humanizing of her and her character and makes her feel all the more real!! could you write hcs about abby little quirks as a girlfriend

Thank you so much! ❤️❤️

I did the hcs thingy, guys!

Definitely had a "I'm so straight" phase.

Loves stand up comedy and will make you watch it with her. This woman will find comedians that no one has ever heard of and in a few months they will suddenly become popular. She has a sixth sense for it.

Lives under a fucking rock. She doesn't have tiktok or twitter, uses Instagram as her archive.

However. Abby loves insta stories. Yeah, she could post a thirst trap in the gym, but why would she if she can post a video of a hedgehog she came across? Or a weirdly existential poster she saw? Or you doing some stupid shit like trying to open a bottle of wine with a screw and pair of pliers? (You fail, and the next video is her opening the bottle)

Obviously a gym rat, hates going to the gym with someone (even you), unless she goes the separate ways with her company. However, if you're new to the gym, Abby will gladly show you around and will abandon her own workout just to take care of you. If you hate gym, it's fine too - again, she prefers to train alone.

Abby's care is quiet: she is one of these people who does things and never talks about them. There's a famous story about Yoongi (BTS) who gives his teammates water bottles without even looking at them - that's Abby for you. She doesn't ask or even draw attention: she gives you snacks, puts her jacket on your shoulders, washes the dishes after you've cooked, and all of this is just so natural to her she doesn't even recognise it.

Abby is not the person who gets into your hobbies, but she remembers everything you've told her and will let you talk her ear off.

The most hardworking person you've met. Even if she has her family support, she still tries to find some kind of job, or puts all her effort in her studies.

Abby hates all these healthy recipes, so she tries to come up with her own that won't taste like absolute shit. She is doing great, by the way, and tricks you into healthy eating with her cooking.

If you have any kind of ED, Abby will be the most supportive person ever. She will bite everyone's head off if they dare to comment on your eating habits, help you through recovery and never, ever judge you.

She doesn't like gossip, and is pretty private about her own life.

(this one is self-indulgent) If your hair needs any kind of extra care, Abby will help gladly. Brushing, braiding, hair care routines - she is there for you. She cares about her own hair and understands your struggles.

Abby is confident: not cocky confident but in a way that she knows there's nothing wrong with her and no one can tell her who she is or pretend to know her better than she knows herself. It's impossible to make her feel self-conscious.

So she really doesn't get it if you get self-conscious, especially around her: she sees you as a whole, complicated person and to her, you have nothing to be self-conscious about. It's just you, and you're perfect the way you are.

The woman of action - Abby never promises something she can't follow up on. If she tells you she will do something for you, she will no matter what.

Can't clock people for shit - for all her own confidence, she is oblivious as fuck. Has some bullshit detector built in her, but interpersonal relationships are not her strong suit. Didn't know Mel and Owen were dating for like four months, or that Manny and Nora were awkward around each other because they slept together and figured out they don't work sexually at all.

So flirt with her all you want, but she will think you're just bantering. She will flirt back shamelessly and still think it's just friendly banter. Idiot.

Combine her obliviousness and confidence and get Abby who uses her words all the time. She wants to ask you on a date? She asks, absolutely not scared of being rejected. She is straightforward as fuck and will ask whatever she wants to know.

Really appreciates if you can hold your own against her. Abby is not pushy, but she is more at peace knowing you will establish your own boundaries without fear.

She is an octopus when she sleeps. Her nose will be buried in your hair/neck to the point she will have trouble breathing, but she doesn't care. Holds you the whole night and genuinely won't let you go if you try.

Buys you flowers every week, and when you start living together, Abby starts buying house plants. Eventually your place looks like a greenhouse.

Loves gaming. Abby will seat you between her thighs and play her little games while you can nap or scroll down your phone. If she plays something with a good plot, you will watch it like a movie.

If you're into gaming too, then you'll be two nerds who fight over who gets to play some game first.

If you're a Sims 4 girlie like me - Abby buys every pack they release for you. Doesn't matter if you want it or not - she hears you watching announcements, she pre-orders it. Good luck with the Journey to Batuu pack.

+ nsfw

Abby is gentle and caring to her core. Very big on the consent, so if you find asking if she can do something annoying - too bad, because in the beginning your sex will sound like a very hot interrogation.

On the other hand, if you're into dirty talk - you're in luck. She sounds extremely hot and doesn't even know it.

She is a switch and her preference depends on her mood.

If Abby tops, she is 100% service top.

Everything you say will be weaponised and used against you.

You like how she kisses your neck? She will master it untill you start to shake just from the brush of her nose against your skin.

She is very thoughtful and goal-driven. (The goal is to have you half-delirious with pleasure)

Loves eating you out, can and will do it at every opportunity.

When Abby bottoms, she thinks she is pretty chill. In reallity she is so damn bossy, will tell you what and how to do.

If you want her to shut up and take it - your best bet is a strap. Abby turns into a whiny, sweet mess, and if she tries to talk you can always fuck her harder.

Abby is very open to trying out new things, does all the research and then nerds out to you about it. The most unsexy sex talker outside the bedroom.

The rule of thumb is: don't make her cum as long as you can, otherwise Abby will just have her orgasm and lose all her sex drive.

That's why Abby is the strong supporter of "sex is a journey, not a destination" philosophy. She likes sex for the intimacy and fun, not for the orgasms.

okay I'm stopping there otherwise I'll never finish

[cupid4hae]

haechan’s allowed you to blindfold him. ( + 18 )

he just finished performing with dream for their concert in seoul. when he got home, you didnt even allow him to put his stuff down before dragging him to the bedroom.

which is how he found himself in this predicament. body tense against the mattress, hands pulling at the restraints above his head, and a blindfold covering his vision of you.

he hates this. haechan’s favorite part of having intimate time with you is seeing you. the way your lips shine when they’re wrapped around his cock, the way your eyes roll when he praises you, and the way you look when he allows you to have your way with him.

his train of thoughts get interrupted when he feels your hands on him. he jumps at the sudden touch but relaxes his body right away. your hands trace along his body, kisses following along. when you make it to his cock you stroke it slowly, using slight pressure when you stroke it upwards.

then he feels your lips wrap around the tip, slightly licking and kissing around it as a way of teasing him.

“fuck you’re gonna kill me” haechan says, attempting to contain his moans. haechan’s usually a very vocal person in the bedroom. but, this time he’s attempting not to be since he doesn’t want to come too easily.

you giggle at his comment and the sound of your voice makes his cock twitch even more. his hands tug at the restraints, trying to break through them but he can’t. all his strength is being sucked out of him (quite literally)

before he can say anything else you take him in your mouth fully, bobbing your head up and down while using your hands to stroke his balls. the overstimulation causes him to throw his head back and praise to spill out of his mouth.

“babe please keep going” and “fuck what did i do to deserve you” are his top two sayings.

the sounds in the bedroom are filthy. he’s surprised the neighbors haven’t knocked on their door yet. you could definitely hear haechan’s grunts and moans and the sounds of your mouth sucking the life out of his body.

haechan was close to his release, and you knew it. when haechan gets close he starts to get quite so he can focus on the release. he would usually hold your hair up and pull on it as well, but given the predicament he’s in all he can do is be quite.

you begin to use your free hand to play with his chest. if haechan thought he was overstimulated before, he was wrong because now he is. haechan’s chest is very sensitive and he loves it when you squeeze his nipples. he’s not sure when it started or why but it helps him get closer to release.

haechan’s not sure how he held out for so long because once you started playing with his chest he let go. painting your mouth white as he releases fully. haechan’s forehead is sweaty and his breathing heavy.

the blindfold is suddenly taken off him. his eyes immediately darting to you, straddling his legs while your dressed in his favorite panties and matching bra. you draw him in for a kiss, a very passionate one with a underlying message that says “you did so good.” haechan honestly thinks he can come again just like this.

when you pull away from the kiss to see haechan’s face all shiny and slightly pink you mentally high five yourself. haechan tugs at the restraints once again, hinting for you to untie him.

once he’s free from the restraints he jumps on you immediately and pins you down onto the mattress, holding your hands above your head.

“it’s your turn now baby,” is all he said before discarding your underwear and bra.

man are you in for a ride.

© CUPID4HAE — cupid’s corner

inspired by this haechan. this is my first time writing smut so be warned it might not be great :3 i would really appreciate feedback so i can improve my writing skills, so don’t be afraid to leave an ask or a dm.

[m3mento-m0rii]

Hello! Can I request the Saja boys x ZhouZhou FEM! Reader? 🤣

ZhouZhou is the Chinese comedian girl on YouTube and tiktok HER VIDEOS ARE SO FUNNY LMAOOO

Any video references is fine btw

Channels (Choose any video lol):

https://youtube.com/@zhouzhou668?si=Ou2dnFXvy3poM0N_

https://youtube.com/@zhou-zhou_tv?si=FCtyg8Z14nfof81k

Clumsy Comedian—

0.8k words; Saja Boys x ZhouZhou! reader Masterlist | Requests Open!

Honestly? Straight shenannigans.

A/N: Listen, dude . . . THIS was a tough request. I admit my eye shot up when reading it, but . . . I'll never not try 😅 This is just pure crack. There's not even any real plot, and I'm not really proud of it because I didn't know what to do, but I hope you like it?? It was an honest attempt lmaoo

The camera slowly adjusted to the scene, shifting in and out of focus until it was juuust right. Finally revealing a short woman and five taller men. The woman grinned triumphantly, placing her hands on her hips.

“Hello, everyone, and welcome back to my channel!” You grinned, rocking back and forth on your feet. “Today we’re hanging out with theeeeee Saja Boys!”

Your hand flew out to present them, only to smack Jinu in the face. He flinched, and Baby only snickered. It was his idea to have you, anyway.

This was going to be one hell of a day.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

“Abby is going to teach me some choreo from Soda Pop!” You beamed, standing next to the man in question. He only smiled down at you.

Fear in his eyes.

“It’s not too complicated,” Abby promised, as if saying it would make it true for you. He’d seen the horror stories videos. He already looked stressed. “It goes drink,”

He slowly mimed, giving you time to follow him. Actually, this wasn’t too bad. You were able to get through the first bit of the song. “Okay.You know what? Good. Now shoulder, shoulder . . .”

Crrrrrriiick.

Before he knew it, he was already catching you. “What the he—did you just pop your back?? Why were you doing it so hard?!”

You sighed, going limp in his arms. Like butter. “It felt good, too . . . Felt that in my ribs.”

Abby’s face dropped.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

“Romance, Romance, come here,” you waved him closer. In typical Romance fashion, he slid up to you, peering down at you with a smile.

“Yeeeesss?”

“Can I see your nails?” You asked innocently. “They suit you so well from a distance! I want to see the patterns up close.”

Of course, flattered, he forgot your job was to torture make content with them, so he didn’t question it. “I know!” Romance placed his hand in yours, leaning back slightly as he rambled about his nails, “usually I do them myself, but there’s this really nice lady down the stre—”

You pulled pliers from your pocket and pushed his finger between the teeth, “—EEt NO WHAT?!”

You cackled as he pushed you away, the squeal he let out drawing the attention of the others.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

“We’re going to try this again . . .” Abby breathed deeply, losing hope in the situation already. “Romance, show her how to do the choreo for Baby’s part.”

Romance (scared to be in your general vicinity), swallowed thickly and moved a few steps away from you. “Okay, so it really starts with just a little slide—” he practiced;

You attempted, ragdolling and eating shit on the ground.

“How did you even fold that way—?!”

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

You stared dead at the camera, expression blank as you showed off the contraption (it looked like a torture device) in your hands like a makeup tutorial. To be fair, it was used for cosmetic purposes.

Typically.

“We’re going wake Baby up,” you whispered, sneaking up on the man passed out on the couch. You pressed the thing over his lips, squeezing several times in quick succession to make his lips suck up into it. 

His eyes snapped open, and you pulled him up like a vampire from a coffin.

“Mmph-!”

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

You stared at Mystery.

Mystery stared at you.

He seemed to be avoiding you. No more.

You walked up to him, seeming normal.

He knew better than that.

“Mystery? Will you teach me how to blend in?”

You could feel his gaze even below the hair covering his eyes. Still, he sighed, slipping into the shadows a few feet by the doorway. You copied him with an amused huff, only to get the door opened on you by Jinu.

“Oh-Oh my gosh I’m sorry,” he panicked, and you were only doing that silent, painful laughing thing, unable to decide between clutching your bleeding nose or your foot from it sliding under the door.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Mystery fold a little, too.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

“Maybe we should chill for a little while?” Jinu suggested, regret clear on his features as tried to decide between icing your nose or just leaving it. You only flipped him a thumbs up. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you hummed, your voice already nasally. You looked through the footage, kicking your feet a little from your spot at the island. “I think that’s enough content, anyway.”

“You oughtta quit while you're ahead,” Abby massaged his temple. Baby laughed, and Romance only glared at him.

“We’re never letting you pick anything for press again.”

“We need a lawyer on standby for this,” Jinu groaned.

“This is payback for making you maknae, isn’t it?”

“I figured you guys needed a taste of ‘taking one for the team.’ It’s good content.”

Mystery pressed his face into the kitchen counter, and you only watched everyone amusedly.

You should do this again with them sometime.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

A/N: I tried 😭 The videos I researched with did make me laugh, ngl. Thanks for requesting, and I didn't forget about you other requests! <33

—Captain Morii 🌤️

Morii's Business Class: @abby-himbo-truther @kpopmultistans @momentomoribitch

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - off the record (part seven)

part seven ; ghosts from mock trial past

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which you’re paired with your insufferably charming ex-academic rival turned coworker to cover a congressional scandal, and suddenly, professional boundaries becomes the only thing holding you two apart.

note ; guys i think i have an actual physical and emotional connection to this story. i spent all of last night daydreaming about them before bed and am now genuinely concerned about my ability to be a functioning civilian. but it's a-okay because part seven is done and dusted (with part eight not far behind!!!!) as i mentioned in an ask sent in by an anon, i split up this part into two parts because it was nearing 25k words and at that point, it genuinely was not readable. just wayyyyy too much happening all at once but rest assured you are still fed in this chapter. a lot of subtle emotional shifts and tension. reading between the lines, if you will. part eight is probably my favorite part of this series so far so stay excited for that!!! enjoy :))

series masterlist here

playlist here

wc ; 7.9k

Press conferences are intricate games of cat and mouse, when you consider the details. You’re never completely sure which animal you are, though, until someone draws blood. 

You like to think you’re the cat. Claws sharp, reflexes quicker, ready to pounce on the mouse any moment it makes a wrong move. You can envision it already: you, a sleek feline circling some hapless politician until they slip up and give you the soundbite you want. 

See, it’s pretty simple. You’ll sink your claws into any mouse, and devour it for any form of satisfaction you can get your paws on. 

And right now, you’re basically purring with satisfaction from sitting in the front row at Monroe’s press conference, a VIP press badge wrapped around your neck with the words [Y/N] [Y/L/N], CNN in big, bold letters. This is better than caffeine, you think. Maybe even better than sex, but it's been long enough since you've had any that you might be forgetting what that feels like.

Beside you, Jungkook shifts restlessly, his own press badge an obnoxious shade of Fox News blue and red. Even after years and years of sitting near him, that logo still makes you want to commit small acts of violence. 

It’s weird having him right next to you instead of lurking a few rows behind like usual. Normally you sense his presence somewhere in your peripheral vision, but now you’re noticing all the things.

Like how he clicks his pen a few times out of habit, or chews the inside of his cheek violently as time drags on. 

He’s within prime note-stealing distance, which makes you irrationally paranoid even though you’re supposedly working off the information you two got from your chats with her. Old habits die hard. 

You’ve been at the press briefing for all of ten minutes after you both engaged in a full-contact sport for the best seat possible (although Mark did already assign your respective seating and, of course, it happened to be next to each other), and there’s no sign of Monroe. The longer she keeps everyone waiting, the more restless the pack gets, and restless journalists are dangerous journalists. 

“When do you think she’ll come out?” Jungkook pipes up, adjusting his blazer. 

You snort. “Ten years from now. You know how they like to make us wait. It's like they get off on watching us slowly lose our minds out here.” 

“Sadistic but true,” he agrees, glancing around the room. “Think she’s back there practicing her stone-cold face in a mirror?”

“Absolutely. Probably with a whole team of consultants telling her exactly how much to let her voice crack for maximum sympathy.” You move in your seat, trying (and failing) to find a position that doesn't make your legs go numb. Plus, your heels are really starting to pinch in the back. “Either that or she’s having a full breakdown and they’re pumping her full of xanax.”

“My money’s on the xanax.”

“Safe bet.” You check your phone for the third time in two minutes. “Knowing her, she’ll come out here completely composed, sunglasses on, and deliver the most boring non-answers in political history.”

“Boring non-answers are still usable. Senator Williams once said ‘I categorically deny these categorically false allegations.’ Whatever the fuck that means.” Jungkook shrugs, a movement you feel more than see. His arm moves up where he’s subtly pressed against you. Who put these chairs so close together? 

You shudder at the distant memory. “Oh god, that was painful. I started timing how long he could go without saying anything of substance. Personal record was four minutes and ten seconds.”

Jungkook’s laugh bellows throughout the room. The sound evokes that annoying fluttery thing again in your stomach. Recently, there’s been a permanent swarm of butterflies making a home in your stomach every time he’s near. “Scientific study on Williams, got it.”

“I’m a professional after all.” There’s a slight pause, then you remember why you’re both here in the first place. “Speaking of professional, we should probably compare notes. Did you scrape anything together on the way here?” 

He definitely did not, but you’re holding out a candle for his one last working brain cell. 

“Right. Let us see, shall we?” He pulls out his notebook with a clearing of his throat, sifting through pages and pages of doodles. It’s a disaster — there’s tiny skulls in the margins and three different pen colors scattered across pages. 

He flips through a few more pages before coughing and scratching the back of his neck like he’s developed a mysterious rash. Don’t even think about it, Jeon. “Uh… so about that.” 

“Jeon, you’re kidding.” 

“What?? I was focused on the views!” You're not sure what views he's referring to, although there was a homeless man you drove by that was arguing with a traffic cone. It was more intellectually stimulating than most political discourse.

“You went to school here, dickwad.” You flick his forehead with a satisfying thwack. “What more do you want to see?” 

“Listen.” He gives you a sheepish look. “I think… for this one, I’ll let you lead.” 

“I beg your pardon?” This has to be a trick. Maybe he’s having some kind of medical episode. Should you call someone or leave him to die?

“You have a great strategy. I’m sure I can just chime in where needed.” 

“Jeon, I swear to god, this better not be a prank where you're setting me up to fail spectacularly—“ 

It’s not exactly low on the list of possibilities with him. 

Jungkook cuts you off, turning his body towards you so quickly that your thighs brush against each other. The contact is brief, but your leg buzzes and your brain goes offline for a millisecond. “At the end of the day, we both need to walk out of here with a story for our bosses and, in my opinion, paint Monroe in a better light than she’s in now. You’re capable of that, no?” 

“I’m incredibly capable of that.”

It feels like he’s handing off the world’s most important group project to you. Sure, you want to be flattered, but this also seems like an elaborate scheme to make you do all the work while he sits back and judges your performance. 

Point blank, the whole situation is incredibly suspicious. Since when does Jungkook Jeon voluntarily hand over control of anything? This is the same man who once argued with you for twenty minutes about who got to ask the opening question at a stupid city council meeting. “So why are you doing this?” 

You’re half-expecting a smug remark to come next. A cheeky smirk. The punchline. 

Instead, he says: “I told you. I trust you.” 

“Sounds lazy.” 

He sighs. His features contort, and even though you’ve known him for nearly a decade, you can’t make out his motives. “It’s not. I trust that you’ll get the job done.” 

“Right, but you don’t want to.. one-up me? Steal my thunder? Make me look incompetent in front of my professional peers?”  

“I already do that in DC.” Jungkook’s smile could probably light up all of Times Square. “I’ll give you New York.” 

In all four years of college, not once did he give you New York. 

“Fair enough.” You open up your own notepad that hosts all your cross-referenced questions because you are a functioning adult, unlike some people. “Well, I’ll probably open up with something about that new legislation they’re working on. Discuss her involvement.” 

He hums approvingly. 

Sharing your real questions feels weirdly intimate, like showing him your actual hand instead of just the cards you want him to see. But then again, you did promise to work together, and his annoying genuine compliment from earlier is still rattling around in your brain like a pinball.

You’re grateful to have something concrete to focus on instead of whatever psychological chess game he's playing. “I also want to ask about her alignment with the Democratic party. That should establish her credibility enough.”

“Oh, don’t forget,” He rubs his mouth with his fingers like he’s Confucious, deep in thought. “Gotta call her Senator Monroe instead of Monroe. Can’t let them know we’re addressing her informally like we’re all best buds or something.”

“No way, really?” you reply sardonically. “I was gonna ask for her skincare routine. Thank god you saved me.”

You watch as he chews his cheek for the nth time to hold back a smile. You almost don’t want him to hold back. You kind of want those permanent butterflies to make a reappearance. 

“So…” You lean back, cross your right leg over your left. “Any actual journalism hidden in that artistic masterpiece?"

He looks down at his notepad that’s ajar, enough for you to spot some squiggles and flowers and letters that are incoherent. 

He grins, not even slightly embarrassed about the doodles. "To be honest with you, I want to know more about the power dynamic. Who had more influence in their professional relationship?"

That's... quite good. Damn him.

"That's going to make her squirm," you admit begrudgingly. It’s probably not a good idea to ask that, but neutrality has been your middle name recently. 

"That's the point. I also want to ask if she thinks the story would have gotten the same attention if the genders were reversed."

You blink at him. Brilliant. Beyond brilliant, if you’re being journalistically honest. Jungkook has obviously done research — or at the very least, thought — about whether the media treats men and women differently, which is news to you.

You always assumed his idea of feminism was holding doors open and not mansplaining the news to female correspondents, apparently setting the bar somewhere near the earth's core.

“Shit, that's smart."

His interrogation skills continue to be something you admire about him. He doesn’t need to dwell on questions or prep in the shower. He has the capacity to exude magnificence without even trying. 

He crosses his arms over his chest. "Don't sound so surprised. I occasionally have good ideas."

"Occasionally being the operative word."

Before Jungkook has a chance to conjure up the world’s most lukewarm comeback, the sound of cameras clicking and heels on wood knocks against your eardrum, demanding attention. 

Almost as if she’s been summoned by the collective impatience of thirty caffeine-addled journalists, Monroe appears. 

Her hair is pulled back in a sleek bun, outfit ironed to a crisp. Surprisingly, she’s not wearing sunglasses, and her eyes look a little… darker. Not like her eyes were ever dazzling pools of emerald, but they’re duller than usual. 

She walks up to the podium, Mark behind her like a shadow. 

The second she sits down, the voices follow. 

"Senator Monroe, how do you respond—"

"—allegations of misconduct—"

"—timeline of your relationship with—"

"—comment on Senator Delgado's statement—"

It’s like watching piranhas descend on a wounded gazelle, except the gazelle is wearing designer clothing and the piranhas have press badges. You almost feel bad for her. 

You catch Jungkook’s eye, and he gives you a look that says yikes; it’s the most unified you’ve ever been about anything. Even Mark, who's hovering by the side wall like a nervous father at a dance recital, looks as though he's reconsidering every life choice that led him to this moment.

Monroe holds up one hand and miraculously, the piranhas quiet down. 

“Thank you all for being here,” she begins, tone steady. She’s a better actress than you give her credit for. "I know there's been a lot of speculation, and I appreciate the opportunity to set the record straight."

Jungkook mutters under his breath, “Here we go,” and you have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing. 

Watching politicians try to spin their way out of scandals will always be peak entertainment.

Monroe scans the room, looking for the friendliest face in a crowd of vultures. She spots you and Jungkook, and the tiniest sparkle lights itself in her eyes. 

“I’ll take questions now.”

Every hand in the room shoots up simultaneously. 

You don’t dare lift your hand yet, because you’re almost scared to get drowned out by the crowd. You know your voice has never failed to cut through a crowd — not with the way your voice booms off walls, or the way your research speaks for itself — but this specific press briefing makes you want to wait until the right moment. Pick your shot.  

As if Jungkook can smell your hesitation, he bumps his thigh against yours. Purposely, this time. The heat of him scorches through the fabric of your pants, spreading outward like someone just dropped a lit match on dry kindling.

You raise your hand and ignore his gaze. He doesn't get to know that his stupid little gesture of support made the permanent butterflies return. 

“CNN?”

Mark’s voice is recognizable. He smiles brightly, gives you a nod as if to say ‘This is your moment. Don't waste it.’

Clearing your throat, you say, “Senator Monroe, what specific contributions did your policies make to the new legislation passed last month?” 

There’s a collective sigh around the room — probably at the fact that you neglected to ask what sex position she was caught in with Delgado.

(It was doggy style. Go, Monroe. Get it girl.)

Monroe’s eyes find yours, and a pleased expression spreads across her face. Her mask cracks enough that you can peek through. Like she knew you wouldn't appease the piranhas, that you'd ask the question that lets her talk about her work instead of her personal life.

And god help you, you do not want to let her down.

Monroe’s spine straightens in her chair, and she’s no longer a scandal-ridden politician anymore — she’s a senator who knows her stuff. “Over the past six months, I've been the primary sponsor on three pieces of legislation that directly address healthcare accessibility in rural communities," she begins, her voice gaining strength with each word. "The Rural Healthcare Infrastructure Act alone allocated forty-two million dollars to underserved areas, something I've been fighting for since I took office."

Your pen flies across paper, capturing every detail, every statistic, every word. This is what you breathe for — the concrete evidence that makes a story bulletproof. And the truth is as follows: Monroe is good at her job, and no sex scandal can argue otherwise. 

Next to you, Jungkook’s approach is wildly different from your own. You;ve written full sentences with proper punctuation as any civilized human being would, but he’s scrambling to get down fragments: “42 mil,” “rural health,” “primary sponsor.” You catch a glimpse of what resembles a tiny drawing of a stethoscope in the margin, because obviously testimony seems to remind him of art class.

“Washington Post?” Mark calls out next, and the cycle resumes.

Question, answer, furious note-taking. 

Then Bloomberg, then NPR, each outlet getting their moment in the spotlight before the wheel keeps turning.

If anyone ever asks what you love most about political press conferences, the answer is straightforward. It’s how predictable they are when you learn the pattern. 

They’re a ballroom dance where everyone knows the steps. 

There are those who ask softball questions to build rapport. Those who go straight for the jugular. 

And when one gets really good at this job, they can practically see the next three moves before they happen. 

During a brief lull where someone from Reuters fumbles with their words, you raise your hand again, and Mark points at you with the universal sign to proceed. “Senator Monroe, can you walk us through how you typically collaborate with colleagues on bipartisan legislation?”

A chance for her to talk about working relationships while opening the door for follow-ups about specific colleagues. Like Delgado, for instance. 

Two more questions, two more deliberate steps forward. The merry-go-round keeps spinning, the piranhas keep circling, and you're starting to see exactly where this is all heading.

You’re plotting on what else you can squeeze from her without showing your hand, as Mark’s voice cuts through your strategy session. 

“New York Times?”

“Senator Monroe,” the correspondent starts. You can already tell that this is about to go sideways, “do you feel as though there’s a level of innocence you’re trying to maintain throughout all this?” 

You have got to be kidding. 

Your heart lurches in your chest and drops somewhere into your shoes. You watch in horror as Monroe’s face crumbles like a sandcastle hit by a rogue wave. The sparkle from earlier fizzles out.

You know you need to be neutral. You want to be neutral. That’s literally Journalism 101. However, watching this unfold feels like watching someone kick a puppy on live television.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook’s jaw lock in place, a sigh escaping him, and his pen hovers over his notebook menacingly. 

“Right, well,” Monroe clears her throat. You have to admire how she’s pulling herself back together. She's a stronger woman than you are, because your automatic instinct would be to stand up, remove your left shoe, and launch it at the Times correspondent's head. “I could say the same for him, couldn’t I?”

Yes, Monroe. Yes, you absolutely can. 

There’s a tap on your shoulder as you lean forward in anticipation of her next words. Your head whips in the direction of the sensation, and Jungkook is sliding his notepad toward you, with “Do you believe gender roles in this scandal have shaped how the media treats you?” scribbled in black ink. 

When you peek back up at him, he’s smiling like he just solved world peace. A toothy grin. His two front teeth poke through in a bunny-like manner. 

You're smiling back before you can stop yourself, which is precisely when a camera flash goes off somewhere to your left. The photographer waves at you, wanting another shot, but you're too busy processing the fact that Jungkook just handed you the perfect follow-up question.

Your hand shoots up and you hear the rustle of paper as Jungkook flips through the pages frantically. 

You catch a glimpse of something that makes your brain stutter to a halt.

There’s a sketch on one of his pages. A drawing of someone sitting in a chair, hair falling in waves that look almost the length of yours, the curve of shoulders that seem familiar in a way that makes your stomach flip.

It really does look familiar. 

That can’t be you. 

Can it?

It's probably just some random person he doodled during a boring meeting. Maybe it's Sana. Or his sister (does he have a sister?). Or literally anyone who isn't you sitting right next to him.

You're definitely overthinking this. Sleep deprivation does weird things to your brain.

“CNN?” 

You gulp down the saliva that’s pooled in your mouth. The question. Jungkook's brilliant, gender-role question that he's going to let you steal and pretend was your idea all along.

“Do you believe gender roles in this scandal have shaped how the media treats you?”

Monroe’s face lights up, grin widening. Like the Cheshire Cat if the Cheshire Cat had a law degree and a grudge against the patriarchy.

“I do. In fact, I believe this entire scandal exists because we still live in a world where a woman's ambition is seen as threatening, where female politicians are held to impossible standards of moral purity while their male counterparts get a free pass for far worse behavior. When men have affairs, they're humanized. When women do, they're demonized.”

By the time she finishes answering the question and Mark has moved on to Politico, you’re nowhere near done conjuring up a clear image of that sketch in your mind.

You don’t care about his artistic endeavors.. The man is clearly a young Picasso in the making, evident by the volume of doodles scattered everywhere. 

But — and this is just a stray thought that breezes through your subconscious — if that really was a sketch of you, a little snapshot of what he sees when he sits behind you at press briefings, why would he spend time drawing that? Why waste time sketching someone you supposedly can't stand?

You’re still calculating your odds of being his unwitting muse when another camera flash goes off. 

Great. More pictures of you and Jungkook looking like you're plotting world domination together. These better not end up on some weird Reddit forum for journalism. This is hardly your most photogenic angle. 

Mark calls on someone else and your pen is standing upright like a soldier waiting for marching orders. 

That question ends up being the final one of the briefing — and thank god for that, because one more would’ve sent you straight to Penn Station to throw yourself in front of the next NJ Transit train. You start shoving your belongings into your bag, stuffing your notepad into the black hole that is your tote bag, where it’ll probably disappear forever alongside ten different lip balms and a granola bar from 2019.

You don’t really have the energy to look at Jungkook right now. If you do, you might ask him about that sketch and that feels like a horrendous idea. Almost as catastrophic of an idea as that one time you asked your college professor if his wife knew he was flirting with half the Political Science department. 

The room slowly empties, chatter blending together. You turn to where Jungkook was sitting, expecting to find him packing up his disaster of a notebook, but his seat is empty. 

Instead, he’s standing near the front of the room, talking to the photographer who’s been documenting your transformation into a two-person investigative team. Jungkook is pointing at something on the camera’s display, head tilted. 

What the fuck? What is he doing?

Yet another bullet point on the growing list of Jungkook-related mysteries you don’t want to think about. Right next to "why does he smell so good" and "when did he become thoughtful about gender dynamics" and "was that my hair in his sketch."

“I’m just saying. Katniss was never really in love with either of them. She loved safety and survival.”

You don’t know what crime you committed in a past life that resulted in your current punishment: drinking at Fiddlesticks Pub in New York City, surrounded by a bunch of eager correspondents, debating young adult literature with Jungkook while nursing matching vodka cranberries.

It must have been something truly heinous. Identity theft. Or worse — you likely wrote clickbait headlines. 

He snorts at your brutal take, rolling up the cuffs of his sleeves to lean his tattooed arm on the bartop. “You would think that. Cold analysis. Absolutely heartless.”

Okay, maybe you were one of those people who spoiled movies in theater lobbies. Yes, that’s the crime. 

“It’s realistic,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “You think trauma bonding equals true love? That's like saying Stockholm syndrome is romantic.”

“Peeta loved her gently,” he argues, and you literally can't believe you’re having this conversation. “That’s the whole point of the book. Gale was all fire and destruction, but Peeta understood what she needed to heal.”

Here you are, at this dingy dive bar, getting a full literary analysis of The Hunger Games from a man who doodles in the margins of his press notes.

The rest of your day had been relatively relaxing — you’d wandered around Manhattan for hours, visiting approximately every coffee shop in a ten block radius and pretending to need things from three different drugstores. Anything to avoid the possibility of walking in on Jungkook doing something inadvisable, like breaking rule number two. Again. 

Unfortunately, your avoidance strategy was derailed the moment Mark invited you both to some impromptu happy hour for all the correspondents. Really, who can say no to free alcohol?

All that to say — that’s how you ended up trapped in a discussion about the humanity versus survival motif with Jungkook. 

You should’ve stayed at the hotel and ordered room service. 

“I can’t believe you’re the only person I know here,” you sigh, swirling the ice cubes in your drink. 

The bar is relatively packed at this hour. It smells faintly of spilled beer and sweat, and someone’s blasting 2000s throwbacks loudly in your right ear. You're pretty sure the person next to you is having an argument about cryptocurrency.

Looking around, your chances of finding someone else to talk to who won't challenge your literary opinions are looking increasingly grim.

“Oh, come on. I’m not entertaining enough for you?” He pouts dramatically. 

“I would rather watch someone grate cheese directly onto my eyeballs for entertainment.”

And that’s not even an exaggeration. 

“Ouch. Tough crowd.” He throws his head back, draining the rest of his vodka cranberry in one go. 

“Do you know anyone here?” 

He probably does. He seems like the type of person who knows everyone everywhere. Or, at least, he did in college. 

“A few people,” he remarks with a shrug. 

Called it. 

Your curiosity is piqued. “Anyone interesting?”

“Not really worth mentioning.” He suddenly finds the bar’s scratched wooden surface fascinating, avoiding eye contact like his life depends on it.

Oh. 

You’re not sure if you should pry but you’re currently two vodka cranberries deep, so fuck it.

“What, someone you fucked?” you joke, shifting your weight off one foot to the other. Damn, your heels are really starting to hurt. 

“Like I said,” he motions to the bartender for another round, “Not worth talking about.”

“Definitely someone you fucked.” you giggle at his discomfort. Everyone commits a little political incest once in a while (except for you). “It better not have been someone from Daily Mail. That’s like working at Gucci and shopping at Goodwill.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Poetic comparison.”

“Do you make it a point to work your way through the correspondents?”

Okay, vodka cranberries, serious conversation on boundaries needs to be had. Chill. You’re venturing into territory you have no business being in.

He accepts the fresh drink from the bartender’s waiting hand, sliding a few extra dollars for gratuity across the bar. “I’ll have you know I haven’t had sex in a while.”

You definitely committed treason in a past life, because having this conversation with Jungkook while tipsy is torture specifically designed for you. 

“What’s ‘a while’ in your book?” You doubt his definition matches yours. His version of a dry spell is probably what normal people call a long weekend. 

“You know… like a month or two.” Crimson red creeps up his neck, visible even under the bar’s soft lighting. 

“Christ, I must be the Virgin Mary then.”

“Wait, how long has it been for you?” 

You’re both tiptoeing a weird line. 

In the span of one day, you've felt his hands on your hips, seen him half-naked, and now you're comparing celibacy timelines.

“A little longer than that,” you admit, taking a sip to avoid questioning. 

“What—” A smile — a real, genuine one that makes your insides feel like someone just released a bunch of butterflies in a windstorm — erupts on his face. His eyes go all crinkly, and you clutch your glass tightly, “You don’t have game?”

“I’m not interested in all that.” A masterpiece of deflection. 

He fidgets with his drink napkin, tearing little pieces off. “Because of your ex?” 

Damn Jungkook and his annoying ability to see right through you. 

“No,” you lie. “My career comes first.”

“Right.” He accepts the explanation without pushing, not calling you out on the obvious bullshit. He looks back down at his glass, then asks, “So then are you getting promoted soon?”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “If I tell you, are you going to use it against me? Sabotage my chances when we get back to DC?” 

A cheeky grin flashes across his features. “Never. Who would I have epic battles with in the press room if you got promoted out of my league?” 

Fair enough. You sigh longingly. “Maybe. Jenna’s been tossing subtle hints for weeks.” 

“That’s exciting.” He doesn't offer much else. 

In this lighting, you can see the moles up closer that litter his face. His tie is crooked after hours of wear, strong muscle outlined by his button-down. It's very distracting, which is probably why you're staring instead of responding like a normal person.

“What about you?” You manage to ask. 

“Me?” He points at himself stupidly, like there’s someone else standing beside him.

“Promotion, genius.” 

“Oh. Possibly.” He shrugs, less confident than normal. “My editor thinks my research methods are juvenile. Says it shows in my writing.” 

“I mean, I read that article you did on the infrastructure bill last month,” you say before you can stop the vodka cranberry from speaking.  “It wasn’t terrible.”

Something shifts behind his eyes that sends a swarm of something restless and warm buzzing around your abdomen. 

“You read my stuff?” 

“I read everyone’s stuff,” you say quickly. It’s true — you do. Professional reconnaissance. 

His face drops, as if someone just told him Santa was a myth.  

“Ah, so you’re not stalking me back?” 

“No, that’s definitely your specialty,” you tease, laughing lightly. “I'm too busy to develop unhealthy obsessions with my competition.”

“Competition, right.” He takes another sip of his own vodka cranberry. “Is that still what we’re calling this?”

Well, you’ve been rivals since college, you work for competing networks, you’ve spent over 100 hours trying to outmaneuver him for the best questions. If that's not competition, then you've been misunderstanding your entire professional relationship.

“What else would we call it? A friendship? Because I hate to break it to you, but Rosalie and I don’t really pray on each other’s downfalls.”

“Fine, fine.” He grins. “You’re right. My friendships don’t involve this much arguing about journalistic ethics.”

“Or Hunger Games literary analysis.”

“That was very important discourse.”

“Waste of brain cells,” you counter. “Next you’ll want to debate whether Edward or Jacob was the better choice.”

“Obviously Edward. Jacob was a child.” He furrows his eyebrows.

“See, this is why we can’t be friends.” You kick his shin lightly with the sharp-end of your heel. “You have terrible taste in fictional men.”

“My taste in fictional men is impeccable,” he protests, “Edward was emotionally mature, financially stable, and completely devoted. That’s husband material.”

You snort. “Edward was a controlling stalker who watched her sleep. If that’s what you think romance is, I’m concerned for anyone who dates you.”

“Ouch.” He places a hand over his heart dramatically. “You really know how to wound a guy.”

“It’s a gift.” You step out of your heels for a minute to give you a break from the throbbing on the back of your foot. “Besides, we both know you’re more of a Gale anyway.”

“How am I Gale?”

“Competitive, stubborn, thinks he knows what’s best for everyone else…” You tick off the qualities on your fingers. “Plus you both have that whole 'I'm going to win this war' energy.”

“Oh, really? What does that make you?” 

“Obviously Katniss. Practical, strategic, trying to keep everyone alive while they make terrible decisions.”

“And emotionally unavailable?” He looks down at your feet that are still struggling to find a good position to remain in. 

“Selectively available, Jeon.” 

Jungkook’s mouth barely opens to release a smartass comment when you feel a tap on your shoulder. 

You turn around and nearly choke on your drink.  

Jake Gonzalez. From mock trial. Standing right here in the middle of Fiddlesticks Pub like he just materialized from your college daydreams.

What the hell is he doing here?

Never mind that — he’s somehow even more attractive since sophomore year. Brown hair that falls across his forehead like warm chocolate drizzled over vanilla ice cream, green eyes that remind you of fresh pine trees. He was always incredibly sweet to you, even when you were destroying his arguments in front of the entire mock trial team. Pretty sure every girl in the program had a crush on him. 

You included. 

“Jake?” you ask. Is it possible to hallucinate from vodka?

God, you want to get lost in those eyes and never find your way back. 

“Knew that was you, [Y/N],” he says, grinning easily, “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good!” You lean in for a hug and his strong biceps envelop you. Someone's definitely been hitting the gym. “What are you doing in New York?”

“I live around here actually,” He gestures toward the window vaguely. “I work for the New York Times. Politics desk.”

“God, that’s awesome. I’m at CNN, covering the Hill.”

You don't need to elaborate — anyone in political journalism knows exactly what that means.

“Always knew you’d end up somewhere like that.” His grin grows tenfold. “CNN would've been crazy not to snap up the most talented writer Columbia ever produced.”

His hair looks ridiculously soft. Like he's got some kind of expensive skincare routine that extends to follicle care. You want to run your hands through it while—

Someone clears their throat behind you. 

Oh. Him. 

Jungkook’s still standing there, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the universe 

“Jake, you remember Jungkook, right?” you say, stepping back slightly. 

Jake looks completely unamused by him. “Oh yeah, Jeon. How’s it going, bro?” 

“Fantastic, bro. Thanks for asking,” Jungkook replies sharply. 

The ‘bro’ does not sound friendly. 

Whatever. There’s no time for a dick measuring contest when Jake’s gorgeous green eyes are in front of you. 

“So the Times, eh?” You lean in closer. The bar is loud (no, you don’t just want to be in his personal space. Although, yes, you want that too). “That must be awesome.”

“It really is. I’ve been covering some major stories lately. I actually just got back from interviewing the Secretary of State about new trade agreements.” Jake’s chest puffs out slightly. Confidence looks so sexy on him. “And last month I broke that story about the lobbying scandal. Made the front page.”

You hear what sounds like a snort from behind you, but you’re too honed in on Jake’s accomplishments to care. 

“That’s amazing.” Your voice is breathy. “You always were brilliant in mock trial. Remember that case about corporate liability? You fucking destroyed the opposing team.”

“I remember you giving me a run for my money.” He winks. “But yeah, I’ve been doing pretty well for myself. My editor says I’m on track to win a Pulitzer in the next few years.”

Another snort. Louder this time. 

Jake doesn’t pay any mind to it, which makes you like him even more. Professional, focused, unbothered by petty interruptions. 

“A Pulitzer?? Jake, that’s amazing.” You place your hand on his arm. All subtlety has left the bar. “I always knew you were going places.”

“Thanks, [Y/N]. You know, we should grab dinner sometime. Catch up properly.” His hand covers yours where it still rests on his bicep. “I’d love to hear about your work. I’m sure you’ve got some fascinating stories from the Hill.”

You keep waiting for your stomach to do that fluttery thing but it never comes. Weird. “I’d really like that.”

“Great. I’ll have to get your number before I leave.”

You’re so absorbed in Jake’s attention that you barely register movement in your peripheral vision until you see Jungkook walking past you both, heading toward the other end of the bar with purpose. He doesn’t look back or say goodbye… just leaves. 

Huh.

Well, maybe he got the hint that three’s a crowd. 

Honestly, you’re relieved. Now you can focus entirely on reconnecting with Jake without any awkward hovering or territorial snorting. 

“So,” Jake continues, not noting or caring about Jungkook’s departure, “tell me more about CNN. Correspondent?”

“Uh, yeah.” You shake your head to banish any lingering thoughts of Jungkook. “Yeah, I’ve been there since graduation actually.”

“No promotion yet?” There’s this tiny pout evident on his plump cherry lips that is meant to be endearing, but feels more condescending.

“Working on it.” you say, forcing brightness into your tone. 

“And Jeon — he works at CNN with you?” 

Why does he have to bring him up? Can't you go back to the part where Jake was asking you to dinner and making you feel like the most interesting person in the room?

“Nah, he works at Fox.” you sigh. 

Jake takes note of your expression. “Ah. Still giving you trouble, I’m guessing?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

He laughs. A genuine, hearty laugh that should be sending signals of warmth to your belly but instead just sits there, doing absolutely nothing. Maybe you really are the emotionally unavailable ice queen from your Hunger Games analysis.  

“Well at least let me buy you another drink to make up for having to deal with him.” He signals the bartender over, and then turns back to you. “You still drinking mojitos like you did in college?”

You hold up your glass. “Vodka cranberries now. I’ve upgraded.”

“Smart choice.” He orders for both of you. 

With Jake being distracted, you notice Jungkook across the bar, leaning against a high-top table, talking to a woman with sleek black hair. She’s undeniably pretty. Dressed in an all pink blazer set. It's a little much for a casual bar, in your completely unbiased opinion, but then again, you’ve been spending all day in a red power suit so maybe you're not one to judge.

They're standing close, and she's laughing at something he's saying, touching his arm. 

Good for him. He deserves to have fun instead of lurking around you all the time. 

“One vodka cranberry for the brilliant journalist.” Jake hands you the drink with a flourish.

“Thanks.” You take a sip. A little stronger than you normally preferred, but whatever. Beggars can’t be choosers. 

“Alright.” Jake props himself up against the bar. “What’s been your biggest scoop lately?”

The Monroe situation deserves its own dissertation. You’re ready to launch into a ten minute explanation of it when you get the urge to glance around the bar. Jungkook’s body has turned a few degrees, and for a moment, his eyes find yours across the crowded area.

The eye contact lasts maybe two seconds, but it hits you like a freight train carrying a cargo of dynamite. Your stomach erupts into a butterfly hurricane — it’s wild and overwhelming and makes you forget how to breathe properly. 

“You okay?” Jake asks, and you realize you’ve been staring across the bar like a deer in headlights. 

“Yeah, sorry. Just—” You struggle to refocus. “Where were we?” 

“Your biggest story,” he prompts, but now his head is following your gaze towards Jungkook’s section of the bar. “Actually, speaking of stories, how’s Jeon doing at Fox? I heard he’s been making quite a name for himself.”

Specific thing to have heard. “He’s fine, I guess. We don’t normally compare notes or anything.”

“But you two travel together for work?” Jake’s register comes casual, but the question is pointed. 

“Not by choice.” You gulp down another sip of your aggressively strong drink. “This New York thing is just a coincidence.”

“Cool. He always was competitive back in school. I imagine that makes working in the same building… interesting.”

“It’s fine.” You hope you’re shutting down his questioning, “We mostly just ignore each other.”

Not true whatsoever, but that’s neither here nor there. 

“Really? Because from what I’ve heard through the Columbia grapevine, you two have quite the reputation for going head-to-head at press conferences.” Jake’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. 

People are talking about you and Jungkook?

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” you lie as you swallow down your drink. Seriously, did Jake ask the bartender to make this with paint thinner?

“C’mon, don’t be modest. I heard about that takedown a few months ago with Senator Robins. Brutal.” Jake leans closer, and his cologne is… a lot. “But I also heard Jeon got the exclusive follow-up interview. Must have been frustrating.”

Okay, this is getting weird. Jake knows the intricate details of your professional conflicts with Jungkook.

“Jake, I honestly don’t really want to talk about Jungkook.” You force out a laugh that sounds fake even to your own ears. “Let’s talk about something else. Like… your apartment! You said you live around here?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Jake straightens his spine. He’s pleased to shift to a topic where he can brag some more. “I've got a place in SoHo. Two bedrooms, great view of the Hudson. My parents helped with the down payment, obviously, but the rent is all me.”

“That’s great.” Your response is lackluster. You’re trying to sound interested, you really are, but your brain keeps drifting to Jungkook. To many things, actually. The sketch in his notepad. The chest tattoo. The way he looked at you across the bar. 

As you prepare to shift the conversation from Jake's apartment bragging to your own reasonably sized DC apartment — one your parents certainly didn’t finance — a strong hand suddenly grabs your wrist.

“Hey, what the—”

Before you can finish your protest, you’re dragged through the crowded bar like a reluctant parade float. You catch glimpses of confused faces as you’re hauled towards the back of the bar, past the bathrooms to a soft-lit hallway that smells of industrial cleaner. 

Your captor releases you once you’re pressed against the wall, and you whip around, ready to unleash every curse word you’ve ever learned. 

Fucking Jungkook. 

You’re going to let him have it. You’re going to demolish him with the verbal equivalent of a flamethrower. 

But then you look at his face. His eyes have gone as dark as storm clouds. His nostrils are flared, lips parted. 

He’s furious. And you have no idea why. 

That’s enough to shut you right up. 

“What are you doing?” he hisses. 

“What am I doing?” Your voice is a higher pitch than intended. “What are you doing, you freak? You just kidnapped me!”

“Were you talking to Jake about me?” 

Does he have superhuman hearing? He’s supposed to be busy charming Pink Blazer into giving him her number. 

“What—no. Maybe. I don’t know!” You’re floundering. “He asked questions. I answered. It’s called basic human interaction.”

“Okay, well, don’t.”

“Why not?” You cross your arms over your chest. Somewhere in the chaos of being dragged across a bar, you’ve lost your drink and you really need something to do with your hands. 

“Because.” His nostrils flare even wider, as if that’s even humanly possible. 

“Fantastic explanation.” You glare at him. “Can you not speak like a caveman? Use your big boy words.”

He rolls his eyes so hard they practically disappear into his skull. “Fine. He’s my… he’s my nemesis.”

“He’s not your nemesis. I’m your nemesis.” You blurt out before your brain can catch up with your lips. 

Your eyes go wide before you realize what that sentence implies. If this were a cartoon, Jungkook would crash straight through the wall behind him, leaving a perfect Jungkook-shaped hole in the drywall.

“Right. Yes.” He blinks rapidly. “But not like that, though.”

“Okay, like what then? Explain it like I’m five years old.”

“Jake isn't serious about you.”

“That doesn't sound like it’s related to your nemesis—”

“No, listen.” He steps closer, and the hallway feels much smaller. Suffocating. “Jake isn’t serious about you. He’s using you.”

What is he trying to imply here? That you’re some kind of swamp creature who lives to haunt men? “Using me for what, exactly? And why is that so impossible to believe that someone might be actually interested in me?”

“That’s not what I—” He runs a hand through his chestnut hair. “God, you’re impossible.”

“I’m impossible?” you scoff. “You literally just dragged me into a bathroom hallway to tell me that a perfectly nice guy couldn't possibly be interested in me. Forgive me if I'm not following your logic.”

“He doesn’t want to have dinner with you because he likes you,” Jungkook says, nearly screaming. “He wants information about me.”

You deadpan. “Are you having some kind of narcissistic breakdown? Not everything is about you, Jungkook.”

“This is.” His jaw ticks. “Jake and I… we have a complicated history.”

“Oh, like what? Did he steal your frat dues? Beat you at beer pong?” 

“No, [Y/N], Fuck, you’re—” He stops himself, jaw working like he’s chewing on words he’s trying to mash down.

You step closer. “I’ve known Jake for years, Jungkook. He’s a good guy.”

“Oh really? And suddenly tonight he wants to be all interested?” He takes a step forward too, closing the distance between you until you can count his eyelashes if you wanted to. 

You can see every detail of him you’ve been trying to ignore. The thin scar cutting across his cheekbone, the mole below his bottom lip. Even his scent is infiltrating every hair of your nostrils. 

“Maybe he’s always been interested and just never had the chance to say anything,” you argue, but you know you’re grasping at straws.

“Right. What a coincidence that he chose tonight, when you’re here with me.”

“I’m not here with you. We just happen to be in the same place.”

“Is that so?” His eyes search your face. “It feels like we’ve been together all day.”

“That’s just for work.” 

Those butterflies from earlier have multiplied into what feels like an entire ecosystem.

“Is it?” 

He's standing so close now that you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact, and that's when you notice his breathing has gotten shallow.

“Jake doesn't care about you,” he says quietly, voice desperate. “Can’t you see? He's trying to get to me.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He closes the last inch of friendly space between you, and you’re pressed against the wall with nowhere to go. “What do you think I mean, [Y/N]?” 

Oh. 

Oh god. 

Are you really this dense, or has your brain abandoned ship? Because he can’t possibly be implying what you think he’s implying—

What exactly is he implying, anyway? That you're some kind of pawn in whatever game is being played between them?

If you’re the pawn, there has to be something worth winning. Some kind of prize that makes the game worthwhile. Something to be won. 

And the way he's looking at you right now — like you're something precious that someone might try to steal — tells you exactly what that prize is supposed to be.

“Let’s just… let’s talk about this later, Jungkook.” Your hands are trembling. Blood rushes from your face to your feet. “You've been drinking and I've been drinking and—”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.” 

The certainty in his voice makes your stomach flop like a fish fresh out of water. It has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with the fact that Jungkook just implied you're something worth fighting over.

You push off the wall, stepping away from him before he can say anything else. “I need to get back to Jake.” 

“[Y/N]—”

But you’re already long gone, heels clacking against the sticky floor as you flee toward safety, You need another drink. Several drinks. You need to drink and drink until your body makes sense of what just happened, until the memory of his words fade into nothingness. 

masterlist + ask

taglist ; @somehowukook @lovingkoalaface @moroe-blog2 @almatiarau @hanamgi @yooniepot @strawberryberrygirl @rossy1080 @libra04 @kenzierj11 @senaqsstuff @dtownbae @xumyboo @bellefaerie @chimchoom @satisfied18 @arcanekookz @vintagemoonsstuff @brokebitch-101 @taolucha @songbyeonkim @oopscoop @mochibites00 @whatevevrerr @lessthantmr @nesha227 @mar-lo-pap @jazzyb22 @lachesismoonmist @indyuhhhhh @sky-23s-world @swimmingweaselzineegs @jiminshi20 @khadeeeeej @withluvjm @anishasingh1233 @jksusawife @btstrology @youphoriajk @jadestonedaeho7 @diamondjeon @sharplycoldpaladin @annafarrr @tteokbokibyjk @prxdajeon @tatzzz-25 @magicalnachocreator @younhakim29 @purplelanterns @134340-kr @amarawayne

[reader-from-nowhere]

i have!! a few questions about brim!!! (i am drawing rn)

since brim is/was a medi drone—does he actually recognize / is he able to understand the concept of factions? like, i’m sure he knows what war is because that’s what he’s treating many wounds for, but if he were to encounter an injured enemy, would his being a medic take priority & would he even really understand why that’s not what he’s meant to be doing? i assume medi drones would have served their purpose without discrimination, & even if brim is sentient now, i’d assume that tends to still take precedent. idk if this question actually makes any sense haha

can we have a height comparison to other bots...

weirdly specific, but what’s his relationship with ratchet? you can add on his other relationships too ofc but like. i wanna know ab ratchet. because i saw that drawing of ratchet unknowingly cuddling his head thinking it was a normal medi drone and it got me thinking because i am a SUCKER for parent ratchet but i dont want to assume!!! :)

does he detach his head to recharge.

can he get injured the way other bots can? i assume his head is obviously vulnerable but aside from that if his frame gets hurt can he just. repair it and be fine? if so, has it ever even happened yet, and did anyone else take notice (plus freak out over it)?

i think you mentioned him still not really seeing himself as a bot..? i know he expresses how he must perform his function and such, but has he ever outright dehumanized (? debotized..?) himself in front of the others? (feel like there’s potential for ratchet to hear something like that and just get So Worried but i’m projecting again..)

does he have abandonment issues / separation anxiety? if so, how does he react to being (mostly) alone at base? is there anyone in particular he’d miss or be afraid isn’t coming back?

considering that he’s originally a medi drone, does he have a fear that making too many mistakes will result in him being decommissioned? :)

ok thats all for now im kinda bad at askinf questions hope this wasnt too much aaa bye

I just wanna say that I’m genuinely so happy that people do actually take interest in my characters, I had a blast reading this thank you :)

For the questions:

1. Like you said, Brim does know about the war and the factions. He does not, however, understand that he’s not suppose to treat mechs from other factions, he’s mostly just confused about why he can’t do his job. Despite what any order says, Brim consistently breaks them regardless of which faction the injured belongs to. This applies to organics as well.

2. Brim is a head taller than Ratchet! He’s a lanky boi :)

3. Since Brim comes from a dead ship that is long forgotten by Cybertron, some of his medical practices are rather…outdated, so Ratchet did serve as his mentor for a bit. Brim does seem particularly attached to Ratchet since he reminds him of the days where he used to be just a drone and being held and pet by his ship’s old medic. So yes, Ratchet is sort of a mentor/parental figure for Brim :D

Ratchet himself sort of sees Brim as a victim of the senate’s cruelty and is trying really really hard to make him understand that he is NOT in fact, just a medic, he’s got all the wrenches ready.

3. He does, though he sometimes sneaks into the medbay to recharge with the other drones.

4. The only part of his body he needs to worry about is his ‘head’ and his energon tank, since if either of those things get seriously damage it can be game over for him. The rest of the body Brim can just fix up, since it’s mostly made of scraps anyway.

He’s been VERYYY careful so far as to not get seriously injured, but who knows, that might change :)

5. I’m pretty sure his insistence on the term ‘function’ is probably enough for the others to catch on to his dehumanization. But if it comes to it, Brim will 100% of the time choose to give his life before letting anyone else dies. He also works constantly, refusing to refuel in front of anyone (mostly cause he doesn’t really need it, as long as his tank is full he can keep working).

Ratchet is annoyed by this but he gets called a hypocrite pretty quickly.

6. Brim is separation anxiety king. He will pace around the ship and clean the medbay ten times over just incase it needs to be used. The crew comes back to the ship and they see Brim waiting by the entrance for Primus knows how long like

If there’s still people left on the ship Brim will go and hang around them, or just hang out with the other drones, anything to make it stop feeling like he’s alone again.

7. It’s less of a fear and more of an acknowledgement, Brim understands that the people around him won’t just up and throw him away if he messes up. But he thinks that if he doesn’t do his job right this time, the crew will meet a terrible fate just like his old ones and he will be left alone again.

[sunshine-lux]

I Love You (ii.)

summary: yelena has a tendency to run when things start feeling too good to be true. and with valentina involved? yelena will do anything to keep y/n safe. even if it means pushing her away.

pairings: Stark!reader x yelena belova

warnings: some angst (oops), mentions of blood, y/n has a mini panic attack, slight cursing, like one or two mentions of sex, f!reader. i think that's it!

word count: 6.6k

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺

Y/N sat curled up at the foot of the bed, legs tucked under her, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Her phone buzzed silently on the comforter beside her.

She finally gave in. Picked it up. Scrolled through.

40 unread messages from: Quino 🦅

Y/N blinked. Then winced. “…Shit.”

She tapped to open them.

QUINO: Y/N/N call me QUINO: Y/N/N you there?? QUINO: Did you land??? QUINO: SAM KNOWS QUINO: SAM IS ON HIS WAY TO NY QUINO: GET OUT OF THE HOTEL QUINO: Y/N/N I KNOW YOU MUTED ME QUINO: UNMUTE ME QUINO: I SWEAR IF HE GETS THERE FIRST— QUINO: ok but also look at this cat meme tho 🐱

Y/N let out a strangled half laugh and hit the call button.

He picked up instantly. “Y/N—”

“I know. I know. I got caught.”

“Yeah,” Joaquin said, “no shit. I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“I had you muted,” she admitted.

There was a beat of silence.

“…Seriously?”

“You kept sending me memes! You flooded my notifications!”

“Okay, but did you see the one with the duck in the suit—”

“Quino.”

“Right. Sorry. You okay?”

She exhaled, flopping back onto the bed. “Not really.”

“Did he yell?”

“No,” she said. “Worse. He was calm. And Pepper was there.”

Joaquin winced. “Oof.”

“We were on call and I walked in talking about how tall Morgan is. Like a goddamn sitcom.”

“Please tell me you didn’t make the gamma juice joke.”

Y/N covered her face with both hands. “Oh, I did.”

He laughed— soft and warm, never mocking. “Classic Stark.”

There was a pause.

“Did you tell him?” she asked quietly.

“No.”

She breathed out.

“He just— he knew,” Joaquin said. “I think it was the moment you said, and I quote, ‘Yelena has great hair, amazing posture, and is surprisingly funny.’”

Y/N groaned. “I did not.”

“You so did. And then you defended her for like five minutes. Sam’s been watching you spiral in real time since then.”

“I wasn’t spiraling.”

“You flew across the country to make out with a maybe villain.”

Y/N sighed. “She’s not a villain.”

“I know,” Joaquin said gently. “But she’s not ours, Y/N/N. And Sam’s not mad you like her. He’s upset you didn’t trust him with it.”

She stayed quiet.

“You’re not cut off,” he added. “You’re not fired. You’re just benched. Until Sam calms down. Which he will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re you.”

That made her throat close up a little.

Before she could reply, the door suddenly flew open.

“Y/N/N!”

Morgan Stark, eight years old and a total menace, came barreling into the room with glitter on her forehead and a juice box in her hand.

“I painted a unicorn and I named her after you and I want waffles and mom said no but you’re cool and you’re gonna say yes, right?”

Y/N blinked.

Joaquin, on the other end, said faintly, “…Was that an air raid?”

“worse,” Y/N muttered, staring at the chaos incarnate that had just dive bombed her lap.

Morgan grinned. “Who are you talking to? Is it your boyfriend?”

Joaquin choked. “No—”

“I hear a boy talking,” Morgan gasped dramatically. “CAN I SAY HI? WHO IS IT—”

Y/N hung up.

She flopped backwards on the bed as Morgan climbed up next to her, holding up a sparkly unicorn drawing.

“Save me,” she muttered into the pillow.

Morgan leaned down and whispered conspiratorially “I’ll get you chocolate if you let me draw hearts on your arm.”

Y/N sighed. “Deal.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Yelena was alone in the hallway just outside her room, head against the cool wall, thumb hovering over the text on her phone.

STARK: made it safely. but something happened. not bad… just complicated. I’ll explain later?

Yelena read it three times. She didn’t reply. Not yet.

She could still smell Y/N’s perfume on her shirt. Could still feel the ghost of that last kiss on her lips. The way she said, “I’ll see you before I go,” like it was a promise. Like she meant it.

Yelena wanted to believe she had.

She was about to start typing—

“Rough morning, darling?”

Yelena’s fingers froze mid text.

Her spine went rigid.

She turned.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine stood a few feet down the hall, dressed like she’d just stepped off a private jet from Milan— dark plum lips, oversized sunglasses pushed up into her curls, and a silk coat.

She smiled like they were old friends.

Like she hadn’t just shattered the quiet.

“Or was it a good morning?” Valentina added with a coy tilt of her head. “You look… relaxed. That’s rare.”

Yelena’s phone dimmed in her hand.

She slid it into her back pocket without a word.

Valentina took a step closer. “I came to brief you. We have movement. Something’s coming out of D.C. Some… Wilson adjacent noise.”

Yelena’s jaw clenched.

Valentina’s eyes twinkled, like she was trying to look casual. But this was never casual.

“And I’d love to get your read on it, Yelena,” she added. “Since you’ve always had such sharp instincts.”

Yelena didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

“Of course,” she said evenly.

Valentina paused in front of her, pretending to fix the cuff of her glove.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said. “More… internal. Not like you.”

Yelena blinked, slow and cool. “Maybe I’m just tired of hearing my own voice.”

“Mmm.” Valentina smiled wider. “Or maybe someone’s been whispering something else in your ear.”

Yelena felt her pulse spike but her face didn’t change.

She wouldn’t give Valentina the satisfaction.

Because Valentina didn’t know.

Not yet.

Not about her.

“Walk with me,” Valentina said breezily, already turning.

Yelena followed.

But her fingers itched for the phone in her back pocket.

For the message that was still unanswered.

For the one person who made this world feel… less cruel.

The meeting room on the 14th floor was sleek, sterile, and bathed in unnatural white light. No windows. Just glass, chrome, and the low hum of classified tension.

Yelena sat at the far end of the table, arms crossed, legs kicked out with practiced nonchalance. Her expression unreadable. Her body language slightly off.

Across from her, Valentina tapped her nails against a tablet.

“The Stark girl,” she began. “She’s on the radar now. Not that she wasn’t already. But this gala? Something shifted.”

Yelena didn’t blink.

“She’s playing at something,” Valentina mused. “Cute, really. No formal training, no security clearance, and yet— somehow— she’s in every room I care about.”

Yelena looked bored. But her jaw was clenched too tight.

“Do you think she’s dangerous?” Valentina asked casually, looking up.

“She’s a Stark,” Yelena said flatly. “They’re always dangerous.”

Valentina smiled. “Yes, but you would know better than most, wouldn’t you?”

Yelena’s eyes flickered— just once.

Valentina caught it.

“And yet,” she continued, circling the table now, slow and deliberate, “you didn’t report much on her. Aside from the usual Stark mannerisms— charming, bratty, smarter than she looks, but tragically undisciplined.”

Yelena said nothing.

Valentina leaned on the back of her chair, fingers drumming lightly.

“She likes attention. But I wonder— do you think she enjoys playing this game? Or is she just a little girl still trying to prove something to her father’s ghost?”

Yelena turned her head slowly, meeting Valentina’s gaze. “What does it matter?”

Valentina straightened, grinning.

“Because people like that make mistakes.”

Yelena didn’t respond. Not verbally.

But her fingers, which had been curled into her sleeves, twitched slightly.

And Valentina saw that, too.

She slid the tablet across the table, stopping just short of Yelena’s elbow.

On the screen played a surveillance still. From the gala.

It was grainy, but clear enough. Yelena and Y/N. Standing too close. Y/N’s hand brushing Yelena’s wrist.

Valentina’s voice dropped, almost amused. “She looked very… interested in you.”

Yelena’s blood ran cold.

Valentina tilted her head. “Did she say anything useful?”

Yelena kept her eyes on the screen. “No.”

“Hm.”

Valentina circled again, coming to sit across from her.

“You know,” she said gently, “you’re my best. You’ve earned that. So I trust your judgment.”

A pause.

“But if there’s something I should know— something you’re holding back—”

“There isn’t,” Yelena said, calm but sharp. “I gave you everything.”

Valentina leaned back in her chair, smile tight.

“I hope so,” she said.

“Because I’d hate to think my favorite has gone soft.”

Yelena didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

The tension in the room stretched like a wire.

Finally, Valentina stood again, already bored.

“Well. I’m off. Lunch with a senator who thinks I’m still sleeping with his chief of staff. Wish me luck.”

She strolled toward the door, heels clicking.

Just before she left, she called over her shoulder

“Oh and if the Stark girl does reach out… let me know.”

The door shut.

And Yelena was alone.

Only then did she pull her phone from her pocket.

Her thumb hovered over the message again.

STARK: made it safely. but something happened. not bad… just complicated. I’ll explain later?

Yelena stared at it.

Then, slowly, she typed:

I hope you’re okay.

Deleted it.

Typed again:

You don’t have to explain anything.

Deleted it again.

Typed:

When can I see you?

She stared at that one the longest.

And didn’t send it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Mr. Captain America,” Morgan announced with a suspicious squint, fork halfway to her mouth, “when are you recruiting me to be on your team?”

Sam blinked. “What—?”

“I heard you said you need a team. So.” She paused, stabbing a carrot. “When are you asking me to join you and my sister?”

Across the table, Y/N tried (and failed) to muffle a laugh behind her wine glass.

“I, uh— okay, first of all,” Sam stammered, pointing his fork, “you sound exactly like your sister right now, and I don’t like it.”

Morgan grinned. “Thank you.”

Pepper arched a brow. “That wasn’t a compliment, sweetheart.”

“But it was earned,” Y/N said, proud. “Look at her go. A menace in glitter.”

Morgan beamed. “Just like you.”

Sam shook his head, already dreading what kind of chaos this kid was going to unleash when she hit high school.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The sun had dipped low. The lights inside were soft and golden. Y/N leaned against the balcony railing, watching the city flicker below.

Sam joined her with a quiet breath. “She’s getting sharp.”

“She’s becoming terrifying,” Y/N said fondly. “I love that for her.”

A beat of silence.

“Thanks for staying for dinner,” she added.

“I needed to. After everything.”

Y/N nodded. She knew what was coming.

And she didn’t run from it.

Sam looked out over the skyline, then down at the glass in his hand. “I was disappointed, Y/N/N.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t lie to hurt anyone. I get that. But after everything that happened with Bucky, after Valentina— we’ve all been on edge. And you know that. You know I don’t throw trust around lightly.”

“I do,” she said quietly. “I do know that.”

“I just—” He sighed. “You’re like family now. You and Joaquin both. I have to be able to count on you.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said, turning toward him. “I should’ve told you. I wasn’t trying to be sneaky. I just didn’t know what it was yet. And I didn’t want to use her. Or turn her into a source. That felt… wrong.”

Sam studied her face. “Do you like her?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

A long pause.

“Do you think she’s good?”

She looked him dead in the eyes. “I know she is.”

Sam’s jaw flexed. “She works for Valentina.”

“She hates working for Valentina,” Y/N said. “She told me everything. The way Valentina twisted the team into a media brand. How none of them knew what they were really signing up for. Yelena said it’s all a scam. She’s been trying to figure out how to leave.”

Sam absorbed that in silence.

“I get why you’re worried,” Y/N said. “But I trust her. And she’s not asking me to pick sides. I’m not asking you to trust her, either. Just… trust me.”

Sam ran a hand over his jaw.

“I don’t like it,” he admitted. “I’d rather you weren’t involved with anyone on that team. But…”

He looked over at her, eyes softening.

“…you can’t help who you love.”

Y/N blinked, surprised. “That’s a strong word.”

Sam smiled faintly. “You’re a Stark. You love loud. Just like your old man.”

She laughed a little, eyes glinting. “Don’t say that. He’d cry if he heard you say that.”

Sam shrugged. “Good. Let the ghost weep.”

They stood there for a long moment, the city humming around them.

Then Sam bumped her shoulder lightly.

“I’m not mad,” he said. “Just don’t leave me out again, okay?”

“I won’t,” Y/N promised. “Swear on Morgan’s waffles.”

“Oh damn. That’s serious.”

Y/N grinned. “I told you. Fear her.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N had just finished braiding Morgan’s hair when her phone buzzed beside her on the nightstand.

YELENA: Can we talk?

Her heart flipped, already in motion. Of course. Always.

It wasn’t a call. It wasn’t even a long message.

Just a location pin.

A quiet rooftop in Brooklyn.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Yelena was already waiting when Y/N arrived— black jacket zipped up to her chin, hair pulled back, boots planted at the ledge. Her posture was coiled. Distant.

Y/N stepped into the glow of a nearby security light, something cold already blooming in her chest.

“Hey,” she said gently, a little breathless. “Everything okay?”

Yelena didn’t turn around.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

Y/N blinked. “I— I thought you wanted—”

“I mean you shouldn’t be with me.”

And just like that— Everything dropped out from under her.

Y/N took a step forward. “Yelena—”

“You’re not safe around me,” Yelena said, louder now. “And you know it. Deep down, you know.”

Y/N stared at her. “What happened? Why are you saying this to me?”

Yelena finally turned, her expression hard. Controlled. Like she’d been rehearsing this.

“Valentina knows,” she said. “Or she will soon. And the second she finds out how much I care about you, you’ll be used. Watched. Turned into something to hold over me.”

Y/N shook her head. “We can be careful. We are careful.”

“No, we’re not,” Yelena snapped. “You leave trails. You talk to me like I’m yours. You look at me like I’m something good— and I’m not. I was made to hurt people like you.”

Y/N flinched. “Don’t do that. Don’t erase everything we’ve shared just to scare me away.”

“I’m protecting you.”

“No. You’re running.”

That stung. Because it was true.

Yelena looked away.

“I told you I wanted this,” Y/N said. “I chose this. I chose you. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

Yelena’s jaw locked. “It means I should’ve walked away before it got this far. I should’ve never sent you that phone.”

Silence.

The wind picked up, sharp and slicing.

Y/N swallowed hard. Her voice, when she found it, was soft and cracking. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna push me away? Pretend I mean nothing to you?”

Yelena didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

Just stood there like a ghost with blood on her hands.

“I thought you were brave,” Y/N whispered.

Yelena’s breath caught. Her entire face shattered, just for a second but it was enough.

Then she turned back toward the ledge.

And said quietly, “Go home, Y/N.”

Y/N stood there a moment longer, willing her feet to stay. Wishing she could reach her again.

But she didn’t beg.

She turned and left.

And Yelena stayed behind. Alone.

Just like she always expected.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N was curled on her side in bed, one arm under the pillow, the other holding up her phone as it rang.

She sniffled hard and wiped at her face.

The screen lit up. FACETIME: CONNECTED.

Joaquin’s face filled the screen, backdropped by the dim yellow light of his room at the D.C. base. He looked half asleep until he really saw her.

“Y/N/N.”

Y/N let out a watery laugh. “I look so hot right now, huh?”

He frowned. “What happened?”

She blinked fast, trying to hold it in but it spilled anyway. Tears down her cheeks, her breath catching in little hiccups.

“she ended it.”

Joaquin’s eyes softened instantly. “Oh, Y/N/N…”

“She said she was protecting me. That I’m better off without her. That I don’t belong with someone like her.” Her voice cracked. “And maybe she’s right.”

“No, she’s not.”

“I feel so stupid for crying over this,” Y/N muttered, dragging a sleeve across her face. “I knew she was gonna pull away. I knew she’d try to shut me out. She warned me.”

“Still doesn’t mean it hurts any less,” Joaquin said gently.

She curled in tighter, lips trembling.

“I really liked her, Quino. Like… really liked her. I don’t even know when or how it happened.”

He watched her for a moment.

“Do you want me to fly over?”

“I don’t think Pepper would love that.”

“She adores me.”

“She adores Morgan. You’re just the guy who brings glitter slime and takes her flying around the lake.”

There was a pause. He gave her the softest smile.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he said. “You’ve got a whole support team. Me, Sam, Pepper, Morgan…”

And almost like the she heard her name—

The door creaked open.

Y/N turned just in time to see a tiny head peek through. Morgan, in pink pajamas with little unicorn rockets, clutching her favorite stuffed llama.

“I heard you crying,” she said, not blinking. “Who do I have to fight?”

Y/N laughed through a sob.

Joaquin grinned. “She’s so scary.”

Morgan marched into the room with pure Stark boldness, climbed into bed, and wedged herself under the blanket beside Y/N. “Was it a boy?”

“A girl,” Y/N whispered.

Morgan nodded. “Then she must be extra dumb.”

Y/N smiled, finally, as Morgan snuggled in closer and patted her arm. “It’s okay,” she said. “I cry about my Build-A-Bear sometimes.”

Joaquin laughed quietly.

“See?” Y/N said, turning the camera toward Morgan. “World’s smallest hitman.”

“Exactly,” Morgan whispered. “I’ll keep you safe. Daddy said we need to stick together.”

Y/N’s heart cracked wide open.

She looked back at Joaquin, eyes glassy but warmer now.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Always,” he replied.

She set the phone down. Curled into Morgan’s side. And for the first time that night, let herself exhale.

Morgan reached over and took her hand.

The room went still.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊

The tower was quiet. Lights low. Somewhere upstairs, a TV was still murmuring in someone’s room. But down here— it was just Bob.

He stood barefoot in the kitchen, stirring something fizzy in a mason jar, humming off key to a song.

Yelena stepped in, shoulders hunched, wind still clinging to her.

Bob looked up, surprised but not startled.

“Hey,” he said gently, holding up the jar. “Homemade ginger ale. Wanna try?”

She stared at him for a second.

Then crossed the room and took it without a word.

They stood there for a moment, the quiet pressing in.

“You okay?” Bob asked.

Yelena didn’t answer right away.

“No.”

Bob nodded like that made sense.

“I ended it,” she said softly.

He didn’t say anything. Just waited. Listened.

Yelena stared into the drink in her hands like it might offer an escape.

“I was seeing someone,” she said. “For a while. Quietly. It wasn’t supposed to turn into anything. But…”

She stopped.

Bob leaned against the counter.

“I noticed,” he said, voice soft. “You’ve been… lighter. Not happy, exactly. But almost. Like something was working.”

Yelena let out a breath, almost a laugh. “It was. Until I ruined it.”

Bob tilted his head. “Wanna tell me who it was?”

She hesitated.

And then– “Y/N Stark.”

Bob blinked.

“…wait. Y/N Stark??”

Yelena winced. “Yeah.”

He blinked again, stood straighter. “Oh. Shit.”

She waited for the judgment. For the lecture. But instead Bob just rubbed the back of his neck and let out a soft, stunned laugh.

“No—I —I get it.”

Yelena looked at him, suspicious. “You do?”

He nodded. “She’s like… a ray of sunshine with a knife under her sleeve.”

That startled a laugh out of her.

Bob smiled. “And you— you’re like a thundercloud trying to hold back a big storm.”

She rolled her eyes. “What does that even mean?”

“It means I get it. Stark is… different. And you're not the first person who’s ever been scared of getting something good.”

Yelena went quiet again.

“I told her it wasn’t safe to be around me,” she murmured. “That I wasn’t good. That she should stay away.”

Bob didn’t answer right away.

He just reached over and gently took the jar from her hands.

“You said all that to protect her?”

She nodded.

Bob shrugged. “Then maybe you didn’t ruin it.”

Yelena scoffed. “You think she’s just waiting for me to come crawling back?”

“I think,” Bob said calmly, “if you meant something to her— you still do. And if she meant something to you, maybe next time… don’t run.”

Yelena stared at the counter, breathing slow.

Bob set the ginger ale down.

Before leaving, he paused at the door.

“I won’t say anything,” he said. “And if you ever wanna talk again—”

“I won’t,” she interrupted.

He smirked. “Cool. Just putting it out there.”

And then he was gone.

Yelena stood there in silence.

Until finally, she whispered to herself,

“…ray of sunshine with a knife.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The town car was already waiting in the driveway.

Pepper stood by the open door, arms crossed gently, watching her girls say goodbye.

Y/N knelt to Morgan’s level, zipping up the tiny backpack Morgan insisted she needed “just in case I go with you and we break into the white house.”

“Please don’t actually sneak into the White House. I know you have access to my credit card, don’t go buying a plane ticket.” Y/N said.

Morgan grinned. “I would never.”

“You literally googled the floor plan last night.”

“I like to be prepared.”

Y/N hugged her tight. “You’ll visit this summer?”

Morgan nodded furiously. “I wanna go to the Smithsonian. And maybe accidentally threaten Joaquin and ask for a raise.”

Y/N laughed. “You don’t work for him.”

“Yet.”

Pepper stepped in with a fond sigh. “Okay, baby genius, time to let your sister go.”

Morgan gave Y/N one more squeeze before Pepper took her hand.

“I’ll be back soon,” Y/N promised.

Pepper smiled. “We know. We always wait for you.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Sam sat beside her, fingers drumming lightly against his thigh.

The ride was quiet. Not tense, just… thoughtful.

Outside the window, the suburbs of upstate New York blurred past, green and bright and alive. Y/N leaned her head against the glass.

Sam glanced at her once. Then again.

“You know… when you’re ready, I’d like to meet her.”

Y/N blinked. Turned to him.

And gave the softest, saddest smile.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she said. “She ended things last night.”

Sam paused. 

“…Y/N/N.”

“It’s okay,” she lied quickly. “Really. I— I think I get it. It’s not an easy world to let someone into. Especially when you think they deserve better.”

Sam frowned. “You do deserve better.”

“No,” she said, staring out the window again. “I just deserved the truth. And I got it.”

They were quiet again for a moment.

Then Sam reached over and gently squeezed her hand. He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The room is dim. Morning light leaks through the blinds in thin gray stripes. The only sound is the faint buzz of a phone vibrating against the bedside table.

Yelena sits on the edge of the bed, hair still damp from a shower she barely remembers taking. She’s half dressed, one boot on, the other in her hand, as she paused in the middle of getting ready.

The burner phone lights up again.

She doesn’t move at first. Just looks at it.

The screen glows. The message preview is short.

STARK just landed back in d.c. i just thought you should know. bye now.

Yelena stares.

She swallows hard. Thumb hovering but not touching.

No emoji. No signature. No softness.

Just… final.

She wants to reply. God, she wants to say something.

Anything.

But she doesn’t.

She just slips on the boot. Stands. And walks away from the phone without ever unlocking it.

Behind her, the screen fades to black.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The door slammed harder than it needed to.

Y/N dropped into the chair across from Joaquin, arms folded, sunglasses still on even though they were inside.

Joaquin looked up from the tablet he was pretending to read.

“Okay… judging by the dramatic entrance and emotionally unavailable look on your face, I’m gonna assume the flight was fun.”

Y/N slowly pulled her sunglasses down her nose and glared at him. “We had sex. And she still ended things with me.”

A beat.

Joaquín blinked. “You what??”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re focusing on the wrong thing, Torres.”

“No, no— I need you to circle back real quick because you said it like it was a throwaway cut scene and not a major plot point.”

Y/N groaned, tossing her sunglasses on the table. “I opened up to her, Joaquin. Like fully. No sarcasm. No ego. No walls. And then she just…” She snapped her fingers. “Cut me off like I was a liability.”

He winced.

“That makes me feel used. And kind of— gross. Like— like I’m some sparkly distraction she wanted until the guilt kicked in.”

“Y/N/N—”

“And I know it’s not fair to think that. I know she’s messed up and scared and probably doing the whole ‘if you love them, let them go’ thing or whatever but like… maybe don’t sleep with someone if you’re planning on ghosting them twenty four hours later?”

Joaquin leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Do you want me to find her and give her a firm but respectful talking to?”

“I want you to hack her playlist and replace all her songs with breakup anthems.”

“So… Red by Taylor Swift. Got it.”

She let out a small laugh— barely. But it was there.

“God, I feel pathetic.”

“You’re not.”

“Am I though?” She slumped back. “Should’ve just kissed you and gotten it over with.”

Joaquin raised both eyebrows. “Oh, I’m the rebound now?”

She gave him a look. “Shut up.”

“I will not shut up. If I’m not your number one, this cannot work. I deserve to be someone’s first draft pick, Stark.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re deflecting.”

Y/N groaned again, louder this time, and covered her face.

Joaquin leaned back in his chair, smile softening. “Hey.”

She peeked at him through her fingers.

“You’re not dirty. Or stupid. Or pathetic,” he said. “You just loved someone who wasn’t ready to be loved the way you do it.”

Y/N lowered her hands.

“You love big,” he added. “It’s kind of annoying, actually. Like it gets everywhere.”

“Like glitter?”

“Exactly. But, like… glitter with feelings. Weaponized glitter.”

She let out a choked laugh. “Okay, ew.”

“But you’re gonna be fine. Because you’re you. And eventually, Yelena’s gonna realize what she let go of. Probably while crying in a dark corner somewhere.”

“You think she’s crying?”

“I hope she’s crying. If she’s not crying, I’ll be offended on your behalf.”

Y/N smiled, a little less broken this time.

“Thanks, Quino.”

“Anytime. Except if you ever try to kiss me for real. Then I’m calling Sam and telling him you broke our coffee machine.”

Y/N grinned. “Rude.”

“Effective.”

They sat in silence for a beat.

Joaquin reached across the table and flicked her sunglasses back toward her. “Put these back on, Stark. You’ve got dramatic monologuing to do.”

“Oh, I’m already halfway into my revenge dress arc.”

“God help us all.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/N hasn’t heard from Yelena in ten days.

So naturally, she does what any Stark would do. She weaponizes the silence.

By the end of the week, Y/N Stark is everywhere. Front rows at fashion week. Private dinners with designers. Charity galas hosted by billionaires who don’t even know what they’re fundraising for. There’s a spread in Harper’s Bazaar where she’s lounging in vintage Dior, captioned “America’s Sweetheart, Rebranded.” Paparazzi catch her stepping out of a black car in So Kate heels and sunglasses at midnight. There’s a new interview in Forbes, where she’s announced as one of the “Top 30 Innovators Under 30,” speaking coolly about sustainable tech investments, next gen clean energy modules for Stark Industries, and her working partnership with Sam Wilson.

Yelena reads it all.

Watches as Y/N dazzles the press, turning every headline into a love letter to her brilliance. One article calls her "The Iron Legacy with a Diamond Smile.” Another just reads: “Y/N Stark: Beautiful, Brilliant, Unbothered.”

Yelena clenches her jaw and flips the magazine shut. Because no matter how hard she tries not to look— she can’t stop seeing her.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The sound of fists hitting the punching bag echoed through the training room like gunshots. Over and over. No breaks. No gloves. Just bloodied knuckles and pure, stubborn adrenaline.

Yelena had been at it for an hour.

Maybe two.

It had been like that every day since she broke things off with Y/N. Yelena would get in the gym early in the morning. Train obsessively, more aggressively than usual. 

Bob lingered in the doorway longer than he meant to, shifting awkwardly on his feet, clutching the Gatorade bottle he'd brought down as an excuse. The rest of the team had started asking him questions. Quiet ones at first— concerned glances, hesitant mentions after debriefings.

“She okay?” “Hasn’t eaten with us in days.” “She looks like she’s trying to fight her way out of something.”

They weren’t wrong.

He walked in slowly, careful not to startle her. "Hey," he said gently, holding the bottle out like a peace offering. "Thought you might need this."

Yelena finally looked at him. Her face was flushed, jaw tight, but there was something else behind her eyes. Something cracked open.

She let out a breath. Shaky.

“She’s everywhere.”

Bob blinked. “Y/N?”

Yelena nodded once. “Magazines. Newsfeeds. Walking out of parties. Acting like nothing happened.”

Her voice dipped lower.

“She’s everywhere and she’s doing it on purpose.”

Bob was quiet.

Yelena stared down at her knuckles. “I thought letting her go would make it easier.”

He waited a beat, then asked softly,

“Did it?”

Yelena swallowed hard. Shook her head.

“No.”

Yelena didn’t say another word. Just put the bottle down and turned back to the punching bag.

Five hits. Each one sharper, harder, angrier than the last.

On the fifth, the bag snapped at the top with a loud crack, swinging off its chain and hitting the floor with a thud.

Blood dripped down her hand, knuckles split wide open.

“Jesus, Lena,” Bob stepped forward, hands up like he could fix it. “That’s like the third one this week. Ava’s worried you’re gonna break your wrist again.”

She didn’t answer him. Didn’t flinch.

She grabbed a towel off the bench and wrapped it around her hand, dragging it down her arm to clean the slow trail of red.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. Raw. “It’s not fair.”

Bob stayed still, watching her carefully.

Yelena clenched her jaw, still not looking at him. “Every time I get close… every time it feels like maybe life isn’t just pain and orders and pretending to be someone else— it gets taken away.”

She sat down, towel clenched in her fist now. “First it was the Red Room. I was a kid. All I wanted to do was play soccer and help people. Stupid, right?”

Bob didn’t speak.

“They turned me into something else before I even knew what I was supposed to be.” Her voice shook. “And then my sister. I got her back, just for a second. Just enough to remember what family felt like. And then she was gone.”

Yelena looked up, eyes red but dry. “I thought maybe I could build something after that. Fix something. I was trying. And Valentina— she made it sound like a second chance.”

A bitter breath escaped her lips.

“And now Y/N.”

The name just hung there.

“She made me feel like maybe I deserved something soft. Something mine,” Yelena muttered. “And I gave it up. I thought I was protecting her. That maybe if I disappeared, it would make it easier.”

She looked at Bob now.

“But it doesn’t feel easier. It just feels worse.”

Bob didn’t know what to say. Not at first. But he sat down next to her, careful not to crowd her.

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he said, voice gentle. “For wanting any of that. I think it’s the most human thing about you.”

Yelena stared ahead. Quiet.

“And for what it’s worth,” he added, “you didn’t ruin everything.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“You’ve still got me,” Bob said. Shrugged a little. “And my terrible cooking.”

A faint, broken laugh slipped out of her. Barely there. But real.

And for now, maybe that was enough.

Yelena walked out of the training room without a word. The towel around her hand was soaked through, red blooming into dark maroon at the seams. She didn’t flinch, didn’t look at anyone. Just kept walking, shoulders tense, jaw locked.

The team was scattered across the living room, very casually pretending they hadn’t been waiting. Ava was flipping through TV channels. John was pretending to scroll through his phone. Bucky and Alexei sat stiffly on opposite ends of the couch, both too still to be relaxed.

When Yelena’s door slammed down the hall, the sound echoed.

Ava stood immediately. “Okay. Bob. What did she say?”

Bob hovered at the edge of the room, still holding his own towel, spots of red on the corner from when he tried to offer help. His shirt was damp with stress. “I— I can’t tell you guys. I don’t think she’d want me to say anything.”

Walker threw his hands up. “Are you kidding? Then why the hell did we send you in there? You’re the worst spy ever.”

Bucky shot him a look. “He’s not spying. He’s just being a good friend.”

Bob turned, grateful. “Thank you, Bucky.”

Walker leaned back in his chair dramatically. “She’s been yelling at me all week. More than usual. I don’t know if I can take it anymore.”

Ava groaned, crossing her arms. “Yeah,I mean, as much as I love seeing Walker get yelled at, this is starting to get out of hand. We can’t help her if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

From the corner, Alexei finally spoke. His voice was low, thoughtful. “I know my daughter. Something is wrong with her…”

Bucky didn’t even look over. “Yeah, we all know that much.”

Alexei frowned. “But I don’t know what. Just that something is off. She’s... too quiet.”

“Wow. Thank you for that thoughtful input.” Walker deadpanned.

Bob opened his mouth, closed it again. He looked torn, like something was pressing on his chest.

Ava took a step closer. “Bob. Come on. Just give us something. A clue. We care about her too, you know.”

He hesitated.

Then finally, “It has something to do with the gala. Last month.”

The room fell still.

Walker blinked. “The gala? You mean the one Stark was at?”

Bob didn’t answer.

But Bucky’s expression shifted. Barely. He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, and said nothing.

He was starting to put it together. And what he was starting to realize? Could be a problem.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Steam still clung to the bathroom mirror, the shower hissing to a stop behind her. Yelena stepped out, towel in hand, robe tied loosely around her waist, her freshly rewrapped knuckles finally still and not throbbing for the first time all week. She rubbed the towel through her damp hair as she padded back into her room, breathing steady, the first normal breath in—

Her phone started buzzing.

Not the burner. Her real one.

And not a call— everything. Notifications flooding in like a broken dam: Twitter, Instagram, five different news apps. She frowned, brows knitting as she picked it up and read:

#StarkWidow #Y/NStark #YelenaBelova

She opened Twitter.

There it was.

Two photos.

The first— taken at night, dim lighting, grainy. But unmistakable her and Y/N on the gala rooftop, backs to the camera, bodies almost touching.

The second was clearer. Too clear. Their faces angled toward each other, eyes locked, lips barely apart. It must’ve been just before she walked away.

She stood frozen, towel slipping from her hand.

What the fuck.

The caption burned.

“Stark heiress and New Avenger spark dating rumors?”

The article was worse. Details about Y/N. Yelena’s past. Natasha. Speculation. Anonymous sources claiming they’d been seeing each other for a month. Questions about whether it’s a PR stunt, or— worse— part of a secret plot involving the old Avengers. Valentina’s name bolded.

Yelena’s heart jackhammered in her chest.

She launched the phone across the room, nearly breaking the dresser mirror. “Fuck!”

She scrambled to get dressed— no time to think, no time to breathe. Y/N. She needed to talk to Y/N before she did.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

There were exactly three things Y/N Stark loved most in the world: silk pillowcases, fifteen minute power naps, and peace.

So, of course, Joaquin chose that moment to kick her door open like the building was on fire.

“—Y/N/N. WAKE UP. HOLY SHIT, WAKE UP—”

Y/N shot up, hair sticking to her cheek, still delirious from sleep. “WHAT? Who’s dying? Are you dying?”

“NO. BUT YOU MIGHT BE,” Joaquín shouted, practically vibrating with panic as he shoved his phone at her face.

She blinked, dazed. “Why are you yelling—?”

And then she saw it.

The pictures.

The headline.

“Stark Heiress and New Avenger Spark Dating Rumors” “Anonymous source reveals the two have allegedly been seeing each other since last month’s New Avengers Gala…”

The article spilled everything. The photos. The timeline. The connection to Natasha. Yelena’s past. Her past. Stark Industries. Sam Wilson. Speculation about an ulterior motive. A “strategic alliance,” they called it.

Y/N stared at the screen like it had slapped her.

Her throat tightened. She could feel the anxiety rising. “Quino, what the fuck do I do? She’s gonna hate me. She’s gonna think I leaked this. She’s gonna think I used her!”

“Y/N/N, breathe—”

“I didn’t even know those pictures existed! I swear! I thought— I thought we were alone up there! Oh my God, she’s gonna never forgive me, she’s gonna—”

“Y/N—Y/N. Focus. It’s not your fault, okay?”

“But it doesn’t matter! It looks like it is! I’ve been getting myself on front pages this whole week like a moron! She hates being watched, she hates being vulnerable— Jesus Christ, she’s going to disappear on me again.”

Joaquin was trying to calm her down, hands up like she was a live grenade. “Okay, okay. We’ll figure it out. Just— just give her space and when she cools down—”

And then—

A knock.

The door creaked open.

Sam stood there, calm but tense, phone in hand.

“We need to talk.”

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taglist: @sparks123123, @primadonaprincess55, @svnnynostalgia, @girxwrp, @justgreenpeach, @wowitssofia

author's note: lowkey you guys, the more i write for yelena, the more i need her. it's real bad for me. anyways guys pls don't get mad at me for breaking them up this chapter LOL

is it really my fic if it's not dramatic and angsty? like guys we need to trust to process

let me know what yall think! i'm posting the masterlist and playlist later today!

[eman0neb]

I love this Ninjago x DP series! I've been checking your posts several times a day to try and gnaw on the newest post! You also got me back into Ninjago and I'm now watching all of it from the beginning (THERES 15 SEASONS? WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?)

Anyway. I love your character designs for the ninjas, and I'm wondering which, if any, season you are basing their outfit off of?

Also. I noticed Danny is the only one with his outfit having the other part on top! (I'm pretty sure that's a thing in Japan where ghost kimonos have it flipped)

If you could make colored versions of each of the ninja, that would be splendid (take your time, and you can use other pics you've already drawn, that's fine)

Honestly they aren’t fully based on a specific season, but definitely are more inspired by the Season 8-onwards designs. I love the originals with my heart, but I kinda wanted to make them unique for my style if that makes sense. I also prefer the hair for Kai and Lloyd from the later seasons, and Jay’s is actually really unique in those seasons compared to his straight hair (no hate to it I just like drawing curls).

(Btw Jay has knee armor because I saw a post about how this dude keeps getting leg injuries, and I thought that was hilarious)

Also yes Danny’s is the opposite way since he’s dead, apparently Cole’s actually does that in later designs too.

I just kinda colored an older drawing of them, because if I had to make a whole full body piece that also has to be colored they’d never see the light of day. That’s the main reason I do colored line art, I hate coloring-

I hope that answered your questions!

[lambiconic]

rockstars

johnny, gaz, ghost mini series ! forgive the writing being a bit different, im trying something new...

// some PIV sex, i never write smut so pls be kind lol

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Johnny was a rockstar. And damn was he proud. 

He started this stupid band with Simon and Gaz on a whim, a drunken night where all three put instruments in their amazon carts while giggling like teenage boys. Gaz on guitar, Simon on the keyboard, and him on drums. 

It was *stupid*! He didn’t mean it but the decision was made and in a mere few weeks The Army Dreamers was born. Their music was shite. It wasn’t good. Objectively and subjectively. It was messy, clashy, loud, and they all had gravely angry voices. It was shit produced and published for jokes. But some people saw their potential and scooped them up quickly, straightened the boys out so goddamn far America got to see and hear ‘em. Johnny never expected this fame, he didn’t expect to be flashed at his concerts and have teenage boys have their faces as profile pictures. But what he really didn’t expect was you.

You were so different from them, your music was soft. Sung accompanied by pianos or perched up on stools with your guitar balanced on your thighs. The rowdiest he saw you get was a pop song. The Cupids. He expected a band, not you. Not the way your fans defended their angel, not the edits of your bright smile, not the articles about indie’s newest sweetheart (ironically also your fandom’s name) and especially not to see you at this after party.

But what he really didn’t expect was for you to know his name, he didn’t expect your giggles, and for you to say your favorite song of theirs was their very first. He didn’t expect you to flirt… and god he didn’t expect you to take him back to your hotel. Did he see anything coming?

You were fluid, graceful, he could only follow you in silence. The way you looked back at him and smiled, the way your perky tits bounced in that fucking blouse. Even the way you pushed him against the round bed in the middle of your room was soft.

“Ye sure ye want to do this..?” He asked, his face warm and his breath catching in his throat as he watched your fingers tug at his belt. “Could take ye on a date–”

Your laugh.. Oh he loved that laugh. “Is that how y’all do it in Europe?” You giggled out. “You don’t need dinner to fuck me..unless you don’t want to.”

Your face, the hesitance. The way you pulled your hands away. Everything was drawing Johnny deeper into your hold. “No!” His hand moved before he could think, “No.. I just didn’t want ye to think that’s all I wanted you for. Yer.. beautiful.”

“You don’t have to do that. A date is unnecessary,” You whispered, pushing his shirt up. You were eager, so eager. He could feel his cock stirring in his jeans as your pretty hands slowly slid down his jeans. “Do you not want to..?

Those eyes, the way you pulled your teeth between your lips…god he was fucked.

Before he knew it he was holding your dress above your tits watching you ride him.  Your sweet moans like music to his ears, no wonder you were a singer. 

His length buried entirely inside your sopping cunt and your hands clawing at his chest. You were sexy and god did you know it, tilting your head back and groping at your chest. Dragging his hands down to grip your ass as you slowly brought yourself up and down on his cock.

“Fuck, lass—” His nails were digging tight into your ass, his legs twitching beneath you as you picked up your pace.

“Yeah?” You held your hair off your neck, sliding your free hand down your body as you nodded. “Cum for me…cum inside.”

He wanted to ask if you were sure, hell, if you were on birth control but the way your pretty cunt was milking his cock was all the answer he needed. 

Xxx

“Are ye sure you don’t wanna go on a date..?” He whispered, tracing his fingers over your skin. 

“You’re not going to leave me alone until I say yes, are you?” You whispered back, grinning. 

“Nah…”

[aliwritex]

heyy! i was wondering if you’d ever consider writing something about Isack at the gym? 👀 like… whatever direction you’d want to take it

okay so i don’t really fuck with public sex so… little home gym it is. it’s basically an isack version of the little oscar blurb that i did too. enjoy ;)

“Whatcha doing in here?” you popped your head through the door, knowing exactly what he was doing — punching a bean bag rhythmically in nothing but shorts. He was already covered in a thin layer of sweat and his hair flopped down on his forehead.

He didn’t say anything when you walked in, just brought his hand to his mouth, using his teeth to pull the velcro on his glove before pulling them off.

“Oh, don’t stop because of me, I’m just gonna do some stretches.”

He stepped closer to you, his wrapped hand brushing your bare waist. “Non” he shook his head, “I’m done with that, need some time on the treadmill”

His lips brushed yours in a gentle kiss, just for a second before he stepped away, already removing the wrap from his hands. You watched him just for a second before turning around and reaching for your yoga mat.

You placed the mat in front of the treadmill, you knew he’d be looking anyway, might as well make it easier. You started with something easy, just sitting cross legged, stretching your neck and your arms gently. Your eyes were closed as you concentrated on your breathing, so you didn’t actually see him looking, but you could feel it.

Soon you were moving on to the riskier poses. Cat pose, arching your back until your ass popped up, pigeon pose, your legs stretched, your ass plump in the tight gym shorts, and, of course, the downward dog, ass stuck out completely, your bare legs stretched in full display for him as you lowered your head. But of course that wasn’t enough, you had to move around, your hips drawing circles in the air as he watched from behind, running faster at his frustration.

“Enough! Are you done showing off?” you heard when the treadmill finally stopped.

His voice made you lose your composure, and you sat back on the mat. “Was just stretching,” you told him through the big mirror.

“And moaning with your ass up in the air?” he teased.

“I’m a little rusty, haven’t done yoga in a while” lame excuses, and he knew it — it was all a plan. “Wanna come stretch too?”

“Well, I’m doing cardio today, why don’t you join me?” he said, but he was already sitting on the floor, against the wall and facing you.

“What makes you think that I’d even get close to you when you’re this sweaty?” you chuckled, but crawled to him.

He grabbed your face when you got close enough, making you look up at him “you act like you don’t find it hot”

You bit your lip, crawling closer before you straddled him. “Disgusting” you wiped the sweat off his forehead. You watched him roll his eyes and kissed him.

His hands rested on top of your thighs, pulling you in closer. You could taste sweat even on his lips and it was disgusting, but he knew you too well, you did find it hot. Soon your tongues were dancing around in each other's mouths. Your hands moved up to his hair, nails running up and down the back of his neck.

“Up” he slapped your thigh, mumbling to your lips, “get up, come on”

“We’re not going to bed, we’re too sweaty” you told him and dragged your lips down his neck.

“Well, I still need to take your clothes off, don’t I?”

You rolled your eyes and obeyed, standing with your feet around his thighs. Isack looked up and let his fingers hook on the band of your shorts, gently tugging them down. He makes a show out of it, specially when he gets to your panties, slowly dragging them down and kissing your thighs.

“Isack”

“So impatient” he groans, helping you step out of the clothes to settle back down on his lap.

You reached for your own sports bra, watching his face as your tits fell free, he always smirked, no exception. By this point you could feel him through his shorts, fighting the restraint of his boxers — it felt good, the pressure between your legs just filling your body with anticipation.

You pressed your hips harder against his, it got moans from both of you and it made Isack lose his patience too. He needed you. His hands cupped your ass, pulling you closer and closer until you were grinding down on his cock. Soft sighs passed your lips at the slight stimulation, driving Isack insane.

His hand reached down between your bodies, just to find out you had already left a wet spot on his shorts. He cursed something in french, too low for you to hear but his fingers pressed up between your lips. Your hips jerked into his hand involuntarily, making his long fingers brush up your hole.

“Baby, please” you whined. Isack looked up at you, a daring look on his face, waiting for you to tell him what you wanted. “Fuck. Want your cock, Isack. Please”

He just pulled his hand away, taking into his shorts to pull himself out. You rested your hands back on his thighs, what hung as he pumped himself for a bit, his left hand reaching for your middle and spreading your wetness around with his thumb.

Isack called you over with a motion of his head, making you kneel back up above him. He guided you down on his cock, you both moaned when he finally filled you up. He was perfect every time, like you’re the perfect fit for each other.

His hands dropped back to your hips, hooking under your ass to help you move — slow, long drags at first. But soon he was helping you up and down on his cock. Your hands were on his hair, nails scratching his scalp and holding him close to your chest.

“Close, Isa, please.” You mumbled into his hair and he didn’t waste any time.

His fingers reached between your bodies again, quickly finding your clit. You get go of his head, taking your hands behind you and holding on to his thighs. You took the job into your hands, using his thighs as leverage to move yourself up and down on his cock, his fingers moving in tight circles.

Soon your back was arching, pushing your chest forward and throwing your hard back. Your body shook with the orgasm and you couldn’t keep up with your movements, but Isack thrust his hips just enough to ride out the waves of pleasure. You let out a long, whiny moan as you came, clenching around him.

Everything was too much for Isack — the way you looked, the way you sounded, the way you felt — and it triggered his own orgasm. He shot his load inside you, feeling the tension in his muscles finally release all at once.

Isack pulled you back to him, holding you close as you caught your breath. “That’s all you wanted, huh? Put on all that show just to get fucked” he teased.

“Yeah”

[bluemantics]

JULANCE DAY 15: QUINTESSENCE

“Oh my stars! Oh my stars!”

Lance’s eyes blink open slowly. They feel heavier than they’ve ever felt before, like he’d just slept for a thousand years. Even focusing his sight takes a great amount of effort from him. Above, Allura is hunched over him with her helmet pulled off. She looks practically angelic. Her blue markings and eyes glow against the red lights of the lion’s interior, reflected by the water beading across her cheeks. White hair spills over her shoulders. It’s messier than Lance can ever remember seeing it.

Oddly enough, her hands rest on his chest.

“You look beautiful, like this,” he manages, wondering why the words come out so slurred.

For a beat, she stares at him. Then, she gasps, and her breathing shakes. Lance watches in fascination as tears flow down her cheeks.

This might be the hardest Lance has ever seen a person cry. Allura’s sobs are guttural, ripping from her chest and tumbling into the space between them. Lance isn’t sure what to do, for once. He’s always considered himself an expert in handling others’ emotions. Piecing together the rational “why-what-response” comes second nature. But in this moment, he draws a blank. His whole mind is blank, actually.

Wait. What’s going on?

Allura’s hands are balled in fists against his chest plate as he tries to remember. A flash. A desperate chance to save her. Pure, raw energy. Then…? Nothing.

There’s a deleted portion between bright light and waking up to this. He has to know.

“What happened,” he whispers weakly as Allura pulls off his helmet. The words are flat, lacking his normal curiosity. Does he really want to know?

“You—“ Allura chokes. She coughs, her throat clearly blocked by mucus from her tears. One of her hands violently rubs away the tear tracks from her cheeks. “You were.” Allura can’t finish the sentence.

The urge to know becomes all-consuming, suddenly. What was he? What did Lance McClain become, in that blank area in his mind? His hands tingle, he now realizes. They’re the only part of his body he can really feel, sharp and needling. The rest of him is numb.

Trembling, Lance reaches down and yanks off his gantlets. Then, his gloves.

A spiderweb of faint lines greets him across his hands. He marvels at them, unable to process what he’s seeing. It looks almost like those cut logs he saw in nature museums as a kid, the ones with blackened patterns signaling where lightning felled them.

Suddenly, the pieces click into place. This is the fallout of a storm.

“Okay,” he murmurs aloud. “Okay. I get it.”

Allura’s hand reaches for his and squeezes it, desperation and fear and loneliness shining in her eyes. All at once, Lance feels deeply sorry for her in a way that aches in his chest. Allura has lost everything and received infinite responsibility for the universe as recompense. Having to drag Lance up from the ground could not have been an easy task, mentally or physically. He traces a gentle pattern with his thumb into the back of her hand.

“You did good,” he tells her.

“Never do that again,” Allura begs, her grip tight. “I have already let enough people sacrifice themselves for me. You don’t get to add yourself to the list.”

“No regrets.” Lance meets her gaze steadily despite the way his bones feel like liquid and his heartbeat echoes in his ears.

“You fool.”

Maybe Lance is a fool. He’s glad to be one, though, looking at Allura and seeing her breaths between her cries.

He lets his eyes fall closed again. For once in his long, insofar mediocre existence, Lance was enough to save something precious. A hero.

Lance smiles as he slips into sleep, sending Red the order to fly.