#the main character is unhinged i'm sorry

[senseofnewness]

SILENT DEVOTION

pairing : patrick zweig x f!reader | art donaldson x f!reader | patrick zweig x tashi duncan | tashi duncan x f!reader

rating : explicit

word count : 17.6k

contains : smut 18+, obsession, delusion, stalking, jealousy, toxic relationship, vaginal sex, object insertion, masturbation, eating disorder, mentions of underage sexual awakening but nothing graphic until they’re all of age

summary : Patrick Zweig was your everything. For five years, you took every opportunity to get closer to him and learn everything about him, shaping yourself into the woman you believed worthy of his love, even as he remained unaware of your existence. But soon, he would notice you, you were determined to make sure of it.

Patrick Zweig had been a part of your life for as long as your older brother had been enrolled at the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy, yet you had never really noticed him before.

Though tennis had once held a special place for you in your childhood, the thrill that once accompanied the sport had long faded. Attending tournaments had gradually transformed into a dutiful obligation imposed by your parents in order to support your brother. Your brother, the prodigy who was flourishing in sports while you had yet to find an interest of your own. Sure, you found enjoyment in many activities, but none seemed to garner the same level of pride from your parents as your brother's accomplishments in tennis did.

Only at the age of fourteen did your life begin to find its true purpose. Your brother faced off another student on the court, and perhaps it was the hormonal changes in your body taking over your mind, but your attention fixated solely on that boy with a lanky figure with sharp features and captivating green eyes. His every move executed with an intensity that seemed to transcend the game itself. The confident smirk he wore as he claimed victory stirred something deep within you, so deep that it left you feeling physically unwell for the rest of the day. That night, the urge to relive the moment with your hand down your panties was so overpowering that you had barely slept.

You had attempted to inquire about him from your brother, but without much luck. He had simply shrugged with a sigh, still nursing the sting of defeat. "He's around fifteen, I guess. Comes from a wealthy family, the Zweigs. Why the sudden interest?" You found yourself crafting a tale, pretending to be unaware of Patrick's presence until now, expressing surprise at the notion of a newcomer joining the academy so late in the year.

You only caught glimpses of him a few more times that year. Each encounter filled you with eager anticipation, dressing in your most mature outfits, and accentuating your features with your mother's makeup, all in the hope of capturing his attention. Yet, despite your efforts, he remained immersed in the game, seemingly oblivious to your admiration. Even so, you held onto the belief that he might eventually look up during a set and acknowledge your support with a smile. However, he never did. Nonetheless, this didn't deter your teenage imagination from running wild, crafting fantasies of a future life together where he would confess he had loved you all those years. Then would come dating, then marriage and babymaking. Every detail meticulously mapped out in your mind.

●

You were now sixteen, and despite being only a year older than you, Patrick had morphed into a man. Or so the adolescent you were, thought so. Gone was the thin boy of the past. His body had doubled in size, with his biceps and thighs notably thicker. You couldn't resist imagining the sensation of being embraced by him, or sitting on his lap, and gently running your fingers through his dark curls. You hoped Patrick would also recognize the changes your body underwent over the summer. "Maybe you should pay a bit more attention to your diet." Your mother had suggested, her gaze lingering on your slightly rounded stomach. Sure, you didn't look as toned as you did when you were younger but you had breasts and hips now. Like a real woman. A woman worthy of Patrick Zweig's affection.

He was dominating the match, as usual. Or at least, that's what you believed. You weren’t really paying attention to what was happening on the court, but you knew for a fact that he had it all, looks AND talent. Plus, losers weren't your type.

Although no one was really your type except Patrick.

When the umpire announced the set break, you watched your Patrick walk to his chair and remove his shirt. You had to stifle a gasp in front of your parents, at the sight of him. You had seen your brother and father shirtless before, but it was nothing like it. His skin was smooth with freckles adorning his broad shoulders. His arms were slender yet defined, with muscles that showed his dedication to tennis. His toned stomach and firm abs were accentuated by a trail of black hair disappearing into his shorts. Following the line, you let your eyes linger a bit too long on his crotch. Your knowledge of the male anatomy was minimal, and you had never felt compelled to learn more until that instant. That thought made you cross your legs tighter and clutch your skirt in an attempt to keep the dampness forming in your underwear under control. His adjustment of his shorts only intensified the sensations coursing through your body.

After the match, you hastily excused yourself to the bathroom. The image of Patrick's hand gripping himself through his shorts played on repeat in your mind. Sometimes, you imagined your hand replacing his, or him touching you instead. It was enough to ignite a fire within you. After finding release, you stared at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your skirt and shirt with care. The realization of what you'd just done hit you, doubts about your sanity creeping in. But the thought of sharing this story with him one day, perhaps after you're married, eased those worries and brought a smile to your lips. Feeling lighter and fulfilled, you exited the bathroom, only to come face to face with Patrick. His brief glance, meeting yours for a split second, sent a rush of excitement through you as he disappeared toward the locker rooms. Finally, he knew you existed. It was the best day of your life.

●

Upon hearing of his qualification for the US Open Junior Boys Doubles Championship in 2006, you were convinced you were supposed to go. He would want his future wife there to witness his victory, you thought to yourself, so, as always, you attended. For the doubles, he was paired with another young man who appeared to be around your age. While his face seemed familiar, you had never paid enough attention to the game to notice anyone else but your man. When Patrick hit the winner, the two boys leaped into each other's arms, shouting with joy, tumbling onto the court in an affectionate embrace. You couldn't deny the cuteness of the moment, but how you wished it were you he was wrapping his muscular thighs around and showering with kisses.

After the game, you wanted to congratulate Patrick but there was so much attention around him that you decided against it. You didn't want to share this moment, your moment, the moment he would lay eyes on you and fall in love with you, with anyone else. You weren't just one of his fans, you were the woman he was going to marry after all. Disappointed, you walked back to your hotel room. You knew that winning the doubles assured them a spot in the singles and that tomorrow was going to be THE day. The day you would reveal yourself to him. You knew he was going to win. He always did. You could already imagine yourself sharing the sweet memory of falling in love with Patrick on the day he became a US Open champion with your friends, or even with your kids in a few years.

The day was still young, with a few matches scheduled for the afternoon, yet none captivated your interest if Patrick wasn't involved. Thankfully, memories of Patrick's triumphant grin would be enough to keep your mind and hands occupied for a couple of hours.

 Except it did not. 

Those kinds of things sufficed when you were fifteen, but now, as a woman with deeper needs, they fell short. You sighed, mindlessly gazing at the ceiling while lying on your bed. Your imagination was running dry, you needed to see him, touch him, smell him, feel him.

Perhaps tonight's party, which your brother mentioned was being thrown in honor of the female winner of that afternoon's game, would spark material for your fantasies. All the players from the championship were invited, so there was a chance Patrick might attend. You would finally see him outside the court, in his everyday clothes and without his racket, the true object of his affection. You had the entire afternoon to prepare yourself both physically and mentally. If tomorrow was destined to be the big day, tonight could serve as a rehearsal.

Despite being already dolled up from the earlier match, you aimed to make a statement tonight. Entering the shower, you scrubbed vigorously, intent on achieving the smoothest skin possible. Every inch mattered. You reached for your razor, meticulously attending to your legs and intimate areas. What grooming choice would Patrick prefer? Was he the full bush type of guy? Would he like a bit of hair left intact? Completely bare? You opted to keep a small amount of hair. While shaving it all off would be ideal for tonight, the regrowth would definitely ruin your big day tomorrow.

After lathering, rinsing, and drying off, you smoothed lotion across your entire body. Spritzing perfume onto the nape of your neck, the insides of your elbows, behind your knees, and even sparing a dash of fragrance for your bits. You generously applied deodorant under your armpits, secretly wishing Patrick would skip this step of his routine. You were eager to experience his natural scent. The thought of burying your nose in his sweaty, hairy pits was utterly intoxicating.

You had packed lightly for your trip, leaving you with a sparse collection of makeup products. In that instant, you wished for better makeup skills or the company of girlfriends to lend a hand and share their supplies. You settled for a touch of pearly eyeshadow, mascara and pink lip gloss. As for your outfit, the options were equally limited. With only one dress, a common black piece with spaghetti straps, hitting at knee length. Feeling underwhelmed, you made a silent vow to yourself that once Patrick would be yours, you would dress sexier. Slipping into the dress, you tugged at the fabric, attempting to shorten it just enough to expose your thighs.

You gazed at your reflection briefly. Despite your best efforts, you didn't perceive yourself as particularly attractive. At best, you would qualify yourself as average. You pinched your stomach, acknowledging your mother's previous comments about letting yourself go. With a deep breath, you sucked in your stomach while pulling your hair into a ponytail, hoping to remember to maintain that posture throughout the evening.

You grabbed your cream-coloured luxury purse, a gift of your parents for your eighteenth birthday, trying to fit all the essentials for touch-ups in there. One essential item was missing : condoms. If the evening was to take a favorable turn, they would be necessary. Surely, he would have some, being a guy and all, right? Upon further reflection, you hoped he didn't. The idea of feeling him release his warm load inside you was enticing. You would probably spend days in bed afterward, with your legs crossed in an effort to keep a part of him inside you for as long as possible. Plus what was the worst thing that could happen? Pregnancy? You had been waiting to carry his child since you were fourteen.

●

The party had been underway for some time. While preparing had consumed a significant amount of your time, it was the mental rehearsal of what you would say upon seeing Patrick that had caused the delay. Your brother was already present, encircled by friends, casually sipping a beer. You couldn't help but envy how effortlessly he blended in. A successful career, a social circle, a loving girlfriend, and a genuine passion. He had it all.

All you had was… Patrick. 

Was he even present? Scanning the room, your gaze instantly locked onto him. He possessed the ability to stand out in any crowd. With his head of messy curls, his devilish smirk and his baby blue polo shirt paired with beige shorts, he was a vision.  His shorts showed just enough of his oh-so-biteable meaty calves. You could tell he had strong legs, strong enough to carry your weight as you would ride him like there was no tomorrow. You closed your eyes and exhaled deeply. Were you losing your mind? The mere sight of the curve of his ankles was enough to bring heat to your cheeks.

He wasn't alone, his earlier teammate stood beside him. Perhaps it was the perfect moment to introduce yourself and offer congratulations on their victory. But first, you made your way to the bar to grab a drink. You wanted to appear nonchalant, just a random guest blending in rather than coming across as one of his groupies. You were fond of sugary drinks but since you needed to watch your diet, you opted for a bottle of Perrier. When you turned back around, bottle in hand, the two boys had vanished. Spotting them a few feet away, engrossed in conversation with Tashi Duncan. You recognized her from the posters your brother hid under his bed. The tennis star. The embodiment of beauty.

There was something truly hypnotizing about Tashi Duncan. She was athletic yet slender with long tan legs, a thin waist and toned arms. Her facial features were equally striking, with piercing black eyes, high cheekbones, and a captivating smile that could light up a room. Her hair flowed in dark luxurious waves, the undulations tumbled in soft patterns, framing her face with an effortless grace. It cascaded down her delicate back, reaching the spot right above her perfectly firm muscular ass. She was like a siren. Captivating all attention on court and outside. You envied her. Especially now that Patrick's attention was on her. You could never be half the woman she was. Her beauty did not only reside in her physical features but also in the way she carried herself, confident but also playful.

Intrigued, you navigated through the crowd, drawing nearer to them, and leaned against the wall behind the couch where the tennis queen was seated. Taking a sip from your bottle, you struggled to listen to their conversation above the din of the music. They were discussing their future endeavors. A couple of references to Stanford in their conversation hinted that Tashi Duncan was enrolling too. Would she become a rival for you? Despite her apparent lack of interest, it was clear that Patrick was mesmerized by her. You had to intervene.

"Sorry for eavesdropping but you're going to Stanford too?" You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a handshake. You could tell by the dozens of posters celebrating her that she was the victor of this afternoon's match. "Congratulations by the way!" Despite the jealousy gnawing at you, you forced yourself to be friendly. You barely knew her, yet Patrick's attention seemed solely fixed on her. Forming a bond with her would surely draw attention to you as well. "Thank you. And yes, and he's going there too actually." She nodded in the blond boy's direction. You glanced at him indifferently and stepped closer, ready to shake his hand too. "Art Donaldson. Nice to meet you. I've seen you before right?" You vaguely recalled him from earlier but you weren't sure you ever crossed paths before. You would have remembered. He was a handsome boy. Tall, athletic, with messy golden locks and a bright smile. There was a certain boyish charm about him. Surely, a lot of girls were drawn to him. However, he paled in comparison to your Patrick.

"Maybe. My brother is at Mark Rebellato." You mentioned casually, subtly dropping your brother's name, showing little interest in engaging in small talk with Art. "And you, are you also...?" You then turned towards the man of your dreams, extending your hand towards him. "Patrick Zweig." As he shook your hand, the sensation of his cold, calloused hand against your skin sent shivers down your spine. Images of him grabbing his crotch years ago were suddenly flooding your brain.

It was the first time you were seeing him up close, you delicately examined every contour and feature of his face. From his long, pointy and slightly hooked nose you dreamt of sitting on to his adorable protruding ears you would use as handles while doing the said sitting. The charming way only one side of his mouth curled when he smiled, his sun-kissed skin covered with hundreds of freckles, each more loveable than the other or his straight teeth that would leave the most exquisite marks on your body. There wasn't a flaw to be found in that man. "No, college isn't my thing." He explained, casually sipping on his Coca-Cola bottle. Your smile fell, replaced by furrowed brows. Stanford had a reputation of recruiting talents from the Rebellato academy, which was the sole reason you had applied there. You harbored hopes of encountering Patrick on a daily basis. "Oh?" Before you could delve further, a deep voice interrupted the moment.

"Baby, I need to steal you for a second. Over at the trophies." Tashi's father had requested her presence. She excused herself, greeting each of you with a goodbye. "I suppose I'll see you at Stanford, Tashi!" You waved politely, secretly hating her for being so perfect and for the effect she had on your man. With her departure, you found yourself only in the company of the two boys. Just one left and you would finally be alone with the love of your life. Your stomach twisted into a knot of anxiety. You realized you needed to come up with a topic of conversation quickly to redirect the focus onto yourself. Despite all your mental preparation, you had not considered the fact that Art and Patrick would be glued to the hip.

Patrick sank into the couch with a heavy sigh. You mimicked his action and sat opposite of him on the second couch. He looked defeated by the sudden absence of the great Tashi Duncan. Before you could even open your mouth to cheer him up, Art turned to Patrick. "Now what?" Both of them had their eyes fixated on her. "What do you mean, that was it." They continued to talk as if you weren't even there. The night couldn't get any worse until Patrick mentioned taking the shuttle back to their hotel. You couldn't believe it. After all the effort you put into making yourself worthy of him, he was ignoring you, you felt nauseous.

"Let's go." Art proposed, prompting Patrick to rise from his seat. "Yeah, let's go." He stood up and headed towards the exit without so much as a glance in your direction. With a polite smile and nod from Art, the two boys vanished from your sight.

Your night was ruined, perhaps tomorrow would bring better fortune? As you made your way towards your hotel, you spotted them seated away from the crowd, smoking cigarettes. Approaching them, you noticed Tashi was already present. Feeling overwhelmed, you stepped back, knowing you couldn't bear witnessing Patrick's attention fixated on someone else. Seeing all three of them leave together only exacerbated the lump in your throat and the tears welling in your eyes. Taking a seat on the couch, you picked the very spot Patrick had just left, longing to feel his warmth. On the table before you rested the ashtray, bearing the cigarette butt that Patrick had just put out. You picked the discarded cigarette and placed it carefully in your pocket.

Once you returned to your hotel, you didn't bother undressing or removing your makeup, too eager to examine your newfound treasure. You simply lay on your bed and placed the cigarette between your lips. Having never been kissed, this was the closest thing to it for you. You probably wouldn't ever know as you couldn't imagine anyone but Patrick tasting your lips and touching your body. 

Despite Patrick's lips having touched the cigarette, it felt cold, damp, and impersonal. The smell of cold tobacco, however, reminded you of him. You closed your eyes and slid your hand down your underwear. That very same hand he had shook earlier was now caressing your cunt, stroking your folds, you were so wet for him. You had recently found an interest in porn in an effort to calm the heat in you and now you knew how to make yourself cum with a few precise strokes of your clit. Porn had been very instructive when it came to finding new things to fantasize about. Maybe you were even getting a bit too addicted to it. But now you ached for Patrick's thick cock down your throat making you gag with each thrust, Patrick violently slamming himself up your ass, so deeply that you would feel him in your stomach, Patrick using you like a whore, plunging himself in you only caring about his own pleasure not yours and denying you orgasms, forcing you to gobble his big hairy balls or using your tongue as a cum rag, Patrick choking you with his veiny hands, so hard that you would lose consciousness and he would continue to fuck your inert body. God, his hands. You moaned rubbing your clit one last time before exploding, calling his name. You placed the cigarette on the bedside table, breathless. You could tell your fantasies were becoming more and more… uncommon but it was only a proof that you would let him do anything of you. Nobody would ever love him more than you and he needed to know that.

●

Waking up the next day had been challenging. You were still wearing your dress and you could tell by the stains of your pillow that your makeup was also still on. After a long shower, you grabbed one of those tiny tennis skirts you had prepared for the occasion. If he was too bothered to notice you yesterday, you would be sure to be seen today. It probably wouldn't be the big day you had dreamed of, with a declaration of love, Tashi Duncan was the reason for that, but it could still be worth it. It was time to revise your plan. If his mind was someplace else, you could still fuck your way to his heart and drive him insane. Once he would see how devoted you are to him, he would surely choose you. Tashi Duncan wasn't the type of girl who would get on her knees and worship his cock. She wanted to be worshiped while you didn't care how badly he treated you as long as he filled every single one of your holes. 

Today's match featured Patrick Zweig against Art Donaldson, marking the highly anticipated finale of the US Open Junior Boys Singles Championship. To secure a front-row seat, you had arrived an hour early and witnessed the two boys stretch and warm up on the court, engaged in conversation. Their close friendship was evident. You couldn't help but wonder how their bond would influence the game's dynamics. You were concerned that the match might be underwhelming if neither of them was willing to assert dominance, fearing it could strain their relationship. Observing the scoreboard, you couldn't help but notice their respective seeding positions. Patrick held the second seed, whereas Art was ranked fifth in the tournament. It was evident that there was already a significant disparity in power. That would probably make the game interesting.

The thought of cheering for Art as loudly as possible to make Patrick jealous had crossed your mind. Normally, you were Patrick's most vocal supporter, and he would undoubtedly notice the absence of your chants. Without you, no one would be shouting his name, but you would be doing so for Art. However, you quickly dismissed the idea, as the concept of screaming another man's name made you physically ill.

When the umpire tossed the coin, it flipped in favor of Art who decided to serve first. The two boys took their positions. "Game on." The umpire announced, blowing his whistle as Art delivered his first serve. Patrick promptly returned it, initiating a series of exchanges. The ball moved like a blur between the two. The crowd held its breath with every swing of the racket.

Patrick was the first to score, letting out a triumphant yell. His vocal enthusiasm throughout the game had made you feel light-hearted. The groans he emitted each time he struck the ball with his racket were indecent. Was he that loud in bed? You were dying to find out. And it wasn't the only thing. The way his hand was so tightly wrapped around the racket reminded you of your earlier fantasies. You wondered how his large sturdy hand would look, milking himself all over your face. The echo of the racket striking the ball filled your mind with fantasies of a day you would be enduring such forceful backhands on your ass.

After winning the first set, he bowed his head and curtsied towards the audience.Your eyes followed his gaze. Of course. Tashi fucking Duncan. You let out an irritated sigh, and you weren't the only one who noticed. The tension between Patrick and Art was palpable. Art glared at his friend, feeling humiliated by his arrogance.

You had to admit tennis was growing on you even if Patrick was the one you wanted to feel growing in you. The match ended with Patrick winning the game. You exploded in joy, screaming his name and clapping as hard as you could. You didn't care to look desperate for him at that moment, you were. You knew he would win, he simply was the best.

Patrick draped his arm over Art's shoulder as he escorted him to the locker rooms. It was evident that something had changed in the demeanor of the blond boy. He appeared defeated and withdrawn, while Patrick was radiant, boasting to his friend. As the audience began to trickle out of the court, you lingered near the locker rooms, uncertain of your next move. You hadn't yet thought of a plan. At the very least, you could congratulate the champion. Hopefully, he would recall your encounter from yesterday and engage in further conversation. Or so you hoped. If not, maybe you would drag him back to the changing rooms, drop your panties down your ankle and bend over. Offering your pussy to him without asking anything in return, a proposition difficult to refuse.

Your scenario was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of the golden girl herself, Tashi Duncan. She greeted you as she noticed you leaning against the wall. Moments later, Patrick emerged and joined her. She smiled at him, slipping a piece of paper into his hand, eliciting a chuckle from him. His grin far surpassed any victory smile. "You earned it." She said, planting a soft kiss on his lips. That fucking slut. You couldn't believe your eyes. Sensing your eyes on them, she looked back at you and so did Patrick, finally noticing you. "Are you waiting for Art?" He asked. "Yeah, sure. I will come back later." You lied before sprinting back to your hotel room.

Upon entering your room, you flung yourself onto the bed and let out a scream into your pillow. How could he betray you like this? You had put everything on hold for him. He was supposed to be the one. That night, you had cried so much that your eyes were red and your voice gone for days.

●

The few weeks before freshman year had been the most depressing period imaginable. The horny young woman with a wild imagination that you once were seemed like a distant memory. Without Patrick, life felt devoid of excitement. You struggled to have an appetite, found sleep elusive, and questioned the purpose of your existence. Even masturbating had lost its fun.

During those couple of weeks that felt endless, you haven't heard a thing from him. You had even tried to add him on Facebook, but your request remained pending. Your sole source of information was Tashi. She reached out to you on Facebook a week before school, expressing eagerness to find a familiar face in Stanford's halls. Despite your conflicting feelings about her, you couldn't resist putting on a friendly facade. Your dad's advice to keep your friends close and your enemies closer echoed in your mind. If Tashi wanted a girl friend, you would oblige and be the best of friends. After all, she was your only link to Patrick.

You learned that he was on tour, striving to turn pro, and you were also aware that he and Tashi had started dating shortly after the championship.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He wasn't meant to thrive without you. He was supposed to be miserable. As miserable as you were.

Your blooming friendship with Tashi wasn't the most unexpected aspect of university life. That dreadful meeting in front of the locker rooms after the match had seemed to plant the idea in her mind that you harbored feelings for Art, leading her to make it her mission to play matchmaker for the two of you. She extended invitations to every party and lunch they shared, often bailing at the last minute to leave you alone together. Despite Art being a kind and supportive friend, you found no romantic interest in him. Nonetheless, you went along with Tashi's schemes, knowing that if anyone was closer to Patrick than Tashi, it was Art. At least this arrangement allowed you to stay within their social circle and be present whenever Patrick made an appearance.

Your heart raced when spotted him in the cafeteria during his first stay over, his dark curly hair and athletic frame catching your eye right away. Tashi sat beside him, with Art across from him. You resisted the urge to dash to him and wrap him in a hug. You took a seat next to Art and set down your lunch tray. "Hi, Patrick." You greeted, grinning from ear to ear, your voice betraying your excitement with a slight crack. "Hey." He responded with a nod, his hands buried in his pockets. How much you had missed him, it was maddening. Wearing jeans, it was the first time he wasn't exposing his legs to you. Was this some form of punishment? After all that time, you couldn't get a glimpse of his hairy thighs that you desired to be strangled with? Just thinking about them, you could feel the tingling sensation in your lower stomach that you had thought gone for days.

Apart from that, he didn't look that different except for a tanner skin. He was even sporting a sunburn on the bridge of his nose. You only wanted to kiss it better. "So Patrick, heard you've been losing. A lot." Art bantered before you shot him a kick under the table, diverting your attention to your salad. What a fucking cunt. "Be nice." You scolded him, avoiding making eye contact with any of them.

"I can't be lucky in every field. I already won the best prize." He jokingly knocked Art's cap off his head and planted a kiss on Tashi's cheek. Disgusting. You looked at them in disbelief. They really shouldn't act like that in your presence, especially when you were holding a knife. They carried on with their conversation, mentioning classes, the tour and tennis, of course. Feeling uneasy, you directed your attention to your tray of food, consuming more than necessary. Once done, you discarded your dishes and followed them outside.

Patrick had lit a cigarette and was pulling on it. The trio bursted into laughter, while you were watching them, a smile on your face. Even if the two parasites were standing between you two, you already felt immensely better just being near him. You were convinced that Patrick possessed some kind of power over you, the kind that could mend you with just a glance. It made you wonder if you would explode with happiness if he were as close to you as possible, if he were inside you. Or maybe you wanted to be inside of him? How you longed to be in the place of his cigarette at that moment. "Mind if I take a drag?" You asked although you didn't smoke. Health was a second thought when you already knew your love for him would be the death of you, before cancer could even reach your lungs. He passed it to you and you placed the stick between your lips. It felt different from the first time you had done that, in your hotel room. You could feel the warmth from his lips this time. Art glanced at you with curiosity, taken aback by the sudden action. You returned his gaze, silently pleading that he wouldn't bring up the fact that you didn't smoke in Patrick's presence. You handed the cigarette back to Patrick, ensuring your hand brushed against his as you did. Above all else, you yearned for physical connection.

"By the way, how did you two start dating? Tashi never told me." You asked him. She had not told you because you didn't want to ask. What had she done that you couldn't do? "It's quite the tale." He warned before recounting the event of the Adidas party. It had started on the beach, continued in the hotel room and finished on the court. He didn't forget to mention the kiss they shared, all three of them and brag about how he managed to seduce THE Duncanator once her number was in his possession. Tashi rolled her eyes, a grin playing on her lips, while Art turned bright red. Patrick seemed thoroughly pleased recounting the story, making you wonder if boys were now also in the competition for Patrick's affection. You couldn't ignore the fact that Patrick always lit up when discussing Art or anything related to him. Was there more to their connection?

Struggling to conceal your jealousy, you chuckled at the story and flashed a smile at a sheepish Art. "The three of you?!" That little fucker. He had possessed Patrick in ways you had not, and you could swear something had shifted in you. You had never found him as appealing as you did at that moment. You felt an urge to devour him, to experience Patrick through him, and that's how everything began.

That evening, Patrick and Tashi were unreachable. You tried calling her on her cell phone repeatedly, but received no response. As for Patrick, you didn't have any way to contact him at all. Despite their silence regarding their plans for the night, you weren't oblivious. You knew they were fucking. And your effort to disrupt their evening with your presence had been unsuccessful. Returning to your dorm room after a review session at the library, you walked past Tashi's room. Driven by curiosity, you leaned in, pressing your ear against the door, and were met with Tashi's muffled moans, Patrick's heavy panting and the creak of the bed beneath them. You felt a sudden wave of sickness taking over your body. You knew this was happening, of course, but hearing it was a whole other thing. Sadness settled over you, weighing heavily on your chest, as the reality of the nature of their relationship sank in. Each moan felt like a stab to your heart. You sprinted back to your room, not wanting to hear them any longer.**

●

Entering your room, you collapsed onto your bed, tears of rage forming in your eyes. Their moaning had sent jolts of electricity to your core and you could feel wetness between your legs. Your hand would have been enough to calm yourself on any other day but you were so sickened by the betrayal that you decided to go against your own principles. If Patrick was going to act like a whore, why would you bother saving yourself for him? You reached for your phone, sending a text to the only guy who cared enough about you to show up, hoping that he would be willing to offer some sort of comfort.

← [To : Art - 8:13pm]

Movie night? 

→ [From : Art - 8:14pm]

Sure.

← [To : Art - 8:14pm]

Roble Hall, Room 74. Bring the snacks.

●

When Art showed up at your room, you were in an oversized t-shirt and gym shorts. This was not exactly the sexy outfit you had imagined wearing to mess around with a boy. But after your rushed cold shower, you couldn’t be bothered to pick a nice outfit. He wasn't Patrick anyway, dressing up for Art wasn’t necessary, it would even be out of character. Besides, he was also in gym clothes. You wondered for a second if he thought of this as a friendly invitation or sports clothes was all he owned. With a big smile, he revealed a bag of salted popcorn he had been hiding behind his back as if it were some kind of great gift. Even his snack choice was bland and unoriginal. You invited him in, gesturing towards the twin bed where your portable DVD player was resting.

You didn't own that many DVDs, but Art still took the time to skim through each one, reading the back covers. He settled on Batman Begins. You inserted the disc into the DVD player. The cramped bed and the tiny screen forced proximity between you, leaving you practically all over each other : both lying on your stomachs with your hips touching and your feet occasionally brushing against one another.

"Christian Bale's hot." You squinted at him, amused. Men could appreciate other men's attractiveness without wanting to fuck them, you were aware of that. But knowing about his little experience with Patrick, you couldn't help but scrutinize Art's every action and word. What if all this was pointless? You needed to ensure you weren't wasting your time. You gently grabbed his chin, turning his head to study his face in detail. His slender face boasted a sharp jawline, framed by a fair, smooth skin that, despite its youth, bore faint lines on his forehead and around his eyes, lending him a tired appearance. His small, downturned blue eyes, one spotting a curious half-brown hue, seemed to vanish when he smiled, his thin lips parting to reveal prominent teeth. The feature of his you liked the most had to be his sizable, slightly curved nose. Completing the picture was his blond, wavy hair, adding to his boyish allure. Nothing Patrick-like but that would do. "I think you're hotter than him." His blush reassured you that you weren't a lost cause.

As the movie continued to play you realized you officially hated action movies, though Art seemed completely engrossed. You reached for the bag of popcorn and noticed the brand. "Skinny Pop? Is it an intervention?" You joked, playfully slapping your own ass to make it jiggle. You caught him staring for a moment. "No, I just stole them at practice." You popped a piece of popcorn into your mouth and fed him another. "You were at practice? Did you even shower before sitting on my bed?" You prayed he had not. "Of course! Who do you think I am?" He said, feigning indignation. Shit. He really had a knack for making things less exciting.

Things weren't progressing the way you desired. And naturally, he had chosen the least sexy movie ever. Despite your attempts to engage : playing with his feet, tracing patterns on his back, even shifting positions to lay facing him, the only reward you got was a smile. It was clear you needed to take matters into your own hands. So, when he reached for popcorn, you tapped his shoulder and opened your mouth, waiting for him to feed you and as he did, you playfully bit his fingers. "Eh!" He protested, frowning at you. Finally, a reaction! You seized his hand and enveloped your lips around his index finger, gently sucking on it. He watched you in astonishment as you shifted your attention to his thumb, licking off the salt. Releasing his hand, you leaned in closer, crushing your lips against his.

Despite his initial surprise, you sensed the tension ease as he leaned in to meet your kiss. With closed eyes, you both immersed yourselves in the moment. Just a few hours earlier, kissing another man would have been unimaginable. Yet, here you were. As he turned to face you, aligning his body with yours, your fingers traced the contours of his jaw before gently cupping it, drawing him nearer. Craving to deepen the connection, you explored his lips with your tongue, begging him to reciprocate. The sensation of his firm hand on your waist sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, not quite butterflies, but a tickling feeling nonetheless. As he responded, parting his lips, his tongue mingling with yours, you playfully nudged your nose against his, unable to contain your amusement. "Oh god, finally." You murmured, a laugh escaping as your lips met. He pulled back, chuckling softly. "Why do you say that?" His ears flushed a bright shade of red, adding to your amusement.

With a playful shove, you tipped him onto his back, confidently straddling his hips, your weight settling comfortably and your hands resting on his chest, tracing the outline of his pectoral muscles. "Well." You teased, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you gazed down at him. "Let's just say that if my tongue wasn't enough for you to get the hint, I was already planning my next move along those lines. Something a tad more... persuasive." You slowly bounced on top of him before leaning over him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before trailing a series of gentle pecks down his jaw, nibbling on his skin. "To be honest with you, I thought you were into Patrick." He mumbled, his voice breathy from the attention you were giving him. You arched an eyebrow, surprised by his comment. Even Art could tell? You snorted, feigning to be offended by the idea. You briefly considered retorting that you had your suspicions about his interest in Patrick as well, but instead, you chose a different response to his comment. "Would a girl who is into Patrick invite YOU to her room?" Probably, if she were as desperate as you.

You didn't give him a chance to respond, pressing your lips against his once more and running your hands through his hair. His hands hesitantly found their way to your hips. You were pissed that he could see right through you, but you weren't about to let that frustration go to waste. You now found yourself kissing him with hunger, holding your breath as you swirled your tongue around his. The kiss turned sloppy as you weren't really sure if you were doing things right. Your high school friend had once told you that you didn't need practice, you just needed to follow your instincts. But those very instincts urged you to sink your teeth into that tongue, bite it off and swallow it. It was the exact same tongue that Patrick had tasted but now it yearned eagerly for you. You withdrew, taking a moment to catch your breath, your fingers still tangled in his blond locks. You traced your hands down his chest, lifting his shirt as he sat up to assist in removing it with a certain impatience. Once his shirt was off, he grabbed your ass, fondling it with firm hands. You then embraced him, wrapping your arms around his neck, drawing him nearer to you. He felt sturdy and reassuring in your embrace, yet you yearned for the sensation of his soft bare skin against yours. "Take off mine…" You purred into his ear before turning your attention to his earlobe, enveloping it with your lips and giving it a gentle suck.

With a ferocious tug, he grabbed the hem of the oversize shirt, lifted it over your head and threw it aside. You didn't need to ask twice before your chest was bared to him. The awkward boy you had to kiss with insistence was now a distant memory, replaced by a lustful impatient man. You could sense his gaze lingering upon your chest. He raised his hips, bringing you up higher so your breasts were now at mouth reach. He encircled one of your nipples with his lips. You gasped audibly, taken aback by how delightful it felt. His wet tongue flicking your bud made your legs shake. You wanted to experiment more of this. It felt like you were on a high.

Growing increasingly impatient, you pressed your heated core against his clothed arousal. He was hard and throbbing. You raised your hips, eager to remove his pants, leaving only his underwear and your shorts as barriers between you two. Rolling your hips against him, you began with a slow, deliberate pace, ensuring maximum pressure each time your body met his. The sensation was maddening so much so that you momentarily forgot about his mouth on your chest. You didn't know you were capable of making sounds of this sort. Feeling self-conscious about your voice, you rashly took his face in your hands and kissed him passionately while still bouncing onto him. His frustration at losing contact with your breasts was evident so you decided to distract him in your own way.

You let your hand glide down his abdomen, your fingers toying with the elastic band of his underwear. The smoothness of his body was a stark contrast to Patrick's. The absence of hair leading to his groin was disappointing. You then slipped your hand beneath the fabric and palmed his length. The boy squirmed beneath you upon contact. Aware of how porn could create unrealistic expectations, you braced yourself for disappointment. However, you were pleasantly surprised to find that Art's member was of a respectable size. This was an interesting new sensation. It didn't feel as smooth as you thought it would, you could feel texture due to the presence of veins and the stubble from his recent shaving. You ran your thumb across his circumcised head, coaxing a moan from his mouth. This part felt much smoother. You teasingly squeezed his balls before retracting your hand. It was your first time attempting such a move, but there was no need for him to be aware of that fact. After immersing yourself in porn for the past year, you felt confident in your ability to handle the situation. It was just jerking a guy off. You broke the kiss, spat into your hand, maintaining eye contact with Art, and with a teasing smirk, slid it back down into his shorts. 

You gripped the base of his shaft with your hand and began to stroke it slowly, moistening it with your saliva. Meanwhile, his mouth returned to your breast, lavishing attention on your other nipple. You also felt his fingers teasing you through your shorts. You hated that you were wearing clothes, all you wanted right now was to feel his fingers in you. You sat on his hand, trying to feel him more. You gasped, your eyes fluttering as the overwhelming sensation washed over you. It was evident how wet you had become. You continued to grip his cock firmly. Honestly, you weren't sure what to do next, it felt like you were endlessly stroking him, and he was nowhere near climaxing. While you could tell he was enjoying it, you were eager for him to reach orgasm. Porn had made it seem so easy.

After some time, Art began delicately slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your shorts, exploring your moist entrance. The sensation sent waves of ecstasy through you as you clumsily stimulated him. His fingers pressed against your opening, the touch distinctly different from your own.

"I want you so much." He whispered into your ear, his fingers still toying with you. "Then take me now." You whimpered, unable to wait any longer.

"Condoms?" He asked as you shook your head. That had not crossed your mind. He rolled his eyes with a frustrated sigh, laying back on the bed, resting his hands back on your hips. You slided your hand out of his underwear and placed it on his chest. The loss of contact made him whine, frustrated. If it had been Patrick, you would have let him slam himself bare inside you but there was no way you would let another man fill you. There was always pulling out. You could tell by the way Art was looking at you that the idea crossed his mind and the question was burning his lips. But you were now, with thoughts of Patrick filling you up, totally turned off by Art, dry as sand. "I can blow you.. If you want." 

In a hurried motion, you stripped off his underwear, discarding them entirely. You knelt beside him, your fingers trailing along his chiseled abs as you leaned in closer. His cock twitched beneath your touch, hardening even more under your gaze. Now, you could fully admire his body. While his shaft matched the rest of his skin tone, his tip boasted a subtle pink hue. Without hesitation, you took him into your mouth, savoring every inch of his length. Your hands stroked his thighs eagerly while you continued to devour him hungrily. Your tongue darted in and out of his slit, tasting his salty sweetness as you relished every moan and whimper he made. With one hand on his balls, massaging them gently, you used the other to grip the base of his shaft firmly, pumping rhythmically as you blew him

His hands gripped your head tightly, guiding you deeper until you slightly gagged on his thickness, your nose buried in the stubble covering his lower abdomen. What a shame that he was so keen on getting rid of any kind of body hair. You wrapped your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue around its sensitive ridge. Moans escaped from both your throats as you sucked harder, drawing out each groan as if it were music to your ears. You looked up at him in an attempt to stare into his eyes. You had heard that guys enjoyed eye contact during a blowjob but Art was struggling to keep his eyes open. You could gauge the impact of your actions from the way his stomach contracted and his legs trembled. It was a good sign, you didn't completely suck at this. Your jaw was starting to hurt like hell though and your mouth was filled with saliva. How much longer did he need?

"I'm about to..." He gasped. There was no chance you would allow that man's load to be shot down her throat. Quickly, you withdrew yourself and began manually stimulating him again. When he ejaculated, you didn't anticipate it to splatter everywhere as it did.

You crawled off him, grossed out by his fluids and grabbed a tissue from your bedside table, wiping your hand. While you were busy getting rid of the cum running down your wrist, Art seized the opportunity to pull down the hem of your shorts, exposing your buttocks. "What are you doing?" you asked, panic evident in your eyes. "Returning the favor." He replied, wearing a foolish grin. "You don't have to." You reassured him, tossing the tissue into the bin. "I want to." He insisted firmly. No one had ever gone down on you before, and the thought both excited and terrified you.

With hesitant movements, you flopped onto your back, sliding your shorts down your legs and kicking them off. Your heart was pounding in your chest as Art positioned himself between your legs.

He looked up at you for confirmation before lowering his head, his warm breath tickling your sensitive flesh. Your body twitched in anticipation as he placed a gentle kiss on your inner thigh.

Slowly, he traced a line of kisses up towards your core, teasingly avoiding the place that craved his attention the most. When he finally made contact with your folds, a gasp escaped from deep within your throat. His tongue glided over your clit in slow circles, applying just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

You arched your back and tangled your fingers in his hair as he continued to work his magic. His tongue dipped lower, giving your opening short and quick laps before returning to focus on your swollen clit.

The sensations were overwhelming. It felt like you were on fire. Art obviously had experience in this area. "Don't stop…" You moaned, your hips instinctively bucking against his mouth.

Art moved one of his hands to your cunt, sliding his index and middle finger into you as he continued to eat your bud with a hunger that matched your own. He replaced his lips with his thumb over your clit, massaging it as he sloppily nibbled on your labias. He raised his second hand to one of your breasts, groping it. Your hand quickly joined his on top of your breast, tightening his grip while your other hand tugged on the sheet.

You felt pressure in your lower body as your orgasm built up, threatening to crash over you at any moment. The pressure was becoming too much to handle. "F-fuck…" You moaned while trying to muffle the sound by biting into your arm. 

With one final flick of his tongue, Art sent you over the edge. Your body convulsed as the waves of pleasure washed over you.

You had brought yourself to come countless times, but this was the first time someone else had given you an orgasm.

The post-nut conversation turned out to be less awkward than anticipated. Art revealed himself to be interesting when tennis wasn't the sole topic. Eventually, he checked his watch and rose from the bed. "He's waiting for me." He remarked as you watched him retrieve his crumpled clothes from the floor and dress up in hurry. You felt a bit abandoned but the fact that he did not invite you to come with him. You knew he was going to join Patrick at the court for a nighttime match. "See you later." You murmured, disappointed. He leaned in for a sloppy kiss that you broke after a few seconds, tasting yourself on his tongue. You briefly considered mentioning that your juices were spread all around his chin and cheek but you didn't. "For sure." He responded with a grin so wide that everyone could tell he just had some action and then left your room.

●

You were having lunch with your English literature classmates when you noticed Patrick leaving the cafeteria alone. Without hesitation, you stood up, excused yourself, and followed him outside. If he was going for a smoke, it was the perfect opportunity for a private moment. As you opened the exit door, you saw Art already there, sitting on a bench and chatting with Patrick. Fucking parasite. He smiled and waved at you as you approached and took a seat between the two. "Hey there." Patrick greeted you with a smirk, making your heart skip a beat. You glanced at Art, who was grinning from ear to ear. Of course, he had told Patrick. If fucking Art finally made Patrick see you in a different light, hell, you'd do it every day. "What are you guys doing?" You inquired, already aware of the situation. "Just chatting." Art responded, smoothly extending his arm behind you, his fingertips lightly brushing your spine. What was he trying to prove? "How was the game last night?" You asked, though you weren't particularly interested. "Fun. I'm sure Art enjoyed himself a lot." Patrick snickered as Art shot him a dirty look. You looked from one to the other before rolling your eyes. "I'm sure the game didn't go as well as he hoped. I heard he couldn't play the final set." You commented, taking a jab at Art. He looked at you in disbelief, while Patrick laughed at your remark. You nibbled at your lower lip, wondering if you had gone too far. But you didn't really care, you were the reason Patrick was laughing. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Art's gentle pinch on your back eased your racing heart. "Alright, I should head back to my table. You can get back to your gossip." Before you could stand up, Art caught hold of your arm. Leaning in close, he whispered in your ear. "Wanna hang out in my room tonight?" You shrugged. Did you really want to? Not particularly. But it was too late to back out now. Patrick would be grilling Art for details in the morning. His room, though? Tonight was definitely the night. He was so tactless that you wouldn't be surprised to find his bed littered with condoms. "Sure." You replied, then swiftly left the scene.

●

Art's room wasn't that different from what you had imagined. It was clean, with the bed made and the room smelled like deodorant. There were also more personal items : trophies, medails, posters and pictures. You looked closely at all the pictures of the wall. You didn't know the vast majority of those people although you could guess that some of them represented his parents due to the resemblance. There were many pictures of the Mark Rebellato academy players. You could even spot your brother in the background of one. But Patrick's face was present in every picture but one of them caught your attention. It was a recent picture of the two of them, plastered about the bed. Patrick had that side smirk that made your clit throb while Art was smiling with all his teeth.

As soon as you sat on the bed, Art joined you, sitting by your side. He smiled, gently brushing your hair away from your neck before kissing you passionately. It was clear you weren't there to chat.  You tilted your head, giving him room to explore your neck, while you placed a hand on his thigh, giving it a slight squeeze. "Honestly, I thought I'd be greeted with you tossing condoms like confetti." You chuckled, your hand sliding up his thigh, nearing his crotch. "I kind of pictured you running to the store first thing in the morning." Art grinned at your comment, then leaned over to his bedside table, grabbed a handful of condoms, and playfully tossed them at your face. You threw a few back at him before pushing him onto the bed and straddling him. You lifted his shirt, exposing his bright pink nipples and hairless chest. "Did you go around telling everyone I gave you head?" You asked. Patrick wasn't just anyone, though. He shook his head. "I only mentioned it to Patrick... Sorry about that. And just so you know, he's also aware of the pussy-eating part." You shrugged as you unbuttoned his pants and pulled down the zipper. "Patrick's fine, don't worry. But now you're going to have a reputation. Plenty of girls lining up at your door." You teased, tugging at his underwear to take a peek. "Let's hope they knock loud enough, we might not hear them tonight."

●

You watched, captivated, as Art smoothly rolled the latex onto his erection, his eyes never leaving yours. You couldn't back out, Art was on top of you, ready to enter you. It was official, Patrick wouldn't be the one deflowering you. 

Finally, unable to contain yourself any longer after all that foreplay, you begged him to enter you. As Art penetrated you, the pressure was intense yet exhilarating. You gripped onto his shoulders tightly as you tried to adjust to his size. At that moment, you hoped that he couldn't tell you were a virgin. Art began to move within you, his thrusts slow but steady. Each time he sank further into your warmth, your senses heightened, your mind lost in the sensations coursing through your veins. You let out a breathy whine and bit into his shoulder, trying your best to not name the wrong man.

Soon, his rhythm quickened, becoming more urgent. But even as your body responded eagerly to his touches, your mind wandered back to Patrick's face, frozen in time in the picture on the wall. He pushed inside you, savoring the way your muscles clenched around his shaft. You moaned softly, arching your back and inviting him deeper.

"Fuck, you're driving me crazy." You wrapped your arms around his neck, rolling your hips beneath him and melting into him completely. Despite Art being an attentive lover, you couldn't bring yourself to climax, your mind too cloudy with conflicting emotions. Finally, Art exploded in a series of shuddering spasms. He collapsed onto the mattress, spent and exhilarated. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, you let out a small groan before leaning into his embrace, feeling more confused than satisfied. Was this really what you wanted? There was tenderness here, gentleness. You wanted raw, unbridled passion, the kind that threatened to consume you whole.

"I came so hard." Art whispered soft words of praise into your ear. "Did you?" You felt a pinch of guilt stirring inside you once more, wondering whether you should confess your true feelings. But then, you remembered why you started sleeping with Art in the first place: to get closer to Patrick. And so, you forced a smile and assured Art that you had a good time. "Yes." You breathed, pulling him into a deep kiss to avoid dwelling on the question. Sex was enjoyable, but it didn't live up to the glamorous portrayal in the media. Perhaps it lacked satisfaction without emotional involvement. You attempted to push these thoughts aside as Art's fingers traced down your spine, sending shivers down your body. Yet, whenever he kissed your neck or whispered sweet nothings into your ear, your mind wandered back to that photo.

●

It only took a couple of weeks for Art to ask you to be his girlfriend. The reason for that decision was still a mystery to you. Because outside of sex, which had gotten so much better with time, you weren't really seeing each other. Maybe he felt obligated after using up your holes so much. Perhaps he had asked you because he was so busy with you that he didn't have time to meet other women?

You had no idea how long it had been since his last partner because that boy was always horny. You would spread your legs for him every day, sometimes meeting him twice a day. And when you weren't together, you would receive grainy pictures of his erect penis. One positive aspect of all the sexual activity was that now he could make you climax most of the time. But you still wondered how he would manage to find all that energy after tennis practice.

The officialization of your relationship had been pretty much uneventful. He had uttered the words as you laid in bed, your face nestled in his hairy pits, fully inhaling his scent. Sex being the only time you could savor Art's faint smell of sweat. "Should we be exclusive?" His choice of words amused you because you knew for sure that he wasn't fucking any other girl since you already had the talk about giving up condoms and getting on the pill. You had thought about your answer for a second. In your wildest fantasies, Patrick would have been your one and only but you said yes anyway because being with Art was as close as it was to being with Patrick. 

No one knew Patrick like Art. And Art knew a lot. He would tell you about Patrick's history, his family's business, his tastes in music, his previous girlfriends whom he always found weird, or about his seeding position before each tournament he would take part in. You were told numerous tales of their childhood adventures. You barely remembered Patrick's appearance as a boy. These anecdotes predated your teenage infatuation with Patrick, yet you couldn't help but smile at the genuine love with which Art recounted his bond with his best friend. While some stories were cute, some would turn you in unspeakable ways, like when he told you about his first experience with masturbation. You couldn't help but imagine them stroking themselves in sync, Patrick instructing Art on which move to make and Art acting like a studious learner. You could tell you were completely wet at the thought, so much so that you had suggested recreating the scene, masturbating in front of each other.

"Why would I jerk off when I have you?" He was hesitant at first until you grabbed his hand and slid it down your panties. Your underwear was soaked with your juice. Of course, he tried to insert a digit into you but you tugged on his hand to remove it from your pants. His hand and fingers were now coated with your secretion. "Use me as lotion." 

You were both lying side to side, on your backs, Your eyes were focused on Art's hand grasping his tip. "Does that feel good?" You breathed, locking your half-lidded eyes with his. He nodded, breaking the contact with you and staring at your hand between your legs. "Describe to me what you're doing…" You found his request hot. "It might sound weird but I actually prefer my legs crossed, it creates more sensation. And then it's all about clitoral stimulation." You explained with a whine. Your hand was furiously rubbing your clit. It wouldn't take long for you to climax, you had done it so much, you knew how your body worked. "What about you? What do you like to do when you're alone?" Art was fisting his cock at the pace as you were stroking yourself. "I love holding it very tight, when it's on the edge of hurting." He grunted, tightening his grip. "Come for me.." He continued to stroke himself, twisting his wrist to his tip. The head of his penis was red and throbbing. He moaned  your name and released himself all over his stomach. "Fuck, you're so hot." You turned to him, your hand still between your legs, rolling your hips at a faster pace. Your eyes were now closed and you were biting your lower lip as you could feel your orgasm coming. You grabbed your clit and let out a low moan. Your breasts were lifting with each pants as you tried to catch your breath. "Was I better than Patrick?" He laughed and pulled you closer into a kiss.

●

Being Art's girlfriend, the clean-cut and sweet guy, could have been worse. He would take care of you, speak highly of you, always make sure to include you in every activity he was a part of. You enjoyed his company but it was clear that you didn't love Art. Instead, you found yourself drawn to the fact that Patrick loved him.

Dating Art came with another perk : you always knew in advance when Patrick would come visit. And each time you would ensure to fulfill Art's every fantasy beforehand. The kinkiest, the better, as you knew Patrick would be the first informed. And if Patrick knew you were willing to do all those degrading things, he would undoubtedly reconsider his relationship with Tashi.

The only issue was that Art's kinkiest fantasies were still quite vanilla, nothing noteworthy. From riding him to doggy style to 69ing, there wasn't anything that really excited you. You had succeeded in broadening his horizons, but you were always the one taking the lead. You had to guide his hands to encircle your neck and coax him to tighten his grip. Most of the time, he was so gentle that you could still breathe normally. As for public sex, that option didn't even cross his mind until you had massaged his dick through his pants in so many rooms of the university that he was unable to hold back anymore and screw you against a wall behind the main building. You also had to suggest to let you ride his face. It didn't take much convincing for him to say yes. If that man was a thing, he was a pussy eater. But as always you always wanted to take things further and one night after he had released himself in you, you sat on his face and let his own cum drop down his mouth and commanded him to swallow it, which he did. He was lapping your slit like a thirsty man, scooping his seeds out of you with his tongue. He had enjoyed every moment of it, but you were confident that he never shared the story with Patrick. And if anyone asked, he would likely act as if it had never happened. You could tell by the way he would shush you everytime you would call him your little cumslut. His shame was so enticing that you would occasionally spit his semen back into his mouth after blowing him. Watching him swallow his own load was the hottest thing.

There also was a time when you practically had to beg him to fuck you in the ass. He was uncertain about whether he would enjoy it, but you were confident he would love it even more than you did. You reassured him that he could stop at any moment if he felt uncomfortable, and with that assurance, he agreed to try. Ever the considerate and attentive boyfriend, Art had spent days researching online how to do it safely. Knowing this made you tempted to sneak onto his computer and check his search history to find out what kind of anal sex content he had looked up. After an hour of prepping you with lube and his fingers, which had removed parts of the fun, you were stretched out and he was ready. You were ready too, but deep down, you knew you didn't need all that preparation to begin with, you just wanted him to spread you open. You grabbed the headboard, holding yourself as you arched your back when he shoved himself into you from behind. You didn't feel any kind of discomfort, you mostly felt… full. Your ass wasn't as sensitive as your cunt, the feeling was entirely different. "Move already, you asshole." You snapped at him before he grabbed you by the hips, lifting them and violently slammed himself deep into your core.  Right in front of you was the picture of the two boys you were constantly looking at. You were starting to really enjoy it, staring at Patrick in the eyes while Art was pounding into you. "Touch me." You pleaded, grabbing one of his hands resting on your hips and placing it over your pussy. When he finally started spreading your folds and stroking your sensitive clit, you let out a growl. You were now bouncing back on his cock, rocking your ass against his hips as his fingers roamed their way to your opening, adding his middle finger. You whined, frustrated by his action. You didn't need his fingers in you, you needed the on your clit, abusing it. You grabbed his hand again and pressed it as hard as you could against your crotch. You were practically humping his hand at this point trying to create some friction against your bud. "You're such a horny slut." He was talking to you but all you could hear was his high cry when you would clench your anus and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. You could feel him grow tenser in you, he was close to coming. "Pinch my clit, I beg you." You groaned as you could feel your climax build up. He acquiesced and grabbed your button forcefully, pinching it until you could feel your blood circulation being cut off. "P-..Art!" You cried out as you exploded. You felt him spurt his thick load into you. It had to be one of the best sex you ever had with him. Not having to watch Art's face as he climaxed was also a big plus. You despised it so much as it reminded you of the obvious fact that it was not Patrick. As you laid afterwards, tangled in sheets and limbs, you couldn't help but marvel at just how far you had come since meeting.

●

You were running low on ideas to spice things up, but your friendship with Tashi proved to be a valuable resource. Over the course of a month, your bond with Tashi had deepened. Despite not having much in common, and secretly hating her, you clicked well together. Additionally, you often joked about the unique situation of your respective boyfriends being boyfriends together, which led to a secret nickname between you: ‘The other women’. Having someone you could rely on was comforting, and Tashi felt the same. Being in a relationship with her boyfriend's best friend made you her confidante, and she would often confide in you, even though it was sometimes difficult to listen. Despite this, you couldn't resist the urge to learn every detail about her relationship with Patrick.

It had become a weekly ritual after a significant match: you and Tashi would retreat to her room, crack open a few beers, share a joint, and exchange amusing stories.

On one particular evening, fueled by a bit too much alcohol, you both felt mischievous. "Shotgun?" you suggested, and Tashi nodded, a smile playing on her lips. Taking a drag, you gently held her face and leaned in, exhaling the smoke into her mouth. Curious to understand the sensation Patrick experienced every time he kissed Tashi, you closed the gap between you and initiated a soft kiss. It was an innocent moment, devoid of sloppiness, yet kissing Tashi proved to be exhilarating. As you both pulled away, laughter bubbled up from within, leaving you both in fits of giggles. "Look at us, we could be girlfriends too!" Tashi suggested, her hands resting on her hips.

The notion wasn't as off-putting as you initially imagined. Tashi was undeniably attractive. If Patrick proposed a threesome, you wouldn't hesitate for long. You might not be experienced in eating a woman out, but you were willing to learn. After all, you had no knowledge of sucking dicks just a few months ago.

●

When Tashi was tipsy, she became so chatty it was difficult to stop her. But there was one specific topic she couldn't seem to stop talking about: Patrick.

She would complain about how he would never shut the fuck up during sex. And how he was constantly talking dirty to her, no matter the time and place. How was that a problem? Patrick could whisper his shopping list into your ear and you would come on the spot. Or the way he was always demanding blowjobs, even in the most random places. Was she aware that you would blow him on the tennis court in front of the audience if he would ask? She almost killed you on the spot when she mentioned how he liked coming on her breasts but she hated it. What a spoiled brat. You would let him completely cover you with cum without even thinking twice. You would even ask for more. His enormous uncircumcised dick bumping into her cervix and making her feel uncomfortable for days was apparently an issue too. It only sounded like the most heavenly way to die to you. Or when he would try to slide it into her ass which she refused to do. What a cunt.

You took a mental note to check all those boxes with Art so he could brag to his friend, like boys usually do, and make Patrick die of jealousy. "What about Art?" What about him? You thought about it for a second. You didn't have much to say about Art but maybe if you praised the quality he possessed that Patrick didn't, it would intrigue Tashi into experiencing it. "He's very attentive to my needs if you know what I mean." You held your index and middle finger up in a V and flicked your tongue between them which made Tashi snort. "Maybe that's cheesy but he's the best sex I've ever had." Only sex you ever had, but she didn't know that. You knew exactly what would pique the ever-demanding and controlling Tashi Duncan's interest. Leaning closer, almost whispering as if sharing a secret, you said, "He's a bit of a sub. Quite a strap fanatic." That was a lie. Once, you had suggested fingering his ass while blowing him, and he freaked out, insisting he wasn't gay, which led to a snort from you and an ensuing argument. 

"Really?! Now that you mention it, he does give off that vibe." Tashi responded. Ah! Take that, Art. "Have you ever..." You mimicked a thrust. "...with Patrick?" She shook her head, slightly pouting. "No. Wouldn't it be weird if I refused to give him my ass but asked him to give me his?" You took a sip of your drink and shrugged. "I don't think it's weird, when you love someone, you are willing to do everything to make them happy." Of course that comment was targeted to her as well, planting the seed in her brain that she might not love him as much as you 'loved' Art.

To be truthful you actually knew even more than Tashi suspected about her intimate life. Every time Patrick would visit, you would sneak at night just to listen to them through her dorm's room like that first time. Except now, you had your hands down your panties massaging your swollen clit. It was even more exciting to think that someone might surprise you in the corridor. You had become intimately familiar with the sound of his balls slapping against Tashi's ass, his loud moans, how long he lasted, and the noises he made when he came. Sometimes, you would finger yourself to climax in sync with him. Afterwards, you would slip into Art's room and have sex with him without offering any explanation. Often, you would mimic the exact actions you had heard through the door, your eyes still fixed on the picture of Patrick on the wall.

●

You waited until dinner time to ensure no one would be in Tashi's room. Sneaking in and going through her things wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision, you had been planning it for weeks. You had tried a few times before, but the door was always locked. Today, however, you grabbed the handle and pushed, and to your luck, the door opened. You stepped inside and quickly closed the door behind you.

Her room was unusually messy, a stark contrast to her typical tidiness. The disorder could only be attributed to Patrick's presence. His bag was tossed in the middle of the room, with his shoes and clothes strewn across the floor. You started rummaging through Patrick's things.You weren't entirely sure what you were searching for.

One of the first things you noticed was one of his rackets. Though completely worn out, you admired the shaft, noting how Patrick's sweaty hands had eroded the handle. The blue grip tape had turned brownish and frayed. Lifting the racket to your mouth, you kissed the handle, tasting the saltiness. Your mind wandered back to countless hours watching Patrick dominate opponents on court, sweat pouring down his face as he hit each ball with precision and skill. You pictured his toned arms flexing as he swung the racket, sending the ball hurtling towards his opponent. But tonight, the racket would serve a different purpose. A crazy idea had crossed your mind. If you couldn't touch Patrick, you could let Patrick touch you. 

You slipped off your underwear, exposing your bare cunt beneath your dress. Sitting on the edge of Tashi's bed, you spread your legs wide open. Guiding Patrick's racket between your thighs, you closed your eyes and let out a moan, pressing yourself against its handle. As your body responded to the sensations, you gripped the racket tighter, drawing yourself closer to ecstasy with each stroke. You maintained the rhythm of thrusting the handle into your pussy while simultaneously rubbing your clit with the same pace. The intensity built with each thrust until finally, you cried out in a hushed moan, overwhelmed by pleasure.

You didn't take time to catch your breath as you had to be quick before any of them returned. Carefully, you pulled the handle from your folds and placed the racket back into his bag, relishing the thought of his hands covered in your dried juices during his next match. You pulled your panties back on. Now onto your next treasure.

Patrick hadn't packed many clothes, so stealing one of his shirts would be too obvious. Instead, you rummaged through his belongings and settled on an old, worn pair of socks. Bringing them to your nose, the initial whiff was pungent and overwhelming, yet strangely captivating. As you buried your face in the fabric, the scent became a heady mix of musk and earth. He smelled divine. Unable to resist, you discreetly tucked one of the dirty socks into your bra before quickly leaving the room with your treasures. 

On your way out, you spotted Tashi's pink gym shorts, the ones she had been wearing earlier before her encounter with Patrick. Upon closer examination, you noticed an obvious wet spot on the front of the shorts. Whether it was Tashi's or Patrick's doing, you didn't care. Without hesitation, you grabbed the shorts and exited the room for good this time.

When you got back to your room, you couldn't wait to begin exploring those newfound objects of desire. You couldn't help but smile at your mischiefs. 

The sock was perhaps your most prized possession. It carried the scent of Patric, Patrick after practice. You inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma before biting into the fabric, sucking on the spot where Patrick's toes had been earlier. You knew you were acting irrationally, but you couldn't resist. You were addicted to his scent, his taste, to him.

Next up was Tashi's shorts. You longed to mix your own wetness with Tashi's juices. However, when you attempted to put on the shorts, they wouldn't budge past the middle of your thighs. In that moment, you felt larger than ever before. Was this the type of woman Patrick desired? Reflecting on it, Tashi had a lean, sculpted body. Quite the opposite of yours. You tried to suck in your stomach, attempting to force the shorts over your hips, but to no avail. You had to confront the truth: you felt enormous. Perhaps your mother was right? It was time to start watching your diet. If you hoped to capture Patrick's attention, you had to become worthy of it.

You swiftly hid the items in a suitcase under your bed and decided to get to work immediately.

●

Youtube was a never ending source of working out videos. Every morning you had a routine of pilates and running around the block. While at first it had been hard to move your body so much while continuing to have enough energy to satisfy Art's needs, you were now used to the challenge. You were also following a strict diet. While the app you had downloaded suggested a 1200 calories a day diet, you were now down to 500 calories a day.

As you entered the cafeteria, you scanned the crowd for them. The trio had secured a spot near the window, leaving room for you. You settled in, placing your soda and an apple on the table. Greeting them, you cracked open your diet coke. "Hey you." You placed a quick peck on Art's cheek. "Your highness." You waved at Tashi "Patrick." You nodded your head in his direction "Hey. Well fuck, you okay?" You raised the can to your lips and glanced up at him, puzzled. Was his question directed at you? His gaze seemed fixed on you, leaving you uncertain. Was he concerned about you? You flashed your brightest smile and nodded. How could you not be okay now that you knew he cared? He raised an eyebrow and went on about his tour. He wasn't doing too well, and Tashi was giving him a hard time about it. However, he seemed to enjoy himself otherwise, sharing stories of parties and sightseeing in numerous cities. The boys were chatting energetically while both you and Tashi remained silent, only listening. It felt as if you didn't exist anymore. They had so much to discuss and were planning to stroll by the courts. You were jolted back to reality when you felt Art's soft lips against your nape. "See you later. Your dorm?" Art gave you a familiar look, the same one he always gave before asking for a blowjob. How amusing it was that nothing seemed to make both of you hornier than Patrick's visits. Patrick planted a gentle kiss on Tashi's lips. You already felt nauseous but now there was no way you were going to touch that apple. It pained you to see how your misery deepened as the months went by and Tashi and Patrick's relationship flourished. You knew this love was slowly killing you physically and mentally. The boys left the table, waving goodbye.

Wrapping his arm around Art's neck, Patrick put him in a headlock and guided him out of the room. You could still hear their voices. "Your girlfriend looks..." Was Patrick referring to you? Art's glance back at you confirmed it. What was he talking about?

As you refocused on your meal, you noticed Tashi sitting across from you, lost in her own thoughts. "Can I trust you with something?" You nodded in response. "This conversation stays between us." Despite Tashi being the primary obstacle to your happiness, she was now your only confidante, with Art no longer filling that role as he was way too busy filling something else. "Did Art mention another girl Patrick was seeing while on tour?" Another girl? Oh no, you could feel the anger growing in you. Was he seeing someone else? Tashi was one thing, but another bitch? You were RIGHT THERE, ready for him to fuck you into oblivion, why would he need another girl? "No, I never heard anything about that. Why do you ask?" She toyed with her food, clearly uncertain of how to proceed. "Art said Patrick is not in love with me." You couldn't believe your ears. Art had grown balls and was going on the offensive. Leaning back in your chair, you narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms. "Uh. Did he?" Your mind raced to devise a strategy that would benefit you. "Do you think Patrick told him that?" You asked, trying to gauge the situation. "I don't know... I can't think of any other reason why Art would tell me that." She responded. Oh, you could think of plenty of reasons. "I swear those two are just waiting to drop our asses and just buttfuck each other." You sighed, trying to lighten the mood. Her lips twitched into a small smile."If you want my advice. You should talk to him. Like, it's ok to not be in love so early in a relationship, but it's not when there's a difference in intensity of feelings."

You hugged Tashi, gently rubbing her back and lightly tickling her with your fingertips. The heady scent of her shampoo and perfume filled your senses. You didn't want Patrick to love her, but at the same time, any guy who wasn't madly in love with her was an idiot. "Good luck tomorrow, champion. I'll be there to cheer for you." She thanked you as you left the cafeteria, abandoning your apple and can.

You walked back to your room, you had a lot to process. Art's scheming had added a new layer to your plan. Even if you benefited from Tashi and Patrick breaking up, would Art become a rival? What was his endgame? Did he want Tashi or Patrick?

You sat on your bed, still consumed by the fact that you had overheard Patrick mention you. Even though you had no idea what he had said, the thought filled you with joy. You longed to hear him say your name, to talk to you, touch you, kiss you, and more. Leaning over, you pulled out the suitcase hidden underneath the bed. Opening your treasure chest, you took out the sock and pressed it to your nose, savoring the fading scent. Your reverie was abruptly interrupted by Art's energetic knock on the door. Quickly, you hid the sock back in the suitcase and shoved it under the bed. You opened the door, and Art immediately jumped on you, smothering your face with wet kisses. "Art!" You whined, kicking the door shut.

●

Exhausted and breathless, you both lay intertwined, Art resting on top of you, his full weight pressing down, as you wrapped one leg around his hip. Cuddling you while still being inside you was one of his favorite things, which you found deeply bothersome. "Patrick said something earlier and I didn't really notice until now since I see you everyday but…" You looked at him curiously, excitement in your voice. "Patrick talked about me?" You could feel yourself getting in the mood again, the fire between your legs burning. This was so much more exciting than anything that had happened earlier. You slightly rolled your hips under him, trying to create some friction against your clit. He gazed at you, nibbling on his lower lip. That look made you wonder if he was now assured of the impact Patrick had on you. You hadn't been subtle about that one. "Yeah.. He said you have gotten really thin." So Patrick had noticed? This confirmed your suspicion, his type really was svelte girls, how shallow of him. You didn't care how bad that made him look though, you were a few steps closer to his type. You clenched around Art's length trying to get him to move as he went on about what Patrick had to say about you. But he didn't, he only huffed and kissed your neck.

You still had a long way to go to be perfect for Patrick. Tashi's shorts fitted you now but they were still quite snug around the thighs. "I want to get healthier. A couple of months ago, I was having a sleepover with Tashi and she gave me one of her pajamas. It was so tight, I could barely breathe. I realized how I had let myself go." You confessed wrapping your other leg around him, and grabbing his asscheeks in an effort to feel him deeper into you. If he wasn't going to relieve you, you knew what could get that little conniving bastard to. "Tashi always wears the best outfits. Wouldn't it be fun if we could lend each other clothes? I'd die to be able to fit into one of her tennis skirts." You knew that put ideas in his mind. In fact, you could feel himself growing hard again inside of you. "Just don't overdo it." He mumbled, his face in the crook of your neck. "Maybe I should get into tennis? I want a body like Tashi's. Her thighs are so firm and tanned." You rolled your hips once more under him to get him to start pounding into you. "Have you noticed how her breasts stand on their own? She doesn't even need a bra. She told me she doesn't even own any." Finally some movement. You let out a sigh of relief while he was biting into your shoulder. You had done it so many times before that you knew for a fact that he was trying his hardest to not pronounce the wrong name. "Have you seen how firm her ass is too? No wonder Patrick likes her so much." It broke your heart to say it out loud but you needed to bring Patrick back on the table. Art wasn't the only one who could get his little fun. "They make a hot couple though. He's gorgeous too."  He was now aggressively thrusting, deeply buried into you. "His thighs.." You moaned, back arched under him.

You were aware that his mind was filled with images of Tashi while he was ball deep in you. Or perhaps it was images of Tashi and Patrick. Who even knew at this point? Watching his eyes roll back, highly responsive to your words, you felt compelled to propose something to him to add excitement, an idea that had been on your mind for months. 

It would start with you being Tashi. Wearing one of her tiny tennis outfits, the kind that showed the underside of her ass everytime the wind blew. Pretending to train him to be a champion, calling a little bitch and insulting him at every mistake of his. You would make him overwork himself just to get a praise from you and even when he would do it, you would just command him to worship your cunt. When he would beg for a release, you would just let him jerk off while watching you play with your cunt.

And he could be Patrick. Even if you doubted Art had it in him. He would treat you like the little whore that you are. Making you gag on his gross sweaty cock right after practice. Wrapping his hands around your throat, while ramming into you. You would let him abuse every single one of your holes while reminding you how you're nothing to him and nothing without him. And even when he would be asking you to ride him, not willing to put any effort into fucking such a used-up whore, he would still be… dominating you.

Thinking about it, their relationship dynamic did not make sense. Was it a constant fight for dominance? Perhaps you had misjudged Tashi? But you couldn't be mistaken about Patrick, you knew him better than anyone else.

But you had too much on the line to make such a request anyway. In theory, he could only love the idea, but in fact? He was a coward who refused to see the truth. Would he call you a freak and put distance between you? And distance between you and him meant distance between you and Patrick. You couldn't risk that.

It didn't take long for you to climax, as you were already sensitive from the first round. Just a few precisely angled thrusts and Art's skilled fingers on your clit did the trick. You had to admit that Art had gotten better at pleasing you, you didn't have to fake it as much anymore. But it was also pretty easy when Patrick was occupying your mind. Art came a moment later with a low grunt. After a brief pause, he withdrew and rolled onto his back.

Your conversation with Tashi kept replaying in your mind. She appeared so insecure at that moment. How could she doubt Patrick's affection when he only had eyes for her? You were the best person to testify to that, as you counted the moments he glanced your way. Art had truly succeeded in toying with that poor girl's mind. Hold on a second. Were you feeling sorry for the woman who possessed everything you desired?

Art was now affectionately nuzzling your neck, planting gentle kisses behind your ear. Yet, his actions repulsed you more than it usually did. Were you angry at him because he had begun plotting to seduce another woman, or was it because he had taken a step forward in the race while you remained stagnant with Patrick? The scenario where he would begin dating Tashi, leaving you without him, Tashi and Patrick was now likely You found yourself in a position of weakness, a clear indication of the chaos in your relationship. You had shamelessly used him for months, but now that he was the one with the upper hand, that was unacceptable. It was time to call it quits. Art wasn't the one for you anyway. You were meant to be with Patrick. And Art was meant to be with Tashi or whoever else he pleased, you didn't really care anymore.

●

The next day, Tashi Duncan was playing against Maria Foster from Pepperdine. 

Patrick's visit that week revolved around the match, and tonight marked his departure. It would be months before another opportunity. Although you hadn't yet ended things with Art, your plan was to do so after the match. There wasn't any certainty that things would progress your way after that but you needed him off your back. One idea you had was simply offering yourself to Patrick. 

Showing him how much of a good girl you could be for him. His needy whore, little play toy. Dropping to your knees, your face buried in his balls, inhaling the exquisite musky scent of his sweat like an addict. You would then gobble on them like a starved woman. His hard sack felt warm and well-filled against your lips, it would take everything in you to not bite into them. You would then trail your wet tongue along his shaft following the pattern of his veins up to his head. Seeing his dick would be the well-deserved reward for all those years of longing. Without hesitating a second, you would pull his foreskin back, exposing his head and flick your tongue against it, paying extra attention to his slit, almost dipping your tongue into it wanting to taste every single drop of precum you could find. That cum was yours, it had always been yours. Wrapping your lips around the head, you would twirl your tongue around, tasting him fully for the first time before hollowing cheek, sucking him as hard as you could. You would probably slobber all over his length and he would love it, you were sure of it. With your head bobbing frantically, you would look like a maniac. You wouldn't even give yourself time to warm up before taking him whole in your mouth. The pain that would come with his crown hitting the back of your stiff throat was the most intoxicating part. Throating him desperately like the future of your relationship would depend on the quality of that blowjob. You would let him use your mouth like a fleshlight, fucking it aggressively, your nose crushing against the messy wet curls of above his cock. You would love the feeling of his strong hands pulling your head closer to buckle his hips into your mouth, his fingers pulling on your hair with force. Being able to breath would be the least of your worries as choking to death on his cock would be an honor. You would keep him in your mouth for hours, no matter how much your jaw hurt. But then your favorite part would come when he would. Swallowing his cum had always been one of your dreams but you wanted him all over you. You would pull away and stick your tongue out for him, drool running down your chin and clothes. Begging him to shoot his cum all over your face and tits, the same way Tashi refused to do. You wouldn't even bother to wipe his semen off, wearing it with pride, like a trophy, in Stanford's halls. But that was just an idea, of course.

In the worst-case scenario where you would be facing rejection, you planned to use Tashi's doubts about his loyalty as a justification. And like the exceptional friend that you are, you wanted to ensure he was worthy of your friend. You would both laugh it off and move on. 

But before that, you were stuck with Art, who was acting distant. You could feel something had shifted last night. You were both aware of each other's plans and everything felt forced. You and Art had agreed to attend to support Tashi, as good friends should. Or at least, that was Art's justification. For you, it was obviously because you wanted to fuck her boyfriend. That very same boyfriend who soon would be sitting on the empty seat beside you.

"Where's Patrick?" You asked, disappointed by his absence. The game was about to start, Tashi was entering the court and Patrick was nowhere to be seen. Art was typing on his phone. "Seems like they had a fight." Art shrugged and rolled his eyes, like their altercation was something predictable. You could tell he had something to do with it. A fight? You couldn't help the smile on your face. That surely helped your case. 

The game reached an intensity you hadn't witnessed before, with Tashi displaying an unprecedented determination to win. The ball darted from one end of the court to the other so swiftly that it was challenging to track. Tashi's backhands grew progressively stronger with each strike, her focus unwavering as she moved with agility. Suddenly, Maria Foster's throw forced Tashi to sprint across the court. In the midst of her movement, her knee gave out, causing her to stumble and fall.

With a scream, Tashi collapsed to the floor. Art sprang to his feet immediately, naturally the first to rush to Tashi's side. Could you blame him? If it were Patrick lying there in pain, you'd likely be by his side, holding his hand.

Without much of a choice, you had followed both of them to the infirmary. Waiting in the corridor for the ambulance to arrive was the best alternative to not witness their sickening intimate moment. Art had won the game. You also wanted to be available in case one of them would ask you to call Patrick. That way you would finally get a hold of his number.

But without a call, he showed up. There he was, finally, panting, his brown curls slightly disheveled, and his shirt clinging to his damp skin. Your smile faded into a frown as you noticed Tashi's shirt adorning his back, another indication of her ownership over him.

"Patrick, get the fuck out!" Art's raised voice startled you. Why was Art screaming at him? You didn't know the circumstances of the fight, but you could fathom Tashi being mad at Patrick. But Art siding with her and not his best friend? Was his friendship with Patrick just an excuse to get closer to Tashi all along? You would have never guessed how alike you and Art were.

Patrick walked out with red eyes and a visible lump in his throat, leaving the campus in a rush without a glance in your direction. That had been the last time you ever saw him.

●

Despite the weeks that slipped by, you couldn't help but cling to the hope that he might appear. That Tashi and him would somehow make up, that he and Art had maintained a friendship but no. Each morning you believed that today would be the day you would see his gorgeous face, only to have your hopes crushed by his absence. The disappointment became a part of your routine.

Art had left you for Tashi, using her recovery as an excuse. Although he never had the decency to formally end things with you, it was clear he no longer wanted to be around you. Every single free hour of his day would be devoted to training with Tashi or keeping her company during her physiotherapy. Sure, he would still smile at you from across the hall or kiss your cheek hello and goodbye when he would bump into you at the cafeteria. But there were no more texting or late-night visits to your room to release his built-up frustration. 

It didn't make sense, Patrick was out of the way, it was the perfect time to make a move on Tashi. He just didn't. It was not like you were an obstacle either, if he really wanted you gone, he only had to say it. But maybe he wanted Tashi to believe he was still taken and harmless, just a friend without ulterior motives, a good guy helping her out of the kindness of his heart? How noble of him. It made you gag.

She wasn't any better than him. Tashi was avoiding you as well, likely feeling too guilty about her growing affection for your boyfriend to face you. Not that it mattered anyway. Patrick was gone. Forever. And it was all their fault. You hated them for it.

●

Stanford seemed rather dull now. You had spent months with them and had barely made any friends outside of Tashi and Art. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all spent alone from now on. At least the weight of your courses and the ever-growing pile of homework kept your mind busy. As for Patrick Zweig, he only crossed your mind from time to time at night when you would rub yourself to sleep. You had almost accepted the fact that you would probably never see him again. As you opened your laptop to begin typing your overdue essay, a notification on your Facebook wall caught your eye. 

Patrick Zweig accepted your friend request.

You can find part two here.

♠♣♥♦

Tagging : @starrgurl46 @egcdeath @izzywags478

Thank you everyone for taking time to read my stuff. If you have any criticism, please feel free to send a message. I'm trying to improve my writing.

See you next time!

[aster-go-brrr]

IM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH IM FERAL IM LOSING MY FUCKING MARBLES

[eryanlainfa]

Vat7k memes no one asked for, except it's of my version (so lots of Aiden)

[3motionally3xhausted]

Redesigning the Fentons!!

Hi yes this is for yet another Danny Phantom AU of mine it has nothing to do with the Apprenticeship AUs but unlike that batch I actually wanna turn this AU into a fic eventually once I get through a few other big projects I have *sobs*

Anyway individual files for each character under the cut along with my obligatory rambling about all the choices I made ;)

Jazz! Honestly, when I was a kid, I always thought she was 18 not 16 so it was kind of a shock when I started rewatching the show about a yr ago and heard that. Anyway, she's 17 in this AU but already moved out to college on a scholarship bc living in FentonWorks is kind of hell and she has that Older Sibling Guilt for leaving Danny there. For her clothes, I wanted it to be a mix of tactical and preppy.

Danny! (Fenton) The effects of FentonWorks hell is much more visible on Danny than Jazz because she got out of there as soon as she could. Because of that though, a lot of the chores in the lab got pushed onto Danny, without passing on many safety tips, like replacing the ecto-filtrator, cleaning contaminated tools, organizing ecto-weapons, etc. And because he doesn't know any better when it comes to safety, he has many symptoms of radiation poisoning: visually, this comes through in the discoloration/scarring on his skin (Jazz has some slight scarring on her face and hands as well), the cataract on his left eye, as well as burst blood vessels in that eye. For his clothes, I wanted them to look a bit ragged and worn through ripped seams, tears in the jeans, & duct tape around his shoe.

Danny! (Phantom) I don't actually have a lot to SAY about my choics, but I am really happy with it. There are still a few things. I wanted his hair as Fenton & Phantom to be different but still reminiscent of the simplistic rendering of the original show: Fenton is kind of timid so his hair falls over his face, & Phantom is more active/aggressive so his hair is pushed upward. The only other thing I want to comment on is his skin: it's kind of about how I usually stylize Phantom (and I mentioned this when I redesigned Dani a while back) but a "healthy" Phantom in my style would have more bright cyan skin and an unhealthy Phantom has a more dull/zombie green. And lastly, as a ghost, the radiation poisoning kind of cleans up into more neat scarring rather than the muddy/bleeding look as Fenton.

Maddie! Now, I'm gonna be honest, real vulnerable here,... I hate Maddie's canon haircut. It's ugly, I'm not sorry. But I can modify it, so it's fine: now it's curlier, a bit darker, and has a few grey streaks bc she's a genius and constantly pulling long working hours. And, it didn't come across as much as I wanted, but she's got some biceps, strong lady. Now, I'm not really sure why, but I wanted to shift the color of her and Jack's jumpsuit, making hers much more desaturated.

Jack! Big guy. I don't have many thoughts about him either, but I did give him glasses and some stubble for a little bit more dad energy (?) I mainly changed the color of his jumpsuit bc Orange is an extremely hard color for me to render for some reason, so now it's the classic Hazard Yellow. Finally, the most notable difference is the coat I put on him for a bit more scientist energy but my main reasoning for it is the potential visual of him being an absolute tank jumping from overhead with the ghost gauntlets and his coat flapping behind him. Also, I generally like the idea of him presenting himself as a big, dumb teddy-bear, always smiling, but completely unhinged below that facade: dropping the smile or not while towering over you in shadow. Wild imagery.

FINAL THOUGHTS: Do not count on any actual steps towards creating this fic in the near future, it's just on my mind right now, but I NEED to finish my other projects first 🙏🙏🙏 That said, I will (eventually) get around to a handful more character redesigns for this AU including: Vlad, Sam, Tucker, Valerie, Paulina, and maybe Lancer & Dash

[requiemforthepoets]

you say good morning when its midnight ⟢ OP81 (part 5)

main masterlist | fic playlist | series masterlist

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and oscar grew up together, and despite being neighbors and best friends with her sister, hattie, you never really talked or had a conversation with him. until one day, where he randomly texted you out of nowhere.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: use of y/n, (a little) slow burn, humor, fluff, inaccurate information, no consistent face claims, all photos are from pinterest, weird, awkward, unhinge, reader is a little bit ball of a mess, long distance relationships, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 555

AUTHOR'S NOTE: part 5! sorry if the update took a little long, i was away for a vacation. but i'm now back, and i'll try to update this series as much as i can. also, this series will be my primary focus for the meantime. i would like to apologize if this is a bit rushed, indecided not to some parts since i wanna focus on the plot, but i hope you'll enjoy this one!

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

It was four days later when the front desk called up to your apartment at Kent Ridge Hill Residences, letting you know that there’s an express package that had arrived for you. Couriers weren't allowed to go up to the units, so you had to head down to the lobby to collect the package yourself.

You linked in confusion, slipping on your slippers as you mumbled a soft, “I didn't order anything.”

You certainly haven't ordered anything. Not even a midnight retail therapy binge your forgot about. Still, you took the lift down and approached the reception desk, signing of the delivery. The box was not heavy, but it was neat, its brown cardboard edges sealed perfectly with a transparent tape that has the “fragile” word printed on the tape, and your name printed clearly on the shipping label. It wasn't large, nust enough to cradle in both arms comfortably.

You carried the box back to up to your apartment, the elevator ride feeling longer than usual. Once you reach your apartment, you quickly went in and locked the door. You sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor of your living room, scissors in hand. You stared at the package for a good minute like it might explain itself if you waited long enough, and then you began carefully slicing through the tape until the flaps peeled back.

As always, your curiosity won out.

You opened the box with care, like it might contain something so fragile. Inside, nestled in a bed of brown paper, were four things: a fridge magnet in the shape of Mt. Fuji that has the word "JAPAN” lettering under it, a tiny sakura petals swaying in a snow globe dome, a frog mug that is oddly shaped like a tiny pitcher, curved and handmade-looking—like it was plucked off the shelf of a sleepy Kyoto ceramics shop, and finally, a delicate matcha tea set—complete with a bamboo whisk, ceramic bowl, and a tin of fragrant powder so green that it could’ve only have come from somewhere special.

You felt your hear skipped a little in your chest. You definitely knew who it was from before you can even see the the note that was tucked neatly beneath the matcha set. But still, your fingers trembled slightly as you opened the small card, written in careful handwriting:

< I didn't buy you a postcard. I figured that’s somethinf you should do yourself, someday, when you’re finally there. I didn't want to take that moment away from you, but I thought I’d help you get started on the fridge magnet collection. Oh, the frog thing was just a spur of the moment thing, it reminded me of you and it looked like it should belong with you. - podium boi >

You read the note not only once, not twice, but three times. You couldn't help it and bit you lip, cheeks burning. The smile that grew on your face didn't stop for a long while. You tucked the note safely on your journaling notebook, then grabbed the fridge magnet and stood in front of your fridge, and with a soft click on the surface, you pressed the magnet into place. There was a quiet warmth blooming in your chest that you didn't quite know what to name just yet.

Postcard-less, for now. But not empty, not anymore.

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

yn.jpg posted to their story!

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𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

taglist: @uuoozzii , @freyathehuntress , @littlemisskavities , @elieanana , @rexit-mo , @imagine-it-was-us , @satorinnie , @pessismisticpotato , @milkysoop , @random-movie , @supersanelyromantic , @greantii , @chirpchirp69 , @purplephantomwolf , @mimisweetz , @frogiemushr0om , @angxedxtz , @hevzo8 , @pandora108 , @ms-darcy23 , @sluttybitch , @proudshinsoukinnie , @pinklemonade34 , @gemi-boi , @elizamoe133 , @sideboobrry11 , @mrrayjay , @curlylando , @soleilgrec , @nothingjustaninchidentt , @suns3treading , @dramallama9 , @1-queenofpotatoes-1 , @suibianupyourass , @armystay89 , @verstappen-leclerc-inchident , @landossainz , @martygraciesversion381 , @larkkyoris , @iloveotters11 , @isagrace22 , @bagelsbitch , @gigigreens , @wolfbc97 , @esw1012 , @raesblues , @mashmashi , @chxseversion , @fairyjinn , @hoseokjin194 , @ihaveitprinteddout , @henryspersonalver , @fctnllvrs , @pinkdeadtopia , @noimnotmae , @henna006 , @quenanababy , @formulaal , @mits-vi , @urmomsgirlfriend1 , @yeahimcrying , @ardentsnowfall , @teamnovalak , @mmsimp

[darklordofthesimp]

Anything IX

The 9th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: I'm back for good this time cos I bailed out of my trash job of 6 years hello mferssss

Warning: Graphic Language, Graphic description of violence

You’d been thinking about your past more often than usual, especially on the nights that you lay staring at your ceiling. Saint told you that it was a sign that you’d begun to move on. The villain that had consumed your thoughts was now a tentative ally and you’d been left with history seeping through the cracks. 

You were almost grateful. 

Almost. 

You thought about your career before the incident, about the missions that went impossibly wrong. Death, grief, sorrow, hatred, and guilt, they weren’t things that you experienced alone. Shared pain eased the blow- you weren’t the only one suffering and, in a way, that provided comfort. 

However, the mission that truly plagued you was a mission so highly classified that there were only four people who still knew of it. There were only four people who survived it. 

“You and me, Birdy. 

We’re dead.”

You sat up in your bed, mind kicking into overdrive. The dim light on your wrist indicated that it was well past midnight but your blood was electrified.

You’d been so preoccupied with what had happened to you that you’d stopped thinking about what you’d done. Why had someone tried to kill you, you had to have done something. You had to have known something. 

“We’re dead.”

You pulled your duvet from your body, the cool air washing against your skin to make it prickle. Winter was, by far, the worst month to live on base. The heating units in your block were terrible and outdated with the empty promise of upgrades. You slid into your slippers and ventured into the hallway, palms rubbing up and down the length of your arms. 

Your feet were on auto-pilot as they led you to the door of the last person you’d expect to seek out. There was no light seeping out from beneath cracks and you couldn’t hear a sound from inside. He might not have even been home, it was a Saturday night after all- no one was in. Not even Simon, and that was saying something. 

You shifted your weight on your heels, wincing when the floorboard creaked under the pressure. It couldn’t hurt to knock. Or it could, you supposed. You had no idea why you were here, knocking on his door at 2am in the morning was unhinged behaviour.  

You took a step back from the door, another creak betraying your position. This was a dumb idea. You could talk to him in the morning like a normal, functioning human being would. 

The door swung open suddenly, forcing your heart into your throat. 

König’s hulking silhouette filled the frame, shadowed and imposing. He barely fit through the door as he stepped into the corridor, the dim warmth of the ceiling fixtures washing over his figure. 

You quickly realised that he’d been asleep as you took in his visage. Sleep tousled hair, a vulnerable gaze, König stood before you shirtless in long tracksuit pants. You forced your eyes to remain fixed to his face as he looked you up and down. 

“Birdy?” He rasped, scrubbing his face lazily with one hand, the other resting on his hip. “Why are you lurking at my door?” 

Indignant heat crawled from your neck and into your cheeks. “I wasn’t lurking, I was about to knock.” 

König narrowed his eyes, silently telling you that he knew you were lying. You changed the topic, crossing your arms defensively. 

“I just wanted to talk about something, I didn’t realise how late it was.” You cast a glance down the hall where you’d come from. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, we can talk in the morning.” 

As you turned to leave, hot with embarrassment, König sighed. 

“Birdy.” He called. 

You peeked at him tentatively from over your shoulder. 

The man opened his door and gestured inside. Your breath hitched in your throat, the room behind him was dark. That jade gaze watched you tiredly but with intent. He wasn’t going anywhere with you, this time you would have to come to him. 

“Are you sure?” You asked quietly. 

You received a nod in reply. 

With a sharp breath and squared shoulders, you wandered cautiously into the lion’s den. Your bare skin brushed against his waist as you passed him, sending a thrill down the length of your spine.

A floor lamp turned on behind you, flooding the room in a warm, sensual glow. You barely heard the door click shut, you were too busy taking in the room before you. It was nothing like you’d been expecting, furnished and decorated with a surprising attention to detail.

The room smelt lightly fragrant, as though incense was lit frequently enough to linger. You caught sight of candles on the desk to your left, ‘cedar wood and myrrh’. That would do it. 

The corner of your lip quirked upward at his library/gaming corner. A dark wood shelving unit housed a plethora of his books and a gaming console, then a flat screen mounted in the centre. Bean bags were neatly organised atop a dark rug, you figured they would be more comfortable for him than an inevitably too small couch. 

A game was still playing on the screen, the character standing inactive in their own world. 

“Were you playing?” You turned to look at König, who seemed very suddenly uncomfortable.

“No,” he cleared his throat and cast his gaze to the floor. “No, I fell asleep while playing.”

Your eyes were drawn to the bed last.

“That’s a big bed.” You don’t know why you said it. 

“I’m a big guy.” Was the reply. 

The bed was tall, something you would have to climb onto if it were your own. There was a large, dark wooden headboard pressed against the back wall, framing the bed like it was the main feature of the room. Dark silk pillows adorned the matching silk bed sheets, and you could only imagine how comfortable they would be on your skin. 

You turned to face König who had put a shirt on somewhere amidst your gawking at his home. 

“I didn’t think your room would be so…” You trailed off, gesturing at the space around you. 

“Delicate?” He offered, self deprecation ringing through his tone. 

“Nice,” you finished. “I was going to say nice.”

A small smile finally graced his lips, the first one you’d seen all night. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have thought he sounded self-conscious about the space he’d designed. 

“I spend a lot of time here,” he shrugged as he offered you a beanbag. “I wanted it to be… nice.”

You took a seat, sighing as the tension in your body dissipated instantly. König stretched those long legs out as he got comfortable atop his own bag across from you. 

“Why don’t you get out more, there’s plenty to do around here,” you mused. 

König chuckled darkly, “people don’t like me very much around here, Birdy.”

The mood dampened at that, the energy in the room shifting. His green gaze had lost the softness that you’d almost grown accustomed to, becoming guarded instead. You wish you’d just held your tongue. 

“What did you want to talk about?” König asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You swallowed thickly, bracing yourself for another shift of his attitude- this time to anger. You weren’t afraid of his frustration, not anymore. God knows that you’d seen enough of it directed at you to know that you were physically safe. Despite that knowledge you still hated seeing it with every fiber of your being. 

“I want to tell you about a mission I did a while back,” you said shakily. “Then I want you to help me figure out whether it might be connected to everything that’s… happened.” 

König’s eyes narrowed, darting to the door and back. He stood to his feet quickly and you flinched as he brushed past you. You turned to look over your shoulder at him, surely he wasn’t walking out of his own room. 

“I thought we agreed to drop it,” he growled beneath his breath and you weren’t sure whether he was talking to himself or you. He was rummaging through his desk irritatedly, muttering as he worked.  “Of course you didn’t drop it. Why would you? Let’s all die together!” 

Soft music began to play and you raised your eyebrows as he placed a speaker against the door. 

“What, are you setting the mood?” You snarked, settling back into your bag as he returned to his. He shot you a withering glare. 

“It’s so that no one hears us as you, once again, try to get us killed by talking about this on base.” He hissed, propping himself up. 

You rolled your eyes at him but you knew he was right. It would be more suspicious if the both of you had gone on an excursion into town together, you’d have all eyes on you. There weren’t many places for you to approach him about information but it seems all the places you have were wrong. 

“Tell me about the mission,” he sighed though his nose. The frown lines on his forehead softening as you nodded.

“This mission was, and is, highly classified. You cannot tell a soul about this.” You warned, watching him earnestly. It was König’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Yes, I will try my hardest to not tell all of my best friends in the 141.” 

You shot him a withering glare. 

“Fine,” he groaned. “Obviously I will not tell anybody, Birdy.” 

You nodded, satisfied with his response, before launching into the details of the mission.

-

“Alpha 1-1 to Bravo 1, SITREP, over.”

“Bravo 1 in position, green status, over.” 

“Bravo 1, maintain position. Payload incoming. Alpha 1-1 out. 

You drew a deep breath, taking in the view a final time beyond the scope of your rifle. You’d perched up on the high ground, neatly hidden between wiry bushes and dirt mounds. The U.S forward operating base, its entrance, and the arterial road in, were all at your mercy. 

Your mission was to provide cover for a high value payload and offer additional defense to the U.S FOB while it received. For a black bag operation it was deceptively simple. Then again, you had no idea what the payload was. You’d been told that the objective was to protect a Shadow Company squad while they  “delivered the milk.”

You weren’t important enough to be privy to more than that. 

A dust trail in the distance indicated the payload’s approach and you set to work. Thermal imaging provided you a clear picture of the incoming convoy as it cleared the crest. To your alarm there were only three vehicles before you, for such precious cargo you thought that there’d be a larger security detail. 

There was a civilian blocking the route ahead of them that you’d raised concern about prior. U.S soldiers had been dispatched from the base to remove him but were thus far unsuccessful. Your stomach tightened as the convoy slowed to a halt 350 yards from your position. 

As one of the Shadow members dismounted their vehicle you couldn’t shake your rising paranoia. You felt the hairs on your arms raise and your skin prickle- a sniper’s sixth sense. You turned your sights to the crest the convoy had appeared from. 

There was something very, very wrong. 

You watched the crest carefully, praying that you were paranoid. 

But, you never were. 

“Sierra 1, contact rear, near ambush!” 

No sooner than the callout had left your lips, the incoming vehicles opened fire. 

Chaos erupted the way it usually did in war. The screams, the callouts falling on deaf ears, the gunfire- it all blurred, really. The only thing you could truly hear was your own breath. Every inhale was steady and your heart followed in suit, a steadfast sniper was the most accurate. 

And there was a reason that you were the best. 

One by one they fell. Amidst the cloud of moon dust and the flurried movements you could see everything, and everyone, as clear as day. The floor was littered with bodies, men from both sides ironically meeting the same end.

A blinding flash forced your eyes shut as your scope lit up. The explosion rocked the earth beneath your stomach and you knew then that the fight was lost. An RPG blast had ended it all in an instant, obliterating the men you were protecting. Limbs, shrapnel, and wreckage were all that remained of Shadow Squad.

Your teeth were clenched tight enough to cramp your jaw. You couldn’t get a shot with the enemy operators hidden behind the cargo. 

“Bravo 1, don’t let them take that fucking payload!”

Shepherd's voice was desperate, a growing hysteria that you’d never heard from him before. 

“I don’t have a shot,” you ground out through your teeth. 

Between Graves and Shepherd barking half-baked orders down the line, there was little coherency.

The mission objective was a monumental failure and an unjustifiable amount of lives had been lost that day, along with the payload. There was only one survivor of the ground assault, a blessing in itself. Dipaolo had been knocked unconscious in his vehicle after the RPG explosion and assumed dead by the enemy. 

You had tried to talk to Dipaolo briefly while waiting for your transport home. He’d been mumbling to himself dazedly in the back corner of the medical room for hours when you approached him. 

“Dipaolo?...” You trailed off. The man had lost his entire squad in one hit, he’d woken up to their blood on his face and their limbs scattered across the dirt. No amount of experience can give you the right words to say to a man like that.

His hazel gaze met yours, distant and tired. 

“What have we done?” He whispered. 

Your tongue dried in your mouth and you could only stare at him in response. You’d failed is what you’d done. You’d failed this man and his men and you couldn’t protect them. 

“We’re so fucked,” he shook his head. “We are so fucked.”

“What-” you’d barely choked out the word before he grabbed your wrist roughly. You yelped as Dipaolo pulled you in close, the smell of sweat and blood on his skin. He reeked of death.

“Do you know what we’ve fucking done, Birdy?” The Shadow hissed through gritted teeth as you tugged uselessly against his grip. “Do you know what we just fucking gave them?” 

“Let go,” you rasped. Panic began to rise in your chest when his gaze turned hysterical. 

The door behind you flung open but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the man before you. His grip tightened as he flicked his sights to the medics entering the room. 

“Do you know what we’ve done, Birdy? Do you know what we gave them?” His words blurred together desperately. “We’re fucked! You hear me?” 

“Woah, woah, woah!” Relief flooded your chest as the returning medic inserted himself between you and the crumbling soldier. “Let’s just back up for a second.” 

You ripped your arm from his grip and immediately turned to leave, your skin burning where you’d been detained. You tried to tune out Dipaolo's screams as you left the room but this wasn’t a battlefield and you had no rifle- you heard it all. 

“We are dead!” The Shadow’s voice broke from behind you. “You and me, Birdy, we’re dead!”

-

König’s face was stony as he leaned back into his seat. 

The silence following your story was heavy and your mouth was dry. You couldn’t remember the last time that you’d spoken so much in one sitting. 

“Birdy,” König mused, “when was that mission?” 

“A while back, a few months I’d say,” it was a rough estimate. “I’d have to check my dates.”

König shook his head, green eyes flashing with alarm. “How long did it happen before our… incident?” 

You blinked slowly, taking in a deep breath. Your heart dropped to your stomach and it was as though König knew what you were going to say before you said it. 

“It was the last mission I had…” you trailed off shakily. You felt like you were going to vomit. 

König’s eyes hardened as he voiced the realization that you had both come to. 

“It was the last mission you did before I was sent to kill you, Birdy.” 

[mothinkling]

what do you think would be the touchstarved characters reactions will be to the MC dying from a soulless encounter after a relationship was established??

SOUL RIPPED (TOUCHSTARVED X GN!READER)

Summary: Touchstarved cast's reaction and aftermath of finding out their partner was killed via Soulless attack.

TW: Mentions of death, grief, murder, depression and delusions.

A/N: HHHHHHHH i'm so sorry this request took so long! but hey at least we have the updated demo while everyone waits for my slow ass Hehe <3

Leander; 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

DENIAL

♡ He simply refuses to believe it; there's no way, it's simply a trick, a lie to distress him.

♡ He'd laugh it off with a strained, tight smile on his face as he asks the informant if they've had a bit too much to drink.

♡ And then he'd wait, wait for you to walk through the doors and back into his arms, completely healthy.

♡ His eye-bags would grow darker as the days go on, his smile become faker and more unhinged as everyone tells him over and over, you're not coming home.

♡ The only thing that proves he hasn't actually deluded himself into believing your still alive is the sight or sound of a soulless.

♡ it'd ś̸̯̯͕̟̙͖̲̏̏e̶̛̜̹̲̣̤̦̪̺̺͆̾͋̉̓͛̔͘͝ň̶̢̞̟̥͚͖͇̮̀̆̍̄͗͒̈́ḑ̸̛̥̥̦͕͓̪̜͂͌̋͂̒̚͝ ̴̛̼̖̘̠̥̏̊̽̾̈́͛h̷̬͆̈́͋i̴̡͎͍̱͖̔̒̋̅̔̈́m̸̧̛͉͍̜̬͙̭͚̯̌̊̊̑̎̊ ̵̨̗̗̝̭͆͌͗̉̅́͗͐̑ḯ̷̧̞ṋ̷͍̍͆̀́ẗ̶̜̮̩̳͓̹̥͍̐͑̋̇̾̈́o̵̧͖͇̗̰̜̘̻̼̥͛̿͗̓͗̍͗ ̵̢̫̖̺̦͉̭̲̽͌̽́̊̊͜ͅa̶̬͈̠̙͐̈̓̅̑̍̓̚͠n̶̹͑̍͛̍̈́͊̌̋̚ ̶̨̞̖̪͈̣͙̯̈̓͐̎ǘ̶̻̄͗̕n̸̻͙̙̙̱̄̿̃f̴͚͔͇̻̱͐͌̂́̀͗ò̸̳͕͍̯̮̫̟̣̂̐r̸̙̿̀̀͋͆g̷̗̈́͝î̷͎̒͒̈́v̸̡̧̜͚̦̂͝i̸̘̯̦̼͍͈̖̩̭̽̓͐͂n̵̤̓g̸̬͗́́̑̍̀̓̊͘͝ ̸͚̥͍̼̲͇̻̪̣͆m̷̧̞̬͖̦̱̭͔͒̍̔̽̂͛̓̋e̴̡̺͗̂͐̌̋l̶̡̡̪̟̝̣͛̊̀d̸̝̓o̶̼͍̞̬̯̝̤͐̊̒͜ẘ̴̨̨͚̞̟̤͈̂̊̑͂̽ň̷̞̌̒͂͝--

♡ He'd be fine because it's just another soulless, can't be looking too roughed up fightin' it, he needs to look his best when you come to the bar for a drink.

♡ His poison attempts against Ais would become quite a few more, and a few shades more lethal than before; he's sure that his soulless wouldn't miss him too much not as much as he misses you.

♡ You trust him, so he'll trust that you wouldn't dare leave him.

Vere; 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

ANGER

♡ Let's hope you didn't have anybody travelling with you when you were taken from him, and if you did, lets pray they were ripped apart in the attack.

♡ He'd blame everybody else for your death, pure rage from a chained god.

♡ It doesn't matter if there was nothing that could be done, he'd rip apart the flesh of anyone who had accompanied you and made it out alive.

♡ They should've sacrificed themselves, giving up their own lives for their god to have what he wants, needs.

♡ His words would be venomous, promising a punishment much harsher than death as soon as his restraints are broken, something that'd made this filthy land beg for divine mercy.

♡ His tantrum would be irreversibly destructive, innocent or not- blood will spill across the streets as he hisses blame onto everybody else.

♡ It's only after far too many heads are ripped off that he'd start to slow down a bit, the grief crashing into him.

♡ He'd do his best to hide it, the last thing he wants is to look weak in front of everyone else.

♡ He'd grow far colder to the main cast, his snide and petty comments growing crueller than normal.

♡ Somehow, he'd become more demanding, more entitled to his wants and anything standing in his way to even something trivial.

♡ His work hunting soulless would turn personal, without any break he'd hunt them mercilessly, spending day and night tearing through their flesh and eyes.

♡ His hair would start to fray, his gossamer sleeves tearing and staining just as the black makeup dripped down his cheeks, the only evidence of his tears.

Mhin; 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

BARGAINING

♡ No, no.

♡ There is simply not a chance, that the first person that's ever managed to pry them open would be ripped from them with the very thing that they hunt on an almost daily basis.

♡ The sense of failure would settle deeper in their bones as every day passed, how could they fuck up like this?

♡ They were meant to protect you, meant to keep you safe during the almost never-ending search for a cure.

♡ But they refuse to simply accept this, they're in the city of knowledge to seek the impossible.

♡ Their quest for a cure is halted by the new-found objective.

♡ R̵̬̔̐͂̆̄̚ȩ̷͚̈́͌̋͜s̶̲̳͎̤̗͒͂ų̵̢̧͎͍̻͓̰̀̓̔͐̔̌̐͘ř̷̹͚̪̤͉͓̫̝̫̄͗̾̉̀̊̐r̷̠̮̻̎̚͜ȇ̴̡͖̰̻̳̳̦̦͒͒͜ͅc̵̡̮̦̫̖̠̔̊̽͐̋͆͝͝ͅͅt̸̢͎̩̳̏̏͋͂̎̀̊͝ì̵̡͈̣̱͔͍̞͌̎��̈͗̉ố̵̟͍̽̾̆͒̊̕n̸̡̛̖̤̔̈́̀̀̈̄̐,̶̨̠̥̳̤̟̮̱̣͝ ̵̢̳̽͊̓̏̍̈́̉à̵̖̪̪̺̹̜͂͛̎͘ ̸̡̨̛̼̥̻̬͈̟̤̆͊̃͜c̶̦͈̙͎̓͌̿͌h̴̡͙̳͖̦͈̄͊̉̈́͑͆͜͝ë̴͚̳̬̬́̂̐̀̽̍̀̃̂a̴̬͙̹̱͍̲͕̩̽̊͐̀͑̔̍̐͐̃ͅṭ̴̢̡̤̜̼̭̜͙̩̏̉̀̽͆́͋̄͘̕ ̵̜̤̭̜͓͌͐͒͝ͅt̴̡̹͓̹͉̂͑̽̆̿́o̴̳̓̄́̈̄̈́̕ ̸̧̢̗̘͙̼̘̃̂̔d̶̛̗̘͔̦̥͆̽͘e̴̢̧̩̦̜͍̟̼̭̜̕a̴̝̔̍͊̉̽͊͠ṱ̴̨͎͕́̄̀h̶̨̙̻̱͖̍.̸̣̳͓̪̍̂̎̑̃͆̚͘̕ͅͅ

♡ The Senobium has to have answers, their knowledge is limitless, the rumors they've brushed off as horseshit suddenly much more enticing than before.

♡ They won't fail you again, they won't let you down, you'll wake up again with both of you completely cured, because they can't fail.

♡ They can do it, they've survived this long, have they not?

Ais; 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

DEPRESSION

♡ Oh how he'd blame himself so, his own pets tearing apart the thing he holds most dear.

♡ It'd feel the same as when his own gang stabbed him in the back, he doesn't have control over every soulless roaming the wasteland out the city, but he feels like he should have.

♡ He should've tried harder to keep you safe, to keep the pets he uses to hold so dear to him away from you.

♡ He couldn't bear to look at them for a long time, even Princess he'd push away with a shake of his head.

♡ The only thing he can see in her claws is the vivid picture of your blood and flesh, even if it wasn't really there, it's infected every claw of the soulless in his mind.

♡ The spring would be full of smoke, cigarette after cigarette lit as he sits, a blank expression on his face.

♡ That doesn't mean he wouldn't hunt down any bastards who might've been responsible, or failed to protect you.

♡ But after that he'd simply feel empty, almost like his own 'soul' was ripped from his body the same time yours was.

Kuras; 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

'ACCEPTANCE'

♡ His long life has tortured him with many losses like this, enough to send him into a spiral of self-loathing 'acceptance'.

♡ Of course this would happen, he couldn't spare the lives of his past lovers, why would your soul render any differently.

♡ He'd almost disassociate from the situation entirely; the same method he's used to overcome any sort of grief, to rise above it until he simply feels hollow.

♡ Continue with his work, heal patients while he tries to shove the thought of how he failed to help you into the back of his mind.

♡ But not even his mask is immune to cracking.

♡ Night-time is usually when it hits the hardest, he has no need to sleep, leaving him staring out the window blankly for hours of end.

♡ The other would be when he sees the face of a soulless, he wouldn't fly into the rage in the same way the others would, but he could feel heat brimming underneath his skin.

♡ Clawing at his insides, the rage and grief pushed down into a small, scolding part of his soul that aches.

♡ May the gods have mercy if he finds out somebody else was responsible.

[jungkoode]

FIVE SECONDS TO FREEDOM | 02

"broken cars and police chases"

"Sometimes the most dangerous thing isn't the race itself—it's who you trust to have your back when everything goes sideways."

next | index | wc: 5,5k

↦author's note: Well. Hi again. (ಠ_ಠ) Welp. Here we are. Chapter 2?!?? Already??? I see you little freaks going feral for Latino!Jimin and I can only say: relatable. Honestly. You're not wrong and you shouldn't be ashamed. You are exactly as God (me) intended. Now sit back and enjoy the consequences of your lust because this chapter is rich in feral Jaque behavior. NOW. As for my obligatory prefacing ramble that none of you asked for but must endure because I am mentally ill and this is my sandbox: I really, really loved writing this chapter. Early chapters carry so much weight in a story's rhythm—they're the place where you need to anchor, to plant seeds, to seduce the reader into forgetting they have jobs and responsibilities and instead need to sit here with me and spiral over my little fictional rats. And this chapter let me really dig into the interpersonal dynamics that are going to unfold like slow-burning emotional grenades later on. Let's talk Maya for a second—my angel, my demon, my unhinged menace in matte black nail polish. I'm so obsessed with female friendships and I will never forgive media for flattening them into either aesthetic sidekicks or exposition machines. Maya is real. Maya is sharp. Maya has her own shit going on that affects how she shows up for Y/N. She's not a foil—she's a force. And Y/N having someone like her, someone who gets it and doesn't coddle but also doesn't leave? UGH. Peak feminine solidarity. She gives me Yeji and Irya (FMU coded) energy in the way that her presence changes the emotional architecture of a scene just by existing in it. And Maya and Taeyang?? HA. You thought that was banter? You thought that was throwaway dialogue? BE SERIOUS. I am planting a garden and you better water it, because that seed is going to grow into something chaotic and gorgeous and definitely juicy. Speaking of juicy: Taeyang and Jaque's friendship is so dear to me. Like. I'm sorry. That entire "bro I'd die for you but never say I love you or make eye contact for longer than 2 seconds" dynamic is sooo real and sooo important and sooo boy. I needed that energy in here. It's just so honest.

And yeah, Taeyang has a backstory. And yes, he speaks Spanish too. And yes, there are layers to how and why. ('Tiz'? Tiz is not just a sound. Save that. Save it. Bookmark that bitch.) Also random but crucial: everyone calls Taeyang "Yang" and not "Tae" because my mentally ill fanbrain kept jumping to Taehyung every time I typed it and I simply refused to confuse my sons like that. Thank you for understanding. And okay—Y/N checking the RX-7? Y/N getting her hands dirty? That scene is everything. It's not just for the car girlies (though I see you and I love you). It's about proving narrative integrity. Your main character needs flaws. Needs competence. Needs internalized biases, too. The world doesn't split itself neatly between heroes and villains, misogynists and feminists. It's messy. Characters are flawed. They don't have all the information. They say the wrong thing. They're not mirrors—they're human. Jimin is just arrogant and doesn't yet have the context to understand who he's talking to. And that's what makes it compelling. He fumbles. And the point is not that he never messes up—it's that he learns. AND THEN JIMIN???? IN THE AE86???? That man is literally the bane of my sanity. He's cocky. He's relaxed. He has one arm up on the roof like he owns your apartment, your body, and your last two brain cells. I hate him so bad I want to sit on his face. He's all smirks and muscle memory and unreadable glances. The worst kind of guy. And I mean that in the way that makes my toes curl. And the best part? Y/N and Jaque aren't even talking to each other. They're talking to their own assumptions. Two people playing poker with half the deck missing, trying to parse subtext that neither has context for. They're both so certain they have the upper hand, and they're both so wrong. I love them so much. I want them to suffer and also kiss about it. Okay okay I'll shut up. Go read the chapter. Report back. Tell me what you noticed. Tell me what you felt. Tell me if you would also fold like wet paper if Jimin stretched out in your passenger seat. Love you always, Kiki ♥

The sound that comes from Taeyang's RX-7 isn't right.

You catch it immediately—that telltale whine of a rotary engine pushed beyond its limits, the kind of noise that makes every experienced driver in a fifty-foot radius wince.

Taeyang's black Mazda limps into Daikoku like a wounded animal, steam wisping from under the hood, the distinctive growl of the 13B rotary replaced by an unhealthy rattle that has nothing to do with the aftermarket exhaust.

Maya whistles low beside you. "That doesn't sound good."

Understatement of the century.

You watch Taeyang kill the engine and sit there for a moment, hands still gripping the steering wheel. Even from this distance, you can read the frustration in the set of his shoulders, the way his head drops forward against the headrest.

He gets out slowly, like he's afraid sudden movements might make something else break.

The hood release pops with a sharp metallic click that echoes across the lot, and when he lifts it, a cloud of white steam billows out.

"Fuck." The word carries clearly across the parking lot. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

That's when you notice the other car—a lime green Honda S2000 that's still running, its driver standing beside it with his hands raised in what looks like apology.

Young kid, maybe twenty, with the kind of nervous energy that screams 'new money, bad decisions.'

You start walking before you consciously decide to move.

The scene becomes clearer as you approach—the S2000's front bumper has scrape marks. Fresh ones. Taeyang's examining something on the passenger side of his car—probably where contact was made.

"—didn't mean for it to get that heated, man. I was just trying to—"

"Shut up." Taeyang's voice is flat. Dangerous. "Just… shut the fuck up for a second."

The kid's mouth snaps closed.

Maya appears at your shoulder, silent backup, while a small crowd starts to gather.

Word travels fast when someone's car gets damaged in a race.

Everyone wants to see how it plays out, who's going to pay, whether fists are going to fly.

You catch a glimpse of Maya's face as she assesses the damage to Taeyang's car. She has a weird expression, far more personal than her usual detached amusement around these type of situations. Like she's taking this shit seriously for once.

You whip your head back to assess the situation—back to your more analytical side; the one you bring to every corner, every gear change, every decision that matters.

The S2000 kid is nervous but not running, which means he's either decent enough to face consequences or too stupid to realize how much trouble he's in.

In this city, this young, it's probably a mix of both.

The damage to Taeyang's car looks superficial from the outside—some scraped paint, maybe a dented quarter panel—but the engine noise suggests the real problem is internal.

Which means expensive.

Really fucking expensive.

"What happened?" Your voice cuts through.

The S2000 kid turns toward you, and his expression shifts the moment he recognizes who's asking.

Everyone in Daikoku knows you. Everyone knows your reputation.

And right now, you're not here as a racer—you're here as the person who decides how these situations get resolved.

"We were just—" he starts.

"I wasn't asking you." You don't even look at him, your attention fixed on Taeyang, who's still staring at his engine like it personally betrayed him. "Taeyang."

He runs a hand through his hair, leaving streaks of grease from whatever he just touched under the hood.

"Kid wanted to run here at Daikoku. Nothing fancy, just a quick pull to the back section." He's forcefully modulating his tone, but you can hear the anger simmering underneath. "Started clean enough. Then this fucking amateur decides he wants to get creative with the bump draft."

Your jaw tightens.

Bump drafting at Daikoku is dangerous enough with experienced drivers. With some kid who probably learned racing from video games? It's a recipe for disaster.

"Caught my bumper on the overtake," Taeyang continues. "Sent me into the barrier. Engine red-lined trying to keep control."

Which explains the sound. Rotary engines are temperamental bastards on their best days. Push one past its limits—especially when it's already running hot from racing—and expensive things start breaking.

You turn to the S2000 kid, who's been standing there looking progressively more uncomfortable as the story unfolds.

"Name."

"Uh… Hiroaki. Hiroaki Matsuda." He fidgets with his car keys. "Look, I already said I was sorry. I'll pay for the paint job, no problem."

Maya snorts. "Paint job."

"This isn't about paint," you say, voice flat. "How much cash you carrying?"

"I… what?"

"Cash. In your wallet. Right now. How much."

He fumbles for his wallet, hands shaking slightly as he counts bills.

"Maybe… forty thousand yen?"

You glance at Taeyang, who's now leaning against his car with his arms crossed. The expression on his face suggests forty thousand yen wouldn't cover a tenth of what this repair is going to cost.

"Forty thousand yen," you repeat. "For an engine rebuild on a built rotary. Do you have any idea what you just did?"

The kid's face goes pale. "Engine rebuild?"

"Apex seals," Taeyang says, voice clipped. "Side seals. Probably the whole fucking rotor housing at this point. You red-lined a bridge-ported 13B, genius."

The silence that follows is educational.

You can actually see the moment the kid realizes he's not dealing with a simple fender bender.

"I… I don't have that kind of money."

"Then we have a problem." You step closer, and he actually gulps down, audibly. "Because that car isn't just Taeyang's ride. It's his livelihood. You just cost him weeks of work. Weeks of races he can't run. Money he can't make."

The crowd has grown larger now, forming a loose circle around the drama. These kinds of disputes are part of Daikoku's entertainment, but they also serve a purpose.

Because everyone gets to see how conflicts get resolved, who pays up, who tries to run.

Reputations are built and destroyed in moments like this.

"Look," the kid says, desperation creeping into his voice. "I can get more money. Give me a week, maybe two—"

"No." The word comes out sharp enough to cut glass. "You pay what you owe, tonight, or you don't race at Daikoku again. Ever."

It's not an empty threat. Being blacklisted by you means being blacklisted from Daikoku. The most prestigious lot in Tokyo.

The kid knows it. You can see him running calculations in his head, probably wondering if he can liquidate something fast enough to cover the debt.

"My car," he says abruptly. "It's worth maybe two hundred thousand. Not enough for a full rebuild, but…"

"But it's a start." You nod toward the S2000. "Title's clean?"

"Yeah. No loans, no liens. It's mine."

You look at Taeyang.

"Your call."

He considers for a long moment, gaze moving between the kid and the lime green Honda.

It's a decent car—well-maintained, some nice modifications. Not enough to cover a complete rotary rebuild, but probably enough to get him mobile again while he sources the rest.

"Fuck it," he says finally. "Yeah. Transfer the title. I'll part it out to cover what I can."

Relief washes over the kid's face.

It's expensive as hell, but it beats being completely blacklisted from the scene he clearly wants to be part of.

"Maya," you say without looking away from the kid. "Make sure the paperwork's legit. No bullshit."

She nods, already moving toward the S2000 to check the registration and title—because Maya's dealt with enough car transfers to spot forged documents from across a parking lot.

The crowd starts to disperse now that the drama's winding down.

Entertainment's over, justice has been served, and there are other races to prep for.

You notice Maya leaning against Taeyang's broken RX-7 then, watching him poke around the engine bay with obvious frustration.

"So," she says, voice carrying that edge she gets when she's about to start shit. "This is what happens when you try to show off for someone."

Taeyang's head snaps up. "I wasn't showing off."

"Right." Maya's grin is sharp. "Just coincidence that you accepted a race from some amateur right after that girl with the pink Civic was asking about your car."

"That has nothing to—"

"Sure it doesn't." She picks at her black nail polish. "Because you're so level-headed when it comes to female attention."

"At least I don't start fights in club bathrooms," Taeyang shoots back.

"That was one time—"

"Last month."

"She had it coming."

Their bickering is interrupted by footsteps on gravel.

You don't need to turn around to know who it is—that particular stride has been getting under your skin for months.

"La puta madre, cabrón." Jaque's voice is a whistle as he approaches Taeyang's car. "What the fuck happened to your baby?"

"Yeah, la puta madre indeed," Taeyang responds grimly. "Some amateur with more money than sense happened."

Jaque reaches the RX-7 and immediately starts examining the engine bay with the focused attention of someone who actually knows what he's looking at.

Most posers in this scene can talk a good game about turbo specs and suspension setups, but few of them have actually held a wrench outside of basic maintenance.

Jaque, unfortunately, isn't a poser.

"Dude," he says, voice dropping to something more serious. "This is fucked. Rico needs to see this."

"Rico's busy prepping your car for tomorrow," Taeyang says immediately. "I'm not fucking with that."

"Hermano, Rico's been working on both our cars for three years. He's not gonna mind taking a look."

"He's got your tune to finish," Taeyang insists. "Tomorrow's race is too important. I can figure something else out."

"Like what?" Jaque's voice carries genuine frustration. "Take it to some random shop that's gonna charge you double and probably fuck it up worse?"

Maya snorts from her position against the car. "Boys and their loyalty issues."

Both men ignore her, but you catch the way Taeyang's jaw ticks at her comment.

"I'm serious, Yang," Jaque continues. "Rico can handle both. He's got my car for the night. Had him pick it up earlier for some final checks but the tune on my car is basically done anyway—just final adjustments tomorrow morning."

"And if something goes wrong with your setup? If the tune needs major changes?" Taeyang shakes his head. "You're racing for what, half a million yen tomorrow? I'm not risking that over my car."

Half a million yen.

That's serious money, even by underground racing standards. The kind of stakes that attract either the very confident or the very desperate.

Judging what you know about Jaque, it's probably the first one.

"Look at the scoring on the housing," Jaque says, pointing to something deep in the engine bay. "This isn't just apex seals, bro. This could be a full tear-down."

The genuine concern in his voice surprises you.

Not that he cares about his friend's car—that's obvious—but the way he's examining the damage suggests he might actually have some mechanical knowledge beyond basic maintenance.

"I know how bad it is," Taeyang says quietly. "I also know I can't afford to fix it properly."

The admission hangs in the air.

Financial reality is a bitch in this scene—a lot of people live paycheck to paycheck, dumping every spare yen into their cars to try and make a profit through the races.

You don't know what that feels like.

But you respect it enough to voice something out.

"I'll take a look at it."

Both men turn to stare at you like you just announced plans to sprout wings and fly away.

Jaque recovers first, that familiar smirk spreading across his face.

"Since when are you a mechanic, princesa?"

The condescension in his tone makes your hackles rise.

Just because you don't walk around covered in grease stains doesn't mean you don't know your way around an engine bay.

"Since I was sixteen and could outbuild half the idiots in this scene," you say, voice flat and unimpressed.

"Right." He drawls the word out, skepticism dripping from every syllable. "And I'm sure your manicure is really gonna help with rotary seals."

You look down at your hands—nails painted matte black, perfectly shaped but not impractical—then back up at his face.

"My manicure costs more than your car payment," you say sweetly. "But I can still rebuild a 13B faster than you can say 'thirteen bee.'"

Maya snorts beside you. "She's not wrong. Girl's been elbow-deep in engines since middle school."

"Is that right?" Jaque's eyebrows climb higher, and there's something in his expression that suggests he's genuinely intrigued rather than just skeptical. "And where exactly did you learn rotary engine repair? YouTube?"

This absolute jackass—

"Uncle's garage," you say, keeping it vague on purpose. "Started sweeping floors when I was eight. Graduated to actual engine work by fourteen. Rebuilt my first rotary at fifteen."

"Which garage?" Taeyang asks, sudden interest in his voice.

You hesitate—because any specific details might create connections you don't want. Connections to the Hayashi.

No fucking way.

Your reputation here was built on skill, not family money or connections. You've worked your ass off to earn respect based on merit alone.

"Just a local place," you say finally. "Been working there since I was—"

"Alright, I'll check it out with you."

The words stop you mid-sentence. You blink, processing what he just said.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He grins, challenge in his expression. "If you're gonna diagnose my boy's engine, I want to see this legendary mechanical expertise in action."

You stare at him. "You don't trust my assessment?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then why—"

"Because this should be interesting."

The way he says it makes your pulse spike with irritation.

Like you're some kind of entertaining novelty rather than someone with legitimate mechanical knowledge. Like he's humoring you rather than acknowledging your skills.

Fine.

If he wants a demonstration, you'll give him one.

"Whatever," you say, voice deliberately casual. "Just don't disturb me while I work."

You move toward Taeyang's car, pulling a hair tie from your pocket to get your hair out of the way.

You can feel Jaque's eyes on you on the periphery.

You ignore it.

Back to the work at hand—The RX-7's engine bay is cramped and complex—rotary engines pack a lot of components into a small space—but you've worked on enough of them to navigate the maze of hoses, wires, and manifolds.

"You got a flashlight?" you ask Taeyang.

He hands you a small LED light from his glovebox, and you click it on and lean into the engine bay, immediately focusing on the areas most likely to show damage from an over-rev situation.

The first thing you check is the coolant system.

Rotary engines run hot under normal conditions, and an over-rev situation generates enough heat to cause catastrophic cooling system failure.

You trace the hoses with your eyes and hands, looking for signs of bursting or leakage.

"Coolant seal's definitely blown," you confirm, voice slightly muffled by the hood. "But that's not necessarily catastrophic. Seals are consumable items anyway."

Behind you, you hear Jaque moving closer.

You can feel his presence even without looking—that annoying awareness you've never been able to shake.

Irritating, the way he seems to take up more space than he should.

"What about the scoring?" he asks.

You aim the flashlight deeper into the engine bay, examining the intermediate housing where the rotors make contact.

What you see makes you frown.

"Hand me that rag," you say to Taeyang.

He passes you the greasy cloth, and you use it to wipe away some of the accumulated grime around the housing.

The scoring is there, but it's not as extensive as you initially feared.

"It's there," you admit, "but it's not as bad as it could be. Most of this is just normal wear. The over-rev didn't help, but it didn't destroy everything."

You straighten up, wiping your hands on the rag.

All four of them are watching you with varying degrees of attention—Taeyang hopeful, Maya amused, and Jaque…

Unreadable.

"So what's the verdict?" Taeyang asks.

"The coolant seal definitely needs replacement. Probably the apex seals too, just to be safe. The scoring on the housing isn't great, but it's not rebuild-territory either. With some careful cleaning and new seals, you could probably get back on the road."

"How much?" The question comes out tight, like he's bracing for bad news.

You run quick calculations in your head.

Parts, labor, shop time…

"Maybe eighty thousand yen if you do the work yourself. Double that if you pay someone else to do it."

The relief on Taeyang's face is immediate and obvious.

Eighty thousand yen is still a significant expense, but it's manageable. It's the difference between being back on the road in two weeks versus being sidelined for months.

"You sure about that assessment?" Jaque asks.

You turn to look at him, eyebrow raised. "Are you questioning my diagnosis?"

"Just want to make sure we're not missing anything." He steps closer to the engine bay, leaning in to examine the same areas you just checked. "Because if Yangie gets this thing back together and it grenades on the first race, that's on us."

"It's on me," you correct. "I made the assessment. I take responsibility for it."

Jaque blinks at you, but doesn't comment. Instead, goes back to examining.

You watch him trace the same components you just checked, noting how his hands move confidently.

It speaks of someone who's spent serious time working on cars. Not just maintaining them, but actually building and rebuilding them.

Frustrating.

It would be so much easier to dismiss him if he was just another pretty boy with a fast car and no real knowledge.

But watching him work makes it clear that his reputation isn't built on luck or money alone.

"Coolant seal's definitely toast," he confirms after a few minutes. "But yeah, the housing damage isn't as bad as it looked. Good call on the apex seals though—no point putting this back together with worn seals."

You resist the urge to say 'I told you so.'

Barely.

"So we're good?" Taeyang asks, looking between the two of you.

"We're good," you confirm. "Just need to source the parts and find time to do the work."

"Rico probably has the seal kits in stock," Taeyang says immediately. "And if not, I know a guy in Yokohama who specializes in rotary stuff."

"What about workspace?" Jaque asks. "This isn't really a parking lot repair job, and Rico's spot is packed."

Good point.

Replacing rotary seals requires clean conditions, proper tools, and enough space to lay out components in order.

It's precision work that can't be rushed or done halfheartedly.

"I can get us bay time," you say without really thinking about it. "After hours."

The offer surprises you almost as much as it surprises them.

You're not in the habit of volunteering garage space for other people's projects, especially not when it involves the jerk and his circle.

But Taeyang's a solid driver, and this wasn't his fault.

And even if it costs you to admit it, you respect Jaque's loyalty to his friends.

"You sure about that?" Taeyang asks. "I can pay for the bay time."

"Don't worry about it." You wave off his concern. "Won't be a problem."

"When?" Jaque asks.

"Tomorrow night, probably. Give Yang time to source the parts, and give you time to handle whatever race you've got scheduled."

"Yeah," he says. "Tomorrow works."

The conversation is promptly interrupted.

A commotion from the other side of the parking lot.

Raised voices, the sound of car doors slamming, the general atmosphere of tension that signals trouble.

All four of you turn toward the noise, and you immediately spot the source of the problem.

Police cars.

Three of them, moving slowly through the lot with their spotlights sweeping across the assembled cars and people.

Not racing toward anything specific—just the general patrol presence that every underground meet dreads.

"Shit," Maya breathes. "Time to go."

Engines start firing up across the space, conversations cut off mid-sentence, and the universal message spreads without anyone having to say it out loud: scatter, now, before this turns into something worse.

You move toward your AE86 without hesitation, muscle memory taking over.

Maya's already pulling out her car keys.

Taeyang looks torn between his broken RX-7 and the need to get away from the police presence.

"Leave it," Jaque's tone goes harsh. "We'll come back for it later when things cool down."

"I'm not leaving my car—"

"Taeyang." There's a warning tilt in the way he says his friend's name now. "It's not worth the risk. We'll get it later."

"Your car's fucked anyway," Maya cuts in, already moving toward her Silvia. "Can't drive it, can't race it. What's the point of getting arrested over a paperweight?"

Taeyang's jaw ticks. "It's not a paperweight."

"Right now it is." She throws him a look over her shoulder. "Come on, don't be stupid."

The police spotlights get closer—radio chatter from one of the patrol cars loud enough to be heard.

"Shit, they got unmarked units too," someone calls out from across the lot.

The urgency ratchets up another notch.

"Tiz." Taeyang's voice carries frustration and something else—concern. "The fuck you gonna do without a car?"

"I'll figure something out—"

Maya's engine roars to life immediately, exhaust note cutting through the chaos. She leans out her window, eyes finding Taeyang across the lot.

"Taeyang! Move your ass!"

He makes a sound of frustration, but it doesn't take him even two seconds to start jogging towards her.

You don't miss the way his shoulders relax the moment he slides into her passenger seat. Like he's exactly where he's supposed to be.

Which leaves Jaque standing there, carless, while police spotlights sweep closer to your section of the lot.

"Y/N." His voice comes from directly behind you. Close. "You know the back exit?"

You unlock your door. "Yeah."

"Mind if I—"

"Get in."

The words come out before you can think about them; before you can consider the implications of Jaque in your passenger seat, in your space, close enough to touch.

You slide into the driver's seat and fire up the engine.

This is what home actually feels like—everything exactly where it should be, everything perfectly calibrated for your hands, your reflexes, your driving style.

Jaque opens the passenger door and the dynamic shifts immediately.

You hate how small your car feels with him in it.

The minimal interior that you love for its racing purity suddenly seems intimate rather than functional.

He settles into the passenger seat way too nonchalantly, one arm draped along the door frame, fingers drumming against the roof.

The position does things to his shoulders, fabric of his shirt stretching across his chest. He tilts his head back against the headrest, and you catch a glimpse of the line of his throat in your peripheral vision before forcing your attention back to the road.

Fucking annoying.

"Cozy," he comments, and there's amusement in his voice despite the urgency of the situation.

"Don't touch anything."

"Kinda makes me wanna touch more, princesa."

He spreads his legs slightly, knee nearly brushing the center console, and now it's like the space between the seats has shrunk.

As if his mere fucking presence on its own fills the car in ways that shouldn't be humanly possible.

Besides the sufferable smirk you can hear in his voice.

When he reaches up to adjust the rearview mirror—checking behind you for police, probably—the movement draws your eye to the line of his forearm, the way his fingers curl around the mirror's edge.

His tattoos.

You had never really paid attention to what they show or the meaning they harbor.

Somehow, now, you're curious.

But right now, it's whatever; because you've got bigger problems than your passenger's… passenger-ness.

Like the police sweep happening behind you.

In your rearview mirror, Maya's Silvia falls into position behind you, Taeyang's silhouette visible in her passenger seat.

It's no mystery they're sitting closer than necessary—Maya's not exactly built for long-limbed passengers, but still.

Another set of headlights sweeps across the lot.

Not police this time—unmarked sedan, but with the telltale antennas and spotlight configuration that screams undercover unit.

"Fuck," Jaque mutters. "They're serious tonight."

"They're always serious." You shift into first gear, hands steady on the wheel despite the adrenaline starting to spike. "The question is whether they're smart."

"Smart how?"

"Smart enough to block the obvious exits before they started their sweep."

You've been through enough police raids to know the pattern. The smart cops set up checkpoints on the main drags before they move in on the lot. The lazy ones just roll in loud and hope to catch whoever's too slow or too stupid to run.

"Well," Jaque says, settling back into the seat with that stupid attitude of his that should not be attractive but somehow is. "Guess we're about to find out which kind we're dealing with."

The service road you're heading for is narrow and poorly lit, tucked behind the warehouse that borders Daikoku's rear boundary. Most people don't even know it exists—just a maintenance access that leads to a residential street about half a mile away.

It's risky. If a patrol car happens to be watching that exit, you're trapped.

But it's better than trying to leave through the main entrance where half the lot is already bottlenecked.

"You sure about this route?" Jaque asks.

"No." You downshift as you approach the narrow opening between buildings. "But it's better than sitting here waiting for them to run our plates."

The 86 slips through the gap with inches to spare on either side.

Behind you, Maya follows, her Silvia's wider body kit making the squeeze even tighter.

"Fuck, that's close," Jaque comments.

"Maya knows what she's doing."

"I wasn't worried about Maya."

You glance at him, noting the way his free hand rests casually in his lap, no white knuckles or nervous fidgeting.

Either he trusts your driving completely, or he's very good at hiding his nerves.

The service road stretches ahead of you, potholed and uneven, designed for maintenance trucks rather than performance cars.

You keep the speed reasonable—fast enough to put distance between yourselves and the police sweep, but not so fast that you bottom out the 86's lowered suspension on a hidden crater.

"So," Jaque says after a few minutes of navigation. "Tomorrow night. This garage where you learned to build rotaries."

"What about it?"

"Just curious. Not many people your age know their way around a 13B the way you do."

You can feel him watching you in the dim light from the dashboard, trying to read something in your expression.

Probing for information you're not willing to give.

And it's a bit unsettling, the way he's studying you. Because most people in the scene take you at face value—the skilled driver with the built AE86 who showed up one day and started winning races. They don't dig deeper because your driving speaks for itself.

But Jaque isn't most people.

"Not many people start working at eight years old," you say, voice neutral.

"Eight." He repeats the number like he's testing it. "That's young. Even for family business."

Family business.

It's a bold assumption, but a correct one.

Damn him and his perception.

"Not family," you lie smoothly. "Just a family friend who needed someone to sweep floors and organize parts."

"And this family friend taught you to rebuild rotaries."

"Among other things."

Jaque's quiet for a moment, and you can practically hear him processing this information, filing it away with whatever other details he's collected about you over the months.

The silence stretches.

Not comfortable. Never comfortable with him.

You reach for the gear shift, muscle memory guiding your hand through the familiar motion. Third gear. Engine settling into its rhythm.

The movement pulls your tank top slightly, fabric shifting against skin.

You catch it in your peripheral vision—the way his gaze drops. Deliberate. Unhurried.

He's looking.

Actually looking.

At the way the black cotton clings.

At the neckline that sits lower than you'd prefer but higher than most girls around here dare to wear.

At the curve that's always been more than other girls your age carry in this society, the one that draws attention you never asked for.

"Nice tank top." His voice carries that lazy drawl, eyebrows climbing with obvious appreciation.

Of course he makes a show of it—letting his gaze drift down and linger, like he's got every right to look. Like you're something on display.

Heat flares up the back of your neck. Instant. Unwelcome.

Is he fucking serious right now?

Your hand moves automatically, tugging the neckline higher.

Habit. Defense mechanism.

The same motion you've been making since you were sixteen and realized that this particular genetic lottery came with complications.

"Thanks," you say, voice flat as asphalt. "Compliments my urge to tell you to fuck off."

He laughs. Actually laughs, the sound filling the small space between you.

"Heeeey now," he drawls, and there's something in his voice that's pure trouble. "I wasn't complaining."

The back of your neck burns hotter. You rub at it with your free hand, trying to erase the feeling, the awareness of his eyes still on you.

Asshole.

"I am. Keep your eyes on the road, nuthead."

"I'm not driving, princesa."

"Then keep them on your own fucking side of the car."

His only response is a snort. Then, quiet.

Minutes pass.

The tension in your shoulders doesn't ease.

If anything, his sudden silence makes it worse—like he's thinking about something you don't want him thinking about.

"You know," he says finally, "most mechanics would charge serious money for rotary knowledge. Especially someone good enough to diagnose Yang's engine damage that accurately."

"So?"

"So I'm wondering why you offered to help for free."

You take a right turn onto a wider street, finally emerging from the industrial maze into a residential area. Normal streetlights, normal traffic patterns, normal life continuing oblivious to the underground drama playing out in parking lots across the city.

"Maybe I just don't like seeing good drivers sidelined by amateur mistakes."

"Maybe. Or maybe there's something else."

Before you can ask what the hell that's supposed to mean, Maya's voice makes an appearance.

She's pulled up beside you at a red light, window down, calling across the gap between cars.

"Babe, I know a place we can actually park without worrying about cops."

Taeyang leans forward in her passenger seat. "There's a 24-hour konbini about ten minutes from here. Lot's usually empty this time of night."

"Lead the way," you call back.

The light turns green, and Maya takes off with a chirp of tires that's totally unnecessary but perfectly Maya.

Show-off, your girl.

Gotta love her for that.

"They're interesting together," Jaque observes.

"They're idiots together," you correct. "Maya's been hung up on him for months, and he's too dense to notice."

"Or too smart to acknowledge it."

You glance at him, surprised by the insight. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sometimes the timing's wrong. Sometimes other things have to happen first." His voice drops lower, more thoughtful. "Sometimes you're not ready for what someone's offering, even when you want it."

You glance at him for a second before your own voice fills the car instead.

"Sometimes, you don't have much choice."

Now it's his turn to steal a glance at you. He doesn't say anything else, however.

But the air suddenly feels denser.

Which is ridiculous.

You follow Maya's taillights through a series of residential streets, the Silvia's exhaust note echoing off buildings as she navigates toward whatever sanctuary she has in mind.

"So," you say, needing to fill the silence. "This race tomorrow. Half a million yen, Taeyang said."

"Yeah." The playfulness drops out of his voice entirely. "Something like that."

"Must be important."

"It is."

That's all he offers.

No details, no explanation of why this particular race matters enough to have Rico working on his car at night, why Taeyang was so concerned about disrupting the preparation schedule.

He's always like that, you note. Always loud and nosy about what he wants people knowing, but quiet and vague about what he doesn't want anybody knowing.

Like his mango allergy, apparently.

"Well," you say as Maya's brake lights flare ahead of you, signaling the turn into the konbini parking lot. "Don't crash."

"Worried about me, chiquita?"

"Worried about having to find a new rival," you correct, pulling into a parking space next to Maya's Silvia. "The scene's boring enough without you disappearing."

It's not entirely a lie.

Jaque chuckles as he reaches for the door handle. "Don't worry, gatita. I'm not that easy to get rid of."

Before you can respond to that—and you're not sure what you would have said anyway—he's already getting out of the car, leaving you alone with the lingering scent of hinoki and leather.

And the uncomfortable realization that some part of you was actually worried about tomorrow's race.

next | index

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© jungkoode 2025 | banner/div credit: @dailynnt no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[kxsagi]

Hello girlie🩷 I hope you doin well,

I saw u open u request today :).

I wanted to ask if you could a headcannon or smth like which kind of car drivers are the blue lock boys and would they drive gearshift or automatic, which car would they drive?

I personally think Kaiser can drive both and he is a cocky driver. He is german so I guess he is a good driver and would absolutley use the no speed limitation on german highways. Isagi probably swears and curses a lot. Could you pls write it for Kaiser,Isagi,Sae,Rin,Bachira,Barou and whoever you like🩷

“𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬? 𝐧𝐨”

a/n: i'm doing well and i hope are you too! i absolutely love this request ❤️

ft. kaiser michael, isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, bachira meguru, barou shoei

kaiser michael

drives: both. obviously. he could drive a tank if you asked him to. 

car: obnoxiously loud BMW M8 Competition with blacked-out rims and illegal neon lights that scream “main character.” 

driving style: spawn of satan meets fast & furious audition reel. 

he drives like every road is a racetrack and he’s got a sponsorship deal on the line. 

one hand on the wheel, other on your thigh, doing 210km/h with zero fear of god or death. 

“buckle up, liebling. we’re gonna pass 12 cars and a soul today.” 

listens to eurobeat and EDM (like 700 main street that song is so good idc). subwoofers so strong your bones vibrate. 

randomly revs the engine when another guy looks at you. 

brake checks people for fun. 

will lean out the window to yell “move it, snail boy” at slow drivers. 

the police? fans. they ask for selfies. 

isagi yoichi

drives: automatic only. thinks stick is a myth invented by the show top gear. 

car: toyota corolla, the 2023 “sport” trim that he swears has more horsepower (it doesn’t). 

driving style: unhinged, but law-abiding. 

he’s the type to hit the brakes 0.002 seconds after the light turns yellow, clutching the steering wheel like it personally betrayed him. 

screams internally every time someone merges without signaling. road rage is most definitely present. 

“HELLO?? it’s not a personality test, it’s a damn traffic light. MOVE.” 

accidentally floors it when you're just trying to chill. 

swears under his breath with the windows up but immediately apologizes after: “sorry love, that was not very respectful of me. i’m just… really passionate about traffic etiquette.” 

gps volume at full blast. still misses the turn. 

itoshi sae

drives: automatic. doesn’t need stick – that’s what other people are for. 

car: mercedes-benz S-class, silver, polished like a mirror, smells like “wealthy indifference.” 

driving style: smooth, silent, emotionally detached. 

never makes sharp turns. it’s all glides and glances. 

has never parked crooked in his life. 

listens to ambient lofi or complete silence. 

“why would i honk? that’s embarrassing.” 

lets pedestrians walk even when they shouldn’t. 

will drive an extra 15 mins to avoid traffic but act like it was his plan all along. 

always looks like he’s in a commercial. he could run someone over and still look cool. 

itoshi rin

drives: manual. said “automatic is a metaphor for mediocrity” and meant it. 

car: black mazda RX-7, pristine, waxed weekly, emotionally significant. 

driving style: laser-focused, but not chill about it. 

adjusts his mirrors exactly three times. won’t move the car until the seat feels “symmetrical.” 

“don’t talk. i’m merging.” 

refuses to use drive-thrus. too inefficient. 

slams the brakes at yellow lights like it’s a moral stand. 

speed limit? 1km/h over. rebellious. 

gets irrationally mad when you fiddle with the radio. 

doesn't let you eat in his car. you once dropped a fry and he nearly pulled over to exorcise it. 

uses apple maps even though he memorized every street. 

bachira meguru

drives: automatic (but makes it look manual somehow). 

car: bright yellow jeep wrangler with anime decals and at least 12 hanging plushies. 

driving style: feral and fearless. 

rolls the windows down no matter the season. yells compliments at strangers. 

parks diagonally like it’s an art piece. 

will drive into the forest just because “the trees were calling him.” 

doesn’t use turn signals. he “lets the vibes decide.” 

GPS? nah. he just follows the sun and the stars. 

keeps snacks, glitter, and possibly feral raccoons in the back. 

“do you want to hear my car playlist or my car chase playlist?” 

there is no peace when he’s driving. only laughter, speed bumps, and spontaneous detours. 

barou shoei

drives: manual. automatic is for weaklings and children. 

car: dodge challenger hellcat, blacked out like his soul. 

driving style: aggressive. like "fasten your seatbelt or meet god" aggressive. 

merges like it’s a battle for survival. 

absolutely has a custom license plate that says KING23. 

revs his engine at red lights because “the car needs to BREATHE.” 

“i don’t slow down. they get out of the way.” 

will stare into other drivers' souls at stop signs like it’s a standoff. 

has rock blasting as he parallel parks. 

glove compartment has protein bars and nothing else. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[holychopshopgalaxy]

"what flint truly desired was domesticity and peace" "no what flint truly desired was rage and violence" girls [gender neutral]... he literally wanted both. two things can be true at once this is not a black or white character by any means at all. he wasn't lying in his s1 odysseus speech or the s2 hating flint and wanting to return him to the sea speech or in the gay to live in a house scene with vane, nor was he lying in his To England speech or civilization is coming speech or 4x10 this will all have been for nothing speech. his entire journey is grasping at trying to reconcile these two honest desires in himself why do you think he's so unhinged all the time. this isn't subtext it's text-text throughout the entire series it's literally his entire character. lieutenant mcgraw was repressing james flint and captain flint was repressing james mcgraw but ultimately neither could be cut out of him because they're both him and he's most mentally stable in s4 than we'd ever seen him bc he was just starting to come to terms with it by being unashamedly open about his two sides with silver (and to some extent madi) & the last time he was able to embrace his whole self was with the hamiltons in 1705 before it all went to hell why do you think he projects that so much onto silvermadi. anyways gender neutral girls if you didn't pick up that main character is grey on the shades of grey show might i suggest rewatching all 4 seasons with the audio on this time bc i'm so sorry you might have missed some important points

[ikeu05]

STRANGERS OF THE ✮ SAME STAR

𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 。 i'm allergic to the waiting , she's just a baby girl

series 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ── sunoo x fem!reader 3.3k fluff strangers!au ─ they are just goofy goofy cuties no warnings persay ── play𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ᢉ𐭩 track 11 to track 15

[the camera opens on sunoo, already seated. he’s straightening his sleeves, grinning nervously but excitedly at the camera.]

sunoo (to camera, cheerfully) “hi! i’m sunoo.”

(he waves, then leans in slightly like he’s letting the audience in on a secret)

“i don’t know who i’m about to meet. all i know is — we’re asking each other 21 questions, and it’s kind of like a blind date?”

(laughs)

“i’m a little scared, not gonna lie.”

[suddenly, the door creaks open behind him. he glances over his shoulder.]

[yn walks in — slightly hesitant at first, but smiling when she sees the setup. she looks over at him.]

yn (softly, polite) “hi… sorry i’m late.”

sunoo (already smiling wide) “you’re not! i was just panicking early.”

[she laughs as she walks over and takes the seat opposite him.]

yn “i’m yn.”

sunoo “sunoo.”

(they shake hands across the table, both smiling a little shy, a little curious — two strangers trying to seem more confident than they feel.)

sunoo (grinning, nodding toward the cards) “wanna ask the first question? or should i?”

yn (smiling softly) “you go. i need to mentally prepare.”

sunoo (playfully gasps) “ohhh she’s already scared of me?”

yn (teasing) “i don’t know you.”

sunoo (laughs) “fair. but i’ll win you over in like… three cards.”

question 1: what’s something you’ve always wanted to try but never have?

sunoo (snatches the card and reads it aloud, eyes wide) “oooooh. okay. okay. this one’s deep.”

yn (immediately placing her drink down with a thud) “wait, this is a serious one. i need a second.”

sunoo (mock panicked) “no, because what if my answer is embarrassing?”

yn (leaning forward dramatically) “sunoo. that’s exactly what we’re here for.”

sunoo (gasps) “you’re right. okay okay okay…”

(he puts both hands on the table like he’s about to make a confession.)

sunoo “i’ve always wanted to go skydiving.”

yn (gasping like he just told her he robbed a bank) “no.”

sunoo “yes! and not the cute kind where they strap you to an instructor and hold your hand. i mean like — i want the full main character free fall from the sky screaming into the wind — moment.”

yn (laughing) “i can’t even jump off my bed without twisting my ankle. that’s insane.”

sunoo “exactly. i want the near-death experience and then i want pancakes afterward.”

yn (wiping away a fake tear) “that’s the most chaotic bucket list i’ve ever heard.”

sunoo (grinning) “your turn. i know you’ve got something unhinged.”

yn (nods solemnly) “i’ve always wanted to… steal a traffic cone.”

sunoo (gasps like she just revealed a felony) “you’re criminally underrated for that.”

yn “i don’t know why! every time i see one just standing there… minding its own business… i want to bring it home.”

sunoo (dead serious) “i would support that. i’d help. we’d get matching cones and paint them.”

yn (nodding dramatically) “i even got furniture to match the contrastingly vibrant orange hue.”

sunoo (slamming the table with laughter) “okay no but why is this so funny???”

[the camera zooms out slightly as they both burst into laughter, leaning back in their chairs, already more comfortable with each other.]

question 6: what’s your favorite memory from childhood?

yn (grinning as she picks up the card and reads it) “ooh, this one’s gonna be cute, i can feel it.”

sunoo (already beaming) “i have so many. i was an adorable child, you don’t even understand.”

yn (teasing) “you still are an adorable child.”

sunoo (pretending to blush) “stoppp i’m shy.”

yn “liar. go on.”

sunoo “okay okay okay — my favorite memory is when i was like… six, and my mom got me this ridiculously oversized teddy bear for my birthday.”

(he starts laughing at the memory already)

sunoo “it was taller than me. it didn’t even fit through the door properly. and i named it ‘detective bear.’”

yn (choking on her drink) “detective bear?!”

sunoo (very proud) “yes. because i watched too many cartoons and was convinced he solved crimes while i was at kindergarten.”

yn (wheezing) “sunoo, that’s a movie plot. you were delusional.”

sunoo “i was creative. there’s a difference.”

yn (placing her hand over her heart) “no, because that was so sweet. i can’t top that.”

sunoo “you better try. i’m invested now.”

yn “my favorite childhood memory was when i got lost in a grocery store — but instead of crying, i just started shopping.”

sunoo (jaw dropping) “you what?”

yn “i grabbed one of those little plastic kid-sized carts and just started collecting snacks. like i was on a game show.”

sunoo (fully doubled over laughing) “you went on a mini haul while lost??”

yn “yes! by the time my mom found me, i had chips, biscuits, candy, and a tiny watermelon.”

sunoo (crying) “you were built for this chaotic world. i respect the hustle.”

yn (smug) “i was six years old and already curating a vibe.”

question 9: what kind of person do you feel the most like yourself around?

sunoo (sits up straighter, blinking) “oh wow… okay, this one’s kind of deep?”

yn (already hugging her knees a little in her chair) “i feel like i’m gonna expose my entire personality here.”

sunoo (dramatically gasping) “perfect. let’s traumatize ourselves. go first.”

yn (laughs, then actually thinks for a second before speaking, her voice softer now) “i feel the most like myself around people who… let me take my time.”

sunoo (nods slowly) “mmm.”

yn “like, people who don’t fill silence just to fill it, and don’t expect me to always have something clever or bright to say. people who can sit with me, even when i’m quiet or weird or not put together.”

(she smiles a little to herself, almost shyly)

“when someone doesn’t try to fix me… just let me be? that’s when i feel safe enough to actually be me.”

sunoo (smiling, visibly touched) “that’s such a good answer. oh my god.”

yn (smiling back) “okay your turn. let’s hear your ted talk.”

sunoo (rests his chin in his palm thoughtfully) “i think… i feel the most like myself around people who laugh easily.”

yn (already nodding) “yeah. that makes so much sense for you.”

sunoo “like, if someone gets my dumb jokes or reacts dramatically with me, i feel like i can let go of that ‘be perfect’ instinct. because i’m kinda extra, you know?”

yn (grinning) “kinda?”

sunoo (fake offended) “rude! but, true.”

(he chuckles softly, a more genuine one this time.)

“i think when people let me be loud and soft — that’s when i’m fully myself. not just the performance version of me.”

[there’s a soft pause. they’re both looking at each other now — not quite smiling, not quite serious. just… understanding.]

[then sunoo clears his throat, breaking the moment with a dramatic clap.]

sunoo “anyway, your answer made me emotional so you’re banned.”

yn (laughing) “says the one who wants to jump out of planes and cry over teddy bears.”

question 13: when was the last time you felt truly understood?

sunoo (reading it slowly, then leaning back in his chair, wide-eyed) “woah. this feels like therapy.”

yn (eyes wide, dramatically clutching her chest) “i wasn’t emotionally prepared for this today, hello?!”

sunoo (laughing) “do we cry now or after?”

yn “we cry during. duh.”

[they both giggle, but there’s a softness behind it now. a calm pause before they answer.]

yn (takes a small breath, eyes thoughtful) “i think… it was a few months ago. i was on a call with one of my closest friends, and i was just— ranting. not even asking for advice, just spiraling.”

(she smiles a little at the memory.)

“and she didn’t interrupt me. didn’t try to fix it. she just listened, then said one sentence that made me stop crying.”

sunoo (softly) “what’d she say?”

yn (pauses, then repeats gently) “she said, ‘i know it’s heavy. but you don’t have to carry it alone this time.’”

(she shrugs, voice smaller.)

“i didn’t realize how badly i needed to hear that. that i wasn’t hard to love. just… tired.”

sunoo (quietly) “that’s beautiful.”

yn (smiles, nodding at him) “your turn, therapy buddy.”

sunoo (blinks slowly, visibly more serious now) “for me… i think it was during a really bad week where i felt like no one was seeing me — not the real me.”

(he twists the cap of his drink a little, thinking)

“and i was on facetime with my older sister, and i was being all dramatic like, ‘no one gets it, everyone thinks i’m just the sunshine guy, no one knows when i’m tired.’”

(he laughs once — soft, almost self-deprecating)

“and she just looked at me and said, ‘you don’t have to shine all the time, sunoo. i still see you in the dark.’”

(his voice wavers for just a second)

“and i cried. like, actually cried. ugly tears.”

yn (heart clearly in her eyes) “that’s the realest thing ever. i love her and i don’t even know her.”

sunoo (grinning through glassy eyes) “she’d love you back, trust me.”

[there’s a beat of silence — not uncomfortable. just soft. grounded.]

question 14: what do you find most beautiful in other people — physically or emotionally?

sunoo (reading the card out loud, then letting out a little gasp) “ohhh. this one’s deep and dangerous.”

yn (laughing) “i know i’m about to overshare and get emotional… help.”

sunoo (pretending to panic) “who gave us permission to be this vulnerable?!”

yn (teasing) “you did. when you said you wanted your movie to make people rage-tweet.”

sunoo “true. okay, go first before i start crying from just thinking about my answer.”

yn (gathers herself, tucking one leg under the other, thinking) “i think… emotionally, i find it really beautiful when people are gentle with things they don’t understand.”

sunoo (instantly nodding) “mmm.”

yn “like, when someone listens to something new — a perspective, a struggle, even just someone’s weird little interest — and doesn’t make fun of it. just listens. with curiosity and kindness. that’s beautiful to me.”

(she smiles slightly, looking down at her hands.)

“because it means they aren’t afraid to care. and that’s really rare.”

sunoo (softly, with admiration) “you give poets energy. i’m obsessed.”

yn (laughs shyly) “okay now it’s your turn, you dramatic icon.”

sunoo (smiling but clearly touched) “okay. emotionally… i think it’s really beautiful when people love out loud.”

(he presses his lips together for a second, eyes glimmering.)

“like — not in a performative way. but when someone compliments others easily, or hugs first, or remembers tiny things people say just to make them feel seen?”

yn “yes. i love those people.”

sunoo (nods) “exactly. people who aren’t afraid to be soft. who say ‘i miss you’ or ‘that made me happy’ without overthinking it.”

(he leans back, grinning slightly.)

“and physically? i love crinkly eyes when someone laughs.”

yn (melting) “they’re the cutest. like, top-tier joy indicators.”

sunoo “exactly. if someone’s eyes crinkle when they laugh? i’m already in love a little.”

[they both smile at each other — a quiet, mutual kind of joy filling the space between them.]

question 15: what’s one thing you’re afraid people won’t like about you?

sunoo (reading it, eyebrows rising slowly) “ooooh. okay, this one is… scarily specific.”

yn (makes a dramatic yikes face) “let me just emotionally detach for a sec.”

sunoo (laughing softly) “i feel like this one hits everyone. like, we all have that one thing we try to hide.”

yn (nods) “yeah. go on, brave soul. rip the band-aid.”

sunoo (fiddling with the straw of his drink, more thoughtful now) “i think i’m afraid people won’t like how… sensitive i am.”

(he smiles, but it’s a little sad)

sunoo “i joke a lot, i’m loud, i can be all sparkly and confident. but like—sometimes things affect me more than i let on. a tone shift. a small change. silence.”

(he exhales lightly)

“i think i’m scared people will think i’m too much. or that i take things too personally. when really, i just feel things deeply.”

(he looks over at yn with a small smile)

“it’s not always pretty. but it’s me.”

yn (quietly, genuinely) “i love that about you already. like, for real.”

sunoo (softly) “thank you. you’re gonna make me cry on camera.”

yn (playfully points at herself) “alright, now my turn to trauma dump.”

yn (bites her lip, thinking, then slowly says) “i’m afraid people won’t like how quiet i am at first.”

(she folds her hands together in her lap, voice a little gentler now)

yn “like, i take time to open up. and i worry that people mistake that for being cold or boring. or that they’ll give up before they even know me.”

(she shrugs, looking at the table for a moment.)

“i’m not shy, really. i just… observe a lot. and i need to feel safe before i get goofy or soft.”

sunoo (softly) “that’s not boring. that’s thoughtful.”

yn (smiles, a little surprised) “you really think so?”

sunoo (sincere) “absolutely. i like that you take your time. it makes the version you do show feel real.”

[there’s a quiet beat of understanding between them — the kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled.]

[then the screen fades gently into the next card, drifting upward like a thought bubble

question 18: when was the last time someone made you feel special? what did they do?

sunoo (reading the card aloud, voice dipping softer with each word) “awh… this one’s so sweet.”

yn (already clutching her chest) “okay wait, this one’s gonna make me cry if i think too hard.”

sunoo (smiling) “good. let it. crying is hot.”

yn (laughs through a sniffle) “you’re so unserious— go first before i get emotional on your behalf.”

sunoo (leans forward on his elbows, eyes a little glassy already) “it was a couple weeks ago, actually.”

(he picks at the sleeve of his sweater, voice gentle)

sunoo “i’d been having a rough few days — just feeling kind of invisible, honestly. like i was smiling a lot but no one really noticed that i wasn’t okay.”

(he shrugs slightly)

“and then, one of my friends showed up to my place — unannounced — with a bag of tteokbokki and a playlist called ‘songs that feel like you.’”

yn (eyes wide, hand flying to her heart) “nooo… that’s so specific and sweet.”

sunoo (smiling softly) “she didn’t even ask what was wrong. she just said, ‘i figured today was loud in your head, so i’ll be the quiet.’”

(his voice breaks slightly at the end)

“and i just… i felt seen. without having to explain.”

yn (softly, after a pause) “that’s not just special. that’s healing.”

sunoo (nods, eyes glossy) “yeah.”

yn “okay… my turn before i fully cry for you.”

(takes a small breath, voice a little steadier than she expected)

“mine��s small. but it really meant a lot.”

(she fidgets with the edge of the question card before setting it down)

“there’s this barista at a café i go to a lot. i never told them my name, never really talked much, just ordered quietly and sat alone.”

(she smiles gently)

“and then one day, i walked in and they handed me my drink — and the cup said, ‘yn ) you’re someone’s favorite person.’”

sunoo (melting instantly) “oh my god, stop it. i’m sobbing.”

yn “i don’t know if they knew i needed that. but i really, really did. it felt like… someone was rooting for me. even a stranger.”

sunoo (softly, like it’s a fact) “you’re easy to root for.”

yn (blinks, caught off guard by the sincerity) “…thank you.”

question 20: if you could tell your younger self one thing, what would it be?

yn (reads it softly, holding the card like it’s fragile) “oh wow…”

sunoo (nods, voice low now) “yeah. that one kinda hits you in the chest, huh?”

yn “yeah.”

sunoo (gently) “you go first. if that’s okay.”

yn (nods, taking a breath) “yeah.”

yn (folds her hands in her lap, her voice a little slower, more thoughtful) “i think i’d tell her… you don’t have to shrink to be loved.”

(she blinks hard, but keeps her voice steady)

“you don’t have to dim the parts of you that are loud or messy or too soft. you’re not too much. you’re not ‘wrong’ for feeling things deeply.”

(she looks off for a moment, like she can almost see that younger version of herself)

“i’d tell her it’s okay if not everyone understands you. the right people will. and you’ll feel like home to them.”

(she smiles faintly)

“i’d tell her she’s going to be okay. and she’ll be loved without having to beg for it.”

sunoo (barely above a whisper) “…that was beautiful.”

yn (smiles at him, a little teary but not sad) “your turn. what would you say to mini sunoo?”

sunoo (leans back slightly, eyes softer than they’ve been all day) “i think i’d tell him… you’re allowed to take up space.”

(he taps his fingers together gently as he speaks)

sunoo “you don’t always have to make yourself smaller so other people feel comfortable. you don’t have to keep performing happiness when you’re tired.”

(he pauses for a beat, then continues with a small smile)

“i’d tell him being emotional isn’t a flaw. that he’s not weak for crying. that softness isn’t a defect — it’s a strength.”

(his voice goes a little quieter at the end)

“and that one day, someone’s gonna look at him and think… he’s the best part of the room. and it won’t be because he’s pretending. it’ll be because he’s just being himself.”

yn (quietly, moved) “you’re definitely the best part of this room.”

sunoo (grinning, a little pink) “don’t make me cry again, please.”

[they both smile at each other — the kind that says “i see you” without needing to say anything else.]

question 21: right now, in this moment, what do you feel most drawn to about me?

sunoo (reads it slowly, like he’s absorbing every word) “oh…”

(he looks up from the card, eyes meeting yn’s with something quieter than surprise — like understanding. something new)

yn (softly, trying not to smile too much) “we really saved the most intense one for last, huh?”

sunoo (nodding, a little breathless) “yeah. but i’m kinda glad we did.”

(turns to face her more fully now, elbows on his knees, voice soft but sure)

“i think… i’m most drawn to how you look at people when you listen.”

(yn blinks, slightly caught off guard)

sunoo “you don’t just hear them. you hold space for them. like whatever they’re saying is the most important thing in the world at that moment.”

(he smiles, his voice barely above a whisper now)

“i think that’s rare. and really beautiful. and i like the way i feel when you look at me like that.”

yn (quiet, touched) “…that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

sunoo (soft laugh) “your turn. but no pressure to be that poetic.”

yn (smiles, cheeks a little warm) “okay…”

(her voice light at first, but with something grounded in it)

“right now, i think i’m drawn to… how safe i feel around you.”

(she folds her hands slowly, eyes on his the whole time)

“you’re funny and dramatic and sparkly — but there’s also this calm to you. like… i could be crying or rambling or doing nothing at all, and i’d still feel like you’re right there with me.”

(she gives a small, nervous laugh.)

“and that doesn’t happen with everyone. it definitely doesn’t happen with strangers.”

sunoo (gently) “are we still strangers?”

yn (smiling, soft) “not really.”

[they sit there for a second longer, neither rushing to speak. just looking at each other — not with the wide-eyed curiosity they started with, but something more settled. more sure.]

[then sunoo shifts, leaning slightly across the table.]

sunoo (teasing, but hopeful) “okay so… when do we go on a second fake date?”

yn (pretending to think) “depends. will detective bear be there?”

sunoo (grinning) “only if you bring cone-thony.”

[they both laugh — the kind of laughter that lingers even after the sound fades.]

[the camera slowly pans out, leaving them in frame — still sitting close, still smiling at one another, something unspoken but entirely present between them.]

thank you for reading <3 —yn & sunoo, strangers of the same star.

nessie 🗯️ this one is rather long but omg i love the strangers to possible lovers pipeline so much??? especially when it's obvious they are meant to be together. this one is a bit cringe(?) idk but it's still cute ig??? i hope??????

tag𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 @jaysguitarstring @wenomakiluvr @luvchaew @xoseraphinaa @loverbyfate @seungsoftly @in-somnias-world @i-peachesandstrawberries @zoe1love

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Happy Songkran!

Not sure, but a few of the Thai shows may be impacted by New Year this next week.

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

April 2025 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 24 end - Can you believe we made it through 24 episodes (like this is 2014 or something)? Anygay...

The single brain cell committee trying to put together The Proposal was kind of funny. I do think that of all the couples to get married this is the one that shouldn’t. They are the least healthy, but what can we do? 

I knew from the get-go that I was going to struggle to figure out how to rate this show. Twice as long as most other BL’s and with 3 fully represented main couples, played by pairs that I have mixed feelings for. Thus I have to go straight down the middle. I would’ve given our first story a 7/10, our second one an 8/10, and our final a 9/10, which brings us in at a solid 8/10. Frankly, that feels like that’s what this show was, about 80% of a good BL.

Conclusion

This was workmanlike Thai BL in a university setting in which nothing happened to some very nice boys in fun friendship groups. The most noted thing about the show was its source, GMMTV punched down and phoned it in with this one. The kissing was good, the pairs were decent, and the directing was... well it was there. Each of the three main couples turned in solid performances to the best of their respective comedic abilities. Your enjoyment will wholly depend on which pair/story is most to your taste and how much you managed to tolerate the others (and the sides) as a result. I highly doubt this will ever be anyone's favorite BL. 8/10 is a fine rating for something this mediocre. Puts the B in BL.

Top Form (Thurs WeTV) ep 4 of 10 - Drunken shenanigans and their consequences. Especially when the boy is obsessed with you. (Meanwhile, the hair in the eyes is driving me batshit.) I'm still enjoying this. It’s sort of old-school BL in a very odd way. I like that. Especially with nothing out of Japan right now. The 21 day courting was cute. And of course I loved the linguistic negotiation. But he’s definitely gonna catch that cold.

Oh the HONEY.

I forgot this part was coming. ARGH NO too sticky!!! The carnage. The clean up. Twas sexy tho.

Sweet Tooth Good Dentist (Fri iQIYI) ep 3 of 12 - Whipping boy trope is a go. But also this dentist is so gone on this broken sunshine with self worth issues. The dorky earnest friend is good too. Enjoying.

My Golden Blood (Weds iQIYI) Ep 5 of 12 - I just can't. It's too awful. I did try. DNF.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Heesu in Class 2 (Korea Fri Viki) eps 5-6 of 10 - I love this show. Love. It. The catastrophic trip. Heesu being an utter frenetic basket case. The PINING from Seungwon and the fact that we all know he isn't ever gonna do anything (unless some one forces his hand lips). It's fantastically maddening.

Secret Relationships (Korea iQIYI) ep 7 of 8 - Ooo truly unhinged. Excellent. Honestly, I just feel sorry for Da-on with all these boys obsessed, even our puppy. And now the "kidnapping for love" trope. Very old-school. China used to adore this one. It's nto my favorite but it suits this show.

Business as Usual (Korea Thurs Viki) Ep 2 of 7 - Mostly back story not a whole lot happened. Looks like we are in for a meaty confrontation next week tho. Good.

Fight for You (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 4 of 12 - I don't mind a fake dating trope, even if I'm not sure how we got here. Actually, this has gotten oddly cute. I like them more as they fall in love and flirt and drink than I do as solo characters. 

Exclusive Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 10 of 12 - more death. Not enough of blondie. And none of my beloved sides? Bah. 

It's airing but......

Sashes and Hearts (Pinoy YT) 13 eps - Philippines is doing Drop Dead Gorgeous only all gay boys queening their asses off. Doesn't interest me, not sure if it's BL.

Last Meal Universe (Thai ????) 8 eps - An alien who has come to destroy earth instead falls in love with Thai food and then the Thai boy who cooks it - realistic, actually. I got a link to watch but it still wouldn't work for me, so I guess I'm waiting to see what happens.

Lost in the Woods (Weds Gaga) 7 eps - Not my thing, dropped at ep 2.

Boy Next World special - only available paid, so I didn’t bother.

Your Sky of Us - Normally, I don’t really report on the specials or the extras or even the spinoffs or season twos, but I gotta say in episode 2 Lee’s claiming sendoff was one of my favorite things to happen in BL this year. That silent "back off" was so perfectly executed. Most of the rest of this special has been just fluff, but it might be worth watching the whole thing just for that 30 seconds. (Sorry couldn't find a gif of it, but TRUST ME. Chef's kiss!)

In case you missed it

Secrets Happened on the Litchi Island (China YouTube) - This one unexpectedly dropped and there are still a few follow up snippets/adverts continuing with this couple.

Summary

This was an interesting, beautifully atmospheric but plotless BL about a boy who falls in love with his older brother‘s best friend in an idyllic countryside jungle setting. The boy is quite femme and open about his identity but his lover is... not. This dynamic ads an element of queer authenticity that's often missing from all BL, let alone something from China! I don’t know what it actually wanted to be, but it felt like a BL had a love child with one of those weird Chinese relaxation farm propaganda channels. The kisses are great, the chemistry is lovely, and the setting stunning. It’s odd but charming in a very weird, very queer, way. I have to say, I quite enjoyed it.

As a BL it gets an 8/10 from me, but as a piece of queer cinema I actually think it's worth more than that. You should all watch it. Who knows how long it will be allowed to stay up on YT.

Next Week Looks Like This:

COMING IN APRIL

4/16 Something Is Not Right (Korea Weds Viki) - trailer Blueming spin off. Ba U and Hun have been friends since they were kids – but Ba U has harbored unrequited feelings for Hun for years. Eventually, Ba U tries to cut off his entire relationship with Hun, much to Hun's confusion. In a last-ditch attempt to get over his feelings, Ba U takes his friend's advice and asks Hun to date for a single week. Hun accepts.

4/19 Secret Ghost (Thai Sat Viu) ?? eps - The trailer dropped and it looks particularly awful.

4/20 Boys in Love (Thai Sun YouTube? ) 10 eps - Our only true high school BL from GMMTV this year and it's fresh faces for the youths and old favs for the teachers. It's milk teeth Make it Right and fine with me. I like lotte milk. Also DIMPLES! Yay! I suspect they are using this one to test pairs for future shows. Like a Project 101 Thai BL. (Honestly I just invented an amazing reality TV for you GMMTV, you're welcome.) Like My School President in 2023, this could be a major sleeper hit for me.

4/20 My Stubborn (Thai Sun ????) ?? eps - trailer Mflow's next high heat office romance involving best friend's younger brother, boss meets intern, bit of a love triangle, GL crumbs, and few other tropes.

4/25 My Sweetheart Jom (Thai Fri YouTube) 12 eps - trailer Saint is back in a BL, but this is what he chose? When he gets int rouble, Yothin needs to find a safe place. Instead of sending him overseas, his father sends him to the countryside. There, he is under the watchful eye of the village headman Jomkhwan.

4/26 The BangkokBoy AKA Bangkok Boys AKA The Bangkok Boy (Thai Sat ????) ?? eps trailer - Action, crime and revenge meets gangs, mafia, and more. Oh my.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

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

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

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Well that bit from Your Sky of Us with Lee's nonverbal MINE of course.

Yes I liked it more than the honey, honey.

(last week)

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

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

oct 2024 episode of octa + 4koma update

***SPOILERS for the new Episode of Octavinelle chapter (13) and this month's 4koma!*** Reminder that there is no Episode of Savanaclaw update this month.

Ayo... 😳 The girlies are fighting... asdjvaiutfvaofdilfei AZUL FINDING IT IN HIMSELF TO PUSH UP HIS GLASSES ANYWAY, AS IF THAT'S SUPPOSED TO INTIMIADATE LEONA SoMEHOW??? ???f????? ? ? ? ? ??

… Also why the FUCK is Leona’s skirt skewed like THAT… I know that’s NOT how that shirt looks in the game 😭 COVER UP WHORE

WEH... OJITAN SAVING THE DAY BY YOINKING RUGGIE BY THE SCRUFF... Makin' up for almost sanding him yourself, I see... WHAT A GOOD ONII-SAMA... (<- delusional)

This is kinda cool yet also disturbing and gross 💀 Azul seems to have a bunch of tentacles shooting out from his back (he still seems to have legs???). And then those tentacles shoot out and grab people's talents for him... LIKE THEY SHOVE THEMSELVES DOWN YOUR WINDPIPE AND RETRIEVE IT

LIKE UGH I'M MGAGGING SJUST THINKIGN ABOUT IT, THAT SHIT MSUT FEEL SO UNcFOMROTABLE ... THE TENTACLE SQUIRMING AROUND INSIDE OF YOU... YOINKING OUT A PEIC EOF YOURSELF... EWwwwwwWwwwwwwwWWwwwwWWWwww 😭

There's many panels of Azul and his tentacles causing havoc and snatching up mob students + the twins showing up and fighting his tentacles off. BUT. AFGUADVKFADUVAOGVUEGVWIYEFBIAL IT MAKES ME KINDA ILL LOOKING AT THE TENTACLES SO I;M JUST ONGNGA KEEP WHAT I SHARE TO A MINIUMUM... OTL SORRY, I FIND IT REALLY ICK

The trend of Azul making the most out-of-pocket expressions continues. Bro's LITERALLY the screaming crying throwing up meme?????? (For comparison, Riddle bled ink from a different spot; ie his head.) Although here I feel really bad for him, because it CANNOT be good to be leaking ink from your eye sockets, nose, AND mouth... Please help this boy...

NOT THIS NOT THIS, ASHENGROTTO... HE'S SO UNHINGED, WHY'S HE PULLING A YUNO GASAI FACE

HE'S FINALLY SNAPPING, GFUYS.... .. .. . . ..... .. . . .. . . . .. . .. . . I love the detail of Azul looking like he's sinking in Ursula's cauldron and her poor unfortunate souls + bottled critters for her potions are mobbing him... The encroaching despair...

Aw, the twins are worried about Azul and call out to hinm... JADE EVEN SHOWING HIS TEETH, EVEN THOUGH HE CLAIMS IT "EMBARRASSES" HIM...

I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE, OCTATRIO... 🫵 YOU'RE FRIENDS... YOU CAR EABOTU EACH OTHER, DON'T DEN Y IT

Also, these!! (Because I didn't know where to cram them before.) A back shot of kid!Azul and a really REALLY blurry image of their class picture in the Atlantica museum.

Hopefully we get to see kid!Azul in full during his flashbacks :DD

... And now for complete tonal whiplash, this months' 4koma features Deuce as the main character! He's accidentally bleaches Kalim's Magic Carpet (thinking it is his lab coat). He tries various methods to restore the Magic Carpet but ultimately goes to Malleus for help.

[requiemforthepoets]

you say good morning, when its midnight ⟢ OP81 (part 4)

main masterlist | fic playlist | series masterlist

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and oscar grew up together, and despite being neighbors and best friends with her sister, hattie, you never really talked or had a conversation with him. until one day, where he randomly texted you out of nowhere.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: use of y/n, (a little) slow burn, humor, fluff, inaccurate information, no consistent face claims, all photos are from pinterest, weird, awkward, unhinge, reader is a little bit ball of a mess, long distance relationships, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: none

AUTHOR'S NOTES: part 4! the song that i use for this part is actually a filo music, from an artist named 'zild," i'm not sure if there's an english translation for it. also, if i have any filo f1 baddies readers, hello! heh. sorry if it's a bit short, i'll make the next ones longer. enjoy! :)

yn.jpg 🔒

📍tiong bahru, singapore

liked by yourmom, yourbrother, hattiepiastri, nicolepiastri, oscarpiastri, nathanleong, and 345 others

tagged: hattiepiastri , tiongbahrubakery

yn.jpg went all out on my twin flame's last day in sg before she flies back to australia ♡

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hattiepiastri best week ever! i'll definitely be back. maybe in your graduation soon? 🤔

yn.jpg you know you're always welcome to come back!! and maybe, hm?

nicolepiastri thank you for taking such good care of her, sweetheart!

yn.jpg always welcome! 💖

yourmom my girls! come back again soon, hattie ❤️

yn.jpg oh she'll def be back, mum 😆

hattiepiastri

📍singapore

liked by nicolepiastri, oscarpiastri, yn.jpg, and 1,677 others

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hattiepiastri a week in humid heaven with my favorite girl. went shopping and sweated a lot, but i'll see you again soon!!

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yn.jpg already uninstalling find my friends so i don't see your dot moving further away from me 😞💔

hattiepiastri i'll be back soon bc nothing can separate me from you!!!!

nicolepiastri bring me back something better than duty free biscuits this time

hattiepiastri 🫡🫡🫡

yn.jpg don't worry, auntie! i made sure that hattie will be bringing back some singaporean goodies for all of you!! ♡

oscarpiastri am i included?

yn.jpg i think that will be on hattie's discretion whether you're included or not 😆 jk!

hattiepiastri posted to their story!

liked by yn.jpg, oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, and 23 others

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

𓆉𓆝𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓇼

taglist: @uuoozzii , @freyathehuntress , @littlemisskavities , @elieanana , @rexit-mo , @imagine-it-was-us , @satorinnie , @pessismisticpotato , @milkysoop , @random-movie , @supersanelyromantic , @greantii , @chirpchirp69 , @purplephantomwolf , @mimisweetz , @frogiemushr0om , @angxedxtz , @hevzo8 , @pandora108 , @ms-darcy23 , @sluttybitch , @proudshinsoukinnie , @pinklemonade34 , @gemi-boi , @elizamoe133 , @sideboobrry11 , @mrrayjay , @curlylando , @soleilgrec , @nothingjustaninchidentt , @suns3treading , @dramallama9 , @1-queenofpotatoes-1 , @suibianupyourass , @armystay89 , @verstappen-leclerc-inchident , @landossainz , @martygraciesversion381 , @larkkyoris , @iloveotters11 , @isagrace22 , @bagelsbitch , @gigigreens , @wolfbc97 , @esw1012 , @raesblues , @mashmashi , @chxseversion , @fairyjinn , @hoseokjin194 , @ihaveitprinteddout , @henryspersonalver

[sk3tch404]

How do you feel about yan jojo characters using there stand to harm there darling ? Or use it to there advantage.I like to imagine some characters like jotaro, jolyne , Joseph using there stands to kidnap or threaten their darling

YES!! I LOVE THIS QUESTION!!!

I really hate it, but sort of love the idea because of the power imbalance it brings. Especially if darling isnt a stand user themselves.

I'm pretty sure darling would have a mental break because how the fuck is an invisible force dragging them up by the ankle?? Gravity?? Hello? Not to mention being HURT BY IT? Yeah ur all checked out.

Using the Joestar bloodline specifically for this was diabolical, thank you.

Jotaro would be one to use Star Platinum to intimidate his darling-- as if he himself wouldn't already be enough-- but he would never use Star to hurt them. Only if it were necessary. Afterward, he'd feel obligated to treat his darling be it tending to their wounds or gifts to make it up if they deserve it. He's a pretty closed off guy, so showing remorse face-to-face is a hard thing. Younger Jotaro would have a lot more difficulty with saying sorry. He'd say things he didn't really mean, "Then don't be a pain." Okay, he kind of meant it, but that's just his default response. Jotaro would make it up in some way or another to get rid of that cold shoulder of yours.

That's only if you're ballsy enough to even let him loom over you in dead silence for more than a few seconds.

Older Jotaro using his stand to hurt his darling is reserved for worst case scenarios only as well. He has more resources and has come a long way since his teenage years. He doesn't expect for his darling to magically get comfortable around him instantly or even in several months following the revelation of his yandere tendencies. He finds that using violence to get ones way doesn't really get what people want in the end, so its useless to him. It only applies if his his darling is actively running or trying to kill him.

Something he'd do in general with Star to intimidate his darling is scare tactics. Jotaro is pretty straightforward and tells it how it is, but he isn't above telling a few lies to get you on his side. He sees no point in hurting himself or you for some brownie points, so he does the obvious. Break shit around you. Though, not in some fit or tantrum. Rather, just to showcase the control he has in each situation. It seems to be way easier to crack a table in half, leaving concern for splinters around you two, (not that he cares much), and have you willingly be smart than grabbing you by the arm and dragging you away kicking and screaming. So damn annoying. It'd stress him out, and again, he hates screaming.

Jotaro would 100% use the help of Star to kidnap his darling. He utilizes Star well and gets the job DONE. Not to mention having the Speedwagon Foundation backing him up as well.

Old Joseph would use Hermit Purple occasionally. Assuming he had a falling out with Suzie, he wants to appear as best as he can for his darling. He'd be a gentleman. Well, as gentlemanly as an eccentric elder who's main focus is breaking and talking to screens can get. Joseph wouldn't use Hermit Purple to teach his darling a lesson or scare them at all. The only times he'd feel inclined to whip his stand out is to restrain his darling if they decide to attempt escaping, or to... do what old people do. Yeah.... But anyway, those are the only two most likely scenarios that come to mind if he were to ever use ol' H.P on his darling. Joseph would rather focus on wooing and winning over his darling rather than forcing them into submission all the time.

I do want to be like, "He would put pedal to the metal," or, "A little elbow grease does the trick," but honestly, that belongs to Young Joseph. Same guy basically, just more unhinged and less wise. Young Joseph would intentionally push his darling, but would suffer the unintentional consequences. He just wants some luv 💔 "Oh no! I made my darling cry because I kept dragging them away from the people they love and continuously pushed their boundaries! I tried to do everything right, how could this happen?" WHY ARE YOU DENSE SIR. GEEZ LA WHEEZ.

Jolyne would use Stone Free to mess with the stuff in her darling's life so they come running to her instead of scaring them into submission. She's a romantic at heart, but her darling doesn't make it easier by pushing her away. In the usual prison setting, she'd whisk away your stuff so you have to come asking if she has any commissary to spare. Other times, she's petty enough to mess with others in front of you if she feels threatened by them. Although, she'd either make sure to be low-key about it, or brush it off if you really have an issue with it, "So what? It's not like they're our friend right? This ain't a daycare or whatever. And besides, its not even a big deal. Don't worry about it." Gets sort of defensive, but always backs her "claims" up in some way. A bit foolish, but quick thinking.

She tries to tone it down usually due to there being potential hundreds of stand users that could get back at her for something stupid she did. If her darling ever caught on to her antics, (probably because the crazy shit always gotta happen around her), she'd deny it HARDCORE at first, but would feel bad eventually and confess because what's a relationship without communication and trust? She'd never want to lie and snowball that into something she can't control anymore. Jolyne might get emotional, but her drive outweighs the doubt in her. She'd make it up to you in any way she can, and with her friends, she can make prison life a whole lot easier or harder. Darling's choice.

[sword-wielding-sapphic]

1: Magic is a Metaphor < 2: Morgana is a Lesbian < 3: Merlin is Gay > 4: Arthur is Bi

Again with the whole metaphor thing, Merlin's entire character is about having to hide his identity and wishing that he could be free to be himself so that he wouldn't have to lie about how much Arthur means to him. So that's all very gay, but he's also just very queer-coded generally. There are so many jokes about him being more effeminate or wearing women's clothing, most notably in this episode where he dresses in full drag and then takes the opportunity to shamelessly flirt with Arthur. Unhinged.

Basically every other character seems to just assume that he's gay, at least towards the end, because Gaius and Arthur are in utter disbelief that Merlin would be 'seeing a girl'. And of course he isn't, he's actually sneaking around with that druid guy, leading Arthur to question how courting a girl would leave him 'walking with a limp.'

I also think it's very interesting how often Merlin has to pretend to be attracted to women to avoid people discovering his secret, like with Gwen in Series 1 or Morgana in Series 2. Or this scene, where Gwen and Merlin are the only people not affected by the Lamia's seduction charm and they're trying to figure out why. And Merlin says, 'it doesn't affect you because you're a woman'. And firstly, Gwen is like, 'so what?' So, bisexual queen. And then Merlin says, "it only affects men," and Gwen says, "so then why haven't you fallen under her spell?" And Merlin is just like, 'oh shit, I don't know. I can't think of any reason why I wouldn't be seduced by a woman.'

Now, you might be saying, "but Merlin is attracted to women! what about that one female love interest he had for literally one episode who immediately died?" Oh, you mean:

I'm sorry to all of the Freylin shippers out there, but this was so clearly just the writers' last-ditch attempt to make Merlin straight. If you think about it, Freya also 'has magic' if you catch my drift, and that is the only thing that she and Merlin have in common, and the only thing that they talk about. And if you look at their dialogue out of context, it really doesn't seem like it's magic that they're talking about. It's just gay/lesbian solidarity. Also, never forget when Colin Morgan accidentally referred to Merlin's potential love interests as "him or her." So who else could he have been thinking of?

Merlin definitely had a crush on Lancelot. From the moment that they first meet, he just keeps going on about, 'omg, isn't Lancelot so strong and brave and chivalrous? God, I hope he becomes a knight, he would look so good in a suit of armour.' And then he says to Gwen, completely unprompted, "so just for the sake of argument– Arthur or Lancelot?" Why are you thinking about that Merlin? Then that scene ends with Merlin and Lancelot getting drunk and stumbling home together and waking up the next morning having shared Merlin's single bed. So take from that what you will. I don't necessarily think that anything happened between them, not because I think Lancelot is straight, don't get it twisted, just because I think he's a fucking virgin.

But certified pansexual manwhore Gwaine on the other hand, oh they definitely fucked. And it's a very similar situation to Lancelot, Merlin's only flirting technique is just to find some buff guy who's just saved his life and be like, 'oh my god what can I possibly do to repay you? Maybe you could come back to my place and I could tend to your wounds and then we could go down to the tavern, have a few drinks'.

And it works. Merlin literally used his job as apprentice physician to the Knights of the Round Table as his own personal Grindr, and i love that for him. But, of course, these are just side hoes to Merlin's main bitch, Arthur.

You can deny everything else that I've said, but you cannot deny that Merlin was in love with Arthur. And don't even try to say, 'but it's just because it was his destiny'. Because, yeah, like that's any less gay. They're two sides of the same coin, destined to be together, Merlin 'uses magic only for Arthur'. Come on.

Also, it's pretty clear that Merlin cares about Arthur more than he cares about his destiny, throughout the entire show. But it culminates in this scene in series five where, because of very contrived plot reasons, Arthur has to choose between legalizing magic and saving the life of Mordred. And Merlin convinces Arthur not to legalise magic so that he will let Mordred die. He literally enables the genocide of his own people and condemns himself to a lifetime of suffering just on the off chance that he can spend a bit more time with Arthur.

And if that isn't heartbreaking enough, of course, every action that Merlin makes only confirms Arthur's fate. And after he very platonically dies in Merlin's arms, as dudebros do, what does Merlin do? does he go back to Camelot and live a full happy heterosexual life? Of course not. No, he spends the next one and a half thousand years just waiting at Arthur's resting place, waiting for the day that Arthur will be resurrected and they can be together again. What the fuck kind of Greek tragedy, Achilles and Patroclus level shit is that? That is fucking gay.