#Is he going to be any good at this /actually have any interest in doing this? Fuck no

[simonbrain]

love the idea of reader just trying to fuck all her stress out with a random at the bar before returning back to her mundane life, and simon deciding he's going to keep her instead 🙂‍↕️

the prick doesn't budge when you try to kick him out; instead, he drags you back into bed and works his mouth to loosen you up again, and now you've forgotten why you were trying to haul his ass out of your home.

(you attempted to sound stern while telling him to get out of your house, but he merely chuckled, the sound so raspy and condescending that it stroked a heat within you that you thought was sated last night.

"this is our home. now get your arse back in bed, i'm fuckin' hungry.")

you had to really fist at his hair to pull him off of you, and that only turned him on if the deep groan rumbling out of him was anything to go by—you swear his tongue sunk deeper inside you. he only relented so he could fuck you dumb in the shower after, leaving you with trembling legs and feeling more dirty than clean (atta girl, don't you waste any of tha'—keep it all in).

you blink, and now suddenly you're seated as he spoon-feeds you a nice, hearty breakfast, huffing something like messy girl when toast crumbs get all over your face and the wooden table.

words can't express how flustered you are; you're too stunned to even continue telling the big man who's now feeding you scrambled eggs that he needs to leave. all you feel like you're capable of doing is opening your mouth to accept another spoonful, ignoring the ache you feel between your thighs when you catch his heavy stare and hear a low hum of approval.

then he's leaving (and it's not because of your nagging), muttering something about having to work those mutts to the bone today, all while you're trying to make sense of what's happening. he gives you a sloppy kiss to silence your questions and exasperation, one that makes you feel hot all over and almost melt into a puddle had it not been for the firm grip he had on your ass.

he licks his lips when he pulls back, eyes darting to where your shirt just barely covers where he'd rather be all day than having to go and train recruits. he stares for an uncomfortably long time and before you can speak up, face growing a little hot from the tension, he's turning around to finally leave.

before the door shuts, he says, "be a good girl, ay? see you tonight, birdie."

you're left with your thoughts and feelings of dread and anxiety. there definitely isn't any underlying interest or anything; the freak has fucked your brain out of your head, that's all. you're sure he didn't even mean it anyway. maybe. hopefully.

a drop of his come rolls down your thigh, and arousal shame burns through you. since when did you let one-night stands finish in you?

(your so-called one-night stand came home hungry and pissed, so worked up that he dragged you over to the nearest surface and played with you for a good hour. by the time you had half the mind to tell him about the dinner in the oven—your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at how much money he had sent you for groceries earlier, nevermind how he got ahold of your account details—he grunted and finally gave your poor pussy a break, scarred mug all slick and flushed.)

good luck when he takes you to meet his mates at the bar a week later, the same bar you brought him home from; the comments from them make you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you right up.

"pretty thing ye caught, lt," johnny grins, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. he's a bit over the top, ogles your chest too hard, but overall he's... alright. you'd probably notice how perverted he really was if you actually looked at him longer than a few fleeting glances, but his stare is kind of unnerving.

kyle—perfection personified—hums in agreement, a warm smile on his face that puts you at ease. somehow you don't pick up on the ulterior motive behind his gaze running over your body, eyes roaming over your chest more discreetly than johnny but just as appreciative. "pretty indeed. you don't mind sharing, do you ghost?" kyle teases, pretty eyes glancing over at simon, who only huffs at that and shakes his head (much to your confusion).

who the fuck is ghost? you only know big guy and simon.

there's a deep chuckle and your focus flits over to the man seated in front of you, captain john price. if you thought simon was scary, john's a man who demands respect and attention just by being in his presence. "you chose the wrong dog to bring home," john hums, voice deep and gravelly and making you shamefully squeeze your thighs together.

"but that's alright, sweetheart. you have three others now, yeah?" the purr that comes out of his mouth is sinful, and when you nod and stammer out a yes, sir as if you were one of his soldiers and not the sweet girl that simon has brought to his captain, looking for approval of his newest toy, he only smiles.

simon's hand squeezes your thigh underneath the table, trailing upwards, and you're slowly understanding what it is that you've gotten yourself into.

[gothgoblinbabe]

The Art Of Make-believe Matrimony (pt.2)

Logan Howlett x afab!reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), afab reader, soft dom!Logan, good ol’ face sittin’, sloppy oral (m receiving), swearing, use of pet names - babydoll, sweetheart, pretty girl - teeth rottingly sweet fluff, emotional(?) sex, mild angst, i think thats it but if there’s any more pls lmk!

Read pt.1 here

Summary: part 2 is finally here! I’ll be honest i think the majority of it is smut, but if you’re not interested in reading that, you can stop at the point where you and Logan drive home from the restaurant :) <3 this is probably the most detailed nsfw thing i’ve ever written so it’s a lil’ longer than what i’d usually write for smut but I really wanted to deliver on this one.

Taglist: @deardo11 @pastelpinkflowerlife @joyfulpeanutsalad @jonesem11 @carollinnasic @likeficsinthewnd @mrs-ephemeral 

Word Count: 9.5K

divider credit here and here

It had been about a month since the whole ordeal with Logan - the exchanging of fake rings, sweet nicknames and kissing in the driveway - and to everyone else, it seemed like nothing had changed.

You’d still taunt each other during training, bicker over the small things and butt heads on almost everything, but it was all accompanied by stolen kisses in empty hallways, nights on the roof spent stargazing and small, sweet moments in between. You were going to come out with it - tell the team what had been going on behind closed doors - but truthfully, you were both fearful of the possible outcomes. What if this didn’t work out? What, you’d go back to hating each other - for real this time? So you kept it hushed, intending to give the new ‘relationship’ - a word neither of you used, yet - a sort of trial run. Neither of you admitted it aloud but you knew this way, if it really wasn’t meant to be, it could save you the embarrassment of admitting you were both wrong.

As the days went on, though, it became harder for either of you to keep up the act and even more difficult to keep your secret. You came close to being caught more often, having to stutter out an excuse each time. Jean and Ororo still knew what was going on - having been the ones to greet you in the hall when you’d gotten back from that dinner party - but gave you their word that it would stay a secret. The former of the two even feigned surprise when Scott mentioned he thought he saw you nearly kiss Logan in the kitchen, insisting he must've been seeing things.

You’d been washing some dishes and handing them off to him to dry and put away, both of you alone in the kitchen after dinner. 

“Hey, do you wanna come up to my room in a little bit? Maybe watch a movie?” he offered in a low voice, standing so close that your arms touched.

Neither of you had actually had the chance to be alone like that yet and the idea made your stomach erupt in butterflies.

“Hm - If I didn’t know any better, Logan,” you chuckled, “I’d think you have some ulterior motive.”

“And If I did?”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling and you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon,” he cooed, “what do you think?”

You were looking up at him, your noses inches apart as he leaned down further. One of his hands came to rest on your lower back.

“Hey, guys, have you seen my - “

Scott’s voice echoed through the kitchen and you both jumped, Logan trying to put distance between you and nearly tripping over his feet in the process. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck and you kept your eyes glued to the dishes in the sink.

“Uh,” Scott tilted his head, “have you guys…seen my phone?”

“Nope,” Logan was quick to reply, drying and putting away dishes now like it was his job.

“Um, no - sorry,” you shook your head.

“Hm…okay,” Scott mumbled, clearly suspicious of whatever it was he’d just seen. You both exchanged a look of panic when he left the room.

“That was close,” you huffed, returning to the task at hand.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and he’s probably the last one we want to find out - Summers is a blabber mouth.”

You knew exactly what he meant. If you told Scott anything, he couldn’t keep it to himself. One time Jean had tried to plan a surprise party for your birthday and you already knew about it before she could even pick the decorations.

Jean and Ororo had thankfully kept their word, though. It was damn near torture for them to keep from shouting the truth aloud every time you got into your usual spats. The sly jokes, however, were another story.

“Will you two just kiss already?” Jean had blurted when you were pelting each other with beanbags during an outdoor game of cornhole. 

Ororo wasn’t any better. 

She was sitting next to you at dinner one night, Logan across from you. Everyone was chatting about their days or telling stories and she volunteered you to share.

“Anything new happening with you? You seem extra happy lately,” she was grinning.

Your eyes darted to Logan and then back to her, taking a deep inhale.

“Uh, nothin’ - nothin’ new,” you swallowed, "just happy.”

Logan was smiling to himself, his gaze focused on his dinner.

After everyone had finished dinner and vanished off to their rooms, he stopped you at the bottom of the staircase.

“Hey,” he nervously scanned the hallway while gnawing on his bottom lip, “can you meet me in the garden out back in fifteen minutes? I wanna show you somethin’.”

“Sure,” you nodded, “but the ‘something’ better not be beef jerky and a picnic blanket - which, by the way, is not a date.”

He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, a contradiction to the smile tugging at his lips.

“That was one damn time - you’re still mad about that?”

“Eh - not really, but I am gonna mention it in every argument we will ever have,” you joked.

“Oh, shut up, ya’ brat.”

 You giggled and he beamed at the sound, already undeniably smitten with you. He’d never been so sure of any other feeling in his life. Your serene voice, your perfect hair, the smell of your perfume, the way you walked, the way you laughed and smiled - it was all things he’d taken notice of before but chose to bury within himself, terrified of whatever it was that had given you so much power over him. 

Set on trying to impress you, he’d gone around the garden that morning and picked a couple flowers out of each different plant he saw. He felt a little ridiculous - his six foot frame and two hundred pound body towering over a bed of tulips and daffodils - but he reminded himself this was for you; to see that smile on your face that could bring him to his knees. He had fallen for you and he fell fast. He didn’t know when he’d truly realized it - maybe during one of your midnight conversations or during one of the movie nights when you made yourself comfortable under his arm - but it was a feeling so intense that he’d never experienced anything like it before. He’d never had that ache in his chest, the pain of wanting someone so badly that it physically hurts; the twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thought of losing you, the way the thump of his heartbeat became so much louder and faster when he caught even a glimpse of you. Weeks ago, he probably would’ve made fun of the poor sap who was acting just as he was - like a lovesick dog on your leash - but he found himself finally starting to embrace the idea that there was someone for him in the way there was for Jean and Scott or Marie and Bobby. Maybe it wasn’t all permanent - nothing ever was - but whatever connection he had developed with you was one of the only things that he thought of first thing in the morning and right before he went to bed at night.

After what felt like the longest fifteen minutes of your life, you made your way outside and to the well kept garden. You admired every variation of flower in bloom while you walked, taking in the peaceful atmosphere of the garden in the moonlight. You planted yourself in the middle of the extensive displays of flora, nervously rocking back and forth on your heels. You scanned the landscape and that’s when you spotted him. 

Logan was making his way towards you and even through the darkness, you could see the bright arrangement of flowers held in his hands. Your heart felt like it swelled so much with adoration that it was going to burst. He’d done this for you, went out and handpicked every flower. Receiving so much affection from him was unusual, in a good way. Recently, he’d absentmindedly begun holding your hand in his at times, talking away while his fingers intertwined with yours like it was second nature. He’d play with your hair, kiss your cheek, embrace you from behind, even pull you onto his lap so you could nuzzle into his chest. Even when you weren’t alone, he was having trouble keeping himself off of you. He’d place a guiding hand on the small of your back or let his touch linger when your fingers brushed up against each other - small things, almost unnoticeable. It was a stark contrast to his behavior weeks before and you couldn’t have been happier. 

“These are for you,” Logan held the bouquet in front of you, pointing at some of the bulbs, “a couple of ‘em might be a little bent - I may have accidentally yanked ‘em out of the ground with more force than I needed to.”

You were beaming, your hands on your cheeks in excitement and surprise.  You delicately took the arrangement of flowers from him, admiring the beautiful ribbon that kept them together. Jean had helped with that, of course.

“Oh, Logan,” you pouted, “these are beautiful!”

“I wanted to give you somethin’ nice, y’know - after being such an asshole for so long,” he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

You knitted your eyebrows, “you didn’t have to, you know.”

He shook his head, waving a hand dismissively, “c’mon, none of that, princess. You deserve ‘em.”

Your heart felt like it would jump out of your chest whenever he’d call you sweet names. He’d called you princess before, sure, but only to tease you. The way he said it now was affectionate, as if to say you really were a princess in his eyes. You were head over heels for him already but you held your tongue, fearful that it was far too soon to admit something like that. The last thing you wanted to do was drive him away and lose the only relationship you’d had in years that made you absolutely lovesick to the point of losing sleep.

“I wanted to, uh - I wanted to tell you something, too,” he began, resting his hands on your waist. He seemed a little nervous with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“So, tell me,” you smiled up at him. You’d be lying if you said you weren't a little nervous yourself, picking up on his hesitation.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, standing up straight and keeping his eyes trained on yours.

“I love you.”

You only blinked in response, lips parted in surprise.

“You don’t have to say it back if you don’t - “

“I love you - I love you, too.”

It was like letting go after holding your breath for so long, a sense of relief that couldn’t compare to anything else.

A wide grin crept onto his face, one he couldn’t hold back even if he tried. Your expression mirrored his - complete adoration for one another.

He was staring down at you the same way he had during dinner that night you first kissed. You’d wondered since then what it was, what made his pupils dilate when his eyes focused on yours or why he would tuck his lip between his teeth. You knew now that it was love.

“It’s gonna be even harder now to keep this - us - a secret,” he mumbled in a low voice. He brought his hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He cupped your cheek after, unable to keep his hands off you.

“Well,” you bit the inside of your cheek, “we could tell them? Tell everyone, I mean.”

“Do you think you’re ready? I mean - not that I'm not ready, but I don't want you to feel rushed into anything.”

Your knees could’ve buckled right then and there at how truly sweet he was with you. You took his words into consideration and had a realization.

“We haven’t even really figured out what we are yet. What would we tell them?”

He nodded solemnly, grazing his thumb over your cheekbone, “Yeah, you’re right.”

You hoped this would be it - this would be the moment he finally told you that you were his girlfriend, you were something - but he gave a small smile and dropped his hand from your face.

“It’s getting late, we should get back before anyone notices we’re gone.”

You simply nodded, clearing your throat to replace the exasperated sigh you were about to let out.

You followed him on the way back, mind racing for the entirety of the short walk and drowning out anything Logan was saying. You wondered if he’d ever ask you that one question at all. Maybe he’d said he loved you to keep you hanging on, wrapped around his finger. Maybe it was meant to be casual and you’d misunderstood. 

But there was a bouquet of flowers in your hands. You’d fallen asleep on his chest more times than you could count, held hands at any moment you could and he did just tell you he loved you. So, maybe he did mean it.

As you snuck down the hallway to your bedroom with the arrangement of flowers, you wondered how long you’d have to keep this a secret.

Unbeknownst to you, it wouldn't be much longer.

It all came to a head when the team decided to go out to dinner together, settling on some chain restaurant. You’d coincidentally ended up next to Logan in the large booth, the both of you on the very end of the table. You were all reading from the menus and Marie piped up from across the table.

“Honey, do you wanna switch seats?”

She was talking to you. You didn't look up from the laminated paper in your hands, responding automatically without a second thought.

“Nah, I'm fine.”

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and looked at Bobby, who only shrugged. You two never sat next to each other, usually bickering so intensely that you’d be asked to shut up or leave the table. 

The unusual interaction was soon forgotten when your drinks were brought over, the waitress placing them in front of each of you. She was pretty and her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Logan being on the very end made him the closest in proximity to her and you being so close meant that you could hear her hushed voice when she leaned down before she walked away.

“And here, this is for you.”

She slid a napkin onto the table, your eyes automatically drawn to the movement. There was a clear phone number written in ink, her name scribbled underneath next to a smiley face.

Everyone at the table had noticed the interaction and waited for Logan to speak after she walked away. Instead, they watched in curiosity as he silently slid the napkin under his drink, the ink bleeding immediately from the condensation on the outside of his glass.

“Okay, what's up with you?” Scott questioned from across the table.

Logan raised his eyebrows, “I don’t know, what's up with you?”

“I asked you first.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Marie chimed in then, leaning forward with her elbows on the table to interrogate him, “you always take girls’ numbers when they give ‘em to you. Why not hers?”

He shrugged, “just not interested.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Watch the language, kid.”

“Whatever, you’re so full of it!”

You pretended to be uninterested in the conversation, folding your napkin into unrecognizable shapes. 

“You know what? I think you might be in love,” she giggled, “you’ve been way too happy lately. Like, absurdly happy.”

You froze in place, gwaning on your bottom lip. 

It was true, though. He was waking up early, smiling more, making more jokes that weren’t at Scott’s expense - they really had never seen him so happy.

“Um,” he hesitated for a second when you stole a glance at him. He was smiling to himself already.

“I guess you could say that.”

Everyone turned to stare at him in mild disbelief, including you.

“What? I was just kidding! Oh my god, you didn’t tell us?” Marie exclaimed, “spill it!”

Jean and Ororo were smiling wide behind their hands and exchanging knowing looks.

“Well, she’s real pretty,” he started, “and she’s sweet.”

You were trying so hard to fight a smile, covering your mouth with your fist as you leaned an elbow on the table.

“I never thought i’d hear you talk about someone like that,” Marie knitted her eyebrows and stuck out her bottom lip - the kind of face you’d make when a kid confesses their first crush.

Logan rolled his eyes and scoffed, a grin stuck on his face. Marie was still asking questions, determined to not let the topic go till she knew every detail.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Logan was nervously chewing on the inside of his cheek. He looked like he was thinking of an answer.

“Uh… I don’t know. I haven’t really asked her.”

You must have been pink all the way to the tips of your ears. You brought your glass of water to your lips, hoping it would help cool your face. 

“Why not?”

Marie was really not gonna let this go and you dreaded to hear the answer come out of his mouth.

Logan sighed, picking at the skin around his fingernails as a nervous tic.

“Just a little nervous, I guess. I don’t wanna screw it up.”

“A girl that makes you nervous? When do we get to meet her?” 

Your eyes were stuck on the wood grain of the table, both of your hands covering half your face at this point.

“When the time is right,” he responded, taking a sip of his drink.

Ororo rolled her eyes.

You’d all finished eating a good while later and the check came. After you’d both put cash down, he mumbled under his breath with his hand shielding his mouth.

“Meet me outside in a second, okay?”

He slipped out of his seat and you watched him disappear around the corner.

No one had noticed him leave his seat, too engrossed in conversation. After a minute or two, you muttered something about using the bathroom before you left the table and swiftly made your way back to the entrance you had come in through. It was starting to rain a little, barely drizzling.

Logan was standing in the parking lot with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He beckoned you over when he saw you, taking your hand in his and leading you to a spot outside that wasn’t directly in front of the door. His nose was starting to turn pink from the cold evening air and your cheeks were doing the same.

“So,” he swallowed hard, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, “I guess it’s about time I asked you, huh?”

“Ask me what?’

You were smiling so wide that your face ached. You knew exactly what, but of course you wanted to hear him say it.

His expression mirrored yours and he let go of one of your hands so he could cup your face.

“Would you be my girl?”

It may have been a little juvenile - the teasing, the hiding, the avoidance of labeling what you had - but it had worked.

“I already am,” you told him, leaning up to plant a kiss on his lips. He happily reciprocated, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you even closer.

If either of you had taken a second to look around you first , you would’ve spotted the rest of the team turning the corner the second you kissed him. 

“No way!”

Marie’s squeal echoed through the parking lot and both of you jumped, turning towards the sound. You both stood in stunned silence, Logan’s arms still locked around your waist.

“Uh…” He was like a deer in headlights.

“I should’ve guessed,” Scott clicked his tongue, irritated that he hadn’t figured you out sooner.

“Guessed what? We’re - uh, we were just - “ Logan shot you a look, hoping you’d be able to think of something on the spot - even with his arms still locked around you. You could’ve squirmed out of his hold, made some unconvincing excuse about having something in your eye and needing his help. You almost did. Looking up at him, his features highlighted by the flood lights that illuminated the nearly empty lot and his cheeks peppered in rain drops, you had a realization. You didn’t want to lie. You didn’t feel the need to anymore. You weren’t afraid it wasn’t going to work or that you might be better off as enemies rather than lovers. Everything felt like it was finally right - as if every piece of your life finally fit into its perfect place. If you were wrong - fuck it. You’d deal with the consequences later if you had to. 

“Kissing. We were kissing - we’re dating,” you sputtered out to your friends, looking back to Logan after. You almost expected him to be embarrassed, to tell you to keep your mouth shut.

 But he was smiling. He was smiling wider than you’d probably ever seen. He leaned his head down to kiss your forehead affectionately, mumbling into your hair, “I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

You hummed in affirmation and peeked back at everyone else. 

“How? Since when? Oh my god, I need to know everything,” Marie was as giddy as could be, nearly jumping up and down.

“Since they went on that mission where they had to pretend to be married,” Ororo piped up, “they liked pretending a little too much.”

You all began walking to the two cars you came in, Logan’s arm draped around your shoulders. He was holding you so close that you were practically stepping on his boots.

“Aw,” you heard Marie whisper to Bobby from behind you, “they’re so sweet together.”

“Now that they're not trying to kill each other? Yeah,” he replied with a small laugh.

“I thought you guys hated each other,” Scott said, “what happened?

“Well,” you smiled to yourself, “he’s a good fake husband, so I figured he might make an alright boyfriend.”

You stopped when you approached the car and Logan wrapped you into a tight embrace, your face smushed against his chest. You giggled into his shirt until he finally let you go.

“How’d you guys even keep it under wraps anyway?” Scott asked.

You looked up to Logan, “Willpower?”

He chuckled, “I don’t know, really,” he rested his hands at your waist, “I guess we got lucky that you guys aren’t too bright.”

Ororo lightly smacked the back of his shoulder, rolling her eyes but holding a smile on her face.

You all piled into the cars you’d came in - you, Logan, Marie and Bobby in one and Jean, Scott and Ororo in another - and made your way home. Logan drove and you sat beside him, his hand in yours for most of the ride.

When you all got home and everyone went off to their rooms, Logan stopped you with a gentle grip on your wrist.

“Would you, um,” he looked to the floor for a moment, biting back a smile, “would you maybe want to spend the night in my room?”

You and Logan had been alone together a handful of times, but never like that - in his bedroom. The thought made your palms start to sweat. It wasn’t that you hadn’t thought of it - you’d been together about a month now and every time you’d gotten the chance to make out, you usually didn’t have an opportunity to go any further. Someone would call your name, Logan’s phone would ring, you’d hear footsteps - always something to pull you apart. It was torture, knowing you could kiss him till his hands started to creep up your shirt or your hand rested on his belt buckle but never actually get to go any further.

“We don’t have to do anything but sleep,” Logan could see the hesitation in your expression, “whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I’d love to,” you replied, letting him take your hand in his and lead you down the hall. 

“How about this - I'll change into pajamas in my room, you can change in yours and then come down,” he swiped his thumb over your knuckles, “is that alright?”

You almost wanted to insist you could change in his room - let him see you bare in front of him like you wanted for weeks - but you simply nodded and slipped your hand from his grasp as you walked the short distance to your room. After changing into a tank top and pajama shorts, you shuffled up to his door in your slippers and gave a small knock.

He answered in an instant, wearing sweatpants and his usual white beater. You unintentionally let out a sigh, eyes immediately scanning over his muscular torso under the thin white fabric. 

Christ, he’s hot.

“Everything alright, pumpkin’?”

It didn’t help that he was so damn sweet to you.

“Huh? Uh - yeah, I just,” you stopped, realizing there wasn’t much of a need for an excuse, “I like the way you look in that.”

You boldly reached out to playfully tug the hem. He smiled and used your hand on him to pull you out of the hallway and into his room, wrapping you in his arms. 

“Yeah?” He said softly, kissing your cheek and forehead before finally meeting your lips, “I like the way you look in these.”

His hand slid down to the hem of your shorts, hiking them up a little to squeeze your upper thigh.

You giggled, a blush forming across your cheeks.

“And you’re so damn cute,” he led you to his bed, laying down and patting the spot next to him, “c’mere, sweetheart.”

Still, even after all those weeks, the pet names made you feel weak in the knees.

You obeyed instantly, crawling onto the mattress and snuggling up next to him. You rested your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat, steady and strong. 

Logan had a mirror across the room, coincidentally angled so that, from where you were, you could both see your reflection. He was playing with your hair when he began to stare at your reflection, smiling to himself.

“What?” You interrogated, looking up at him and then back to the mirror.

“We look good together,” he admitted, “well, you look good.”

You clicked your tongue, “are you kidding? Please, girls practically throw themselves at you.”

“Well, there’s only one girl I ever really wanted to throw herself at me.”

“I think you got your wish.”

You still had that spark - the back and forth quips and competitive nature - except that it was always something sweet now.

“I love you, a lot,” he muttered into the top of your head, pulling you as close as you could lay to him with your leg slug over his thighs.

“I love you too, Logan,” you smiled into his shirt, taking in the smell of him.

His hand came to rest on your thigh, gently kneading and squeezing. You already felt your breath quicken and heart start to race again as his fingertips traced the hem of your shorts. 

“Like I said,” he cooed, having picked up on your rapid heartbeat, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Staring up at him, his large hand still kneading your upper thigh, you’d decided - just like in the parking lot earlier - you’d had enough of holding back. You swiftly brought yourself further on top of him, straddling his lap with your knees on either side. You didn’t give him time to protest as you cupped his face and kissed him in a slow mess of tongues and teeth, savoring the feeling of finally having him beneath you. It wasn’t long before his hands found home on your thighs, his fingers already slotting beneath the fabric of your shorts. He then slid his hands up to squeeze your ass, pushing you even further into him while your tongue explored the inside of his mouth. When you finally pushed yourself up with your hands on his chest, he almost looked dazed. 

“I wouldn’t start somethin’ you can’t finish,” he panted, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“Oh, I think I’ll finish,” you joked, raising your eyebrows at the innuendo. 

“Yeah? I know you will.”

You squealed and giggled when he flipped you on your back, climbing over you and caging you in with his forearms on either side of your head. 

“Been wantin’ to get my hands on you like this forever, you know,” he continued with a wicked smile, peppering kisses from your jaw to your collarbone, “thinkin’ about you.”

“W-What were you thinking about?” you managed to stutter out, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head when he began to lightly suck and bite at your warm skin.

“Having you here, in my bed. Getting to undress you, having your thighs ‘round my head.”

You nearly choked on your saliva at the filthy way he was mumbling against your skin and squeezing your hips.

“Me too,” was all you could say, lost in the feeling of his hands now sliding under your tank top, resting right below your tits.

“ ‘s that what you thought about?”

You can tell he wanted you to say it, let him know just how bad you wanted him.

“I thought about being in your bed, sitting on your lap,” you took a deep breath, “and having you - having you, uh…”

Your sentence trailed off, cheeks tinted pink.

“What, sweetheart? C’mon, don’t be shy. What do you want me to do, huh?”

He still knew how to tease you, even if it wasn’t out of spite anymore. 

“Fuck,” you swallowed audibly, “want you to eat me out, fuck me - anything.”

You sounded desperate and you knew it. You really didn’t care, too engrossed in everything about him to even consider it. 

“Really?”

Your eyes met his, filled with lust and ambition to please you any way you wanted. His lips were parted in surprise when he first heard your words, slowly turning into a devious smile.

“Please.”

That was all he needed to trail his lips down your shoulders, gently pushing the straps of your tank top down. He sat up to let you pull it off and if he wasn’t already set on worshiping you, he definitely was now.

You’d yanked the garment over your head and onto the floor, revealing your bare chest. 

Logan groaned, laying you back down and almost immediately latching his lips onto the newly exposed and incredibly soft skin. 

“So beautiful,” he mumbled against you as he took one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue.

“Oh my god,” you huffed quietly, arching your back to push yourself even further into him.

He was trying to hold back a smug grin, switching between each breast, sucking and biting gently.

“ ‘s good, baby?”

You were lost for words, even more so when you could see the string of spit that connected his mouth to one of your tits.

“Mm-hm,” you hummed, your fingers having found their home in Logan’s hair. 

You whined when he pulled his mouth from you with an audible pop.

“Words, sweetheart,” he told you, his eyes glued to yours while he licked his own spit off his lips. 

“”Fuck, yes, yes -“

You were cut off by your own moan, gasping when you felt the pressure of his thigh in between yours. He slid his hands down your body to grab your ass in an attempt to grind you down on his leg.

“I like it when you make those noises for me,” he muttered into your chest, his hands still kneading your ass when he pulled you forwards.

You wanted him for so long that the reality of being with him had made you over sensitive to his touch. Even through the fabric of your panties and shorts, the feeling was intoxicating.

You were practically whining as he ground you down so hard that you were soaked all the way through your shorts and panties, the fabric of both sliding to the side.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he chuckled a little, feeling the soaked patch on his sweatpants, “all for me?”

You hummed, hands tugging at his hair, “for-for you.”

His hands came around to the front of your shorts, his fingers hooking onto the fabric.

“Can I take these off you?”

“Please,” you responded immediately, already lifting your hips off the bed so he could drag your shorts down your legs. 

When he turned to throw them somewhere on the floor, he caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Your chest was heaving and your hair was all over the place from rolling around in the bed. He could see that you were still looking up at him, even when he was turned away.

“I got an idea, scoot up a bit,” he told you suddenly when he turned back to face you. You moved forward on the mattress as he momentarily stood up, stripping himself of his beater. He sat behind you and arranged himself so that he was holding your back against his chest with his arms around your waist, his legs spread out so you could lay between them.

You instantly caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. Your head was leaned back on his shoulder and he planted delicate kisses down your neck.

“ ‘s that why you wanted to sit like this?” you nodded weakly in the direction of the mirror, your eyes nearly fluttering close when he slid one of his hands to rest on the inside of your thigh.

“You look real pretty, I wanna see all of you,” he explained, his middle finger grazing your cunt through your damp panties.

Your eyes were glued to your reflection - your legs spread with his hand between them and purple hickies darkening on your chest. Logan was staring at your reflection too, his mouth still working on your neck.

“Look at you, all spread out for me,” he mumbled into your ear, “so fucking gorgeous.”

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips. If he kept saying all those filthy things, it wasn't going to take long before you were coming apart in his arms.

You shivered when his fingers hooked around the wet crotch of your underwear and moved it to the side.

You could hear him swear under his breath from behind you, his fingers barely grazing your heat.

“God, Logan,” you were squirming, trying to push your hips towards his hand, “you’re gonna make me beg?”

You could see him smirk into your shoulder in the mirror, “you know what?”

He moved his hands to drag your panties off, nearly tearing them in the process.

“Yeah, I am.”

He let his head fall back to rest on the headboard, lidded eyes staring into your reflection while his hands laid still on the outside of your hips - even farther away from where you wanted him. He really wasn’t going to move an inch until he heard you beg for it, though he couldn’t help himself from digging his fingers into your soft flesh.

You groaned in frustration, “Fucking hate you.”

“Nah, you don’t.”

His lips grazed your earlobe and you wanted to roll your eyes at the smug look on his face, “Now, c’mon, baby. Beg.”

You moved your hands behind you so you could thread your fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

“Fuck, please, Logan - need you.”

“Need me how?”

He really was an asshole.

“Need your hands - need your fingers, please,” you groaned.

“I don’t know, you think you’ve been a good girl? Think you deserve it?”

You would’ve been pissed at him had he not turned you on beyond belief. You gave in, becoming putty in his arms.

“ ‘m good - been good for you,” you whined, using one of your hands on his to try and move it between your legs, “please.”

He sighed, returning his hand back to the hot skin of your inner thigh, “Shit, need me that bad? Huh, pretty girl?”

You were so worked up you could have cried from his teasing. You nodded eagerly, attempting to clamp your thighs together to force his hand to at least graze your cunt that was dripping onto his sheets.

He clicked his tongue and used his strong hands on the inside of your thighs to spread your legs again, “Gotta keep ‘em open for me, sweetheart.”

He dragged two of his fingers between your folds, messily toying with you. You gasped, gripping his arm and inadvertently leaving imprints from your fingernails.

“So fucking wet,” he huffed, gaze glued to the reflection of your spread legs in the mirror, “Pretty pussy’s all mine.”

You were already whimpering and moaning from the slightest touch.

“ ‘s yours - fuck, I‘m-I’m yours,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed.

He hummed in agreement, his fingers prodding at your entrance.

“Please, please, please,” you whined, trying to push your hips forward.

“I think you’ve been real good, angel,” he was slipping his fingers further into you at an agonizingly slow pace, “think you deserve it.”

You were whining and whimpering so loud that you were sure someone had to have heard you by now. You couldn’t help the noises slipping from your mouth, feeling like you’d black out just from the sight of Logan’s fingers slipping between your swollen lips and into your cunt.

When he finally thrusted his fingers into you all the way down to his knuckles, you brought a hand up to cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle what you knew would be a pornographically loud moan.

He clicked his tongue, grabbing at your wrist to tug your hand away.

“Uh-uh, baby,” he panted into your ear, curling his fingers inside you, “wanna hear you - want everyone to know who’s makin’ you feel good like this.”

His thumb started to draw circles around your clit in rhythm with the movement of his fingers and you could feel the pressure in your stomach starting to build.

“Fuck,” he cursed, his jaw hung open while he watched his fingers disappear inside you over and over again with ease, “takin’ my fingers so well. I think you’d take somethin’ else real well, too.”

The intent of his words nearly drove you over the edge, your mind unable to stop conjuring up images of what it would be like when he finally did fill you like you’d wanted him to.

“Logan, Logan, I’m -,” you groaned, so close to finally coming on his fingers.

Until he slipped them out of you and pulled his hand away completely.

You choked out a sob, squeezing your eyes shut in frustration.

“I’m gonna let you finish, don’t worry,” he promised. You watched him suck his fingers clean before he used his arm around you to rearrange you both so that he was laying on his back and you were facing him with your legs straddling his torso. You could feel his erection poking at your ass and you licked your lips when you imagined being able to take him in your mouth, letting him fuck your throat to the point that your chin and the base of his cock were coated in your drool.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Logan’s voice brought you out of thought and you let him guide your legs up until your knees were on either side of your head.

You looked down at him in curiosity, not yet understanding what it was he wanted to do.

Noticing your expression, he wrapped his arms around your thighs to pull your dripping pussy closer to his mouth.

“I’m gonna let you finish, baby, but it’s gotta be on my mouth. Sit.”

“You…” you hesitated for a second, feeling your face redden, “you want me to sit on your face? What if I crush you? Or suffocate you?’’

He chuckled at your concern, lovingly caressing your thighs, “You won’t, trust me. It’ll feel good, I promise. Besides, If you did suffocate me? I don’t think I’d wanna go any other way.”

You laughed nervously and let him pull you down further, sinking onto his face. His tongue swiped up your folds and you gripped the headboard so you wouldn’t fall forward.

“Jesus, Logan,” you gasped, your other hand gripping his hair, “feels so fucking good.”

“Uh-huh, told you, princess. Jus’ lemme take care of you,” he mumbled into your pussy, eating you like he was starved. He moved his head back and forth and up and down to lick every inch of you he could.

“I think I would’ve - ah, would’ve said somethin’ to you much sooner if I knew you could do this,” you joked a little, your small chuckle turning into a gasp when he slipped his tongue even further down so he was inside you. He hummed into you, his nose nudging against your clit. You began to grind your hips back and forth over his mouth, drunk off the way he moved his tongue.

“Atta girl,” he grunted, “use me, c’mon.”

His hairy arms were hooked around your thighs like a vice, to the point that you couldn’t lift your hips even if you wanted to. When his eyes weren’t trained on you above him, they were squeezed shut in an attempt to savor every second his tongue was in your pussy. He was pulling your thighs forward every time you rocked yourself back and forth, desperate to feel you come on - in - his mouth. 

You could already feel the pressure building in your stomach. The obscene wet noises coming from his mouth messily eating your cunt didn’t do much to ease it, either. Your eyes rolled back and you continued to ride his face, mouth hung open in ecstasy. Logan could tell you were close just from how sloppy your movements had become. 

“Gonna come for me already, honey?”

You hated how hot it was when he teased you, mocked your desperation.

“Fuck, yeah,” you groaned, your hips rolling forward.

“Lemme see it, pretty girl, come for me.”

You gasped at the filth spilling from his lips into you. It was more than enough to finally make the tension snap in your lower stomach, still rocking your hips over his mouth while you whimpered his name over and over again like a prayer.

Logan was practically growling into your cunt, feeling your muscles contract around his prodding tongue. He was trying to catch anything that possibly came from your release. You tasted good, but when you finished? Even fucking better.

“Lo-Logan, too much, s’ too much,” you tried to protest as he kept your thighs locked around his face, still lapping at you without slowing his pace. He hummed in response and finally let you go when he was sure he’d licked you clean.

You lifted your hips and moved to sit beside him on your heels, almost in pain at the loss of physical contact. When you finally got to see his face, his lips were red and raw, his chin and even the side of his cheeks coated in your slick. You watched in awe as he wiped his cheek, bringing his hand up to his mouth after to lick it clean.

“Taste fucking amazing,” he assured you, keeping his eyes on yours when he sucked on one of his fingers.

You caught sight of his obvious and rather large erection and your mouth began to water. Once again, you were lost in the thought of how good it would be to feel the weight of his cock in your mouth.

“You alright, baby?”

“Yeah, I - um,” you sighed, leaning forward on your hands, “can I - can I have it in my mouth? Just for a little bit?”

Your hand rested on his hip, fingers grazing the waistband of his sweatpants, dangerously close.

“Shit,” he huffed, his cock twitching from the anticipation, “you wanna?”

You nodded eagerly, pulling his pants and boxers down his thighs when he lifted his hips.

“Hey,” he tenderly stopped your hand as you reached to touch him, “I’m tellin’ you now, girl -  you can suck it ‘cause you asked so nicely but I’m not comin’ unless it’s in you.”

He let go of your wrist and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, continuing to speak.

“I can fill your throat another time, yeah?”

You were speechless, lidded eyes switching from his face to his swollen cock and back again. You nodded in agreement.

You guessed Logan would be big - he was generally a large guy - but you could feel the drool gathering in your mouth when his cock sprung out of his boxers to hit his stomach. He was fucking huge. You might’ve been nervous if you weren’t so eager to fit him into your mouth. You finally leaned down to wrap a hand around the base of his cock, softly licking at his leaking tip.

Logan threaded your hair between his fingers, gathering as much as he could to form a makeshift ponytail that was held together by his fist. 

“Like seein’ your pretty face. You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?”

His words only spurred you on and you gathered as much saliva as possible so you could spit onto his cock. When you did, you started to stroke him in a slow rhythm that had him rocking his hips towards your hand already. His mouth hung open and his eyes were glued to your movements, watching you work your hand up and down. Your spit coated your hand and his cock to the point that it was dripping down his balls.

The moment you finally closed your mouth around him, he was practically a mess.

You took him as deep as you could, relaxing your throat and steadily breathing. You gagged as his tip hit the back of your throat and he groaned. He watched your head bob up and down while you simultaneously stroked whatever you couldn’t fit into your mouth. He huffed out your name in between cursing under his breath. His gaze caught the mirror he’d nearly forgotten about and he could’ve came just from the sight of your mouth drooling around him.

“So good, baby,” he sighed, licking his lips, “you look so pretty suckin’ my cock.”

You reveled in the praises spilling from his lips. Chasing more, you used your hand that wasn’t around him to cup his balls and massage gently. He actually whimpered and you could feel Logan’s legs start to shake a bit.

“Alright, enough - ,” he grunted, using his grip on your hair to pull your mouth from him and push your hand away.

You almost looked hurt, pouting while looking between him and his glistening cock. Truthfully, you liked the taste of him. Loved it, really, so much so that you had to hold back from diving right back into position. Just the idea had you clenching your thighs together when you thought of it. When your mouth was already on him? You were so wet again that it was starting to smear across your inner thighs.

“Sorry, doll,” he apologized while swiping fallen strands of hair from your face, “too close.”

It felt exhilarating being able to turn big, bad, scary Wolverine into a whimpering mess after only a couple minutes in your mouth.

“I’m gonna come in you,” he reiterated, “gonna make you mine.”

You just about melted into putty from his words.

“ ‘m yours, ‘v been yours.”

Your voice was desperate and you crawled onto him, straddling his hips. Your bare cunt slid against the base of his cock and his hips jerked up.

“Fuck,” he panted, “you wanna know somethin’? Been thinking about this for so long, even when I thought you hated me - I couldn’t help it.”

“Me too,” you replied, hands on his chest to steady yourself, “even when I thought you hated me. Used to think - to think about jus’ getting you alone.”

“Yeah?” He teased, one of his hands coming down to align his cock with your entrance, “what did you think about doing when you got me alone, hm?”

“I - ah, f-fuck,” you tried to speak, stuttering when he started to slip himself in as slowly as possible, “letting you fuck me, having - having your fingers in me.”

“So, is it as good as you imagined?”

“Mm,” you tried to respond and only whined from the pressure of Logan pushing you down further onto his cock and stretching you out, “better, it’s better.”

“You think you can take all of it, sweetheart?”

“I need it, please, please, Logan - need you.”

You could rarely recognize your own voice, strained and desperate.

“Only ‘cause you begged so nice.”

In one hard thrust, he pushed your hips down onto his.

Your jaw hung open and your eyes rolled back into your head. You’d never felt so fucking full before, like he reached every inch of where you wanted him. 

“Fucking - Christ, Logan, you - ah,” your sentence was cut off when he began to grind up into you, using his grip on your hips to keep you steady and gently help guide you up and down. 

“Hm? What, baby?”

When you sat back down on him, he used an iron grip to keep you where you were, pushing himself as far into you as he possibly could. The friction on your clit made your pussy twitch and he definitely felt it, pulling you back and forth a little bit.

Again, you couldn’t speak - too distracted by the indescribable feeling of having him sheathed completely inside you. Your eyes started to water, tears forming from the overwhelming pleasure in the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuck me,” you nearly sobbed, leaning forward to bury your face in his neck, “please, please.”

He finally let you lift your hips up and down again and you were a whining fucking mess. Logan could see over your shoulder into the mirror and he marveled at the white ring you left around the base of his cock every time you lifted your hips. You were messy, exactly how he wanted you - he’d probably lick you clean after, if you’d let him.

You were rambling into his neck, panting, “so fucking - you’re so big, oh my god, need you all - ah - all the time.”

He was smirking to himself, smug from how he was able to fuck you to the point that you were just letting go completely - telling him every thought that popped into your mind while you were still on top of him. You worked yourself up to a steady rhythm and he indulged in the image of your tits bouncing above him when you sat up. 

“So good, honey - takin’ me so well, like you were made for me,” he groaned. His eyes never left yours.

“ ‘m made for - for you,” you slurred, rolling your hips.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Who’s this pussy belong to, huh? Tell me.”

“Yours, I - it’s yours, Logan.”

Your thighs started to ache pretty quickly, your pace faltering as he kept steadily drilling up into you. 

“Are you sore, baby? You wanna switch?”

His voice was so soft in comparison to how he was speaking moments earlier through gritted teeth. You nodded and let him lay you on your back, climbing over you and caging you in with his forearms on either side of your head. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead, both cheeks, the tip of your nose and finally, your lips. You were absolutely giddy from the sickly sweet moments you shared inbetween the times where he was fucking you so hard you were out of breath. 

Your ankles locked behind Logan’s back to pull him into you while he tried to guide himself with his hand. He slipped back in effortlessly and ground his hips forward, pinning you down to the mattress. One of his arms was snaked around your back to hold you closer and the other was holding your wrists together above your head.

His hips rolled forward and he hit a spot inside of you that made the fire in the pit of your stomach rise.

You choked out a sob and tried to squirm in an attempt to free your wrists, but you both knew there was no way you’d wiggle out of his grip unless he let you. To no surprise, a man made of mostly metal was almost impossibly strong when he pinned you down with his hands and hips.

“I gotcha’.” he panted, so close that your noses brushed together when he thrust forward, “you’re not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart.”

As if you’d want to move from your spot underneath him.

Your eyes caught the shining metal of the dog tags hanging from his neck, swinging back and forth over your chest when he moved. When you looked back up to his face, his eyes were boring into yours. His face was flushed and his mouth hung open, sweat accumulating on his brow. He looked fucking gorgeous. You were going to tell him so, try to lean up to kiss him, but he spoke again before you could.

“I’m in love with you - ‘m so in love with you, you know that?”

The pace of his thrusts quickened and you could’ve cried at the sincerity had he not been drilling into you so hard that you could barely open your eyes.

“I - I’m, ah - in love with - with you, too,” you choked out between gasps.

“So pretty,” he muttered, finally letting go of your wrists so he could hold your chin to force you to keep your eyes on him, “i’m so fucking lucky.”

It was all too much - the sincere adoration in his voice combined with the filthy way he was snapping his hips into yours - and you could feel the knot in your lower stomach start to come undone.

“Logan, fuck, I’m -,” you tried to tell him you were close, but his thrusts were knocking the wind out of you.

“God, please - c’mon, c’mon,” he was pleading through gritted teeth, trying with everything in him to hold back from coming before you did. His hand slipped between your bodies so he could draw tight circles around your clit and your eyes squeezed shut in ecstacy. 

You were chanting his name after a couple more strokes, tears rolling down the side of your face while he pounded you through your orgasm. You were practically seeing stars, your legs shaking around his waist.

He could feel your muscles contract around him and his movements became sloppy. He was grunting with every roll of his hips, muttering praises under his breath.

So fucking pretty

Look so beautiful like this

So perfect

He was spilling into you seconds later, animalistically groaning into your ear. His hips slowed to a halt, his arms still wrapped around you. You were both shiny and sticky with sweat, panting with flushed faces. When he pulled his face from your ear, he was beaming like an idiot, already drowsy.

“Was that good, baby?”

He was still out of breath, using one arm to weakly hold himself above you while he stroked your hair. 

“Are you serious? More than good,” you chuckled, “amazing.”

He tenderly kissed your forehead and rolled beside you, immediately wrapping you in his arms.

“Don’t we have to clean up?” you asked, eyes already starting to flutter closed.

“Mhm,” he hummed, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck, “can do it later - wanna cuddle.”

You grinned wide, amused by how damn cute he was. You simply hummed in agreement, resting your hand over his.

“Logan?”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

A/N: I had to close my laptop and walk away a a couple time while writing this so I hope it drives you as insane as it did me! I'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

If you enjoyed, thank you for reading and pls like/reblog!! <3 and thank u sm for the love on part 1!

[endless-weightless]

Ford Pines x GN!reader headcanons!

I'm surprised it took me this long to get into Gravity Falls. Anyways this has both SFW and NSFW so beware. There's also a brief mention of being AFAB as a possibility but other than that it's completely gender neutral (I'm 99% sure, I didn't proofread too well lol).

SFW

Right off the bat, I’m saying he’s autistic because so am I and I said so.

If you’re someone who needs reassurance or is generally anxious/paranoid about anything he’ll go into long (often scientific) explanations to ease your mind and also throw in some fun facts.

Both a listener and a yapper. He loves nothing more than the sound of your voice but also loves being able to spout all sorts of things about his research and interests while you stare at him lovingly.

Can’t sleep unless you’re next to him. You don’t even need to be cuddling, your presence is just the one thing he needs to fall asleep.

That being said, he will NEVER pass up an opportunity to cuddle. Watching a movie? Cuddling. Working at his desk in the lab? Cuddling on his lap. Cooking something in the kitchen? He’s got his arms wrapped around you as he presses loving kisses into your temple.

He rarely swears, but when he does it always makes you do a double-take (and maybe giggle because it sounds so odd coming from him).

Probably tried weed once or twice in the '70s and was somewhat part of the psychedelic rock scene. Stan has some old photos of him during that time somewhere but Ford is absolutely mortified by the idea of you seeing him in bell-bottom jeans.

It doesn’t matter how long you two have been together, every time he sees you he feels the same as he did the day you two met. Ford will never stop becoming flustered at the sight of you.

Post-Weirdmaggedon he became very anxious at the thought of you being out alone or not being near him. He feels like he needs to be on guard at all times so that he can protect you. He eventually calms down after some reassurance from you and a fuck ton of therapy.

While he lacks some emotional intelligence he’s actually very attentive and knows exactly what you need when you’re upfront about your feelings. As long as you’re not vague and communicate, he knows what to do to help you.

Adding onto that, I think he briefly studied psychology in college so he’d have a pretty good understanding of any mental health issues you might have.

Said “No more Mr Nice Guy” one time and hasn’t heard the end of it from anyone.

NSFW

Has to stop himself from cumming too quickly when you tell him how good he’s making you feel. Stroking his ego (and other things) is the best way to get him horny.

Will always ask you for consent no matter what it is. You could be mid-fuck and he’d still ask if he could put his hands on your hips.

This is just my personal headcanon but I believe while he didn’t really have too much experience before he got stuck on the other side of the portal (probably hooked up with Fiddleford once or twice tho), I fully believe that after a few years of dimension-hopping, he would’ve had a few one-night stands (mans gotta blow off some steam). So when he gets the chance to fuck you, a real human from his dimension, he’s more than ecstatic, especially since he’s picked up more than a few tricks over the past thirty years.

Knows how to use all twelve of his fingers.

Since Ford was sucked into the portal in the early ’80s and spent thirty years in there, he’s super confused when you mention shaving down there or being embarrassed about your body hair (if you do either) since the last time he was around everyone preferred going all natural.

This one’s less sexy but I’m putting it here anyways. He avoided taking off his shirt for ages since he didn’t want you to see all the scars he’d gotten over the years or any of the tattoos related to the things he did in the portal, especially the ones related to Bill. Surprisingly not as insecure about his “Flirty Gal” tramp stamp.

Doesn’t understand that he’s ridiculously hot. 

You jokingly said “Yes sir” one time and he got hard so quickly.

Although he does rather enjoy you taking the lead.

Loves experimenting with cock warming and edging. Literally. He’ll time the both of you and have everything written down somewhere and draw a graph with extra info like if you’re someone with a menstrual cycle and how that affects the results.

[yunwangja]

undercurrents | signal no. 17

masterlist

"i’m alisa. i was kuroo’s partner for his project."

you freeze. this is her. the girl from the date. your heart sinks as you picture them together, imagining all the worst possibilities.

did he leave his phone? why was she the one who picked up the call? is he still there? your mind begins to spiral, creating scenarios you can't control, each more painful than the last.

"oh," you manage to say, struggling to keep your voice steady. your throat feels tight, and your words come out slower than usual. "can i ask for kuroo?"

"uh, actually, kuroo left his phone here with me," she replies, "it’s a good thing you called - i couldn't open his phone on my own because it's password protected. i was thinking how to get it back to him. im at my place right now."

her place. your thoughts race, filling in the blanks with every worst-case scenario.

what does this mean? what the hell is happening? and what happened before this? and how could kuroo possibly accidentally leave his phone with her? the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to breathe.

"i can let his friends know," you force out, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. "they can come get it from you."

alisa agrees without hesitation, without ending the call, you quickly message the others, your fingers trembling slightly as you type.

after alisa says yes to the arrangement, you both settle to the conclusion that she'll call you back when she's arrived at the campus lobby where bo would be meeting her.

you sit in silence after the call ends, staring at your phone, thoughts swirling in your head. the quiet of your room seems louder now, every second stretching longer than it should.

where is kuroo right now? since she picked up the call at her place, was kuroo there before he left his phone? if they did, what did they do? does this mean he was that interested in her?

you try to shake off the uneasy thoughts, but they linger. you tell yourself not to jump to conclusions, but that’s easier said than done. your mind can’t help but imagine things of what might’ve happened after their date. it’s a battle between rationality and your emotions, and right now, the latter is winning.

then, your phone vibrates, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. kuroo's name appear on the caller id, and you assume it's alisa calling back, just as she promised.

“hello?” you answer, your voice a bit shaky but still composed.

“hey, i’m in the campus lobby,” alisa says. “bokuto isn’t here yet, but i’m sure he’ll be along soon.”

“thanks for letting me know.”

the silence stretches for a moment. it feels awkward, hanging between the two of you, and you can’t help but feel like you should say something - anything - to fill the void.

you fidget with your fingers, unsure of what to talk about. after all, you barely know this girl, and under any other circumstances, you wouldn’t be having this conversation at all.

alisa breaks the silence first. “so... are you and kuroo close?”

her question catches you off guard. “uh, yeah, i guess you could say that. we’ve known each other for a while.”

“that’s nice!" alisa replies, her tone friendly. “he’s been super focused on this project. it’s kept him really busy, huh?”

you nod again, though the weight of her words makes your chest feel tight. “yeah, he’s been juggling a lot.”

the conversation stalls again, leaving you with your thoughts. you’ve known kuroo’s been busy, but hearing it from her, someone who's been spending that time with him, feels like a punch in the gut. you hesitate before asking, “where is he, by the way?”

“oh, he didn’t say,” alisa responds casually. “he just told me he had to go and left. i noticed his phone when he was gone already, and i was going to chase after him but it was too late...”

you thought nothing suspicious about her answer, but nothing that assured you that nothing happened between them. the quiet between you both stretches again, heavy and uncomfortable, and you find yourself scrambling for something else - anything - to fill the silence.

“how’s the project been for you guys?” you ask, trying to make small talk.

“oh, it went really well!” she says brightly. “we worked hard, but it all paid off. i think kuroo was really happy with how it turned out.”

you try to smile at her words, but your curiosity is eating away at you. you feel the urge to ask more, even though a part of you is scared of what the answers might be.

your thoughts drift back to earlier, to the idea of them spending time together after their date, and your stomach knots with unease. but you have to know, even if the answer hurts.

desperate to distract yourself from the silence and your spiraling thoughts, you finally blurt out, “so... did you guys have a good time?”

it feels like a casual question, but the weight behind it is unmistakable to you.

alisa chuckles softly, "oh, it was nice. he’s really sweet, isn’t he?"

you force a smile, even though she can’t see it. the words feel like a punch to the gut, as if someone else is confirming how amazing kuroo is. "yeah, he is."

there’s a brief pause, and the silence returns uncomfortably. your mind is racing as you struggle to keep the conversation going.

"i’m glad you were with him while he was so busy. as i said earlier, he seems to take on a lot by himself." you say, trying to fill the void, but the words come out weaker than you intended.

"he really does," alisa agrees, her voice light, as if she’s completely unaware of the storm raging inside you. "we ended up spending a lot of time together because of it. it’s been fun. and he really knows how to make you feel at ease, doesn’t he?"

the words twist in your gut, and you have to bite your lip to keep from letting out a sound of distress. you know exactly what she means. you’ve felt it too; the way kuroo can make you feel seen and heard.

and now, to hear someone else describe it, to know that she experienced it too, feels like a betrayal, even though you know it’s not.

"yeah," you manage to say. "he’s always been good at that."

the conversation drags on, each passing moment feeling like a slow unraveling of everything you thought you knew. your heart sinks deeper, weighed down by the uncertainty, the fear that maybe you’re too late. the realization that someone else has shared in those moments with him, that she knows things about him you might never know, is almost too much to bear.

"i’m happy you guys enjoyed your date," you say, trying to sound normal, but there’s a slight tremor in your voice.

alisa laughs again, this time with more amusement. "he told you it was a date too, huh?"

you blink, caught off guard by her response. "wasn’t it?"

"no, not really," alisa explains, her tone light as if it’s no big deal. "i just asked him out to coffee because of the success of our project, nothing more. he thought it was a date until he thanked me and mentioned it. so i cleared things up."

you don’t know what to say, the relief washing over you in waves, but mingling with confusion. before you can ask what happened after, alisa interrupts.

"oh, bokuto’s here," she says, her tone signaling the end of the conversation. "i’ll give him the phone. thanks a lot,"

"okay," you reply, still dazed, your mind racing with all the things you didn’t get to say or ask. bo takes the phone and tells you everything’s good, but his words barely register. you nod, barely listening, too caught up in your own thoughts.

you’re left with a thousand questions, but no answers. you want to know more, to ask her what happened next, but you guess you won’t get to know anymore.

did they talk about you? was kuroo relieved when she clarified it wasn’t a date, or was he disappointed? the uncertainty gnaws at you, leaving you with nothing but doubts.

all of a sudden, there’s a knock on your bedroom door. your heart jumps into your throat. you hesitate, then get up to answer it. you bid bo goodbye on the other line and end the call as you approach closer.

maybe it was one of your roommates checking up on your or asking for an update about what has happened. you wondered who it might be as you opened the door.

and there he was.

kuroo, breathless and panting, his hair slightly disheveled as if he ran the whole way. his eyes lock onto yours, wide with urgency.

"kuroo," you begin, confused. "what are you doing-"

"i want you, y/n."

notes

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

next signal will be LOADED also bc we will see kuroo's pov !!

idk if this was a long update or not (than usual) but yeah

i had to edit this a lot of times bc i had to make sure that everything would be laid out well

taglist: @lvtilzs @rarararararq @iamfontenlos @kurooswifeyy @secretsunsetsociety @kagsnumnine @yumiecheesecrackers @tojirin @jaynawayna @noxva08 @zahrawr-writes-fanfics @mawenskiblue @smellysluna @cccccccccccleo @winniethepooh-lover @akirqx @cupidsblonde @kukkurookkoo@emotiandon @urslytherin

[coffeegnomee]

Ok just caught up and like. What the fuck man. 

I literally all can do is just sit here and hope and pray that the old members stick it out and help the new members understand what lifesteal is actually about.

Because lifesteal has the reputation of being the lying and betraying and killing people server. 

But it is just Not That. Like obviously those things have happened on the server, fine. 

But lifesteal is far far far more about teammates. Believing that they will have your back. Working together to do cool shit. Trusting each other. 

It’s about commitment and honor and respect and working together on an interesting goal. 

It’s about not screwing over your teammates for a cheap moment that ruins the rest of your relationship on the server. (Mapicc showed this perfectly this week too! He ended the experiments because he’d rather have a teammate than execute a crazy emotional manipulation arc on Zam and really push him over the edge.) 

They sacrifice for each other. They protect each other. They pick each other up when they get killed by their enemies. They encourage them when they’re down. Help them be strong against their fears. Get each other gear and hearts and make sure they’re safe. Spend hours on each other’s arc together in vc all night. 

They lie to OTHERS for their team. They protect the wormhole for months even when they don’t want to or believe in it at all.

They do tiny little things that they know the other person will like just so they know they love them and appreciate them being on the team. They say it too, to each other’s faces. 

It’s about loving each other bro. There’s a massive fucking reason why there’s so much shipping fanart man. They fucking love each other platonically so damn much and so damn perfectly that you can make it romantic and it’s like not even like all that weird.

It makes me so fucking mad that you could boil down this beautiful server into lying and killing and go on it and be like, I heard princezam betrays every team he’s on obviously we should betray everyone and be on the lookout for every single person being a betrayer. 

Zam fucking lost his mind over betraying team awesome and eclipse. He AGONIZED for MONTHS before pulling the trigger for eclipse and he didn’t betray team awesome until after their massive arc together that he was completely loyal to, finished it out as a team, and only when they looked like they weren’t going to give up their unfair advantage did he seek to leave them. And he fought them and left.

The fucking respect he has for a team is insane.

And same goes for Bacon and Mapicc. 

as for others:

Ro only betrays if he gets a better offer (from mapicc) 

Leo betrays when it’s interesting for the story to have a juggernaut.

Spoke betrays only when he has his own bigger plan to execute that will create something interesting for the whole server to encounter. 

Clown only betrays when you go against his morals of creating content by chaos. 

I can’t even think of any notable betrayals from before s5. Most of the server does not betray ever. Most of the server never lies. 

They only lie and betray when it’s for the benefit of the content. 

And that’s what fucking makes me so upset about this. Bacon is doing this arc for the BETTERMENT of the server. He literally says he’s doing it to make other people’s lives on the sever more interesting. It ain’t even about him. He’s not even making a video about this. He just likes to do cool shit on the server because it’s fun to craft an overarching story for everyone to play into.

It’s never been about hearts man. 

The most valuable resource on the server is content. 

And Bacon understands this. In a way that quite possibly could make him a worldender like spoke and clown. He’s really getting into the role of strategizing fun things for the server to do for no other reason than someone has to do it and that it’s good for the server. 

But the new members just do not understand what “for content” means. They just kill randomly. They don’t defend each other. They don’t tell the other teammate to give the heart back bc it’s been proven enough that they’re innocent. They’re constantly suspicious and will only meet if there are no enemies online. 

It’s not about the hearts man. 

It’s about the team.

[epickiya722]

I don't think I expressed enough how much I do actually like that Yuji is this... I don't know how to really put it into words but... how Yuji is this unique embodiment of horror and strangeness.

Like, just the details of his character makes him stand out to me. Everyone in JJK has some bit of oddness to them, and he has own unique kind.

He looks like sunshine personified and he is. He is the sweetest kid there is. And he looks like the typical "Oh, he must be the normal one who has to adapt to the horrors the other have to go through" character. Ha ha... no, he is the horror. He is the "creepy child" trope without even showing that he is.

Yuji is the kind of horror you actually have to put thought into to even realize "Oh, wait, that is actually fucked up". Fridge horror, the horror that you think nothing too much of until you really open your mind to it.

Like, he's this own level of odd with how he behaves and thinks.

First, it's his interests. Yuji didn't mind really being in the occult club. Of course, his reasons was that the club time allowed him enough time to see his grandfather. But also, even though he didn't have to really participate, he actively does. Iguchi and Sasaki exploring haunted places? Yuji tags along and isn't frightened at all. Mind you, they like going go haunted places because they like being scared. Why folks watch horror movies and go to attractions, right?

Yuji will play with an oujia board.

Fan of a movie series titled the Human Earthworm and actually can find the beauty and love in said movies. He's so real for that.

So far it's just simple stuff like that, right?

First time seeing a curse? Admits to being scared, but barely even flinches. When Megumi talks about the Cursed Finger and mentions how curses want to eat it? His response?

"Why, is it good?"

IT'S A FINGER?!

When informed about Inumaki's technique? What was the example he uses? "So if he says 'die' then it will happen?" Out of all the examples?! He was more impressed by the technique than actually fearful of it.

That Cursed Doll he had to train with? Called it "cute" and Gojo questioned that. In fact, when meeting Yaga, Yuji commented on how the dolls were cute.

How he fights is even a little odd and unsettling. He immediately goes into action, doesn't even need to hear the bell. He always has this look on his face that "Yeah, your kneecaps are mine". Not once has I ever recalled he actually smiles during a fight. Unlike some of the others who have showcased some enjoyment or some type of being unhinged in a "to hell with it" mood, Yuji always has this almost animalistic glare, that kind of unhinged. He isn't holding back, even against normal people like the high school bullies in chapter 163. Sometimes I question if he even knows how to hold back.

He doesn't like to get violent or kill. If he has to, he will. But it's just not anything he can brush off or be like "Yeah, I like doing it".

Then the idea of dying? Yeah, Yuji makes it clear he knows people will die. Execution placed on his head? He accepts dying with Sukuna instead of asking if there's any way to work around it, find a solution. Keep in mind, Sukuna is downright evil and does nothing but make life hard for Yuji every chance gets.

However, by the end, Yuji changes from choosing to die with Sukuna, so that no one else has to suffer, to offering Sukuna to live along side him even if no one accepts that.

Oh, let's not forget his family.

Yeah, Sukuna I just mentioned? That's his uncle by soul reincarnation. Jin, Yuji's dad who we don't really know what happened to him, is the reincarnation of Sukuna's twin that Sukuna ate in the womb. Doesn't stop there.

Yuji's mother, Kenjaku? Actually a 1000+ year old sorcerer who body hops by implanting their brain into whatever body they find convenient for their plans. One of those bodies happen to be Kaori Itadori, Jin's wife. Jin's dead wife. Kenjaku played wife in a woman's dead body, the same body Yuji was born from.

Yuji was born out of a corpse. With one of the Cursed Finger somehow already sealed inside him.

His other family members include Death Paintings: Choso, Eso, Kechizu, Noranso, Sho-oso, Tanso, Sanso, Kotsuso, and Shoso. His older siblings (technically) through Kenjaku, who was possessing Noritoshi Kamo's (the ancestor) body at the time. And guess what? Their blood consists of a human's blood, a cursed spirit's and Kenjaku's.

Yeah, like them, Yuji isn't really human. Again, born with one of Sukuna's Cursed Fingers already sealed in him. Without Cursed Energy, he was already outrunning cars and possessing strength not normal for the average human.

Oh, wait, and let's not forget his 'appetite'. He will eat anything if it means saving people. And he has. Other than Cursed Fingers, the other Cursed Objects Yuji consumed are his own siblings 4 - 9. Mind you, they were akin to fetuses contained in glass jars. (He isn't happy about eating them or anything for that matter though. I wouldn't be either.)

In all, he's just fridge horror with a some goodness mixed in there. I'm just rambling here.

[anghraine]

It's interesting (if often frustrating) to see the renewed Orc Discourse after the last few episodes of ROP. I've seen arguments that orcs have to be personifications of evil rather than people as such or else the ethics of our heroes' approach to them becomes much more fraught. Tolkien's work, as written, seems an odd choice to me for not wrangling with difficult questions, and of course, more diehard fans are going to immediately bring up Shagrat and Gorbag.

If you haven't read LOTR recently, Shagrat and Gorbag are two orcs who briefly have a conversation about how they're being screwed over by Sauron but have no other real options, about their opinions of mistakes that have been made, that they think Sauron himself has made one, but it's not safe to discuss because Sauron has spies in their own ranks. They reminisce about better times when they had more freedom and fantasize about a future when they can go elsewhere and set up a small-scale banditry operation rather than being involved in this huge-scale war. Eventually, however, they end up turning on each other.

Basically any time that someone brings up the "humanity" of this conversation, someone else will point out that they're still bad people. They're not at all guilty about what they're part of. They just resent the dangers to themselves, the pressure from above, failures of competence, the surveillance they're under, and their lack of realistic alternative options. The dream of another life mentioned in the conversation is still one of preying on innocent people, just on a much smaller and more immediate scale, etc.

I think this misses the reason it keeps getting brought up, though. The point is not that Shagrat and Gorbag are good people. The point is that they are people.

There's something very normal and recognizable about their resentment of their superiors, their fears of reprisal and betrayal that ultimately are realized, their dislike of this kind of industrial war machine that erases their individual work and contributions, the tinge of wistfulness in their hope of escape into a different kind of life. Their dialect is deliberately "common"—and there's a lot more to say about that and the fact that it's another commoner, Sam, who outwits them—but one of the main effects is to make them sound familiar and ordinary. And it's interesting that one of the points they specifically raise is that they're not going to get better treatment from "the good guys" so they can't defect, either.

This is self-interested, yes, but it's not the self-interest of some mystical being or spirit or whatnot, but of people.

Tolkien's later remarks tend to back this up. He said that female orcs do exist, but are rarely seen in the story because the characters only interact with the all-male warrior class of orcs. Whatever female orcs "do," it isn't going to war. Maybe they do a lot of the agricultural work that is apparently happening in distant parts of Mordor, maybe they are chiefly responsible for young orcs, maybe both and/or something else, we don't know. But we know they're out there and we know that they reproduce sexually and we know that they're not part of the orcish warrior class.

Regardless of all the problems with this, the idea that orcs have a gender-restricted warrior class at all and we're just not seeing any of their other classes because of where the story is set doesn't sound like automatons of evil. It sounds like an actual culture of people that we only see along the fringes.

And this whole matter of "but if they're people, we have to think about ethics, so they can't be people" is a weird circular argument that cannot account for what's in LOTR or for much of what Tolkien said afterwards. Yes, he struggled with The Problem of Orcs and how to reconcile it with his world building and his ethical system, but "maybe they're not people" is ultimately not a workable solution as far as LOTR goes and can't even account for much of the later evolution of his ideas, including explicit statements in his letters.

And in the end, the real response that comes to mind to that circular argument is "maybe you should think about ethics more."

[muwapsturniolo]

Hockey!matt

First post in the AU!

MATT STURNIOLO: PASSIONATE OR A HOT HEAD?

"Matthew Bernard Sturniolo, a 24-year-old triplet native to Boston Massachusetts. According to his parents, from a young age he and his youngest brother Christopher Owen Sturniolo, were always interested in sports. Seeing this, the parents decided to throw the boys in any sport they could. They started off playing for their town's soccer team, a typical thing for most kids to do. However, it seemed as if the sport wasn't enough for a young Matthew. It was too easy, he cleared all the other kids without even trying. Seeing this, his parents threw him into another sport, lacrosse. Now this held Matthew over for a long time until it became boring, he needed something more.

That's when hockey came into play, a sport most boys in Boston find solace in during the cold months. The sport seemed to be Matt's calling, the ice feeling like a second home. His talent was natural, something most people couldn't obtain no matter how much they trained. He ended up loving the sport so much, he made it his full-time career.

At age 17, he graduated high school alongside his two brothers and their childhood best friend. All four boys managed to get full-ride scholarships to Boston University, a school that had many NCAA wins, and has sent many players to the NHL. Matt took control of the Terriers by force, quickly becoming the captain when only being a freshman. Many of his former teammates and coaches had good things to say about him, but something stood out to me. That something was his anger.

"He was a hothead, always shouting and yelling at us during practice"

"There were a couple of times where he broke his stick and punched a locker after losing a game"

"I remember he argued with our coach one day. The argument was so bad, both of them just ripping into each other. It escalated so quick, one second they were shouting and the next Matt was throwing punches."

All of these are quotes by old teammates who would like to stay anonymous.

It was an evident pattern that managed to follow him to where he is now, the lucky star of the Boston Bruins. I had the specialty of sitting in on some of the practices, seeing how the men work with each other. Just like I expected, Matt was a force to be reckoned with. He yelled and berated some of his teammates, even going as far as getting into an argument with his own brother. It's hard to tell if it's just him being driven by passion, or if he simply has anger issues. I chose to go with the latter considering what I saw during the first game of the preseason.

The Bruins were losing against the New York Rangers, not that the score mattered. The preseason is mainly for the coaches to evaluate their team and see who fits where. So why was Matt Sturniolo causing fights, yelling at refs, and being an overall hothead? He resembled the Hulk, the brute green giant who was also a hothead when angry. It seems as if no matter the situation, training, preseason, or the actual NHL season, he was locked in and out for blood.

He's passionate about the sport, perhaps too passionate. Would it be his downfall? Would the Bruins let him go and leave him to reminisce about his glory days while he rots? We will have to tune in to this year's NHL season to find out."

Y/n Y/L * october 3rd, 2024

AHHHHHH A NEW TROPE/AU!!!!! I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY THIS! IF THIS IS CONFSUING IM SORRY! I TRIED TO MAKE THIS INTRO THE ARTICLE READER (AKA YOU) WROTE ABOUT MATT WHICH JUST SO HAPPENS TO BE HOW YALL MEET! I HOPE THIS GIVES A GOOD BACKGROUND! I PLAN ON DOING FICS FOR THIS AU BUT IM ALSO WILLING TO DO BLURBS JUST HOW I DID FOR BUNNY!READER!!!

LET ME KNOW WHAT YALL THINK!!

[talenlee]

Game Pile: Kentucky Route 0, One of Three Games About America

Script and Thumbnail below the fold!

Kentucky Route Zero is a magical realist point and click game of what I’d normally call Narrative Adventure, which came to kickstarter in 2011, then came out in 2013, 2014, 2016, and 2020, because you can’t have nothing for free, even things you pay for. The game is a text-driven game without any of the trappings of your typical point-and-clicker where you jam a ladder in your pants and try to work out why you want to put green dye in the water fountain. Instead it follows the haunted mind of Conway, a trucky driver and his interactions with small handful of people on a part of the Kentucky Interstate, while he to find the place he needs to do his delivery, despite being utterly lost.

I enjoyed what of Kentucky Route Zero I played, but the thing that stands out to me in hindsight is its sound design. It’s a beautifully defined game, audio-wise, with all sorts of thoughtful foley for its environments, and the way that even the pieces of the interface that Conway interacts with have their own sort of specific authentic sounds, chonks and thunks and ch-zzzzses.

It’s also visually splendid, beautiful in what it tries to represent in the heightened reality of its setting but also the format of a videogame. These places look good from the angle that’s chosen, creating lines of artwork and bars of cages, depending on what you’re focusing on, and by being a fixed-camera story of its type, Kentucky Route Zero takes on traits of theatre, with blocking and careful positioning and timing all making up part of how the story unfolds.

A story I haven’t finished.

See, I don’t feel like playing Kentucky Route Zero Act V.

Sit down, traveller. Let me tell you a story.

There’s a chance you’ve heard this story before. I’ve anonymised it here, not because I think you shouldn’t be able to work out who it is, but because the idea of focusing on the who runs the risk of ignoring the what. Plus, I don’t want to direct anyone to a person who said something stupid and encourage fights. That’s not the important issue.

This is the story of when someone perfectly represented something, and probably never realised it.

You will sometimes hear me talk about the take that ‘there are three games about America,’ with a tone of utter revulsion and derision. This is from an incident back in 2020, when a game developer and advocate for inclusive games, had an opinion, on the internet. This advocate is well-established and has a big audience, but also, he’s crucially, not a white guy, not a Christian guy, and not an American guy. These are factors that play into what he said, which was, in summary, that while Kentucky Route 0 was no doubt phenomenal, he wasn’t interested in playing it right now.

To this, an actual adult responded with:

This is legitimately the worst take you’ve ever had. There are only about three games that are actually American, and this is one of them. Everything else is designed for export. Kr0 is a precious and valuable thing. It is of immense and intense personal importance.

Now, resisting the urge to argue with a tweet, which is just generally a bad practice that leads to doing things like wanting to be on twitter, and setting aside this tweet conflating ‘this is of personal importance to me’ and ‘this should be of importance to you,’ this position describes the idea that there are only three games that are ‘actually American.’

What does it mean to be ‘actually American?’

America is a pretty pervasive presence, if you’re not aware of it. Most people in the world have to know about what’s going on in America. We know about your Presidents and your Senators and your Constitution, to the point where people can be more aware of how your country’s laws work than their own country’s laws. I’ve often seen it held up as an example of how poorly educated people in say, Canada and Australia are that we believe we have, say, a ‘first amendment right,’ but the thing is you have to ask why there is that.

We watch so much American TV.

We listen to American music.

We try to make our news broadcasts look like yours, because that’s what real and legitimate news looks like. We try to retell your stories in our local languages because that’s what real media looks like. Our children sing songs in your accents because that’s the culture that a multi-trillion dollar economy has pumped into the whole world.

America demands we attend their wars and surrender our living to become their dead and when we are done America sells the survivors a cheeseburger.

This is not a remarkable or controversial statement. You must know, this is not even vaguely challenging to know about. Everywhere in the world is replicating parts of the American empire, because America exports and enforces the vision of the American empire. McDonalds may sell curry in India, but it’s very important that the curry being sold is McDonalds curry because that is how you know it’s an American style curry.

What this means is when someone tries to assert there are only really three games about America, that’s a kind of specialised brain rot that requires you to consider games that are very much about America as not being really about America. And thus we see the other thing about America, which is it’s not enough for America to be the most important place in the world that everyone else in the world needs to recognise, but also, most of America is inadequately America for this vision of America. You saw this in the wake of 9/11, and the election of Barack Obama: huge amounts of American media resurged in extolling the values of ‘real’ America, as opposed to the parts of America where the vast majority of Americans lived, which just so happened to paint a lot of marginalised people living in the cities as ‘fake Americans.’

I am not bringing you unique information. This is just obviously true things if you don’t live within the boundaries of an environment that flatters you as the most normal thing in the world. The vast majority of the world is not America. There are eight billion people in the world, more or less, meaning that America is about 4% of the world, and yet, it is catastrophically, overwhelmingly, deleritously the common touchstone for how things are ‘supposed’ to work. This is through media imperialism, which is mostly supported by American companies exporting all their media to foreign markets extremely cheaply.

‘about three games that are actually American.’

This fascinating piece of doofusry still, even now leaves me agog. ‘Actually American.’ Kentucky Route 0 is actually American, you see, as opposed to… what? Is America’s Army one of them? You know, the game financed by the American Army? What about Call of Duty, a franchise that is in part subsidised by American military complex manufacturers? What about Grand Theft Auto, a videogame that tells the rags-to-riches story of American excess in criminality, setting aside the way it’s made by a Scottish company. Actually American, because American doesn’t mean America, it means one tiny little pool of ‘America’ where the speaker can imagine there’s a realness and an authenticity to the America-ness that doesn’t involve all the messy realities of what it is to be America. It’s the towns of hard-working people, that suffer under your particular description of oppression, whether that’s cities full of nonwhite people or corporations bleeding the country dry, always eliding the social cruelties and terribleness of these places, as if giving people money stops them from being bigoted (for example).

This is then used to recruit these poor, superior Americans, the you know, America Americans, whose sufferings are noble and whose authenticity cannot be impeached and they are then used as a defense against criticism of, you know, America. It’s the same speech Charlie Daniels gave about how foreigners may think they could push around Barack Obama (a dude who bombed a lot of shepherds with the most elaborate and brutal military ordinance in the world) but they were going to have a harder time taking on Americans who wrestled alligators, who at this point have exactly zero recorded drone strike kills.

This is because America America isn’t real.

‘Real’ America is a nebulous nothing that you can project whatever you want onto, and which is also not responsible for anything terrible that America does. It’s not the American Empire, it’s not the exporter of culture, it’s somehow purer, better, a sort of individualised folk who are to be protected and extolled, shriven of all the things about America that make it anything but its perfect idealised form of America.

I could go on.

I really could.

This is something that defines the world I have to live in. I speak English. I’m white. I’m from a coloniser state. I should be able to integrate easily and smoothly into the white supremacist capitalist hierarchy of American culture, but we are told, that no, we are not acceptable. We are only valid as long as our differences are invisible. We, a real people, do not get to have opinions on America, because we do not know True America. When you spell colour wrong in a chat message, when your accent isn’t quite right, when you don’t know the difference between junior and sophomore year of high school, then you are shown, you are evinced, and you are made very aware that you are other, you are outside, you are wrong.

And really, there’s no good reason for it. We send our soldiers to America’s wars, we buy America’s submarines, and we sing your songs. Our currency mimics America’s, our culture permeats with America’s, we even have such a crushing inferiority complex about the empire that there’s an academic term for what we feel about our own media compared to the media of the truer, proper empire to which we are vassal.

The term is ‘cultural cringe,’ and it was coined by Henry Lawson, who you, odds on, have never heard of. In 1894, he wrote:

The Australian writer, until he gets a “London hearing,” is only accepted as an imitator of some recognized English or American author; and, as soon as he shows signs of coming to the front, he is labelled “The Australian Southey,” “The Australian Burns,” or “The Australian Bret Harte,” and lately, “The Australian Kipling.” Thus no matter how original he may be, he is branded, at the very start, as a plagiarist, and by his own country, which thinks, no doubt, that it is paying him a compliment and encouraging him, while it is really doing him a cruel and an almost irreparable injury. But mark! As soon as the Southern writer goes “home” and gets some recognition in England, he is “So-and-So, the well-known Australian author whose work has attracted so much attention in London lately”; and we first hear of him by cable, even though he might have been writing at his best for ten years in Australia.

This is imperialism. This is a way in which we have been induced and brought by the empires around us to accept their ways as correct, as the normal, as default. And that is the mindset you must have if you want to look at the breadth of videogames, with their American ideas like health insurance, readily available guns, the importance of freedom, the ubiquity of air travel, the branding and iconography of types of food and the sports metaphors and then say ‘yeah, this doesn’t have anything to do with America, not really.’

Anyway, this thread, this incident, was a big deal at the time, in that there were a lot of people from within the community of game developers and journalists who seemed very happy to line up and get mad at a brown foreigner for being inadequately enthusiastic about the possibility of playing a videogame. But don’t worry, after a day or two, an apology was forthcoming for all of this fracas, by which I mean, the original developer apologised for being so thoughtless as to, again, express honest lack of enthusiasm in a videogame.

For me, this was a kind of break point, where I started just blocking indie devs on sight. I don’t want to know what they’re involved in, I don’t want to promote their work, and I will hold tiny grudges against them that I do not seek to transfer or encourage in others. This was one silly incident in which a lot of people said something silly because they don’t know better, or they’re arseholes.

None of this is fair to Kentucky Route 0. It’s a game with its own intentions and its own perspective. It’s not trying to make this conversation happen. Kentucky Route 0 has been choked and gripped by this position around it, where to talk about an American game, someone put a cross on it that made it the avatar for All Things America. The wild thing to me is that I had, prior to this point, played two episodes of Kentucky Route 0. I thought it was pretty good, and I liked what it did with the negative space of dialogue options – when a character you’re controlling makes excuses, the excuses you choose show you other things you could be making excuses about that you, the player, didn’t know beforehand. That’s some good Narrative Storytelling Design, I like that a lot. But now I can’t really engage with Kentucky Route Zero because the main thing it makes me think about is how this final chapter, meant to round out the game’s story and present a conclusion and a point, became this flashpoint for a lot of people to be very casually racist.

Which kinda poisons the whole thing for me. It’s an authentic thing, I’m sure, it’s a thoughtful thing, too, but the people stepping up to say I should care about it did so in a way that made me hate them.

Any time you see me say ‘three games about America’ I’m talking about this, and the attitude of a particular kind of American that America is, as always, exceptional. It’s real easy to not realise when you’re just voicing your self-centeredness and how easy that is to ignore the opinions of people around you and what they’re saying. This is what I’m talking about when I mention ‘the three games about America.’

[fade for credit text]

By the way, the three games about America are Crash Bandicoot, Sam & Max Hit The Road, and Bust A Move.

[read-marx-and-lenin]

heyo- a friend is trying to get me to read 1984 because 'it'll totally change your worldview on government and anarchism', but i've heard some bad things about the book itself/george orwell. should i read it? is there anything similar/more theorylike i could read instead?

thank you! your blog rocks <3 <3

Go ahead and read it if you want. It's a classic entry into the genre of dystopian science fiction and it has spawned many imitators since its publication. However, if you're looking for actual theory or history, you won't find it there. I would recommend Pat Sloan's "Soviet Democracy" or Anna Louise Strong's "The Soviets Expected It" and "The Stalin Era" if you want real accounts of the Soviet Union under Stalin.

Orwell never actually visited the Soviet Union, and 1984 is based not on his own personal experience with the country but instead on Western propagandistic views of the country and his own displeasure towards the fact that during World War II, when the UK and the USSR were allies, the British press was much less keen to publish anti-Soviet works right at the same time he was trying to get Animal Farm published. You must also understand that his wife worked for the UK's Ministry of Information as a censor and Orwell himself worked at the BBC producing wartime propaganda. It is not a coincidence then that the main character of 1984, Winston Smith, is a censor and propaganda official working with the fictional "Ministry of Truth" and eventually finding himself battling against state control of information.

Ironically, after stylizing himself so much as a defender of liberty and freedom against the "totalitarianism" of the time, Orwell would write up a list of alleged subversive writers for the British Information Research Department, a secret department tasked with publishing anti-communist propaganda during the Cold War. Some of this propaganda would end up being a comic strip version of Orwell's Animal Farm. There is a significant throughline in both Animal Farm and 1984 that clearly betrays Orwell's political views. In both works, the proletariat are depicted as nothing more than idiots and sheep who follow the orders of anyone willing to give them work and are easily duped by intellectuals. In 1984, he phrases it as the proletariat being more "free" simply because they're so insignificant as to warrant no government surveillance.

In 1984, the fictional society of "Oceania" is a far cry from a dictatorship of the proletariat. The proletariat have no political power, they all live in slums and are mollified by bread and circuses. How is the building of the slums organized? Where does the money go when one buys their bread? We are not told anything about this except that the process is slow and inefficient. The story isn't interested in material concerns. The "proles" do their work, we are told, but we are never shown much more than informal labor. We don't know who is telling them to work or how they are getting paid. The "Outer Party" is supposedly the white collar "middle" class of Oceanic society, but despite the amount of focus the story has on this class, we are never shown a single Party member managing a workplace or poring over receipts. We are to believe that the proletariat are simultaneously left to their own devices and unmolested by the state, while also completely under the control of the state through invisible mechanisms that are never elaborated upon. While Winston will complain endlessly about his own quality of life, not once does a single prole gripe about their job. The cost and quality of goods come up sporadically and only to illustrate the deterioration of English society under Party rule, never to illustrate any material basis of said rule.

Even more at the periphery are the colonized peoples (although never described as such) within the war-torn areas never under the permanent control of any world power. All three of the global superpowers are said to be in a constant struggle over the control and enslavement of these super-exploited workers and the resources of their nations, which are said to make up a significant proportion of the material resources of each superpower, however at the same time they are not considered to be part of the proletariat and are dismissed as entirely disposable and unnecessary for the maintenance of any of these superpowers. To Orwell, it seems, colonialism is simply a thing the colonizers do out of habit and not a phenomenon with an actual material basis or actual material effects. In turn, the colonized are not actual people who might take umbrage with the constant conflict imposed upon them, but rather chattel that is perfectly content to be traded back and forth among the colonizers.

The importance of the middle class in society is a recurring theme in 1984. For example, the Trotsky-esque political treatise Winston reads within the story, "The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism", begins with a twist on Marxist historical materialism - while it recognizes the role of class conflict in human history, it asserts a transhistorical narrative of the eternal existence of three separate classes within society since "Neolithic times": the upper, middle, and lower classes. It is then asserted that it is the middle and only the middle class that is ever revolutionary, and that when it appeals to the lower classes it does so only to use them as a cudgel against the upper classes and never out of a genuine concern for their wellbeing. The treatise, idealistic as it is, provides little definition of these classes. The lower classes are described as "crushed by drudgery" and in a constant state of servitude that places them incapable of achieving political consciousness, something reserved solely for the upper and middle classes. The upper class is defined simply as the "directing" class, and the middle as the "executive" class. The identity of the middle class within Oceania is made clear: they are the "Outer Party", the white collar intelligentsia and managerial class which Winston and Julia belong to. One must assume Orwell viewed himself as a member of the middle class as well. If this section of the book is at all reflective of Orwell's own views (and to be clear no part of the book refutes this outlook,) then Orwell's rejection of Marxism-Leninism is rooted in his view of the vanguard party as simply a mechanism for the intelligentsia and bureaucrats to trick the stupid proles into overthrowing the bourgeoisie, rather than as a genuine means of proletarian liberation.

The politics of the Party are entirely idealistic in nature. "Big Brother" dominates through control of ideology and speech. The goal of Ingsoc, the ruling ideology of Oceania, is to make dissent impossible through the thorough alteration of language and the removal of words which could represent ideas that are not in line with Ingsoc, a process called "Newspeak". It is explicitly stated, however, that none of this ideological control is directed towards the proletariat, which is said to make up 85% of Oceania's population. The proles are not expected to learn Newspeak, they are not monitored by the telescreens, because as is stated quite frankly in the book, "the masses never revolt of their own accord, and they never revolt merely because they are oppressed." That this line is given by the villain of the story is unimportant, because the story never refutes it.

While Winston routinely repeats his belief that "hope lies in the proles", he is consistently met with scenes that challenge his faith whenever he winds up interacting with the proletariat. His conversations with proles reveal their total lack of concern with politics or history. He hears a crowd erupt into chaos and briefly hopes it's the proletarian uprising he is waiting for, only to find it's simply a riot over consumer goods. They are more than once compared to animals. While it is said in exposition that intelligent members of the proletariat who might end up fomenting dissent are eliminated, this is never actually depicted. We don't see Winston meeting with a single intelligent and politically conscious prole. The most intelligent prole he meets turns out to be a secret member of the "Thought Police". And so, the concept remains theoretical.

Winston is depicted as an ardent materialist, desperately defending the notion of external reality against deranged idealists who believe that through control of thought, control of reality becomes possible. But the world he lives in is not material. It is fictional, of course, but more than that, the fictional world described operates on idealistic principles even from Winston's own perspective. Winston's worldview is a faith based one, appealing not to any material basis for liberation but purely to emotion. It is love and the spirit of humanity that is the basis of freedom, and material freedom springs forth from it. Anyone who thinks otherwise is merely a trickster trying to control the masses.

Orwell rejected the material basis of history because he rejected the idea of a revolution on a material basis. To him, the revolution must be an ideological one, and the problem lie not in how society and the economy are organized but in the existence of hateful "authoritarian" ideologies governing the world. He believed the material basis was already here, that industry alone was the solution to material inequality, and so we must concern ourselves now only with the idea of equality and freedom, and from an abstract and universal viewpoint to boot. It is intolerable to him that a revolution be fought against an actual enemy in the real world. The problem is not that the capitalists are in control of the means of production, the problem is that the workers are too stupid to disobey them. A real revolutionary class would spontaneously throw off its own shackles through thought alone. It doesn't matter that Orwell was a lackey and a snitch, because in his mind he was freer and smarter than everyone else.

The bravery of Winston Smith was in recognizing the existence of a material reality that lies and propaganda could never destroy even while being tortured into believing such absurd notions as "two plus two equals five". But Orwell was never tortured into any of his incorrect beliefs. His incorrect beliefs stem purely from accepting the official narrative that he was fed and refusing to investigate its veracity for himself. Orwell's writing was used as propaganda against the designated enemy of the UK throughout the Cold War, adapted countless times in the forms of radio plays, TV shows, movies, and comic books. He never made an effort to actually travel to the Soviet Union to find out if what he was told about the country was true. All the other upper middle class "left-wing" intellectuals he hung out with seemed to be just as concerned as he was with the rising tide of "totalitarianism" and the supposed excesses of the Soviet Union, so why shouldn't he agree? He was in this regard no different than the Western "socialists" of the modern day who have no shortage of vitriol towards China or North Korea. Yes, he might performatively rail against chauvinism and nationalism, but only enough to ensure that he wouldn't be seen as a conservative. He still knew in his heart that his country was surely better than those barbarous communists in the East.

Yes Orwell was sexist and homophobic, and despite his best efforts he remained plagued by racist and antisemitic attitudes, but in addition to all that his books promulgated a view of the world entirely in line with British bourgeois values, which is why they were so eagerly used as propaganda by the British government. The Nazis were bad and the Soviets were bad because they were both authoritarian, and the differences between them were negligible and unworthy of mention. The references 1984 makes to the shifting alliances in Oceania, "we are at war with Eurasia" becoming "we are at war with Eastasia" and vice-versa, are most likely allegories for the shifting alliances of Britain at the time, how they viewed the Soviets as an enemy before the war, as an ally during the war, and as an enemy again once the war was over. Orwell viewed himself as above all of this simply because his view of the Soviets never changed at any point throughout this.

[ghouldtime]

Hiii it's me again lol

Okayokay, so I just finished reading your rant on the COD fandom's unique choice of pet names, and I'm gonna be straight up and say I'm going completely off topic and INSTEAD veer off to a side thing you pointed out to give my own opinion! This is a kinda hot take so I'm just screaming into the void hoping someone shares my thoughts 🖤

Sooo we all know the Ghost comics released alongside the OG MW2. I personally haven't read it due to the TWs but I've seen enough screenshots and summaries to get the gist of what happens. HOWEVER I believe those comics are only canon to 09 Ghost and doesn't apply to reboot Ghost, and this is what I meant about it being a hot take cuz almost everyone in the fandom agrees the comics happens for both. And I can definitely see why! I mean, we didn't exactly get any concrete backstory regarding reboot Ghost, so anything goes.

Where I stand on the line, I'm a firm believer of reboot Ghost being Just A Guy™️like he had a (relatively) chill childhood but there are some things that stay the same with the comics. Like Tommy scaring him with the skeleton mask when they were children, and Simon enlisting after the 9/11 attack (not sure if those are canon, it's just what I've heard so please correct me if I'm wrong). No abusive father, no Roba, no Christmas trauma. Sure it makes him less interesting but I find it pretty amusing how the person wearing a skull print balaclava has no real reason behind wearing it other than it looking cool lmao

Anyway, yap fest over! Hope you have a wonderful day/night and remember to hydrate! 🖤

- Biscuits 🌺

SALUTATIONS it's good to see you again, I hope you're doing swell as well :D 💚💚💚

Technically, what you're saying is true!

The '09 comics pair with the '09 character and are indeed cannon for only him as far as I'm aware (someone feel free to correct me if I'm wrong). The reboot lacks a true significant backstory. As in, if you search it up, you basically get "he joined the SAS and is super cool and is great at doing cool soldier things and probably can do a sick backflip". What we know about the reboot is basically what we experience in game. And until we get either another game focusing on his earlier life or have confirmed scenes of it, we really don't know.

Personally, how I distinguish "Ghost" as a being is as three versions.

You have '09 Ghost. '09 Ghost is the one we experienced in the OG games and the comics. He's the dead one - and the one with the actual official backstory. Those are both cannon and are tied to him as a character.

You then have Reboot Ghost. Reboot Ghost is, as the name entails, the reboot alone. Basically, what we have of him and know of him is what we experience in game. Technically, we don't know his backstory and the full extent of his life. Is it similar to his '09 counterpart? We don't know. He's kinda the "What you see is what you get". There's some things implied with his dialog but most of his story is up for debate.

And then we have what I'm calling Fandom Ghost who is the most common variant. Fandom Ghost is neither the reboot nor the '09 version - he's a middle ground. He's what everyone is thinking of when you hear 'Ghost'. Usually how I've seen him portrayed is the reboot with the '09 backstory or some semblance of that.

(Side note: I know it's quite typical to specify when you're referring to '09 Ghost specifically because he does, of course, have a very different history and outcome. Not to mention, the dynamics with him and Soap are very different than in the reboot which is another reason why people usually clarify and go "This is who I mean")

I've never actually seen a TRUE reboot Ghost that wasn't fandom based or fanon in writing, now that I think about it. Probably because it's not that easy to write about a character in a limited sense where you don't know much about them and you have to stick to the limited material you're given.

A lot of COD operators lack a significant backstory outside of their military history. That's mainly done because they're videogame characters of a military, shooting focused game and they don't usually have the time to go into depth as to why that character is the way they are. They're primarily soldiers who are saving the world and playing their role. You might see snippets here and there but the focus isn't on their background or the inner workings of their character in a very personal way, aside from what is revealed on missions to add a natural perspective and make them see more human

Because it's not like in the middle of a life or death situation you're going to sit down and explain that you had a dog growing up, you had three sisters, your favorite drink is Baja Blast, and you have a lifelong fear of Burger King.

'09 Ghost, however, we GOT a backstory. We were given something to work with. Clinging to that or melding it with the reboot, who lacks a backstory, is what a lot do because it's trying to make use of the best source material we got until we can maybe get something else too. Personally I was a fan of that backstory because it DID add depth to him, significantly so. I liked it.

Additionally, I think a LOT of people go that route too because it's something that's quite easy to look up so they don't need to make something themselves

(This is an entire theory and me putting on my tinfoil hat: There's a lot of people in the COD fandom who are just here for the big beefy men and don't do their research, haven't played the games - they're just assuming things. And when they see the fandom Ghost, they just assume it's true, and it spreads when they write their own stories. I hope this doesn't read like I'm trying to gatekeep or 'HOW DARE YOU NOT KNOW EVERYTHING' or 'you're not a true fan unless-', cause I really really really do not care. Do what makes you happy, but I'm going to avoid reading what I feel mischaracterizes him for sexual purposes alone hardcore)

I also like to imagine that maybe the team doing the reboots has enough common sense too to not entirely scrap such a backstory as hey, it IS interesting, so there's a strong possibility that reboot might share some origins. Kidding, I'm being fully delusional here and know they won't do that and will likely just ruin it and I'm hoping they don't have a chance. I know any new one they come up with -like the writing in the last campaign -would be utter carbonated hot dog water and I do not trust them at alllllll. I'm refusing to accept reboot Soap's death but that's a rant for another time

That being said though, there's technically no correct backstory yet for Reboot! Ghost aside from what we already know. Anything that adds backstory or melds anything else to him is making him fanon/fandom!Ghost (which is by far the most common iteration and the one people default too)

I love when people give him, and other COD characters, happy or somewhat not dramatic backstories. They already have enough going on with the wars they're thrown in, I live for them having a scrap of happiness and normality. I can't blame people for not wanting to write or deal with heavy backstories and it's nice to see variety and is SO super valid.

But at the same time, I also do like his OG backstory, I love seeing when people dig deeper into the gritty stuff too, exploring that side of characters because not everyone has the best life growing up. And joining the military and when they join can be telling too about their home life

Variety is the variety of life and when there's not exactly a cannon, then I love seeing people make their own reasonings and conclusions and write fanfics with their own theories. It's SO fun to explore what other people think and it really results in some of the sweetest fics that dive more into depth than the official writing team ever could hope to

The Ghost that I write are usually AU Ghosts anyhow so it allows me more flexibility in what I write. BUT if I'm writing for Ghost, I do the blend where it has more of the '09's backstory but his reboot vibes. THAT BEING SAID

I love making him just, A Dude©, still despite that. Having a bad past doesn't make him any less of a person - nor does it make him this ultra mega tough dominant edgy sigma bad boy. He's literally just a GUY. Sure, he has extensive SAS experience and training to boot. Sure, he's easily one of their top soldiers. He's a stone cold killer when he's Ghost. He's there to do the job.

But Simon? Simon's just a dude, like everyone else - they all are at the end of the day. Sure, they have their own personal struggles and do have to go through a lot, but they're still people. He goes to the grocery store and is genuinely confused about all the options of milk now (how the hell did they milk HEMP). He still makes his bed and has to fight the fitted sheet to stay on, using his size and strength to force it in place before it can do 'the thing' that all fitted sheets somehow do. He bought a bird feeder so he could watch the wildlife as he drinks his tea for breakfast. Speaking of tea, he has a whole collection! And the good shit, you know he won't settle for any less.

He's just A DUDE© at the end of the day and I love those mundane things because hell, he needs them to still feel human and to be reminded exactly what he's fighting for

I just find it so silly and ridiculous when he's consistently like "I'M Batman: I AM THE NIGHT" sheer dramatic levels of broody in stories or when he's put in as this mega dommy bad boy who is 6'5", growling constantly, and is like the posterchild for a wattpad biketok fanfic.

Lmaooo be for real, he's out here doing arts and crafts to make his masks. He has a whole paint collection and everything. He went into the craft store for paint and came out with two new hobbies and no, I'm not listening to anyone who says otherwise

[daengtokki]

Heyy there :) I literally can't stop thinking about SKZ f!additional member AU and softie Seungmin who seems nonchalant like the unbothered king he is but caring just deeply about reader, for example looking out for her when practice gets tough, getting snacks during recording sessions and so oooon. Yeah, I'm weak for that. Maybe you are, too. Have fun during this fluffy week either way^-^<3

This trope is interesting, but I've never actually read a single fic based on it! I'm not sure if I would do it justice. I do have an idea, though, and it's in the same vein as this, and I can add in the things that you're weak for (because same). The problem is…I can’t do it in a single ~1k word oneshot 🥲

So thank you for the inspiration for a new possible longer story! Unless everyone absolutely hates it.

If you like it, I’ll be happy.

idol!Kim Seungmin/guest artist!reader/idol!Chan x reader △

wc: ~1.1k (part 1?)

rating: angst to fluff

Day 5 of Seungmin's birthday oneshot countdown!

It's a few more weeks at the most, maybe longer, and after that...he'll probably never see you, or talk to you again. The planning stages of this was fun, he admits, and all eight of you sitting around the table talking to you on speakerphone; the excitement in everyone's eyes and voices was contagious. And of course Seungmin is excited...it's you. He's been a fan of yours for as long as he can remember, so having the opportunity to work alongside you, and maybe even sing with you? It’s a dream come true.

That's the problem.

He hasn't slept properly in a few days, and he's feeling very puffy and tired. There's only so much he can do now to prepare himself. He took a cold shower this morning, drank as much water as he could handle, but after that he couldn't stomach more than half of his iced coffee. It's still in his hand, numb from the almost melted ice, and dripping steadily on the floor. You're somewhere in this building right now, and you could walk in with the others at any moment.

Time to turn off. Turn off or make a complete ass of himself.

/ / /

You feel a little awkward as you walk toward the meeting room...recording studio? You actually have no clue where you're going, but you're flanked by two much taller men you don't know, and in front of you is Chan, who was a little red in the face when he was talking to you and asking you to call him Chris. So you do.

"Chris?"

He turns and smiles at you, and it's so...something you can't and refuse to deal with right now, you think. No. It's cute, and it's shy. The photos you've seen of him before today really did nothing for him, even the good ones. But you're a professional, and you are very good at acting professional when needed. Even when sweet, attractive men are involved.

"Yeah, all good?"

"Good, yeah! Where are we headed? Should I be mentally preparing to meet everyone?"

"Yes, definitely start preparing right now"

One more right turn and something about the door up ahead feels like the one. Meeting suite 1411. That's the one. Chris opens the door and moves aside to let you in first, and the room is empty, or appears to be. Security fell back and took up guard at the end of the hallway (unnecessary and embarrassing, you told Chris when they appeared).

"Oh, nobody is here...okay." He checks his phone and scrunches his nose, and you kind of feel like kissing it. "I'm sorry, I guess everyone ignored the group chat this morning."

"That's alright, are they somewhere else?"

"It's possible, but..." he points to the table filled with snacks and drinks. "I don't wanna drag you around looking for them." The phone is to his ear, and you hear it ringing, and ringing...

"I can wait here if you have to go find them. I already see a coffee carafe with my name on it."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I haven't had enough coffee or stare at my phone time this morning, anyway. And my friends are down the hall."

He smiles so big, you have to return is just as enthusiastically. Maybe he'll turn up his flirting, and you won't have to feel as responsible for your own.

"I'll be right back"

Chris turns on his heel and is gone, and the room is so quiet. Maybe you should put some music on. Before anything, you look over the catering and wonder if anyone will actually have time to enjoy this. The coffee and lemon water, sure, but this is actually a full-course meal in front of you. Just as you fill your cup with coffee, you hear music...but you don't think you pushed play yet.

No, definitely not, because it's your voice that you're hearing. You turn toward it, and jump when you see him standing there, almost mid-step, one hand reaching to pull at his earlobe. His eyes are wide, but other than that...he seems less surprised to see you than you are to see him. But he does at least pause the music.

"Hello," you say, hoping to get him to come a little closer. Whoever he is, and you feel like you should remember all of their names by now, he looks a little annoyed that he now has to share this space and this coffee with someone else. "My eyesight isn't great even with the contacts... I don't bite."

"Hi," he takes a few steps toward you, and you watch his long legs move in his shorts and socks and clean black converse. "I'm–"

"No, I can remember...give me a second"

He does, but he doesn't seem happy about it. This one doesn't have the carefree smile that Chris did, or the shy demeanor. It's a bit distracting, the way his lips purse into a heart, and the way his big brown eyes look down at you. His hair falls perfectly in front of his eyes, but you're pretty sure he woke up looking this good.

"Oh..." it comes to you, sort of. "You're the puppy, aren't you?" You think you see the ghost of a smile on his lips, but it's gone so quickly. "Seungmin."

"Yes, I'm the puppy. And also Seungmin."

The puppy persona fits him, at least physically. His face is soft and round, his big brown eyes turn every so slightly downward, and his ears—something about the way his ears sit on his head, is so... "it's nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise"

Seungmin holds out his hand for you. You do the same, and he takes it so gently. His touch and his mien don't seem to match, and you wonder if the first impression isn't the one to remember for this one.

/ / /

Seungmin finally takes a deep breath when you turn and head toward the coffee again, and he watches as you very carefully add the smallest amount of milk and sugar to it. He finally finished his, so maybe he should make himself another cup. It gives him a reason to rejoin you instead of standing here looking like an idiot.

"Have you met everyone else, or just me?" What a stupid question, he thinks. "I mean, I'm sure you met someone...you're here."

"I met Chris. He left to go find all of you, but you must be the only one who read the message and listened."

"Yes, I saw the message. I like to be on top of things."

The way his voice lowers as he speaks sends a little shiver up your arms. Seungmin likes to be on top of things, and you love catching an innuendo wherever you can. You smirk, but wipe it from your face when you think he might be looking at you.

Seungmin sees the smile pull at your lips and then disappear immediately. "What?"

"Nothing,” you laugh. “I don’t think you talked much on the calls, did you?”

“I did not speak much, I don’t have too much creative say. I have some, it just depends on what we’re doing.”

“Well, it’s tough getting in there with eight of you, I’m sure. Everyone can’t be everywhere…too many cooks in the kitchen.”

Seungmin allows himself to laugh at that, but he stifles it a little and turns away. You’re as cute and relaxed in person as you seem in interviews, and on stage, and it’s a little overwhelming. He can’t let himself do this—he can’t get himself into something he won’t be able to escape. But he seems to remember reading something about a possible relationship you’ve gotten yourself into. Thinking about that breaks his heart a little, but it’ll at least help keep him away.

None of that matters, though. Why would you have any interest in him in the first place?

“Do you want coffee? How do you take it?”

Dammit, okay… “black is good.”

[siriuslychessi]

Spotlight

For the August @jilychallenge

AO3 | FF

“I only have feelings for you because we’ve been acting as a couple on this show that we’ve grown up together on since we were eleven…I think…”

The words on the script made James’ palms sweat, he was not sure if in a good or bad way, he just felt the profuse sweating making the page stick to his skin and he did not like the sensation, the reaction to the words on the page felt foreign to him as he kept reading. 

“And are we sure this is where Gilderoy wants the show to go to?” James asked, hoping his voice was steady. He had had a few awkward moments while his voice was changing as he grew up in the show, but he was over it by now. He didn’t want the uneasiness to show in his voice. 

“Yes, he did a previous revision, but that remains the same, he checked with Albus as well.” Kingsley informed James, as the younger man took a pen from his pocket, clicking it a couple of times out of nerves and habit, before writing his own notes on the margins of the script. 

“Any directions from Dumbledore? Or is he just trying to play it by ear?” James asked, pausing in his notes to look at Shacklebolt. 

Kingsley shrugged, “At the moment he wants to see how it plays out, you two have been playing with these characters for a while now. You know them better than anyone.” he admitted, and James nodded. 

“Thank you,” James said absentmindedly, as Kingsley left to prepare for filming. He was still thinking about the words on the page, and the scene he would have to participate in sooner rather than later.

Being in a show since before your voice changed did a lot to impact a young boy’s life. Instead of school and classmates, you had private lessons and castmates that felt more like family than random people in a place of work. And that also meant that small grudges grew over time, or changed into something else entirely.

At the moment he was uncertain of how the grudges and feelings had evolved as he read the script in his hands.

James had to admit that acting was just about him getting his energy out, a way to express himself, and for his parents to keep him occupied. Or it was like that at the beginning. He never thought that he would make a career out of it, no one at 11 thinks of a job or the responsibility it carries, at least not like adults do. But the more he acted, the more he enjoyed it, and the better he wanted to be. 

He started taking his career more seriously, took acting lessons, asked a lot of questions on direction, and requested feedback from older actors and more experienced people in the industry. It was quite the change from his previous stance of ‘I’ll do it because it’s fun, besides no one would fire the cute main lead’. A change that many have seen as a positive improvement and actually welcome and encourage it. 

Sirius, his best friend in set and life, had found it annoying at first, James and him used to do a lot of shenanigans around set, and he always teased him for his new found work ethic. He had to admit that Sirius put little effort on the craft but was an amazing actor all the same, always brought emotion to the characters he played, however, was more passionate about their band than acting, and was always teasing James about his new purchased books and courses.

James had tried to share his interest with his best mate, and Sirius reluctantly had taken a few of the books with him. The teasing persisted but James could see Sirius’ curiosity spiking at new theories and techniques, even if the other man preferred to write lyrics than study lines.

Sirius was also privy, as was his other close friend Remus, about the difficulty to work with one Lily Evans. She was the co-star of the show, and had it out for James since day one when he tried to do a trick on a skateboard and managed to ruin her big-scene dress. James had never managed to outlive that. 

Their relationship had been odd from the start, Lily had decided that James was the worse person to step in the set, and the fact that they had so many scenes together didn’t help improve her perception, neither did the numerous pranks that James had played on her and her former friend Snape, who used to be part of the cast.

James had learned not to prank people over the years, or at least to be more conscious of the types of pranks that were done. But he believed the damage was done and his and Lily’s relationship was one that would only blossom on screen. 

However, that might be the nerves talking. Lily in reality had grown fond of the boys, especially after Snape left and he was not whispering how annoying the rest of the cast was. She managed to see how witty James was, Sirius' intelligence and knowledge of music and business, and Remus' interesting facts and inherited sweetness. She had grown fond of all of them, and she hoped that they could see that they had outgrown the annoying little children they all used to be. 

Not only because of the work, that was easier to do when everyone got along, but because she wanted to be friends with people she spent the majority of the time with. To have meaningful relationships that would last them more than just a set life. 

If James had bothered to go find Lily, instead of getting anxious about asking Sirius’ some questions regarding the upcoming scene, he would have seen that Lily was almost in the same predicament as him. Pondering on the words written on the pages, and how she felt about it. 

Lily read the whole episode again. According to the notes from the director, her character was nervous, which she wouldn’t even have to act at that point. She had been pacing in her trailer with the pages in hand since receiving them. Her and James’ character had always had a more friendly relationship, sometimes annoying each other, sometimes too close to believe that they were just part of the same friend group, and now, their relationship was going to define what they were. 

Lily was not sure how she felt about how definitive it all felt.

In all the time Lily had been in the show all she thought was making her family proud, her friends outside of the business proud, and to do a good job, because she understood how many little girls would feel related to her character and that felt like a huge responsibility but it made her excited to come to work every day. 

It was hard to go through puberty in a show that had mostly male actors, and where the one she thought was a close friend turned out to be creepy and not at all friendly. She had to deal with a lot, and she was thankful that she had Mary for most of it. But she knew that she had annoyed her best mate when talking about James. 

James had always been a topic for Lily, after all they had a lot of scenes together, but it had fluctuated from annoyance to friendship so much that her feelings were muddled and her thoughts waver from one side of her feelings to the other. She knew that going to Mary in these circumstances was not advisable, as her friend would probably tease again that she had always had a crush on Potter, just as much as the crush she had on Black on and off screen. 

Lily was not ready to deal with all of it. 

The lights on set made the chilly day of March feel toasty. Lily believed that the studio didn’t need the central heating with the hard lights on them. It was a miracle that the makeup stayed put under that heat, and it was the second time under the same lights that she felt like trembling from nerves. 

The first time she was eleven and it was her first big show, she had been wanting to prove herself with the network’s executives. She thought she would butch all her lines, and to be honest she could have given herself more space to mess up and enjoy. She was eleven, a few lines missed or misspoken would not be the end of the world. 

Yet, it felt like the world was ending. 

But then, there was this boy, with messy hair and thick glasses, that made everyone in the set laugh, and was apologetic about missing his queues, or even fidgeting with his hair, when he was not supposed to, it would be a mess for editing the show. 

And she was jealous, and furious that this boy could enjoy as much as he wanted, that he could be so casual when she was a mess. 

With time she learned that the tale that James’ messing with his hair meant he was nervous, and the jokes were half a tale too. He did enjoy making people having a good time, but they could be a distraction from how on edge he was. 

It took Lily a long time to learn these things about James, and the more she knew about him, the more she liked him. 

Which was why she was a mess right before the big scene. 

James grew from the thin little prat, to be a handsome young man. He still made silly jokes, and his hands stopped just as he was about to mess his hair, but his dedication to the job had changed. He was serious about the scenes, he made sure he got notes from the writer and the director; didn’t mind doing retakes when necessary, and was mindful that Lily would be in some of the shoots so he tried his best to stick to script. 

He also remembered the snacks she liked and always brought some to rehearsal, and was sure to warn her of any possible paparazzi on set. He always managed to remember her birthday, and her families’, and was always kind when her sister and her friends gushed to him on set. Something Lily really hated, but seeing him be attentive like that made her stomach twist in weird ways. 

Lily was not alone in her nerves. James was right there with her. 

Lily had been a constant in James’ life, either by scolding him or making him better. He didn’t know exactly when the little annoying girl had transformed into the gorgeous young woman that he had a crush on, but that was where they were at, and now they had a crucial scene together. A scene that was more personal than anything, and he was not sure that he liked that it happened in front of the cameras. 

As James stepped in position he remembered if he properly brushed his teeth, which he had; and he had eaten a mint as well. He tried to not think of how potent, or not, was his deodorant under the heavy set lights, and all in all he tried to be presentable not only for the job but for the scene.

“I guess we are doing this.” he mumbled, more to himself than to anyone. 

“We certainly are, Potter.” Lily replied with a smile, that made James’ nerves shake even harder. 

“Everyone ready, we’ll be rolling, so silence in the set!” James heard the voice of Kingsley in the background, but was focused on Lily’s green eyes, and the rose tinted lips that were glossed for the scene and the cameras. 

Lily looked back at him, her lips moving as if to say something. But James mind did not register any of what was being set, his mind focused on her lips and expression. 

“Matt?” he finally heard what Lily had said, it was the name of his character, the one that he had been playing for so long that he almost replied when he heard it. 

“I’m sorry, but what did you mean by that?” He knew what the line was, and Lily and himself had improvised in the past, knowing that stopping the take might delay the production more than just a tiny messed up line. 

“Well, how do you know it is me you fancy? I thought you were dating Nancy.” Lily’s voice carried, and James remembered the plot where their love triangle with Sirius’ character became even more complex. 

“I am not. I’m not dating anyone.” he sounded sincere because in reality he wasn’t, there was no one he wanted to date but his co-star, but he knew she didn’t like him that way. However, just for a moment he could pretend that these were not the characters talking. “There’s no one else, it’s you, Audrey, it’s always been you.” 

For a brief moment James wished that it was Matt, the character, the person saying those words, but himself, to Lily, wonderful and gorgeous Lily. 

That moment passed quickly as her eyes pressured him to move forward, not to stop and continue with the scene. And he did. 

James’ hands moved on their own accord wrapping themselves on Lily’s waist and pulling her closer. He felt her breath on his cheek and her green eyes on him, as if the universe was telling him that his wish of this being a kiss between them was coming true. 

He let his body continue, his nervous thoughts forgotten as his lips touched Lily’s. 

Lily’s arms wrapped around his neck, and her hands moved to his hair, grabbing hold of his nape, keeping him close as her lips reciprocated whatever he was giving.

She tasted like cherry lip gloss and something sweet like vanilla and apple tart. 

He tasted like mint and those dark chocolates he was always snacking during takes.

Lily’s apple shampoo and her flowery perfume mixed with James’ senses, as James’  musky scent made her want to pull him closer and taste more of his lips and feel more of his body. 

They were in their own little world, a perfect kiss, for the perfect culmination of a career, but more so, for better expressing exactly what one felt for the other.

Neither of them wanted it to end. 

Yet they were not alone, and a repetitive “Cut!” could be heard from somewhere near them, pulling them back to earth. 

“Way to go Prongs!” James heard Sirius say. 

The whole set bursted laughing, including the couple. 

One thing was sure, they no longer were only castmates.

[hwnglx]

that shuffled song is cute, what a plot twist. the lyrics do fit. this reading was quite extensive though, he has so much depth to his personality.

lee know's real personality behind the scenes

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

shuffled song: sunshine by stray kids

+ lee know is an incredibly independent guy. he seems to have overcome a good amount of hardship in the past, which has equipped him with this profound ability to heal himself, and led to him being pretty self-reliant. he's always been sensitive, still is sensitive; but good at handling it now. he's an example of someone who took the pain in his life, and has been able to turn it into a valuable lesson for himself. not only that, the things he went through shaped him into a person full of wisdom and depth, who has a good understanding of life. i can see him giving valuable advice to people, and being this person you can comfortably seek in times of tribulation.

he is an amazing listener as well. people feel comfortable talking to him about anything, really. he's someone who's good at attuning himself and his energy to people's specific needs, which can make him very pleasant to be around.

hugely perfectionistic. lee know is the type of person who works quietly but puts in consistent effort. i got reminded of when skz filmed their survival show back in the day, and lee know got eliminated. even after dropping out, he continued to practice tirelessly by himself. that seems to be a good reflection of the type of hardworker he is behind closed doors. he holds himself to insanely high standards, and wants to continue discovering an even better and improved version of himself all the time; especially in regards to his career. he isn't the type to work for other people's approval and crave their validation, but moreso his own satisfaction and fulfilment. he feels his best when he's able to conquer challenges with his own strength, and isn't dependent on anyone's assistance.

there is this very slow-moving and patient energy to him, where he isn't impulsive and doesn't rush into things. he makes sure he contemplates his actions several times before actually going through with them. this makes him a considerate guy who respects people's boundaries. the people he surrounds himself with, lee know choses wisely and carefully. he won't just give his precious time to anyone. but the people he does spend it with, he cherishes dearly.

this is so interesting, because on the one hand he can give off this immensely individualistic energy, where he just kinda lives in his own world to his own accord, yet on the other hand, he's someone who deeply values the handful of people he's close to. there is this nurturing and loyal side of lee know only the ones close to him could tell you about. he puts a lot of importance into looking after his intimate circle of friends and family, and making sure they feel cared for.

- lee know is quite conventional and more traditional in his views. i don't necessarily see him being judgemental or condemning things or people different to him out of malice, he just consciously rejects them for himself since they're so foreign to him. he prefers staying in his own bubble and living the lifestyle he's already familiar with and accustomed to. he hates when people stick their nose in his business though, or pretend they have a say in his life. he lives his life based on his own beliefs, values and desires, and will get genuinely annoyed if someone pretends they know what's good for him.

his caution can also go to extremes sometimes. he's the type of person to only invest energy into something, when he himself sees substantial benefit behind it. if something feels empty to him, he won't entertain it any longer. he also seems to be a person who doesn't enjoy the feeling of regret, it just seems to kinda linger in him and nag at him for a while, which is why he's extra careful about how he proceeds in several areas of life. even if, let's say he has this seed of an idea for something in his head; it's likely he won't always bravely go forward with it, out of fear of it potentially going wrong. he's hesitant to take any risks out of fear of losing his grip on what he's built till now. almost like he has this house of cards, and is trying to hold back any wind from making it fall down.

lee know is a person who doesn't enjoy displaying his negative and more self-deprecating emotions (like self-doubt, lack of confidence, insecurity or regret) externally and can therefore be prone to swallowing them, and internalizing them. this can lead to them potentially coming up in a more rash and stronger manner later on.

he will not hold back if you manage to provoke him, or rub him the wrong way. in general he actively avoids conflict or drama, but if he catches someone intentionally sticking a dagger in him, he won't be the type to just stay silent. he can get very offensive and blunt, his words can get sharp as a knife, they're often quite hurtful. (very scorpio mercury thing) he just knows how to push people's buttons. he's excellent at reading people, and has a quick wit. so he'll probably have your vulnerable spots already all figured out before you even know it, and hit you at places he knows will trigger you.

a lot of this seems to stem from him just being on guard a lot. he doesn't wanna get hurt, so if a person manages to make him feel threatened, he's likely to go into verbal offense mode out of self protection. i just heard “hurt people hurt people”. as mentioned before, he's gone through his fair share of struggle until now. reason why he seems extra protective of his peace at this point in time.

[miserymerci]

Fluffy February Day 11: Quest - The Monkey King and The Monkey

Fandom: Lego Monkie Kid

Characters: Sun Wukong, Nezha, Jade Emperor, MK

(Lots of mentions of MK but actually pops up near the end, Sunburst Duo, Harbinger of Chaos MK, Alternate universe)

Word count: 4971

Summary: (TW: mentions of execution of a child) Takes place after the Samadhi Fire was separated from Red Son. In an alternate universe, Sun Wukong is summoned by the Jade Emperor, who gives him one final task: Wukong is to kill the Harbinger of Chaos before he can lay waste to Heaven— and the rest of the universe. But this has to be a mistake. The Harbinger of Chaos is just a little kid. Wukong’s next decision would be a lot easier if he didn’t want the Harbinger dead, too. (Inspired by The Horse and the Infant animatic)

Wispy indigo reached across the sky; rich, deep, and stunningly royal amongst the full galaxy beyond it. The stars glittered and winked, as if the world’s problems were only a fleeting thing to them. The night slept along. It would have been difficult for it not to, Wukong realized, since the sky in itself seemed to be a lullaby.

He could call it a painting. It had that look after all; like it had been touched up to perfection; like the splattered stars randomly lined up right where they were supposed to be. But Wukong didn’t consider himself an artist. So, then, would it really matter if he thought the night was beautiful or not?

What a strange thing to think. He should be rewarding himself with a good night’s sleep. Instead, here he was mulling over creation. Ridiculous. 

“Wukong, I know I’ve already said this, but thank you,” came a familiar voice.

Wukong snorted to himself and turned to smile at his ex-sworn brother.

“I don’t mind the thanks– this’ll be the only time I get to see this side of you, so I’m enjoying it the best I can– but you were just about ready to go for my throat a few hours ago,” he said.

The Demon Bull King’s sincerity wavered at the tease, but he had always been an honorable opponent. He shook his head to keep the annoyance at bay and titled his broad nose up at the stars.

“This was important to me. Meeting Lady Iron Fan felt like my new beginning– if you’re going to make that face, look at me when you do it. I know you’re a hopeless romantic, simian. Hmph. As I was saying… meeting Lady Iron Fan felt like my new beginning. And now I’m here with it laying in my palms, and I don’t want to hang on too tight or cradle it too carelessly,” said the Demon Bull King. “I want to be tactical with every step I take. The possibility of losing Red Son to the Samadhi Fire… it was… not an ideal thought. I had worried you weren’t taking it as seriously as I was.”

The Mystic Mountain did have a view Wukong could appreciate (when they weren’t in the middle of sealing an inextinguishable fire). But the colorfulness of it all quickly became sorrowfully bland. Wukong frowned at the twisted feeling and eyed the Demon Bull King. He had turned away to somewhere Wukong couldn’t see.

Wukong imagined it would have been where Lady Iron Fan, their son, and the others had spread out their own camps. With the journey too far and the extraction of the Fire too exhausting, it had been a practical decision to stay the night. Even Nezha had stayed; not by any other compelling force other than being a good sport to those who couldn’t simply bounce off to heaven.

The Demon Bull King’s eyes glinted with the surrounding stars. The look on his face was soft, like an old dog born on the streets. 

Wukong remembered distant times where the young Demon Bull King had been eager to crush bones on the battlefield; where he had dreamed of only power and control; when family had been something the Demon Bull King had laughed at. 

He turned away.

“Look at you, being a sap. It’s an… interesting look on you.”

“It’s hardly something I want you getting used to,” the Demon Bull King snapped. “In the morning, we will part ways and carry on with our existences. I have respect for you tonight. But what I do tomorrow and the days after will be separate from your shenanigans.”

Wukong could say a few different things to that. ‘When did things change?’, for one. ‘I can’t understand how you feel’, for another.

“Well said.” he settled on. He picked at a furry knot that had formed on his wrist and then groaned. “It’s not like I’d find any joy being in your inner circle. You’d drive me crazy with your incompetence to boil pasta.”

The Demon Bull King huffed and then grumbled.

“Sorry, what was that?” nudged Wukong.

“It was one time!” 

Wukong’s fur bristled at the tone, but grinned knowingly. This was familiar territory. He was very good at dancing this dance. 

“You boiled it twice as long as we told you to.”

“We put in double the pasta! It should have been double the time!”

“It doesn’t work that way! If you put the pasta into boiling water at the same time–”

“No! That doesn’t make sense. If you cook a thick slice of meat and a thin slice of meat, the thicker slice is going to need more time–”

“–because the heat is spread out! It’s not touching the outside and the inside at the same time.”

The Demon Bull King snorted, glanced back at his family with clenched fists, and then shook them in Wukong’s general direction.

“It is,” he said.

“Okay, it is but the pasta is like a million thin slices of meat so–”

“–it equals one thick slice of meat.”

“It’s admirable that you’re willing to die on this hill even though you’re wrong,” said Wukong smilingly. 

“You irk me with your breathing.”

The Demon Bull King had obviously chewed more than he could swallow. He didn’t enjoy lengthy conversation to begin with, and had only prepared himself to say thank you and promptly scatter. The more Wukong went off-script, the more frustrated the Demon Bull King would become. 

That was one thing that hadn’t changed about him. Wukong hid a fond smile at the thought.

He coiled and uncoiled his tail, sighed quietly, and then said, “I think I’m getting a little tired,” even though he wasn’t.

“Me too,” agreed the Demon Bull King, even though he wasn’t. 

And that was it for the night– maybe even the rest of Wukong’s life. There would likely be no other times like this; a group of these warriors united under the stars; because the “battle” had already ended, and the rest of their lives readily laid in wait. Could he return to Flower Fruit Mountain and get fat off fruit for the rest of his life? It was what he had wanted, before. But the times had changed, and the desires had changed, and the people had changed… 

But he was alone before he could find the words.

‘And that was just it, was it?’ he thought, watching the Demon Bull King return to Lady Iron Fan’s side with certainty. Things were moving before he was ready. He couldn’t pick up the pieces and place them back like pawns. “Forever” was much too long of a time for him to protect.

The last thought twisted in his belly. It squirmed, hissed, and Wukong suddenly felt sick with anger.

“…The sun, the sun,” Wukong murmured through his clenched teeth. He took a peek at the lazing moon and lashed his tail. “You bring us colorful light. You beautify the lovely flower of our soul.” 

Wukong had believed it to be a lousy lullaby when his Master had taught him it. Tripitaka hummed it to himself first, caught the attention of a curious monkey, and sneakily recited the tune to his hyperactive pupil. Now, Wukong glanced at his sleeping form next to Ao Lie and passed quietly.

“Today we grow under the sunlight,” he mumbled, raising his hands and finding his cloud had obediently appeared at his side. Something twinkled on its surface. Maybe stars, maybe just a trick in the moonlight. He blinked the illusion away and settled into the cloud’s weightless surface.

“Tomorrow we will create a colorful world.”

The sky continued to spin.

“Wukong.”

Wukong’s eyes flung open. He shot frantically to his knees, felt the cloud disperse below him, and in the space between him and solid ground, his tail lashed out and sprung him back to his feet.

Nezha’s serious expression didn’t budge. 

“Come on,” said Wukong, “I still got it.”

“Not if you’re letting anyone sneak up on you like that in your sleep,” replied Nezha, helpfully. He gestured his spear behind Wukong, urging him to look.

Ao Lie smiled a cat-like smile behind him and waved. He looked a little pale and might have been sweating more than usual, but nothing to call for concern. Beside him, Sha Wujing sipped what was probably tea from his chipped little cup. Wukong nodded politely at them. 

On the other side of the site, the Demon Bull family had already left– no goodbyes were exchanged, only an air of respect– and Wukong’s twisting belly threatened to rear its ugly head again. The morning was still pink and yellow, young and new. It didn’t surprise Wukong that two warriors had woken up bright and early for the trek ahead.

“What’s wrong?” asked Wukong. 

Nezha glanced back at the two pilgrims, then lifted his brows. “Private business, meant to be discussed privately.”

Wukong sniffled, but Nezha’s facade left little wiggle room; the poor prince’s fingers tapped anxiously against the shaft of his spear, hidden to the untrained eye, obvious to the Great Sage. Something was brewing behind the scenes. If it had anything to do with Nezha, then it had something to do with Heaven. 

“Go ahead,” said Lie, snapping Wukong out of his thoughts. He smiled at him brightly. “We’re only waiting for the Master… err– Sannnzanggg– to wake up. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I left without saying goodbye, but it was a pleasure seeing you again, Wukong.”

“And Bajie,” added Wujing. The fins along his jaw fluttered as he took another long drink of his hot tea. “He hasn’t woken up yet.” 

Lie huffed humorously, probably thinking over the previous day. He blinked at the snoring pig and then said, “yes, well, but it’s not like he did anything but stare the entire ritual.”

Nezha narrowed his eyes expectantly at Wukong and clenched his weapon. 

“Right, then,” said Wukong, “tell the Master my goodbyes for me. ”

Briskly, Nezha turned and began to stride away from the group.

“Wow! Impatient today, huh?” called Wukong. He picked up into a jog to catch up and slipped in front of Nezha, beginning to walk backwards. “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the pilgrims, but I think you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Missing your holy, phoenix down-stuffed mattress in Heaven? How’re your joints? Stiff?” 

Nezha wrinkled his nose (likely in warning) before finally stopping just underneath a jutted-out slab of stone; a defect in the site’s structure, perfect for a top-secret discussion.

Wukong tilted his head. 

Usually, Nezha was straight to the point. He knew his duties and he knew how to do them, but something had shifted in the air– and Wukong’s worry shifted with it. 

“Something must really be wrong if you look so… dejected. Cheer up, Nezha! It’s not like the world is ending,” he said. 

“The universe is ending.”

“Hhhphhh… rough night?”

Nezha finally ripped his gaze from the stone behind Wukong and glared.

“Yes, actually. Can you stop being a fool for a moment? As you can probably tell, there’s a lot to say about this, and I’m trying to… find the right words.”

“Right,” said Wukong, “then let me help you out. I have a hunch that Heaven needs help from their old buddy the Monkey King to hunt a scary monster threatening to tear down the heavens. How’s that sound?” 

“It’s more than that,” insisted Nezha coldly. He hung his head, sighed, and then steeled himself. “You’re infuriating, Sun Wukong. The only reason I’m before you right now is by orders from the Emperor. I respect you for your friendship with the Great Monk, but I advise you not to test your luck.”

The dawn shimmered against Nezha’s spear as it rocked back and forth from his fidgeting. Just beyond its point, Lie hovered over Sanzang just as he had when the Great Monk was still under their protection. Old habits die hard. Wukong understood the rigid behavior of Nezha when faced with duty and pride.

“I thought I had already served the sentence Heaven gave me.”

“This isn’t a sentence. You are an ally of Heaven,” Wukong made a face at that, and Nezha continued sterner, “and that means that the Jade Emperor may summon you as he pleases. What he may do if you do not answer his call remains to be unseen.”

Now that Wukong thought about it, maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to reminisce over retired warriors. A threat to the universe simply meant another round for the Great Sage. He wouldn’t have to return to Flower Fruit Mountain just yet.

Wukong leaned back on the stone, twirled his trusty tail, then smiled.

“Fine. I’ll take the bite.”

The perfect, crisp air filled Wukong’s lungs and lingered like smoke.

“We have the enemy contained deep in the palace,” one of the guards was saying, probably someone of high-importance, but not high enough to matter, “where the Emperor will be waiting for you.”

“Seems like extra effort to bring me in if you’ve already got the guy,” said Wukong. He sniffled, caught wind of unripe peaches, and rubbed at his nose. 

Heaven never changed much. The scents were the same, the lights were the same, and even the tiniest of pests couldn’t wiggle their way through security. If anything, the number of guards out in the garden seemed to have doubled the last time he was here. 

Wukong smirked and titled his head up.

“While we have the source of the problem, the universe’s destruction has already been set into motion. The Emperor believes that our captive is our only way of discovering how to place everything back the way it was.”

The marble steps of the palace tapped under Wukong’s feet. His eyes peeked down to catch sight of any blemishes on the floor; smudges, cracks, anything out of place really; and only found his reflection.

Really? Were the floors that shiny? What overkill.

“If I’m not supposed to be finding this universe-destroying demon, then what am I supposed to be doing?”

His escort hesitated. He looked up at the heavens for assistance, fixed his helmet, and then continued with a brisk shrug, “uh, not my department. Sorry, sir. Please just follow me.”

Wukong rolled his eyes.

Heaven had plenty of secrets, but only few could really keep their mouths shut about it. Maybe he should have been more on-guard about the whole thing. This could have been a trap to imprison him, or an ambush behind the Emperor’s back. But that didn’t make sense. Nezha might be a strike to the shin, but Wukong didn’t think him to be deceitful.

The air went chilly the further down they went. Something like fog began to build, dewy on Wukong’s fur and itchy between his chest and armor. Marbled flooring twisted to stone; first neatly placed in a silly little flowered pattern, then turning chipped and askew. 

He stepped over a particularly deep hole between two old stones. For a moment, he wondered if the flash of scuttling legs in the crevice were real or just his imagination– but then the smell of mold and dust washed over him.

“What a cruel place to keep your prisoners,” said Wukong, quietly. He blinked at the rows of torches and let the raspberry hues guide his eyes. 

The guard hummed. Maybe he was still flustered about his close-fumble earlier, because he wasn’t making eye contact anymore. 

They passed through the hall. The cells enclosed them from both sides.

“Only the worst of the worst are here,” said the guard. “The ones who have tried to bring down the Jade Emperor directly receive very long sentences. Not all of them live to see the end of it.”

Wukong eyed what looked like splintered bones between some bars. Then, he smiled.

“Ran out of mountains to use?” he asked.

The guard nervously cleared his throat.

Very little signs of life remained in this deep, forgotten prison. The spiders here would die from empty webs. The bones of past sentences were picked clean and likely crumbly to the touch. Only one other being lurked the cells, far against the corner, just before they reached the arch at the end of the hall.

A demon with bright, orange eyes grinned at him in the darkness.

Wukong slowed. He looked over long fangs and slithering hair. With a blink, he quickly caught up to his escort.

“Go in,” said the guard before Wukong could ask about the strange demon, gesturing to the entryway. He shifted his feet. He looked a little like a board; maybe a penguin; antsy and tense in the newest shift in the air. With a deep breath, he announced into the doorway, “Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven!” 

Something rumbled. Fog blew out like a breath and swayed Wukong and the guard.

Wukong frowned, gave the guard a parting glance, and entered.

Wukong enjoyed biting more than he could chew. Not only was it a fun challenge, but the risk kept his muscles used, his mind spry, and his heart young. It was like eating peppers for the spice and suffering the kick afterwards. Wukong could risk it, because Wukong always survived, and death could never claim him.

Despite that, Wukong wouldn’t say he was “getting old”. It was honestly more of being “forever young”. The Great Sage couldn’t just retire. Retiring was for old people and fighting dogs– but he supposed that if he said that, it would mean that the Jade Emperor would have to retire. And soon.

Wukong looked over the blue-purple ombre cuts that were splitting at the seams against an undefeatable entity and instinctively stepped back.

“What happened to you?” he blurted, and then promptly nipped that disrespect in the bud. “Uhhh– errr– hi.”

The cuts– Wukong noticed stars shimmering in them, almost like a galaxy– warbled and sang like a winding clock.

“Hello, Monkey,” replied the Emperor. He said it almost like he was spitting it out, but Wukong tried not to take it personally. There could have been a number of reasons right now why he was being snippy. 

The great force neared from the opposite side of the room. The fog, chilly to the bone, twisted in the space between.

“Hi,” said Wukong again. He blinked and cleared his throat. “So, what’s the problem?” 

“You are here because Heaven needs your personal experience to help get rid of our prisoner.”

“Get rid of?” echoed Wukong.

“It can’t be killed,” said the Emperor, and Wukong’s eyes gleamed, “not in the normal sense. Yet it is too destructive to be imprisoned. Our only choice is to have it eradicated. As an ‘immortal’ yourself, you would know a thing or two about finding the loopholes in such matters.”

Wukong cocked his head and considered that. Killing an immortal? Just about everyone in Heaven was immortal. He had tried once, failed, and paid the price for it. And then he went on an entire quest to learn how to not kill people. 

But this prisoner– this immortal– was immortal in a way that even Heaven couldn’t decipher it, much like how they couldn’t decipher Wukong’s layers of immortality. Except this immortal was… worse? Worse enough, at least, to not risk even the five-hundred-years-under-a-mountain punishment. 

“What have they done?” he asked.

“Their existence is what threatens the universe.”

‘That doesn’t make any sense. Can you stop beating around the bush and tell me what’s really the problem?’ Wukong wanted to say, but the Emperor was brief for a reason, answering only what Wukong asked, and leaving the unknown unknown. Wukong needed to be clever if he wanted the full story.

“Like a harbinger?” 

The Emperor tilted his chin up and said, “what an interesting choice of words. Yes, I like that. It’s a harbinger.”

“What of?”

“Chaos, I presume.”

“You don’t know?”

“I know better than you will.”

“Who sent it?”

“The Goddess Nüwa.”

That startled Wukong’s train of thought. He cringed, shook his head, and settled his hands on his hips.

“The Goddess of creation? She made humanity and now she wants to destroy it?”

“You fail to understand me, Monkey. My problem is not with Nüwa, it’s with her rebellious children. Will you lend me your aid or not?”

This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. The last thing Wukong wanted to be was a pawn for something he didn’t understand. The Master had urged him to think before he got too cocky in combat, and boy was Wukong thinking now– thinking about how much he was likely missing from this narrative. 

‘The sun, the sun’, Wukong thought.

A deep grumble started in the Emperor’s throat, almost debating with itself. Wukong perked up, interested, but tried not to show it.

“I do hope you know,” said the Emperor, “that the Harbinger threatens all life– all existence– including yours.”  

“…I doubt it,” said Wukong. He blinked– because his reply had blurted out of his mouth without much thought– before adding, “What I mean is that I can survive without food, without water, without air, and no blade can ever fatally puncture me. I can’t die; no name in The Book to change that.”

The Emperor quirked a large brow, then asked, “Do you think you’re exempt from the ‘entire universe’?” 

Oh.

Well, maybe not, since Wukong lived in this universe. But he’s always been exempt before. The thought of something Wukong had never even met ending not only everyone else’s existence, but his as well? Come on.

…right?

Granted, he shouldn’t make it all about himself. His mind wandered to the other pilgrims, who didn’t have the mercy of a long life that Wukong (thought) he had. Then, he thought of his old brothers, and found that that had only been a drop of poison for his growing doubts.

This could have been a trick. The Emperor may have just wanted to use him. Something cold traveled up Wukong’s arm– likely the cool fog catching up to him– and his mind turned to the only thing he could think straight on.

Nothing could kill Sun Wukong.

The Staff chimed and twinkled. It extended from his ear and dropped familiarly into his hand. 

“Where is it?” he asked.

The Jade Emperor’s face didn’t twitch. Part of Wukong had expected a look of triumph, or a twitch in his resolve, but that didn’t happen. The Emperor took two or three long strides (or floated, Wukong couldn’t tell), lifted his cape, and swooped it where he stood. In its fluttering wake, a cradle of leaves and moss popped out from the drab colors of this forgotten room.

Wukong, immediately, wanted to drop his weapon.

“No,” he spat, suddenly very angry, “No! Do you think this is a joke?”

“If you think I’m trying to play tricks, then I can advise you to close your eyes, count to ten, and look again.”

“You’re…,” Wukong started. He bared his teeth, taking in the Emperor’s challenging gaze before forcing his attention down toward the Harbinger. 

The little monkey in the cradle looked up. It had been sleeping innocently, and it fluttered its eyelashes at the sudden light. Now, it was blinking those honey eyes at him. 

“Hi,” it said in a tiny voice, fit for such a tiny thing.

The end of Wukong’s staff clinked against the stone floor. 

“What is going on here?” he said, ignoring the child. He could feel his fur prickling with anger at the stale scent of Flower Fruit Mountain coming from it, weak and caked with something earthy and milky, but there.

“Do not forget what I’ve told you. The Harbinger being a stone monkey shouldn’t influence the facts; it’s dangerous, Monkey, and it’ll only grow to be our enemy if you allow your feelings to complicate.”

“A stone monkey!” cried Wukong, “my stone monkey, even! Born on Mount Huaguo! You’ve stolen it!”

“A Harbinger of Chaos!” shot back the Emperor, and Wukong willed himself to stay quiet. The little monkey shivered at the whipping fog. It reached up to Wukong with little hands, but he was quick to dodge them. “I urge you to think straight, Sun Wukong. Your similarities to it may have been the reason I chose you to meet me here, but the similarities end with your ability to change. You had opportunities, Monkey, but this one is doomed from the start. There is no changing what it will become. If you cannot see that, then you are as foolish as you were underneath that mountain.”

That cold, twisting anger curdled in Wukong’s belly. He ached to give the Emperor a piece of his mind. ‘Find someone else to do this’ he wanted to say, ‘how dare you shove the duty onto me’. But a voice, little but powerful, was chanting; ‘this thing will kill you. It could kill you. You need to kill it first’.

Wukong’s mouth went dry.

The little monkey cooed. Wukong, on instinct, tilted his head at it, and found that it was staring intensely at Wukong’s tail. He flicked it nervously. The little monkey giggled at the way it twisted. 

“Mnkey,” it squealed, proudly, “mnkey!”

Wukong could feel the Emperor’s gaze on him. He was in the spotlight now, not the Harbinger, and whatever steps he took had to be perfect. What he wanted and what the Emperor wanted were quickly becoming blurred lines. Did the staff stay or go? Did he swing now or later?

“You want me to kill it?” he asked, stupidly, just to make sure.

“Yes.”

“I…” Wukong quickly tried to pull anything from his head, “I don’t know how, but if I could just have time to figure it out…”

The Emperor’s wounds warbled. Wukong watched one split further, cautiously, and he feared for a moment that he would just have to start lashing at the little thing. How cruel it would be if he had to force himself to stay here until it perished.

But then, the Emperor said, “Make haste, then. We can’t afford to waste the precious time that remains. Take the thing. Bring it wherever you’d like; the middle of nowhere, under the sea, to your mountain; find a way to get rid of it. I will have a member of my court check in on you daily.”

Daily? Eugh. How was Wukong supposed to relax when all he could look forward to was one check after another? They might as well be trapped down here for all of eternity. 

“Right,” said Wukong, looking at the monkey, “yeah, rodger that.”

The monkey– Wukong didn’t want to call the monkey ‘it’ anymore– must’ve liked something that came out of his mouth. They smiled at him with itty bitty teeth, and Wukong felt cold at the way his heart melted.

“Right,” he repeated. He sent a fleeting glance at the Emperor before removing his cape.

The air here was chilly. The monkey’s fur was raised by the goosebumps forming on their skin, so he wrapped the poor thing with his cape and brought them up to his chest. 

Something like a “thank you” mumbled from the monkey’s mouth. They tried to grasp onto Wukong’s fur, but the swaddle was too constricting, and his chest plate blocked any further attempt.

“I expect to see you soon, Monkey,” said the Emperor.

Wukong only nodded. He didn’t want to be in this foggy room anymore.

The Harbinger likely didn’t understand the conversation that had just happened. They looked too young to formulate too many words, much less distinguish between more than a couple– but sensing the tone was probably different. They were blinking at him as if spooked. Maybe they were clever enough to realize that they might have not been completely safe after all.

When Wukong left the room, the first thing he heard was a soft exhale. 

He turned and glared at the prisoner. 

“What?” he snapped, and the little monkey tensed. They cooed, as if trying to calm him down, and he pointedly ignored them.

“Nothing,” insisted the snake demon. But his voice was bubbly– giggly, almost– and he smiled toothily at Wukong. “You’re just an interesting character, Great Sage, just as I expected you to be.”

Wukong frowned. He couldn’t entertain this demon. He, too, had been a prisoner of Heaven once, but this one would likely go mad before he was freed of his misery. Wukong had gotten lucky. Wukong didn’t feel entirely lucky.

“Are you one of Nüwa’s children?” 

The demon tilted his head. There was a hint of surprise that flashed across his eyes, but it may have been more amused than anything else. He tested the weight of the shackles around his wrists. They clinked, scraped against scales, and then settled.

“Aren’t we all?” he replied. 

The Harbinger giggled. They must have thought his striking, glowing eyes were interesting. The snake demon smirked at them in return, lifting his fingers to wave them at the little thing.

Wukong, suddenly remembering that this whole story was lost to him, felt horribly like a pawn. He readjusted the child in his arms and briskly headed toward the stairs.

What would Wukong do? Was he to head back to Flower Fruit Mountain? That might be the best course of action– to regather himself from this unexpected event. Then again, he had no idea if the Harbinger had powers; like laser eyes, or fireballs. Maybe keeping them in a collapsable mountain wasn’t very smart.

“You bring us colorful light. You beautify the lovely flower of our soul,” he murmured to himself. The Harbinger pressed their head against the cool chest plate to listen. Wukong’s chest tightened. “Today we grow under the sunlight, tomorrow we will create a colorful world.”

[beegomess]

ILOVE YOU MATHEO FANFICS!!! And your Theo ones omg they're so cute and make me smile every time I see them!! Could you do something like this? If you want to of course!

It's like in Brookline nine nine where Jake and Amy have that bet where whoever gets the most arrests by the end of the year get to make the other do whatever they want.

• what if Matty boy or Theo (ether is good Matty would be my pick tho! Or if you like the prompt you could do one for each <3 ) and the reader had a bet about who could get the best marks on a test or something like that.

• And he wins and they make you go on "the worst date ever"

• like Jake made Amy in BNN. But like Jake that's when he realize his feelings for the reader.

Supper fluffy and cute!! Rivals/friends to lovers !

Love ya!!

M.R. || Real love baby

Summary: When a boy pulls a girl's hair, it usually means something more than he actually admits. Warnings: none. A/N: This came out faster than usual because I simply LOVE Jake and Amy. I really hope it met your expectations, I'm delighted with how I was able to construct this text.🫶🏼

Open orders!

The friendship between you and Mattheo has always been a roller coaster of jokes, provocations and, occasionally, a latent feeling of competitiveness. His blood boiled when he mocked every time a teacher caught his attention, and you reciprocated in the same coin, turning each slip of his into a reason for laughter. These exchanges never went unnoticed, and the common room often echoed with the barbs exchanged between the two of you.

What began as childish games, however, now seemed to gain a different meaning. In the sixth year, the provocations were no longer seen as mere mischief. Their friends, who used to watch from afar, began to observe them with insightful eyes, full of insinuations, as if they saw something you had not yet realized. What was once just an exchange of innocent barbs, now seemed to have a background of palpable tension, almost as if there was something else behind the debauched smiles and defiant looks.

You had grown up. And, over time, new interests have emerged. However, the fun of seeing the other angry for any insignificant reason still aroused an almost childish satisfaction in both. The adrenaline of a small triumph, no matter how small it was, was addictive. And, to your surprise, that night in the communal room would seal a new phase of this dynamic between you.

I was sitting with Theodore, discussing his grades from the previous year. Both were always the best in the class, and there was no more fun in competing with each other. Someone who really challenged his abilities was missing, someone from another house, maybe. But before they could continue the conversation, a familiar voice interrupted their thoughts.

- What are you talking about? - Mattheo appeared, sitting on the sofa in front, his curious expression, almost as if he was sniffing the opportunity to get into the conversation.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. I knew he wouldn't miss the chance to participate.

- We were regretting the lack of a competitor to match - said Theodore, with a convinced air that only served to fuel Mattheo's interest.

- Competitor? - Mattheo frowned, looking genuinely confused, before opening a malicious smile. - Oh, this nonsense of those who get the best grades, isn't it? Well, your problems are over, because the opponent you're looking for is right here.

His laugh was automatic and loud. Mattheo's idea as an academic threat seemed, to say the least, absurd. Theodore also let out a discreet laugh, and Mattheo looked at them with a mixture of challenge and frustration.

- Oh, please, Matty, don't make me laugh. - you said between laughs, barely able to catch your breath.

- I'm serious - he replied, his voice getting softer as his eyes met yours. - Come on, are you so afraid of losing to me?

You narrowed your eyes, trying to keep your composure. The game was getting interesting.

- Afraid of you? - you replied, raising your chin with confidence. - You won't even come close to reaching me, Riddle.

A glow of determination appeared in his eyes, and you knew that from that moment on he was committed. But before he could answer, Pansy, who was watching from afar with a mischievous smile, intruded.

- Bet on a date at the end of classes - she suggested, her voice full of malice. - Whoever loses will have to do what the other wants for one night.

You blinked, surprised by the audacity of the suggestion, but before you could protest, Theodore was already agreeing, a sideways smile on his face.

- Great idea - he murmured, clearly having fun with the situation.

Mattheo didn't waste time. He stretched out his hand with a provocative smile.

- Closed. Get ready for the worst date of your life.

Without hesitation, you shook his hand, sealing the agreement. He knew he was getting into a potentially embarrassing situation, but he also trusted that, as much as Mattheo could be merciless in his provocations, he would never do anything to really hurt or humiliate her. It was a bet, yes, but one that came with a layer of mutual trust.

From that day on, your destiny was sealed. The "meeting" was already a reality, all that remained was to define who would dictate the rules. A part of you longed for the challenge, while another, more cautious, began to wonder if you hadn't underestimated Mattheo.

[...]

The weeks that followed showed that you had, in fact, underestimated Mattheo.

In the first days after the bet, you treated the challenge carefree, almost mocking the idea that he could do well. Mattheo was always the type of student who killed classes, glued to the exams and, in the end, counted on the good will of the teachers to pass the year. However, something has changed.

In recent months, teachers' conversations about Mattheo have started to surprise you. They no longer talked about their lack of discipline, but about their potential. They said he was finally showing how smart he was - something that, in fact, you already knew, but that he never made a point of demonstrating.

Mattheo, who used to seem uninterested, now really studied. Their furtive glances and provocations during classes seemed to hide a new, almost disturbing determination. Every time he raised his hand to answer a question or hit a complicated question, you felt the pressure increase. He was, against all expectations, taking it seriously.

And, little by little, you realized that maybe you were facing an opponent much more prepared than you imagined.

The months passed like a gale, each day bringing with it new provocations and challenges. The agreement, which initially seemed like an innocent joke, had turned into a real war of nerves. Both maintained a serious posture in class, but behind this facade, the tension was visible with each exchange of glances. No opportunity was wasted for a sharp comment, and the friends around had already gotten used to the constant clash between you.

The whole year was a fierce dispute, with comparative grades right after each class, always followed by sarcastic laughter and subtle provocations. In the first weeks, you laughed at Mattheo's attempt to keep up, making a point of spreading rumors among the girls who met him in the library. With a mischievous smile on your lips, you whispered:

- They say that Mattheo Riddle is looking for a girlfriend. He's been spending more time in the library than anywhere else, he must be trying to impress someone.

The giggles echoed through the common room, and in a short time, the rumor ran loose through the corridors of Hogwarts. The result? The library, which used to be a place of concentration and silence, became a battlefield. Girls appeared unexpectedly around Mattheo, curious to know if there was any truth in the rumors. He, visibly irritated, cast looks of disapproval in his direction, knowing very well where that chaos had come from.

On the other hand, he didn't leave it cheap. Knowing that his weak point was concentration, Mattheo took revenge in a calculated way. Whenever you isolated yourself in a corner of the library to study in peace, he appeared, casually, and started a loud conversation, talking about the most random and uninteresting subjects, but enough to divert your attention. Not satisfied, he began to launch provocative comments whenever he passed by you, as if he were talking to himself:

- Oh, how I love to see the despair of those who are afraid of losing a bet.

Or even:

- I heard that some people can't study under pressure... what a shame.

Not to mention the colleagues who suddenly came to ask silly questions or break their silence, clearly instigated by Mattheo. You knew he was behind each of these little sabotages. The environment that was once his refuge for study had become unbearable. Wherever you went, it seemed that Mattheo was always there, ready to disrupt his plans.

In the weeks of tests, the tension intensified. The psychological war continued, and now, everyone used their tricks with precision. The librarian had already lost patience with both of you, and more than once you were reprimanded for "disturbing the study environment". But nothing seemed to be able to interrupt the dispute. You were tied, each test being decided by tenths, sometimes with him in front, sometimes with you.

And then, the last test of the year arrived. It was from Feitiços, one of the most challenging subjects and also the one that both knew could seal the fate of the bet. The room was tense that morning, with the students silent, nervous, frantically reviewing their notes. Mattheo sat in the row in front of his, and before the teacher entered, he turned around, throwing a malicious smile in his direction.

- Ready to lose? Should I reserve the night for your punishment? - he whispered, his tone soft, but loaded with provocation.

You raised an eyebrow, returning the smile with a sparkle in your eyes.

- I hope you've already chosen your worst outfit, Riddle. I don't want it to seem like a complete disaster on our "date".

He laughed softly, shaking his head before turning around. The game was about to end, and they both knew it. Every word exchanged, every defiant look, everything had led to that moment.

When the teacher finally came in and distributed the scrolls, the silence in the room became absolute. The sound of feathers sliding on the paper was the only thing that was heard. Each second seemed to last an eternity while you wrote your answers with determination, maximum concentration. There was no room for mistakes.

From time to time, you noticed Mattheo moving in front of you, but refused to look away for more than a second. I knew that any distraction now could be expensive. When the test finally came to an end, you let out a sigh of relief. But the tension was still in the air. All that was left was to wait for the result.

In the weeks that followed, the provocations did not stop. Mattheo was confident, always making insinuating comments about what he would do if he won the bet. On the other hand, you kept your posture firm, not showing a shred of nervousness.

- Don't worry, Mattheo. I'm sure you'll love to fulfill your part of the agreement. - you said, without ever letting out the anxiety that grew as the day of the delivery of the notes approached.

When the notes were posted on the board, Mattheo's heart accelerated, but he kept his expression confident. You approached soon after, and when you saw the minimal difference between the notes, your heart sank. Mattheo had won. He had taken the best grade, but by such a small margin that it even seemed like a whim of fate. You, who until then had maintained a calm posture, could not avoid an expression of disbelief.

Next to him, Mattheo let out a loud, triumphant laugh. He looked up, as if he had won a great battle.

- I said! - he exclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone around. - I said I was going to win!

He was not satisfied with the silent victory. No, Mattheo wanted everyone to know that he had won the bet. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to compose yourself while he turned on his heels, laughing as if he had just won Hogwarts' most desired trophy.

- Oh, I can't wait to see this! - Mattheo provoked, approaching you with a mischievous smile. - I hope you enjoyed losing, because now the night is all mine.

You just rolled your eyes, knowing that he wouldn't miss the chance to make the bet worth every penny. Mattheo wasn't content to just win; he needed to make it a show.

[...]

In the afternoon after Mattheo's victory, he and Theodore walked through the busy streets of the Diagonal Street, in search of the perfect piece for the "date" that Mattheo had planned. The sun was high, and the sound of the conversations of the wizards around filled the air. Mattheo, with a malicious smile on his face, was eager to turn the bet into an embarrassing and memorable situation for you. Theodore, next to him, watched him in silence, waiting for the right moment to pull the conversation that was clearly stuck in Mattheo's mind.

- I think this store will do. - said Mattheo, pointing to a window that displayed a collection of exaggeratedly colorful and extravagant clothes. It was the kind of store that didn't care about following trends, but about being the center of attention. Exactly what he was looking for.

When they entered, the environment was even more absurd than the showcase suggested. There were dresses with giant ruffles, shiny capes and hats that almost touched the ceiling. Mattheo took a quick turn, his eyes dancing between the most ridiculous pieces.

- She'll hate it. - he said, holding a pink dress with golden details and voluminous ruffles. - Perfect!

Theodore, with his arms crossed and an ironic smile, watched as Mattheo looked for more options. He knew his friend was having fun with that, but there was something else. There was always something more when it came to Mattheo and you.

- You know, you're trying too hard for this, don't you think? - Theodore commented, casually, while leaning against the store counter.

Mattheo let out a chuckle, without taking his eyes off his clothes.

- I'm trying hard to make sure she's embarrassed. That was the bet. She knew what she was getting into.

Theodore arched an eyebrow, still watching him carefully. He let Mattheo continue for a few more minutes, before deciding it was time to deepen the conversation.

- Right, right... - Theo said, in a carefree tone. - But... why are you so looking forward to it? I mean, it's just a bet. It seems that you are spending more time and money than you should.

Mattheo stopped for a moment, holding a ridiculous piece of clothing in his hands, but didn't answer immediately. His expression, for a brief moment, showed doubt. He looked at Theo, a little annoyed.

- I just want to make sure she learns not to underestimate a Riddle - he finally replied with a forced smile.

Theodore didn't buy the excuse. He took a few steps, approaching Mattheo, and lowered his voice, in a more serious tone.

- Or you really like her... - Theo shot, bluntly, while watching his friend's reaction.

Mattheo frowned immediately, dropping the dress in a macaw next to him.

- You're delirious, Nott. That has nothing to do with liking her. It's just... fun. A bet, remember?

But Theodore, undisturbed, just shrugged.

- Of course, of course. It's just a bet - he said, with sarcasm in his voice. - But let's think a little... You spent the whole year teasing her, Mattheo. Calling her attention in every possible way. He told girls to talk to her just to annoy her, he did everything to disrupt her studies, and now... he's personally choosing the most ridiculous outfit he can get for this date.

Mattheo turned around, crossing his arms and staring at Theo with a closed expression.

- And what's wrong with that? - he countered, defensively.

Theo took a few more steps, now closer to Mattheo.

- What's up with that? - he repeated, shaking his head with a smile. - You spent hours thinking about it, Mattheo. Hours. For someone who says it's just a bet, you're spending a lot of time on it. That's not just fun, Mattheo. Admitting that won't kill you.

Mattheo clenched his fists for a moment, clearly frustrated with the direction of the conversation. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to laugh at Theodore's face and say that it was absurd. But the words got stuck in the throat.

Theo, realizing his friend's discomfort, gave another accurate blow.

- How much time have you spent thinking about how to provoke her this year? And how many times have you done this because, deep down, you didn't want her to move away? - Theo let out a low laugh and shook his head. - All this, Mattheo, all these provocations... were just an excuse. An excuse to stay close to her, to ensure that she kept noticing you.

Mattheo snorted, trying to ignore the truth in Theodore's words. He took another piece of clothing, trying to divert the focus from the conversation.

- You don't know what you're talking about, Nott - he said, harshly, but his voice didn't have the same firmness as before.

Theo approached again, now with a softer smile.

- I know exactly what I'm talking about. And, deep down, you also know. - He took one last look at the ridiculous dress that Mattheo was holding and sighed, as if he was accepting something inevitable. - But it's okay. Keep pretending it's just a bet. I just hope you realize what's really going on before it's too late.

With that, Theodore walked away, leaving Mattheo alone with his thoughts and the clothes he had chosen. The silence that followed in the store seemed to weigh more than before. Mattheo stood there for a few seconds, staring at the dress in his hands, but his mind was elsewhere. Theo's words reverberated in his head, and for the first time, he wondered if the bet wasn't just an excuse to hide what he felt all the time.

[...]

The next morning, Mattheo seemed to have completely buried Theodore's words. His provocation was the same as always, but maybe with an extra touch of sarcasm. The most ridiculous costume he could find was carefully left at his door, wrapped in an almost solemn way. The box, with a dark green bow, seemed to mock you. Despite knowing exactly what was inside, you spent the day ignoring it, leaving the package untouched next to the door while trying to keep your head busy with anything other than the "date" that would happen later.

The provocations between you continued throughout the day, as if everything was normal. Mattheo seemed to have fun every time their eyes met, and you just rolled your eyes, determined to pretend that nothing would happen. But as the day progressed, reality began to weigh on you. There was no way to avoid it anymore.

When the sun finally set, you knew it was time to face the challenge. With a heavy sigh, he took the wrapping from the door, already feeling the weight of the humiliation that was to come. The contents of the box did not disappoint. The pink dress was a freak, with a huge golden bow that adorned her back, so exaggerated that it looked more like a gift wrapping than a piece of clothing. The voluminous skirt gave the impression that you were ready for an 80s debutante ball, and the boots... Oh, the boots were a monstrosity. Black and worn, with a low and clumsy heel that did not match at all with the rest of the set.

Resigned, you dressed up the best you could. Your hair, at least, was beautiful, and you decided that, if you were going to be ashamed, the least you could do was keep your dignity intact. She went downstairs to the communal room, where some of her friends were already waiting for her, evidently curious to see the disaster that Mattheo had planned.

- This is a nightmare - you grumbled, as you approached, without trying to disguise your frustration. - After that, I can forget about getting any boyfriend.

Pansy laughed softly, covering her mouth with her hand, while Blaise and Theo exchanged complicit glances. Mattheo, who was standing next to the fireplace, couldn't contain a laugh.

- Oh, go, don't be dramatic. - Mattheo said, with a glint of amusement in his eyes. - I guarantee that, after today, you will be the most talked about person in Hogwarts.

You crossed your arms, trying to maintain dignity, although you knew you were already lost.

- Spoken for the wrong reasons, maybe - you replied, your voice loaded with sarcasm.

Mattheo just laughed more, taking a step forward.

- Come on, come down soon. We don't have all night. - He made a theatrical gesture with his hand, indicating that you should come closer.

When you finally came up completely, the muffled laughter began. His friends, no matter how loyal they were, couldn't help it. Pansy and Daphne covered their mouths to try to hide how much fun they were having, while Theo and Blaise watched with the looks of those who knew that it was an unmissable show. But the most surprising was Mattheo's reaction. He stopped for a moment, his lips curving in a smile, but his eyes... Well, his eyes seemed surprised.

Even with all that ridiculous outfit, you could still look beautiful, which clearly disarmed you for a brief second. The dress, as absurd as it was, highlighted the curve of her waist and the delicate features of her face. And, for a thousandth of a second, Mattheo forgot the real goal of the bet.

But he soon recovered, shaking his head and returning to the carefree and provocative attitude.

- Well, well... - he said, crossing his arms and tilting his head to observe you better. - I think a detail is missing.

Before you could ask what he meant, Mattheo took something from behind him and extended it towards him. A track, similar to those of Miss Universe, but with an inscription that made her stomach turn: "Mattheo Riddle is amazing".

You looked at him, incredulous.

- You can only be joking - you murmured, but Mattheo kept smiling, swinging the banner in the air as if it were a prize.

- Come on, you can't miss it. This is part of the agreement. - He insisted, his eyes shining with malice.

- That wasn't in the agreement - you replied, with narrow eyes, but you knew it would be useless to argue.

Mattheo just laughed and extended the band.

- Oh, but it was you who said I could choose whatever I wanted. And now I want everyone to know how amazing I am. - He winked, clearly having fun at the expense of his indignation.

With a sigh, you took the band and reluctantly put it on the dress. It was the height of ridicule, but when he looked at Mattheo, he realized that, as much as he was having fun, there was something more in his eyes. Something beyond provocation.

- Now, make a turn for everyone to see - he ordered, with a mischievous smile.

You rolled your eyes, but turned on your heels, feeling the huge bow hit your back, while the muffled laughter around echoed through the room. Mattheo applauded in an exaggerated way, as if you were at a fashion show.

- Perfect! - he said, laughing, and approached, putting an arm around his shoulders. - And now, let's enjoy this unforgettable night.

And so, you left for Três Vassouras, where Mattheo had scheduled everything. The songs, the dances, even the places where they would sit. His friends, of course, went together, ready to watch every second of this show, but, as much as Mattheo's plan was going to embarrass you, the truth was that while you walked next to him, something seemed different. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the fact that, as ridiculous as the situation was, you were about to have more fun than you ever imagined.

When you arrived at Três Vassouras, the environment was full of life, with laughter and conversations filling the air. But as soon as they passed through the door, the bar seemed to stop for a moment. All eyes turned to you, as if you had just witnessed a scene worthy of a comedy play. Your exaggerated pink dress, with your voluminous skirt and the golden bow on the back, made you look like a clumsy doll. And next to it, Mattheo, dressed in a gigantic tuxedo, with his sleeves and pants folded up in an almost comical way, didn't help improve the situation.

The laughter echoed around, and you felt your face burn with shame. People whispered, pointed and laughed shamelessly. You tried to hide the discomfort, but you felt everyone's gaze as if you were on a stage, exposed in a way you never imagined. Mattheo, on the other hand, seemed impassive, with a malicious smile on his lips as he walked next to him to the table at the back of the bar, completely ignoring the reactions around him.

You cast an angry look at his disproportionate tuxedo, muttering something low.

- That was... a creative choice, at least - you commented, still trying to adapt to the situation.

He shrugged, fixing the exaggerated collar.

- It's all part of the show, princess.

As much as you were angry, you ended up laughing at the situation, especially when the buttery beers arrived. The sweet and creamy drink, as always, brought a little warmth and relief to the discomfort, and before you knew it, your friends were already around, laughing and pulling you to dance.

At first, he hesitated. She was too ridiculous to move, but the lightness of the jokes and the excitement of the night began to weigh more than the embarrassment. Soon, you were in the middle of the track, spinning and laughing with Pansy, Draco and the others. Each sip of buttery beer made the dress look less absurd, and the music helped to forget the looks around. Suddenly, it didn't matter anymore that I was dressed like a party cake. Only the fun and the shared laughter mattered.

While you danced, forgotten about the initial shame, Mattheo, from afar, watched with a different expression. He was leaning against the counter, a beer in his hand, but he barely touched it. Instead, his eyes were fixed on you, the way he moved carefree, laughing and spinning to the sound of the music. He didn't realize the exact moment when he stopped thinking all that was a joke.

Theodore's words, said the day before, echoed in his mind. At that moment, inside the store, he had vehemently denied any feeling. But now, seeing you so at ease, with a genuine smile on your face, the provocations and games seemed distant. All he could do was watch you, as if it was the first time he really noticed how much you enchanted him.

The time they spent provoking each other, the jokes, the competitions... all this was dissolving in Mattheo's mind as he looked at you that night. Theodore was right, he noticed. Maybe all that would have been an excuse, a way to disguise what he had been feeling all the time.

And now, with you dancing and laughing so freely, he couldn't pretend anymore. The smile he showed to others was always a mask, but at that moment, looking at you, he felt something real. A slight tightness in his chest that he couldn't ignore.

Without realizing it, Mattheo let out a deep sigh. It was no longer a matter of provoking or winning bets. There was something else there, something he hadn't been able to admit even to himself.

And, for the first time, he stopped fighting against that.

Damn, he really fell in love with you.

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masterlist xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨