#That being said Stan is next again

[shhh-secret-time]

The soulmate AU fic’s are so cute 🥹🥹 I’m so incredibly in love with your writing! The Stan fic made me giggle so much 💙💙 HE IS PERFECT

I’d love to request one for Kenny if you’re not totally sick of the soulmate stuff 😂🩷

Anon. I need you to listen to me carefully. I will never, ever, be tired of soulmate stuff.

In fact, that's it. You're getting the softest Kenny fic of your life! Maybe

Warning: Body Horror, Blood, Injury, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Anxiety, a bit of depression. Violence.

Pairing: Kenny x GN!Reader

One of your favorite lessons growing up was the time your class learned about plants. You and your fellow classmates all sat at your desk with a little pot of soil to call your own. It didn't mean much to you at first, but as the class went on and the teacher her lesson it began to sink in.

This was life.

You remember going starry eyed as she pressed the smallest little seed into the dirt and poured a little water onto it. This woman had introduced you to something so simple yet so beautiful. How a little sunlight and a little bit of water could grow into something so gorgeous. So, you dedicated the next few months to that little seed. Staying awake late at night whispering secrets to it like an old friend, making sure it was nice and watered.

Needless to say, you cried when your little plant didn't sprout as quickly as everyone else's. You didn't understand what you were doing wrong. Your teacher tried to reassure you that you were doing fine.

Your name falls from her lips as she helps you wipe the tears from your eyes. "You're not doing anything wrong. Plants can be complicated. Some take a little longer than others but there's nothing wrong with them or with what you're doing!"

At the time she was talking about the plant, but as you got older the words stuck with you. And maybe she really was just talking about the little seed, but as you got older it got harder to not apply it to people.

You watched as people took to their own colors, growing and being shaped by the world around you. Some grew thorns, others grew branches. Most planted their roots, souls intertwined with the small town of South Park.

So why did it feel like you were the only one still in the ground, barely sprouting?

You're not doing anything wrong.

God, you wish you could believe her.

But it was hard when you were so overwhelmed with comparing yourself to the others. You weren't athletic like Stan or Red. You weren't top of your class like Kyle or Wendy. You didn't have the charm of Jimmy or Nichole. No, you were just you. What was special about you?

Kenny McCormick could. The blond could write a book on all the things that made you special. Pages filled with how kind you were, how you lit up every room you walked in even if you didn't realize it. If he was a smarter man, he'd probably find a way to compare you to some sunrise. Something beautiful!

Instead, all he can come up with is a dandelion. You may not be the most exotic plant in a flowerbed, but you were beautiful. Like dandelions you were everywhere to him. Under the gentle rays of the sun, pushing through the cracks of the sidewalk; brightening up his day. He saw you on the side of the road waving to him with a gentle sway, yellow petals beckoning him over. He saw the way you stretched up and up past the others eventually changing to those puffy little white balls.

But he's not a smart man, and on top of that he had a reputation. Kenny loved people, he loved that people loved. He loved his three asshole friends; he loved them more than they deserved. He loved his sister, the best thing to ever come from his parents, and that included him. Sometimes that love came out a little too much, he just had so much of it to give. Because like you, Kenny never really felt like he was good enough.

In a world of soulmates, love was hard. If Kenny caught ink on skin that seemed to change, or paragraphs of words on people's arms, he knew that his love would just be temporary for them. He often wondered if you had anything like that. Maybe a tattoo somewhere on your body that would indicate who your soul was bound to. The thought would keep him up at night because no matter how many times he checked; Kenny never saw ink. Never saw pictures or words with someone's thoughts. Stan and Kyle always were the lucky ones.

Lucky people don't lie in a dirty alley with their sides split open. Lucky people don't have to clench their sides to try to stop their blood from slipping out of them.

How could he be so careless? He'd done this song and dance for years now, ever since he was old enough to throw a fist and really make it hurt. Some nights it felt like this was the only thing he was good at, taking a hit and getting back up. Kenny McCormick was the world's punching bag.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and God it felt so good. To just let his eyes rest for a moment, he's been running on Monday's sleep, and it was fucking Wednesday. A small part of him thought about just letting sleep take him, how would it be different than his room?

Oh, but Karen.

And those guys trying to mug that poor woman, yeah, they were still a thing.

Kenn- no Mysterion pulls himself to his feet, the long purple cape hides his shaky legs. Yeah, Kenny might be the world's punching bag, but Mysterion fucking hits back. The dark purple gloves, now stained with a dark red, press into the wound trying to staunch the flow. His vision was getting dizzy, but he wasn't seeing black yet. He still had time before he'd wake up in bed again. Just enough time to break a few bones.

Meanwhile across town you sat in the living room of your small apartment, whatever YouTube video playing in the background. A nice little book rests in your hand, it was a quiet night for you. Most of them were as your apartment was just you and your little cat, the chunky little lady rest by your feet happily purring, just content to be around you. Well, you, your cat, and your plants. Right beside you were pots filled with various plants you'd grown over the years. From seasonal flowers to three different shaped bonsai trees, to various colored succulents, and finally your favorite Orchid. The beautiful purple flower had bloomed recently, and it was your pride and joy.

Everything was perfect, no stress about having to be better than you are. No deadlines or classes that made you feel dumb. No obligation to socialize and try to entertain people you didn't exactly call friend. That is until the sharp pain in your side made you scream out. Your cat jumping away from you and cowering on the other side of the couch, she looks terrified.

Right along your side, just below your rib, felt like it was being ripped apart. Like someone was taking their nails and pulling your skin apart. You lift your shirt and stare down in horror, as bright red spider lilies sprout from your skin. Thick green stalks wrap around each other and soon the crimson petals sprout out, it would be gorgeous if it wasn't in your skin. You feel like you're about to pass out, the sudden act was enough to make your body start shaking.

"W-What the- what the hell?!" You want to scream, want to cry out but all that comes out is a hushed whisper.

Luckily the pain stopped as soon as the flower finished blooming, the pain dulled down to a low buzzing around your skin. Your hands were shaking as your fingertips traced the flowers, unable to comprehend what was really happening. You blink, and then you blink again and again. They're still there and the velvet petals under your fingers were real.

Impulsively you moved the flowers apart until you found the base of the stem, there you saw how your skin meld together perfectly with the plant. It was like they were always a part of it. With a deep breath you grab the plant by the stem and pull. The pain it shoots through your body is unlike anything you've ever felt before, but it offers no resistance as it comes out of your body.

You squeeze your eyes expecting blood or at least a wound, but you don't feel your skin rip open. Instead, it feels like something has slipped from your skin, like pulling string through a closed fist. Through heavy breathing you open your eyes, and you felt your heart start to settle, the beautiful flowers were now tightly clenched in your fist roots and all. On closer inspection they had little drops of water on the petals as if they had just been watered. It was only then you realized you had been crying.

You couldn't sleep for the rest of the night, tossing and turning as your hand kept coming up to your sides. The area was numb, it didn't hurt but you couldn't get the image out of your head. It made your skin crawl and the shiver down your spine felt sharp, sharp enough to make your back arch. As the morning sun greeted you letting you know it was time to get up and start the day, the first thing to greet you were the spider lilies sitting next to you. You don't know why you didn't just throw them away, get rid of them and never think about it again, but they really did look so beautiful.

Now they were sitting on your nightstand next to the window, dancing back and forth as the little draft that entered your apartment led them in a waltz. As you pull back the blankets and your feet hit the cold floor of your apartment, your fists clench around the blankets as you stare down in horror.

Your knuckles were covered in poppies, little sprouts pushing in between the dips of your fingers. On your right hand they were much larger blooms and more prominent on the knuckle itself. You hiss at the way it parts your skin, much less clean than the spider lilies were. The poppies wiggle a bit making room as another one pushes up and breaks your skin. This time there is a little blood, not more than a paper cut would give you but still it was alarming.

Rushing to your bathroom you run your hand under the water, the fast-running water slamming down on the little red petals. Another red flower. Another flower meaning pain or death. You're much more careful this time, gently plucking the poppies up from your skin and placing them to the side on the wet counter. They come up just like flowers last night, with ease and when you inspect your knuckles there's nothing as if it was never there.

"Guess I'll get a pot for you guys..." You mutter to the flowers, rubbing your hand over your knuckles.

There was a part of you that thought about emailing your professor as to why you wouldn't be coming to class, but what would you even say?

Good morning Professor,

I won't be able to attend class today, I am not feeling well, and I was wondering if I could get the notes for today's class from you. I sincerely apologize and hope that I will recover soon.

Good morning Professor,

I won't be attending class today as I had a family emergency come up! I hope you understand, and I will be in class when everything settles down.

Hey Professor,

I've got fucking flowers growing out of my fucking skin! You know anything about that?!

You let out a loud groan and lean forward on your desk, pushing your laptop to the side. Your sweet little roommate jumps up and meows at you in response, she nudges her head against yours and puts her paw on your cheek. A small attempt to make you feel better, she's trying. When you don't move, she meows again only louder this time, her head smacking into yours.

"Ow! Okay! I know I can't just sit here all day." She looks at you when you lean up and snap back.

She sits all prim and proper as you get up from your seat, she watches as you pace around the room and gather everything you need for the day. When she meows again you stop and look back at her, conversations with your cat weren't uncommon some days it felt like she was the only one you could really talk to. It was sad but it was better than spending nights alone talking to your plants.

"Look, I've got to go. I'm paying for the stupid classes I might as well just go. I just have to hope that whatever happened last night, doesn't happen again!" You grab your coat and throw it over your arm, giving her one last look. "Maybe I can talk to someone there? Maybe someone knows what this is, until then you're in charge of the house! No eating the plants while I'm gone!"

When she doesn't meow back at you, you narrow your eyes at her in suspicion. "I'm serious!" She jumps off your desk and walks over to the couch where she rolls on her back. Not a care in the world.

Curse that cat and her adorable behavior. You've got no choice but to trust that she'll behave. On your way out you grab your keys and make your way down the steps of your little home. Days where it was nice and sunny out made you happy you live so close to your college campus, other days it was a drag to get out of bed.

The rest of the day went by quietly, just how you like it. You couldn't help but fidget in your seat out of fear of spontaneous flower growth. What if a really large plant came out of your back while you were sitting in front of someone? If it was like the spider lilies last night, you'd most definitely scream out in pain and that would be embarrassing. Once class let out you were the first one out of your seat, practically bolting to the door.

This was getting to be too much, you had to find someone to talk to about this. The anxiety of when it would happen again was overwhelming. As you pass the little library you stop and check the inside, maybe you didn't have to talk to anyone about this. Maybe it would be in a book or at the very least you could try googling it.

As you walk into the quiet little domain you spot a few other students standing around talking to one another. Some sitting by the common tables, others tapping away on the public computers. Just as you're about to make a beeline for one of the computers tucked away in the corner, a soft voice stops you almost making you leap out of your skin.

"Hey, are you okay? Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!" The voice was so gentle and soft, you turned to see Heidi Turner smiling at you.

Heidi Turner was one of the sweetest people in the school, she went through leaps and bounds to be a better person after high school. Most days she keeps herself either in the library offering to tutor other students, or volunteering around town in various ways. She was always kind to you, and you always wanted to call her a friend but something stopped you. Even though she was a sweet girl, that fear of bothering her was still there.

"Oh um...it's okay! Really, I was just uh...going to use one of the computers. Is that okay? Am I allowed?" God, you want to find a hole to crawl into and just die.

"Of course you can! I was actually coming over to see if I could help you find something, but it looks like you've got it all figured out!" She beams up at you with a little giggle.

You think for a moment, if you had to tell anyone about the situation you were in Heidi was a good person to tell. She wouldn't go around telling other people and it wasn't like you had anyone else to really confide in. So, you take a deep breath and go to stop her from walking away. "Ac-Actually Heidi, um could you help me with something? Real quick."

Heidi stops and turns back to you; she cocks her head when she sees the nervous look in your eyes. Now she looks worried, not scared you think but concerned. She walks closer to you and gestures for you to follow her towards the computer, when the two of you are far enough away from the other students she whispers.

"I had a feeling you were looking for a friend, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

A friend? She thought you guys were friends? That alone was enough to make you relax a little and let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You rub your arms a little and look behind you before responding.

"I'm really freaked out Heidi and I don't know how to talk about it."

"Hey, it's okay. Take it slow, I'm right here. Is someone hurting you?"

Your eyes widen at that, and you quickly shake your head at her. "What? O-Oh no no! It's not someone it's- well it's something?" When she looks at you confused, you groan and shake your head. "I mean something happened last night and it's really freaking me out!"

You tell her the events that transpired last night, avoiding the gruesome details as to not freak her out. You expect her to call you crazy or to laugh in your face, but she doesn't.

No, instead she stands there and nods along with you. Even offering her hand to you to take when you start to tear up, the fear of it happening again came crashing down mid-story. She offers you a gentle smile, rubbing your back as you try to calm down.

"It sounds like a soulmate thing." You rub your eyes at her as she speaks, trying to get the tears spilling from your eyes out.

"A... soulmate thing? But why now, and why this?"

"It takes some people a little longer before their soulmate signs trigger. I run a support group for people who run into theirs a little late, or for people who don't have any at all." Heidi says it as if it's the most normal thing in the world to her.

You stare at her in awe for a little while, clinging on to every word with such desperation. She was like an angel, a guardian angel telling you there was nothing to worry about and that this was normal.

"As for why your trigger is this...I don't know. Triggers manifest differently for each person, there's a lot of studies on soulmates. I'm sure someone at the school is much smarter than I could tell you." She pauses for a moment and her eyes light up with excitement. "But hey! This means you've got a soulmate, I'm just sorry it's so painful for you!"

On the other side of the library Kenny was lying on one of the little bean bags chairs the school threw in for comfort. Tucked away in some corner, his plan was to take a little nap in. Somewhere where he knew his friends wouldn't come looking for him, well Kyle might but he'd never thought to find Kenny here. But when you walked in with that look of panic on your face he sat right up, like he had just gotten a full eight hours of sleep.

Why did you look so terrified? What was going on? Did you need someone? You were looking around the library like you were being followed.

These thoughts began pounding at the front of his mind and just as he was about to stand up and walk over to you, Heidi beat him to it. He couldn't make out everything you were saying, but from the way you whispered to the smaller brunette it sounded serious. His lavender eyes follow you into the other corner of the library, the one right across from him.

He should look away; he should mind his own business and try to shut out your conversation. But he can't help it, he knows it's rude, but he can't get the image of your scared face out of his head. So, he closes his eyes and tries to hone in on your conversation with Heidi. It takes everything in his power not to get lost in the way you speak; your voice was so soothing. Kenny imagined it was what honey melting in tea would sound like if it had a voice.

That's when the topic of soulmates came up. He jolts up again and his eyes widen over at you as you describe the flowers sprouting from your skin. The hands resting in his orange patchy parka shuffle over to the wound on his side, or at least where it was. Like every time he died, he'd wake up with his body fully healed with no scars or signs of his life being taken from him.

However, if he didn't die his body would keep the scratches and little wounds on his body. Earlier this morning he got a little careless and split his knuckles, maybe he was putting into many hours as Mysterion here of late but if those stalkers didn't want to be punched, they shouldn't be stalking people. He nearly leaps from the bean bag when you talk about poppies growing from your knuckles this morning, telling Heidi the exact location where he had split his.

His heart was racing, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. There was no way he was that lucky, that he was that deserving that someone like you would be his soulmate. Just before he can stand up the universe reminds him just how unlucky he really is.

"Kenny! There you are! We've been looking everywhere for you dude!" Any other time he would have been happy to hear Stan's voice, happy to see the others following right behind him.

"This is so sad you guys.... Kenny is sleeping in the library now. Is your cardboard bed that uncomfortable?" Any other time Kenny would have shut Eric down with a comeback of his own, but all he could muster was a glare. "Whoa what crawled up your vagina this morning?"

"God damn it Cartman quit it and stop waving that fishing pole around! You've got fucking hooks on it!" Any other time Kenny would have ignored Kyle's yelling, the ginger looked for any excuse to yell at Eric.

"Guys! Look I'm really not in the mood to-" But before Kenny could finish, Eric swung around to face the man yelling at him.

The metal hook at the end of Eric's fishing rod that he was carrying around for god knows why, slammed into the side of Kenny's face. The sharp hook caught the side of his cheek and pierced through the flesh. Instead of screaming out in pain he bit his lower lip and muffled it, once you've been stabbed in a dark alley trying to fight off a group of people it just becomes second nature.

"Dude!"

"Oh, shit Kenny!"

"Sick! You're getting blood everywhere!"

Kenny didn't have time for this, not when you were-

Oh god you.

His eyes dart over to where you were standing with Heidi, silently praying to whatever poor god that would listen to him that you were alright. He watches as you cup the side of your face, hesitating for a moment before your fingers met the cluster of clovers growing on the side of your face.

It doesn't hurt this time. Not like the last few times, in fact it feels gentle. Fingers that aren't yours caressing the side of your face, a whisper of something more, that clumsy first kiss, all of it wrapped up in one little moment. The three leaf clovers bloom across your cheek stopping just at the edge of your lips where finally a single six leaf clover sprouts.

He doesn't wait another moment; with his gloved hands he takes the fishing line that connects the hook in his face and his friends fishing pole and snaps it. His friends watch in horror and awe how he breaks it like a dried twig, like it was nothing to him. Kenny's on his feet before they can stop him again, moving across the library floor with purpose. The pain in his face is nothing compared to what he'll feel if he lets you slip away from him again. His reputation be damned, his pain be damned, all of it damned!

The library went quiet, and any hushed whispers were stopped when Kenny made his way over to you. He didn't even seem to care that he was leaving quite the blood trail behind him, and if anyone in the library cared they quickly changed their minds from the look on his face alone. The sound of his footsteps behind you made you turn to face him, but you don't have much time as he takes your wrist and drags you away from the many eyes and ears of others.

The school grounds are quiet right now, most people either have already gone home or are in class. Kenny doesn't slow down when walking and you don't stop him from dragging you across campus. He takes you further off school grounds, back near the many hills of South Park where the grass is peeking out from under the snow. The first signs of spring being crushed under your heels as you walk. Turning to face you, he doesn't get a word out before you're already looking up at him ready to talk.

"I'm sorry." He almost doesn't pick up what you say, the way you whisper it so softly. The clovers on your face can't make it easy but he can't help but admire how you make them look so ethereal; a painting come to life. Timeless and within reach.

"Why are you sorry?" Kenny struggles to talk as blood pours from his mouth and down his chin.

You don't know why you chuckle or why you smile at him, you should be terrified. Horrified for him that he was standing there talking to you with a fishhook in his mouth like it was the most normal thing in the world. Yet, with him it did feel normal. Unlike the other times you've interacted with the blond. This time it felt right.

If this was the work of him being your soulmate at play, you didn't really care. For the first time in your life things felt peaceful, you didn't feel the pressure of others. Because there were no others, just Kenny and you on a rolling hill. Just two dandelions growing next to each other and basking in the setting sun.

"That you're stuck with...me?" Your voice breaks through the little fantasy in your head and reality comes shattering back around you.

Kenny shakes his head and grins down at you, the gap between his front teeth that he hates now, bare to your eyes. Suddenly he doesn't feel so insecure about it. "I was just about to say that to you. You're the one who's got a plant growing out of your face."

"They were spider lilies and poppies yesterday." When you laugh Kenny has to resist the urge to grab you and pull you in for a kiss.

"If I get to hear you laugh like that always, never apologize to me again." You go to laugh again and look away from him, but he takes the sides of our face and turns you to back towards him. He's so gentle with you, shaky hands being careful not to crush the clovers on your face.

'Anyone else would have.' You think.

"I'm serious. Never apologize to me for being you again. You have no idea how thrilled I am that it's you. That I finally get to have someone to call mine and it's you." Those purple eyes bare down into yours like rain in a thunderstorm. You can even feel the water rolling down your cheeks and he's brushing them away with his thumbs. Whispering soft hushes, telling you not to cry.

"Kenny..."

"Shh, it's alright. I'm only saying it because I get it. I know where you're at but... maybe...maybe this is the universe telling us it's time to love ourselves. I'm not saying we've got to figure this out now I know I've got a bit of reputation of-"

You cut him off, for the second time today Kenny's been cut off, but he doesn't care when your lips are pressed so gently against his. The taste of copper doesn't even seem to bother you either. His eyes flutter shut, and his hands drop from your face to your waist where he pulls you in like he's always wanted to.

"I don't... think you're as bad as you think you are." You whisper against his lips and Kenny feels like he's going to melt.

"I don't think you're as bad as you think you are." He throws your words back at you with a playful purr behind his tone. "Baby I could tell the world just how perfect you are."

You scoff at that and roll your eyes, but the shy smile that plays on your lips tells Kenny exactly what he wants to hear. He reaches up to wipe the blood of your face, but you stop him and take his hand pressing a kiss into the palm of his gloves. You run his fingers through the clovers and take a deep breath, taking in everything around you.

"One step at a time Ken. For now, let’s worry about getting that hook out of your face."

"Huh? Oh yeah, I kinda forgot about it."

"How?"

"Was too busy getting lost in your eyes~"

You snort and push his hand away from your face, but it doesn't go far. Instead, you intertwine your fingers with his and pull him towards the school. Kenny follows you down the hill with all the love in his eyes he can muster.

Kenny McCormick had so much love in his heart to give, and now it was all yours. Maybe in the days to pass you’ll fill your apartment with the various plants and each little bud and flower would remind you of just that. That you weren't alone, you were surrounded by his love. That you were enough. That too him, you were words he couldn't put together and express. Other than...

I love you.

[spookierz]

part of me never left that exile

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — sae itoshi: scene stealer !

synopsis: in which you called itoshi sae overrated in an interview, and he responded in the language he knew best.

sae itoshi x reader ⭑ drabble + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

wc: 502

“so, y/n,” the interviewer leaned forward, voice slick like the studio lights overhead. “we have to ask. you’ve done period dramas, blockbusters, indie films- critics are calling you the actress of our generation.”

you smiled politely, legs crossed, fingers light against the armrest. you knew how this worked. press tours were just acting with more glitter.

“but let’s pivot for a second,” she continued, eyes gleaming. “if we look at the football world critics say that sae itoshi is the footballer of our generation. how would you call him?”

you blinked. the question wasn't on the pre-approved list. the name hung in the air between you. sharp, clean, handsome.

“what about him?” you asked, voice even.

she smiled like a shark. “what do you think of him?”

your team was probably watching this from a monitor backstage, already regretting not cutting this question during prep. your PR manager was going to have a migraine. your fans would call it iconic. his fans… probably not.

you could laugh it off. you probably should. but instead, you relaxed your legs, eyes fixed on the interviewer.

“honestly?” you said.

she nodded, breath held.

you looked into the camera.

“overrated.”

there was a pause. a small one.

“i mean, he’s obviously good,” you added. “i’m not blind. but the hype about him? like he’s untouchable? it’s… excessive.”

you didn’t blink. didn’t smile. you weren’t trying to be cute about it. you just told the truth.

the segment moved on. the rest of the interview went fine. you were charming, articulate, witty. you knew how to give the audience what they wanted.

but none of it mattered. by nightfall, the only clip anyone was posting was the one where you said his name and called him overrated like it was a fact, not a statement.

the backlash was loud.

sports journalists, fanboys, stan accounts, all dissecting your tone, your words, your expression.

some defended you. said you were just being honest. that he was too cold, too mechanical, too arrogant to be idolized.

others tore into you. called you bitter. attention-seeking. said you didn’t have the right to speak on someone like him.

you said nothing. posted nothing. didn’t clarify or apologize. because you meant it.

until the 82nd minute of his next match against bastard münchen.

you weren’t watching the game live. you told yourself you didn’t care. but someone sent you the clip. and then someone else. and then it was trending.

he’d scored.

a brilliant, brutal goal, so fast it barely looked real. two defenders bypassed like training cones, the keeper left guessing. textbook precision and trademark calm.

then he walked straight to the nearest camera.

he didn’t smile. didn’t shout. didn’t do anything flashy.

he just looked into the lens, mouthed the word, slowly, clearly.

“overrated?”

you watched it in silence.

watched it again.

and again.

until your phone buzzed with a message from your best friend:

“he’s coming for your throat"

you exhaled through your nose, tossing your phone aside.

“fine,” you muttered. “let him.”

part 2 here

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[astonmartinii]

doing business with family | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x fem hadjar reader

brother and boyfriend in the same sport? nothing has ever gone wrong when doing business with family... right?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, pepemarti and 307,377 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & isackhadjar

yourusername: max will officially become my second favourite f1 driver this weekend

view all comments

user1: watched isack’s f2 radio highlights in preparation for this weekend … yeah they’re defo siblings

user2: i know they’re parents had a HANDFULL with them growing up

user3: lmao just ask george in abu dhabi or lando in austria, y/n knows how to make her point KNOWN

isackhadjar: omg i beat max in something!

yourusername: come on bro have some faith in yourself - you can defo beat max in singapore at least

maxverstappen1: rude?

yourusername: you know i hate singapore in solidarity babe?

isackhadjar: and that’s crazy because she loves the glitter helmets

yourusername: i really do

user4: get you a couple that measures their love by glitter helmets?

user5: y/n is so real for that though, i’d fuck seb’s glitter helmets

yourusername: right well i don’t love them quite THAT much

charles_leclerc: slides £5 across the table isack please take max out, he won’t hate you

isackhadjar: no?

landonorris: WHY NOT

isackhadjar: i want to keep my job and actually score some points

yourusername: you people done harassing my brother?

maxverstappen1: do we have a problem?

isackhadjar: they’re being mean, they’re trying to PEER PRESSURE ME

charles_leclerc: i don’t think i was peer pressuring you

charles_leclerc: it’s bribery, god get it right

maxverstappen1: i think you should watch it

yourusername: say something like that to him again frenchie and your ass is grass

user6: omg romance ❤️‍🔥

redbullracing

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 823,081 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, yukitsunoda0511 & liamlawson30

redbullracing: red bull vs rb on pop culture trivia… max and isack were unstoppable - we might have to split them up next time

view all comments

user7: now i wonder where max and isack got their real housewives knowledge from …

user8: this has y/n hadjar written all over it

user9: if i remember rightly y/n was asked by some interviewer in the paddock who she’d like to see as a paddock guest and she said LISA RINNA?

user10: i knew i stanned the right queen

isackhadjar: not our fault that liam and yuki aren’t caught up with all the fresh news

maxverstappen1: we’re bonded cats i don’t think they have the power to separate us

redbullracing: it’s a trivia game…

maxverstappen1: THAT’S MY BABY BROTHER

redbullracing: YOU GUYS AREN’T EVEN MARRIED YET?

yourusername: looks like admin just lost their invite to the wedding…

redbullracing: yOU AREN’T ENGAGED?

yourusername: i guess you’ll never know

user11: no way they just teased their engagement in an argument over media duties?

user12: you’re shocked? this is quintessential them

user13: and they’re adding in their little rabid mini-them? i fear f1 is actually not ready

liamlawson30: so when do we get to do cars trivia? or is it all set up for them to win?

yourusername: just say you’re uncultured…

maxverstappen1: get a new personality trait bro

liamlawson30: omg why are you guys on my neck so hard?

maxverstappen1: funny

liamlawson30: this is so not fair why didn’t you guys defend me like this last season?

yourusername: that’s my flesh and blood dude

isackhadjar: duh!

maxverstappen1: i am so in love with y/n i just do what she says, do let it be known that if isack was not related to y/n he would be just another stray cat to me

isackhadjar: sure i’ll take it!

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, isackhadjar and 839,023 others

maxverstappen1: we had the chance to extend our championship lead but with two optimists behind you anything can happen…

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user21: LMAO THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THIS AND THE LAST POST

user22: isack probably teared up in the stewards room and max crumbled

user23: i mean on his radio as soon as GP said it was isack max was immediately like ‘is he okay?’

isackhadjar: sorry max!

maxverstappen1: no worries buddy, you can pay me back with room service

isackhadjar: so our move marathon is still on?

maxverstappen1: don’t be dumb - obviously!

maxverstappen1: i need my second in command to help defend my snacks from y/n

yourusername: you guys aren’t supposed to have those snacks i’m doing you a favour !!!

isackhadjar: sureeeee

yourusername: i can call your trainers up if you want?

maxverstappen1: NO WE’RE OKAY

user24: esteban ocon is not okay seeing this tomfoolery

user25: yeah yeah yeah it’s all fun and games but that’s legit his baby brother of course he wasn’t going to cuss him out

user26: exactly! he’s been with y/n for like four years? of course he was concerned about isack’s safety than his race

landonorris: i’m not surprised, just disappointed

maxverstappen1: why?

landonorris: I’M YOUR BEST FRIEND AND YOU STILL AIRED ME OUT ONLINE?

maxverstappen1: first of all y/n is my best friend

maxverstappen1: second of all isack is my baby brother

maxverstappen1: third of all you’re annoying

yourusername: heavy on number three

landonorris: i GIVE UP WITH YOU PEOPLE

user27: i love watching max and y/n making people crash out in instagram comments

user28: couples that terrorise together, stay together

georgerussell63: interesting ….

yourusername: you wanna say something

georgerussell63: suddenly not anymore

maxverstappen1: LMAO

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 459,034 others

tagged: maxverstappen1, isackhadjar & pepemarti

yourusername: bond a little bit stronger than a lil crash in a formula one race

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user29: if they don’t get married and live happily ever after i might just sue them

user30: so real

user31: they’re my parents and i can’t go up to four christmasses

redbullracing: that was millions in damage

yourusername: you gonna invoice me for it?

redbullracing: no?

yourusername: then get the fuck out of my comments this is a wholesome post

user32: why is pepe here?

pepemarti: i am just as much part of the hadjar family as max

maxverstappen1: well that’s just factually incorrect

pepemarti: nuh uh

maxverstappen1: ??? i’m marrying in? what are you doing?

pepemarti: i’m mama hadjar and y/n’s favourite so divine intervention

maxverstappen1: @yourusername please dispell this nonsense

yourusername: look at his lil face …

pepemarti: :p

isackhadjar: i’ll be clear i am not marrying pepe

pepemarti: that’s not what you told me the other day :(

user33: can someone make a chart this is all a bit confusing now

user34: i don’t think anything is helping with this chaos

maxverstappen1: i love you forever and ever, even if your brother puts me in the wall <3

yourusername: awww i love you too bubs

maxverstappen1: but i am your favourite though?

yourusername: don’t tell them but yes!

isackhadjar: these are public comments?

pepemarti: i’m legally blind now

fin.

note: a quicky i wrote during the super bowl lol - hope you enjoy xx

[mr-jack-letterman]

We need more young stan content out here.

And nah I ain't talking about 12 year old Stanley or 30 year old mullet Stan, I'm talking 17 year old, slicked back hair, acne riddled Stan pines.

Yeah that one.

I am so happy mullet Stan is so popular because his fit slaps ngl and the angst is so potent I can't not respect it. But teenage Stan has so much potential it's driving me insane.

There is a line dividing the 17 years of relative happiness Stan had with Ford and the 10+ years of depression and crime he had on the streets, and teenage Stan uses that line as a goddamn jump rope.

Seriously, depending on how you look at it dude is either living his best life or is fighting for said life in the trenches of homelessness and poverty.

I see a lot of content regarding Stan on the streets but it only ever focuses on 30ish Stan in his later years of homelessness where he's already a hardened adult after years of dealing with this bullshit. But Stan didn't just drive away and then magically turn 30. There were times in those first few months after Stan got kicked out where he was in his car, trying to sleep, probably starving, while still being fundamentally a child.

Hell, compared to the 30ish age of mullet Stan and the 60+ year old con man he'd later become, teenage Stan is damn near a baby. There's a certain brightness about him, a sort of warm naive optimism that still clings to him because he's straight up just too young to know any better.

He's still fully convinced he's gonna make it rich and go back to his family in a few years. He still believes wholeheartedly that even if shit sucks right now, eventually everything is gonna be okay. It has to be. But it's not gonna be okay. It's not gonna be okay for a long time. And some parts are just never gonna be okay.

Seeing a happy and oblivious teenage Stan feels like watching a baby lamb walk into a slaughter house.

The next 10-something years are going to tear him apart limb from limb. In 40 years he's going to wake up on a boat during a bout of amnesia thinking he's in Columbian prison, or he's locked in the trunk of a car and about to drown, or his shoulder is on fire and his brother is gone, or it's the end of the world and everyone he ever dared to give a shit about is about to die in front of him and it's all his fault because he was too weak to stop it.

At some point, a young Stanley is going to get into his first true life or death fight. He doesn't even have to be involved with crime yet for it to happen. He's probably bruised and bleeding, with not nearly enough money to afford a doctor. He's sitting in the driver's seat of his El Diablo having a complete and utter break down because he almost died and suddenly everything is real.

Nothing is okay, absolutely nothing is going to be okay and whatever is left of his teenage innocence, naivety, and warmth dies in that car and it never comes back.

The next 10+ years are going to fundamentally change Stanley as a person and he's never going to be the same ever again. But teenage Stan doesn't know that, he's still a kid trying to sleep in the back of his car, ignoring hunger pangs and finding comfort in the half baked business ideas his mind cooks up because he doesn't understand how utterly done for he is.

12 year old Stanley I believe is so appealing because of his bright rambunctious spirit. He's still just a kid playing on the beach with his brother, but so was teenage Stan. I just wish the wholesomeness that comes with that and the subsequent hurt that follows as that spirit is broken over and over again by the world was explored more.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

[cloveroctobers]

forgive me | Elijah “SMOKE” Moore x black! reader

A/N: I’ll admit it, I’m a smoke girlie. I’m 100% a Annie x Smoke stan too yet I don’t think I’d do them justice so here you go 😆 Apparently I’ve been in a writing mood lately so although this turned out a little longer than intended…I hope you end up liking this too!

WARNINGS: language ofc + angst, mentions of sexual content, reader has a smidge of a back story but not too detailed, TW: alluding to DV, & self-harm.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁

You were the aftermath.

Not the mud of the battlefield, not the adrenaline before Smoke took his place to shoot—just the leftovers of the war he stepped into when he couldn’t get his mind right.

He wouldn’t dare say her name in your bed but she was there in the way his hand tremors when he touched your skin, there when he had you on all fours, face smushed against the sheets that always smelled like him: tobacco, basil, and grief, she was there when he appreciated your body with care, encouraging you through it, she was there when he took proper care of his hair in the mirror before he got dressed to depart, followed with a fast kiss to your cheek and nothing more said, she was even there when your joy got too comfortable because that was something borrowed and not meant to be kept.

Unfortunately you still loved him.

Loved the way he carried himself whether alone or with Stack by his side, a brooding confidence that nobody wanted to fuck with and if they did, they’d never get the chance to do it again. Even if you loved him intently, it’s not like you did the best job keeping it quiet, since every time he showed up at your door, there was nothing but infatuation in your eyes.

There was no such thing as keeping things secret when it came to the subject of Elijah Moore.

You’d do anything for that man.

If he wanted you to take the wrap for him, whatever dirt he got up to in Chicago, you would in a heartbeat.

A foolish woman you were.

“Never love a man more than he loves you, you hear me? Don’t be a stupid girl because stupid girls are left wonderin’ while they go on and live like you never mattered.” Your momma told you from behind in the mirror as she helped you into an itchy and unflattering dress, since now you were the appropriate age to be wed.

The man you met prior was not the best suitor, a pig of a man with a wandering eye who had a good job as the head teller down at the bank, yet he never communicated well enough for you and as soon as that job insecurity situation took place, his frustrations were taken out on you. Once you were able to recover enough to pack your things, you got the call that your fiancé was murdered in a bank robbery gone wrong.

The thing about love is…it could be many things and when you looked back at your time with that particular man…sometimes love could simply be nothing at all.

You heard the whispers around town more than ever, especially when it became known about you and Elijah but there wasn’t much shame in your heart.

Something about Elijah Moore made you eager to love! Sure you had a few that tried after you buried your fiancé but none of them made your blood feel as if it was on fire or as if your heart was in their hands.

You’ve never loved a man quite like Smoke and although he’s never made promises to you, him always coming back was the next best thing.

He ended up arriving to your door step on a rainy night, standing on your porch with a tight expression on his face. Like he had something to get off his chest and that you had no choice but to listen.

You would anyway.

He wanted to officially cut this off, much to your confusion until you got close enough to him underneath the porch light. You could smell her on him.

A sad smile you memorized was on your face at the realization that you were being pushed away. “Forgive me, for loving you like you were meant to be mine. When that would never be so.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, keeping his hands clasped in front of him with the brim of his hat clenched beneath his fingers, and drenched from the storm. You still wanted to offer him to come inside, let him dry off, fix up his suit as best as you could, until the storm passed but it felt as if that storm was just arriving.

“It ain’t even like that,” he finds the words, “If things were different—

You shake your head, hand still resting on the doorframe, “But they’re not Elijah. You belong with your lifeline…I just kept her spot warm. Does she know that? People talk even out in the wetlands.”

Smoke doesn’t want to answer that, “I just came here to let you know that this is done. I made a commitment to my wife so I’m gonna honor that.”

He looked at you as if you were a pebble he’d kick to the side in the dirt. Something to just flick away and that is when you knew that only love could hurt like this.

Momma was right.

Steam swirls from the gun as the group stands watching in horror while Cornbread lay on the ground with bullets to the face. Footsteps are heard not too long after that, kicking up dirt with each step, a pebble rolled their way and Smoke himself feels his breathing get caught in his throat.

“Well that wasn’t nice,” you state peering down at cornbread who’s barely twitching, trying to come back from his rest.

Your eyes shimmer white in the night as you wave your fingers mainly at the part owner of the juke joint. “Hey there handsome…love what you done with the place.”

Making your way over, the group immediately step back into the space, making your smile appear more sinister than friendly.

“Don’t you come no closer!” Annie warns, her Cajun accent beating strong.

You stop right at the door, “Alright, I’m gettin’ the feeling I’m not wanted here. Yet I just thought I’d stop on by.”

“Fuck happened to y’all,” Smoke says your name, tone having an edge to it, almost as if he cared.

Annie sends him a look, already putting two and two together, it was simple maths.

Sighing you begin to pace back and forth, “If you think this is your fault, then let us put you out of your misery, so you can see the better side of things.”

It was a commercial smile on your face that would have been comical if watched on the big screen.

“There ain’t nothin’ better about the side you’re on! Now you best go on before you get the same treatment as cornbread.” Annie points, although she’s not big on guns, she would snatch it from her husband’s hands to do what needed to be done if he wouldn’t.

You laugh, “There’s no need for violence…I just wanted a place on the dance floor with you folks, Mrs. Annie.”

“Well you weren’t invited and still aren’t.”

Placing your hands on your hips you let a dramatic puff of air fall from your lips, “That’s kinda tough you know? The world is full of enough hate instead of love and that should be the number one thing reciprocated. But that was my biggest problem.”

“Oh lord,” Slim comments as he takes another swing from his flask, “We’re about to see the theatrics. Like this is some fucken broadway musical. Which I ain’t much of a fan of. So lady, you not comin’ up in here. Get gone.”

Your eyes flick back to Smoke, who has a furrow in between his brows as his eyes focus in on you. You still looked like you but the air that surrounded you was not.

If Smoke squinted hard enough, maybe you’ll go back to being you and not this cold shell that stood before him on an October night. You were the woman that crept into his life when he didn’t think he had anymore love to give. What type of love did he give you exactly? Smoke remembered how your skin glowed in the diner you worked at, how you kept on working until the wee hours of the morning, smile in your eyes although your feet ached and pulsated, baking those delicious pecan pies that made your hands swell and skin blot up, and how you seemed reluctant at first to accept a ride back to yours from a man you only heard of but never interacted with until that day back in June.

“You’re dead,” his eyes are hard on you but voice low like a just turned off engine, “Ain’t you?”

The sourness seeps right through at that last remark.

There’s no warmth in your eyes this time while you smile once more. You’ve stopped pacing, pressing your hands into your hips as you cross one ankle over the other, “To be dead is to be reborn, Smoky. I’m more alive than I was before.”

Grace scoffs from her spot beside Slim, who peers over at her with his round eyes. He was thinking the same thing: dead is dead.

Annie feels her own fingers twitch as her gaze shifts from you and back to her husband. It was clear that there was a hint of regret on his face, as if he could have prevented your fate especially experiencing loss after loss.

Before he has time to fully process what you’re saying to him you’re talking again, moving closer while they step back. Well, except for Smoke who still stands with his smoking gun. Annie has her hand on his bicep, tugging while you’re eye to eye and from his peripheral he sees cornbread starting to rise.

“You shouldn’t keep that sadness on your face, darling.” Your voice sounds like wind-chimes against a brewing storm, a supposed soothing sound yet a sign of chaos, “It wasn’t all bad and it doesn’t have to remain that way either. Remy knew just as I that it would have been a lonely life without you. I wasn’t the mistake, you were my consequence.”

Smoke doesn’t flinch but your words surely prick. Like Ivy curling around his entire frame and squeezing the mess out of his heart. His grip on his gun tightens, not to fire but like he’s holding on when he said he was letting go.

Annie’s hand presses firmer into his sleeve. To remind him that he’s still flesh and blood.

Smoke’s brown eyes remain on you, he doesn’t blink. He tried to sweep you to the side like you were something to be disregarded, that was his choice and now this is the cost.

He chose Annie.

His wife.

Mother of his late child.

The love of his life in every lifetime.

Their grief, their healing, over a minute with you.

Yet you’re here, at the space he bought with his twin, success right in his hands, and you’re wearing a smile that’s too still and doesn’t match the shade of eyes he was used to.

The shade he poured into when you lay your head in his lap on your couch. Talking about any and everything, while he quietly drank in every word.

These eyes weren’t the same.

They’re blinding like headlights during a winter fog.

“That man ain’t no damn savior,” Smoke adds your name, trying to convince you, as if that would snap you out of it but the damage was done, “He’s a leech in suspenders with a banjo strapped to his chest. Whatever he said, ain’t the got damn gold at the end of the rainbow.”

Slim snorts at this but it’s clear he agrees.

There’s a beat of silence that even the wind pauses. Your head tilts to the side, “Twin would disagree and you’ll see soon too.”

And your eyes shine a reflective white, almost gold as they take in the blood that decorated the white of Smoke’s sleeve. He’s reminded of what lays guarded by Sammie towards the back of the juke joint. This makes Smoke sharply inhale, raising his gun now to point right at you.

Mockingly you raise your hands up and step back some.

“You’ll get the fuck on if you know what’s good for you.” Smoke gritted, finger on the trigger.

Despite his anger Annie can sense there’s still a hint of hesitation—a what if swirling beneath his ribcage—even when Cornbread is on his feet from behind just watching with his battered face.

“Once upon a time I thought that was you but…I’ve got a new appreciation now, so I forgive you, Smoky.”

A wink is sent his way before you allow your stare to linger on his face. It was long enough to hear a crack rip through the air, as if it was splitting the earth wide open.

“You know I treated you good through the blues and loved too much you know?” Your voice is twice as dark as you create more space, walking backwards to stand beside Cornbread, “Maybe we were just business while you were always a family man. I can’t limit myself no more though.”

Smoke’s jaw is tight, feeling the weight of the gun in his grasp but he still doesn’t pull the trigger.

A small part of him still feels for you.

He didn’t miss the mark on your sleeve, which showed your skin to him with each pace and movement of your hands. Smoke also didn’t miss the bite that covered the mark you inflicted on that same wrist.

It still looked fresh.

This was truly happening.

His voice cuts through the sudden quiet like gravel beneath his good shining shoes, “You weren’t just business,” he says, low and certain. “You were the part of me that couldn’t stay… and the reason I made it back to what could.”

He briefly glanced over at Annie who dipped her head at him. She understood all layers of Elijah Moore, whereas you only had a corner piece but even that was hauntingly beautiful.

“Don’t twist that into nothin’ smaller than it was. So forgive me for not sayin’ that before.” Smoke speaks to you, which made your own eyes flick back and forth between the couple.

There was a reason why they made it back to each other. How Annie’s hand stayed steady on his sleeve. She seemed to have a silent understanding too. They worked so well together yet Smoke didn’t want you to go out thinking that what you had was nothing.

Or disposable.

He was not your past or chance in the afterlife.

But he was something.

He wanted you to know that, honor it.

Smoke wanted you to just appreciate your time for what it was and respect where he stood now. Smoke wished he would have said that much sooner so maybe the Irish lurker wouldn’t have gotten to you during the hollow echo of your blues.

It was your turn to not have a verbal response. The glint of your eyes in the distance are no longer white-hot but human, familiar. It remained the color he’s known you to have. The ones he remembered back on the couch, the ones he felt like he could sink into if he fully allowed himself to. A softened glance is there. He could see the water rising in them, which made Smoke deeply inhale.

Suddenly you and Cornbread’s head turn to your right, listening to something the rest inside the joint couldn’t hear.

Something was coming.

Cornbread offers his arm for you to loop with his.

You take it as if he’ll keep you upright and begin to lead the way, away from the building. You cast a final glance over your shoulder, a look that doesn’t beg to be remembered but will be in every universe.

Annie doesn’t say a thing but Smoke feels the way she shifts beside him now, her fingers ease their grip, an empathic understanding when she doesn’t have to give a ounce of it.

This was their goodbye.

Smoke watches as you and cornbread become shadows of the night.

He lowers his gun, steps back, and closes the door.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁

FIN.

🏷️: @marley1773 + @christinabae

[rie-092]

STAY WITH US

[ soft yandere! park moondae x manager! reader ]

summary : moondae didn't like what the other idols just did to you.

okay, let's talk about soft yandere! park moondae.

he first met you when the testar move into their dorms after the survival show. there, the staffs introduced you as one of their managers.

at first, he was kind of worried. because it's kind of unusual to see a woman being a manager of a boy group (it's not like he's being a misogynist, he just have a trust issue because of the rumors that he heard before)

and it's not just him, it seems like keun sejin and ryu chungwoo was worried too.

but, when you assured them that you like female idols more than male idols. they were kind of relieved.

park moondae who watched how you were able to make every members of testar trusts you. he watches how you always feeds cha eugene with chocolate bars during their hectic schedule. how you helped raebin with his job as their group's producer (and he has to admit, seeing raebin's excited face whenever he talks to you means your damn good at it), he also watch how you enjoys crocheting with ahyeon whenever you has free time.

and surprisingly, keun and bae sejin as well as ryu chungwoo slowly opened their hearts to you.

you were a good person, he knew that. you were also good at your job. that's why when the t1 tries to assign you to another group. park moondae surprisingly found himself pulling up some strings to make sure that you will remain as their precious manager.

soft yandere! park moondae who always finds himself cooking some foods for you at dawn whenever he found you pulling up an overnight to fix their schedule.

he hates to admit it himself but taking care of you became his habit. wait, isn't it supposed to be another way round?

park moondae who likes to see how your eyes twinkled while watching their music videos with them by the time it got posted. see? their music were better than those groups that you stan— wait? why the hell does he sounds like a jealous brat?

park moondae who accidentally broke a couple of cheongryeo's ribs when he talk shit about you during the time when he got kidnapped by this lunatic.

park moondae who always shows a perfect idol persona in front of the camera for the sake of the loveviewers. so calm, so cute, so calculated. yet, his facade slipped when he heard from bae sejin (who is also losing his shit in anger that time) how you got slapped by one of the entitled rookie members from another company.

look, he likes how calm and collected you are. he likes the fact that you make sure not to hurt their reputation.

but— you let those guys touch you? really?

everyone knew how good park moondae was when it comes on the internet. and with the angry bae sejin and the annoyed cha eugene (who thankfully managed to capture the exact moment while he was trying to get a cute selfie to post in their instagram)

they 'accidentally' leaked that picture.

and the loveviewers did the rest. being known as the beloved loyal manager of the testar. their fans adores you so much. and those entitled self proclaimed idols dares to slap you for no reason? nah-ah, not in their watch.

you, being completely unaware of how park moondae destroyed a certain kpop group's career overnight. was greeted by the group that morning with a bright smile which confused you.

and what's more confusing was park moondae himself.

sure, he was still the same ol' tibetan moon puppy. but he became more— uhm, overbearing? protective? yep— something like that.

overall, park moondae was the overprotective type of yandere who will do everything to keep you safe.

he likes doing this on secret. do you remember the senior manager who dumps his works to you? don't worry, he lost his job the next day after eugene told him about that. the reason why he got fired? they said it's because of leaking the testar's home address (when it truth, moondae manipulated some evidences to make sure that guy won't be able to approach you again).

even with their hectic schedule as idols. moondae enjoys taking care of you as well as the group's meals. he doesn't know the real reason but he kind of enjoys how you enjoy his foods.

moondae will do anything to keep you as their manager.

moondae was the calm one in their group. but he will absolutely lose his shit if you ever mention anything about quitting your job.

he might go far on manipulating and gaslighting you. he doesn't want to do that, promise. so be careful, okay? after all, moondae can be pretty twisted sometimes—

“ how could you not tell us— don't you trust us? don't you trust me? ”

[jiminrings]

four seven eight, phase 3 (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 9k

glimpse: jungkook's secure when it comes to being a husband and a dad, knowing that he grew to love being both after everything you've been through. what he isn't so secure about is the possibility that it's everything he'll ever be.

alternatively, jungkook pursues his dream of making a film, even if it means making your rival his main lead behind your back.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ the return of 478jk (derogatory), major angst, fluff, the weight of devotion except jk's mean this time, flashbacks to phase 1 (im so sorry), the both of them r in an identity crisis, The Return of yoongi, yearning and the ache of unfulfillment all over, eventual redemption ]

notes: FINALLYYYYYY after a long wait, phase three is finally here :-) the og era of 478 is a time i'll truly never forget so now that i'm putting them in Several Inconveniences again, i look forward to creating another era with u citizens!!! mwah thank u love yew

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Jungkook likes to be needed.

He likes to be needed fully, sometimes even all at once to the point that every mention of his name makes him think that his assistance is needed. He wants to be needed like the way you rummage through your old film canisters that you dumped in a large drawer just to retrieve a specific picture of him; needed like the way you sigh in relief when you find said roll.

Jungkook wants you to seek him in a crowd, past all the banners of your name from your fans and lanyards of your staff, and ask specifically him for a cold water bottle he keeps in his bag for you. As a matter of fact, he wouldn’t even mind if you ask it from him indiscreetly — he wants to be needed, even if neither of you are alone with each other.

He’s used to the feeling of being needed because it’s practically routine for him. The way Jungkook loves you has changed and evolved (needlessly to say for the better) through the years, and although he tries to look for the balance in it all, there’s a tiny, tiny part of him that wonders what would’ve happened if neither of you changed.

It’s perhaps the change in seasons, or maybe it’s the build-up of the stupid little things Jungkook’s seen recently; one of those things happen to be a ridiculously long thread by your fan, who happens to also be a fan of Yoongi, assuming that your marriage with J*ngkook (that’s exactly how they typed his name out) is ending, hence your recent collaboration on a brand deal. Jungkook, of course, has half the mind to go on his secret stan account and snark at said poster before reporting, but even then, there’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch.

Whatever weather it is outside nowadays or whichever stupid little thing pisses him off online, Jungkook can’t shake off the nagging question of what if in his mind.

When Jungkook cleans your water bottle every night for you to take to set the next day, he wonders if the two of you would still be together if only he didn’t rush to your place by the exact second your month-long break ended, right when he takes off the rubber from the cap to clean the ridges thoroughly.

When he blowdries your hair (even if you tell him not to bother) after you begrudgingly take a shower because you can’t sleep in bed after going outside and not washing up the second you come home, he wonders if you would’ve kept loving him even if the very incident with Sora didn’t push him to change, right when he sees you close your eyes while his hands scratch your scalp.

When Jungkook sounds out syllables to Hwayoung and tries his very best not to baby-talk her (he can’t help it sometimes) as he recounts his day to the toddler, he wonders if you would’ve even had a daughter with him if he stayed the same silent lover that he used to be, right when she parrots your name back to him with a smile.

“Young-ie’s probably starting to need me less and less,” he sighs to you with a pout, eyebrows knitted in concern as he gives you his rookie version of a blowout he’s still trying to perfect. Jungkook can’t flick his wrist the way professional hairstylists do, just in the same way you can’t pick up why he’s brought up the thought out of nowhere.

“How could you say that? She’s the biggest daddy’s girl ever,” you chuckle, placating him with the truth despite your initial confusion. If you weren’t fully awake awhile ago, you certainly are now — mostly because Jungkook springs up an unbelievable idea, and partly because whenever he tugs the brush at your hair, your whole head comes along with it.

“Not really. More like biggest mommy’s girl, you mean,” he defensively scoffs, apologizing quickly when he hears you wince at a particular experimental tug he does on your ends.

“Should we wake her up right now and let her decide?” you murmur, your eyes locking with his on the mirror.

Jungkook, at his most comfortable state, wearing ratty oversized pajamas and glasses on his face that he’s yet to update the prescription on, has never felt more competitive in his life.

“Well we could-…”

“I was joking,” you deadpan, the silence between the two of you getting long enough to the point that you suddenly find yourself laughing, effectively getting Jungkook out of his daze.

“… I knew that.”

You may have had an inkling about Jungkook feeling slightly off before in the past weeks, but all it took was his random, unprompted question tonight for you to solidify that seed of concern in your chest.

Jungkook likes to be needed, even if he can’t say the same that you need him as much as he thinks you do. He thinks it’s a perfectly rational feeling to want to be needed by both your wife and your daughter, and although he’s not as receptive to being needed as much by anyone other than his family, the feeling still stays the same.

He has all the time in the world. You’ve enabled him to do so even if he’s the one mainly looking after Hwayoung while you worked, but despite that, Jungkook doesn’t feel needed enough.

There’s an itch in his mind that he can’t scratch with neither your constant affection nor Hwayoung’s grabby hands. There’s an unplaceable, agitating urge in Jungkook’s chest to put a pause on everything and be back to who and what he used to be, despite your affirmation that he is needed.

There’s that tick going on in Jungkook’s brain that amplifies everything he does to seem wrong; that makes him grumpy when he wakes up to prepare you breakfast whenever you had early shoots, that makes him purse his lips when his daughter asks him to watch the same movie with her for the third time in the week.

All of the uneasiness in him, however, disappears when Namjoon, the acclaimed screenwriter that he has for a friend (whom he actually met through you), calls him up with an offer that Jungkook can’t refuse.

It’s an offer that releases the ache from his bones, makes him want to blowdry your hair better, and watch the same movie over and over again with his daughter — but Jungkook postpones saying it to you when you come home and want nothing more than to be in his arms, and for Hwayoung to be in yours.

( ♡ )

Jungkook could wait more.

He convinces himself that he can because although there’s a date set for the short film that Namjoon’s pitched for him to produce, it hasn’t grown yet to become the unstoppable force against Jungkook’s immovable object: family.

He knows he needs to tell you eventually and that he’s not really asking for permission in the first place, but there’s a sense of guilt in him whenever the thought of breaking the news to you comes into mind. He’s not nervous per se because he knows you’re as supportive of him, if not more, like he is with you.

It just happens that it’s within the fine details that Jungkook truly feels hesitant to tell you that he has to leave for awhile.

Jungkook could wait more, and although that means he has to deal with the occasional voice in his head telling him that lying to you (even under the guise of protecting you) has the capacity to bite back at him, he manages. He swallows down the words whenever you unintentionally give him an opening to tell you about the news of him going abroad, and just settles for holding your hand.

He could wait more because telling you now wouldn’t be the right time, now when you’re on your day-off as you’re close to wrapping up your current project before moving to the bigger, more exhausting one; not now when you have a time of reprieve to spend with your family before taking on the biggest project of your career to date.

Jungkook hums to himself as he looks down on Hwayoung who has a tiny shopping cart to herself, her strikingly round eyes that she got from him (Hwayoung looks more like him the older she gets) looking up to his own.

��Hi, pretty girl,” he lulls, mumbling loudly enough for only her to hear. “You’d understand if appa left for awhile, right?”

“Left?” she questions, holding up her left hand at the mention yet she reels at his query, brows furrowing as she seems to digest the question. “Why?”

“Yup. That’s your left. Good job, baby,” Jungkook praises, the knot in his throat growing when he looks to his daughter who looks confused at the sudden query, again, that came out of nowhere. “You would, won’t you?”

Hwayoung hums because she doesn’t quite understand, but that’s the thing that Jungkook fears most — she’s young and smart and although he wants to use those facts to his advantage, he realizes that Hwayoung being the age that she is in now could also prove him to be dispensable.

Jungkook likes being needed, but he’s much too afraid of the possibility that Hwayoung won’t even recall him as soon as he leaves.

Your husband’s snapped out of his reverie when you go downstairs with a skip in your step, the tell-tale mischievous tone to your voice already predicting that Hwayoung would make the two of you chase after her in the backyard all day. “What are the two of you plotting again?” you ask playfully, hands on your hips as Jungkook chuckles at the sight of his two girls.

“Nothing!” Hwayoung giggles, the word slipping out of her seamlessly as she even shakes her hands fervently, accustomed to what you mean exactly with your tone of voice. She’s young and bright and you see so much of Jungkook in her, even if Jungkook would argue otherwise.

Jungkook’s dazed this morning with the way his gaze locks in from far away, his bottom lip bit between his teeth more often than not as if he’s always at war with himself.

“You okay, Kook?”

“Mhmm. Couldn’t be better,” he hums half-heartedly, his lips grazing your temple as he guides you to sit down on the carpet with him. “You finally slept for more than eight hours. That’s good,” he says as an afterthought, the pauses in between his words growing in distance as his gaze is fixated on everything but you.

Jungkook looks at your daughter who’s now pushing Miso around the house in her shopping cart, and while your cat (who’s always seemed to hate your husband) looks more than pleased at being played with, she meows to Jungkook and only at him with a hiss at the end of her spiel as if in warning — as if Jungkook is guilty of something that only the two of them know about.

Almost as if out of everyone in the room, it’s only your cat who knows that Jungkook’s lying.

Jungkook can wait, but he’s certain that he can’t wait any longer because if his brain is unoccupied for long enough, he’ll start to hear Miso cursing at him through her yowls.

“Hwayoung doesn’t look like she needs you any less,” you say gently, your line of sight following Jungkook’s as he tenses at your words.

“Oh,” he sighs, jaw grinding down to a halt. “Right."

Your words seemingly came out of nowhere, even if the both of you know deep down that they’re influenced by his impulsive thoughts from last week.

“You can say the same for me,” you add, not as an afterthought, but as a lesser-known fact that Jungkook seems to forget every now and then.

There’s a weight in his chest because all of a sudden, Jungkook can’t wait anymore. The itch in his mind has already been scratched too much that it had already bled and scabbed.

There’s a weight in his chest that reminds him he can’t wait anymore, because in hindsight, the weight of him and everything that comes with him settles on his shoulders.

Maybe, Jungkook doesn’t want to be needed as much.

( ♡ )

Jungkook drops the news on you while you’re folding laundry.

He was meant to go for sincere but the way the words leave him, right when you’re in the middle of folding Hwayoung’s pajamas that she’s about to overgrow in the soonest, it sounds as if he’s been dying to tell you; now that he has, he sounds beyond relieved.

“Namjoon offered me a script,” he announces, taking the pajamas from you to put in his pile as he sees your eyes widen, the remnants of the heavy mascara they used on you on set awhile ago highlighting your surprise. “He wants me to produce.”

“What?” you punctuate, tilting your head as you try to make sense of what Jungkook’s saying. You know he’s speaking and you’re familiar with said words; you just never expected for them to be compacted in the same sentence, meaning the way that he makes it out to be. “Kim Namjoon, as in the producer for In Terms of Eternity?”

He chirps at that, posture straightening as he tries to jog your memory. “Yeah. You’ve worked with him before and introduced us, then turns out Jin’s also a friend of his and-…"

“I mean I know Namjoon and that you’re friends with him, Jungkook,” you interrupt, trying to reel yourself in as you’ve lost your focus trying to fold Hwayoung’s clothes and talk to your husband at the same time. “But I didn’t know you were that close for him to ask you to produce something for him.”

Jungkook doesn’t completely crash from the high he’s in over finally telling you the news, but there’s that spike that flashes briefly over his face, the frown on his lips letting on more than he shows.

“What’s that supposed to mean?"

You sigh at the impossible position the both of you are in, the words that try to line themselves up in your temple being no match to the way they translate out-loud. “It means nothing. I’m just… surprised that he’d ask you to be a producer for his script, that’s all. It came out of nowhere.”

Jungkook recoils at that, a stubborn brow raised as he tries to keep his composure. “Because you don’t think I’m capable of being a producer?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you inhale sharply, gripping a random article of Hwayoung’s clothing beside you to pace yourself. “Namjoon’s.. big. He’s established, and well, you’ve never become a producer before.”

“And you have?” Jungkook digs, even if it’s unnecessary to do so, and the way his face falls at the forthcoming regret that creeps up to him lets you know that he thinks so too.

“Jungkook,” you try again, quirking your lips to the side as you try to manage with the pace he’s set you up on. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. This is all new to me. All new to you, even. If anything, it’s nice that Namjoon trusts you a lot.

“He does. We’re close,” he nods, clearing his throat as he feels that the both of you could move on to the other phase of the news you had interrupted him at. “As a matter of fact, we’re taking it on a global scale.”

Jungkook doesn’t get why your face falls.

He doesn’t get why your shoulders rise and fall, not in relief, but out of controlled tension that threatens to pour over.

“What?”

“The script. The film,” he smiles, trying to get you to finish his sentence and connect the dots together but to no avail. “It’s… it’s — we have to film in the US for a few months.”

“What?” you repeat, the knot in your throat tangling up more and more hesitance in you the longer it stays there.

“I said, we have to-…”

“No, I heard what you said,” you interrupt, jaw clenching tightly as you try to grasp everything Jungkook has said.

You don’t get why Jungkook’s smiling.

You don’t get why he’s completely at ease and only in confusion as he sees you piece everything out.

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Kook, all of this is new. Everything you’ve just said is and will be new,” you chuckle humorlessly, running your hand through your hair in frustration as you try to relax. “I’m happy for you, believe me, but Jungkook, what you’re saying is serious. It’s a lot to take in,” you pause, eyes wide as you repeat the words to yourself. “You. Producing. In the US, of all places, a-and for months.”

There’s not one exact emotion that runs through you because the longer that Jungkook looks at you, ecstatic, while you’re weighing what he’s just said like a bag of bricks — you feel even more conflicted.

Your husband wrings his hands together, nervously smiling at you as if he’s asking for permission, but the both of you know that his mind’s already set. He thinks the opportunity of producing a short film that’s been drafted by his friend is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, eager to take off even if he’s had no experience at all in the industry.

“I don’t know, baby. It’s just been so long since I got this excited and alive, y’know? It’s a nice change of pace and I get to do something nice-…”

“Isn’t being with your daughter nice?” you ask abruptly, unable to mask the conflict that’s been brewing in your mind ever since Jungkook pulled you aside to talk. You feel hesitant; disconnected even from wrapping your head around his wording.

Even convincing yourself that you’re just spent from working sunrise to sundown doesn’t work. No matter how hard you try, Jungkook’s tone remains as is.

“Y/N,” he sighs, lips in a tight line as he screws his eyes shut. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything, Jungkook,” you grit, crossing your arms in defense. You feel guarded more than ever, not because you’re the one whom he’s pertaining to, but because your Hwayoung is involved and you won’t sit around for it. “It’s just that when you put it like that, it sounds like taking care of Hwayoung is a chore.”

You used to be sure awhile ago that you were seeing double because in between memorizing scripts and going from schedule to schedule without any time to rest in between, you’ve been worried sick because Jungkook hadn’t texted you the whole day. You were shocked enough to come home to your daughter playing by herself downstairs (with Miso watching her the whole time), even more-so when you saw Jungkook engrossed in a highly-enthusiastic phone call.

Jungkook sighs as if talking to you completely exhausts him, pinching his nosebridge before muttering under his breath. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?” you blink in surprise, tilting your head in sheer confusion. You’re about to shrug it off but he does that thing again, the one where he almost rolls his eyes at you but realizes it at the last minute.

“Nothing.”

“Say that again, Jungkook.”

“My god,” Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. He runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, sucking in a rushed breath. He looks straight at you when he gives his grievance. “I’m just saying! Why do you get to live out your dream but I don’t?”

“This is my job,” you bite back instantly, the second it took for you to digest his words being enough time for him to groan again. “If it were up to me, do you think I’d work six days a week? Do you not know how much it kills me to stay away from my family?”

You’re at a loss for words, the tiny bit of insecurity you have being dug up once again. You feel guilty because you actually don’t — you know to yourself that you still dedicate so much of yourself to Jungkook and Hwayoung even if you work full-time.

Jungkook chokes up a laugh in front of your face.

“Then quit your dream if you’re so miserable.”

Your jaw clenches quickly in annoyance, unable to retain the disbelief that builds up in your chest. “My dream is my job! It’s why we’re living this life in the first place, Jungkook! Your dream is this project that was pitched to you like what, two weeks ago?”

“Can I not live my life the way that I want to?” he asks exaggeratedly, eyes wide in defense. “Why am I only your husband and why am I only Hwayoung’s dad? Why can’t I go to the US a-and try things out? Why can’t I be free from all this even for just a while?”

Your mouth falls apart at that, your moment of shock simultaneously being Jungkook’s instance for guilty. He wants to reel it in right then and there, but the small part of his pride grows to hold him back.

“Do we hold you back that much?” you whisper, the headache that has been building in your head since this morning shrinking to the size of Jungkook’s words. “What are you getting so angry for? I’m not saying no. I’m asking you why you’re so hellbent on suddenly leaving to do this.”

A large part of you, if not all, feels more disappointed than angry. Hwayoung has not and should never be an afterthought for the both of you yet Jungkook brings her up with you like mere variables.

You can grasp the fact that being a parent is a full-time job like yours yet what you can’t get a hold of is your husband’s apprehension; his sudden need of pursuing something beyond your family.

“Because I’m scared, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers, exhaling heavily. “I’m scared that this is all what life could ever be for me.”

It’s only when you’re completely silent that he comes back to the severity of his words, the tension that’s been building up in him breaking the moment that you break eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry for being your wife.”

“Baby, that’s not-…” Jungkook tries to correct himself, hot on your heels as you get up from your seat on the couch. You’re not even speeding up yet he catches you just as urgently, the hold he has on your arm doing little to put you at ease.

“And I’m sorry for making you a dad.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, I’m-…”

“You should do this project if you really want to,” you quip, back still turned to him as you enter the bedroom. Jungkook noticeably stops in his tracks, the furrow in his brows fading because you’ve put him on whiplash.

“What?”

“You’ve held down the fort while I was out being the breadwinner. It’ll be nice for you to do your own thing,” you smile tightly, eager to sleep on the whole thing just so you don’t stay hung-up for too long.

“What about Hwayoung? What about your film? They want it to be an entry for the Academy, right?” he asks in concern, different from the worry he had awhile ago when he thought you were against him leaving.

You nod, easily shrugging despite the weight on your shoulders. “I’m her mom, of course. She’s gonna come first. And for the film, I think I can still do it. I’ll juggle them both if I have to.”

Jungkook nods, eyes set on the floor. He didn’t think this far at all.

“Do you want to hire a nanny? I know a friend.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t trust nannies.”

There’s an overwhelming silence that engulfs the both of you, the white noise machine in your nightstand unable to fill it completely. Jungkook looks at the ceiling while you look at Hwayoung who’s sprawled in the middle of your bed, clutching Miso like a teddy bear — she already fell asleep waiting for the both of you.

“I didn’t mean what I said awhile ago, I’m sorry. It came out the wrong way,” Jungkook apologizes after some time, hand darting out to hold yours while you only hover above your vanity, taking off all of your jewelry except for your wedding ring.

“When do you leave?” you ask, still unable to meet his gaze.

“Next week,” he clears his throat. “When do you start filming?”

You nod, coming into terms that Jungkook would leave no matter what you say. “Next week.”

You’re arranging the covers when your husband tries to hold you again, voice strained and rushed. “Y/N, I really am sorry. I love being your-…”

“Shh,” you interrupt, pursing your lips. “Hwayoung’s sleeping.”

( ♡ )

You asked for a day off.

You’ve rarely ever asked for them throughout your entire career because you were built on the mindset that at the end of the day, you’re also an employee no matter what gig you land. Be it the cameos you used to book with Yoongi or the titular characters you take from studio after studio, you’re still the employee who had worked her way up fairly.

You didn’t ask for it during that instance when you fell sick after back-to-back shoots because you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. You didn’t ask for it when you woke up with the type of fatigue that settled in your body no matter how hard you closed your eyes or laid your head against the cushions.

You’ve never asked for it for your sake, but you’ve asked for a day off now because Jungkook’s leaving for a place you can’t come and go to as you wish.

Unlike your house or the hotels you book for him and Hwayoung to be at whenever you have to film out of town, Jungkook’s out of reach. He’s one call away, granted that your timezones match up and there’s a connection strong enough for it to continue without a hitch. He’s far from your grasp and he will be for months on end, and you don’t think you can ever stomach working on the same day he’s leaving.

“Are you seeing me off at the airport?” he asks during the car ride, voice audible enough for only you to hear and not Hwayoung who’s sprawled across both of your laps, sleeping soundly with her plushie that resembled Miso.

“I will, but I don’t think I can see you off near the gate. I can only manage up to here,” you answer honestly, willing yourself not to break down even if the both of you are still in the car, away from any prying eyes of the media that lurks outside. “So can Hwayoung,” you add, a large part of you being grateful that she’s asleep when Jungkook has to leave so neither of you would hear her cries.

Jungkook sees that hesitance in you, the same kind that softens him into fragments.

“It’ll only be for awhile, okay? Just for a few months,” he smiles tightly, rearranging his backpack next to him, the keyring that held Hwayoung’s second-favorite toy (not the ultimate favorite because she won’t ever let him take it) clattering loudly. “I love you,” Jungkook murmurs. “Do you know that?”

“Mhmm.”

“Say it back.”

You refuse to do so because saying it back feels finite, perhaps even forced, because although you love Jungkook, saying so at the moment only weighs you down as reality sinks in. “This is gonna be easy for us, right?"

“It’s not like we’ve never been in a similar set-up before,” he shrugs, the pout on his face casual as he tries to level with you.

“But this is different, Jungkook. This is beyond different. We have Hwayoung and now, we’re both working,” you stammer, chest rising and falling as you wrap your head around everything. “This— this isn’t Seoul to Jeonju. This isn’t a leave by day, come back by night type of trip. This is-…”

“You’re freaking out,” Jungkook interjects, his soft yet stern voice cutting through your thoughts as he lays a hand on your thigh, the platinum of his wedding band looking right up at you.

You surrender in defeat, not because you’re fighting with your husband, but because there’s simply no other answer he could ever conjure for you as to why this is happening.

“Why aren’t you? Why am I the only one scared?” you whisper.

“You’re not supposed to be.”

“Of course. It’s not like you— we put everything on the line,” you clear your throat, looking down on your shoes as you convince yourself. You ignore how you’re still not entirely aware of what’s with Jungkook’s project, other than the fact that Namjoon’s the screenwriter, all in favor of giving you a semblance of sanity before Jungkook leaves you and Hwayoung. “Right?”

( ♡ )

You wonder if Jungkook already ate breakfast.

You wonder if he ate the supposedly excellent in-flight meal that comes with first-class tickets, or if he ate the ramen he’s always had a penchant for eating especially during your trips, whether by land, sea, or air. You wonder if he’s grumpy with the altitude and the way he has to pop his ears ever so often, along with the way he always seems to be too long for airplane seats turned into beds.

You call but Jungkook doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll never not purchase in-flight wifi because he’d rather knock himself out than have to read a book or something of the sort. You message, but then again, your husband doesn’t answer, even if you know he’ll much rather reply via text than to record a voice note because he’s shy with people hearing him in public spaces, albeit closed.

Hwayoung waits patiently beside you, swinging her legs back and forth on the couch as Miso stays up with her. She should’ve been in bed half an hour ago but you let her stay up with you, all in the pursuit of getting Jungkook to respond.

“Appa?” she asks again after a minute of you trying for her dad but through another app, her pout reminding you of Jungkook’s who’s unreachable.

You try not to frown in front of her, leveling yourself as you settle for kissing her forehead to cover up the sigh that originates deep from your chest.

“Not yet, Young-ie.”

.

.

.

There’s no text from Jungkook when you wake, but there is a picture of him in the buffet of the private lounge he’s staying at during his layover.

Atleast Jungkook did eat breakfast and Hwayoung was able to sleep without him (the first of what you dread is many), nevermind the dull thrum in your chest in Jungkook’s absence.

( ♡ )

Hwayoung's been behaved the whole time you were on set.

With Jimin prioritizing his voluntary role of being a babysitter to your daughter over his position of being a manager to you, you became instantly comforted at the reassurance that you're not in this situation alone.

It's only been a week since you started working right after Jungkook left, his absence rearranging every system you've previously had in place. You do your very best to have Hwayoung still thriving, and even just the reminder that you are succeeding at being the only present parent for the meantime melts all of your fatigue away.

Your trailer's more equipped for her than it is for you, the space apparently reminding Hwayoung of home so much that it's enough to make her remind you that Miso should go join the both of you sometime. Your dressing room's always been hers, and so has been the affection of everyone close to you.

“I take my role of godfather very seriously.”

Yoongi explains even if you haven't asked him anything. In fact, you weren't talking to begin with. It's not in his nature to talk for the sake of talking (that's Jungkook's), but even with Hwayoung in his arms and you still being lost in your thoughts, he can't help but to feel concerned.

“I can tell," you snicker, finally taking notice of the sight in front of you. The earpiece that was previously on Yoongi is now slung over Hwayoung's shoulder, obviously too big on her. She wanted it as an accessory (it reminds her of the toy stethoscope she'd put on Miso as a collar) and with Yoongi being himself, he can't bring himself to say no.

Your shooting day's nearly over and although today wasn't as long as your previous record of hours on end, you already seem exhausted. Yoongi, of all people, knows what scenes wear you out. You hated doing monologues as a rookie and still despise monologues (but with random, out-of-place advertisements in between) as a veteran — you’ve done neither today.

"What's with the frown?" he asks gently, not only because Hwayoung’s been quiet for the past two minutes and she’s getting groggy, but also because if he were to ask you any louder, he feels as if you’d break.

"It's nothing," you answer automatically, looking at Hwayoung to ground yourself. "Just usual family things, I guess."

"Trouble in paradise?" Yoongi asks with a chuckle, abruptly stopping his fit of amusement when he gets goosebumps starting from the tail of his spine. He instantly recognizes it as deja vu. "I've asked you this before, haven't I?"

The realization doesn’t hit you until he points it out.

"Mhmm," you hum absent-mindedly, playing with the hem of your dress. “I don't think the problem now is anything like how it was before, though."

One night several years ago, you and Yoongi were sat side-by-side in the booth of a club, the heartbreak you had over what Jungkook’s done (and haven’t, at the time) being the wedge between you.

Now, Yoongi’s standing in front of you while you’re sat down, your daughter with Jungkook in his arms.

“Me neither. I don't know how you and Jungkook can encounter any problem worse than last time, to be honest," he chuckles, shaking his head at the recollection of the hell you’ve been through. "Also, I think I can say that because I literally don't know what's going on with you. But if you do tell me-!"

"You're so nosy,” you snort, the brief moment of playfulness welcome because your head aches the longer that you dwell over your worries.

"I can be the judge to see if what you're going through now is worse than before," Yoongi shrugs to fake nonchalance, unaware that you’re gasping in awe until you kick him lightly in the shin.

Hwayoung’s asleep in his arms.

"She's never did that with anyone before," you murmur, fishing for your phone to take a picture, but not before quickly skimming to see if Jungkook’s sent you any messages; he hasn’t. “She only either sleeps in mine or Jungkook's arms. Not for my parents, not for my in-laws. Just me and him."

Yoongi smiles proudly, stroking Hwayoung’s hair proudly. "What can I say? I'm godfather of the year."

He only sways her gently back and forth, rocking her with the patience and attention that remind you of Jungkook’s when Hwayoung was a newborn.

You’re calm and quiet to see her adjusting so well already, but you can’t help but to feel lost because you feel the exact opposite. No one’s gonna stroke your hair for you and tell you to take your time — those are Jungkook’s tasks alone, yet your grievances are also because of him.

"Jungkook's producing this short film in the US. It's by his friend," you mutter under your breath after some time in silence. Yoongi flicks his eyes up at you as if you’re talking about the weather, careful not to make you feel more conflicted than you already are. “You know… by Namjoon.”

"Since when was he into that?" he asks out of curiosity, eyebrows furrowed because he didn’t know that your opening line would ever transition to this point in the conversation. Yoongi catches a second wind the longer he processes your words, the scoff that leaves his lips making his bangs loose despite the hairspray on them. “Since when did Jungkook and Namjoon belong in the same sentence?”

"I don't know either.”

"So we're both producers now?" he snickers, the teasing already coming natural. "Nepo husband alert."

You roll your eyes in recognition, clearing your throat as soon as the laughter died between the two of you. “We got into this argument and I don't know, I-I realized I was being selfish for a moment because I didn't want him to go at first, you know?" you admit in full sincerity, exhaling the lump that forms in your throat. “He said he was afraid that this is everything he'll be. My husband, Hwayoung's dad. So on and so forth."

Yoongi only listens this time, giving the occasional hum there to remind you that he’s still there.

"And last night, he, uh, he forgot to call," you gulp, already feeling the weight of your worries settle in your stomach. "The call wasn't even for me. It's for Hwayoung because he promised he'll still read her whatever she wants."

The three of you cherish that time together because normally, it happens as soon as you get home from work. Hwayoung’s long graduated from storybooks and has now branched out to the most ridiculous texts that Jungkook indulges her with nonetheless — from the ingredient list at the back of milk cartons, and all the way to Reddit threads of how cats find their way back home to owners.

"He's been secretive about the whole thing and I-I… I do that too with my projects, I get it. But only at first because I'm literally bound to an NDA," you stammer, pinching your nosebridge to get past the frustration. “I’m just-…!" you give up, admitting the truth. "I did some snooping."

"And?" Yoongi prompts, tilting his head in anticipation.

"I think he's been secretive because the main lead's Eunsu."

Yoongi recoils at that, so much so that it almost wakes up Hwayoung.

"Eunsu? As in Park Eunsu?" he repeats, the scowl on his face getting deeper the more that you stay indifferent. “Eunsu as in your nemesis?"

You relent, the mention of her finally hitting close.

"Nemesis sounds a little childish."

Yoongi scoffs immediately, rolling his eyes at your correction. “I mean yeah, because people keep pitting her against you when she doesn't even come close," he shrugs easily, make you tut in warning. "What? I'm just saying what everybody's been thinking."

To know that you can still confide in Yoongi no matter what comforts you — what doesn’t is that this time around, your gut feeling’s stronger than it had been the last time.

"I hope I'm wrong."

"I hope so too," he exhales, shaking his head in disbelief. "What kind of asshole sleeps with his wife's enemy?"

"Don't put that out there,” you grumble, the unintentional yet weird arrangement of words making you dizzy.

"Sorry. It's a metaphor, dummy," Yoongi surrenders, clearing his throat. "Okay. Retake. What kind of husband produces a film featuring his wife's rival?

"Hopefully not mine."

( ♡ )

It takes little effort to love you.

Loving you specifically doesn’t have to be hard.

Jungkook thinks that loving you isn’t hard when you serve as the peace to his otherwise hectic and turbulent mind. You manifest into the comfort he looks for in all seasons, be it the heat pack you wordlessly put in his coat pocket or the scrunchie you put around his wrist no matter the weather whenever his hair got too long.

You don’t text him at every hour of the day whether you were working or not, but you’ve made it a point to always check up on him multiple times even if the both of you are at home, going as far to randomly waking up in the night to pause your breathing and check up on his with a hand on his chest.

It’s easy love — one that could be grasped by everyone because as the world has proved to him time and time again, you’re easy to fall with and for.

You may not coo and awe at every single thing he utters, but the adoration behind your eyes always makes him warm from the inside because you held onto him, no matter how anticlimactic his stories could be.

Neither you and Jungkook are easy, that much he knows.

He knows it because although it’s never been his intention to come home late during his allotted short break between filming (it’s disguised as a break even if he only came back to take care of work-related matters personally), you make it known that you’re irked with him for every other reason.

He knows that you aren’t easy because for the past three weeks he’s been gone, you’ve reiterated twice in the last hour alone how you’ve asked him again and again who will star in his short film. You’ve asked Jungkook repeatedly to give you details outside of Namjoon and the vaguest bits he could ever give you, establishing the fact that he isn’t even bound to an NDA.

It’s the persisting barrage of questions in your head that bothers you without a single break. It’s the hovering feeling of doom above your head because having no answers to any of them, on top of Jungkook closing himself off with or without the physical distance between the two of you and being Hwayoung’s sole caregiver, that your patience ultimately thins.

Your annoyance towards your husband is clearly obvious and it bothers him to the point of frustration. Jungkook’s been convinced since last week that if he just dodged your questions for long enough and blamed it on the connection of your call, he wouldn’t have to answer to you; he wouldn’t have to explain the fine details of the project he’s kept from you.

If he had only avoided you for long enough, you would’ve forgotten about the rumors surrounding Namjoon’s upcoming screenplay that had been leaked to the press, and the roster of actresses thought out to be the main lead of his short film.

If he had only ignored your pleas for long enough, he would have never succumbed to the preliminary guilt that comes with lying to you under the impression that he’s only being protective, pushing him to drink until his vision spins — enough for him that when he admits the truth to you, your face of heartbreak directed at him isn’t as anguishing.

“Fine, fuck it! Since you’re so nosy, yes. Eunsu is my main lead, there! She’s my muse!” Jungkook just about yells, breathless from the burn of alcohol in his throat that spreads all the way to his chest, and from the back and forth he’s been going at with you for the last hour.

“Why didn’t you tell me in the first place?!” you retort, fists clenching at your sides as the thought of Jungkook with Eunsu, with her of all actresses, in a foreign place at almost every minute of the workday irking you.

“Would it have made a difference? You’d still be angry at me,” he rolls his eyes, placing a hand on his hip as he tries to stabilize his gaze on you.

“And even then, you wouldn’t do anything about it, right? Because that’s just your nature, Jungkook,” you scoff, your dig at him being incredibly low yet you steel your pride, unwilling to back down at the thought that Jungkook’s been lying to you for three weeks– perhaps even longer.

He presses a tongue to his cheek as you pertain to the past loud and clear, the sarcastic nod he gives you making your breathing tremble.

“Why? Why does it have to be her?” you try again, this time with your jaw clenched so your anger won’t flare up because you’ve been dying to have a decent explanation from Jungkook for weeks.

“Why can’t it be her?” he counters. “B-because she’s what, she’s your rival or something? You’re jealous? Bitter?”

The knot in your chest tightens, the recall you have of the woman who had sabotaged you repeatedly when you were still a rookie putting a metallic taste on your tongue. She’s hindered you in ways that not even Yoongi could explain fully despite being the closest friend to you in the industry, the vitriol you’ve had for Eunsu in the past reviving back to life.

You have no words except for the fact that begs to be acknowledged without a single syllable.

“I’m your wife, Jungkook,” you exhale shakily, the gravity of it seemingly not enough for him because he refuses to use it as a reason to get on your side.

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think everybody knows that by now?” Jungkook spits. “When I’m producing my film with Eunsu, I don’t want to be your husband, Y/N! I’m sick of it,” he seethes. “Eunsu has nothing to do with me. Why should I fight your battles for you? Why do I have to carry your grudges for something that doesn’t even concern me?”

Jungkook’s the drunkest he’s ever been in his life, yet he utters the clearest words you’ve ever heard him say.

“This is showbiz, Y/N. It’s inevitable for you to get caught up with shit.”

“You’re talking as if being my husband and being Hwayoung’s dad is a chore.”

“Because maybe it is!” Jungkook bursts with a cry, the tears that spring out of his eyes momentarily blinding him. “Because maybe, I’m fed up trying to be sickeningly devoted to you all the time.”

There’s something akin to white, hot, searing pain that spreads across your chest all the way to your temple, the tremble of your lips not enough for Jungkook to realize that you’re on the verge of sobbing.

“Sometimes I hate this. I… I-I hate this life I’m living because of you, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers. “I hate how you’re so, so perfect in juggling everything. I hate how I could spend an hour just convincing Hwayoung to eat a single carrot and you come in the room, and she finishes the bowl with a smile on her face. I-I hate how you never complain whenever you need to do late night feedings after a long day because I’m already snoring. I hate how with or without work, you’re still just—…” he stills, looking at you with a distraught gaze. “You’re still so content. You’re still able to be yourself like you’ve always been.”

There’s no words left in you; no thought at all that could ever pick you up from the ground and gather yourself the way you’ve always had whenever you and Jungkook had felt the furthest from each other.

“Jungkook,” you sniffle, even if he waves you off half-heartedly. “I’m sorry if-…”

“There it is. There it fucking is again!” Jungkook whines, foot agitatedly stomping against the floor as he pulls at his hair. “You’re apologizing for being so perfect in life that it’s making me feel bad!”

“But I’m not! I’m far from it, what the hell are you talking about?” you rasp, the sarcastic laugh that goes past your lips making his ears ring. “I’m sorry if it seems that way but I’m telling you myself that everything is not perfect the way you make it out to be. I’m sorry because it makes you feel bad, but if anything-…”

Jungkook raises a finger at you, his jaw tightening the longer he stews in displacement.

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t tell me how content you are with everything despite being exhausted, or how you juggling everything is worth it. Don’t tell me how good of a dad I am."

“Then what can I say to make it lighter for you, Jungkook? What can I say that won’t make you resent me?” you grit in surrender, chest falling so lowly, you’ve forgotten to breathe for a long second. “Do you hate the life that we’re living now so much that you can’t even look at me?”

Love isn’t always a matter of ease and although it’s always stuck to you, you prove now that Jungkook coming home to you at this instance, in this light, that he makes love the most difficult thing.

“Do you hate the life that I gave you so badly?”

“I don’t,” he answers, mouth dry as his vision spins. “Sometimes. Tonight, though — maybe I do. It comes and goes.”

“Then what can we do about it?” you whisper, your vision hazy as you look at him. “Where do we go from here?”

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook only whispers, unwilling to look at the bed you share. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

[carto0ncritter]

One thing I noticed in this shitshow of an episode is how fucking ungrateful Stolas was for everything Blitzø did for him since he came to his place.

Him being a spoiled rich white asshole:

I hate his facial expressions so much, you have no idea

I can guarantee you care about these 'nice things' more than you care about your daughter btw

Oh, we also have, let's see here...

*insert the entire montage of Blitzø (Stolas' victim) trying to cheer his abuser up since he's now in love with him thanks to good ol' Stockholm Syndrome*

Seeing that cigarette reminds me of when Stolas uh... *checks notes* called Blitz an 'itty bitty imp (racist)' despite him clearly hating it, grabbed his cheek and used his horn to put out his cigarette (not to mention Blitzø's severe trauma being related to fucking fire)

Okay so anyway, I think Stolas said "Oh, when have you ever asked" bc Blitzø stole from him and his family 25 years ago. correct me if I'm wrong here but isn't it manipulative af to bring up smth that happened that long ago, also it's totally unrelated to the current situation. I swear it's like a grown ass man saying to another "Oh I still hate you because, uhm, remember that one time in 3rd grade when you stole my pencil..."

So... if Stolas still holds this against Blitzø, let me ask: why was he ever "in love" with him in the first place? Answer? He wasn't. Stolas only used this imp for his sexual fantasies and for him to get to experience his "fairytale romance"

P.S. Imps are a race his privileged ass has always been racist towards and he hasn't ever attempted to, uh... try to understand them better? Understand how they live? I mean if you truly cared about your "boyfriend," Stolas, you'd have put in SOME effort to change your mindset/behavior and WOULDN'T HAVE EVER SEXUALLY COERCED HIM

He also 🍇d you blitz

And no he didn't do much, he's powerful af. Using those powers isn't rocket science heck he turned an imp to stone in s1 he can protect himself but is apparently the "bottom" in the stolitz "relationship". Also no, him leaving Octavia clearly isn't a huge deal to Stolas otherwise he'd have fought to earn her forgiveness and not just sulk like a wimpy loser. YOU ARE NOT ONLY A GROWN MAN STOLAS, BUT A FATHER. At least you were supposed to be

So was not thinking about your daughter until you lost everything, apparently

AGAIN WITH THIS SHIT??? WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT A TRANSACTION AGAIN

Alright I'm signing off until the next season drops, if that ever happens

This episode sucked, but kudos to our girl Via who was smart enough to see through her "father's" bs 👏

ALSO HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO THE CRITICAL COMMUNITY (and to non-toxic stans too)!

[ckret2]

Chapter 49 of human Bill Cipher being such a miserable prisoner even the Pines are starting to feel bad for him: The Eclipse: Epilogue.

####

"The heck did you do to that poor woman?" Tate asked, staring out the window. Bill was sitting on the pier, legs dangling in the water, staring blankly into the depths. He was still muddy and trembling. "She looks more traumatized than when y'all left."

Ford couldn't meet Tate's gaze under the brim of his hat, but he could feel Tate raising a brow when he spotted Dipper pacing back and forth on the pier behind Bill, muttering furiously.

"We've had a very bad day," Ford said. 

"Uh-huh."

"Could I borrow your phone to call my brother?"

Outside, Dipper was oblivious to everything except the one line he'd managed to remember from the Axolotl, the words he'd picked out as they crossed the lake. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,'" Dipper murmured. He knew that much. It was a poem. It was a rhyme. He couldn't remember the rest. What did it mean? He murmured it over and over to himself as he walked, trying to remember the next line, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,' 'sixty degrees that come in threes'... breeze, freeze, ease, lease, knees—" He couldn't remember the rhyme.

Bill was considering grabbing Dipper by the ankle and dragging him off the pier just to shut him up when whatsisname, the younger McGucket came out of the shop. "Hello there? Miss Goldie?"

Human. Strange human. Human that Bill could get on his side. Be charming. He tried to remember how to be charming. He offered a feeble smile. "Yello?"

"I wanted to make sure you're all right," Tate said. "You look like you, uh... you've had a hard time."

Bill laughed ruefully. "Well, I've been dragged all over the mountain, I'm hungry, exhausted, and half-drowned, and I can barely walk—but I'm not currently dead. Allegedly. I'll take what I can get."

The corners of Tate's mouth twitched down in a concerned frown. "Is there anything you need? A..." He floundered for a moment, "A water, or...?"

"I've had enough water to last me a lifetime." He wondered idly whether he could claim he was too exhausted to make it all the way home—there was a sofa in the staff room, Tate would probably let the poor bedraggled "woman" take a nap, if Bill got that bit of distance between himself and the Pines maybe he could... maybe he could... do something with it? But he couldn't think of anything more definite than that and now Ford was coming back and the window of opportunity closed. He shrugged wearily. "Just need to get back to the shack. Thanks." He half heartedly used the lake water to wash the drying mud off his lower legs and knees.

"Stan will be here in about twenty minutes," Ford said, and tried to ignore the dirty look Tate gave him. 

"I'll be just inside if you need anything else," Tate said. "Watching." He headed inside—and then, indeed, stood at the shop window and watched.

Ford was never going to get on Tate's good side. He suspected Tate would be a little less sympathetic to the poor woman on the pier if he knew who he really was; but it certainly wouldn't make Tate like Ford any better for keeping him around.

"Nothing to do now but wait." Ford unloaded the rest of their supplies from the borrowed motor boat. He dropped Soos's Monster-Mon backpack beside Bill—it was heavy, Bill must have just shoved his clothes and bedsheet straight in without bothering to wring out the water—and the plastic bag of snacks Dipper had bought. "You ought to eat more while we wait." Ford nudged the snack bag.

Bill sneered at it. "I don't want that trash."

"What?" Ford examined the bag's contents. Jerky, chips, candy, cups of marshmallow cereal... "This is ninety percent of what you eat."

"Ninety percent of what I eat is what I can scavenge from the counters."

Ford looked through the bag again. Ah. Right. So it was. "If you want something else, you know you can ask us to..."

"Mac and cheese."

Maybe Ford had better stop talking. He sighed and glanced at Dipper to see how he was doing.

It didn't look like Dipper had even registered Ford's return, too busy pacing and muttering to himself. Ford frowned. "Dipper?"

"Axolotl," Bill explained. "He's obsessing over him. Didn't I tell you that meeting that thing would drive him insane?" He tilted his head toward Dipper. "Look at that, he's already mumbling to himself. Don't suppose you have his therapist's number, do you? I doubt that would save him, but it might slow the process—"

Ford shushed him.

Dipper had briefly tuned back into the conversation when he heard Bill say Axolotl; and now he grit his teeth and stubbornly tuned it back out. No. He was not going insane. Dipper would figure this out. If he just remembered the rest he'd be fine. He tried to go through all the potential rhymes alphabetically, "—bees, cease, d—deez?" That wasn't a word. "Fees, geese, he's..." and on and on, "seas, tees, uh... vees? Wheeze..."

"I've had enough of you trying to convince that boy he's about to go mad," Ford muttered to Bill. "What do you get out of saying that? Even if you do convince him he's insane, it won't make him start trusting anything else you say."

"I'm not lying," Bill said heatedly. "You ought to know that, you've been in the multiverse, you've seen plenty of maddening sights. You saw them before you even left the Nightmare Realm."

Ford hesitated before responding; was Bill trying to persuade Ford he was insane? But he could still remember those first few moments of terror in the Nightmare Realm: the creatures that had seemed to move and shift in impossible ways as they swam in and out of dimensions Ford couldn't see, the lights and colors that throbbed like an inverted migraine, Bill himself seemingly suspended a million light years away and a foot in front of Ford's face at the same time. Until Ford had latched onto his quest to destroy Bill and let that focus him, his mind had felt like an unraveling sock. "You were chief among those maddening sights."

"I was," Bill acknowledged neutrally.

"But I didn't go insane."

"Because you knew when to look away." He cast a sideways glance at Dipper, an implicit unlike him. "I know you used to read cosmic horror. Do you know why the narrator always goes mad just from looking at some giant beast? It's not because it's too ugly to take. It's because once you meet something, you try to understand it; but if you want to understand the reality something like that comes from," he rolled an eye up toward where the invisible Axolotl had hung in the sky, "you have to lose your understanding of your own reality. They're incompatible. Like the lunatics who escaped Plato's cave and came back ranting about nonsense like sunlight and colors."

It was a twisted interpretation of the cave allegory. Plato had meant it as a metaphor for education: that learning about the true nature of reality was enlightening, but alienated you from your peers.

Perhaps to Bill, enlightenment and insanity were the same thing.

Ford murmured, "Once your eyes have been too dazzled by the sunlight to see the dim shadows, you'll never be awed by a candle again."

"You have been there before."

Ford didn't answer.

"Once you've seen something like that, if you let yourself dwell on the significance of it all, you're doomed. Better to tell yourself it's unimportant and try to forget it ever happened."

Ford thought of Fiddleford.

Bill twisted around to snap tiredly at Dipper, "So stop staring at the sun before you go blind, moron."

"Shut up." Dipper had been trying to mentally drown out Bill's dire predictions by grasping for more rhymes—"disease, unease, Socrates"—but enough filtered through to make his stomach churn with nervousness. What if Bill was right? What if he never remembered what the Axolotl told him—what if he drove himself mad trying? What if this turned into a lifelong obsession—but he'd be fine and could let it go once he remembered—was that the trap? Was whatever it had told him impossible for a human to remember? Was it something so incomprehensible a human couldn't remember it without going crazy?

But he'd seen plenty of stuff last summer that was supposed to make humans go "insane." Bill had to be messing with him. He remembered the first line—surely that meant he could remember the rest—but was that part of the trap? "'Sixty degrees that come in threes'... come on, there's something else, I know it, what is it? 'Sixty degrees that come in threes'—"

Bill sighed irritably. "'Watches through the eyes in trees.'"

Dipper stopped pacing. He hadn't realized he'd raised his voice enough to be audible. "What?"

"What?" Bill said.

"What's the rest of it?"

"What rest of it? It's a couplet. That's all," Bill said. "Is that what he told you? He gets rhymey when he feels self-important, it's no big deal. Maybe you're lucky. Put it out of your head and you'll be fine."

Dipper turned the words over in his head. Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches through the eyes in trees... "That's not exactly right," he said slowly. "It was 'watches from within birch trees.'"

"Is that how he translated it? I've never heard it in English before. I got close, though, I knew it'd rhyme."

Ford echoed, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes.' Like a triangle?"

Dipper gave him a perplexed look. "What?"

"You're taking geometry next year, aren't you? The inner angles of polygons always have the same number of degrees; and a triangle has a hundred and eighty degrees. Three angles of sixty degrees forms... an equilateral triangle."

Dipper and Ford stared at Bill.

Bill gave them a tired, unreadable look. "What?" he said. "Don't look at me. I'm not the only equilateral triangle in the universe."

Well, now Dipper was sure there was more to the poem than just a couplet. "How many other equilateral triangles spy on people through birch trees?"

"Lay off," Bill said crabbily. "I didn't have to tell you that line. Don't make me regret it." He planted his elbows on his knees, laced his hands together, pressed his forehead to them, and massaged his eyelids with his thumbs.

He tilted slightly to the right, keeping the weight of his head off his left arm.

####

"Nice shirt," Stan said, eyeing Ford's anger management t-shirt.

"If you like it, you can have it."

"What happened to your coat?"

"Somewhere at the bottom of the lake," Ford sighed.

"How...?"

"I'll fill you in later."

Bill's trembling was almost unnoticeable by the time Stan arrived. Or, at least, it was slight enough that he could stand and make the short walk from the pier to the car without an obvious struggle. 

He climbed into the back seat, slid across the bench, leaned against the door, wrapped his arms around his Monster-Mon backpack, fell asleep, and didn't wake up for the entire drive home.

Dipper and Ford fell silent when they noticed; and, sensing the heavy atmosphere, Stan followed suit.

####

The event organizers for Higher Dimensional Gate had arranged for the Magister Mentium's audience to surround him in a circle with as large a circumference as possible, so that as many shapes as possible could pack into the first few rows where they could see him. Even so, the crowd was much too large for everyone to be in the first few rows. Speakers had to be planted throughout the crowd so that they'd all be able to hear the Magister speak. Most of his audience couldn't see him.

But he, with his all-seeing eye, could see all of them.

The crowd extended back, row after row after row, in every direction like flecks of multicolor confetti filling the air all the way to the horizon. He'd never spoken to such a large crowd before. He didn't think he'd ever seen such a large crowd before.

Not all of them were his worshipers. He didn't have that many worshipers. The rest were drawn in by his boast—to be the first shape outside of legends to predict an eclipse, over six months ahead of schedule. They were here for a spectacle. He meant to give them one.

If he succeeded, all these spectators would become his worshipers, he was sure of it. If he didn't succeed, he lost everything. The whole nation knew about his bet. He'd be financially ruined. His worshipers would abandon him. There would be no fleeing to a new town and starting over; everyone everywhere knew who he was. His life would be over.

This would be only the third eclipse he could recall. There's no way to neatly map shape ages onto human ages. Different year lengths, different aging speeds, different mental and physical milestones. But approximately, compared to a human, he was scarcely over fifteen years old. 

But he wouldn't fail. He pushed all his fears aside. He didn't even want to think about them. He wouldn't, because he couldn't, because he could see what nobody else saw. He could see the eclipse's approach.

It was traveling across the vast empty gulf outside the world.

The only other third dimensional objects he'd ever seen were the sun—which looked to him like a circle—and the stars—which seemed to be mere points. He assumed all third dimensional objects were fundamentally just second dimensional objects, moving on a strange plane. He had no capacity to model a 3D object in his mind.

But the eclipse was a beast that twirled and gyrated around impossible axes, moving and rotating in ways his eye couldn't even comprehend. To him, it looked as though the living creature—he assumed it was a living creature, sometimes it manifested a couple of limbs or an eye—was constantly shapeshifting, its perimeter moving and altering. Its uncanny undulations had haunted his nightmares for months after he first watched it, so young he'd barely started school. It wasn't any less nightmarish now.

But as incomprehensible and terrifying as it was, he could see it, and nobody else here could, and that was all that mattered. He could watch it on the horizon and publicly announce that it would cross the sun in two weeks—and then in about three days—and then, to his humiliation, not tomorrow but today, guaranteed, as the creature sped up and threw off his estimate. His worshipers and bemused spectators had taken over the square to while away the time. They'd quickly gathered around him to wait after he'd declared it would arrive within the hour

That had been almost an hour and a half ago. The stupid thing had slowed down.

The triangle was terrified.

In every direction, shapes were staring at him. Waiting. His father was watching him—his stare seemed to grow heavier by the minute. He could see reporters in the crowd taking notes.

He had to fight not to pace, not to cringe, not to show any nerves in front of the hundreds of eyes.

Now. It had to be now. It was so close. Please don't let him be wrong. Every cord in his body quivered in terror as he grabbed his microphone and announced: "Lines, bis, tris—quads, quints, and more! My dear students and beloved believers, and my—" he cut off the urge to say something nastier, "—curious visitors, who I hope will join our quest for enlightenment. This is the moment you've been waiting for! The eclipse is upon us! In less than a minute, it will begin!" He had to keep his gaze forward as he spoke, looking at his audience. (His mother had always said the way his eye went white when he was looking at the third dimension unnerved people.) "Soon—you won't have to take all my claims about the third dimension on faith. You'll be able to see for yourself the effect of the third dimension on the plane."

The crowd murmured excitedly. He could see his father relax. He stared up-but-not-north, gnawing nervously on his eyelid until he caught himself. The beast above glowed a warm pink in the light of the nearby sun.

And the stupid thing. Slowed. Again.

He stared in disbelief.

"Sixty seconds," his father whispered, out of range of the microphone.

His stomach flopped. He was dead.

"One minute, fifteen seconds. What's going—?"

He held his microphone away and hissed, "The eclipse decided to zigzag."

"Eclipses can zigzag?"

"Shhh!" He'd already failed. He'd already shown everyone he was wrong. He could hear the murmurs. His eye hurt from staring at the sun and from straining for so long to turn so far upward-not-northward, go faster faster faster—

There! The snout of the eclipse was this close to kissing the perimeter of the sun. He cried triumphantly, "Now!"

The wretched beast did a loop-the-loop around the sun and missed it entirely.

The triangle felt the last strands of his fraying self-composure snap.

He howled in rage.

He could hear laughs from the crowd. They felt like daggers in his sides.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" He was bellowing into outer space as if he thought it might hear him, "Do your think this is a game?! Is this funny?! Are you trying to humiliate me in front of the whole world!" His father put a hand on his arm; the triangle shoved him away. "Get back here right now! You thick, brainless, blobby, pink, feeler-faced two-eyed freak of nature! GET BACK HERE and LOOK ME IN THE EYE!" He was a lunatic, everyone would know it, their leader raving in a direction no one could actually see about some big pink delusion, what did he care, no one would ever take him seriously again anyway—

And the thing in the sky.

Stopped.

And looped back.

And came closer, and closer, and bigger, and bigger—it just kept getting bigger, how far away had it been before, how large was it, how large was the sun?

He hardly noticed the crowd's gasp as the creature twirled between them and the sun—the light shone through its body, pink with blood—and then out of the way, and then in again, and out—until finally it was so close that its perimeter completely engulfed the sun. He'd taken a field trip to the planet's surface once—an enormous solid mass of stone and crystal. Until now, he'd never seen another solid objects so large. To his limited understanding of 3D objects, it looked as though there were no organs inside its perimeter—just a layer of solid, uninterrupted flesh. He didn't know how it could even move.

It stopped straight over him.

He was sure the two black circles embedded inside its body must be its eyes. His whole life he'd heard psychic powers—psychic powers like his own—described as having an "inner eye." But he'd thought the phrase was just a metaphor. An eye on the inside of a body instead of on its perimeter would be useless to most people. He'd never seen a creature with an eye literally on the inside of its body. But the eclipse had two.

And they were looking at him.

A giant ever-shapeshifting cosmic horror from outside of reality, staring through the veil separating the sane world from outerplanar space, and it was looking—at—him.

He was terrified.

He heard an alien voice in his head, vast and deep and slow as distant whale song:

"Hello there!" It was overjoyed. It was tickled pink. "I've never been spoken to by a shape on the wall before. I didn't know you could see off of it!"

Weakly, the triangle repeated, "'A shape on the'...?"

"Yes, this wall of yours." The eclipse gestured with its tail at—everything. A single sweep that took in an entire dimension. "I've probably commuted past this wall billions of times, and nothing's ever called to me before. I didn't know shadows could do that!"

"'Shadows'?" the triangle echoed again. That was all they were? An eclipse's shadows?

"I'm absolutely delighted," the eclipse said. "First contact from a lower-dimensional species! I've watched you for eons and never imagined. Isn't this exciting! How charming of you! Tell me who you are."

Him? "Me?"

"Of course. Who else?" It stared at him. Only him. A shapeshifting force of nature the size of a planet with two inner eyes, an eclipse that saw him as a shadow—and it was looking only at him.

Weakly, he said, "I'm... the Magister Mentium."

The eclipse thought that over. Its tone was a tad dubious and not terribly impressed (why should it be impressed? he was embarrassed at himself for giving his silly puffed-up title)—but it said, "Yes, I suppose that's true. I am the Axolotl. It's been a pleasure meeting you." It began to shapeshift again—its eyes slid sideways through its body, until one reached its perimeter and disappeared.

It dawned on the triangle, in its first immature understanding of third dimensional objects, that its eye had disappeared because the Axolotl was turning away. "Wait!" he cried. "Why..." Why answer him? Why focused on him so completely, if he was just a shadow? Why ask who he was like he mattered? He didn't even know how to put those questions to words in his own mind, much less out loud. "Why are you here so early?"

The Axolotl turned back to the triangle. "Oh! I had to go back for some documents I forgot at the office. Big case in the morning," it said. "You shadows know my schedule?"

"You... pass in front of the sun."

The Axolotl turned away, eyes disappearing and frills fluttering, to look at the sun. "So I do! How funny." It turned toward the triangle and gave him a strange, grotesque look that—by the tone of its psychic voice—he suspected was a smile. "I must get going. I'll be heading into the office a few hours late tomorrow, but perhaps I'll see you again then." And it turned away. It felt like it took forever for the enormous body to sail over-not-north-of the triangle—and pass, at last, out of the sun's path.

The triangle didn't look down-but-not-south until someone shook his side—his father. He lowered his dazed gaze to the crowd—the cheering, applauding crowd. Ma-gi-ster, Ma-gi-ster. A sea of multicolor confetti shapes that filled the air to the horizon.

Shadows.

His father shook him again—"Go on, say something. They're waiting"—and the triangle held up his mic as though he were in a dream. He tried to remember what he was supposed to say. "I was right," he said flatly. "Just like I always told you. I can see the third dimension. The realm of dreams—of colors, of light, and..." The lies left a sick taste in the back of his eye. He couldn't say them. Points of light in darkness and pink nightmares.

"I'm s— You'll all have to excuse me," he said, his voice childish and small. "I can't—I've had a... a... profound... spiritual experience. I must meditate on the revelations I've received." The words felt like woo-woo mumbo-jumbo. "The next eclipse will be a few months after the new year." It seemed important, for some reason, to pass that information on. Wasn't that what he always said he did? Share the wisdom of third dimensional spirits with his followers? "I... have to go now."

His father took his elbow. "This is your moment," he whispered. "Come on, son—you don't want to lose your chance to speak directly to them, do you?"

He shoved the microphone in his father's side. "You speak to them."

"But—"

"I can't," he said. "I can't."

He cut through the crowd as fast as it would part for him—if they were any slower, he'd have started stabbing his way through—haunted the whole way by their applause.

####

And that was it.

From the Axolotl's perspective, he had just had a brief pleasant exchange with a precocious tadpole in a sidewalk puddle.

From the triangle's perspective, he might as well have been standing on the boat deck watching as Cthulhu rose from his millennia of dead slumber at the bottom of the ocean, turned to the fragile vessel bobbing on the waves, and said, "Good morning! Glorious weather we're having, isn't it?"

And from the perspective of the Higher Dimensional Gate, their Magister Mentium had predicted an eclipse, been rightfully insulted when it didn't come the exact second he ordered it, and furiously summoned down an eclipse darker and swifter and longer than any in recorded history.

Up until then, he had been seen as, at best, an oracle. A prophet. A messenger to share the secrets of the third dimension, but that was all he could do. But now, he had commanded forces in an unseen dimension, creating an eclipse months before it was natural. He had made it flicker on and off like he had his finger on the sun's light switch. News reports and the most unimpeachable scientific authorities reported that the eclipse had centered on the location of the Higher Dimensional Gate rally, narrowed down to an inexplicably small radius around that point, and then remained unchanged for several long minutes, long enough for anyone in its shadow to grow fatigued from the missing sunshine. Nothing like that had ever happened before. It defied every known fact about the science of eclipses.

People around the gathering—even people who had known nothing about the Higher Dimensional Gate rally—reported that during the eclipse, they'd become inexplicably disoriented, unable to tell compass directions, and had felt themselves fall toward the darkness—as if gravity's pull had suddenly moved from the south to the epicenter of the eclipse. Public building inspections confirmed that somehow the entire town had shifted, ever so slightly, closer to the epicenter. Closer to the Magister.

Never mind prophecy; as far as the Magister's rapidly-increasing followers were concerned, he might have been a god.

It was the greatest triumph a baby cult leader could ask for.

He barely noticed.

####

For days, he could hardly sleep, speak, or think. He kept losing track of conversations to stare into space. Now, it awed his followers when his eye turned an empty white—he must have been communing with something in a higher dimension.

He didn't argue. It was better than letting them know he was losing his mind.

He spent his time alone locked in his room, pacing back and forth, trying not to look up-but-not-north and failing. Dwelling on the significance of it all. Feeling like he'd never figure it out.

He used to love cosmic horror stories, back when he had time to read. They followed a reliable pattern: the hero travels farther than any rational shape ever should, meets something big, and goes mad from the realization.

And what was it that the hero always realized? That he was a dust fleck in the firmament. That he was insignificant. That he didn't matter. That there were things out there he'd never seen before and would never truly understand, and that they cared not for mere shadows on the wall like him, and that in the grand scheme of the cosmos he was nothing. That he was utterly unimportant.

In moments of what felt like lucidity in between the shivering horror, the triangle  wryly acknowledged that it was no surprise he'd ended up in a cosmic horror story. He could see into another dimension. In the stories he'd read, that made it all but inevitable.

But all the authors had gotten the maddening revelation wrong. He could have handled knowing he was nothing. It almost would have been a relief. 

True horror was knowing he mattered.

He'd spent the majority of his young life selling the idea that he was oh-so-important, as part of a big con to trick gullible idiots into liking him and flinging cash at his rotten undeserving family—and he'd only been able to do it because when the guilt got to him, when his conscience asked what would become of the shapes forking over their life savings on false promises of divine secrets, he could look out into bleak black space and tell himself that nothing really mattered, nothing was important, nothing he'd ever do would really make a difference, and the people he manipulated didn't matter any more than he did. He meant everything to his worshipers, and nothing to the universe. He could do anything and it didn't matter.

For a moment, a vast mind-melting shape-shifting incomprehensible eldritch god had focused its full attention on him—of all the universe, of all the dimensions beyond the known universe, it had looked at him and only him—a mere shadow on the wall, and yet in that moment, it found him interesting. It found him worthy of notice. He had screamed into the cold uncaring void, and the void had cared. For a moment, he'd held cosmic importance. He mattered. His actions mattered.

He'd felt it see him as important, but why? What was so important about him? There had to have been something significant he'd done, something he showed it, something in what he said. He replayed their conversation in his mind over and over and over and over, trying to remember what he'd done that proved he mattered.

He didn't know what it was. He couldn't find it. All he could remember was just... being.

The writers were wrong. Cosmic horror wasn't when an elder god's eyes slid past you without noticing you existed. It was when the elder god gazed down at you at your lowest and bleakest, during your most petty and selfish act of mass swindling, from a dimension where not even slamming the door and shutting your eye could shield you from its gaze—and it decided you were worth caring about. Cosmic horror was when you encountered a colossal alien that planted the incomprehensibly alien idea in your head that you had an inherent worth just because you existed. Cosmic horror was when a force of nature asked the name of a shadow on the wall.

If it was true... if it all mattered... then what was he doing? How could he? What had he done?

####

He was lucky—he was lucky that his parents had raised him to think so clearly about issues like morality and money and easy marks. His only saving grace was that he was too rational to seriously entertain the Axolotl's mad ideas.

And yet, his mind boiled with mad regret. It blazed with insane guilt. The heat of it could burn him out. It was months before he could continue his public sermons without feeling sick—and even once he did, he could still feel the delusion that what he did mattered, festering in his mind.

It would fester for the next trillion years.

####

(And that concludes this plot arc! I hope y'all enjoyed it!! I'd love to hear what y'all thought of the whole thing—especially now that we've looped back to the original eclipse. 😁)

[joyfulhottubfuntik]

Shortly after weirdmageddon, when everyone is busy restoring the shack and tending to Stan, Ford approaches his brother. The latter doesn't remember him yet, as they hadn't really interacted one on one. He is doing well, though, all things considered, making swift progress in getting his memories back, there's just a lot of work still left to do.

They talk for a bit, not really a full on conversation, just Ford wondering about Stan's well-being, about what he's remembered so far and Stan answering. The rest of the time they just fall into slightly awkward silence. Overtime Ford sees that Stan's taken notice of his hands, watching them as Ford gestures with a somewhat confused expression.

Ford realizes almost immediately that it has to be because of his fingers. And he knows he should have expected it, after all, Stan has only forgotten every piece of information related to himself, his general knowledge is intact, so of course he knows what amount of fingers is normal and what is not. But it still hurts, rubs salt into the fresh and open wound. Because Stanley has never once looked at his hands that way, the way everyone else has at some point —like they're noticing something odd and wrong, something that shouldn't be there, trying to figure out whether they're having double vision or seeing things. For Stan his hands have always been the most normal thing in the world, after all, he's never not had a six-fingered twin brother. Well, he has now. And it hurts because that's just an extra reminder that the person sitting next to Ford is not his brother, at least not fully. Maybe will never be him. Hopefully not.

So they sit there. Stan doesn't speak and Ford doesn't either, trying to hold himself together, preparing himself for when Stan's inevitably going to point out his hands. Even though he's had a lifetime of responding to questions about them, even the most uncomfortable ones, he never thought his brother could be the one asking them. This is different and worse than it's ever been. He has to just endure it, it's all his fault after all.

Then Stan finally speaks again. But instead of judgement, confusion, disgust, shock, fear or all the other responses Ford has mentally prepared himself for it's

"Oh, you have six fingers, right? That's pretty cool".

Said calmly, with a warm smile. Like it is the most normal thing in the world. So much like back in the childhood that only one of them remembers.

And that almost moves Ford to tears. Or maybe it does. Not the first time he's cried over this and not the last one either, he feels. But these right now are happy tears. And Ford feels that maybe it will all be alright after all

[star-sim]

too sweet ☆ jay park

☆ bad boy! jay x nerd! fem! reader ☆ summary: after months of an on-and-off relationship with you, jay feared that he'd hurt you. you know that he won't. maybe a few sweet words (and kisses) could convince him. ☆ genre: angst to fluff, suggestive, inexperienced! reader (-ish), jay is really really really DOWN BAD, insecurities ☆ warning(s)? n/a ☆ word count: 2.0k words ☆ everyone clap for hozier’s “too sweet," for my starved jay stans

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!!

"So, you're telling me that you want us to end?"

Jay sucked in a sharp breath, clasping his hands together. "That's not what I mean."

You scoffed, narrowing your eyes at him. The thin gold chain hanging around his neck kissed his honey gold skin deliciously, his silvery hair falling over his brows. You watched as Jay rubbed his knuckles, his jaw clenching with each thought that ran through his mind.

"Then what do you mean?"

If he thought that you'd ever let him go, he was insane.

Jay took a moment to think, before words tumbled from his lips in a slow drawl, as if he was afraid of them.

"We can't be together because I'll hurt you," he said simply. 

Jay watched your expression closely, eyeing your swollen lips— God, were they perfect, like always— as they curled. He could hear the cogs turning in your head, and for a second, Jay thought that he could win the fight.

You and Jay met under rather interesting circumstances. He was slacking in his classes, running the risk of not passing the semester, so the counselors stepped in and had you to help. 

At first, Jay thought you were the most insufferable snob there was. But the next thing he knew, he was pinning you against the wall, hungrily kissing you like he was a starved man and you were his salvation. There was always something so intoxicating about you, the way you were able to chide into his ear why he was failing his classes, yet stayed silent with wide, innocent eyes as his fingers squeezed your thighs. Jay longed for the way you could read him like a book, the way that your black pawns stacked up against him, cornering his white king that made it impossible to escape, all the while holding a polite smile on your face.

It was always unconventional; how could the school's most notorious slacker and shady delinquent even be in the same room as the smartest girl?

Everyone seemed to have something to say about it, and for a second, Jay couldn't help but drink up every word, falling deeper and deeper into the abyss that was his mind.

You were too good for him. You had everything laid out for you, you were just perfect. He wasn't. He was troubled, and stupid, and brash. 

He was mean and bitter, you were bright and sweet. 

So sweet.

Too sweet.

"You'll hurt me?" you scoffed again, looking at him incredulously. 

Under your critical gaze, Jay nearly faltered, as if this wasn't the millionth time that he reconsidered this entire conversation, as if he didn't crave your touch every waking second.

Just ten minutes ago, you were on top of him, your fingers tangled in his hair, ravaging his lips like they were your last meal. Knowing that he was the one that taught you that— how to devour him like a starved hyena— made him feel dizzy.

"When have you ever hurt me?" you pressed, your face pinched.

It was only when your delicate fingers began to unbutton his shirt, soft, but desperate, breaths brushing up against his collarbone, that Jay gently pushed you away, taking you off of his lap and letting you sit beside him on your bed.

"I haven't," Jay swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to ignore the nerves bundling in his stomach, gnawing at him, almost like they were screaming at him to stop. "But I can, a-and I know I will if we don't stop seeing each other."

"What makes you think that?" 

Jay chewed on his lip, thinking about his next move.

Loving you was like playing a game, a game where life and death were at stake. He was willing to roll every dice and destroy every odd if it meant being with you.

You were stone-faced, save for the questioning quirk of your eyebrows, but Jay knew better. 

The moment that the words "I think we should break up" left his lips, Jay could see your pawns retreating; he could see the way that your walls were beginning to come up again, the cage wrapped around your heart tightened, and all he wanted to do was hold you and apologize. 

But he couldn't, because this was for the best.

He'd rather hurt you once, than hurt you a million more times in the future. 

He was afraid of himself, of what his hands could do, of what tears you would shed over him.

He was fundamentally flawed, someone who could not be fixed. That was something that both you and him needed to accept.

"You know me," Jay murmured, his eyes glued to the fluffy carpet on the floor. He couldn't look you in the eye after this, after hurting you. "I'm not good for you."

You stayed silent for a few pulses, only the sound of your shaky breath filling Jay's ears. 

Then, you reached out for him. But, the moment that you soft fingers met his shoulder, Jay violently flinched away.

He knew that if he let you touch him, he'd never be able to pull away.

"Jay..." Your voice was small, and when he looked up to see your face, your brows were furrowed together. You looked hurt, and he wanted to punch himself; he wanted to melt into your warmth, feel your hands on his skin, and taste the paradise that was your lips.

You slowly retracted your hand, something that made Jay's heart ache. 

"Sorry..." he mumbled, quickly averting his gaze once again. After today, he didn't deserve to look at you.

Another few pulses pass in sheer silence, a silence so suffocating that Jay felt his throat tighten.

"Did it mean anything to you?" you finally asked shakily. 

"W-What?"

"Did anything that we did at least mean something to you?"

The word "yes" almost came spilling out of his mouth, eager to prove to you that he indeed loved you— loved you enough to save you. But, Jay stopped himself.

You would never take an explanation that didn't make sense. You'd push and push and push until you got the truth.

He couldn't draw this out any longer, or else he'd crack.

"No," Jay pushed out of his mouth, grimacing at the bitter taste on his tongue. 

He heard you take in a breath, before you clicked your tongue. 

You didn't believe him, and you weren't going to take no for an answer.

"Tell me the truth," you murmured. "All those times we've kissed, why would you kiss me first if it meant nothing?"

He really couldn't do this, he couldn't lie to you.

"W-Well, it's because you're always close to me." Horrible explanation, and he knew it.

You cocked a brow. "No one’s forcing you to kiss me."

Jay gulped. You were reading him like a book, seeing right through him.

"Any man in my position would kiss you," he stammered, unaware that the way his nose scrunched gave him away. Jay's eyes glazed over you. God, you were just so beautiful. "I mean, look at you."

His ears burned with shame, blinking back hot tears that brimmed his eyes. He couldn't believe that he was actually doing this, purposefully lying to your face. He felt disgusting; weak. You were the first person that he's ever loved, the first person that made him feel all sorts of weird, giddy feelings, the first person that made him feel safe and loved. He was ruining it for himself, but he'd rather ruin himself than ruin you. After this, how was he ever going to recover? He couldn't imagine his life without you, not after feeling your warmth, not after having the privilege of seeing you beneath him, pretty eyes filled with stars gazing up at him—

If Jay wasn't so caught up in his head, he'd notice the way that you observed his flickering expression, before suddenly climbing back onto Jay.

"H-Hey—!"

You pushed Jay down onto the bed so that he was lying on his back, sitting right on his abdomen, pinning him down for good.

"You're a horrible liar," you muttered before grabbing his face, pressing sticky kisses against his jaw.

No, no, no! This isn't supposed to happen! You're supposed to hate him!

Your lips trailed from his jaw to the crook right below his ear, the spot that you knew was Jay's sensitive spot. You bit down just enough to make Jay let out a high-pitched sigh. You pulled away, admiring the purple-pink mark you left on his skin, before trailing down to the birthmark on his neck. You ran your tongue over the heart-shaped mark. Jay's hand jerked out for your waist, squeezing it.

"B-Baby..." he breathed, slipping back into his habit of using that name for you. His mind was doing everything in its power to resist you, but all he could do was tilt his head back to give you better access to his neck.

"Baby?" you purred against the shell of his ear. "Thought I didn't mean anything to you."

"I— Shit, don't do that, Baby—" you slid your hand under his shirt, your lips making vulgar noises as it attached to his honey skin. 

"I don't fucking care if you hurt me," you spat in his ear, and chills ran down his spine. Since when were you so... obscene? 

What has he done to you, for you to start off as an innocent and curious girl and end up shamelessly touching him? Had he corrupted you too much?

"You said you wanted to give me the best firsts?" your voice was so harsh, so mean that Jay almost questioned how someone so sweet could be so ruthless. It also made him question why in the hell it made his stomach do a flip. You bit down on a collarbone. "Then stop being a pussy and just let me love you."

Jay threw his head back, letting a groan escape his lips. God, how was he going to win this? How was he going to ignore the shudder of his shoulders as you touched him? How was he going to act like his body wasn't yearning for you?

"I'm pretty and you know it," you rasped in his ear. "So stop resisting me."

Your words were candied, sweet like syrup, seeping into his head and swaying all resolve he had. He almost gave in. Almost. 

"L-Look, I know you’re hot and all," it took every fiber in Jay's being to not give into your tantalizing lips, "B-But you know this is wrong."

You hummed against his skin. "But I don't."

Jay's rendered speechless when you press your hips against his, squeezing his eyes shut. His stomach did a flip, a wave of heat coursing through his body. It felt electric, it felt wrong.

"I don't know that this is wrong, and even if I did, I wouldn't care" your tone is so soft, so innocent, but your actions were so dirty. "Ignorance is bliss."

Jay opened his mouth to let more dumb words pour out, dumb words that were his final (and extremely futile) attempt to restrain himself, but his breath got caught in his throat when they ran your hands through his silver hair, gripping it and pulling it back. You held his head in place by his hair. The sensation of pain on his scalp was delicious, enough to make him feel like putty in the palm of your hands.

"If you don’t stop," his voice was airy and high-pitched now, labored breaths escaping his lips. He wasn't going to win this fight. He never was going to in the first place, not when you were his opponent, "I don't know if I'll be able to control myself."

"Then don't," you said simply against his neck. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. Your eyes were wide and shiny, innocently staring up at him. Your voice was so pretty and sweet, so sweet that he couldn't believe that you were doing and saying all these things to him. "Don't control yourself."

As Jay fell back into the comfort of the mattress, letting heat spread across his chest and face as you hungrily sunk your teeth into what was his heart, his Adam's apple bobbed.

You were too sweet for him, too sweet for a bitter person like him. 

He wouldn't mind getting tooth decay, yeah?

[sevsevteen]

Idol vernon x idol reader PLEASEEE 😭😭

hello love! thank you so much for your ask~ i'm not sure what direction you wanted it, so this one's a comfort fic!! let me know if you wanted a different scene - enjoy <3 (ps I LOVE BONON STANS RAHHH KEEP IT COMING)

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

The carpet outside his door was worn at the edges.

You stood there, barefoot in hotel slippers, hoodie tugged down over your hands, the sleeve’s hem pinched between your fingers like an anchor. The hallway was silent - save for the low hum of air vents and the occasional pop of a pipe in the wall.

You weren’t physically tired.

Not really.

But the kind of tired running through your bones didn’t have a name, and you weren’t sure if you came here for a reason or if your feet just moved on their own.

It wasn’t the first time tour had wrung you out like this - the back-to-back flights, the late-night rehearsals, the pressure to smile even when your throat ached from holding it in. You could’ve knocked on anyone’s door. But somehow, you always ended up here.

Vernon’s room.

You stared at the wood grain, heart ticking like a second hand against your ribs.

But your hand hovered near the door, frozen.

What if he was asleep?

What if this was too much?

What if you were being too much?

And then-

The door opened.

You blinked.

Vernon stood there, hair damp from a recent shower, towel hanging off one shoulder, a sleepiness in his eyes that vanished the moment he saw you.

“You okay?” he asked, voice still raspy with leftover dreams.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You hadn’t even knocked. Had he heard your breathing? Or maybe...maybe he just knew.

He stepped aside without waiting for an answer. “Come in.”

You did.

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. The bed was unmade, the TV screen paused on some random movie he'd half-watched earlier. It smelled like laundry detergent and shampoo and something quietly familiar.

“You wanna talk?” Vernon asked, already handing you a bottled water from the mini-fridge.

You shook your head.

He nodded once, like he understood exactly what that meant.

Nothing happened after that. Not for a while.

He settled on the floor next to the bed, back against the bed. You joined him, knees tucked to your chest, shoulder barely brushing his. A comfortable closeness - no questions, no extra noise aside from the show playing on the TV, just two people breathing in the quiet after chaos.

Eventually, you spoke, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Vernon pulled the extra blanket from the foot of the bed and tossed it over your lap. You curled into it without thinking.

Vernon glanced at you. “You always have here.”

Something in your chest cracked, slow and soft.

“I didn’t even knock,” you added with a weak laugh.

“I was already getting up,” he said, like that made it logical. Like he hadn’t just opened the door without reason.

A silence settled again - not empty, but warm. Like exhaling after holding your breath too long.

And in that little bubble of calm, under tired hotel lights and aching hearts, you let your head fall lightly onto his shoulder.

Vernon didn’t flinch.

Neither of you said much after that.

But you stayed, and he let you.

Because love - in whatever shape it took - was sometimes just a shoulder in the quiet, a door opened without knocking, and someone who didn’t need the words to understand them.

--

listened to seungkwan's raindrops while writing this, my heart :')

[gay-dorito-dust]

okay so y/n is secretly a god of keeping an eye on this gravity falls universe and is trying to protect the kids because she's seen how they died so many times and full on just breaks down in front of Stan and ford telling them

Ngl this was kinda shit

You don’t know how much more you could take of having beer witnessed to so many timelines where the twins died far too young.

You didn’t know how much more of their suffering you were forced to watch on the sidelines while being reminded by beings of a power far greater than yours that there was to be no divine intervention. None whatsoever as it was a taboo amongst gods and was punishable by having the elder gods remove your immortality and take away any and all divine powers from you.

You didn’t care about the consequences of your own actions when you fled from your home in hopes of helping Dipper and Mabel survive one timeline, to grow older and live long happy lives unlike their alternate selves that you couldn’t save. You were sick and tired of seeing the same end result for the Pine twins timeline after timeline after timeline. This time it was going to be different, and you were going to make sure of it as you watched through the bark of trees as they ventured off on their next monster of the week, always coming back to the shack unscathed.

‘Hey great aunt/ grunkle y/n!’ They’d both greet you with wide smiles despite their messy appearances.

‘You two looked like you had some fun today. Find anything investing to share?’ You’d ask them but you already knew the answer. You had used your power to ward off the sneaky pack of Direwolves from mauling the kids and grant them a quick escape, a victory unfortunately not shared by their alternate selves, who never came back from the encounter. You still remembered the pained screams as they were deeply etched into your subconscious, keeping you awake at night.

The twins shared a look as thought debating whether or not to tell you, only to mentally agree on the later as they both looked back at you and said in unison; ‘nope! Just some scrapes and cuts, nothing interesting at all!’ Before they left to go to their room. As soon as they left the smile of your face faltered as you let out an uneven sigh, your hands covering your eyes as you softly wept into them, not understanding how cruel life must be to condemn the sweetest and bravest children you knew to countless deaths with each one being worse then the last.

You didn’t care that you’d be punished for your actions, you didn’t care that you’d be ridiculed and berated by the elder gods for being too human for a god, but you would much rather risk it all if it meant that all your effort and energy would bring forth a timeline where the twins emerged victorious; They deserved as much.

‘I can’t let it happen again.’ You whispered to yourself.

You must’ve been too occupied by the turmoil inside your own head that you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps came towards you, nor noticed that whoever was walking towards you had now sat themselves on either side of you until a hand was placed on your shoulder were you finally drawn back to reality.

‘Are you okay? Dipper and Mabel said they could hear you sobbing.’ Ford said and you saw that both he and Stan had come to check on you.

‘I can’t.’ You muttered.

‘Can’t what?’ Stan asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘I can’t watch them die again, not this time.’ You said as you wiped your eyes clean of tears. ‘I’ve watched enough of the same story come to violent and unfair endings and got told that’s just how the way things are.’

Ford and Stan shared a look, not knowing the best course of action to take in order to comfort you when you were talking in vague and ominous riddles. So Ford gently moved you so that you were looking at him directly, ‘what do you mean by that? Who’s them?’ You breathed in deeply as you mustered up the strength to tell Ford and Stan a truth you’ve been keeping to yourself in order to keep them all safe, but the Pines Family were a curious bunch and couldn’t help but be drawn to things they shouldn’t, while also having strange things be drawn to them in vice versa.

‘I haven’t been all that truthful about who I am and I only did so for a good reason, to keep you all safe.’ You said as you held onto Ford’s arms while looking between him and Stan, ‘I’m a deity who came here to Gravity Falls after bearing witness to multiple timelines where Dipper and Mabel don’t make it out alive from their encounters with the anomalies of this very town. I’ve risked everything to be here, even my own powers and immortality to keeping these kids safe in hopes of seeing the fruits of my labour be proven fruitful.’ You continued your admittance as you saw the conflicting emotions cut across their faces the more you spoke of your true origin.

‘What do you mean that dipper and Mabel die in each timeline you’ve seen?’ Stan then asked, his face set in agitation, ‘you’re a god aren’t you? Couldn’t you just have intervened and save them regardless? I thought you gods were meant to be omnipotent or whatever?’

‘That’s not how it works, is it.’ Ford said as he was slowly putting the pieces together while his thumbs caressed your shoulders reassuringly.

‘No.’ You said softly as a new wave of tears started to cascade down your cheeks. ‘The elder gods decreed long ago to forbid divine intervention of all kinds. They claim that there was nothing that can be done to change what has already been foreseen, but I couldn’t do it.’ You whimpered as you looked at Stan. ‘I just couldn’t when I knew that I could at least change one timeline, just one. Im sorry.’ You finished as Stan and Ford felt their hearts hurt for you, a god who was going against their entire way of life to keeping their grand niece and nephew safe, all the while feeling immense guilt consumed you from the inside out over the other realities.

Stan then moved so that he was just as in your line of sight as Ford was and began to wipe away some of your tears with his thumb. ‘I guess that explains all those times I’ve seen you silently stare out into the woods.’ He began jokingly as everything leading up to now started to make sense, how you’d always put yourself between the children and any potential danger or how you’d watch over them like a hawk and making sure they were in your line of sight no matter what as though afraid that something terrible would happen if they weren’t. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for them sweetheart, but it’s time you took care of yourself just as well.’ Stan then adds as he and Ford escorted you back into the shack, much to your confusion as you looked between them.

‘I cant! I have to make sure-‘

‘The twins are fast asleep in their beds y/n. They’re safe, you have done enough for today. Now if it time for you to rest.’ Ford gently reprimanded you as you suddenly began to feel the weight of fatigue that you had been putting off for several days now.

‘Yeah don’t go worrying yourself so much, or else you’ll get grey hairs like me and point Dexter over here. Let us take over once in a while okay honey?’ Stan says as he and Ford tried to get your mind off of your mission when they both saw just how much you’ve run yourself into the ground, how reluctant you were to relinquishing control and allowing yourself to rest up from the countless days of no sleep nor sustenance. They were pretty sure you hadn’t looked at yourself in a mirror to know just how badly you looked, nor the haunted you seem to get in your eyes now and then as though you were recalling traumatic events.

‘But-‘

‘Nope.’ Stan interrupted.

‘Can’t I just-‘

‘I’m afraid we can’t let you do that. God or not, you need rest. We’ll keep the kids safe in your stead.’ Ford cuts you off this time as he and Stan managed to wrangle you into bed after a brief struggle where you realised just how badly your limbs ached snd screamed with a desire to rest or how your eyelids felt heavier then lead.

‘Promise?’ You asked them sleepily.

Stan pressed a soft kiss to your forehead while Ford squeezed your hand reassuringly. ‘We promise, you’ve done your part so please, let us do ours.’

[abyssalzones]

can you tell us about your interpretation of the better world universe!!!! especially curious how stan/mystery trio works into it

hell yesssss I definitely can. ABW is maybe my favorite niche gf thing and probably the only "AU" I care about but that may be due to the fact that it's an AU that exists in the canon and we know so little about it. so it has an established foundation that you're left to fill in the details with yourself... it's like a poke bowl to me. you can put anything in there

and since I felt like it here's a bonus pic of them living their best lives pestering ford

[explanation-y stuff under ze cut because I got very longwinded]

as for specifics of how I see everything working out, there's a few key points that establish why things happened differently from canon, the most important being:

Stan agrees to hide journal #3 somewhere

Ford reunites with fiddleford and they begin working together again

both of these are already confirmed in canon, the first being the most obvious "schism" between timelines. literally everything in ABW is the way it is because stan made a different decision. kind of crazy in terms of its implications: I feel like that moment in the basement is a really good example of how stan gets so few opportunities to shape her own life (while ford is in the picture...) because of her role as the 'black sheep' twin. it's not exactly a premeditated decision to push ford into the portal, it's her acting on feelings that have been bubbling unaddressed under the surface for 10-something years at that point, and only then does she have any sort of power over the "narrative" of both her life and the story itself, something that from her pov has been ford's story. and in the canon timeline, she says no.

so like, what the hell made her say yes in ABW's timeline? this question kind of haunts me because I feel like it has to be entirely dependent on what the inside of stan's head looked like at the time. it's possible something influenced her, but overall I think it's more interesting if ford did and said all the exact same things up until this point and it really was entirely dependent on stan's decision internally.

so stan says yes, goes on a big trip to the other side of the world somehow, and buries journal 3 somewhere probably never to be found again. yay! but, uh, going on a trip like ford was suggesting would... take weeks. that would leave ford alone again. and not to have my established thoughts informed by new material or anything but bill did give him 72 hours.

so, next order of business: how in the fuck would ford convince fiddleford to rejoin him??? I'm unsure between journal 3 and tbob's information how ford may have tried to reach out to him but it seems like fiddleford was pretty adamant about staying away from that guy, out of guilt or fear of bill/the portal or both. I don't think logically it would just be a matter of ford calling him enough times or finding out where he lives- and I think that's kind of getting away from the point of why ABW is the way it is too. if stan is suddenly making decisions that are influencing ford's life, I think it would be similarly interesting if fiddleford also possessed some unique autonomy in this scenario.

aka I think ford got fucked up badly (possibly involving losing an eye) and fiddleford found him half-dead while trying to burn his house down. [mabel voice] romance!

to clarify: I don't think fiddleford is obligated to take care of ford. a major part of him leaving the project was finally making the decision to leave a situation that was hurting him, that he'd been staying in entirely because he still cared about ford and felt on some level he could still help him (which gets broken with "I don't need you!") and I think that's a very reasonable decision on his part. but I also do have to think about all the times ford has been "the hero" in situations where fiddleford ends up hurt and helpless because of something traumatizing. I think it'd be fascinating to see that reversed and have fiddleford actively making the difficult, messy decision to take care of that guy even when they're on miserable terms. and so begins like a solid week of these two desperately trying to look out for eachother in a nightmare scenario where one of them probably needs to go to a hospital + keeps getting possessed off and on and the other is going through the worst addiction/withdrawal cycle of his life irt the memory gun. yay! (part of the reason this even works To Me also is heavily informed by the lack of secrets: if fiddleford is actively dressing that guy's wounds he can't really keep it all to himself anymore. crushingly intimate perhaps...)

stan gets back eventually. such is the context of this pic

from there it's a nebulous grab-bag of things I think could happen up to the foundation of the institute.

how do all three of these incredibly fucked up individuals get along? well they don't but then they do.

how do they get bill out of ford's head without performing amateur brain surgery? idk. my best guess is a fiddleford and stan bonding trip into ford's mindscape that potentially helps answer the first question. possibly utilizing the memory gun. shrugs.

what's up with that one picture you drew of parallel fidds holding the memory gun up to ford's head? well. okay that one might or might not be something that actually happened but the idea was just that ford is coping badly with a few specific things and I liked the idea of fiddleford "holding onto" something for him to remember and work through later when he's ready to deal with it, it's an interesting reversal of how he's normally more of a memory sink.

from the point in canon about them stabilizing the portal so that bill can't use it to get into their dimension anymore onward, I think it just becomes a matter of them living the lives they could've always had in canon without realizing it. hence "a better world." some cool tidbits I like to think about:

stan gets to transition much earlier (late 1990's perhaps?) and probably starts going by "lee" instead

she's also the institute's CMO and is mostly in it for going on business trips abroad with ford. and the money. obviously.

the institute probably also legitimately changes the world on a sociopolitical scale outside of just interdimensional travel since their research renders them uniquely untouchable and all three of them are trans (I'm cartoon logic-ing a little bit here just let me have this one)

ford is the eccentric bill nye esque face of the company, fiddleford is the backbone. that isn't to say ford doesn't do anything as I think he'd always moreso be in it for the science than the fame (though it is nice to be more than comfortable financially) but it's an open secret fiddleford keeps tabs on literally everything, he's still very security-oriented.

the northwest family now has a more prominent ongoing rivalry with the pines family that could be very funny to think about. they've taken all the LOGGING JOBS with their damn SCIENCE

part of the reason I thought ford should lose an eye is because I think having him wear an eyepatch would be a neat way to parallel stan's "role" as mr. mystery visually! stan wears an eyepatch for no legitimate reason to keep up appearances as a schlocky tourist trap host, but it also alludes to her being more than she seems under the surface. ford's eyepatch does sort of have a legitimate reason to exist, but he also could just wear his glass eye and it would probably be less "conspicuous." he chooses the eyepatch instead because it's part of his image as Stanford Pines, Founder of Oddology, and because it keeps him safe. there's also a little residual scarring there from damage to his eyelid/tarsal plate which could easily represent him hiding the more "damaged" aspects of himself under his successes. ouch.

I'm unsure if ford and stan would ever feel comfortable getting back in touch with their parents. I know a lot of people go that route with fan material but I don't think they should have to. I think they're much happier now having healed the rift between them on their own and getting to live successful lives for themselves, rather than to prove something to their father.

that being said I do think fiddleford gets in touch with emma-may and his son again and they end up on better terms with time and a Lot of effort. tate's family is now composed of his father, mother, "uncle" ford (in the ye olde gay closeted sense of referring to your dad's partner as an uncle), and auntie lee, and I like to think they go out on trips to the lake together often :]

also ford and fiddleford tie the knot unofficially (in the eyes of the government anyway) in 1990. owed to stan somehow getting "ordained" as a rabbi. don't ask me how.

the pines twins start visiting the institute from a younger age than they do irt visiting stan in the show-- but they're only permitted to come along on heavily-supervised interdimensional excursions once they turn 12. cue antics!

anyway, hopefully this extremely longwinded and loosely structured mess helped answer your question. I like ABW sooo so so much you guys

[strawberrykidneystone]

Fresh Out the Slammer I Know Who My First Call Will Be

stanley pines x female reader

summary: stanley needs to be bailed out. again. don't worry, he'll make it up to you! he swears!

a/n: i am not immune to the gravity falls renaissance,,, all 22 fingers iykyk

tags: smut, set the week before the twins come to gravity falls, reader is late 20s-early 30s, reader wears a skirt, pussy eating, cowgirl, spanking (like twice), creampie (wrap it before your tap it)

ao3 version

y/n stood at the counter of the police department once again, her arms crossed as she had to bail stan out.

again.

how many times has she have to do this? she didn't keep track anymore, yet she would still do it every time he called.

"hey sweets..." his sheepish voice would always ring out as he called to her from the small holding cell.

blubs grumbled something about this being a weekly occurrence as stan meekly came out of the cell, knowing he was going to be in the dog house tonight. stan quickly put his signature jewelry back on and rushed out in front of y/n and held the passenger side door of El Diablo open for her, putting on his best smile as she slid into her seat, her arms still crossed.

the ride home was quiet, the windows were rolled down and stanley glanced over every so often at y/n as the wind blew through her hair. god she was so beautiful, he didn't deserve her. she was always there for him, more than his own parents, more than his own brother, and he knew that every time he messed up like this she just got closer to leaving him like everyone else. he knows better, he knows he shouldn't think like this, and she gladly reassured him every time, but times like this in the deafening silence only being broken by the erratic purr of the engine, he couldn't help but get lost in his thoughts.

this time was somewhat of a last hurrah for stanley since he had the twins coming over. he stopped smoking his usual cigars and replaced all his beer with pitt, even giving y/n a small squirt gun to spray him every time he cursed, trying to get out of the habit before the impressionable 12-year-olds arrived for the summer.

when they arrived home, stan ran around el diablo once again and opened up y/n's door. she seemed less peeved than she was when she first arrived at the station, but she still kept quiet as she stepped out and walked into the mystery shack, stan trailing behind her like a lost puppy.

y/n sat at the edge of their shared bed and looked up at stan expectantly, an aura of annoyance surrounding her. she had one leg crossed over the other and arms crossed to match. "awe doll, don't look at me like that, this was the last time i swear!"

"the kids are coming next week stan! how do i know that this was really the last time?"

"let me prove it to you sweets, i promise on my mother that my act will be together for these kids,” he said holding one hand up and placing the other over his heart like an oath.

y/n frowned a little but gave the old man a curt nod, knowing how important their stay was to him and how much he's already been preparing already.

"lemme make it up to you doll," stan purred and got down on his knees with a little bit of exertion, crawling forward on his knees and gently prying her knees apart. he looked up at her with half-lidded eyes, pressing kisses to the inside of her knees with an exaggerated "mwah" each time along with his stubble scratching against her skin.

this made y/n crack a smile and reached a hand down to run her fingers through his hair, landing on the side of his face, "and how exactly are you going to do that stanley?"

he loved hearing his name from her mouth, he grinned up at her and tugged her closer by her thighs, causing her to sequel with her back landing on the bed, "oh i might have a few ideas doll."

stan pushed her skirt up around her hips and licked his lips, already seeing a wet spot on her panties, "all this just for me baby? you spoil me."

he leaned forward and licked a stripe up the soiled fabric, mouthing at her clothed pussy and reaching his hands around to grope her ass. he nuzzled his nose against her clit, inhaling her scent deeply and hearing a whine spill out from her, "stan stop teasing."

he muttered something incoherent about patience, but judging by the bulge in his pants, he didn't want to wait much longer either. stan hooked his thumbs through the sides of her underwear and with y/n lifting her hips up, slid them off with ease. he immediately dove in like a man starved, massaging his tongue against her sensitive nub and sucking every so often. moving his mouth down, his nose nudged against her clit, encouraging her to rub herself against it as he thrusted his tongue inside of her. she took the hint and grinded her hips against his nose, moaning at the new stimulation while being partially filled up, feeling his tongue rubbing against her walls.

stan groaned and pulled back panting, her slick all over the bottom half of his face, "can't take it anymore doll, need you to ride me."

she giggled and rolled her eyes, "alright, get on the bed old man."

she turned over on all fours to crawl further up on the bed, stan taking the opportunity to give her ass a playful smack, a small squeak falling from her lips. y/n sat back on her heels and took off her shirt, along with her bra. by the time she turned around, stan was comfortably lying with his back against the headboard, completely naked with his cock standing up high.

y/n shuffled on her knees over to him and straddled his thighs, stan looking up at her light she hung all the stars in the sky causing her to blush deeply. she took his cock into her hand and rubbed the tip in between her lower lips, stan salivating as he watched his precum mix with her own arousal with his hands quickly making their way to her hips. as she finally sank down on his length, both of them let out a sigh of pleasure as her warm walls engulfed him.

she took a moment to adjust to his length, allowing his hands to wander up her waist, squeezing her breasts in his big hands and brushing his thumbs over her nipples every so often. he leaned forward and sucked on her left nipple, teething softly but careful to not bite down too hard, switching to the other a short time later. while he was showing affection to her breasts, she ran her hands over his hairy shoulders and reached towards his upper back, running her nails just hard enough to leave a mark. she gave an experimental bounce, her breath hitching as he finally bottomed out inside of her. stan unlatched from her breasts and leaned back, his gripping her ass with a shit-eating grin, "you ready to ride toots?"

she let out a breathy laugh and put her hands on his beer gut, leaning forward slightly to steady herself, "i'd be more concerned about myself if i were you."

as he was about to respond with something snarky, she lifted herself almost completely off of him before sinking back down quickly. he moaned and leaned his head back, giving her a little support with her movements with his hands. stan smacked her ass as she found a steady rhythm, feeling her squeeze around him. "that's it, that's my good girl."

stan grabbed her hips and kept her in place, thrusting up into her with his feet pushing down into the mattress, watching her breasts bounce with each movement. y/n moaned and arched her back, reaching a hand down to rub her clit for more stimulation, "yes! right there, don't stop stan!"

stan kept with the pace he was at and could feel himself getting close, gritting his teeth, "where do you want it doll?"

"inside, please!"

he nodded and reached one of his calloused hands down to rub her clit, replacing her own hand as he continued to thrust inside of her as she moved with him. with the rough texture of his hand, y/n opened her mouth in a silent scream as she reached her peak with stan not far behind as he released his seed inside of her.

the two sat in a comfortable silence, only their heavy breathing filling the room. y/n looked down at him and smiled sleepily, affectionately tapping his chest, "good job keeping up oldie."

he snorted and put his hand behind his head, "'m sorry doll, it was one last hurrah. am i forgiven?"

y/n pretended to think and tapped her chin with her index finger, "hmm i don't know... yes of course, I'll always be there to bail you out stan, you know that."

a soft smile rested on his face as he took the hand on his chest, kissing each fingertip, "i know you will doll, and I'm damn lucky to have you."

she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, grinning like a cheshire cat suddenly, "i took your bail money from your buried cash box."

"you WHAT-"

a/n: ty for reading!!! also it's my fanfic and i'll write as many run on sentences as i want!!!