#most core parts of him are the same but. Where he used to been a bit more calm and collected he's a lot more explosive.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Spider-Man India, but... where from India?

A SUPER long post featuring talks of: cultural identity, characterisation, the caste system, and what makes Spider-Man Spider-Man.

I’m prefacing this by saying that I am a second-generation immigrant. I was born in Australia, but my cultural background is from South India. My experiences with what it means to be “Indian” is going to be very different from the experiences of those who are born and brought up in India.

If you, reader, want to add anything, please reblog and add your thoughts. This is meant to be a post open for discussion — the more interaction we get, the better we become aware of these nuances.

So I made this poll asking folks to pick a region of India where I would draw Pavitr Prabhakar in their cultural wear. This idea had been on my mind for a long while now, as I had been inspired by Annie Hazarika’s Northeastern Spidey artwork in the wake of ATSV’s release, but never got the time to actually do it until now. I wanted to get a little interactive and made the poll so I could have people choose which of the different regions — North, Northeast, Central, East, West, South — to do first.

The outcome was not what I expected. As you can see, out of 83 votes:

THE RESULTS

South India takes up almost half of all votes (44.6%), followed by Northeast and Central (both 14.5%) and then East (13.3%). In all my life growing up, support towards or even just the awareness of South India was pretty low. Despite this being a very contained poll, why would nearly half of all voters pick South India in favour of other popular choices like Central or North India?

Then I thought about the layout of the poll: Title, Options, Context.

Title: "Tell us who you want to see…"

Options: North, Northeast, Central, East, West, South

Context: I want to make art of the boy again

At first I thought: ah geez. this is my fault. I didn't make the poll clear enough. do they think I want them to figure out where Pavitr came from? That's not what I wanted, maybe I should have added the context before the options.

Then I thought: ah geez. is it my fault for people not reading the entire damn thing before clicking a button? That's pretty stupid.

But regardless, the thought did prompt a line of thinking I know many of us desi folk have been considering since Spider-Man India was first conceived — or, at least, since the announcement that he was going to appear in ATSV. Hell, even I thought of it:

Where did Spider-Man India come from?

FROM A CULTURALLY DIVERSE INDIA

As we know, India is so culturally diverse, and no doubt ATSV creators had to take that into account. Because the ORIGINAL Spider-Man India came from Mumbai — most likely because Mumbai and Manhattan both started with the same letter.

But going beyond that, it’s also because Mumbai is one of the most recognisable cities in India - it’s also known as Bombay. It’s where Bollywood films are shot. It’s where superstar Hindi actors and actresses show up. Mumbai is synonymous with India in that regard, because the easiest way Western countries can interact with Indian culture is through BOLLYWOOD, through HINDI FILMS, through MUMBAI. Suddenly, India is Mumbai, India is a Hindi-only country, India is just this isolated thing we see through an infinitely narrow lens.

We’ve gotten a little better in recent years, but boy I will tell you how uncomfortable I’ve gotten when people (yes, even desi people) come up to me and tell me, Oh, you’re Indian right? Can you speak Hindi? Why don’t you speak Hindi? You’re not Indian if you don’t speak Hindi, that’s India’s national language!

I have been — still am — so afraid of telling people that I don’t speak Hindi, that I’m Tamil, that I don’t care that Hindi is India’s “national” language (it’s an administrative language, Kavin, get your fucking facts right). It’s weird, it’s isolating, and it has made me feel like I wasn’t “Indian” enough to be accepted into the group of “Indian” people.

So I am thankful that ATSV went out of their way to integrate as much variety of Indian culture into the Mumbattan sequence. Maybe that way, the younger generation of desi folk won’t feel so isolated, and that younger Western people will be more open to learning about all these cultural differences within such a vast country.

BUT WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH SPIDER-MAN INDIA?

Everything, actually. There’s a thing called supremacy. You might have heard of it. We all engaged with it at some point, and if you are Indian, no matter where you live, it is inescapable.

It happens the moment you are born — who your family is, where you are born, the language you speak, the colour of your skin; these will be bound to you for life, and it is nigh impossible to break down the stereotypes associated with them.

Certain ethnic groups will be more favourable than others (Centrals, and thus their cultures, will always be favoured over than Souths, as an example) and the same can be said for social groups (Brahmins are more likely to secure influential roles in politics or other areas like priesthood, while the lowers castes, especially Dalits, aren’t even given the decency of respect). Don’t even get me started on colourism, where obviously those of fairer skin will win the lottery while those of darker skin aren’t given the time of day. It’s even worse when morality ties into it — “lighter skinned Indians, like Brahmins, embody good qualities like justice and wisdom”, “dark skinned Indians are cunning and poor, they are untrustworthy”. It’s fucking nuts.

This means, of course, you have a billion people trying to make themselves heard in a system that tries to crush everyone who is not privileged. It only makes sense that people want to elevate themselves and break free from a society that refuses to acknowledge them. These frustrations manifest outwardly, like in protests, but other times — most times — it goes unheard, quietly shaping your way of life, your way of thinking. It becomes a fundamental part of you, and it can go unacknowledged for generations.

So when you have a character like Pavitr Prabhakar enter the scene, people immediately latch onto him and start asking questions many Western audiences don’t even consider. Who is he? What food does he eat? What does he do on Fridays? What’s his family like, his community? All these questions pop up, because, amidst all this turmoil going on in the background, you want a mainstream popular character to be like you, who knows your way of life so intimately, that he may as well be a part of your community.

BUT THAT'S THE THING — HE'S FICTIONAL

I am guilty of this. In fact, I’ve flaunted in numerous posts how I think he’s the perfect Tamil boy, how he dances bharatanatyam, how he does all these Tamil things that no one will understand except myself. All these niche things that only I, and maybe a few others, will understand.

I’ve seen other people do it, too. I’ve seen people geek out over his dark brown skin, his kalari dhoti, how he fights so effortlessly in the kalaripayattu martial arts style. I’ve seen people write him as Malayali, as Hindi, as every kind of Indian person imaginable.

I’ve also seen him be written where he’s subjected to typical Indian and broader Asian stereotypes. You know the ones I’m so fond of calling out. The thing is, I’ve seen so much of Pavitr being presented in so many different ways, and I worry how the rest of the desi folk will take it. 

You finally have a character who could be you, but now he’s someone else’s plaything. Your entire life is shaped by what you can and can’t do simply because you were born to an Indian family, and here’s the one person who could represent you now at the mercy of someone else’s whims. He’s off living a life that is so distant from yours, you can hardly recognise him.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, yeah? But, again, you’re looking at it from that infinitely narrow lens Westerners use to look at India from Bollywood.

AND PAVITR PRABHAKAR DOESN'T LIVE IN INDIA

He lives in Mumbattan. He lives in a made-up, fictional world that doesn’t follow the way of life of our world. He lives in a city where Mumbai and Manhattan got fucking squashed together. There are so many memes about colonialism right there. Mumbattan isn’t real! Spider-Man India isn’t real!! He’s just a dude!! The logic of our world doesn’t apply to him!!!

“But his surname originates from ______” okay but does that matter?

“But he’s wearing a kalari dhoti so surely he’s ______” okay but does that matter?

“But his skin colour is darker so he must be ______” okay but does that matter?

“But he lives in Mumbai so he must be ______” okay but does that matter?

I sound insensitive and brash and annoying and it looks like I’m yapping just for the sake of riling you up, so direct that little burst of anger you got there at me, and keep reading.

Listen. I’m going to ask you a question that I’ve asked myself a million times over. I want you to answer honestly. I want you to ask this question to yourself and answer honestly:

Are you trying to convince me on who Pavitr Prabhakar should be?

... but why shouldn't i?

I’ll tell you this again — I did the same thing. You’re not at fault for this, but I want you to just...have a little think over. Just a little moment of self-reflection, to think about why you are so intent on boxing this guy.

It took me a while to reorganise my thinking and how to best approach a character like Pavitr, so I will give you all the time you need as well as a little springboard to focus your thoughts on.

SPIDER-MAN (INDIA) IS JUST A MASK

“What I like about the costume is that anybody reading Spider-Man in any part of the world can imagine that they themselves are under the costume. And that’s a good thing.”

Stan Lee said that. Remember how he was so intent on making sure that everybody got the idea that Spider-Man as an entity is fundamentally broken without Peter Parker there to put on the suit and save the day? That ultimately it was the person beneath the mask, no matter who they were, that mattered most?

Spider-Man India is no less different. You can argue with me that Peter Parker!Spidey is supposed to represent working class struggles in the face of leering corporate entities who endanger the regular folk like us, and so Pavitr Prabhakar should also function the same way. Pavitr should also be a working class guy of this specific social standing fighting people of this other social standing.

But that takes away the authenticity of Spider-Man India. Looking at him through the Peter Parker lens forces you to look at him through the Western lens, and it significantly lessens what you can do with the character — suddenly, it’s a fight to be heard, to be seen, to be recognised. It’s yelling over each other that Pavitr Prabhakar is this ethnicity, is that caste, this or that, this or that, this or that.

There’s a reason why he’s called Spider-Man India, infuriatingly vague as it is. And that’s the point — the vagueness of his identity fulfils Lee’s purpose for a character that could theoretically be embodied by anyone. If he had been called “Spider-Man Mumbai”, you cut out a majority of the population (and in capitalist terms, you cut out a good chunk of the market).

And in the case of Spider-Man India? Whew — you’ve got about a billion people imagining a billion different versions of him.

Whoever you are, whatever you see in Pavitr, that is what is personal to you, and there is nothing wrong with that, and I will not fault you for it. I will not fault you for saying Pavitr is from Central due to the origins of his last name. I also will not fault you for saying Pavitr is from South due to him practising kalaripayattu. I also will not fault you for saying he is not Hindu. I also will not fault you for saying he is a particular ethnicity without any proof.

What I will fault you for is trying to convince me and the others around you that Pavitr Prabhakar should be this particular ethnicity/have this cultural background because of some specific reason. I literally don’t care and it is fundamentally going against his character, going against the “anyone can wear the mask” sentiment of Spider-Man. By doing this, you are strengthening the walls that first divided us. You’re feeding the stratification and segmentation of our cultures — something that is actually not present in the fictional world of Mumbattan.

Like I said before: Mumbattan isn’t real, so the divides between ethnicities and cultural backgrounds are practically nonexistent. The best thing is that it is visually there for all to see. My favourite piece of evidence is this:

It’s a marquee for a cinema in the Mumbattan sequence, in the “Quick tour: this is where the traffic is” section. It has four titles; the first three are written in Hindi. The fourth title is written in Tamil. You go to Mumbai and you won’t see a single shred of Tamil there, much less any other South Indian language. Seeing this for the first time, you know what went through my head?

Wow, the numerous cultures of India are so intermingled here in Mumbattan! Everyone and everything is welcome!

I was happy, not just because of Tamil representation, but because of the fact that the plethora of Indian cultures are showcased coexisting in such a short sequence. This is India embracing all the little parts that make up its grander identity. This scene literally opened my eyes seeing such beauty in all the diverse cultures thriving together. In a place where language and cultural backgrounds blend so easily, each one complementing one another.

It is so easy to believe that, from this colourful palette of a setting, Pavitr Prabhakar truly is Spider-Man India, no matter where he comes from.

It’s easy to believe that Pavitr can come from any part of India, and I won’t call you out if the origin you have for him is different from the origin I have. You don’t need to stake out territory and stand your ground — you’re entitled to that opinion, and I respect it. In fact, I encourage it!!!

Because there’s only so much you can show in a ten minute segment of a film about a country that has such a vast history and even greater number of cultures. I want to see all of it — I want him to be a Malayali boy, a Hindi boy, a Bengali boy, a Telugu boy, an Urdu boy, whatever!! I want you to write him or draw him immersed in your culture, so that I can see the beauty of your background, the wonderful little things that make your culture unique and different from mine!

And, as many friends have said, it’s so common for Indian folks to be migrating around within our own country. A person with a Maharashtrian surname might end up living in Punjab, and no one really minds that. I’m actually from Karnataka, my family speaks Kannada, but somewhere down the line my ancestors moved to Tamil Nadu and settled down and lived very fulfilling lives. So I don’t actually have the “pure Tamil” upbringing, contrary to popular belief; I’ve gotten a mix of both Kannada and Tamil lifestyles, and it’s made my life that much richer. 

So it’s common for people to “not” look like their surname, if that’s what you’re really afraid about. In fact, it just adds to that layer of nuance, that even despite these rigid identities between ethnicities we as Indian people still intermingle with one another, bringing slivers of our cultures to share with others. Pavitr could just as well have been born in one state and moved around the country, and he happens to live in Mumbattan now. It’s entirely possible and there’s nothing to disprove that.

We don’t need to clamber over one another declaring that only one ethnicity is the “right” ethnicity, because, again, you will be looking at Pavitr and the rest of India in that narrow Western lens — a country with such rich cultural variety reduced to a homogenous restrictive way of life.

THE POLL: REINTERPRETED

This whole thing started because I was wondering why my little poll was so skewed — I thought people assumed I was asking them where he came from, then paired his physical appearance with the most logical options available. I thought it was my fault, that I had somehow influenced this outcome without knowing.

Truth is, I will never really know. But I will be thankful for it, because it gave me the opportunity to finally broach this topic, something that many of us desi folk are hesitant to talk about. I hope you have learned something from this, whether you are desi or a casual Spider-Man fan or someone who just so happened to stumble upon this. 

So just…be a little more open. Recognise that India, like many many countries and nations, is made up of a plethora of smaller cultures. And remember, if you’re trying to convince Pavitr that he’s a particular ethnicity, he’s going to wave his hand at you and say, “Ha, me? No, I’m one of the people that live here in the best Indian city! I’m Spider-Man India, dost!”

(Regardless, he still considers you a friend, because to him, the people matter more to him than you trying to box him into something he’s not.)

[bronzefuryfic]

goodbye sweet baby Aemond... hello angry, vengeful teenage Aemond!!!

[iron-cutting-meteor-sword]

the more I watch of the modern Lupin series compared to the old ones it becomes clearer and clearer that the current team of writers and directors and artists just don’t get Goemon. His peak character design was those first few movies imo, where he looks intimidating and way too intense but also out of place and a little silly. Nowadays the that “Moemon” sort of shit has infected TMS and we have to see shit like how Goemon is portrayed in parts 4-6, where he’s massively taken down in any sort of intimidation and the bite to his dialogue is all but gone. At it’s worst it takes his lack of social skills and awkwardness and makes it naïveté and being overly gullible or inept. There are episodes in those parts that don’t do this to Goemon, but they’re not really what the average episode portrays. I just miss the sharp sassy, dangerously intense edge Goemon used to have.

[daz4i]

if i may complain for a bit about something that doesn't actually matter and can be easily avoided. god i hate fics that baby-fy chuuya

[prettyfastcars]

Owned | Mob!Lando - part 2

Read part 1 here

Summary: Lando finally gets what he wants. Sure he had to use crooked ways to get it, but all’s fair when one is in love, isn’t it? 

Themes: dark!mob!lando, breeding kink, smut, fluff, explicit language

“Did you do it?” 

You asked as you were both in bed in your apartment, your head resting on his chest while his hand gently caressed your back. Your fingers mindlessly toyed with the chain around his neck. 

Lando had been here with you every single night ever since you’d learned about your ex boyfriend’s tragic accident which happened on the same night you decided to break things off with him. 

That night, you two had an argument and it was messy. After that he stepped out for a walk, then unfortunately got hit badly. The days following the accident were rough. You called Lando the morning after, crying as you told him what happened. He told you not to worry and that he was coming to take care of everything. 

The moment he got there at your doorstep, everything passed by in a blur. You barely even remember the funeral, the headstone at the cemetery, mourning with your ex’s family. All you remember is Lando was right there. 

And now that all of that was over, now that you had taken time to work through your emotions and feelings, and now that you had a taste of normality again, you couldn’t help but ask that question. 

Lando sighed, “What makes you say that, baby?” 

He had taken every precaution. His guys had even made sure there were no cameras around where the ‘accident’ happened. 

“Just wondering,” You murmured. You went to get up, to pull away from him and get out of bed but Lando stopped you by rolling on top of you before you did. The heat of his body, the feeling of his warm skin against yours, suddenly you didn’t want to get out of this bed. Ever. 

“You think I would lie to you about something like this? You think I would put you through all this on purpose?” His pretty eyes looked down at you. His soft lips, his messy hair, that chain hanging from his neck slightly brushing against your chest as he hovered above you. “Hmm?” 

Of course, Lando knew he could never tell you the truth. It was better this way. He hated lying to you, but this was for your own good. He saw the way guilt immediately filled your eyes at the sound of his question. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, reaching out to touch his face. “I think I need some more time to process everything.” 

As much as he hated the thought of you being engrossed in the thoughts of another man, he nodded, agreeing. 

He leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth softly, “The kids miss you.” 

You gave him a slight smile then. “I miss them too.” He had told you that he had hired a temporary nanny for them, until you were ready to come back to work. He also said how they didn’t really like the new nanny and asked about your whereabouts each morning and night. “I’ll be back soon.” You promised. 

He moved his mouth on top of yours and kissed you passionately, biting your lip before shoving his tongue past your lips and kissing you like he’s famished. 

He’d been doing that a lot lately. Whenever he found you too deep in your thoughts, he’d find a way to distract you and make you forget for a while. Most of the time, you both ended up in bed. 

Like right now. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him back. You moaned and whimpered, your bare body squirming under his. Lando's mouth left your lips as he kissed his way down your body, pulling the covers away in the process until he settled in between your legs. His handsome face just inches away from your dripping core. 

“I miss having you in my home, you know that?” He whispered before he leaned in and kissed your wet folds, his tongue slowly circling around your throbbing clit and licking down, parting your wet folds with ease. “I miss seeing your face when I get home from work.” 

Your body felt hotter and lighter as a pressing need to release formed deep inside you as you felt his tongue stroked your most sensitive parts. He looked up at you and found you with your eyes shut, head thrown back in pleasure. 

“Look at me.” He ordered and the authority in his voice made you tremble.

You opened your eyes and supported your upper body up, your elbows digging into the mattress. You watched how his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place and close to him. He maintained eye contact as he licked in between your wet folds again, making you whine as he teased you. His touch was deliberately slow, and pleasurably agonising. 

“Come home with me.” He whispered before he teased your entrance with the tip of his tongue. His hands wrapped around your thighs, securing you in his grip as he pushed his face further into you, making you cry out loud until you came undone, thighs shaking as he kissed his way up your body again, hovering over you.  

“I will,” You answered. “Soon.”

“How soon?” He leaned in to kiss you on the lips. 

“Maybe in a couple of days.” 

“You’re torturing me.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle, “Am I?” 

“Yes,” He insisted. “I miss you.” He repeated. “When you come back to me, I’m never letting you leave my bed.” 

You giggled again, running your fingers through his soft hair as he leaned in to kiss you again. His hand slipped in between your legs with ease, caressing your inner thighs again. You couldn’t help but moan into the kiss given how sensitive you were. 

You squirmed under him, and Lando smirked through the kiss as he slid his cock easily into you, pulling your legs up to wrap them around his waist. You moaned out loud again as he filled you up entirely. 

He grabbed both your hands, laced your fingers together with his and pinned your interlaced hands down above your head, whispering as he fucked you slowly, “Gonna put a baby in you.” He gasped, “Then you’ll be mine forever.” He stared into your eyes, lips parted as he fucked you gently. 

His lips found yours again, swallowing your moans while he rolled his hips against yours. He pulled out and pushed himself back into you, and watched in awe how you squirmed under him. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He mumbled breathlessly as he pushed deeper into you. “You’d be safe with me, just us and the kids. Huh, baby?” 

“Yes…” You whined. 

He bit your lips, kissed your open mouth, and shoved his tongue past your lips while he pounded into you. Your legs trembled around his waist, he thrust deeper into you fucking you like there’s no tomorrow. 

“I can see it already,” He whispered, “You, walking around with a baby bump, in your little dresses,” He pressed the palm of his hand against your lower abdomen while he kept pounding into you incessantly. “I can’t wait to spoil you rotten, baby. I’ll worship your body even more than I do now, I’ll buy you anything you wanted, fuck I’ll do anything for you.” 

“Oh… Lando, please,” You whimpered. 

You tightened around him as you felt him quicken his pace, pounding into you. You felt the pressure in between your hips grow until you couldn’t hold back anymore. 

His hand toyed with your clit, making you tremble. “Come for me.” He murmured, his voice now deeper. “Take all that cum, it’s all yours, baby. All yours.” 

With a few more strokes of his thick cock, you felt his thrust becoming irregular, and felt his cock throb against your walls. 

You couldn’t hold back anymore, and came with a loud moan.

Lando came right after you. He didn’t pull out, but remained buried inside you. Both of you catching your breaths and hearts racing in sync. You were a whimpering mess as he collapsed on top of you. 

“I fucking love you.” He whispered, breathless. 

- 

Lando left in the early hours of the morning. He hated leaving you, but his kids would need him. He left after giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” He murmured against your skin. 

On his way home, Lando got his phone out and immediately pulled up the camera footage. These past days, you’d been sleepier than usual so he had ample time to bring his guys in and have them install even more discreet cameras all over your home. 

He didn’t see it as invading your privacy. But he had to make sure you were alright at all times, right? 

So he watched you as you slept. Warm and safe under your blankets. “Everything’s gonna be okay, baby.” He whispered as he watched you shift around until you found a more comfy position. “I’ll take care of you.” 

—

He couldn’t have been happier the day you decided to come back to work. Neither could he keep his hands off of you the moment the kids were napping during the day or sleeping at night. 

“You’re moving in with me,” He growled into your ear one night, as he fucked you from behind while you were bent over his desk again. He grabbed you by the hips, pulling your body into him each time he thrust into you. “I don’t want you living in that apartment anymore. You hear me?” 

You whined, barely able to hold on to the desk as he pounded into you. “I can’t…” You gasped, “I can’t just move in, I–,” 

“Why?” He barked, “Why can’t you?” He leaned over you, his damp, warm chest pressing against your back. “Hmm?” 

You turned your head to the side, gasping in pleasure as you tried to form a coherent sentence. “I can’t just… ” You desperately tried to get the right words out. “Maybe later, in a year or two if we’re still–,” 

“Years?” He growled, fucking you harder. Your body crashed against the desk with each of his thrust, and you moaned at how his cock reached all the right places. “And if we’re still what?” 

You whimpered when he bit down on your shoulder before pounding into you harder than before. “Together." You answered. "What if–,” 

Lando pulled out, pulled you up from the desk and twisted you around so you faced him. He did it so quickly you barely processed any of it. One moment you were bent over his desk and the next you were facing him with his hand wrapped around your throat. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked into his eyes. You secretly loved this side of him. Unpredictable. Wild. Dark. 

“What did you just say to me?” He whispered, his voice surprisingly deeper than you’d ever heard. It made you shiver. “You think there’s even a slight possibility that you won’t end up being mine forever?” He leaned in just enough so his mouth brushed against yours. “You think this is a joke, baby? You think I’m just messing around with you?” 

You trembled as he sat you down on the edge of the desk and slid his cock inside you again. The room was dark, the only light came from the dim scones on the wall and the moonlight coming in from the wide windows. Lando looked angry. 

He tightened his grip around your throat just enough to make you whimper again as he resumed fucking you. “You’re mine.” He hissed. “There is no if,” He kept fucking into you even as you came, moaning and whimpering as you clenched around his cock, “You will be mine forever.” 

You were too far gone, high on the orgasm he’d just given you that you didn’t hear the dark promise dripping from his words as he came inside you. 

— 

A couple of days later, one night as you put the kids to sleep, you received a phone call from a panicked neighbour of yours. What she said over the phone made you rush to Lando, trying to keep yourself from freaking out. 

You found him in his bedroom and you couldn’t help the tears then. 

“What’s going on, baby?” He wrapped his arms around you and held you until you were able to speak again. "What happened?"

“My neighbour called and… they’re being evacuated because–,” You took a deep breath, “My building is on fire, it’s… it’s pretty bad.” You sobbed, hugging him tightly. “My apartment, it’s all gone.”

“Hey, hey,” He cupped your face in his large hands and said, “Calm down, I’m here. Okay? I’ll handle this, baby. Don’t you worry.” 

You buried your face into his chest, sniffling. 

He hugged you tighter, kissing your temple and rubbing your back to comfort you. He hated it, being the reason behind why you were crying. But this was necessary, wasn’t it? You refused to move in with him because you liked your apartment. So he got rid of the apartment. The whole building in fact. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” He murmured against your skin as he repeatedly kissed your forehead while you cried on his shoulder. I had to do it. He thought. How else would we live under the same roof? 

—

You had no choice but to live with him after that incident. Apparently the authorities couldn’t find what started the fire, and any evidence was probably ash too. 

As much as you missed your cosy apartment, living with Lando was like being in a dream. 

You’d wake up in his arms, spend time with the kids, have breakfast like a family, then Lando would leave for ‘work’ and you’d kiss him goodbye at the door. You’d spend your entire day with the kids, reading, baking, playing in the yard. Then he’d come home and you’d spend the evening like a family again. 

After putting the kids to bed, Lando would always, always drag you straight to bed where you’d fuck until one of you passed out, then resume in the morning and repeat. 

Everything was perfect. 

And just weeks after moving in with him, you found out you were pregnant. When you broke the news to him, he was almost giddy with excitement. 

He refused to leave your side, to the point where he’d try to be home as much as possible and would only ever leave if something desperately needed his attention or intervention. 

Many times you’d find him in the kids’ playroom, talking to them about having a newborn baby around. They were all excited.

It had become impossible for him to keep his hands off you, especially once you started showing. “You’re too beautiful to resist.” He’d tell you. 

You would often wake up to find him wrapped around you, nuzzling your bump and kissing it. He would find you at random times during the day, and pull you into a room or drag you to his office or your shared bedroom and fuck you until you were both completely spent. 

“I can’t get enough of you.” He’d whisper each time. 

You noticed he would be extra careful with you. His touch was soft, he would always fuck you nice and slow, always looking at you to confirm he wasn’t hurting you and that you were enjoying it as much as he was. 

“You don’t have to be so careful all the time, you know?” You whispered to him one night, your hands running through his hair while he laid his head on your bump, kissing it occasionally. “I’m just pregnant, I’m not made of glass.” 

He left a kiss on your bump then lifted his head to look up at you. “Don’t wanna hurt you,” He whispered, “Or the baby.” 

You smiled at him, caressing his pretty face. “We’re okay. You worry too much.” 

He kissed his way up your body, his hips settling in between your legs again. You giggled as he slid inside you again. It was the third, or fourth, time tonight. 

“You never get tired these days, I see.” You whined, back arching off the bed slightly as his mouth latched on to your sensitive nipple while he moved in and out of you in a pace that made you lose your mind. He knew you were extra sensitive these days, and he took full advantage of that. 

–

Lando ended up hiring a helper to aid you in taking care of the kids. But the kind lady ended up doing all the work and you’d often find yourself with nothing but free time to do whatever you wanted. 

You went to Lando regarding this, and the moment you showed up in his office he pulled you onto his lap and helped you ride him instead. 

“This is a serious…” You gasped as he lifted your hips up before bringing you down his cock again, “...problem.” 

“Mhm,” He mumbled, lips wrapped around your nipple again. His hands held you by the hips and he slowly thrust up into you. “Is it?” 

“Yes,” You argued, placing your hands on his shoulders. You looked down and smiled at your growing bump, before you glared at him, “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Told me she was just here to help when in fact you hired her to do my actual work.” 

He pulled his mouth away and smirked up at you. “You need rest, baby.” He thrust his hips up slightly harder, deeper each time until you were coming undone all over his cock again. It didn’t take much given how sensitive you were these days. When you both calmed down he said, “Now you have time to do all that you want.” 

“I’m gonna get lazy.” You mumbled as you cuddled up to his side, your bump always got in the way but Lando still got as close as he could to you, wrapping his arms securely around you. 

“You’re carrying our new baby, you’re allowed to be as lazy as you want.” He kissed you on the nose. 

“So what, I’m just gonna be here doing nothing all day? Just read, and bake and make babies for you?” 

“That’s not a bad idea.” He chuckled. 

"Whatever." You groaned, “I’m too tired to be angry at you.” 

He laughed. One of his hands reached out to caress your bump. “Let’s get you in bed.” He murmured against your forehead. “Okay, baby?” 

You nodded. 

–

By the time he got you cleaned up and in bed, you were already fast asleep. Lando checked on the kids one last time before climbing into bed with you. Pulling you close, he kissed you one more time. 

Everything was perfect, just as he intended. There were some secrets he would take to his grave with him, some he would never share with you. Some truths he would never let come out; mainly the accident, and the fire. 

But this right here was all that mattered, you and him together. 

[gutsby]

Cry, Baby

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Warnings: 18+. Dacryphilia (kinda). Unprotected p-in-v. Girthy, unspecified age gap. Daddy kink. Jealous Joel.

Notes: Sorry for using pussy pronouns. It will happen again.

Joel Miller was a man of few words in most every place except the one where he found himself about to beat the brakes off your pussy. Then he never shut the fuck up.

“Uh-huh…just a little more…I know, sweet girl, I know.”

You had your hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel of his ‘71 Ford F-100, but rather than driving anywhere, your ass was comfortably parked on the front of his jeans—straddling his lap backwards while you rubbed your half-clad cunt over stonewashed denim. It was hell.

You’d been grinding against the bulge beneath those jeans so hard, and for so long, your white cotton undies had parted to the side, and your pleasure was nearly stretched commensurate with just how pathetic you felt.

Your head dropped between your two hands on the black molded plastic of the wheel, and you let out a whine.

“Joel—”

“Keep goin’.”

“This ain’t fair!”

Without hesitation, the hands that were holding your hips tightened their grip, and now Joel was raking your lower half over his. Rutting your core back and forth.

“You wanna know what ain’t fair?” he seethed.

He didn’t wait for you to answer.

“How much she’s been droolin’ over me all night.”

‘She’ meaning your unfucked cunt, of course.

Joel then punctuated his sentence with a particularly hard press of his palm—forcing you to lay flat on the steering wheel, hips tilted back to him. With just one callused finger of his other hand, he found you soaked between your folds. He dragged it from your clit to your aching hole, and you heard him sigh, as though sad.

“It’s a cryin’ shame,” Joel said. Lamenting.

You were almost lost to the sensation of his finger rubbing you up and down, but somehow, you managed, ‘W-W-What is, Joel?’ in between soft, plaintive sounds.

Sometimes you forgot how much older he was than you. Sometimes you said he was just like the boys your age. Other times he had you pinned like this, breaths calm and cruelly measured while you damn near came apart beneath his hand, and then you remembered everything.

“You just couldn’t wait ‘til we got home,” he grumbled.

Using the same hand he’d been stroking you with, Joel laid a quick slap to your cunt, and you jumped. Your head narrowly missed the roof of his truck; still, you groaned.

“‘M’sorry, Joel,” you keened.

You weren’t. The old man knew you weren’t.

The hand that had been splayed over your back sank in. The force of that push pressed your belly to the chipped Ford logo at the center of the steering wheel, and with the added pressure went the blare of the car’s horn.

The sound might’ve lasted two seconds before you scrambled back, desperate, into Joel’s broad chest. A couple old-timers making their way from the bar to their cars in the parking lot cocked their heads curiously in your direction a couple yards away. Seeing nothing of note, they lost interest just as quick and kept walking.

“Sorry for what?” Joel said.

At the moment, he didn’t seem to notice, or care, that his truck was parked a mere stone’s throw away from the Tipsy Bison, and bar-goers were milling freely between the building and the cars all around you. His belt unbuckled all the same, zip came down in a blink, and his thick, veiny, throbbing, and angry cock came to rest between your cheeks. He started to push you forward.

“Sorry for— for flirtin’ with Tommy,” you stammered, sucking in a breath when you felt him run the head of his cock between your lips. You could hear a soft squelch.

“And Lucien?”

“And Lucien.”

“And—”

“And Dieter, and Frankie, and Javi, and Marcus.”

Rattling off the names of all the men you’d been flirting with at the bar to make Joel jealous and take you back home to fuck you became an embarrassing chant.

“And?”

“…and Mayor Garcia,” you completed, sheepishly.

Back in there, you hadn’t been too proud to stoop to a politician’s level, even. That was how needy you’d been to get attention, and now Joel was giving it to you.

As hard as he could—he didn’t wait for the ‘OK’ before seating you on his cock. You were simply pulled back from the wheel and into his lap, onto his stiff erection, and before you could steady yourself, he started drilling.

“Even through these panties—” Joel tugged at the cream-colored cotton he’d easily slipped past, “—even through that slutty little skirt, I could feel how wet she was.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, and your hands found purchase in the torn-up leather of the seat, fisting strings and patches of fabric in a helpless sort of plea as Joel took over. With the buttons of his dark green flannel searing a stripe down your spine and his grey-speckled chin coming to nudge between your neck and your shoulder as he fucked you, you felt content. Secure.

Spilling more for him, then. Seeping rivers down the length of his shaft as he breached your walls and made you his all over again. And again. Leaving trails of arousal with every thrust, and rolling your head, limply, into his.

“She cryin’ for me?” Joel breathed, “Or somebody else?”

As if on cue, his cock hit the most sensitive ridge inside you, and you felt yourself gush even more. Dripping now.

“You.” Your voice was raw.

“Me?” Joel’s degradingly sweet.

Before you could answer ‘you’ once more, the driver’s door cracked open beside you both. For one panicked, terrifying second, you thought someone from the bar might’ve caught you two—then you were stunned to look over and see it was Joel’s own tough, steel-toed boot that had propped the door open to the cool night air.

The truck was facing the bar’s front door, shielded only by some foliage and a hatchback car about half its size. Other than that, you were exposed to whoever happened to pass by the big, bay window and take a look inside.

Joel felt you tense, and he pressed a kiss to you neck. Then he slid you carefully, almost tenderly, to the left until you were perched over the side of the seat with your legs dangling out of the truck—still filled to the hilt with his cock and pressed tight to the front of his chest.

“Cry a little more,” he urged.

Then, when your pussy gave an involuntary clench and drenched him some more, he slipped a hand around your front and started toying with your clit. Your gaze was wide, almost frightened as you stared ahead at the bar and saw patrons making rounds about the tiny place, fearing one might see you and Joel, but it felt so good. And wrong. And reckless, having this man who was easily decades your senior bouncing you up and down on his cock and letting you soil the front of his Wranglers.

“Pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, pretty girl,” Joel let out a chuckle and gave your shoulder a playful bite when you pulsed around him again, “Squeezin’ me real tight, too.”

It was like your body was beyond your own control. You scarcely even realized your cunt had him gripped with such force, much less made a mess of his old denim. He just held you to him and kept pressing rough, stubbled kisses to your shoulder, reminding you over and over how sweet you were, how well you were taking him, how nice and tight and goddamn pretty that pussy must’ve looked gushing around daddy’s cock—maybe we can fuck in front’a the mirror so we can see it later, huh, baby?

You would’ve said yes to anything he said, you reckoned.

Especially when his arms moved over your front and you felt him grin, and he hugged you while he fucked you—nobody made you feel quite as special while they were splitting you open. Nobody’s balls felt quite as heavy and firm and full while hitting your ass by turns, and certainly no one but Joel could make you cum just as quick when he leaned into your ear and said, ‘Let go for me, darlin’.’

You did, and you felt his warmth follow inside you with the friction of just two more thrusts. Your head fell back on his shoulder, a moan clawed out of your throat, and the warm, euphoric feeling of release washed over your senses in waves, one trembling sensation after the next. Joel’s groans were quick to spill into your own, and, likewise emptying himself, he held your hips to his and made sure every drop stayed right where he wanted it.

His spend was always heavy, but this load felt larger than usual—like he’d been aching to fuck you full of his cum. Just as you both were coming down from your highs, you couldn’t help but key in on that soft, sticky warmth, likely to come oozing as soon as Joel pulled out of you.

In fact, you got to be so focused that you jumped when you felt something press to your cheek a second later.

It took another moment to register it as a kiss from Joel.

Then his tongue, dragging softly up the side of your face.

You started to laugh, about to ask him what the hell he was doing, when you felt a tear slip out of your other eye. With the sudden, sharp influx of pleasure, the moisture had leaked out without you even feeling it. Joel grinned.

He gave your cheek a light squeeze, wiped the other tear with the pad of his thumb, and kissed you again before mumbling in your ear, almost teasing as he said it:

“Crybaby.”

[beelmons]

How to shut a genius up.

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

cw: face riding, i think that's it?

Spencer is, gently put, annoying.

But well, aren't we all at times? At least, he's annoying for all the right reasons. Rampant mind eager to share an endless stream of knowledge, well-deserved validation of his own extraordinary skills, pinkish lips that spoke their mind without concern, words were a tool he used for good, never with an ounce of malice.

It seemed to you that talking was all he knew. No matter how much you rubbed your hand on his thigh at the bar the team went to, or that asked him for his shower after a drunk man dropped an entire yard of beer on your clothes, or the fact that you were standing in his livingroom with only a towel wrapped around your body, and how you were paying no mind to whatever he was saying and your eyes were fixed on his mouth, the same mouth you had been craving for quite a while now.

"...and that's why, although I'm not a fan of digital encyclopedias, Wikipedia can actually be considered a reliable source of information. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that the referenciation of other related concepts makes it the most efficient learning tool of the century."

Little did you know, he had begun his little rant in an attempt to keep himself distracted from your nudeness beneath the fabric that covered you. Trying to keep the blood from flowing too much to the south.

"You talk too much." you blurted out.

"Sorry?" he asked in confusion "What are you—?"

Your actions, as was your wording, were automatic. You took a couple of steps forward and faintly heard his inquiring voice in the background, but you didn't quite care. You were aiming for a goal: to make him shut up. Your lips attached to his in a frustrated kiss, arms wrapping around his neck.

He was dubfounded to a point where his movements also became clumsy, he stepped on a random book that was misplaced and lost his balance. His hands had gripped onto your sides, so you couldn't help but to fall onto the ground along with him.

The rucks caused him to wince in discomfort, a sensation the only lasted about the three seconds that took him to open his eyes. Due to the angle, you had given an extra step and fallen a couple more centimeteres forward, your towel spread open, and your stomach at the same level of his eyes.

While you yourself figured out what was going on, a sudden rush of embarassment overtook you. Logically, since you were now bare naked hovering over your crush.

"Shit!" you yelled out as you were on your knees and palms on the ground "I'm so sorry, Spencer, I don't know what took over me!"

Beridden by anguish, instead of taking the sensible action of rolling off of him, you tried to crawl your way forward. What you didn't see coming, however, was the fact that, as your knees pressed next to his head when you tried to drag yourself from his sight, his hands would press against your thighs to stop you.

Your core was now loitering over his face, out in the open for his eyes to devour. For once, he had found himself amiss of words. You, on your part, were hot to your face with shyness. This had not been what you planned when you decided to kiss him, certainly. Although, such train of thought would be shortly stopped by Spencer himself.

His arms curled around your thighs instead and gently tugged them down; by the time to were 'sitting' on his face, his tongue was already out. The feeling of his muscle entering you caused a loud, startled gasp from you, and before you could get used to the sensation, it traveled further up to your clit.

"Spencer..." you whimpered slightly at the pleasure he was giving you.

You decided to straighten your back to be fully sitting, and in this new position you were in control of your own hips, same that began to rock back and forth against his lips. On his part, single grunts of delight could be heard, his hands positioned themselves at your buttocks, helping you push your body against his face.

His mouth was eager to taste more of you, you could feel the entirety of it working it's way around your pussy, his lips slurping the juices that dripped from you out of arousal. Your hands curled on his hair to prevent you from falling to the side, given that your legs were about close to giving in.

His nose and chin did their part as well, touching nerves that would be otherwise unattended in any other position. The rubbing and moiture of his abused face were sending waves of intense pleasure through out your body, in fact, at some point you sort of forgot he was there, eyes tight shut, just using him to get yourself off.

Hence, why when you finally reached your climax, you came without restraint all over him. His tongue didn't start working inspite of your body falling limp forward, he was set on cleaning the mess he had created.

You whined in complaint at the slight overstimulation, and he took it as a sign to push you off, causing you to roll over as you should initially have. Instead of moving away from you, his face was buried between your legs the instead he was on his stomach, hardworking tongue lazily tasting around your entrance.

"You finally shut up." your back arched as you breathed out, bracing yourself of the next round you quickly understood was coming.

"I have an enough good reason to."

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

! ── BABY DADDY!JASON TODD who can't come around more than once or twice a year. His way of life isn't sustainable for a home, and it certainly isn't safe for a daughter. You and him decided it was best to part ways before that positive pregnancy test, and since he discovered a kid he helped make it didn't change his level of involvement. He's got a lot of eyes on him, and he can't draw attention to anything important to him.

! ── Your daughter adores him. She squeals with delight every time he visits, running full barrel towards him so he can scoop her up. Unbeknownst to her your concern with how he found you again, and how he broke in to the apartment. Apparently running and hiding is not enough when you face the Red Hood. You reluctantly greet him with a half-assed kiss on the cheek, wrapping your arm around his neck to incline him towards you. Your daughter on his hip takes full advantage of hugging you both at the same time, and pressed against your former lover makes you tight-lipped.

! ── He's dangerous for a number of reasons that span beyond what any angry enemy of his would do if they found out where he's been going. You're most afraid of what he's able to make you do the longer you're with him. Only able to hold onto your anger for so long until he melts that cold exterior and somehow convinces you to let him warm your bed again.

! ── He's got it down to a science. As soon as you give him that scathing look, he tells your daughter to run along because "Mommy and Daddy have to talk." while she thoughtfully strokes his chin with her little hand, only to nod with an audible sigh, shaking out her wild hair she won't let you brush. With a little push to her back, she scampers off to her room and he stands to his full height. "I just wanted to see her." he tells you, with that pleading tone you've fallen for countlessly because he knows you're going to say: "It's not safe." for the thousandth time.

! ── He'll tower over you, incline towards you while you scold him under your breath. A hushed argument ensues that your daughter tries to listen in on, and can only hear bits and pieces about how she's not owned, and her dad should get to see her. Stuff she doesn't understand, especially because she can't understand his lack of presence being such a complicated thing when she has no sense of object permanence. If a dad refuses to be there more, it's a problem. You want to cut Jason out completely. That's not fair, as he'll tell you, to the daughter you get to keep.

! ── It's in the way he stands next to you. He's so much taller than you, broader, and muscled. He bulks up more and more every time you see him. He doesn't use his size to intimidate you, rather takes advantage of something else. Big hands stuffed in his back pockets make his leather jacket sit on his wide shoulders exquisitely. His hair is windblown from his motorbike and just the smell of him has a dangerous Pavlov effect on you. Like your eyes want to flutter as they roll into the back of your head and lightning shoots straight down to your core, stinging at the memory of what it's like to be filled by him. The longer you're with him, the thinner your resolve becomes. It evaporates in front of you as he sweeps a hand through his hair, and his posture slacks. "C'mon." he drags out the word playfully, advancing on you. Your hand interrupts him, bracing on his firm chest to keep him from coming closer. "Can't we talk about something else? You're getting me all worked up. Missed you."

You roll your jaw, that resolve slipping. Addicted to him, you're reticent as his tongue darts out to wet his lips while he's eyeing yours. "Jay..." you murmur, and he can hear the defeat in your voice.

! ── "Lucky we got a sitter, huh?" Jason's smug voice cuts through the wet sounds of sex that fills the room. "Now I get some time with my other little girl." That sick delight causes you to reach back, weakly banging your fist against his thigh. He snickers, wolfish and husky resounding from the back of his throat. "Mommy's been missing me, huh? Can feel her clenching down on me like a fuckin' vice."

His thick cock hurts stretching you out, but you needed that pain. There's something about Jason that keeps you saying yes, and it pushed through your requirement of foreplay, unbuckling that belt in haste, comfort be damned you wanted that dick. You're on all fours and he's giving it to you from the back, just how you like it, fucking you like a dog while his hand tangles all up in your hair. He yanks you back by it, and you can't even think of what to say other than mindless pleasured babbles.

"You let me do this every time I come over. Seems like you fuck with me or something." It's true, regardless of the cruel insults you've thrown at him to get him to stay away from you, it's all because you can't say no to him. It's the reason you got pregnant, it's the reason you can't run away far enough, and it's the reason you fuck him every time he comes to visit the kid he helped make.

[sgrplumditz]

You had his baby and he didn't know (Pt. 2)

A/N: Thank you for all the positive feedback! I am so beyond grateful that you guys enjoyed the 1st part. I never fathomed to get this much attention from my first post, which means I didn’t really intend on making a part 2. But with such gratitude and motivation… here it is!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She had told him everything, and through it all he did nothing but soothe her, keeping her small hands in his as her soft voice filled their ears. It wasn't until now that she had realized how absurd it was to feel nervous to tell him the story of her unaccompanied pregnancy, and her introduction to motherhood.

Like herself, he also held no resentment, or distaste toward the secrecy behind the conception and birth of their beautiful baby girl. Simon's only intention was to understand her and her decision to keep their child a secret from him, but in the midst of her reminiscent disclosure he couldn't help but feel alienated, guilty and a rollercoaster of many other emotions revolving her and his daughter.

His usually hard, and stoic gaze had softened for her -- which wasn't an unusual occurrence for him when it came to her, the mother of his child. "Hey, you're alright" he soothed when he noticed a stray tear race down her soft cheek. His thumb instinctively coming up to stop the salty drop of emotion in its track, and likewise she instinctively leaned into the feeling of his large hand that cupped the side of her face.

The moment was tender, intimate, comforting -- it was everything that she craved from him from the moment she found out she was carrying their child. Their baby girl seemed to be emotionally connected to her mother. The sound of her fuss and whimpering coming from the playpen where she had been placed to rest. Both her and Simon's attention was drawn to the infant the moment her restful cooing was replaced with the sounds of discomfort. Her mother knew that she was most likely hungry, but her father, Simon seemed to only be alarmed by the sudden crying. It was evident that his protective nature had taken over -- a quality of his that could not be tamed or ever be put to rest.

"She's just hungry, Si" she spoke, breaking the silence between the two. The melancholy aura of the room immediately being lifted as she chuckled softly at his high alert behavior as it only reminded her of the first few nights that she was home from the hospital with her daughter.

As she normally would she gently picked up their daughter, making sure to keep a firm hand on the back of her neck to support it. Her maternal nature was in full effect as she spoke sweet and soft words to the baby girl. Her cries being soothed, and her simple mind now distracted at the sight and sound of her mother. Simon watched this all divulge in front of him. He didn't know whether his heart ached because he had missed hundreds of moments like these or if he felt such sorrow because he didn't share the same bond with the tiny being that he helped create.

He let his the thoughts and endless "'what if" possibilities consume his mind while she prepared a bottle with the infant still resting in her arm. She was small, measuring out the length of her mother's forearm. Normally she would make the bottle with ease, but as time went by and the baby girl grew, the process slowed down. She was careful and calculated making sure that the baby was always safe in her arms.

"I can take her if you're alright with it" spoke Simon in a mildly nervous tone. “It’d make it easier for you to prepare her bottle, yeah?” he spoke again, using the feeding time as an excuse to finally hold their daughter. But he was nervous? Simon doesn’t get nervous. He has always been incredibly calm and collected to the point of mastering stoicism. He wasn’t nervous to hold the infant — that was the less of his worries.

There were so many special events that he had missed while he was away. Core memories that he doesn’t have with her or her mother. He missed the pregnancy, the first kicks, the birth, the first powerful cries from her little lungs, the first feed from her mother’s full and lactating breasts, the first skin-to-skin contact —which he read was essential for bonding in newborns, the dad walk out of the hospital after being discharged as a family — the one where he knew his overprotective nature would automatically take over.

So many factors playing into the aggregation of his nerves, but there was a single one that was keeping him on edge the most. Simon was nervous that he wouldn’t be able to bond with the small and fragile being that shared half of his DNA. Being absent for so many critical events made him doubtful in his ability to be and feel like a genuine father. All of his nerves dwindling down and relying on this very moment.

But none of it mattered. The pessimistic thoughts that lingered in his brain practically disintegrating. As if the warmth of his daughter’s small body destroyed every doubtful fiber in his own. She was no longer just his biological daughter, but a part of him. His soul was tied to hers, his emotions was connected to hers, his breath was for her. His entire being was engulfed by her.

The baby adjusted herself in his broad, tattooed and muscular arm by leaning her small face into his chest, as if she sensed some sort of familiarity in him. Like mother like daughter.

She watched their entire interaction curiously. She saw his hardened exterior breakdown at the moment their daughter’s infant body fit into his arm like a puzzle piece. It was obvious. Just like she felt her daughter was made for her, she was just as equally made for him. The instant connection between the father and daughter was electric. This was everything she had wanted and more.

She always knew Simon would be a great father — he was a great guy after all — he was attentive, protective, polite, masculine, and so much more, but she never fathomed that it would have been as magnifying as she felt it to be.

Simon’s gaze turned to her and she swore she saw his eyes glistening, tears threatening to spill. No words were exchanged between the two, but she knew exactly what he was feeling and thinking. As their daughter’s mother, she felt those exact emotions as well.

She was then engulfed by his scent. His arms embracing the two most important girls in his life, but it was not just a typical embrace of joy — it was firm, passionate and filled with urgency. He needed them.

With their daughter still resting in his arm, he used his free hand to remove a stray strand of hair from her face before he firmly cupped it. A soft kiss landing on her forehead.

He pressed his forehead to hers and exhaled softly before breaking the silence, “I am so proud of you” he said — his english accent thick and correlating respectively with how emotional he was.

“I am so proud of you” he repeated again, “but you are never doing anything like this alone. We do it together. As a family”.

[yaespook]

Run 4 - In Progress.

✧ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Android! Wanderer, no gendered terms used for reader, no actual penetration, unhealthy obsessive and possessive relationship from Wanderer, memory manipulation. Leave a note if anything was missed out. ✧ Retrieved Notes: If possible, use the InteractiveFics extension to change the phrase “My name” (without the quotation marks) to the name given to your Wanderer.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

You must have picked him up two or three weeks ago, when he was still worse for wear. In your memory, he was in pretty bad shape when the two of you first met, his main panel wrenched open leaving his circuitry a mess and rough scrapes all over his superficial layer.

Now, with your constant repairs, he’s been more lively, tailing you around the house as you go about your day. While fussing about, dusting off a muzzle laying on a fur pelt, you sense a presence lingering outside your room.

"You know, I don't recall androids being quite so clingy." In return, you get a light huff from behind the door frame. 

"And you’ve come across other androids? I didn’t know you run a junkyard here,” the eye roll in his tone is audible.

His feet pad into the room and his gaze hones in on the clerical collar placed on a nearby shelf, glaring at it. Clicking his tongue, he crosses his hands on his chest.

“Whatever, what you do is mostly up to you anyway. Do you think you’re almost done cleaning? I think there’s an internal problem again, I’ll wait for you at the worktable,” the android saunters off nonchalantly, throwing you a light wave over his shoulder.

Sighing, you quickly finish up your task at hand before complying to his request, briskly making your way over to the worktable where he's already perched smugly on, his gaze expectant. 

You easily go through the rehearsed motions of plugging him up to your computer, your muscle memory kicking in as you boot up the required softwares before gingerly prying the main panel located on the front of his torso to gain access to his internal workings. Over time, you've gradually figured out the parts that make up the android sitting before you, growing used to the sight of the lengths of wiring and cables running throughout his body, the faint low mechanical whirring of motors and cooling systems. 

Most importantly, you now understand how sensitive his central core is. Nestled securely in a latched transparent casing, his core is what powers and sustains him. It emits a constant turquoise light and is also reflected in the glowing markings that lay beneath his synthetic skin that occasionally activate. (Although, you haven't quite gotten an answer for what makes them light up yet.) 

“So what's your problem today?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from him as you go over to your computer to check if any bugs have been identified.

“I think that cable all the way at the back came undone and got tangled with the rest.” 

You shoot him a pointed look, “Again? Didn’t we just fix that same cable last week?” Shifting your chair so you’re seated before him, poised to conduct your repairs, you make a passing remark, “Maybe taking you to another mechanic might be the better choice, get everything checked out, you know?”

How long have you kept at your task of finally fixing him up to tiptop condition? It’s almost daily when he reports back to you with a new disconnected wire or another loose joint somewhere on him. Diligently, you’ve been trying to repair him but the android is like a never-ending to-do list. And it’s only natural to be concerned if the constant damage stems from a more serious underlying issue that you haven’t managed to discover. The only next logical step would be to get another pair of eyes to help discern the root cause in case anything takes a turn for the worse.

But the reaction you get from him is one unexpected. His head snaps to face you, a scowl evident on his face. 

“So you’re handing me off like an unfinished project to someone else now?”

You know how snippy he can get however, this is on a different level from his previous behaviour. Maybe something left over from the days before you found him. It’ll be a good idea to look into his past logs to diagnose any present problems, you make a mental note of it.

“I’m just worried for you, that’s all. What if there’s an urgent issue I can’t fix alone? And we both know I can’t leave you as is.”

His expression mellows to an annoyed pout, looking away as his core glows faintly along with the patterns under his skin, he mumbles, “I’ll be fine.” (“I just need you.”) (“I'm the only one for you.”) (“No one else deserves you.”)

He allows you to work without another complaint, silently watching as your hands venture into his chest, a focused air to you while you look for the problematic cable. He senses your touch when you make contact with it, sucking in a sharp breath as you grip it between your fingers, twisting it around to free it from the surrounding wires before you finally connect and plug it into its rightful place. 

“That’s it for your cable issue. Anything else?” He quickly shakes his head.

Giving it a few light cursory pulls to make sure it’s finally secured, (if you weren’t mistaken, his core brightened in time with your tugs), you spare the rest of his parts one last look over. Then, shutting the panel, you unplug him from the computer.

Immediately, he scampers off the worktable with a clipped “thank you” and runs into his room. You hear the door to his room close before its lock clicks. 

The next few days prove to be better, the repair requests for any troubles that seem to have cropped up overnight growing more and more infrequent. Perhaps, bit by bit, the end of the repairs start to come into sight. 

Although, you have noted that his internal temperatures have been hiking recently whenever you have his chest panel open to patch him up. 

This time, you have him lying on the worktable on his back to access the further areas in him. He’s positioned facing upwards but his eyes are darting everywhere, unable to meet your gaze. Once again, the programme open on your computer screen shows how his temperatures are quickly rising even though there are no obvious reasons for such a sudden change. It records the recurrence into its troubleshooting log like before, more times than you can remember.

He’s panting lightly, the android’s chest moving up and down as your ears pick up the sound of his inner fans whir louder, his pre-programmed functions activating to try to cool him down. With no clue as to what could cause this issue, you reach in to look for a fault. Yet, the more you poke and prod around, the higher the warmth within him rises. 

Left with more questions than answers, you turn to his core for a closer look. When your fingers brush against the transparent casing, a moan slips out from him, and instantly his head whips to look at you dumbfounded.

An artificial blush takes over his face, a low pink glow blooming from beneath the synthetic layer. A beat passes before he cracks his lips apart, voicebox working as he pleads.

“...Again.”

Gently, you let your fingertips dance over the clasp hinging the casing shut and his response is instant. A shudder rolls through him, as real as it can be, and a shaky exhale leaves him. The android’s back arches up slightly, hastily chasing after your touch when you remove your hand.

Your caress returns when your hand dips deeper into his circuitry, where you hook two fingers underneath his thicker cables, attentively stroking them between your thumb and fingers, before tugging on them forcefully enough to elicit a reaction from him. 

His eyes fly open at your ministrations, a greed for more overtaking his processors. You’ve always been so gentle with him when he’s opened up for you, when you have access to the deepest parts of him, when he’s at his most vulnerable. So, to have you toy around with him, show him the indulgence of human flesh, can you really fault him for falling for you?

The tips of your fingers ghost along the length of his metal spine, and the android keens from under you.

“Please, more, I can take it!”

Taking his cue, your hand encircles his spine, grinding the heel of your palm against the ridges of the sensitive metal elements as you pump up and down. 

“Sss- so good! Hah…!” He can’t control how he behaves when you treat him so well, like he’s the only one worthy of your attention. He shakes under your touch, trembling as the addictive pleasure overrides his programmed commands.

“No more blubbering, just focus on me.” Your other hand goes to cup his chin, and obediently, he parts his lips for you, allowing you to slip your thumb into his mouth. You can feel his tongue work and when you press down, he jolts suddenly. A gag reflex? In an android? How amusing.

When you stop stroking him, he whines pitifully, muffled moans and begging for you to continue but his complaints stop when he feels you unlatch the lid of his core casing.

“Would you let me?” And the flurry of nods from him confirms his enthusiasm.

With bated breath, he counts the seconds before you make contact with his core. And when he senses your caress on his glowing core in his exposed chest cavity, he breathes out a gasp, as if he requires the intake of air. None of this is written into the basis of his behaviour, not fed into the dataset that makes up how he’s supposed to act, so everything he feels for you must be real.

His eyes go unfocused as his neural network is flooded with the raw pleasure of being enveloped with love and lust down to his literal core. Desire burns within him, evident from the fans whirring even louder than before to bring down his temperatures. It’s just so much for the android’s computations to handle. Broken moans leave him as he tries to vocalise his love for you (as best as he can with his thumb in your mouth). 

And when you press a kiss to his unprotected core, his vision whites out.

Eyes wrenched shut, his whole mechanical body jerks upwards, back arching off the worktable as his body propels himself to sit up, his limbs trying to ensnare you in his embrace, to keep you with him as long as he can. Every command in his system is overwritten to hone in on all the sensations of you on him, your touch, your warmth.

The patterns under his skin glow with a pulse, akin to a human’s heartbeat and when his eyes open again, glimmering faux tears roll down his face. His chest heaves as you close the distance between the two of you, cupping his face with both your hands and kissing his tears away.

The android breaks the intimate silence as he quietly asks you, “Can you give me a name?”

When you whisper a name into his ear, he breaks into sobs in your hands.

The days pass by, uneventful, and the time for a final cursory check before deeming him fully repaired comes. He’s poised on the worktable like any other previous session, a bored expression on his face as you flit back and forth between him and the software on your computer.

“You really are a clingy case,” you say and get a huff in return, “But a welcome one.”

Remembering your mental note from before about accessing his past logs, you access it from your computer, pulling up the window with his stored recorded data. The log operates in the background constantly, one of the built-in functions of the android and a quick glance over just to make sure everything is in order should do.

However, the logs prove to be worrying in a completely different way.

[Log: Day 10 - Run 1 - Failed. Werewolf. They’re with that mangy mutt. I don’t know what they see in him. I still remember the care they showed me. There’s always the next run.]

[Log: Day 20 - Run 2 - Failed. It seems I’m too late this time around. That vile selkie captured them first. How irritating. I need to stop hesitating. It’s my love on the line after all.]

[Log: Day 30 - Run 3 - Failed. Incubus. That damn priest and incubus. I can feel my temper reaching its breaking point.]

[Log: Day ??? - Run 4 - In progress. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.]

Your eyes rake across a multitude of grainy snapshots of yourself, all with different people that you can’t find the ability to recall, your mind pounding from the discovery. 

He’s gazing expectantly when you look back up at him from the screen. A grin twists its way across his face, canines glinting under the dizzying harsh lighting.

“So now you’ve seen how much I love you, even if you don’t remember it.” There’s a sick obsession dripping in his tone, an uncanny level of emotion that androids normally shouldn’t be able to replicate, one that sends a heavy uneasiness through your whole being, one that roots you to the ground. 

When he doesn’t get the adoring reaction from you he expects, the proud expression on his face falls instantly. 

He’s despondent, despairing as he tears the connecting cables off of him, launching himself off the worktable, lunging across for you, frenzied, pure scorching mania surging through him. 

“You… even after all these runs. You’ve always given me the same thing. My name. I thought this time- You-” 

Voice shaky, “It’s a shame this run didn’t work out either.” 

He steels himself, hand outstretched, “No matter.”

You blink.

There’s an unfamiliar android sitting atop your worktable.

Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

Does Izuku Think His Feelings For Katsuki Are Gross? (or, DvK2's Endless Emporium of Nuance)

This is a pretty common sentiment I see repeated, and we all know the source of it: Deku vs. Kacchan 2.

Original Japanese and official English translation.

Crunchyroll subtitles

In one translation, Izuku expresses discomfort over this topic; in the other, he outright declares it to be gross.

That is quite the difference. I gotta say, Crunchyroll’s direct “This is gross” kind of shocks me, because it functionally ignores the key adverb “sasuga ni” and translates the line the same as you would if he hadn’t said it at all. The official manga translator, on the other hand, clearly made a decision about what Izuku meant by that phrase and then dispersed that meaning across the line as a whole.

So I understand why people have this straight-forward interpretation.

I’m here to offer some linguistic nuance, because my main problem with “Izuku thinks his feelings are gross” is not that it is completely wrong. It’s that it isn’t the whole story.

There are two really important phrases to take into account: kimi ni wa ienai and sasuga ni.

To illustrate their meaning, let’s split the line into two sections:

Note: Grammatically, kara belongs in the first section. I’m lumping it into the second section for the sake of isolating the core ideas expressed in the first section and maintaining clarity in the second.

Now we’re going to break the sections down into their constituent parts. This looks like a verbatim nightmare of a translation, because it is, but trust me, it’s a useful exercise.

Kara links the two sections by showing that the first section directly causes the second. Something worth noting is that Izuku does not use past tense here—he uses present tense and indicates a continuous, unchanged state. He has not been able to before and still cannot tell this to Katsuki. I would argue this also suggests he thinks the circumstances will not change for the foreseeable future.

Important Phrase #1: kimi ni wa ienai

Ienai is the negative potential form of “to say,” which means it is not possible for him to say it. Iwanai, on the other hand, is the negative present tense, and if he had used iwanai instead, that might suggest that he has some choice in the matter. Examples in English might be, “That’s why I don’t tell you this,” “That’s why I’m not telling you this,” and “That’s why I haven’t told you this,” which all express intentional withholding despite opportunity. To use a form that specifically denies the possibility serves to center limitation, regardless of desire.

The combination of the two particles ni and wa are used to emphasize, compare, and contrast. This is extremely telling just on its own. Izuku is emphasizing the fact that, compared to everyone he could possibly tell, he cannot tell Katsuki this. He might be able to tell other people, but when it comes to Katsuki, he cannot. Ienai does not specify where the limitation stems from, but ni wa sure implies it.

Now let’s dig into the phrase that does the most heavy-lifting in the first section.

Important Phrase #2: sasuga ni

Sasuga ni is the adverb Izuku attaches to the adjective kimochi warui (gross or creepy). It is typically translated “as expected” because this kind of adverb sounds awkward in English. “This is expectedly gross” is not a sentence people say much. You might also see it translated “as I thought,” “naturally,” “obviously,” or “indeed.”

And there is something interesting here: Izuku uses a second word that means “as expected” on this page.

Yappari, which can also be translated as “in the end,” “sure enough,” or “after all is said and done.”

I researched the nuances of these two phrases, synthesizing definitions and examples from four different Japanese dictionaries/encyclopedias and two forum boards for language tutoring from native speakers. My conclusions as related to their usage here:

Yappari indicates:

an outcome that was expected (example: “I tried, but sure enough, I failed.”)

something that remains unchanged [in the state it was previously or in other circumstances]

a situation where, no matter how you think about it, you end up with the same result (example: “I was really torn over it, but in the end I gave up on going.”)

Sasuga ni indicates:

[you, the speaker] must acknowledge that this is the natural result of the situation up to this point (example: “they grew up in a big family, so naturally they are good with kids.”)

something exceeds the permissible range, or that it may be permissible under certain conditions, but not others (example: “no matter how nice a guy he is, if he was accused of something unfairly, he’s bound to get angry.”)

You can see the meanings overlap, but the sentiments are a bit different. I saw someone learning Japanese say that every time they used one of these phrases, native speakers told them they should have used the other one instead. Another learner responded that, from their observations, the distinction appeared to be that yappari is used when the speaker had personally thought about and expected this outcome, while sasuga ni suggests that everyone would agree with this statement.

I’m not sure this is true across the board; usage always varies, even among native speakers, so generalizations are only useful up to a point, but I have to admit, a bunch of little things I noticed in my research do support this line of thinking.

If yappari tends to be more reflective of the speaker’s personal thoughts and expectations, sasuga ni’s “acknowledgment of a natural result” could indeed imply external validation. This is true of the equivalent English words, at least: naturally and obviously both suggest that any reasonable person would accept it as fact.

In fact, permissible as an idea kind of hinges on social norms—what is reasonable for someone to put up with? What behaviors sit within the realms of welcome, allowable, or excusable based on your relationship?

In my opinion, Izuku feels like he cannot say this to Katsuki because it exceeds the bounds of what is permissible between them. If sasuga ni implies Izuku feels sure that anyone would agree with his assessment, Katsuki is absolutely included in that.

Izuku is not saying, “I alone think this is gross, so I can’t tell you.”

He is saying, “Considering everything that has happened between us up till now, you would obviously see this as gross, so I can’t tell you.” Its grossness is a natural result of the situation—their history, the way their relationship fell apart, the way Katsuki lashes out, how he can barely stand Izuku’s presence, let alone his emotional honesty.

Chapter 10, during Deku vs. Kacchan 1

But remember that this sentence is a fragment: the subject of Izuku’s sentence is revealed in the second half, and it is the fact that he runs his mouth when he wants to win more than he wants to save.

This is what is gross. Izuku acknowledges that the behavior itself is unpleasant, and that any reasonable person would agree with that. His whole identity as a hero is based on saving people, so he feels some real discomfort when he has to recognize that sometimes he just wants to win. In fact, he can want victory so much that it supersedes his desire to help people.

Izuku has intentionally emulated Katsuki’s practical tactics, but this is about instinctive response. He wasn’t standing there facing Muscular, thinking the winning move was definitely to scream, “shut up.” He was furious, so he wanted to win and make that guy shut up.

When the scale tips, he acts out. He talks shit. He screams at people and insults them, because that’s what Katsuki does. These are all unacceptable behaviors, socially-speaking. Katsuki constantly and intentionally acts the exact opposite of how he should to qualify as a Good Japanese Boy. Izuku, on the other hand, plays the part faithfully, at least until it demands he betray his core values.

Deku vs. Kacchan 2 showcases how neither Izuku nor Katsuki had fully accepted the heroism of their counterpart. Katsuki is uncomfortable with Izuku’s innate capacity to help others, to see their need and meet it without question. Izuku is uncomfortable with craving victory, with that indomitable drive to seek glory. They each admired All Might for the value they themselves embody, and they admired each other for the value they lacked, but that doesn’t mean their admiration was uncomplicated.

Katsuki is a loud-mouthed, aggressive jerk, but Izuku ends up acting just like him. He clearly feels conflicted about it. He’s annoyed and hurt that Katsuki pushed him away by being such a jerk in the first place. And, from his perspective, he fails every time he tries to wrangle their relationship into something less miserable. He might even be embarrassed over the simple fact that he has held on to these deep-seated emotions for years over someone who wants nothing to do with him. He wishes things were different. He doesn’t know how they could be, anymore. He wants to connect, but he can’t.

Izuku frames his inability to express this specific thought as natural and reasonable. Obviously, there’s no way I could do this. And honestly, he is probably right. After all, this is a very intimate, revealing thing to tell someone who seems to hate your guts and has for years.

At any other point in the story, Katsuki probably would have curled his lip in disgust and barked out Izuku’s exact words, “Gross.”

But in DvK2, Katsuki bears his heart to Izuku without restraint.

Katsuki confesses something painful and private to Izuku twice, at two separate moments.

Izuku has two confessions, too. Here's the first:

But the second he admits only to himself and the audience.

Maybe if Izuku had said his “image of victory” monologue out loud, Katsuki could have had his own moment of understanding:

Izuku’s reaction after Katsuki’s second confession.

Maybe Katsuki wasn’t ready to hear it, or maybe Izuku was too chicken to believe he was ready. Either way, he needed to voice both confessions, and he didn’t.

So the narrative punishes Izuku for failing to push past his own limitations.

In the battle of revealing their honne—their true feelings, their truest selves—Katsuki risked it all.

Izuku couldn’t do the same, and that’s why he loses.

Don’t forget that underestimating your opponent is one of the easiest ways to lose a fight in MHA.

But I want to reiterate, Izuku feels conflicted about this behavior and his own feelings, not ashamed.

Emotional conflict is borne from two or more simultaneous, contradictory feelings. Izuku admits that any reasonable person would see the way he unconsciously imitates even Katsuki’s bad habits as gross, but he also clearly tells us something else.

Izuku is directly expressing his own thoughts about it, and the most important phrase is nanoni, which according to online encyclopedia Kotobank, “indicates that the following is contradictory to the preceding matter” and specifically, “includes critical feelings about the contradiction between” those two things. The latter point is unique because other words often used for “but” (such as kedo, which he used earlier in the form of dakedo) do not necessarily do this.

In the final line, one little detail here is the orange highlighted nda. This is used to explain and correlate topics of discussion. The most obvious point of explanation is why he acts this way. But the use of nanoni to connect this thought to the previous one tells us that this line is also explaining why Izuku doesn’t hate it.

Katsuki is his image of victory, and that alone is the reason he does not find this part of himself unacceptable. Just like with sasuga ni, Izuku is telling us that he understands the way other people would see this situation, and he knows what he “should” feel, but then he tells us that he does not feel that way.

I know it is very easy to see “This is gross, so I can’t tell you” at the start of this monologue, skip right to “image of victory,” and walk away thinking that Izuku is ashamed of that specifically, but the details show that the opposite is true.

And let’s not forget the nuance of yappari, which implies that Izuku has personally thought about this fact over and over, but it has always been this way.

I have seen people say that Katsuki is the one letting Izuku set the pace of their new relationship and that Izuku holds back, with this presumed shame as the cause. But I don’t think that acknowledges Izuku’s perspective on their dynamic, nor the casual mutualism they build together.

Katsuki initiated DvK2: a unique, closed “event” wherein, for the first time, they each expressed their vulnerabilities as much as they were able. But immediately outside the confines of DvK2, Izuku is the one who reaches out, as a gesture of reciprocation towards Katsuki for having initiated this change.

He is asking Katsuki's opinion, but what this gesture means is, “I don’t want us being honest with each other to end there. I still want you in my life.”

And maybe for the first time in years, Katsuki actually understands what Izuku means, and reaches back.

Look at these fucking nerds.

Notice that Izuku responds to Katsuki twice. At the first response, Katsuki has offered his observations and given him valid criticism on his technique, which is a show of goodwill. But then, Katsuki continues even when the admission reflects a personal weakness, with Izuku's punch having caught him off guard. This is actual honesty, and it means that they didn't just resolve their aggression and reset to neutral peers, but that Katsuki wants to be close, too. And just like during their fight, understanding comes the second time around.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: from Izuku’s point of view, Katsuki’s shitty behavior was the only thing that stood between them, because Izuku’s core feelings for him never changed.

Izuku lets Katsuki decide what is permissible between them, because Katsuki is the one who pushed him away in the first place. He opens the door just enough to say, “Whatever you want to give of yourself, I will accept.”

After that, Katsuki is the one making the big gestures by taking time out of his own life to discuss OFA with Izuku and All Might and help Izuku by training with him, even inserting himself into situations when he isn't asked. At every point, we see Izuku receive Katsuki with warmth and then follow up with smaller gestures of his own.

Chapters 202, 209, 249, and 327.

The reason we see so much of Katsuki’s side of their relationship, especially after DvK2, is because his feelings are the ones that change the most: from dysfunctional to self-aware and accepting. He has struggled for years over Izuku’s place in his life. He didn’t understand Izuku or his own feelings, and he was wrapped up in denial. He tells himself again and again that Izuku is “beneath him,” when we know the truth is he always thought Izuku was better than him.

Comparatively, Izuku resolves his conflicted feelings about his admiration for Katsuki much quicker, because the source of his conflict was primarily external while Katsuki's was primarily internal.

Chapter 257

A little detail I love about the "I'm too blessed" moment is that Izuku thinks of his conversations with Katsuki as "normal(?)" with a literal question mark attached. Is this normal? He doesn't really know. But it's enough. Kacchan is Kacchan, explosive and outrageous and way too much, all the time. Maybe they'll never be what other people think of as "normal," but Izuku is happy just to have Kacchan as he is, and be there however Kacchan will have him.

Katsuki's ideal has always been Izuku; he tried to outrun that fact and failed every time. Meanwhile, Izuku’s image of victory has always been Kacchan, and he has just been waiting for Kacchan to want to hear that from him.

Everyone has been wondering if Izuku will ever tell him. Me, personally, I'm hoping their story will end with a mutual declaration of their shared truth.

"You have always been my hero."

[pinksturniolo]

Switch - Chris and Matt Sturniolo (Part One)

Chris x Matt and Fem Reader

Summary: Cherry Bomb - The largest underground BDSM club in Los Angeles, California. Its member list is extremely exclusive, only granting access to celebrities, influencers and the filthy rich. No one really cares who you are or what you do, they come for one thing and one thing only. Whatever happens at the Cherry stays at the Cherry….

Content warnings: smut, oral, fingering, protected sex, bondage, spanking, teasing, threesome

this story has heavy themes and descriptions of bdsm, so if you’re not comfortable with that pls don’t read <3

word count: 3,879

Neon lights bounce off the shiny black walls, loud music playing but not too loud that you can’t hear what the blonde guy next to you is saying. He’s been talking your ear off for the last 20 minutes, while you zone out, sipping on your lemon club soda. This was the only time you wished they served alcohol here so you could at least be tipsy enough to endure the men that have been approaching you tonight.

Your usual partner hasn’t shown up yet and you have already been here for almost an hour. You try to ignore the slight ache in your chest though, focusing your attention back to the man next to you.

“So, how long you been coming here?” He asks.

“About 6 months now.” You reply.

“Damn, I feel like an amateur." He laughs, “This is only my second time.”

Obviously.

You hated to think so rudely but every person you’ve talked to tonight just wasn’t the one you preferred. You were starting to get extremely impatient, wondering where he was. He was never late.

As if your internal monologue has been heard by a higher power, you feel a hand on the back of your neck and turn in your seat to see the same man you were just thinking of. He has a dark look on his face as he eyes the person next to you.

“I don’t think she’s very interested buddy, why don’t you go bother some other poor girl.” He says to him, his hand now curling around your shoulder possessively.

The blonde guy’s face reddens with embarrassment as he quickly scrambles up from his chair. “Sorry man, I didn’t know she was yours.” he says and quickly walks off.

You scoff as your partner sits next to you, ordering a water from the waitress.

“That was unnecessary.” You say, his face still annoyed as he relaxes into the chair, his arm still slung around the back of you. He takes a long sip of his water, avoiding looking at you. You see his jaw clench and he runs a hand through his hair before speaking.

“What were you doing talking to that loser anyways?” He finally asks, making eye contact with you and he looks pissed.

“Oh my god, are you jealous Matt? Maybe you should’ve been here on time before other guys had the chance to talk to me.” you reply, a teasing smile appearing on your face.

He then grabs the side of your chair, pulling it forcefully towards him, causing you to gasp out. Your thighs are touching, and his hand moves from the back of your chair to the nape of your neck, sliding up to knot his fingers in your hair and pull slightly.

“Maybe you shouldn’t entertain other men when I’m not around and wait patiently for me like a good girl. Or do you need me to remind you who you belong to? Hm?” He whispers in your ear threateningly. Your core pulses with arousal at his words, his warm breath on your neck causing tingles to shoot down your spine.

So of course, this leads to you replying with a smart remark, which makes him take you to the candy room and punish you until you beg for forgiveness.

There were numerous rooms in the club that members could use, their time limit being an hour. But the main rooms that were larger and you could reserve for however long you wanted (at a high price) were only four. The star room, the red room, the flower room and the candy room.

The candy room is where you and Matt spend most of your encounters together at the Cherry Bomb. However, there’s nothing sweet about it besides the name. Its walls are painted red, a black bed with silk sheets in the middle and glossy black floors. There’s a cabinet of floggers, ropes, leather and fuzzy cuffs, vibrators and anything else you can imagine.

There’s no particular reason why it’s your favorite but Matt has been reserving it for you since you met him here and it’s become a routine on a Saturday night, twice a month.

Cherry Bomb has been around since the late 80s and has done a particularly good job at keeping its participants a secret, mainly due to the NDA you have to sign upon your first entry, along with a recent STD panel and heavy entrance fee. They also prohibited alcohol and drug use.

You were referred by one of your friends, which made it easier for you to get in. The money was no issue for you, but the wait list was long and having a friend on the inside had its benefits.

You instantly loved it from the first time you came. The atmosphere wasn’t grungy or too dark like you would expect a typical sex club to be. No one seemed to care who you were here, there was no judgement, and it was a safe place to act out your wildest fantasies, with whoever you choose.

You had had experiences with a couple different men and women, all which were satisfying for the most part. Most people had a habit of choosing a particular partner and being loyal to them, while others constantly swapped, not staying with one person too long.

When you met Matt, you instantly clicked, and found something in him that you hadn’t felt with any other member. He approached you one night, his demeanor confident but also calm. The energy flowed between you two, and once he got you to the room alone, it was fireworks. He was very clear on consent being an important aspect and boundaries were established before anything else.

Matt was a switch, like you. While most of the time he preferred to be dominate, he could also be submissive which was heaven to you. You loved it when he took control, using your body however he pleased, and he knew the best way to handle your brattiness. Because as much as it felt good to submit to him, you also had a fiery attitude which only made the pleasure of his punishment better.

He made you beg till you cried, spanked you so hard you had marks for weeks, and would tie you to the bed and fuck you until your brain was fuzzy, and your throat was raw from screaming his name. Making you cum over and over again until you were numb.

But when he was the submissive for the night… it was a whole different experience. There was nothing better than the feeling of him begging you to please him, demanding him to do whatever you wanted. Edging him until he was whimpering for you, teasing him and seeing how much he enjoyed it. Nothing compared.

And the best part about Matt that you liked, was that he always took the time to make sure you had the proper after care after each session. Cleaning you up, getting you water if you needed it, and even massaging your body if he went particularly hard on you that night.

He was currently holding you after tonight's session was done, rubbing small soothing circles on your back, your head cradled against his chest. You can hear his heart beating at a relaxed pace, calming you as your own heart slows down to match his tempo.

He breaks the sweet silence, his velvety voice pulling you out of your trance. “Y/N… I have a question for you.”

“Mhm?” You mumble, your fatigue settling in.

“How do you feel about a threesome?” He says, his hand stroking over the top of your head.

You’re alert now, lifting your head to turn and look at him. His eyes are half closed, a lazy smile on his face as he waits for your answer.

“I think it’s pretty hot. Is that something you want to do?” You reply.

“Are you comfortable with that?” He asks.

“I’ve experienced them before, yes. Depends… who would it be with?”

His bottom lip is pulled in between his teeth, a contemplative look on his face.

“I know someone that’s interested. In you. He’s always wanted to come to Cherry but he’s hesitant.” Matt says and your heart rate picks up a little at his words.

“He’s interested in me?” You ask, surprised at the fact that Matt talks about you outside of the club. That would be breaking the NDA.

He strokes his hand over the side of your face, caressing your jaw with his fingers. His eyes are soft, like they always are at the end of the night, adoring you with affection.

“Sorry, princess. I know I’m technically not supposed to talk to anyone about this. But I trust him… and I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew you would be upset.” He says.

You sit up now, fully facing him, and place your arms on either side of him, one hand resting on his chest and the other on his bicep.

“I know, I’m not upset. I’m flattered actually.” You say, smirking, the idea of what he’s proposing piquing your curiosity.

“Mm. Don’t get too cocky. But if you would like to try it out, I’ll tell him to come with me next time.” He tells you.

Your mind races at the thought of a threesome with him and another man, wondering how exactly that would change the dynamic between you two. Matt could be a little possessive and you were more than satisfied with just him as your partner but it made you think of how he would be able to share you. It excites you. He must trust this other person a lot.

“Who is it?” You ask him and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head at you with an amused look.

“It’s a surprise.”

✰✿

You return to Cherry Bomb two weeks later, more nervous than you had been any other time you’ve come. But your anticipation outweighs your nerves as you sit at the bar, patiently waiting for Matt. You’re wearing a skin tight black lace dress that’s basically see through, showing your matching black lingerie set underneath. Sleek red heels are on your feet, your hair falling in soft loose waves that frame your face and a light coat of mascara through your eyelashes.

You took the time to put extra effort into your appearance tonight, and practically everyone in the club notices, staring at you as they wander around. But you pay no mind, your focus on the soda in front of you. Matt would be fuming with rage if he knew you were entertaining anyone else tonight and usually you would play with fire but given the special circumstances, you decided not to mess with him tonight.

The waitress hands you a note, pulling you out of your thoughts. She smiles at you politely before walking off, attending to another customer.

Meet me in the red room.

It’s Matt’s handwriting. He’s never done this before, always meeting you at the bar and then escorting you to your usual room. Your palms sweat as you stand from your chair and make your way to the large room at the end of the hall with the red door.

The red room. It was the largest room in the club, and the only one you hadn’t been in before. You’ve heard rumors of how luxurious it was which is why it was so hard to book. How Matt was able to get it tonight, you’re not sure.

You take a deep breath and adjust your dress, pushing the door open. The cool air of the room hits you, tiny goosebumps erupting on your skin. Your heart picks up speed at the sight of Matt centered directly at the center edge of the bed. He’s also dressed in all black, his eyes roaming up and down your body in hunger as you saunter over to him.

Wait. Is that Matt? You pause in front of him, a few feet away. His hair is longer, and his face is extremely similar but with a slight difference. And his aura is arrogant. But when you make eye contact with him, you feel butterflies gather in your stomach, his blue eyes making you drown with attraction. It’s the same feeling Matt gives you but there’s something different about him.

You now realize it’s not Matt at all.

The smug smile on his lips that’s been growing since he noticed the confusion on your face only widens, his hands gripping the sides of the bed, making the muscles in his arm flex. He looks incredibly strong.

“Looking for someone?” He asks teasingly and you can already feel the pool of wetness growing by the second in your underwear.

“Where’s Matt?” You ask sweetly, tilting your head. Your arms are crossed and your eyes narrow, fighting the smile that threatens to break through.

Let the games begin.

The stranger in front of you chuckles, leaning back on his arms now, his legs spreading slightly in jeans. He licks his lips, looking you up and down again. You can’t help but do the same.

“What’s wrong sweetheart? Don’t like what you see?” He says, his bottom lip stuck out in a fake pout.

You smile at him, mocking the tone in his voice. “I prefer princess.”

He laughs lowly, biting his lip and looks behind you. “You weren’t lying when you said she was a brat.” He says and you whip your head around, shocked to see Matt sitting in the love seat at the corner of the room.

You hadn’t noticed him at all when you walked in, given the darkness of the room and the fact he was so quiet during your exchange.

Matt has a blank expression, not looking at you. “Call her whatever you want, Chris.”

You can see that he’s dressed in a plain white shirt and black jeans. It’s simple, like the clothes he usually wears but he still looks incredible.

You’re still turned towards him, giving Chris a full view of your ass now, which you’re sure he’s appreciating.

“I didn’t know you had a twin.” You tell him, your eyebrows raised in amusement.

The corners of his lips twitch as he fights a smile, exchanging a look with Chris that you can’t decipher. “There’s a lot of things about me you don’t know.”

He gets up from his seat now and crosses the room to where you are. You’re about to respond with a witty remark but he’s suddenly gripping your arms, turning you around forcefully to face Chris again.

Your ass is pressed into his crotch, and you feel him harden against you. You gasp lightly as he places his mouth next to your ear, whispering lowly.

“That’s enough from you, Princess. I suggest you keep your mouth shut unless it’s a yes or no. Understand?”

You nod slowly, and Chris watches with fascination at the way Matt handles you. You can see how visibly turned on he is, his boner straining through his jeans.

You’re more aroused than you’ve ever been, the feeling of Matt’s strong grip on your arms, as he places soft wet kisses on the curve of your neck and the look in Chris’ eyes as they burn into yours, his pupils blown out.

“Are you comfortable? You know your safe word, right?” He asks you, his tone a little lighter. He wraps one hand around your throat, the other on your left hip and squeezes.

“Yes.” You breathe. “Good.” He replies, releasing you completely and you feel him back up from behind you. “Now get on your knees.”

Your heart races as you sink down, Chris’ eyes following your every moment. He hasn’t taken them off you since you entered the room and something in his eyes made you very nervous but incredibly excited at the same time.

Matt is now seated on the opposite side of the room, in a large leather chair. He’s directly in front of you now, to the side of Chris. You sit obediently on your knees, your eyes still focused on him as he speaks his next set of instructions.

“Why don’t you show Chris how you put that mouth to good use.” he says, nodding his head for you to continue.

You swallow and look away from Matt now, to see an enticing smirk on his brother’s face. He spreads his legs farther open as he adjusts himself on the bed, unbuckling his belt from his jeans. He places it on the mattress next to him and pulls his jeans down and off his legs.

You scoot closer to him, positioning yourself between his legs, your hands resting on top of his thighs. The look in your eyes is enough to get his heart racing like yours, and he curls a finger under your chin, tugging your face closer to him as he leans down.

“Let me taste your lips, sweetheart.” He says softly and connects his mouth to yours.

Now you can tell the real difference between them. Matt is harsh, yet caring. His energy penetrates you with a feeling of deep connection, a tie that binds you to him in one more ways then one. The trust you two have built over the past few months comes through when your bodies mesh with one another. He knows just what to say to please you and you in return, love to obey his every wish and command.

But Chris… he kisses you like he’s starving. He’s sweet, yet strong. It’s all new territory to explore, and you can almost taste the desperation on his tongue. His hands are soft against your face, warmth flooding your body at the feeling of his touch. You wonder just how much Matt has expressed to him, what secrets he’s revealed about all the sinful, delicious acts you’ve conceived with him in the candy room.

Chris is magnetic, his wet, hot kisses making you ache in your core. He finally pulls away from you, his jaw clenched, his eyebrows furrowed in a dark look. “Take your dress off.” He speaks.

You pull it off with no hesitation, up and over your head, now in your lingerie beneath him.

He drinks in the sight of your half naked body, your tits pushing against your bra, the hem of your black thong high on your hips and you slip your heels off.

He pulls his dick out, red tip leaking with precum already. He’s practically the same length as Matt, with a little more girth. It’s a little intimidating but your needs overpower, your mouth watering as you look at him.

You open your mouth, puckering your lips to let a pool of saliva drip down onto his length and you make eye contact with Matt, the look he gives you making a spark run through you.

Chris groans as you look back at him, spreading your spit down him with your hand before you wrap your lips around his tip, swirling your tongue. “Shit… feels so fucking good.” He rasps.

His chest is moving up and down as he breathes deeply, exhaling from his nose as he grits his teeth, and you take him further into your mouth. It’s a little hard to adjust to his size but you do, bobbing your head as he brushes the back of your throat, making you gag slightly.

He moans loudly, bucking his hips up slightly. He pulls your hair back from your face, holding it into a ponytail, tightly, pulling at your hair a little. This makes you moan in return around him, his eyes rolling into the back of his head at the pleasure. The air in the room is thick now, the sounds of Chris fucking your mouth and his groaning filling the space. You can feel Matt’s stare on you, and your knees dig into the softness of the shaggy black carpet, your grip on Chris’s thighs tightening.

“Fuck.” He pants, and moves his hands down your back, your body bending slightly so your ass poked out, allowing him access to feel you up. He caresses the flesh of your cheeks, massaging them before he brings one hand down to smack you.

You jolt slightly, not expecting him to do that, and hum around him, your thighs clenching.

“Yeah? You like that?” he says, smacking you once more, making it sting a little. You make another noise of approval, his cock still stuffed down your throat but then pull out, with a response you’re later bound to regret. “Not hard enough.”

You look up through your lashes at him and your heart races from how mad he looks. When Matt gets that mad, his eyes glaze over, and his face is cold. But Chris smiles. Even though his eyes are hard, there’s a grin on his face that says, ‘You have no idea what you just started.’  It’s insanely attractive.

He then reaches next to him, the metal of his belt clanking. He folds it, and you see the genuine leather thick in his hand.

He grabs the back of your head, knotting his fingers in your hair. “Did I tell you to stop?”

You glance at Matt and his hand palms over the hardness in his jeans, his other hand gripping on the arm of the chair.

Fuck.

You take Chris into your mouth again, your ass in the air for him. He sighs as he slips back down your throat, dragging the belt across you. He does this agonizingly slow, your head working on him. Finally, he slaps your it on your ass, hard. You moan loudly, your nails digging into his thighs. “How’s that, princess?”

You breathe out hard from your nose, the harsh sting of the belt lingering. Chris rubs his hand over your cheek, soothing the skin there, allowing you a few seconds of relief before he brings it down against you again, a loud smack ringing in the air.

You cry out, tears forming in your eyes and bring your head up slightly, gasping for air.

See, the pain… the pain sucked. You saw red each time you were punished like this but after the few seconds of hurt passes, you feel a rush of euphoria, and tingles of pleasure you just can’t get enough of.

“Hm? Don’t got anything to say now? Is this what you wanted?” Chris says, his large hands squeezing and rubbing you, before bringing his belt down once more against you. All you can do now is whimper, your actions on Chris at a complete stop, while you grip his thighs, tears now streaming down your face, mascara running.

You look up at him through your pitiful tears, his teeth sunken into his bottom lip so hard it almost draws blood. Your face is flushed, lips red and swollen. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” He whispers and your heart flutters at his compliment.

You wonder if Matt heard and flick your gaze to him again. His jeans are unbuttoned now, his black boxers showing, his hand still on himself but not moving. He smirks, enjoying the fucked out look on your face.

Chris then grips your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look back at him.

“What do you think Matt? Think she deserves to cum?”

“Give her what she wants.” He replies.

a/n: soooo this one was supposed to be a full one shot but i had to split it into two parts or else it was gonna be too long lol i had this idea in my head i just had to write it out, so i promise i'll work on the final part of my matt series soon!!

taglist <3 :

@christhopersturniolo @sturniolopepsi @tillies33ssss @whicked-hazlatwhore @riasturns @junnniiieee07 @junovrsmp4 @sturnsjtop @seahorsie11 @inveigledvex @honestlyjb @mattslolita @stingerayyy2 @glassesmattsbae @eryismum @sturncakez @sturnioloco @wh0resstuff @muwapsturniolo

[hazelfoureyes]

Besties Get Banged (part2)

⟢Angel Dust x PornstarReader - Besties get Banged smut💦

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader ✧ FemaleReader໒꒱ Part 2 ꒰აMaleReader ✧ FemaleReader໒꒱

Val leaves set and Angel offers the sofa of his dressing room to continue what you started.

「warnings/promises: Angel x FemaleReader , vaginal creampie, quick fuck, kisses, cuddles」

same story as male reader; just different bits and bobbles

minors dni 🧯

Angel’s hand slipped into yours as soon as Val was called off set. You two had been corrected for your behavior by the overlord, but luckily his square headed prince needed him.

“Ya know, I have a private dressin’ room.” Angel’s fingers tugged your hand, “With a sofa.”

The benefit of so many arms was how easily he could close the door, lock it, and pull open both of your robes all while you struggled to shake off your slippers.

His mouth left yours as he gently pushed you back toward the purple chaise lounge near the balcony door, “You whole?” 

A common question amongst Val’s employees, especially those who found comfort in each other after his abusive power trips. Not are you hurt, that implies just physical harm. Not are you okay, you can be okay and not be okay. You understood very well what he was asking, are you mentally and physically comfortable to continue?

You nodded, “Yeah, you?”

“He doesn’t get to me as badly anymore,” two hands on your face, two on your hips. Ah, you wish you could touch him more, with as many hands as he had soft places to caress. Angel lowered you, lithe body coming to rest on yours as his hips began moving against your naked core. Soft cock slowly growing against your skin, lube and slick being rubbed into your folds by his ministrations.

As soon as he was hard enough to enter you, he did. The sigh he made, the weakness that came over his face as he sunk into your tight but welcoming cunt made you shudder. A streak of electricity traveling from your spine down and forward to your clit.

Angel wasted no time in finishing the fucking he had been dreaming of just an hour earlier. His arms came down, fingers exploring your valleys and your peaks. Hungry for your affection, for the tenderness he so desperately needed, his mouth crashed into your cheek. Sloppy, happily unprofessional, he kissed and licked his way to your mouth, already open and waiting to receive him. 

He tasted like candy on your tongue, sweet and melting. Every gasp and moan he gave you he then greedily swallowed. 

“Shit, close,” he whined, “Already”. He found your hands with his, pulling them and you up as he leaned back. Two hands cupped your ass and lifted you onto his now seated lap. Your legs came around his waist, your measly two arms wrapped around his neck as you held tightly. Small but strong, he pistoned himself up into your heat while those hands did the work of you riding his swelling cock. 

He pulled you in for another kiss, lips pressing into yours with no rhythm or goal as he tried to bring you over the climax together. While he spent most of his time with dicks, literally and figuratively, he understood the focused wind up a female orgasm could need.

Your hand came between your bodies, trying to meet him at the edge. Eyes shut, you focused on the place where he was in you, the heat and the stiffness of his arousal for you. As he whispered, “so close” and whined, “baby” into your ear with gasped breaths, you thought about your pussy wringing Angel Dust dry and quickly reached your orgasm. 

“Me too,” was all you could manage as your teeth clenched and head came down onto his shoulder.

Angel continued to move you on and off his dick as he rode out his climax. Your walls contracting around him, milking him like your body had been designed to do it. A feeling he wasn’t wholly used to, definitely not for free and off camera, he pulled you down and held you there to linger in the sensation.

“Too deep,” you wiggled, slightly painful pressure as his still engorged head was now threatening to slip past your cervix. 

“Sorry” he smiled, “not used to, ya know, some of this stuff.”

Valid. There was a lot more stuff than he was used to thinking about. Especially at work.

He eased up his grip, letting you lift enough to relax. 

Slippery and hot, you stayed stuck together for an unknown amount of time. His mouth kept finding its way back to you, lazy but content kisses peppered across pink cheeks and flush lips. 

Rarely he could be held so gently while sober, so he took his time in enjoying your tenderness. Four arms wrapped around you and pulled your head into that fluff on his chest, “Val’s not gonna let us work together again.” He said it matter of factly.

You sucked in through your teeth, “Yeeeeeah… I’ll probably get canned.”

Angel pursed his lips, “Well, I know a solution to both problems.” He pulled back, beaming down at you, “A place with free rent where yous can easily see me anytime we want. How do ya feel about group activities?”

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove  @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings

@looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @sailorsmouth ,

@jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling

[jiminrings]

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

.

.

.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

.

.

.

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

[talaok]

In control

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel is the boss of a group of criminals in the QZ, and you're his little bunny everyone knows better than to look at, but Joel seems to have forgotten who's really in control, so you decide to remind him.

warnings: as always this is just porn so...smut| restraints (idk man he's handcuffed), teasing, f masturbation, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, praising, pet naming, and lots of daddy kink of course

btw this is the third part to this but it can be read alone

It all started with one simple sentence.

"You do as I say, bunny, I'm in control here"

That's what Joel had told you last night when you were teasing him a little too much and his patience was running thin.

And sure... in the moment it was hot and made you comply immediately, but as you finally got ready to go to bed...those words echoed in your mind over and over, so much that you couldn't fall asleep.

The thing was that, yes, you did do as he said most of the time, especially when it came to the bedroom, but you did so because you wanted to, not because he had all the power.

Hell no. It was the exact opposite.

You held all the power.

the real power

And as much as you were certain both of you knew that, after last night... you couldn't help but wonder if he was starting to forget

And what do you do when someone forgets something?

You remind them, of course

__ __ __

You knew he was coming even before he opened the door. 

it was hard to miss the sound his boots made with each step. It always amazed you how every single part of him, (his walk, his talk, his demeanor) was rough, but all he's ever been to you was soft, well...except for the times where you didn't want him to be.

"I'm home" he called, as he closed the door behind him and took off his shoes.

You were practically vibrating from how excited you were.

"Hey there," you said nonchalantly as you walked into the living room.

And the moment he saw you- the moment he saw you he looked ready to faint and jump your bones at the same time.

You had put on those tiny white lace panties and matching bra he'd gifted you a little while ago.

Only that

"Did you have a good day?" you asked, biting your lip as you met him halfway, being that he was already stalking towards you.

"It just got a hell of a lot better" he murmured, wasting no time before taking hold of each side of your head and meeting his lips with yours.

"What did I do to deserve this?" he asked, eyeing your outfit

You shrugged "I just wanted to surprise you"

He smirked, picking you up without so much as a warning.

"Well you did bunny" he muttered, in between kisses "Surprised me real good"

He was already hard, his cock was straining against his jeans and you could feel it right against your core.

"Been thinking about you all day, baby" he breathed, as his lips took hold of every piece of skin they could access "And then I come home and find you like this?" he smirked "You might just kill me one of these days, my heart it's not as strong a it used to be, I'm an old man sweetheart"

You giggled, a part of you forgetting your mission for tonight.

"You're not old daddy"

"No, then what am I?" he asked as he kicked the door to the bedroom open.

"Very handsome" 

A soft chuckle left his lips

"Well played" he kissed you, as he sat on the bed with you now straddling his lap.

You had put on a red lipstick and it was now smeared all over his mouth too.

His hands were on your ass, guiding you to grind onto him, and forcing a whimper out of your throat.

"god I love the little sounds you make f'me bunny" he groaned, "wish I could listen to them all day" he murmured as he took you by surprise, and in a matter of seconds you were pinned down beneath him, his whole body caging yours.

"Daddy" you whined, as his fingers started to graze against your belly towards the hem of your panties.

His hum was muffled by his work on your neck.

Oh how easy it would have been to just abort your mission and let him take care of you like you knew he was about to.

But a part of you, a part of you still wanted to see the look on his face when he realized what was happening.

and that part of you won.

"Daddy wait" you murmured

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked, raising his head to look at you.

"I just- I want to take care of you today," you said sweetly, batting your eyelashes.

A smirk pulled at his lips

"Yeah?"

"yes daddy"

"And how would you like to do that?" he taunted

You bit your lip, hiding the grin underneath them "You'll see"

It took a moment for him to agree, but seeing how eager you were at the prospect he didn't have it in him to say no.

"alright" he nodded

A wide smile rose to your lips

"Lay down" you instructed.

And with a groan, he did.

His head was resting on a pillow, and his whole body was now at your disposal.

You took your time getting on top of him, and once again, you felt every cell in your body jump from the excitement.

You smiled as you let your hands explore his chest, still covered by an old flannel.

His hands immediately went to your waist, but you stopped him just in time.

"na-ah" you shook your head "no touching"

He cocked an eyebrow, but let you do your thing as you placed his arms back on each side of him.

Your eyes found his, and as you only found lust and restraint in his, you were sure he could see something else spark in the back of yours, so before he could have time to ask you what exactly that was, you started undoing his shirt, kissing any new piece of skin you uncovered, until his whole broad chest was on display, and his cock was painfully hard.

You stifled a laugh, if only he knew what was about to happen...

"Bunny" he groaned, trying to grind against you "you're killin' me here" 

"But Daddy" you pouted, starting to gently stroke his arms "I haven't done anything yet"

"Yeah baby" he chuckled, as you took hold of his wrists, slowly moving his arms above his head, and grinding onto him at the same time so as to distract him "That's the problem"

"'m sorry" you murmured, ghosting his lips "I'll do something now, close your eyes"

"Close my eyes?"

"yes daddy"

And if he hadn't been so completely hypnotized by you and the feel of you, he would have noticed the sound of metal against metal coming from behind him... but as I said, Joel was a bit preoccupied at the moment.

"Alright," he obeyed, closing his eyes.

Now was the time, so as quickly as you could, you wrapped each of his wrists in the cuffs you had hidden, and secured them, being careful not to make them too tight.

You already were gonna torture him, double torture would just have been cruel.

"wha-" his eyes opened immediately as he realized what had happened "bunny..." he growled, now a tint of anger in his tone "What did you do?"

 You bit your lips as you watched him struggle beneath you

One of your fingers went to trace his jawline, stroking his beard at the same time.

He really was handsome...

"I think you know what I did" you smiled

"take them off right now baby" he ordered "or I'm gonna spank that pretty ass of yours until every inch of it is red"

You could only smirk in response.

"Where did you even get these?" 

"I asked one of your men for a favor..." you explained, caressing his pecs

"Who?"

"Why?" you teased

"I'll need to have a talk with him"

You giggled "A talk... sure" you mocked, before bending down to kiss him, tasting all the frustration and arousal on his tongue.

"What's this about?" he asked once you leaned away.

Now was your time to shine.

"You think you're in control here?" you asked, looking him right in the eyes.

"Take these cuffs off and we'll see who's in control"

You chuckled, rolling your hips on his crotch and making a strangled groan flee his lips.

"no no now" you tutted "Here's how this is gonna work" you explained "I'm not gonna touch you... or make you feel good in any way, until I hear you begging for me," you said "Until you say please"

He watched you, his chest heaving with each deep breath he took.

"oh baby you're in so much trouble"

You smiled "It's easy really" you sweet talked "Just beg me"

He chuckled "You know I'm not gonna do that"

You faked a pout, even though you knew damn well that's what he was gonna say.

"That's too bad" you cooed, as you climbed off of him "'cause I'm just so wet already... and I was really in the mood" you continued, now sitting on the bed "so if you're not up for the job... I guess I'm gonna have to do it myself"

"bunny don't you dare-"

You didn't pay his protests any mind as you took one pillow and propped it behind your head as you lay down in front of him.

You watched as his eyes went wide with anger and his hands desperately tried to free themself.

"y/n" he called your name with a sternness you hadn't heard in a while.

He used your name only when he was really pissed off

"What daddy?" you asked innocently, as you slowly spread your legs, giving him a full view of what he was missing "you don't like it when I touch myself?"

You hooked your fingers in your panties, gradually taking them off until you could discard them on the floor with just a flick of your ankle.

"you know I don't" he growled again.

You smiled as you brought two of your own fingers to your mouth, and without breaking eye contact, gently started sucking on them, wanting them to get as wet as possible.

"mhh" you hummed, watching as he fought his restraints.

"You know you could stop this any time you want" you reminded him, unhurriedly bringing your fingers to your core "You just have to beg"

You waited for him to cave, but all he said was

"I'm gonna make you pay for this bunny" 

You let out a low sigh "that's not how you beg daddy" you scolded, starting to slowly circle your clit and causing a soft moan to leave your chest as you shut your eyes.

You could hear his heavy breathing as you started to go faster and faster, and when your fingers traveled downwards, finding your entrance, it was like you could physically feel the anger emanating from him.

You spread your legs even more as you sank your fingers inside of you, having to bite down on your lower lip to stifle an even louder moan.

"feels so good daddy" you whined, as you curled them into your g-spot "so good" you moaned, as he watched every single motion of yours, desperate and mesmerized at the same time.

You let your left-hand travel to your tits, reaching into one of your bra cups until your boob had spilled and you could stroke and grab at it however you wanted, heightening your pleasure.

"Don't you wish you were the one doing this to me?" you teased, as you continued fingering yourself.

Your fingers felt very diffrent from what you were used to

"I know you do," he said "I know those tiny little fingers of yours don't come close to my cock, and you know it too bunny"

"oh trust me" you moaned, fastening your pace just to piss him off "T-they do the job just fine"

"fuck" he groaned "bunny c'mon" 

And there it was, his tone had changed, it was softer now, more pleading.

"What?" you teased, your mouth open as you sucked in ragged little breaths "You want me to stop?"

You could feel your orgasm coming, your legs were stretching desperately across the bed as the sound of your slick cunt filled the room and Joel's poor ears.

"Yeah I do" he breathed 

"Are you gonna beg?" you asked, building your climax

"I know you want this cock baby" 

"That doesn't sound like begging to me" A wicked smile pulled at your lips, as your thumb reached for your clit, making you cry out.

"Oh fuck Daddy" you whined "'m coming" you quickened your pace "I'm-I'm"

"bunny don't even think about-"

but before he could get the full sentence out you were already moaning so loudly any words of him would have been just washed away.

"oh shit" you smiled through a sigh "that felt good"

"yeah? you know what would feel even better?" he asked, watching you crawl closer to him "having my cock deep inside that tight pussy"

"oh yeah that'd feel good too" you admitted, "but you know what you have to do first"

"bunny..." he groaned, as you undid his zipper and pulled down his pants and boxers at the same time before straddling him again.

Your cunt was dripping right onto his manhood, and you could see he was about to give up, so just to give him a slight push...

"whoops" you bit your lip, catching your still glistening fingers "I should probably clean these up shouldn't I?" you cooed, bringing your fingers to your mouth before abruptly stopping "Unless you want to do it..." you considered, offering him your fingers like they were an untouchable prize.

"You know damn well I do baby"

"Yeah?" you asked "All you have to do is say please"

"Bunny-"

"just say it Daddy" You grinded on his cock, making him groan louder than ever before "Just admit that you're not in control"

"fuck-fine" he sighed, making you smile so wide your cheeks hurt.

"please bunny" he murmured

"what was that?" you teased

"You're gonna make me say it again?"

"yes, and put a little enthusiasm in it too"

"or what?" he had the audacity to ask

"or..." you shifted on his lap, making him stifle a moan "I'm not riding your cock" you put simply.

"fuck ok, just- please bunny" he breathed "Please let me taste you, and please ride me, baby"

And again, you smiled wider than ever, as you finally let your fingers in his mouth.

He hummed loudly around them 

"who's in control, daddy?" you asked, retracting your fingers and finally taking his cock in your hand

"You bunny, you're in control" he said with no hesitation "Fuck, you've always been"

"Now that's what I like to hear" you giggled, before ultimately sinking down onto his shaft, moaning loudly as you did.

the relief that washed over Joel almost made him pass out, your pussy was squeezing him tight, shooting pleasure through every nerve in his body, and it took all of him not to come right there and then.

"oh my god," you whimpered, 

he was so deep you could feel him in your fucking belly

"fuck, you feel so good bunny" he groaned, as you started to bounce up and down his dick, crying out loud every time his cock hit that spot inside you that made you want to scream.

Your hands were firmly planted onto his chest, clawing at him like a cat.

"goddamn baby" he purred "you're so fucking tight f'me"

You could feel a bubble forming in your belly and you had to close your eyes as you started rocking back and forth, using his cock to stimulate your G-spot over and over again.

"Just for you daddy" you promised

"I know sweetheart" he groaned again "I know"

Your eyes were fluttering shut as your orgasm went to take over.

"Come for me sweetheart" he breathed, feeling your walls squeeze him even further as he lost himself in the image above him "'m right behind you" he said, pushing you over the edge.

Your mouth was open and your jaw slack as your climax spread inside of you like wildfire, and Joel... Joel couldn't hold it anymore at the sight, releasing inside of you with a roar of your name.

"fuck" you breathed heavily

"you done?" he asked, cocking a brow

"Maybe..." you smirked

"Bunny, you've tortured me enough for tonight, don't you think?"

"fine, you're right" you smiled "Let me find the keys to these things," you said, reaching to your nightstand and gently undoing the cuffs.

He groaned weakly as you freed him, massaging his own wrists.

You laid down next to him, and he took you in his arms, holding you close against him.

"Did you have fun?" he asked, as you placed your head on his chest.

"Oh yeah" you giggled "did you?" you said, looking up at him.

His not-answer was more of an answer than he could have ever given you.

"You did!" you gasped "you liked it"

"alright fine... I might have liked you taking control a little bit" he admitted "but you cuff me to the bed one more time... and you're gonna regret it bunny"

You bit your lip "Is that a challenge?"

"You just try me..." 

[usereddie]

i’m new here and wondering what has ryan said previously about buddie bc i keep seeing posts like yours and is he like infamous for being pro buddie or something?? 😭

yeah actually!! both he and oliver are, but oliver's replies in interviews are always a little more careful. whereas ryan is just like 'yes. eddie loves buck. do you not pay attention?'

real of him, frankly. anyway.

he's always been pro buddie from the beginning. he was the one who came up with the ship name back when eddie joined the show and the fandom was undecided between buddie or beddie!!

and thank god, because buddie is a much better ship name.

he's made many other comments over the years, too. in s3 interviews he would mention buck and eddie's relationship and how he has love for the ship and the fans. many instances talking about the buckley-diaz and how they coparent christopher. there's a video of him from a few years back where he says "abby gotta kick rocks. you've been replaced by eddie."

here's a link to it

and then recently since he's started doing more interviews for s7 it's just. insane buddie quote after insane buddie quote. idk if you've seen the line "i love you to the core" floating around, but that?

that was ryan. about how eddie feels about buck. the full quote is even worse, in my opinion.

"i trust you with my child, and i see how much you put in for my son; this goes beyond friendship and i love you to the core"

he clearly does not care about the fandom's collective well-being. because what the hell. genuinely just. What.

and then most recently in a post-bi buck canon interview he was asked about buck and eddie again and he said (paraphrasing) that eddie knows buck gets in his own head about things, referring to the jealousy during the basketball game and buck's insecurity about eddie and tommy, which resulted in physically hurting eddie, but that it's just a part of he is and it doesn't bother eddie.

"even if you break my ankle or maim me, that's fine. that's who he is, and i love him either way. there is no competition for eddie" (not paraphrasing this is a direct quote because he genuinely just wants all of us dead).

so, y'know. a new ryan interview with the same guy that got us oliver confirming that buck in 2x01 was experiencing things he didn't know how to process for (a very shirtless) eddie. sure. of course.

i'll just slowly vibrate out of my own skin in the corner.

but yeah! tldr; no one gets eddie's love for buck quite like ryan guzman, and he's not shy about expressing that.