#note: this is not...like...a way to love Actually Bad Things

[musingsofheaven]

Omg I’d die if you wrote something on Joel miller x younger bratty reader who he think sis a bad influence on Ellie!! Then they end up fucking really rough and angry but it’s so filthy and delicious?!?! Maybe he’s choking her to keep her quiet but she also wants to ride him and not give in!!! Like I love the switch up

RAISED WRONG.

summary: You’re younger, loud-mouthed, and definitely a bad influence on Ellie. Joel knows it. Won’t stop showing off, getting under his skin, acting like you’ve got nothing to lose. Then he drags you into the dark and finally does what he’s been dying to shuts you up with his hands and fucks you until you so deep.

pairings: joel miller x afab bratty!reader

warnings: 9k words. mature themes. unprotected p in v. age gap. rough sex. choking kink. manhandling. degradation kink. oral fixation. tit play / nipple play. breeding kink. smoking. read & consume responsibly.

note: first time writing joel hehe… i stayed up all night like a little vamp <3 like actually 2am to 8am. i don’t know what happened but it felt important. i’m really sleepy now and kind of stupid about it and now i’m so tired i could cry 🧍‍♀️ reblog or like if u did !! follow + send an ask if u want more (but i write so slow bc i have 1 braincell and it’s scared of me sorryyy) ok love u byeeee uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 🫀 (As of 11 am on my time i noticed the fic was cut (the first half) so i edited it again and pasted it… i am sorry!)

They see you before you see them.

You’re half-crouched in a blown-out gas station, dragging one boot behind you as you sift through a collapsed aisle, rifling through broken shelves like you’re expecting a candy bar to fall into your hand. You’re just looking for something edible. Or shiny. Or stupid enough to add to your collection.

You don’t even clock the footsteps at first-maybe you do, but you’ve gotten good at ignoring shit. A click, a shuffle, the low weight of suspicion pressing into your spine. You only look up when a voice barks behind you, rough and already tired: “Turn around. Real slow.”

You sigh like someone just asked you to do something boring. Then you roll your eyes, glance back just enough for the smirk to rise.

“You lost or somethin’?”

The man doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t say anything either. Salt-and-pepper beard, jaw locked tight like he’s halfway to shooting. The kid next to him squints at you.

“She doesn’t look infected,” the girl says.

You raise your brows at that, scoffing as you turn, hands half-raised.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Where’s your group?” the man asks, voice sharp.

“Not here,” you reply, flat.

“That’s not an answer.”

You sigh again, this time more annoyed. “I came from that way,” you say, nodding vaguely over your shoulder. “It’s gone now. Fireflies, Fedra, raiders-take your fuckin’ pick.”

The woman beside him stiffens. “You see who did it?”

You snort. “Do I look like I stuck around to get names?”

The girl tugs on his arm. “Let her come. If she turns, I’ll stab her first.”

You laugh-sharp, surprised. “You’re fun.” She’s easy. You clock that immediately. Could probably talk her into anything.

“I’m right here,” the man mutters like it’s personal.

You take a slow step forward. He doesn’t flinch, but his jaw ticks hard.

“I’m not sick.” You lift your shirt just enough to show skin-clean, unbitten. “You can check. Or shoot me. Your call, old man.”

He glares.

The girl grins. “She could be useful.”

“She’s gonna be a pain in my ass.”

“Same thing,” you say, already walking like it’s settled.

You fall into step somewhere in the middle-not in front, not behind. Just out of reach. Feels like they’re circling you, but what can you do?

You walk for hours before the man-Joel, you overheard-finally says what’s clearly been stuck in his throat:

“You were with them?”

You glance sideways. “With whom?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

You smirk. “I’m not playing.”

He chews on the silence. Doesn’t push. Not yet.

Ellie-she never stops talking. She keeps throwing you glances, like she’s still figuring out what kind of weird you are. At one point, she asks if you’ve ever stayed in a hotel like the one you just passed.

“Does sleeping under one count?” you ask. “With a hole in the roof?”

She snorts. “You’re weird.”

“You’re loud.”

Joel clears his throat behind you. You grin.

That night, you crash in a half-flooded warehouse. Tess posts up by the doors. Joel plants himself between you and Ellie, arms crossed like a bouncer who never clocks out.

“You don’t trust me,” you say eventually.

“I don’t know you.”

Fair enough. You don’t trust him either. That’s just how it is out here-everyone’s a threat until they’re not.

“You could ask better questions.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You ever kill a man?”

You smile in the dark. “That’s the first thing you wanna know?”

Silence.

You shift slightly, one arm folded behind your head. “Do you think anyone out here hasn’t?”

Another pause. The air gets heavier.

“I didn’t shoot first,” you add. “Not the first time.”

He doesn’t respond. You can feel his eyes though-tracking, imagining, dissecting. The kind of man who chews on suspicion like it feeds him.

“Where’d you learn to shoot?” he asks, finally.

“Boyfriend,” you lie.

“Dead now?”

You grin up at the ceiling. “Aren’t they all?”

He doesn’t say anything else. And you fall asleep with that little echo in your head-you want people to think you’re dangerous. Not a warning. A memory.

The days start blurring after that. Joel watches you like you’re a bomb no one bothered to defuse. Like you might sprout claws or snap someone’s neck just to prove a point. Ellie’s warmer-she shares a busted pack of crackers with you that Joel clearly gave her, even if she pretends it was her idea. You blow a gum bubble in her face and she nearly chokes laughing. Joel glares.

You sneak into a warehouse on a dare and come back with rusted junk and a chain of dog tags you tuck into your shirt like they matter. Ellie finds fuckass nail polish in a med kit and paints your nails at camp. Joel mutters something under his breath about softness and being a bad influence.

“You’re just pissed ‘cause you forgot how to have fun.”

He storms off. You don’t know if it hit a nerve. You hope it did.

The next day, you teach Ellie how to flip her knife. How to spot tripwires. How to curse in a language she doesn’t know. She says it to Joel and he looks like he aged ten years in one second.

That night, you sneak her a cigarette. Okay. Maybe that one’s on you. She gags, calls it gross, then takes another drag just to prove she’s cool. You tell her she’s not. She flips you off.

Then Joel comes stomping back from patrol-and freezes the second he sees smoke curling from her lips. “You wanna tell me what the fuck this is?”

Ellie drops the cigarette like it’s radioactive.

You don’t even blink. Blow the last of the smoke toward the trees. “It was one drag.”

“She’s a teen.”

“And? You think the apocalypse waits for birthdays?”

He steps toward you, slow and sharp. Each step feels like a warning.

“You’re a bad fuckin’ influence.”

You smile. All teeth. Like you’re proud of it.

“Guess it’s a good thing you’re around to balance me out.”

He finds you ten minutes later, footsteps heavy, pissed off. Doesn’t say a word at first-just stares at you, jaw tight, like he still hasn’t decided whether to drag you back inside or leave you there to rot.

“Y’know,” he mutters finally, voice low like gravel, “you act like you wanna get left.”

You don’t look at him. Just tap the ash off your cigarette and watch it drift. “And you act like you still wear a badge.”

He scoffs. Doesn’t move. Just leans against the opposite wall with that arms-crossed stance like he’s about to book you for resisting arrest.

“You keep pushin’ her like that, she’s gonna get cocky. Gonna get hurt.”

“She’s smart,” you snap back, too fast, too sharp. “She’s not gonna break just ‘cause I taught her how to hold a knife.”

“She’s a kid.”

“She’s surviving.”

He glares. “You think you’re funny.”

You drag slowly. Blow smoke right past him into the dark. “No,” you say. “I think you’re scared.”

That shuts him up.

For a second, it’s just the buzz of bugs and the soft hiss of your cigarette burning down. You catch it, though-the way his jaw ticks. Like you hit something that shouldn’t be touched. Like fear’s the only thing he hasn’t figured out how to bury.

“Finish your smoke,” he says finally. “You’re takin’ second watch.”

Then he turns and disappears through the window again like you’re not worth the rest of the argument.

You wait until the cherry burns too close to your fingers. Let it sear, just a little. Something to bite down on.

When you crawl back inside, Ellie’s curled up against Tess, dead asleep. Joel’s posted by the door, arms folded, head tilted like maybe he’s dozing. He’s not.

You sit by the window. Pretend to keep watch. Try not to count the seconds.

Then you get bored.

His bag’s right there, half-zipped, practically asking for it. Sloppy.

You inch closer. Quiet as a shadow. Fingers ghost over the zipper, slow and deliberate. You feel it first-canvas, frayed at the edges. A roll of gauze. A folded-up map. Then something else. Thin. Glossy. Familiar weight. A photo. You start to pull.

And then, too fast, his hand clamps around your wrist like a trap snapping shut.

Your breath catches. Not from the pain, but from the heat of him suddenly there-his body close, his voice like a cut.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You don’t answer. Don’t move.

“Get up.”

Still frozen.

“Now.”

He doesn’t yank you or shout. He doesn’t have to. He knows he can't-not when people are sleeping and he doesn’t want to waste any energy on it. He just moves you, dragging you by the arm through the far doorway into the next room-what used to be an office, maybe, or a supply closet. But it looks fucked up now. The door creaks closed behind you. He presses you back against it, not rough, but firm. Angry. His jaw locked so tight it looks like it hurts. “You goin’ through my shit now?” he mutters. “You that fuckin’ stupid?”

Your lips part, words half-formed, but he leans in close before you can say a thing. It's making you feel claustrophobic, a little, because he's so close you can smell the smoke still clinging to your shirt, the sweat on his collar.

“You don’t touch my things,” he started. “You don’t go near that bag. You don’t-fuckin’... poke around like you're some kind of thief or a fucking spy.”

You stare up at him, eyes sharp despite the dark. You almost melt by his voice but you're more stubborn than him so you reason out. “You were asleep.”

“No, I wasn’t.” He’s still holding your wrist. His thumb presses into the bone just enough to remind you who’s stronger. Like he's trying to make a fucking point.

Too bad you're younger and more smug and have that false confidence in you. You smile, breathless. “Little jumpy for someone with nothing to hide.”

He lets go of you like it burns. Then steps back. Runs a hand through his hair, pacing once like he’s biting back every word he wants to scream. Like he wants to throw shit. When he turns back, the look in his eyes is wildfire barely leashed.

“You try that shit again,” he mutters, voice low and trembling with restraint, “and I swear to god, I’ll leave you behind.”

You just look at him. Head tilted to the side. That same bored, half-lidded stare that’s been pissing him off since the day he met you. And it’s not that you don’t take it seriously. It’s that he can’t tell if you do or not. If you’re bluffing. If you’re always bluffing. You don’t respond like he’s the one wasting time.

Joel steps closer. His boots scrape against broken tile and dirt and something in him snaps. Not loudly-nothing about this is loud. He looks at you in the eye. It’s something small, tight, and final. He's like trying to see something through it. A pressure point breaking. “You’re like a fuckin’ splinter,” he says, slow and seething. “Can’t pull you out. Can’t ignore you. Just-there. Every goddamn second. Buried so deep it’s driving me insane.”

You raise your brows, you hum like you acknowledge it but fear not, you are mocking the shit out of him. Still no smile, not this time. “So yank me out, old man. Or stop whining.”

Swear to god, he almost did something just because of that filthy mouth of yours. There’s something wild in his eyes now, something unspoken and filthy and so close to the edge it hums in the silence. One wrong move and he’s either going to drag you outside and leave you in the dirt or maybe finally pull the trigger.

But he slams his hand against the wall beside your head instead. Just once. Flat-palmed. Not like he's planning to punch it or you. Looks like he's trying to ground himself. It makes the drywall crack and rain dust down your shoulder, but you don’t flinch.

His face is close. His voice is rougher now, lower, cracked and hushed but absolutely fucking furious. “You think you’re tough. Think you’re smart. You don’t even know what you’re playing at.”

You lean in just slightly. Mouth near his ear. You almost want to lick it up just to push him more but you didn't, instead you say, “You’re the one playing.”

His hand closes around your throat. Not hard. Not fully. Not in the way he's going to kill you. Just there-pressing. Cautionary. Not enough to choke, but enough to warn. And fuck if your breath doesn’t hitch anyway. Not out of fear. Something hotter. Lower. He sees it. Feels it. That pulse kicking under his palm.

And you-so smug, so sick in the head, so you-you grin. Just a little. Like a fucking sick fuck. Like you are enjoying it. Just to piss him off more. Or maybe you really like it. Maybe.

Joel swears under his breath. It’s not anger anymore-it’s wrecked. Like he knows better but he’s already lost. “You wanna push me?” he asks. “Wanna see how far?”

You nod once. Calculated but teasing him. “Been trying. Is it working?”

His grip tightens. Your head hits the wall behind you-lightly, but it jolts. You smile again like you are just rage baiting him because you know he will it up. And then his mouth is right there, hovering, like he could bite or kiss or breathe fire. You don’t move. You don’t blink.

And then-nothing. He yanks his hand away. It almost makes you protest and whine. He turns. Paces once, twice, jaw clenched so hard it looks painful. His back’s to you now, like he can’t even look at you without-“Get some rest,” he says through his teeth. “Before I do something fucking stupid.”

You don’t move. Don’t speak. Just stare at the tight set of his shoulders, the twitch in his jaw, the way his fists flex like he’s picturing your throat in his palms. And then softly, you mutter, “You already do.”

That lands. His head tilts-not enough to look at you, just enough to make you feel it. The crack in his control. The split is right down the middle. But he's curious what you’re going to say.

“Taking me with you? Stupid,” you go on, voice lazy, thick with sleep and smoke. “Letting me stay? Again, stupid. Letting me close? Real fuckin’ stupid.” You take a step forward, slow as anything. “But you haven’t stopped me, have you? Haven’t thrown me out. Haven’t told me to go.”

He doesn’t move.

“Almost like you want me here,” you say, mouth twitching. You lick your lips and chuckle.

That’s when he turns. And it’s slow, heavy, deliberate. Like every inch of movement is a loaded threat. His eyes meet yours, hot and blazing. He doesn’t look tired anymore-he looks starving. “I should knock your teeth in,” he says.

You grin. “You’d miss ‘em.”

His hand fists your collar and yanks you forward so hard your back slams the wall, breath catching in your throat. You feel it made you out of character for a second. His thigh wedges between yours, keeping you pinned like he wants to hurt you with it. “Say another word,” he growls, “and I’ll make you swallow it.”

You exhale like a moan, all wide-eyed and wicked. Like the little brat you are, you say, “Please.”

His mouth crashes into yours, rough and clumsy and furious. You kiss him back like you’re trying to win. Hopefully him, but you already know that you already won him. He groans. You drag your nails down his side. You made sure your nails go dug and make him feel those little moon shapes. He hisses and bites your lip. He palms the back of your neck, presses his forehead to yours like he wants to drive you through the wall. You rock your hips against him, just enough to test the waters and he grabs your jaw so hard it aches.

“Keep quiet,” he mutters. “Or I’ll shut you up myself.”

You giggle. “Try me.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t move for a second, either. Just there and holding you. Just stares at you like he’s trying to see past your skin, past the grin curling your mouth, past every smartass thing you’ve said since the moment he met you. And then he does something worse than yelling. Something quieter.

He presses more, but it’s all weight and intention, jaw set tight, hands flexing like he’s deciding whether to grab you or walk away again. His hands are back on your throat before you can blink. Not tight, just like a moment ago. Not yet. Just resting there, rough palm to your pulse point, like he's about to tweak. “Still feel like giggling?” he says low, thumb brushing your jaw.

You grin wider. Because, of course, you do. You just have to keep running your mouth. “Yeah,” you whisper. “You gonna do something about it, or just keep standing there like you’re scared of me?”

He exhales through his nose. Frustrated. Starving. Like he hates that you’re getting to him again. Like he's been trying to control himself since the moment he saw you. Then his grip tightens- just enough to shut you up like he promised, just enough to feel the way your breath skips under his fingers.

His other hand catches your hip, walks you back from the wall close to the door till your ass hits the edge of the half-collapsed table behind you. It creaks under your weight, but he doesn’t let go.

You’re both quiet now. Breathing hard. Heat knotting thick between your bodies like it’s been waiting. Like it's boiling and ready to put in a coffee.

“You always this much of a pain in the ass?” he growls. His hand drops from your throat only to catch the flannel tied loose around your waist, yanking it like it personally offended him. Like he hates this little flannel always covering your waist or arms, depending on your mood. “What is this, huh?” he mutters, twisting the fabric in his fist like it’s just another excuse to keep you close. “Somethin’ to hide behind? Or you just like dressing like trouble?”

You smirk, lips swollen, eyes heavy. “Maybe I just like being grabbed.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts coming out of him. And then he pulls- hard enough to undo the knot and let the shirt fall open. He stared for a moment to see your body. The shape. His hands remain skimming your hips where your shorts ride up high, rough fingers brushing the waistband like he’s debating how far he’s willing to go. Spoiler: too far. Way too fucking far.

“You don’t listen,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, like he’s trying to justify the way his mouth finds your neck again, his hand already sliding low. Jesus, you can see the way he tried to control himself. To don't do shit, but you just keep pushing him.

You gasp, grip curling in the fabric of his shirt as your back hits the table harder this time. “You want me to stop?” you whisper, teeth grazing his ear, giving it a peck.

He chuckles darkly, low and bitter and close. Before his hand slips beneath your shirt slowly, unforgiving. Rough palm skimming over your ribs like he’s checking for something- damage, weakness, regret- but all he finds is heat.

You arch into it, just a little, just enough to be obvious, and the growl he lets out sounds like it got dragged out of his chest by force. So you tilt your head, mouth brushing his jaw. “What’s the matter?” you murmur, syrup-sweet and smug. “Been a long time, old man?” You almost laugh when you say that because you feel like it's accurate.

His hand freezes. Just for a second. Then he laughs- cold and low and not nice at all. “You got a death wish,” he says, dragging his fingers higher, over your bare stomach, up under your bra. Just staying there for a moment to see your reaction. “Or you think this is how you stay useful.”

You hum. “Is it working?”

He answers by biting the side of your neck. Hard. Just shy of bruising. He doesn't even care if it will mark. If people will see. If it will have an implication or a blunt message.

Your jacket’s still on, bunched around your shoulders, half-pinned beneath you. His other hand shoves it up roughly, exposing the top that’s clinging damp to your skin. You see him staring, especially at your chest, and smirking.

You make a soft, teasing noise- half moan, half mockery. “You gonna say thank you after?” you whisper, breath hitching as his thumb grazes your nipple through the fabric which made you hold your breath. “Or you just gonna grunt and roll off?” But he doesn’t answer. He just pushes your thighs apart like he’s done talking. You laugh, breathless. “No, please? No foreplay?”

His hands grip your hips like he’s about to rip you down the middle. “You want me to beg?” As if he's seriously going to consider it, going to beg for you.

You open your mouth- don’t even get the smartass comeback out before he lifts you. Hands under your thighs, dragging you up from the table. You gasp, startled. Arms clinging to his shoulders, legs locking around his waist on instinct. Like it's on the default settings.

And then he drops- not hard, not rough, just fast. He carries you down to the floor like he’s wrestled with the idea for too long and finally gave in. Like you weigh nothing. Like he doesn’t give a shit who hears anymore. Like he doesn't even give a shit if this will bring you to death. But he just settles between your legs, knees pressed into cold tile, your body open for him and still so fucking clothed.

Your jacket’s still on. Shirt too. So he shoves it up- not gently. Rucks the fabric under your arms, hand dragging up your stomach before he slips his fingers under the bra and pops it loose. You both know you can't not really hot naked in this fucked up building. The cups of your bra fall forward. Your nipples catch the cold air, already reacting and sensitive.

He groans. Low. Gutted. Like he’s actually mad it looks that good. Like it's the best feature on you. Like he's so fucking turned on. (He is, you can feel his hard on through his pants because he's so close to you.) Then his mouth is on you- hot and punishing. He sucks hard, open-mouthed and desperate, tongue dragging over one nipple, tongue swirling to it while his thumb teases the other. His stubble burns. You arch into it, gasping, and that only makes him rougher.

His hand moves to your shorts. Not yanked- unfastened. Careful, but still not slow. He undoes the button, lowers the zipper slowly like he wants to hear every inch of it give. Then he grabs both the denim and your panties and pulls, drags them in one go, halfway down your thighs with one bruising tug that knocks the breath out of you.

You feel the air hit between your legs. Feel him pause. He pulls back just long enough to look. Still can't get off from the way your chest look, eyes locked to yours- like he wants to see the second you realize how fucked you are. Then his hand is on his belt. Unbuckling fast. Jeans shoved down just enough to free himself, nothing more. Just his cock standing tall and proud.

He doesn’t even take them off. He just gets his hand under your thigh again, pushes your knee up, and presses into you. Guiding himself where he wants it. It's slow, thick, and unrelenting when he's testing it outside of your hole. He doesn’t kiss you. Doesn’t speak. Just shoves in one sharp, angry thrust that knocks the wind out of you when he finds the right moment to do so.

Your back arches clean off the floor. Almost freezes when you take him whole. Your body is adjusting to him. Your jacket twisted beneath you, thighs spread wide under the weight of him. You cry out before you can stop it, your hand flying up to grab at his shirt, and your hand holds it tightly.

He can't really blame you for reacting that way. He knows people aren't really active in doing this kind of activity considering what's happening around the world. He can even feel it. You're tight. God. “Shh,” he growls, already driving into you again, harder this time. “You wanna wake ‘em up?”

You bite your lip. Shakes your head. Try not to scream. He’s not giving you time, not giving you anything but the full, merciless length of him, over and over like he wants it to hurt. And it does. You feel it everywhere. Your spine, your ribs, and your jaw are from clenching so hard. “F-fuck,” you gasp. “This you bein’ careful? D-damn you.”

He slams deeper. Doesn’t answer. Making you feel more of him.

Your nails scrape down his stomach- just under his shirt, not gently- and he snaps. You just need to feel him. One hand flies to your throat, not choking hard, just enough to still you. Just enough to own you. “You keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth,” he mutters, “I’ll shut it for you.”

You giggle- wrecked and breathless, because even now you want to push him. You don't even know why it made you giggle, maybe it's the fact that he's hot? God. Maybe because you're just sick and enjoying it.

So he does squeeze a little harder. Makes your head spin just enough. Keeps fucking you through it, rough and fast and filthy like he’s mad he likes it this much. Like every thrust is another reason he should’ve left you behind. And god, you love it. You’re still half-dressed, your bra pushed up, shirt bunched at your collarbones, jacket riding your arms. You look like a fucking slut at this moment, the kind the looking for a quick fuck. While he got his jeans shoved down just enough and he doesn’t care about the rest- just fists the fabric of your shirt and keeps going, fucking you into the cold floor like it owes him something.

“You- fuck- you’re not gonna last,” you rasp, choking on your own grin. “Been too long for you, huh?” You tease him. You know that it's been too long. For you too. That's why it's making things better. You're tighter. He's eager. What a good combo. Surely it will be more enjoyable for him.

He growls- low in his chest, animal and mean- and suddenly his mouth is on you again, teeth dragging along the underside of your breast like it pisses him off how good you taste. He doesn’t ease up either- still thrusting, still punishing, grinding into you like it’s the last fuck he’ll ever get and he wants it etched into your bones.

His tongue flicks over your nipple, wet and hot, then he sucks hard- mouth working like he’s angry about it. Like he's getting something that's not there. Like he wants to ruin the way it makes you gasp. One hand braces beside your head again, the other gripping your hip, dragging you back into every brutal thrust. “You’re so fuckin’ stubborn,” he mutters against your skin. “Drives me goddamn insane.”

You laugh, breath hitching when he bites- hard enough to leave the shape of his teeth. “Yeah? Then shoot me, old man.”

He lifts his head, stares down at you, jaw clenched and eyes wild. The sweat on his brow is starting to drip. You’re both half-undressed, panting like animals, his hand tightening on your hip hard enough to bruise. “You think I won’t?” he grits out. “You make me wanna do all kinds of stupid shit.” Then he fucks into you even rougher. Like punishment. Like proof.

You moan- loud this time- and he slaps his palm over your mouth without thinking, silencing you with a glare. “Keep quiet,” he said. But you’re smiling under it. Smiling like you won. And he knows it. So he keeps going. Fucks you through the smile. Through the hand over your mouth. Through the anger in both your bodies like it’s all either of you has left.

Your teeth sink into his palm- hard. Not enough to break skin, but close. He jerks like he’s been shot, hips stuttering just enough to loosen his grip. You take your chance. Wrists snap up. Knees shift. And then with a grunt and a twist of your hips, you push him off, flipping him onto his back so fast it knocks the breath out of both of you. You have the strength to do it after all those survival skills you have.

He grunts as his spine hits the cracked floorboards, hands already catching your hips out of instinct- just as his cock slips free, thick and wet and twitching between you. “Jesus Christ,” he snarls, already half-rising like he’s gonna pin you again.

But you’re faster. You straddle him before he can do shit, jacket still on, tits out, sweat slick between your ribs. You drop your weight down just enough to let your slick cunt press against his length- not taking him in, not yet. Just grinding your slit to him slow, lazy, torturous, your ruined shorts halfway down your thighs. “Aw, what’s wrong?” you murmur, mocking sweetness. “Thought you said I was gonna make you do something stupid.”

He grabs your waist like he’s going to break it. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t buck up. Just breathes- harsh and heavy, nostrils flaring, eyes locked on yours like he’s never hated anyone more in his life. Or wanted them this much. “You like bein’ a brat, huh?” he growls.

You rock your hips once. Just enough to drag your slick over his tip. Enough to feel him twitching. A whimper escapes him before he can swallow it. “Not a brat,” you whisper, grinning now. “Just figured you needed help finishing the job, old man.”

That does it. In one breathless move, he raises your hips before lining himself to you and he yanks you down, sheathing himself deep again- all the way, no warning, no grace. You gasp, head thrown back, spine bowing as he fills you. “Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, hands bruising on your hips. “And ride me.”

You brace your hands on his chest- hot and hard and heaving- and start moving. Slow. Torturous. Rolling your hips like it’s a fucking lap dance, like you’re not even really doing it for him. Just chasing your orgasm, dragging your wet cunt along his cock until he’s twitching inside you again, jaw clenched so tight it could crack.

He doesn’t speak. Not at first. Just watches you with that blown-out, murderous glare like he wants to kill you for making it feel this good. And that’s when you really start to talk. “Y’know,” you murmur, voice syrup-sweet, “I think you were full of shit. Back there. When you said you’d leave me behind.”

His hands tighten. Fingers digging into the soft of your waist like he’s warning you. But you just ride slower, deeper, grinding your clit against the base of him until your lashes flutter. He's so deep, you might think he's kissing your inside with his tip.

“I think you like the trouble,” you whisper, grinning now. “You like the mouth. The attitude. The fact I don’t listen.” You lean in, press your palms to the floor beside his head, and fuck down just right- his head thumps the wall behind him.

“I think you wake up pissed every morning ‘cause I’m still around. But you don’t send me away.” Your breath ghosts over his cheek. “You let me talk to her. You let me sit at your fire. You watch me all the fucking time.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just pants, breath flaring hot against your throat as his hands start to move again- one trailing up your side, the other gripping your ass hard enough to bruise.

“And now you’re letting me fuck you,” you laugh, breath catching as you rock your hips a little faster. “Face it, Joel. You’re gone. You’re fucking- ”

His hand clamps over your mouth again. Not rough this time. Just firm. Possessive. His other hand snakes into your hair, pulling your head back so you have to look him in the eyes. “Don’t say another word,” he growls. “Or I swear- ”

Your teeth graze his palm again. Not biting this time- just testing. You're licking it like you're making out with him while you're grinding and looking at his eyes.

He shudders. Then thrusts up into you hard enough to split you open again, growling through his teeth like he hates you for every word you’ve ever said.

Your tongue darts out, slow, shameless, as you lick a stripe across the center of his palm.

His whole body jerks. So you do it again. Sloppier this time, your eyes locked on his like you know exactly what you’re doing. You press few pecks before licking again. Like you want to see how much filth he can take before it breaks him. You drag your tongue up to the base of his fingers, then you move your hand from his palm and close your lips around two of them and suck. Like you're showing him how you'll suck him off. You licks the tip of his fingers before circling your tongue on it.

He groans- low and guttural, almost like pain- and drives up into you harder, faster, both hands flying to your hips now like he’s done letting you have any control at all.

“Jesus- fuckin’- Christ,” he grits, his thrusts turning brutal. “You’re- fuckin’- insane.”

You laugh, or try to, but it gets knocked right out of you with the next thrust. He’s fucking you now like it’s punishment, like it’s the only way to shut you up, to get even for every time you ran your mouth or disobeyed or looked him in the eye like he wasn’t the one holding the goddamn gun.

“Can’t stand you,” he snarls, but it’s hoarse, ruined. His eyes flick to your tits bouncing with every snap of his hips, to your mouth slick with spit and spitfire, to the soft bite-marks he left on your throat. “Goddamn- you feel like this?”

You moan into his shoulder, teeth sinking into the fabric of his shirt, barely able to breathe with the way he’s slamming up into you now, fucking through the grind of your hips until all you can do is take it. And you do. You take it like a fucking champ.

He palms your ass, pulls you down as he thrusts up, deeper than before, cruel and so fucking good it aches. “You think you can mouth off like that and still get away with it?” he growls into your neck. “Still ride me like you own it?”

Your voice is a whimper now, breaking under the rhythm. “M-maybe.” You whimpers and blush like his words make you feel shy.

“Yeah?” he spits, grabbing your throat- not choking, just holding. Just enough to make your eyes widen. “Then let’s see how long you last.” His hips don’t stop- not even for a second. He keeps fucking up into you from below, relentless, brutal, like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out. Maybe you like it. Maybe you feel something you shouldn't. Belonging. Claim. Butterflies. But his hand- his other hand- slides between your bodies, palm dragging up your belly until it finds your chest.

You gasp.

He grins. Mean. Doesn’t break pace. Just squeezes- rough, greedy- thumb swiping over your nipple like he wants to feel how raw it gets. You’re still in your shirt, still in your bra, both shoved up and out of the way, and he palms your tit like it’s something he earned. Like he’s entitled to it now. “Fuckin’ knew you’d feel good,” he mutters, voice dark and ragged. “Knew you’d break like this.”

You shudder, hips twitching from the overstimulation, but he grabs you- keeps you flush against his chest, keeps you there. He rolls your nipple between his fingers just as he thrusts up again, and the sound you make is more than a moan- it’s wrecked, wrecking, the kind of noise that feels dangerous to let slip. He likes that.

You can feel it in the way his mouth drags hot and heavy over your jaw, his teeth grazing your skin like he might bite again if you don’t behave. But he doesn’t stop touching you, doesn’t stop fucking into you, chest to chest like he wants to melt you down into him. You feel it first in his hands- tightening on your hips like he’s about to do something reckless. And he does.

He stops. Just for a second. Just long enough to let you feel it- his cock twitching inside you, your muscles clenching down in anticipation. He lets you sit there, suspended in heat and want, then thrusts up once- deep and sharp. Another, harder. And one more, just to watch your mouth fall open, your body jolt helplessly against him. “You think you’re in charge?” he breathes, smirking now. “Cute.”

And then he moves. Fast, brutal, smooth- his grip shifts, his weight rolls, and suddenly you’re on your back. Your shoulders hit the floor, thighs still wrapped around him, and he doesn’t waste a second. Slides right back into you, rough and steady, fucking you like he’s reclaiming something that was never yours to take. “Thought you had me, didn’t you?” he mutters, panting against your throat. “Fuckin’ brat.”

And then he’s pressing into you, hand splayed on your stomach like he wants to feel how deep he is. On the other hand, curling under your knee, pushing it higher to fold you open for him- give him more room to ruin you with every relentless, punishing thrust. He’s pounding into you now, no rhythm- just force. Like he’s trying to fuck the attitude out of you, like it’s the only language he knows. Like every thrust is another shut the fuck up he didn’t say out loud.

You whimper. Moan. Claw at his back like you’re trying to hold yourself together. And still- your mouth runs. “F-fuck- this is why you’re so uptight?” you gasp, voice cracking as he grinds in deeper, your words hitching on every thrust. “Could’ve just- ngh- jerked off like a normal person, Joel- ”

He grabs your thigh and slams into you hard enough to knock the breath out of you. “That's what you want?” he snarls, voice hot and fraying against your cheek. “Want me to shut you up with something down your throat next time?”

You shudder. Cry out. Legs jerking around his waist, holding him in without thinking. But you’re still grinning. Lip split. Teeth glinting. All nerve. “Y-you say that like- fuck- like there’s gonna be a next time.” That gets him. He groans, low and guttural, almost helpless, because you’re squeezing around him now- tight and soaked and fucking taunting him.

You’re breathless. Back arching off the floor. Body bouncing with every thrust- and still, somehow, your mouth won’t quit. “Y-you like this, huh?” you pant, half-laughing, half-moaning. “All that talk and you still can’t stop fucking me- ” Joel growls- deep and vicious- and his hand flies to your throat. Not choking. Just holding, just enough to pin you there, make you look at him.

“You don’t know when to stop,” he mutters, breath ragged. “Goddamn mouth on you…”

His hips grind in deeper, harder, meaner because he's most likely talking about himself when he said you don't know how fo stop. His other hand cups your chest, thumb dragging roughly over your nipple, and you gasp, arching up into it like you can’t help it.

But then you laugh again- wrecked and gleeful and cruel. “This is why you’re mad all the time?” you whisper. “Cause no one lets you fuck the fight outta them?”

That nearly breaks him. His jaw clenches. His thrusts stutter- hips grinding deep, punishing. And when you tilt your chin up like a dare, voice trembling but still sharp, he snaps. “God, you’re a fucking brat,” he growls.

Then he grabs your tits- both, rough and greedy, thumbs flicking over your nipples until your back bows clean off the floor. He pinches- hard- and watches your mouth drop open on a sound you try to swallow. “Uh-uh,” he mutters, dragging one palm up to your throat again, not squeezing, just holding- steady pressure that makes everything tighter, makes you throb. “No shutting up now. You wanted to talk? Talk.”

You whimper. One of those high, broken ones you didn’t mean to let out. He rolls your nipple between two fingers and fucks up into you again- slow this time, deep, cock dragging right over that spot that makes your thighs twitch. You gasp like it’s your first breath in minutes. “Thought so,” he says, low and mean and fucked-out. “All that mouth and now you can’t even finish a sentence.”

You’re blinking up at him, wrecked and twitching, your hands scrabbling uselessly at his wrists, not to stop him- just to touch something. His hands are everywhere- tits, throat, waist, like he can’t pick which part of you he needs to ruin more.

He leans in. Breath hot against your ear. “Look at you,” he mutters. “Fucked dumb already and I’m not even close.”

Then he thrusts, hard- one palm sliding back down to your chest, thumb circling one swollen nipple again just to watch your face twist. You bite your lip. You try so hard to be quiet. But it slips out anyway. The broken, breathy, please- like your body said it before your brain could.

And Joel just grins. Dark and awful and proud. You don’t even realize you’re shaking until his thumb brushes over your nipple again- slow this time, like he’s testing you, watching the way your hips buck just from that. “Sensitive, huh?” he mutters, dragging the pad of his finger over it again. “Figures. Got a mouth like yours, gotta be soft somewhere.”

Your lip trembles. You shake your head, try to glare- but it’s ruined by the way your breath hitches when he pinches.

He watches your reaction, eyes flicking down to your chest like he can’t help it, like it’s the only thing in the room worth looking at. His cock still deep inside you, barely moving, like he’s savoring the way you pulse around him every time he tweaks one of those pretty nipples.

“God, look at ‘em,” he breathes, thumb dragging across again. “Bouncing every time I move. Can’t even touch you without you fuckin’ whimpering.” You grit your teeth. Bite your lip. Anything not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. So he pulls back. Slams in again. You sob. Just a little. “Yeah,” he grits. “Thought so. Not so smart now, huh?” He leans down- licks a stripe up your chest, then bites one nipple, hard enough to make you cry out, back arching straight into his mouth.

Your hands fly to his hair- grabbing, tugging, anything to ground yourself.

Your legs are trembling now, wrapped tight around his hips, your body working against you. You’re close. You can feel it.

And he knows. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, mouth still wet against your skin. “These tits… Christ. Could spend all night right here- just keep you pinned and pretty like this.”

You moan. Loud. Desperate. “Joel- ”

His mouth is still on you- sloppy, greedy, obsessed. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your tits with his tongue, dragging it in circles around your nipple until you’re twitching beneath him. His teeth graze again. Bite. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel it. “Fuck,” he mutters, low and guttural, more to himself than you. “Soft little thing. Gonna ruin me.”

You whimper when he licks a stripe back up your breast, mouth settling over your nipple again like he can’t stop. His hand squeezes the other one, big palm rough over your skin, like he wants to know how heavy it feels, how full. “Gonna get even bigger, ain’t they?” he grits, voice hot against your chest. “One day. Round and heavy. Shit- dripping.”

Your whole body jolts. “W-what?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps sucking, deeper this time- harder- like he’s trying to coax something from you that’s not even there. Like it’s the end of the world and you’re his only vice left. “Bet you’d be so fuckin’ full,” he breathes, half-mad. “God, just the thought- ”

You whine. Head lolling back. Your thighs twitch, clenching around him without meaning to. “You like that?” he growls, rolling your nipple between two fingers while his cock grinds in deep. “Bet you’d keep me fed, huh? Tits all swollen, dripping warm down my fuckin’ throat…”

Your stomach flips. Heat rolls through your gut like molten honey. “Joel- shit- ”

“Yeah,” he rasps, finally dragging his mouth off your chest just to look at you- really look. “Wanna see you like that. All used up. Full for me. My girl.” You shiver. Clench down on him so tight his jaw locks.

And then he’s slamming back into you like he wants to fuck that whole idea into existence. Anchoring himself, as if he lets go, you’ll disappear. And he can’t have that. Not now. Not when you’re beneath him like this, fucked open and whimpering, tits flushed from his mouth, body made to take him. “Shit- gonna fill you up,” he rasps, voice shredded with heat. “Fuckin’- gonna take it, huh? Gonna keep it?”

You choke on your moan. He doesn’t stop moving. Doesn’t even give you time to think. Just keeps rutting into you, filthy and deep, his hips snapping like it’s instinct.

“You don’t even fuckin’ know,” he mutters- half-laugh, half-growl- as he presses you down harder into the floor. “You mouth off and push and act like you don’t need anyone, but this-this is what you’re made for.”

You whimper- legs twitching, heels digging into his back. He grabs your thigh again, pins it open, and spreads you wider.

“Bet you’d be perfect with my kid in you,” he grits. “Fuckin’ perfect. Swollen and sore and full- mine.” Your mouth falls open. No sound comes out just air, broken and helpless, because you feel it now. His weight of him. The size. The claim.

“You feel that?” he pants, grinding in deep, hips flush with yours. “That’s what you get for runnin’ your mouth. You want me this bad? You take it. You fuckin’ take all of it.”

You’re close. So close it aches. But he doesn’t let you tip over. Not yet.

His mouth returns to your chest, tongue dragging across your nipple like he owns it. He groans like a man half-feral. “Gonna watch ‘em get big. Heavy. Gonna fuck you slow when you’re full. Keep you wet all the time so it’s easy to slip in again.”

“Joel- p-please- ”

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is a growl, all pride and possession. “Gonna breed you right. Gonna fill you ‘til it sticks.” And then he fucks up hard, deep enough to bruise, and you break- eyes rolling back, body pulsing around him like your cunt knows exactly what he’s giving it.

He grits out a breath, baring his teeth like he’s proud of what he’s done to you. Like this is what he’s been waiting for. You twitch under him, clinging, whining, and he just smirks. “Yeah,” he mutters against your jaw, voice shredded and dark, “this is how you like it, huh? Can’t even fuck you unless everyone’s asleep- unless it’s fuckin’ nighttime and no one’s watching.”

You whimper, half-gone, still gasping as he grinds in slow, brutal, mean. He chuckles- mean. “Guess that’s when you’re the most behaved, huh? Quiet and needy. All that mouth, but only when the sun’s out.”

You bite your lip. He presses deeper. “Gonna start fuckin’ you every night. Every fuckin’ night I get to watch. When they’re sleepin’. When you’re already soft and tired and so fuckin’ wet for me you can’t talk back.” He drags his palm down your stomach- grips your thigh again, fingers bruising. “Bet you’ll start begging for it. Pretend like you hate it, but you’ll be waiting. Stayin’ up late just to get ruined.”

You’re shaking. Boneless. Fucked half-dumb. But your voice still works- barely. “Y-you always this chatty… after rawdogging someone into the floor?”

Joel just growls- laughs sharp through his teeth- and fucks into you again like punishment. He fucks into you harder- mean now, chest heaving, voice cracked open with heat. “Fuckin’ made for this,” he hisses. “Smart mouth, dumb fuckin’ body.”

You try to answer but can’t- you’re too full, too fucked out, just clinging to his shoulders while your back scrapes against the dirty floor. And he loves that. Loves that you’re quiet now. “So much attitude,” he pants, thrusts getting shorter, sharper, messier. “And for what? Huh? You talk all that shit, and here you are- takin’ me so deep I could fuckin’ mark your stomach.”

He palms it, broad hand splayed low over your belly, like he’s imagining it- imagining leaving something in you. “Bet you’d like that. Keepin’ it in all night. Walkin’ around full of it like it means somethin’.” You whimper. He grunts. “I’ll do it,” he breathes. “Next fuckin’ time. Not pullin’ out. Gonna leave it in make you sleep with it.”

Your body jerks under his, legs locking around his hips, and that does it- he snarls, pulls out fast, and fists himself hard, just once, twice, until he’s spilling across your stomach in hot, messy streaks.

He pants above you, jaw clenched, chest rising like he could still keep going if he wanted to. His cum drips down your skin, sticky and hot, glinting in the low light. And still- still- his voice doesn’t soften. “Next time,” he mutters darkly, thumb dragging through the mess on your belly, smearing it slowly. “You’re gonna keep it.”

You’re still panting when he touches your stomach- fingers dragging through the mess he left there like it means something. Like it should’ve gone deeper. He stares at it for a beat, jaw tight. Then wraps his hand around his cock again, still half-hard and twitching, and starts stroking- slow, rough pulls, using his own cum as slick.

You can feel him watching you. Watching the way you’re still shaking, legs parted, flushed and ruined, and not even trying to hide how much you want more. “Would’ve bred you if I fuckin’ could,” he mutters, voice low and bitter. “Would’ve filled you up for real.”

He sounds angry about it. Not at you- at himself. Like it kills him that he can’t. That's all he can do is make it look like it. And then he’s pushing back in. One filthy, forceful thrust- shoving all that comes back inside you like he’s trying to fake what he can’t have. Like he needs it to look real. Feel real.

You gasp, eyes going wide, body jolting under him. He groans into your neck, hips grinding with each deep, punishing thrust. “You feel that?” he breathes. “Messy and full- like you should’ve been. Like I should’ve done it.”

You whimper. Moan. Your whole body pulses like it believes him. But he just fucks you through it- slower now, meaner, desperate in a different way. Like he’s chasing the illusion of something permanent. Something that might’ve belonged to him, in another life.

You’re both still catching your breath. His cock’s still half-hard inside you, your thighs still trembling, your shirt pushed up and bra hanging off one arm like a war trophy. There’s sweat on your stomach, spit on your tits, and his come smeared in a messy stripe just under your navel like a goddamn signature.

And yet somehow- your brain resurfaces just enough to deliver one extremely cursed, extremely rational thought. “…We should probably find condoms,” you mumble.

Joel lifts his head- barely. Just enough to narrow his eyes at you like you’re the crazy one in this scenario, not the man who just rage-fucked you raw in a building full of sleeping people.

“I mean it,” you say, breath hitching when he shifts slightly, cock twitching inside you. “Like- I don’t think I’m trying to be someone’s mom in the apocalypse.”

He blinks at you. Still panting. Still buried inside. You keep going, because you’re annoying. Because you’re you.

“Couldn’t even get prenatal vitamins. Just a can of expired shits.”

“I’m serious,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through the come on your belly like you’re testing the viscosity of regret. “Next run- we’re raiding the pharmacy.”

Joel drags a hand down his face, mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

You tilt your head. “What? You don’t wanna be a daddy again?”

His only response is a grunt- and then he pulls out with a groan, wiping his hand roughly down your stomach like he’s trying to erase the evidence, except all it does is smear it worse. You sigh.

You both lie there for a second. Staring at the ceiling. Panting. Degrading in silence.

Then, finally, Joel mutters: “…We’ll look for condoms.”

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[interlink-au]

Y'all, I want you to know that this blog focuses on canon for the purpose of combatting the Mandela Effect or making people feel forced to limit headcanons to what fanon dictates. We can have headcanons outside of the generally accepted fanon. We can disagree about headcanons and sometimes even still enjoy the ones we disagree with.

I'll admit that sometimes (most of the time) I speak very dogmatically, whether I mean it that way or not. It's a trait I've been working on taming for years. Not an excuse, but an explanation for if I ever come off strangely. Please call me out on it so I can do better. Just try not to be mean about it, please?

And I'm not a stickler about canon. I take note of when canon contradicts a headcanon, but that doesn't discredit the headcanon, not at all. I've got headcanons that go against canon, too. In fact, because I'm limiting my story to canon-compliancy, I've had to drop some of those beloved headcanons of mine from the story. I may do AUs of my AU specifically for those dropped ideas. Because they're fun! Completely non-canon headcanons are fun.

And I've done a lot of research, but sometimes I'm wrong about canon or I've missed an important perspective. Please share your thoughts with me! Be warned that I might ask if you have a source, but don't let that scare you off, because even a vague "I think I remember..." can send me off on a research train with some interesting results. I love that stuff.

I want to get into deep discussions, even strongly opinionated ones, as long as it's respectful and the goal is to share information without the intention of changing opinions. "Agree to disagree" doesn't have to be a bad thing. But again, if I ever come off as pushy, please let me know. The 'tism makes it difficult to take a hint, so I appreciate directness. If someone questions me about my decisions, I might come across as defensive, but I'm just stating my own reasoning without the intention of slamming someone's headcanon.

"If you think so, then why are you so insistent about using canon for the basis of your story?" you may ask. It's because a lot of AUs start with the goal to show off the author/artist's headcanons, so I thought I'd go against the grain and see what would happen if I stuck with canon. The answer is, you can do a lot! Since fanon and the Mandela Effect are so prevalent, sometimes people miss some fun canon stuff they can make new headcanons about. Because I think headcanons are more fun when there is a big variety of them. And I think more information about the source subject could have the potential of spawning a bigger variety of headcanons.

Not to say there's anything wrong with the popular ones! I like and read them too! I just hope others get an opportunity to make a choice to go their own way if they want to.

I feel like knowledge is power in this instance. Knowledge means that if someone argues that your idea is silly, you have examples to back it up. Knowledge is the power to say, I know it's this way but I am choosing to specifically go against that idea. That's powerful!

All that is to say, I'm thinking of starting a weekly headcanon thing where I choose headcanons I like and talk about why I like it and how it goes with or against canon. I think it would be a fun way to celebrate headcanons while still acknowledging canon and trying to clear up possible misinformation. I don't know if it will actually be a weekly thing or if it's just something I'll do at random, but yeah. Look forward to my weekly headcanon I guess.

“the fandom has decided - ” “everyone agrees that - ” “we all know that this is the only right way to - ”

[lilhughesy]

°•*⁀➷ YOU & LUKE — umich hockey au thoughts

what your “friendship” with luke looks like ->

what your “friendship” with luke is like ->

- you and luke met somewhere during frosh week of both of yours freshman year

- somewhere between the packed schedule of organized activities and the never ending parties

- you noticed him immediately with his height and his broad muscular shoulders

- and you caught his eye with how cute you looked

- definitely took ethan to push luke to talk to you

“hey! i don’t think we’ve met! i’m ethan and this is my friend luke!”

- and the rest of that night is history

- luke definitely walked you home after that party, even though he was a bit drunk but still capable of knowing his surroundings

- since then, luke always walked you home after a night out

- you and luke definitely get food after leaving a party or the bar

- he’s a bit shy but always seemed more relaxed when he was around you

- you would hang out in the guys’ dorms when they weren’t at practice

- you and luke would sit together on one of the beds but slowly as you two got more comfortable with each other, get closer in proximity. it was normal to see you laying your head or your legs on his lap with his hands playing with your hair or the other way around where luke was resting his head on your thighs while you played with his curls

- the guys always tease you two

“so did luke grow a pair yet?”

“shut the fuck up dude, we’re literally just friends”

“yeah… that’s what they alllll say”

“mark!!”

“sorry babe”

“don’t call her that”

- you would go to practices and games pretty often

- he lost his mind when he saw you wearing a blank umich jersey for the first time because all he could think about was how good you’d look wearing the same jersey but with his last name and number on the back

- during practices, you would sit near the top of the bleachers with your designated arena blanket and your laptop to do homework

- but at games, you sit near the glass with your friends to cheer on the boys

- you love the way his face literally lights up when he sees you waiting for him after the game, like his eyes sparkle and his little crooked smile forms

- and you will always grab food with them post-game no matter the outcome

- if the team loses, luke tends to ask you to come over to his place or ask if he could come over so you two can hang out (it takes his mind off of the game’s outcome and who are you to say no)

- but if the team wins, they’re most definitely going to throw a party

- luke will always come and find you when he knows you’re coming to the party, always tells you to let him know when you’re leaving or if you’re uncomfortable

- he will literally tell everyone to leave the party if anything happens to you

- luke doesn’t text too much but will blow up your phone if he thinks you’ve slept in

notifications: lukey pookie (23 unread messages)

“are you awake?”

“we have class in half an hour”

“i need you to take notes”

“that sounds bad but yk what i mean since you do a better job than me”

“and i can actually read your handwriting”

“please wake up soon 🙏 i hate when you’re grouchy because you were in a rush”

“dukers says he’s gonna burn your jellycat if you don’t wake up”

“and i really don’t want our place to burn down so pls hurry”

- you tease him occasionally on how hot his brothers are because his reactions are always so funny

- (plus quinn and jack are really hot)

- he always gets to lectures before you do and he saves you a seat

- and you bring him a refresher drink if you stop by a shop on the way (he doesn’t like coffee)

- luke likes to tease you about how short you are compared to him

- he would purposely put things at higher places so you struggle to reach for them

- ethan lovesssss teasing you on your mini crush on luke after you accidentally let it slip one time at a party

- ethan then goes to tell rutger, who most definitely will not let it go

- all the guys know about luke’s feelings for you, but because of bro code, they won’t say a thing

- luke will pick up your call on the first ring if he’s not at hockey

- and if you need a ride, he will always come to pick you up (because he loves when you’re his passenger princess)

- he will also most definitely boot out whoever is sitting in the passenger seat before you get into the car

“dude i’m serious, get out of the seat or you’re not getting the ride”

“yes, i mean that i will make you walk the rest of the way”

- is so so incredibly protective of you

- like he might be quiet, but he is scary if he needs to be

- will definitely fight someone for you

- luke likes sharing history facts at random times which everyone starts to groan when he does, but she shushes the other boys and lets luke continue to talk about it since she just loves the way his eyes shine when he talks about stuff he’s interested in

- even though she probably won’t retain any of the information because she’s terrible with history

- luke will skip practice to get you medication and food if you’re not feeling well

- doesn’t care about the punishment for skipping, he’s only worried about you

- will kiss your shoulder and your hair if you’re sick and throwing up in the toilet

- this boy is so sweet because he hates vomit but will push down his fear since he’s so concerned about you

- he would help you tie your hair or hold your hair back and rub gentle circles on your back with his hand, and will help you drink water and gatorade

- you would ask him to stay the night because you don’t want to be alone

- and he would absolutely say yes

[paxaz535]

SLOW SIMMER - THREE

dallas!paige x privatechef!azzi

note: i love tlou2 sm like i can’t stop playing lol

anyways here you go!

———

paige was still getting used to azzi living in her home. it wasn’t the worst thing ever—obviously, because paige had been tearing up every meal since azzi got there—but it still felt… different having someone else in her space. not a bad different. just… different.

azzi wasn’t loud. something paige would forever be grateful for. the chef mostly kept to herself unless she wanted to socialize, and paige respected that.

which is exactly why, when dijonai, maddy, lyss, and arike said they wanted to meet “the chef,” paige hesitated. her teammates weren’t exactly… subtle. she didn’t want to overwhelm azzi or scare her off before she really got comfortable.

so yeah, she was definitely gonna talk to azzi about it first.

-

azzi was currently getting ready to go to the store, wanting to restock before anything got too empty. she had on something simple—black baggy jeans with a white top. the weather was nice today.

her goddess braids were pulled back into a low ponytail, a few soft curls framing her face. she looked cute.

she slipped on her crocs, grabbed her keys, and made her way to the door. when she stepped out, she saw paige on the couch, eyes glued to the tv—probably watching the white lotus again.

paige turned her head at the sound of azzi’s footsteps and smiled softly when she saw her. “heading to the store?”

azzi gave a nod. “yeah, gonna restock early. you doing anything later?”

paige shook her head. they had an early practice this morning, so the rest of her day was wide open. “nah, i’m free.”

“i don’t know how long i’ll be, but i’ll text you when i’m on my way back,” azzi said, letting out a small laugh as she scratched at her neck. “might need help though.”

paige sat up a little straighter. “no, yeah—of course. just let me know when.”

azzi nodded once more, hand on the doorknob. “see you later.”

“bye, fudd,” paige said, her voice soft.

the door clicked shut behind her.

paige leaned her head back against the couch, letting out a soft breath through her nose. the apartment was quiet again, but not in a bad way. she actually liked the new routine—waking up to the smell of something good in the kitchen, running into azzi in passing, sharing random little conversations between meals and naps.

it was weird. but it was also kinda… nice.

meanwhile, azzi made her way through the store with practiced ease. she was focused, going aisle by aisle, checking her notes app and glancing at prices. she wasn’t just cooking for herself anymore—this was paige bueckers, and azzi wasn’t about to mess anything up.

as she turned into the produce section, reaching for a bunch of cilantro, she heard a small gasp behind her.

“oh my god. allie.”

“no way. is that—?”

azzi turned slightly, already catching the familiar glimmer of recognition in both of their eyes.

“you’re azzi fudd, right?” one of the girls asked, her voice a little too loud for how quiet the store was. azzi smiled softly, nodding.

“yeah, that’s me.”

“we love your cooking account. like, seriously. that chicken parmesan you posted a while back? we tried to make it and failed miserably,” the other girl—caroline—gushed. allie just nodded beside her, clearly starstruck.

azzi laughed, “thank you, that’s sweet. and hey, cooking’s like hooping. takes practice.”

the two fans exchanged glances. “can we get a picture?”azzi didn’t like saying no to people who showed her support so she immediately nodded her head. “Of course, come on,”

they took the pictures and looked at the girl. “i’m guessing we’re gonna be seeing you a lot more?” the brunette asked. azzi chuckled before nodding her head. “yeah, maybe.”

they offered to bag her groceries when she checked out, which made her chuckle. “you don’t have to do that,” she said, but they insisted.

“it was a pleasure to meet you, azzi. we’ll see you soon?” they asked hopefully. azzi laughed softly before turning to her car. “see you ladies soon!” she called over her shoulder.

she could hear them giggling when she reached her car, making her heart warm.

by the time she made it, her phone buzzed.

paige

you good?

azzi smiled, brushing a curl from her forehead.

azzi

yeah, almost done

headed back now

paige

cool

i’m up if you need help

azzi stared at the screen for a second longer, heart doing a little flip. she didn’t expect her to check in like that, but it felt… sweet.

azzi

i’ll be home in 10

have those arms ready

paige

lol bet

azzi slid into the driver’s seat, still feeling the leftover warmth from the fan interaction. she pulled out of the parking lot and glanced up at the sky, soft blue and cloudless.

she still couldn’t believe it sometimes.

living in paige bueckers’ house.

cooking for her.

getting texted by her.

yeah… she really was starting to like it here.

-

azzi pulled into the driveway with the music low, humming along to the track playing through the speakers. the bags in her trunk weren’t too heavy, but she still appreciated the idea of help—especially when it came from someone who actually offered, not out of obligation.

as she opened the front door with her hip, balancing one bag on her forearm and another in her hand, she was met with the familiar smell of a candle paige must’ve lit. sandalwood and something warm.

“i’m back,” she called out, her voice carrying through the quiet apartment.

paige emerged from around the corner, hair pulled up in a bun now, wearing a black compression shirt and shorts. her feet were bare with slides and her energy was relaxed.

“perfect timing.” she walked over and immediately took the heavier bags from azzi’s arm, brushing past her gently. “you didn’t even text me,” she added, glancing over her shoulder.

“i was about to,” azzi smirked. “but then i figured i’d just surprise you.”

“you really out here trusting me to not be napping.”

“yeah well… if you were, i would’ve woke you up,” she said with a playful shrug.

they moved together in quiet rhythm, unloading bags and putting things away. azzi pointed out a couple new ingredients she picked up to experiment with, paige nodded along, eyes half-focused but still listening.

azzi sighed, the two of them finished stocking up the kitchen. “okay, go do something while i figure out what we’re gonna eat.” she told the woman.

paige just smiled before heading towards her room. “what would i do without you, fudd?”

“you’d probably still be eating take out.”

paige laughed.

-

after a couple hours, she found azzi in the kitchen, barefoot, hair pulled back, quietly focused on chopping up something that smelled incredible. garlic, maybe butter, a little spice—paige wasn’t sure, but it was working. her mouth watered on instinct.

“hey,” paige said casually as she leaned against the counter.

azzi looked up, giving her a soft smile. “hey.”

paige rubbed the back of her neck, suddenly realizing this was the first time she was actually nervous to talk to someone in her own house. “so… my teammates kind of want to meet you.”

azzi paused her chopping. “oh?”

“yeah,” paige exhaled, watching her reaction. “they’ve been bugging me since the first day i mentioned you were a chef. they’re curious.”

azzi tilted her head, lips twitching with a barely-there grin. “and by curious you mean hungry.”

“basically.” paige laughed. “but also nosy. they’ll want to ask a million questions. get all up in your space. it’s not… quiet.”

azzi leaned back on her heels, wiping her hands on a towel. “you worried i’ll run?”

paige shrugged, smirking a little. “i’m not saying i wouldn’t be sad if you did.”

azzi chuckled. “i’m not going anywhere, bueckers.”

paige tried not to look too pleased at that. “so… is it cool if they come over tomorrow night?”

“sure,” azzi said with a nod, turning back to the cutting board. “but if they’re gonna be that loud, they better eat every last bite.”

paige grinned. “deal.”

paige made her way to her room. she immediately texted the group chat back.

fly 🪽 fly

dijonai

so… what’d she say?

paige

she said she’d love to meet y’all.

i’m begging—please don’t scare her away.

maddy

tell that to nai and lyss.

you know they be doing too much sometimes.

lyss

oh please.

i’m a really chill person.

paige

try again.

lyss

whatever.

arike

i know what and what not to do when i’m first meeting someone.

trust me.

paige

whatever y’all say.

just be here

and please dress nice

arike

damn p.

safe to say you want us to impress your girl.

paige

she’s not my girl.

dijonai

not yet, that is.

it’s okay, you’ll realize it soon.

paige

bro.

i promise i’ll tell her y’all bailed.

maddy

ALRIGHT chill 💀

paige was chuckling at her phone, fingers still scrolling through the chaos in the groupchat. she sometimes hated her teammates—but mostly, she loved them. they were ridiculous, sure, but they were hers.

she reread arike’s message about “impressing her girl” and rolled her eyes, even though her lips tugged into a smile. azzi wasn’t her girl. not in the way they were all hinting at. and yet… there was something there, something warm and quiet that settled in her chest when she thought about her.

the way azzi hummed while she cooked. how she always asked if paige had eaten before thinking of herself. how she smelled like she belonged—like vanilla and coconut and the soft comfort of home.

paige set her phone down, leaning back into the couch with a soft sigh. her team was relentless. but maybe, just maybe, they weren’t that far off.

“paige! food’s ready!”

the call pulled her from her thoughts like a tether. she sat up quickly, glancing once at her phone before tossing it onto the cushion beside her. as much as her team liked to tease, they weren’t wrong about one thing—azzi’s food was something to look forward to. every time.

she stood, stretching briefly before heading toward the kitchen. the closer she got, the stronger the scent hit her—something savory, warm, and laced with herbs she couldn’t name but already craved.

“what’d you make this time?” she asked as she rounded the corner.

azzi was standing by the stove, apron tied around her waist, a soft smile on her face. “you’ll see. just sit down.”

paige raised a brow. “you hiding it?”

“i’m presenting it.” azzi corrected with a playful roll of her eyes. “you ever let a chef have their moment?”

paige held up her hands in surrender, grinning. “alright, alright. i’ll wait.”

but not without staring just a second too long. not at the plate—at her.

azzi felt it too—paige’s stare lingered a beat longer than usual, and while she didn’t look up right away, she definitely noticed. her fingers were careful as she plated the food, placing everything just how she liked it. she worked in silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward. it felt full. warm.

“okay,” she finally said, sliding the plate in front of paige. “chicken shawarma with lemon rice, garlic roasted carrots, and a little cucumber-yogurt salad on the side. fresh naan too, because… why not?”

paige blinked down at the plate. “azzi. what the hell.”

“what?” azzi bit her bottom lip, holding back a smile. “too much?”

“no,” paige muttered, picking up her fork. “you’re trying to ruin takeout for me forever, huh?”

azzi finally let the smile come through. “that’s kind of the job.”

they both laughed softly, and paige took her first bite. her eyes closed dramatically.

“i’m serious,” she said after a pause. “you’re dangerous.”

azzi shrugged, wiping her hands on her apron. “you already knew that.”

paige opened one eye, smirking. “no, i didn’t. but i’m learning.”

paige set her fork down for a second, resting her elbow on the counter and letting her chin fall into her hand. “and i’m guessing there’s a lot more i don’t know yet.”

azzi leaned back slightly, arms folding as she smiled—this slow, subtle thing that made paige’s chest feel warm. “probably,” she said. “but i’m not that complicated.”

“you sure about that?”

azzi tilted her head, “are you?”

paige let out a soft laugh, a short exhale through her nose. “no,” she admitted. “not even a little.”

“then i guess we’re even,” azzi murmured, voice quiet but steady. she turned to grab her own plate and joined paige at the counter.

it was quiet again—but this time it felt intentional, like they were both letting the moment settle.

comfortable. warm. just enough to make azzi wonder what else paige might want to learn.

then—

azzi remembered.

jon’s text.

“hey, my brothers are like huge fans. they wanted a picture… if that’s okay?”

paige nodded her head quickly, “of course.”

paige straightened up in her seat a little, wiping her mouth with the napkin even though there was barely anything there. “how do you wanna do it? you want me to come over there?”

azzi shook her head, already pulling her phone out and walking around the counter to stand behind paige. “no, you stay. this’ll be quick.”

she opened her camera app and flipped to the front-facing lens, angling it just enough to catch them both. paige leaned in slightly, a relaxed smile tugging at her lips. azzi snapped the picture, then two more just in case, paige’s smile growing wider with each one.

“got it,” azzi grinned, scrolling through them quickly before sending one to the group chat with her brothers.

azzi

boom

y’all better not make this weird

jon

😭😭😭 YO

jose

that’s crazy. actual legends only.

tim

tell her we said thank you!

and also ask her if she hoop too 👀

azzi rolled her eyes but smiled anyway.

“they’re happy,” she muttered, locking her phone.

“i gathered,” paige chuckled. “do you hoop too?”

azzi looked at her with a smirk. “no. i just feed the ones who do.”

paige raised a brow, clearly amused. “lucky us.”

-

the next morning started slower than the last. sunlight spilled through the apartment windows, painting warm stripes across the hardwood floor.

paige was still in her room, probably just waking up, and azzi was already in the kitchen. this time, she moved a little slower, humming something under her breath as she sliced strawberries and placed them into a bowl.

she wasn’t rushing to cook — today felt lighter. easier. she made some toast, scrambled eggs, and those crispy-edged pancakes again because… why not?

she’d just finished plating everything when soft footsteps echoed down the hall. azzi didn’t turn — she already knew who it was.

“god, i don’t think i’ll ever get used to the kitchen smelling like this,” paige said as she sat down.

azzi chuckled, plating the food and handing it to her. “get used to it, bueckers. it’s not changing anytime soon.”

paige grinned, popping a piece of egg into her mouth. azzi was already tidying up, starting on the dishes right away.

“should i wear something fancy for tonight or…?” azzi asked curiously, glancing over her shoulder. she took first impressions seriously, but she didn’t want to go overboard either.

paige sipped her orange juice before answering. “you can wear whatever you feel comfortable in. i told them to wear something nice, though.”

azzi nodded, making a mental note. she probably wasn’t going for a dress, but a clean, put-together outfit should do the trick.

“did they want anything specific, or what?”

paige finished up her breakfast, her tongue gliding over her lips. “surprise us. they’ll like whatever.”

azzi smiled, a little spark of excitement in her eyes. “okay, challenge accepted.” she started clearing the counter, already running ideas through her mind.

paige watched her for a moment, feeling a warmth she couldn’t quite explain. maybe it was the way azzi took pride in even the smallest things. or maybe it was just the quiet comfort of having someone like her around.

“you know,” paige said, her voice softening, “i’m glad you’re here.”

azzi paused, looking up with a small smile. “me too.”

paige just looked a bit longer before standing. “thank you for breakfast. i’m gonna go shower.”

azzi nodded as she washed her hands. “i’m gonna go shower too. you’re welcome, by the way.”

paige smiled, making her way toward her room. “you’re a blessing, fudd!” she called over her shoulder.

azzi chuckled softly, shaking her head to herself. the quiet moments like these made everything feel a little more like home.

-

“i’m excited to meet her!” maddy beamed as she sat in the passenger seat, her legs criss-crossed while dijonai drove and lyss lounged in the backseat, scrolling through her phone.

“don’t scare her off,” dijonai warned, glancing over with a smirk. “paige actually likes this one.”

“likes her?” lyss repeated, eyes flicking up. “i thought she was just her chef.”

“exactly,” dijonai said with a pointed look through the rearview mirror. “and paige don’t just like anyone being in her house.”

maddy laughed, kicking her feet a little. “well now i’m even more excited.”

“you just want free food,” lyss muttered.

maddy turned and grinned. “yeah… and to meet the girl who somehow got paige to act like a softie.”

paige was currently setting up her playstation in the front room, knowing arike and lyss would definitely want to play with her the moment they walked in. she had already cleared off the coffee table, made sure the controllers were charged, and even tossed a few extra pillows on the couch just in case they stayed longer than expected.

she glanced at the time—still a little early—but she liked being ready. and if she was being honest, having everything in place also kept her from overthinking.

she tried not to admit it out loud, but she really wanted the night to go well. for azzi’s sake. and… maybe for hers, too.

azzi came out her room with an outfit she thought was good. tongue tied tinted flared jeans with a black tube top that shaped her body perfectly. she put her braids in a half up half down style while still keeping it out of her face.

she did a bit a make up before stepping out of the room. “paige, is this okay?”

paige turned around and froze, the hdmi cord in her hand completely forgotten. her eyes dragged slowly from azzi’s jeans to the way the tube top hugged her figure, then up to the soft, confident look on her face.

“uh…” paige blinked, almost forgetting how to speak. “yeah. yeah, that’s definitely… okay.”

azzi raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “you sure?”

paige coughed and nodded, setting the cord down. “positive. they’re gonna lose their minds.”

azzi smiled, walking further into the room. “not too much, though. i don’t wanna give your friends a heart attack before dinner.”

paige smirked. “well, no promises when dijonai sees you. she has no filter.”

“great,” azzi said, tugging lightly at her top and glancing at the setup. “you almost done?”

“almost.” paige cleared her throat and turned back around, cheeks still a little pink. “but now i gotta keep them from embarrassing me.”

azzi grinned, settling on the couch. “that’s not my job. i just cook.”

“you say that now,” paige muttered, plugging in the last wire, “but i got a feeling they’re gonna like you even more than your food.”

azzi smiled quietly to herself, not denying it.

their conversation was cut short when loud knocking echoed through the apartment, followed by overlapping voices and laughter right outside the door.

“that’s them,” paige muttered, already making her way over.

azzi stood, brushing her hands over her jeans and taking a quiet breath to center herself.

as soon as paige opened the door, chaos poured in—dijonai was the first one through, talking mid-sentence with a grin on her face, followed by maddy, arike, and lyss, all talking over each other.

“damn, paige, you didn’t tell us your place looked like this,” arike said, stepping in and looking around.

“arike, you’re hella late.” dijonai spoke.

“where’s the chef? we came for the food!” lyss teased, scanning the room dramatically.

azzi offered a small wave, standing by the couch. “hi. that would be me.”

they all turned at once, and for a second, no one said anything.

then—

“ohhh, okayyy, paige,” dijonai said, smirking.

“this who’s been feeding you?” maddy asked, already grinning. “yeah, we see the vision.”

paige groaned. “y’all—please.”

azzi just laughed, the nerves slowly fading under the sound of their teasing. they were loud, sure—but it felt more like energy than chaos. and she could work with that.

“we’re just saying, girl, you are beautiful,” maddy said, plopping down at the island with a wide smile. dijonai slid into the seat beside her, nodding in full agreement while the others lingered nearby, still checking out the space.

azzi blushed, ducking her head for a second before meeting their eyes again. “thank you. you’re all very beautiful too!”

“don’t gas us,” arike grinned, crossing her arms. “we came here for food, not compliments—though we’ll take both.”

“speak for yourself,” lyss said, eyeing the kitchen like it was a five-star restaurant. “i’ve heard too much about your cooking, i’m ready to be converted.”

paige leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the exchange with a soft smile. they weren’t scaring azzi off—if anything, she was handling them with ease.

azzi looked around at the girls, her nerves gone. “well, y’all are in luck. i made a few things already. appetizers first?”

“you’re a queen,” dijonai nodded, already sitting up straighter.

paige raised an eyebrow, nudging her with a smirk. “what happened to manners?”

dijonai grinned. “please, chef fudd. feed the people.”

azzi laughed, already turning to grab the plates. the room buzzed around her, light and full of warmth. she could get used to this.

azzi set a few plates on the island—mini crab cakes with a spicy aioli, baked mac and cheese bites, and fresh caprese skewers. everything looked golden, colorful, and just the right amount of fancy without trying too hard.

“oh, she’s not playing,” lyss muttered under her breath, already reaching for a skewer.

“hold on, hold on,” maddy said, pulling out her phone. “this is too pretty not to post.”

“not you trying to soft launch azzi’s food before even tasting it,” paige teased from the other side of the island.

“girl, this food soft launching itself,” dijonai said with a mouthful of mac and cheese bite. “azzi, you tryna marry someone, or…?”

azzi turned, feigning confusion. “what?”

“you cooking like you tryna wife somebody up,” arike added. “this ain’t normal behavior.”

azzi laughed, cheeks warm again. “well, it’s just what i do.”

“nah,” lyss said, shaking her head after biting into a crab cake. “this is talent. dangerous talent.”

paige caught azzi’s eyes from across the island, a smile tugging at her lips. azzi didn’t say anything—she just offered a small shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. but the way everyone was looking at her said otherwise.

and as the group kept eating, talking, and laughing, paige felt herself relax even more. they liked her—just like she knew they would. but something about seeing azzi fit like this?

that made her stomach flutter. and not from the food.

“the main dish should be ready in a few, sorry for the delay,” azzi said softly, watching everyone enjoy the appetizers with a small smile.

dijonai waved her off. “oh, girl, you’re fine. i wanna get to know you more anyways.”

maddy nodded in agreement, already nibbling on another bite. “yeah, no complaints here. you could take all night if you want.”

“it gives me time to beat paige and arike’s ass in 2k,” lyss chimed in, already making her way toward the living room with a confident bounce in her step.

paige and arike locked eyes from across the island, mirroring each other’s unimpressed expression.

“she delusional as hell,” they said in sync before cracking up, both of them following lyss with zero urgency but all the intent to humble her.

azzi just laughed under her breath, feeling the ease in the room. dijonai stayed at the island, watching her with genuine curiosity.

“so what made you start cooking like this?” she asked, leaning her elbow on the counter.

azzi wiped her hands on a dish towel before answering, “honestly? it started with my mom. she used to make me help with every meal growing up. by the time i was sixteen, i was cooking for my whole family.”

“see, that’s what i’m talking about,” dijonai said with a grin. “you got a gift.”

azzi smiled, just a little shy but still proud. “thank you. i just… really love it.”

“well, keep loving it,” maddy added, popping the last mac bite in her mouth. “’cause we’re not letting you go anytime soon.”

azzi laughed, her eyes flicking between maddy and dijonai. “you say that now, wait till y’all get tired of me being all in the kitchen every five seconds.”

“never,” dijonai said quickly. “you feed people. you could walk around here narrating your whole life and i’d still be like, ‘what’s for dinner?’”

“facts,” maddy added. “you don’t understand what you’ve done to us already.”

azzi shook her head, her grin widening. “y’all are dramatic.”

“nah, paige been acting different since you moved in,” dijonai said, sitting up straighter. “girl be smiling at her phone and everything. smiling. you know how rare that is?”

azzi’s eyes widened slightly, her voice quiet but playful. “oh yeah?”

maddy nodded, sipping her water. “mhmm. we’ve been clocked it. we were like ‘who got miss bueckers giggling?’ turns out it was you.”

azzi glanced toward the living room where paige and the others were now yelling at the tv screen. her face warmed, but she played it off, going back to the stove. “well… if it’s the food making her smile, then i’ll take that as a win.”

“sure,” dijonai said with a smirk. “let’s pretend it’s just the food.”

azzi didn’t say anything else, but the slight shake of her head and the way her smile lingered said everything. the kitchen smelled like garlic and spice, laughter echoed from the living room, and for once… it didn’t feel like work.

it felt like belonging.

“what’s cookin’ anyway?” maddy asked, resting her chin in her hand as she leaned over the island.

azzi stirred something in the pan before glancing back at them. “garlic butter salmon, lemon roasted potatoes, asparagus… and a honey glaze for the salmon on the side in case y’all like a little extra sweetness.”

dijonai blinked. “girl. girl. you tryna make us propose or what?”

azzi laughed, shaking her head as she plated the roasted potatoes onto a serving tray. “nah, i just want y’all to leave full and happy.”

“you already checked one of those off,” maddy said. “if this salmon hits like those crab cakes did, i’mma cry.”

“don’t be dramatic,” azzi teased, placing the tray in the warming drawer.

“i’m dead serious,” maddy said. “i got no shame. tears will be shed.”

from the living room, they suddenly heard lyss yell, “yo! what kind of cheat code did paige just use?!”

paige’s laugh followed immediately. “get better, lyss!”

“don’t let her talk to you like that!” arike shouted, though she was clearly laughing too.

azzi glanced toward the sound, and dijonai caught the way her smile softened. “they really like you, you know.”

“they’re cool,” azzi said, her tone low and fond. “i didn’t expect to feel this… comfortable. it’s only been a few days.”

“sometimes it don’t take long,” dijonai shrugged. “you fit in easy.”

azzi looked back down at the salmon, flipping it gently in the pan. “thanks… really.”

“we mean it,” maddy added. “this group? we don’t click with everybody. but with you—it’s natural.”

azzi stayed quiet, her chest warm. natural. she liked the sound of that. she glanced down at the salmon, then over her shoulder where the girls laughed like they’d known each other for years.

maybe it really didn’t take that long. maybe sometimes, it just clicked.

azzi plated the salmon carefully, brushing a thin layer of the honey glaze across the top of each fillet. the warmth in the kitchen wasn’t just from the stove—it was from the feeling settling in her chest, soft and steady.

behind her, dijonai and maddy were still chatting, but the energy had mellowed, like even they could feel it. something about the way azzi moved, so sure of herself in someone else’s home, but still gentle with it.

“alright,” azzi said after a beat, wiping her hands on a clean towel. “main course is done.”

dijonai and maddy both sat up straighter like kids in a classroom.

“you want help carrying it over?” maddy asked.

“nah, i got it. y’all relax.”

azzi moved with ease, bringing over the trays one by one and setting them on the island—salmon glistening under the kitchen lights, potatoes golden and crisp, asparagus sprinkled with sea salt and lemon zest. the whole apartment smelled unreal.

“what’s that smell?” paige’s voice came from the living room, footsteps following fast.

“heaven,” lyss answered before azzi even said anything.

the rest of the girls trailed in, their eyes immediately locking onto the food.

“oh hell yeah,” arike grinned, already heading for a plate. “this look like a celebration.”

paige didn’t say much at first—just stood there quietly, taking it all in. the way her teammates were hyped, the way azzi stood confidently beside the island, apron still tied around her waist, a little flour on her forearm.

“you’re insane,” paige finally said, almost under her breath. “this looks… perfect.”

azzi met her eyes, shrugging lightly. “just doing my job.”

paige held her gaze a second longer, then grabbed a plate. “you’re doing it too well.”

“then i’m doing it right,” azzi said with a small smirk, finally stepping back to let everyone dive in.

the kitchen filled with compliments, laughter, the scraping of chairs, and the clinking of silverware. azzi stood off to the side for a moment, watching it all, letting herself breathe it in.

this wasn’t just work anymore.

this was hers.

[skullamity]

An important aspect of this that OP hinted at but didn't expand upon, so I will:

Humans brains are pattern seeking, and this applies to both visual and narrative forms of art. It's the reason why, when you watch a show or a movie and you get so excited about what you think is going to happen that you might feel compelled to pause and turn to the person you're watching with and say "oh shiit, I am connecting the dots, and I think that (twist!) is going to happen!" and when that twist does happen? You feel great! And you feel great because you've basically solved a puzzle. Solving puzzles feels good, and this is actually one of my favourite things about watching tv and movies! I love to keep score!

When you are reading a webcomic or subscribed to a multi chapter original story online, and you email the author to tell them what YOU think should happen next, because it would feel narratively satisfying, you are putting the author in a very awkward position.

An author lays down breadcrumbs for their audience because they WANT you to guess, they want you to be trying to solve the puzzle, and they want you to feel rewarded because you figured it out! You're not telling them anything new by contacting them, you're just letting them know that you followed the trail they were leading you down! But the catch is, if you email me and tell me "hey so this should happen, it would make so much sense if this happened, please consider making it go here" and it was already going there, that was already the plan, and I have been carefully planting clues and setting up this payoff, I am now in a bit of a predicament.

Because if I write the story as intended, the way I was setting it up? That was all me. I planned this. But now I have you back in my emails saying "I'm SO happy that you took my advice! The payoff was so good! But I was a little disappointed to see that you didn't leave a note for your readers about where that idea came from. I'm not asking for money, just credit, you know?" and if I don't respond to that, or I respond and say "look, this twist was in my plans a year before you emailed me and your email had zero influence on my decision to take it in this direction" you are now emailing me, pissed off, and either subtly or outright suggesting that maybe you actually DO deserve some compensation, because I am making money off of "your" idea.

Or maybe you're not emailing me again, maybe you're shit talking me on social media and encouraging people who have expressed interest in my work to skip it, because the story might be good but I'm a bad person who takes advantage of my readers.

It isn't wrong to love something so much that you become invested in it, and it isn't wrong to be so invested in something that you have opinions about where it's going and what should happen. But that doesn't mean that you should ever contact the author directly and tell them what to do! Any time I have ever had someone email me about where they thought my comic should go narratively, it has never been a peer, it has never been solicited, and it has NEVER been appreciated.

If I want advice? I will ask people who have the skill sets and experience to pull off what I'm trying to do, and they will, most importantly, be people that I already know, talk to and trust! A reader is welcome to their opinions on where they think I should be focusing and what I need to work on, but that's none of my business and they should never contact me to tell me about it. I am not obligated to take any of it into consideration, even if they are being super nice about it!

And I get that this makes me sound ungrateful, which is frustrating because I actually really love it when I can look at comments left on comic pages and see what people are predicting and watch them celebrating if they were right! It's so good! I am not ungrateful! But if you email me like this, you are putting me in a position where I will have to play that part to make it clear to you that we do not know each other and you have no say or influence, past present or future, in where this story goes. I don't want to be mean to my audience! But I also need to draw clear boundaries between them and myself for a miriad of reasons, you know?

a very gentle PSA that a writer is not a short-order cook, please do not try to order off the menu

[amiya-shirou]

I love how despite the Seaborn having a very minor role during Exodus from the Pale Sea their presence is still embedded so deeply in every facet of the story. I don't just mean how they're the reason the Pale Sea exists or how one of them appears in the event, but also the way they affect the themes of the story, which applies the Human Individuality vs Seaborn Collective conflict we've already explored in the Abyssal Hunter events to a tale where every part is played by humans.

There's something in the way Anastasio stands against any and all desires, almost word for word quoting Arturia as something that should be fought against at all costs. The way Arturia in turn thought of the Seaborn as boring because they lacked that desire. The way the citizens in this story are so scared of desire, how they fell so deeply on the Inquisition's teachings to survive and try to forget the horror they lived through that even now that much of the danger has passed and the conditions are better they still dare not fill their bellies even if there's food, they dare not buy something that might look fun from the caravans, they dare not wish for anything for themselves, almost every ounce of individuality they once had completely destroyed to the point that when Silver tried lifting the bans and letting them live a better life they couldn't accept it and wanted the prohibitions to come back, readily switching side to Anastasio to get back that familiar sense of comfort and stability the rules gave them even if they had long exhausted their material purpose. The very Inquisition that's so hellbent on eradicating the Seaborn from the land while making speeches about the superiority of human civilization ended up turning the people they swore to protect in something that's not so different from them, or even fully ready to join We Many as seen in other events with the way the Church of the Deep is able to pray on the discontent of the Iberians.

But as Deepcolor once noted in her operator record, it's impossible to completely eradicate your humanity, just like the Priest she talks to couldn't fully become Seaborn due to his curiosity or she couldn't become one because of her artistic passion, and in fact if you look at the conditions of both the citizens and Anastasio, they're all just guided by fear. After all the Seaborn have no concept of guilt or sinning, they're just driven by the instinct to keep the collective going and any of them would readily sacrifice itself for the others and they're shown wanting to free their kin even as they're actively being killed by them - meanwhile Silver trying to help the city by reforming the pirates and making some compromises so that everyone could live better is met by Anastasio with disdain, because his teachings don't allow for real forgiveness except for the one given by death, no matter if "the collective" has to live a life of misery because of it. He values peace of mind above the physical well being of the people in a way that's the farthest you could ever get from We Many, but the way he gets it is by violently eradicating the core difference between us and them. He seeks the embrace of death, deeply mythologizing it like a human would, while being driven by an incredibly powerful directive to live on like a Seaborn would, straight up coming back from the death three times. He's a walking contradiction, and when the event ends with him literally being shown as a mix of both, everything falls into pieces. It's a tale about how self-destructive repressing your wishes and individuality and trying to force everyone to adhere to a single doctrine - trying to live as a seaborn while being human - is.

And of course the final touch is how well all this works as a premise for Arknights to make a story about pirates, because of course even if they're not actual good guys and in fact very violent and did plenty of bad things on screen, they'll forever be a great stand-in for the concept of seeking freedom and following what your heart desires (and in fact the whole plot revolved around the Corazonix, one side wishing for what it promised, the other believing it only brings corruption). Juana and her crew are the other extreme to the Inquisition in the city, people solely guided by their desires to the point they become destructive, and while we had to fight both sides during the event, the final resolution is about accepting them as shown with Thorns's very simple wish that guides him to victory against Anastasio - he just wants to see the ocean. The story ends with the beginning of a straightforward pirate story with Isidro and his fun band of misfits going on an adventure, re-contextualized in a setting where the Profound Silence had long since suffocated any notion of dreaming about the future, any notion of the sea as something you want to admire and explore rather than a place of horror and death as it's always been presented in Arknights up until now.

It's neat.

[godjustkys]

SYNOPSIS: he thought you were dead.

CHARACTER: male reader x dean winchester

NOTE: oh this shit pathetic as fuck.. what is going on with me.

WC: 1,6k

WARNING: angst,, fluff at the end,, light hurt/comfort,, a lot of plot,,

grief.

dean hated grief. hated how it ate him up, how it made him bottle everything up until he exploded; either on sam or someone completely unrelated. they didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of the product of his grief. no one did.

and what made it worse? he was grieving you. you.

two thousand ninety eight days. or in other words, five years and two hundred seventy three days. he has been counting. every single day that passed since he lost you — since he had to scrape off whatever was left of you off of the walls and floor. it’s like a tab in the back of his mind, one that he so desperately wants to forget but just cannot. oh god how he loved you. he loved you with his entire soul. the day he lost you he felt like his heart shattered into a million pieces, and he swore to god that the anguish was tearing at each and every fiber of his being.

dean almost went mad the first couple weeks. constant nightmares, dreaming about your death over and over again, the inability to sleep, the loss of appetite, the numbness, fuck, it got to him. sometimes he’d just sit there, reminiscing, and he’d feel hot, salty tears rolling down his cheeks. of course, he’d wipe at them but they would just keep coming. he couldn’t stop them, not when the only thing on his mind was you. your face just before he witnessed your death. dare i say he blames himself. he knows it’s not his fault directly, but the fact that he just stood there and watched gnaws at whatever is left of his heavy heart.

of course, he turned to booze eventually. getting black out drunk, throwing up because he drank on an empty stomach, the horrible hangovers after; it was part of his daily routine for a while. but he toned it down because he realized that drinking didn’t erase you in any way, shape or form — you were engraved in his memory, in his heart. every time he opened his wallet he’d see your picture and he would get sick to his stomach. he had a goddamn hole in his soul in the shape of you.

every time dean woke up, he would stare at the ceiling for a while, just.. thinking. remembering. remembering how you would bring him breakfast and coffee. how you would ask him to rate his sleep on a scale of one to ten. how you would make him tell you about his dreams if he had any. how you would judge his bedhead. the little things.

the little things?

dean had nothing of yours. not a single thing. why? he got rid of everything that reminded him of you. yes, it might’ve been in a fit, but he was angry. angry at himself, at the world, at God. but not you, no. never. he wouldn’t dare blame you. that’s what he told himself for the entirety of those five years and two hundred seventy three days. up until now.

dean stared, he stared hard. he blinked excessively, hoping it’d make you disappear from his view, from this goddamn forsaken building; he was on a hunt. he convinced himself he was hallucinating, because it’s not the first time he’s seeing you after your death. his stomach churned and he clenched his fists, shifting on his feet. with a shaky, frustrated sigh, dean tilted his head. you looked different. too different. he doesn’t remember you looking like this. older, more.. experienced. beaten by life. wearing clothes he swore to god you never had.

“dean.”

this is where he stiffened. his eyes widened a fraction. your voice. oh good god he almost fell to his knees; he forgot how you sounded. hearing your voice again was making his heart beat out of his chest. “oh jeeesus. this is horrible. this is so bad. i’m going nuts, cuckoo even.” he said with a small chuckle, shifting again as he looked away from you. the real, actual you, who he thought to be a hallucination. a fragment of his imagination. when you took a step closer to him, he flinched, head snapping forward to look at you again. “oh ah-ah. i don’t like it when you move. creepy, gnarly fucker.” dean spoke with a grin, his hands shaking a tiny bit as he took a step back.

“i’m real.” you said, voice calm and even. your expression was one of concern — he could recognize it. he always had. dean laughed, the sound bitter and full of disbelief. “bull. shit.” he rasped, pulling out his gun and pointing it at you. “wanna see how real you are? prove it?” he asked with a nod of his head, quickly flicking the safety off and putting his finger on the trigger. his body language was making it clear how terrified he was, how unsure and hesitant his movements were. you raised your hands up in a placating manner. “..fuck. seriously. dean, i swear. i’m real. i’m alive.”

dean chewed at his bottom lip, eyebrows knitted together and stammering. “no. you died. i saw it.”

“i did. yeah, i felt it. but i came back.” you stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath in, and just before you could say another word, dean cut in, his face muscles twitching out of pure anger. resentment too, maybe?

“who brought you back? you workin’ with ‘em? for ‘em?” he questioned. “why are you back? why the fuck are you here? you- you didn’t think to find me? huh? are you—” dean broke off, his chest starting to hurt and heave, breaths coming out in short, ragged bursts. “you fuckin’ asshole.” he seethed, lowering his gun, it almost slipping out of his hold due to him being so damn distracted. “so- so you’re alive. and you didn’t find me, call me, text me, hell, even send a letter? none of that?” dean accused, swallowing harshly as he shifted on his feet, clearly nervous.

“you think it’s so simple—”

dean cut you off again. “yes, last time i checked, it didn’t require an iq of 180 to send a message or dial my goddamn number and click ‘call’. are you fucking dumb?” he holstered his gun, anger washing off of him in waves as he finally dared to step closer to you. “five years. five motherfucking years.” with a soft sigh, you let your posture relax. “i know. but i got back about three years ago. i had all kinds of monsters on my ass day and night, i couldn’t put you in danger—”

“you moron, that’s even more of a reason why you should’ve contacted me!” dean raised his voice and he tensed with restraint, his fist lifting up just a slight bit. oh he wanted to hit you so bad. you deserved it. “you knew how important you were to me, you knew i would stay with you through thick and thin. you knew that. you knew that because i told you so. what, you think i’m some sort of- frail guy you need to protect? you think i’m all wishy-washy over here?”

“no. never. but the position i’m in, dean, it’s complicated.” you reasoned. “i don’t need to protect you, but i care about you. and because i care, i don’t ever want to see you hurt in any way.”

“yea, yea just keep giving me the looney tunes bullshit. ‘i don’t want to see you hurt’,” he mocked you. “well too damn bad! we’re both hunters, we keep choosing this life over and over again and we can’t avoid it. you know what we could’ve avoided? you fucking lying to me.” dean seethed, his hands flailing around as he talked, voice stern, a little hurt but mostly angry. “i never lied.” you corrected him, narrowing your eyes. it did kind of offend you. “just because you didn’t know i was alive again it doesn’t mean i lied.”

“you didn’t do shit to let me know either! no effort from your side over here, genius. feels like the same exact fucking thing!” dean’s trembling hands were still clenched tightly. with a nod you huffed — you heard his reasoning, and his tone. “i’m sorry. i truly am. i misjudged you. you have a lot on your plate already, you carry a burden bigger than the goddamn world. i didn’t think you’d want to share my problems, too.”

oh. oh now how was he supposed to stay mad at you when you spoke like that?! call him weird, but emotional maturity was so attractive to him. dean’s shoulders dropped as the tension that was coiled in his body was released. he took a step forward, hesitant and very very unsure. but then, seeing your expression, he caved. he walked over and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into a tight embrace. you returned the hug tentatively. as soon as dean felt your arms around him again, after five forsaken years, he tensed. his eyes widened a bit and they were getting.. watery? was he crying? no. no goddamn way. his hold on you tightened when your scent, the same one as half a decade prior, filled his nostrils. nostalgia was hitting him hard in every aspect. you let your forehead rest against his shoulder, one of dean’s hand moving to the back of your neck; was he getting too bold? “i’m sorry.” you mumbled out.

“fuck you. you owe me so many packs of beers. and burgers.” dean answered, voice shaky and a pitch higher as he blinked his tears away. finally holding you made his heart, body and soul feel at ease. he felt complete again.

he felt whole. but only when you were in his arms.

[luvismenu]

no.1 party anthem , jjk — series m.list

. 04 — next time

note: down bad jk moments 😋 , tension tension tension .

music.

oh, how you love music.

not just any kind, though. it’s the kind you feel deep in your chest, late at night, when the world quiets down and you let the sound carry you away. the kind that plays loud at a party, bass thumping through your bones, and suddenly, nothing else matters.

because you’re not really there for the people or the drinks. you’re there to feel something. to let go. to have fun.

and lately, that’s been enough.

you like this version of you. the one who lets loose every now and then. the one who doesn’t think too hard.

you’re lucky, too. you’ve got just enough friends who love parties the same way you do. just enough to keep the nights interesting.

and you’d never miss nights like these.

the music, the people, the little rush of excitement in the air. it’s always worth it.

and to be honest , you almost said yes to that first party jungkook invited you to.

you really did consider it.

but then again…

where’s the fun in being too easy to figure out?

so you didn’t go.

you kind of like being a little mysterious. you like the idea of being someone hard to reach; enough to make them think twice.

you wanted to see if he’d actually wait.

and to your surprise, he did.

no matter how distant you act or how many chances you give him to walk away, he doesn’t.

and that’s when something clicks.

jungkook is interesting.

and now you’re curious. how far will he go before he finally gives up?

because let’s be real— you’re not the one who stayed hidden for a year.

you’re just giving him a little thrill. something to chase. maybe even a few memories he won’t forget.

just for fun.

for now.

you step into the room — dim lights, bass thumping, bodies swaying, the usual party vibe.

you move through the crowd with ease, a quiet kind of confidence. a few eyes follow you, taking in your presence, your dress, your face. because you look beautiful, and you know it.

the silver dress hugs your body in all the right places, dipping low enough to show some cleavage, stopping just above your knees.

your jewelry matches— silver too, sparkling under the lights. it’s your thing. your signature.

sparkle.

why?

because it’s pretty. that’s it.

nothing deeper. nothing complicated.

you text the host; your friend. because his parties are always packed and you can’t seem to find the guy you’re supposed to meet tonight. you tried texting jungkook already, but he’s not answering.

strange.

but anyway.

someone approaches soon after — not jungkook, of course — but someone who might know where he is.

he’s walking toward you, chest still wet like he just got out of the pool, shirt nowhere in sight. ripped jeans hang low on his hips. he looks like every bad boy cliché, and he knows it.

broad shoulders, messy wet hair, cocky smirk, it's almost like he does it on purpose.

“___, my dearest, you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”

you smile, and tilt your chin up in response. “don’t you say that every time you see me?”

he runs a hand through his wet hair, biceps flexing under the pink neon glow. “can you blame me? you look ravishing every single time.”

you shake your head, amused, arms crossing over your chest.

“you fucking did it again, noah! i fucking love this party!” a guy yells, clapping noah on the back before disappearing into the crowd.

you chuckle. “yeah, great party, noah.”

“meh, it’s whatever,” he shrugs, then leans in a little closer. “what did you want from me again?”

he’s grinning, voice playful. you don’t move.

“changed your mind about me?” he asks, trying way too hard to sound smooth. it almost makes you laugh, but you manage to hold it in.

“i could cancel all my hookups tonight. just saying. for you.”

you scoff, not backing away. “hookups? plural?”

he lifts his arms a little, showing off his torso. “well, when you look like this, it’s kind of hard to keep it to one.”

you raise a brow.

“and you? you’re like, my v.i.p, ___. i cant say no to you.”

you shake your head again. “thats really sweet, noah. but no, i’m here to meet someone.”

“a date?” he asks, surprised.

“a meet-up,” you correct.

he finally backs off a bit, hand moving to his chin, like he’s trying to think hard. “name?”

“jeon jungkook.”

he blinks. “him? really?”

“yeah. now tell me.”

“he left, like... fifteen minutes ago. looked pissed.”

you frown. “excuse me?”

“i ain't lying, ___,” he says, holding up his hands.

your expression softens. “i mean... excuse me. thank you.” you say politely and walk away, heading to the drinks table. noah just shrugs and goes back to whatever he was doing.

strange again.

angry?

is jungkook trying to get back at you? because you didn’t show up that time?

well. okay. if that’s his idea of payback, then fine. well played.

it’s not like your whole night is ruined. you can still have a good time.

but it’s weird. you really thought he wanted to prove something. that he was serious.

guess this is his version of giving up.

anyway, not the first time a guy’s folded. won’t be the last.

you take a sip of your drink, eyes closing for a second as you try to let the music and the energy of the room fill your chest instead.

and then.. someone’s behind you.

you feel it before you see him. you turn, and your breath catches.

“sorry.” the voice is low, smooth. “did i keep you waiting?”

you look up and there he is.

jungkook.

the pink lights hit his face just right; his eyes glowing faintly, his lips curve in a very subtle smile, like he’s glad to see you. and the music, the crowd, every noise fades, like a blur behind your head.

“___.”

you blink, snapping out of it.

“yes,” you answer softly.

he lets out a breath. “i’m sorry,” he says, leaning down just slightly. “i had to— i can explain... will you let me?”

you don’t look away from him. you just smile, slow and small, the corner of your mouth lifting.

“sure.”

“i got into a little… situation when i got here,” he says as soon as you both settle into a quieter room. it’s dimly lit, pink and purple lights glowing softly over a few couples scattered around — sipping drinks, whispering, kissing, not paying attention to anyone else.

jungkook found two empty chairs in the corner, a bit away from the noise, and pulls one out just for you. just enough space for you both to have a moment. you sit, legs crossed, sipping your drink, eyes on him.

“situation?” you repeat, brow slightly raised.

in the back of your head, you can't help but think— jimin was right. this really does feel like an interview.

jungkook nods, brushing his hand through his hair, adjusting the lapel of his jacket.

“a guy i know kinda pushed me into the pool,” he says flatly.

you almost choke, but somehow keep it together— barely. the corners of your lips twitch as you look away.

“oh,” you say, voice tight with amusement.

he watches you like he always does. like you’re made of something softer, something better. and god, he wants you to laugh. not the polite kind. the real one. he really wants to hear it.

“my phone kinda went in too,” he adds. “and then i kinda had to go home and change. then came straight back.”

your gaze drops to his clothes— black shirt, sleeves rolled up, tight jeans, collar open just enough to show a bit of his collarbone.

you wonder what he wore before. wonder how soaked he must’ve been. you don’t say it though. instead, you tease:

“and what else did you kinda do?”

his smile stretches.

“i kinda tried to make it here as fast as i could, but...”

“bad luck,” you hum, swirling your drink gently.

“something like that,” he agrees.

a quiet beat passes. then he clears his throat.

“you look beautiful.”

you set your glass aside, folding your arms, eyebrow raised.

“do i, now?”

he nods, more serious this time.

“you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid eyes on.”

your lips twitch again, but this time, you smile for real. genuinely.

“slow down, romeo.”

he leans back, flustered but grinning.

“sorry, i just— i mean, you are— you’re really... pretty. and it’s hard to—”

your soft chuckle cuts him off. he watches you in awe, like it’s his new favorite sound in the world.

you slowly rise from your seat, and so does he, standing instinctively.

“well,” you say, smoothing the fabric of your dress, “nice to meet you, jungkook.”

he blinks, caught off guard.

“nice to meet you too, ___.”

you smile again— you don't know why but you have been doing that a lot tonight.

he opens his mouth to speak, “how about a dat—” but you’re already a step ahead. you lift a finger, press it gently to his lips.

“shh,” you whisper.

his eyes widen. his whole body stills. his heart? going absolutely insane.

you lower your hand, step just a little closer as u tilt your head, meeting his gaze.

“not so fast,” you murmur, brushing past him, making your way to the door.

he turns to watch you go, breath caught in his throat. you pause in the doorway, glance over your shoulder, and speak up, loud enough for him to hear.

“you said you’d wait for the next time, right?”

he nods. slow. certain.

“good,” you say. “see you next time.”

and then you leave. simple as that.

and you think, you were right.

jungkook is indeed an interesting man.

you decide you want to take this slowly. just to understand him completely.

and on the other hand, jeon jungkook is gone.

he doesn’t move. not for a good minute. and when he finally exhales, he brings a hand to his chest.

his heart’s racing, full speed.

a slow grin breaks across his face.

“holy fuck.”

his eyes scan the room once more, almost dazed, until they land on the glass you left behind.

the one you sipped from. the one you set down right before you walked away.

slowly, almost like he’s in a dream, jungkook steps toward it. he picks it up carefully, holding it like it’s something fragile, something precious.

his gaze softens. lips tugging into a quiet smile as he stares at it.

he remembers the way you looked at him. the way your smile curled, teasing and kind. the way you leaned in, close enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

he closes his eyes for a second. then, gently, he brings the glass to his lips, pressing his lips against the same spot yours had touched.

then his voice comes out low. reverent.

“most beautiful woman.”

💌 series taglist: @yooniepot @wobblewobble822 @primadonnasdream @lovingkoalaface @jjklvrapobangpo7 @army7-013 @bammbi-jeon127 @wdwbts101 @songbyeonkim @gigi4evr

goal — 150 notes !! (bringing this back cuz it makes me feel productive fr)

!! add urself to my taglist !!

💌 permanent taglist: @elinaki92 @army7-013 @chromietriestowrite @mimi1097 @lola75111 @crazyovayou @tranquilreign @thearchersupremacy @fr0ggieth1nk @jkvias @bammbi-jeon127 @jiijeon97 @kookoo-kachoo

[genericpuff]

I don’t know if this is weird to say, but I’ve been enjoying LR kind of as its “own thing” if that makes sense?

Like before LO ended my only interaction with it was reading the first printed volume at a friends house, going: huh, this kind of pisses me off and gives me bad vibes for reasons I can’t quite place… and then never thought of it again until I started learning how to craft comics and saw it mentioned as an example of what not to do in something I was reading. So I looked into it, partly out of a sort of morbid curiosity, and partly because I had a bit of knowledge of the medium now and I wanted to find out what had caused the “bad vibes” in the first place (it was the way Persephone was constantly posed, framed, and occasionally anatomically messed with so her but and boobs could be better on display… also probably the writing quality.)

I’d probably have made a couple of mental notes and forgotten about LO again if I hadn’t come across your comic and decided to give it a read. Not only did LR NOT piss me off and give me bad vibes it actually interested me, and captured my imagination in ways LO didn’t. Like, it’s sort of just a cool comic I read because I enjoy it, and at this point my entire interest in LO is knowing how it inspired the comic I like.

(I will get around to reading the rest of LO once I’ve got enough free time/energy/inner peace though, out of an academic desire to dissect a broken story and see why it died… ngl I’m a bit intimidated by how long it looks)

Aww I appreciate that! Ultimately I do encourage people to give the original LO a try if they haven't before, not just to understand the context in which LR exists, but to sort of "honor" its roots because in spite of how mismanaged LO turned out to be, I still loved it for a long time (and continue to love it, even if it's in different ways now) and if it weren't for LO, LR would never have existed !

But I'm glad to hear there are readers who enjoy LR as its own thing because while it is just fanfiction, I still want it to be a story that can function and stand on its own two feet, without over-relying on LO to explain itself. And then, if you do ever read LO all the way through, you can hopefully have even more fun reading LR for all its little references and secrets 🤫💖

[ayadurable]

18+ MDNI . Lesbian sex in an alley, post-fight adrenaline sex, mutual fingering, (pining, mentions of canon violence and fucking girls, voyerism), they/them character, everyone is afab.

The Monster and the Chaos

SEVIKA x RAN = friends-with-benefits loyalty kink ♡

SUMMARY: The history of how Ran grew up to burn through Zaun alongside Sevika. The work, the fucking around, the loyalty. Up until five years ago, when finally, just fucking. It took Ran until 24 before Sevika could see it. (Age gap 24/36.)

NOTES: First half backstory, or scroll down to ✿✿✿ for the alley smut scene. Start of a series, which is somewhere between friends-with-benefits porn and a rough-edged love story.

AO3 link • 3.1k words

~20 years ago: Sevika 21 | Ran 9

The first memory Sevika has of Ran is from the days when she is still clawing her way up the ranks of some gang.

Sevika is already capable of being a mean, dangerous thing when the city turns bad, and in Zaun, things always do. She smokes too much, fights too much, and fucks pretty girls like it’s a way to stay alive. Clearly not someone a kid should idolize.

But one does.

This scrawny, relentless kid from the Lanes keeps showing up. They are never scared of her, which she finds surprising. They also never shut up.

This kid trails after her, talking about street rumors, Zaunite music, pitfights, the weird glowing moss and insects in the old mines, and how they’re going to fix everything wrong with the city. The kid asks questions or lectures her. 

“Did you know that if you tap the pipes, you can tell what’s in them? The ones with air hum and clang, kind of like music. Waste pipes go dull, and sometimes gurgle, like they don’t like you touching them.”

“If you stab the joint here, they can’t lift their arm again.”

Sevika mostly grunts and smokes, and pretends not to listen. The kid is annoying and loud, but also sharp and sometimes funny. And since they don’t expect her to say too much, she often lets the kid hang around a while and talk.

Without meaning to, Sevika learns their name.

Ran.

* * *

~16 years ago: Sevika 25 | Ran 13

This one night Ran is just pacing. They slip through the back halls of the gang they so want to be part of, not wanting to go home yet. It’s one of those nights when half the crew is too drunk to stand, and Ran maybe just wants to watch and learn. Not quite sure what, really.

And that’s when they see Sevika with the girl.

Sevika is pressed into a corner in the hallways with some beautiful woman clinging to her. Sevika is young, tall, and handsome, and in Zaun strength is a currency. She’s used to getting offers. But this is something more. So Ran freezes without meaning to, half-hidden behind a doorway, holding their breath.

The girl is soft and so graceful. Eyes wide and clutching Sevika’s neck like she really cares.

Then Sevika kisses her. Hard, yes. Demanding, yes. But gentle too, with hands steady at the girl’s waist, not groping. Sevika is careful, like holding something breakable. Ran has never seen her like that. In Zaun you’re supposed to be only tough.

The kiss is slow, long and unbroken. Something clearly meaningful, not stolen or bought.

Heart hammering, Ran watches as the girl slips her fingers into Sevika’s hair, the short ones at the nape of her neck, and they can feel how Sevika relaxes into the touch.

Without thinking, Ran touches their own neck. Then slips away into the shadows.

They never forget.

* * *

~13 years ago: Sevika 28 | Ran 16

Sevika is in Vander’s crew, moving up, trusted with important, mean work suited to her, when Ran grows into a reckless, cocky teenager.

Ran is always getting into fights, pulling scams, flirting with the wrong people, but still showing up all the time to talk to her. Still moving like they can’t stop. Still grinning like nothing can touch them.

One month Ran shows up with a buzzcut, running their hand over it again and again. Next month it’s bleached hair and a bigger grin.

Sevika actually bursts out laughing, that rough, crackling sound, when Ran offers to do her piercings with a block of ice and a needle, like they pierce themselves. Ran is pleased. It doesn’t matter if it’s the piercings or the laugh. Either one feels like winning.

Sevika suspects a crush once or twice, but Ran never flirts with her. They flirt with everyone else though. And they are shameless about it, with an endless supply of one-liners and praises.

Ran is constantly talking about kissing girls in alleys. Only girls. Soft girls, wide-eyed girls with easy smiles. They have that half-cocky, half-insecure bravado teenagers wear like armor.

“You hear about me and that girl from Greyrat Street?”

“She said my mouth was a problem. Still kissed me though. You think she’s hot? She laughs nice. I think she really likes me.”

Sevika mostly huffs, lets Ran talk and tries not to smile. Just another damn kid trying to survive the only way they know how.

Ran’s always getting into trouble. Sometimes Sevika grabs them by the back of the collar, hauls them out of a fight, and shoves them toward safety. Gruff orders and rough hands holding them still until they settle enough not to go right back in.

“Get your shit together.”

* * *

~10 years ago: Sevika 31 | Ran 19

Sevika moves up to become a solid core fighter under Vander’s leadership. The streets are tense but organized. She’s known for her power, and her readiness to do whatever needs to be done for Zaun. 

Ran finally narrows their chaos into something sharper. They train constantly, and their energy gives them an edge. They’re still not as big as Sevika and never will be, so they learn to be fast, smart, and tactical.

It’s Sevika who suggests the two blades and it suits them. Hit fast. Move faster. Cut deep. Disappear.

They’re good. Good enough that Sevika starts letting them tag along on real work. Good enough that Ran slides into the crew like they were always meant to be there.

Always near Sevika.

Sevika doesn’t think about it much. Just figures Ran is loyal and dependable.

Ran still talks about girls too much. Constant stories that are often true, if you believe them.

“She had this tattoo here, and when I got her shirt off, just had to trail it with my tongue.”

“She laughed like I was trouble, then whispered if I’d ever been with a cop’s daughter.”

“Told her so many times she was cute, she wouldn’t let go. She bit my lip, so I think it counts as a date.”

It’s partly a smokescreen. Sevika doesn’t notice, genuinely doesn’t. Ran’s been around so long they’re just part of the background now. The familiar chatterbox handy with the blades. They’re still that damn kid in the back of her mind, now grown up enough to be useful.

And there’s this one girl Ran can’t shut up about for weeks. The one who first kissed them for making her laugh. Ran babbles about a breakfast in bed, even though it’s a mess of crumbs, jam, and juice spilling over. Every time Ran talks about it, it’s with this stupid, wide grin, like they can’t believe it keeps happening. Like they’re a little bit afraid if they stop talking about it, it might stop being real.

* * *

~8 years ago: Sevika 33 | Ran 21

Then things start going bad.

Sevika grows frustrated with Vander’s pacifist stance toward Piltover. Vander promised change, but it’s not happening. The city rots slower, but that’s all.

Sevika starts to believe any cost is acceptable if it means freeing Zaun. So she leaves Vander’s crew for Silco’s, and many follow her. Ran, of course, is one of them.

The night Vander’s kids try to get him back from Silco’s hold, Jinx’s bomb explodes. When Sevika is in, she’s all in, so she loses her arm saving Silco.

She doesn’t remember much after the blast. Just pain.

But Ran is there. Wrecked inside but strangely calm, they keep talking through it.

“This’ll turn out fine.”

“The mechanical arm’s gonna make you even stronger.”

“You’re still the biggest bitch in the streets.”

Ran stays close through the whole messy recovery, even when Sevika is an ass, lashing out from the anger of her loss. They spar with her endlessly. Help her force the new mechanical arm into something fierce and useful. 

They also make sure everyone on the streets knows she’ll be back soon, and worse for it. Sevika tells herself it’s loyalty and friendship. She won’t forget it. Not ever. Trust is the most important thing in the world to her.

And the arm? She really is a weapon now.

* * *

~7 years ago: Sevika 34 | Ran 22

A year after losing her arm, Sevika is Silco’s second when Ran loses their hand. It’s nothing extraordinary, only bad odds on one bad job. One bad move, and the fingers are gone.

Ran doesn’t scream. Doesn’t cry. Just stares at Sevika in the bloody street, bites down, and survives it the same way she did. Refusing to fall.

Sevika sticks close this time. She makes sure Ran gets fitted with the best mechanical replacement and they spar through the pain and the frustration. Ran gets faster, smarter, and meaner. Gets back to work.

But sometimes, after jobs that should’ve killed them both but didn’t, they make it back laughing. Sevika buys the first drinks. Ran steals the seconds. And for a while, Zaun doesn’t feel like it’s trying to kill them.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Ran starts flirting with Sevika. Very casual, like it’s nothing. Just their usual grin and swagger.

“You know, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were my type too. Big, mean, and hard to get.”

Sevika laughs it off. It’s entirely Ran. They’ve survived too much together for it to mean anything. That’s what they are. Banter, loyalty and familiar heat. 

They know each other’s bodies well from fighting side by side, from bandaging each other’s hard-to-reach cuts, and from sparring between jobs. Ran clinks their metal fingers against Sevika’s arm.

“Together, we’re a full set.”

Sevika huffs, and pushes them harder in the next sparring round. She doesn’t see it. Doesn’t see that Ran isn’t quite kidding.

Anyway, she figures they both just want to burn through reckless girls. Women who want Sevika to do whatever she wants to them. And she wants control, without question. Lovers who want Ran to play games, talk shit, tease and touch until they are begging Ran for more. Same needs, different styles.

No reason to look closer.

* * *

~6 years ago: Sevika 35 | Ran 23

It’s a messy couple of years.

They work well together, but it’s cruel work in a cruel world, and they’re built for it. Both of them survive by distracting themselves. Too much drinking and too many girls, but slowly, they settle into what they are.

Crew is the only home they have. Zaun is the only cause that matters. Work is a shitty means to an end they’re not sure will ever come.

Women come to Sevika, looking for safety in her gruff demeanor and status. They say they like the scars at first, and listen to the gravel in her voice. They want the weight of her body in bed, the way she takes control. But then they start asking for softness, expecting her to sweet-talk and make grand promises. Sevika doesn’t have that. Not in her nature. Soon they can’t accept the monster she carries in her, even though it was the monster that first drew them in. The monster she looks more and more like with every year.

Ran, meanwhile, enters full fuckboy mode. All swagger and smirks. A blade on each shoulder and a pretty thing on every street. They want Ran’s touches, the teasing whispers, the fast hands. But then they try to slow them down. Try to handle Ran’s chaos. Their constant need for action, movement, shit talking, the heat they thrive in. But Ran isn’t built for slowing down.

So, fuck feelings.

Fuck romance.

Just fuck.

Sevika stops even pretending to date. It’s easier to pay. No mind games or pretending. No asking for things she doesn’t have. No heart left to try for real. She needs the quiet more too.

But Ran can’t stand the thought of not being really wanted. They never pay. Ran teases, dares, and wins pretty things over with a charming smile and a filthy mouth.

And what Ran really wants is different. 

They find girls who want the danger of Sevika and them both. The wild ones. The brave ones.

Ran smoothtalks pairs of pretty girls. Picks the bold one who doesn’t flinch from Sevika and presses her under Sevika’s arm with a smirk. Then kisses the other girl until nobody is breathing evenly. So they end up in the same rooms fucking different girls. 

Ran watches, when they think Sevika won’t notice. Watches Sevika kiss a girl slow. Watches her pin wrists back against a wall. Watches the brave one cling, asking for it, until Sevika fucks her hard enough to make her cry out. Watches the way Sevika steadies the girl’s hips after. Not sweet, but something close to careful. There’s still something careful left in Sevika.

And Ran listens. Listens for the low rough sound Sevika makes when a girl touches her, makes her come.

But Sevika knows.

Neither of them says anything. Not ever.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

CHAPTER 2: The First Time

~5 years ago: Sevika 36 | Ran 24

Sevika is thirty-six and the scariest monster on the streets. Ran is twenty-four, the fast, deadly, unstoppable chaos. Zaun isn’t a nice place. It respects them.

A moment ago, things almost went bad. It was just the two of them, and a lot more of some rogue chemlord’s gang than there was supposed to be. Now it’s the familiar taste of blood in the air. All that blood under their boots, soaking the alley. Those bodies will never move again.

Ran paces. Too much adrenaline. Laughing too loud.

“Fucking hell… did you see that? Did you see that one with the mask?” They ramble. “I thought I was dead. I thought you were dead. Shit, you’re not dead, right?”

“Still moving,” Sevika grunts and shrugs.

Ran stops and looks at Sevika. At her steadiness and realness. Her power.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” they go on. “Thought you were done for, with so many closing in. Thought I was gonna finally die.”

Sevika stays calm, like she always does. The worse it gets, the tighter her control. “You hurt?” she asks.

Ran keeps on rambling, wild-eyed, unable to stop moving. “The size of that guy, probably on shimmer, and you just…”

”I asked if you’re hurt?” Sevika huffs, annoyed.

Ran glances at her and breathes out hard. “No. Don’t think so.”

They stop pacing, lean their forehead against the brick wall and kick it hard.

“Shit. Damn, I need to get off,” Ran mutters. “Need to fuck something.”

It’s not a flirtation, just true, the way Ran works shit out. It’s just fuckboy logic.

Sevika grumbles under her breath. Ran’s clearly bleeding. She grabs their shoulder, turns them around, checks the bruises and cuts quickly and roughly. She takes Ran’s chin in her hand and tilts their head, checking the cut above their ear on the shaved side.

“Looks nasty,” she says. “But it’s not deep. You’ll live.”

Ran chuckles, voice still shaky. “Always do.”

They’re both raw and ragged and have that burning under the skin they always carry after a kill.

With the adrenaline, Ran is even cockier than usual. They are pushed against the wall from Sevika’s rough medical check, so they take hold of her waist, running their thumb under the waistband of those low-slung pants, tracing the line that always drives them crazy, whether Sevika knows it or not.

And like always, there are the jokes. “You gonna take care of me, nurse?”

Sevika huffs but for some reason she doesn’t let go. She keeps Ran pinned against the wall and looks at them. Such a pretty fuckboy. What would be the harm, right? They both need to burn off the adrenaline anyway. Wouldn’t mean anything.

Ran sees the look and almost manages to hide the way their breath catches.

They risk it.

They hold her waist tighter and pull her ever so slightly closer. Ran slips their thumb a little lower, following that deep crease at her hip.

Sevika presses in, heavy and hard, bracing her metal arm beside Ran’s head, chest to chest. She’s bigger, older, meaner, and testing if Ran will flinch. But the noise Ran makes isn’t protest.

It’s want.

They grin like a challenge. Ran’s cold metal fingers dig into her hip. Warm fingers slide even deeper under her waistband.

“Knew you had something under here worth breaking for,” they whisper.

No kisses. No stripping. Just a scramble of belts and tight pants shoved down far enough.

Sevika’s fingers find Ran’s clit first.

They moan, trying to hold down a shiver, and Sevika smiles crooked, already rubbing tight, brutal little circles.

Ran gets to her right after.

Sevika growls down against their neck, breath hot, voice wrecked,

“Fuck. There. Stay still.”

But Ran doesn’t.

Sliding two fingers down, one on either side of her clit, up and down, jerking her off rough and fast, grinding into her hand at the same time. Both of them are pushing, chasing that burn.

Ran knows exactly what Sevika needs. They’ve strapped girls in the same rooms when drunk so many times. They’ve seen Sevika shove girls’ hands into her own pants after. Heard her giving orders, gruff and direct. And Ran has listened every time.

And Sevika’s fingers, fuck, her fingers have the experience. She knows exactly how to respond to every hitch of Ran’s breath.

It’s rough.

No rhythm.

All drive.

They come nearly at the same time. Growling. Shaking. Panting. 

Sevika swears, like she always does when it’s good.

Time stills for a while.

Ran’s face presses into Sevika’s shoulder, hand still shoved in her pants, not wanting to let go. Sevika’s head drops against theirs, mind blank for a rare, relieving moment. The air stinks of sweat and blood and sex.

And for a few seconds, they just breathe together.

Then it’s Sevika grunting, “Fuck.”

Ran chuckles, like it’s nothing. 

Both of them shove their pants back up, buckling belts with hands still shaking from it. Sevika lights up a cig, sticks it between Ran’s fingers. They take a deep drag. Neither of them looks at each other, but it’s not uncomfortable. Not really.

When they walk out of the alley, Sevika goes first, broad shoulders cutting through the ever-burning lights of Zaun. Ran follows a step behind.

Right before they hit the street, Ran lifts their fingers, inhales deeply. Just in case this was a one-time thing. They want to remember what she smells like.

Sevika tries not to think.

She liked it. 

She liked it too much.

They never talk about it. But the next time, it’s easy. Like it’s supposed to happen.

♡

[ghostytoad]

Can I request rottmnt x villain reader were they taking this as a joke they play around and take nothing seriously but they are brilliant and they steel thing that from the hardest place to get in and after a week she returned it with a little note on it that says two easy :)

And they love to annoy the rottmnt

And love what you're doing it good

Getting back into it! Got plenty of requests to catch up on so expect a spam...

All's Fair in...

ROTTMNT Boys x GN! Theatrical Villain with dubious motives and a playful streak

Summary: The Hamato brothers deal with a supervillain with dramatic flair and a penchant for games.

Headcanons for: Mikey, Leo, Donnie, and Raph

GN! Reader; Romantic; Fluff || Words: 1.8k

Mikey:

He is instantly captivated. He’s wide-eyed the moment they somersault onto the scene with a dramatic entrance and an evil laugh. “DUUUDE. She’s like a real-life anime villain!!”

Even if they're not subtle with their misdeeds, Mikey won't write them off as completely evil. He'll take Y/N's constant games as irrefutable evidence that they're not bad, they just need a nudge in the right direction.

Just like with Baron Draxum, Meatsweats, and Cassandra, Mikey will NOT give up on Y/N. Even if it takes the rest of his life, he WILL get them to change! Or at the very least steal less...

He isn't one to judge and no matter the crime, he's quick to find some justification behind it. It annoys his brothers to no end just how often he'll make excuses for Y/N's antics.

"See? They even returned it! Does that scream 'Evil Villain' to you?"

No one is convinced...

Won't admit it out loud, but he secretly looks forward to facing off with Y/N. Treats it as much of a game as they do. No consequences, just good ol' fun!

He might even leave a few notes of his own hidden around where the brothers might be expecting Y/N to next.

He'll leave them inspirational quotes like "Every day is a new opportunity!" or "Someone somewhere cares about you!"

Might even leave a few sketches he's made of them scattered around for them to find. He considers it an olive branch of sorts.

Oh yeah... He's sketched them more often than he cares to admit. He even has their name graffitied into his sketchbook... They may or may not have received a few of these in the mail from an anonymous 'fan'.

He definitely fangirls if Y/N manages to pull off a particularly difficult heist. Like he's secretly rooting for them. And honestly, he kinda is.

The way he sees it, as long as no one's really getting hurt, what's the harm?

He might even compliment their tastes or gush over their 'ingenious plan' during battles.

He might as well consider himself Y/N's number one fan. Everyone else can see just how hard he's pining for them, but he insists it's just admiration! "Can't a guy swoon over a few well-placed traps?"

Unfortunately, he does get a bit distracted as a result of their captivating banter. And Y/N gets away. Every. Single. Time.

He bites the bullet one day and decides to send them a long and rambling love letter about how amazing their last escape was and if he could get their autograph and maybe a lock of their hair.

Leo:

A villain with theatrical flair? Oh, Leo is all FOR IT.

Every fight turns into a back-and-forth exchange of sass and innuendo. It's non-stop flirting the whole time. The rest of the team groans.

“Can you two not flirt mid-battle?!” "Or get a room, for the love of god!"

He's definitely on board with their little games. Listens to every dramatic monologue with keen interest. He's legitimately invested in their maniacal schemes.

Especially considering that Y/N never takes things too seriously. What's the point of villainy if they're not allowed to have a little fun? And it's not like anyone's actually getting hurt.

Obviously, he's not too keen on the whole 'criminal' aspect, but eh, he can let that slide. Who hasn't stolen a few trinkets? If it weren't for his brothers, Leo would definitely be going along with their villainy.

Besides, with banter this good, who can resist? It's like they were tailor made for each other!

"Fancy seeing you here again, Y/N. Can't blame ya, I am a work of art after all~"

He LIVES for the fun banter, the dramatic exits, it just screams classic villain vs. hero. Plus, it gives him a chance to show off his rad skills. Who doesn't love an audience?

Fair warning, though, he is not one to be outdone and will play things up to an obnoxious degree. Leo will make it his life mission to one-up Y/N in showmanship, to out-wit them with his killer one-liners, to be the guy that gets the last laugh.

So what if they get away? The gang can always catch them later. He won't admit that he's really only using that as an excuse for more battles.

He has gotten in trouble for letting them walk free because he just makes it SO. OBVIOUS.

"Same time next week, gorgeous?" "LEO! THEY ARE RIGHT THERE!"

Pretends he’s unaffected by their charm, but he’s so into them. Every time they escape, he paces the rooftop like a lovesick fool. Donnie's caught him monologuing to himself a time or two, the dork.

Would never try to change Y/N's villainy ways, that's more of Mikey's thing. If it's not broke, why fix it? And he definitely enables their schemes. He might even throw in a few suggestions here and there.

"You call that an escape? Leave this to the pros. Allow moi." He literally portals them out of there.

The taunting notes might get under his skin if they hit a little too close to home, but for the most part, he likes to think of them as a challenge. And Leo's never one to back down from a challenge!

Eventually confesses in the middle of a duel. It comes out of the blue (pun intended) too. But it's subtle enough that it doesn't register until well after the battle. “Y’know what? I like you, sparkle-bomb. Even if you’re the biggest headache I’ve ever had.”

Donnie:

Starting out? Utter disdain. Aggravation, frustration, humiliation. Y/N's games are the bane of Donnie's existence. Their villainy has earned them a top spot on Donnie's hit list (not an assassination list, just a list of people he wants to hit).

Each heist, each failed mission, every little note is a blow to his pride. He takes every note as a taunt and those taunts haunt his every nightmare. He will absolutely lose sleep over Y/N and not in a good way.

Eventually, he learns to tolerate them. After all, their schemes are pretty impressive, even if he isn't too fond of their motives. Especially when it comes to the higher-risk missions. There's a small level of begrudging respect there.

The one thing he absolutely CANNOT get over is their devil-may-care attitude or how casually they just go around wreaking havoc. Reminds him a little too much of Leonardo and he's not exactly a fan.

“A competent villain is not all that special. Their calculations are sloppy. Their logic is flawed. Their outfit has—ugh. Fantastic layering!"

Won't ever for the life of him say that they're a better... well, anything than him (definitely his pride talking), but he starts reverse-engineering their confiscated tech after every fight. He spitefully disassembles their gadgets just to put them back together better.

Sends them back in mystery boxes just so he can brag about the new improvements he's made and definitely not to hear their praise.

Donnie hacked their communicator once just to prove he could. They responded by hacking into his lab and leaving a flirty voice note. He hasn’t deleted it.

He may or may not have sample-mixed their recordings to mess around with when he thinks no one's around. Mixes it up to say things like "You have bested me once again, Othello von Ryan! You truly are the superior one!".

They hack each other’s comms to send snarky messages. Y/N's are usually flirty. His are annoyed... mostly. Talks to them under various aliases. They figure out it’s him after, like, two messages.

“Donatello, darling, I’d know your neurotic typing pattern anywhere.”

They’ve fought entirely in binary code over encrypted signals. None of the brothers know what they’re saying. Mikey suspects it’s dirty.

Thinks about Y/N at the most inconvenient times. In the lab, during training, mid-sentence—suddenly they're there in his head with a smirk and a bad pun. It INFURIATES him.

Y/N definitely plays into his weaknesses by complimenting him or offering him praise mid-battle. And we all know how susceptible Donnie is to praise.

“Only someone truly brilliant could hack the city grid like that~” “Well, I—I mean, it’s basic physics and hacking theory but—ugh, stop looking at me like that.”

Raph:

Raph doesn't have the same appreciation for Y/N's dramatic flair as his brothers. In fact, he's suspicious as hell.

“They're too loud. Too showy. That ain’t normal.” He's constantly glaring at them like they just kicked his dog.

He hates how cool Y/N is in front of his brothers. They'll swing in, blow something up, strike a pose, and call him “Red Hot.” Leo’s wheezing. Mikey’s making kissy faces. Raph is about to throw a car.

Every time they call him a cutesy nickname mid-battle, he physically reacts. “Big guy.” “Muscles.” “My darling devastation~” Cue involuntary neck flex, eye twitch, and beet-red cheeks. Every. Single. Time.

Raphael has always been a big fan of martial arts and Y/N's form is no exception. Lowkey memorizes their fighting style. Not to beat them (okay maybe a little), but because he likes watching them move—graceful, bold, impossible to ignore. It’s art, even if it makes him flustered.

Wants to hate Y/N. Tells himself they're ridiculous, unserious, and a total distraction... but when they're not around, everything feels quieter. Boring. Empty.

Despite being on different sides of the battle, he would absolutely save them during a mission gone wrong. He says it’s “just so they can face us fair next time.”. Everyone can see right through that silly little excuse.

Eventually admits he respects their strength and wit. Even if they're annoying. He likes someone who can throw him across a rooftop and laugh while doing it.

He secretly trains harder after every encounter.

He won’t say it out loud, but part of him wants to impress Y/N—not just protect his brothers. He knows they're dangerous, but damn if he doesn’t want to keep up with them.

He always growls when they escape but never chases them as hard as he could. “One of these days, I’m gonna catch Y/N.” But he’s lying to himself. He lets them go every time.

If they ever flirt with someone else to get under his skin? Oh boy. The look he gives is pure murder—and the second they’re alone, he corners them like “You wanna explain what the hell that was?”

Y/N likes to pretend they have no idea what they're talking about. And ooh, does it ever piss the hell out of him.

Like his brothers, though, he isn't too against the idea of redemption. Hell, if it worked with Baron and Cassandra, Y/N would definitely be a candidate for change.

He would try to give them a second chance if they ever got seriously hurt or turned against a greater threat. “You’re still a pain, but... you don’t gotta do this alone.”

[xuexing-lumi]

💀THE RAWEST, MOST UNHINGED PERSONALITY TAROT BLOG ON MIN YOONGI EVER (PROBABLY ON TUMBLR SO FAR) tw: sensitive themes + his current mental health.

⚠️ Disclaimer: This is a tarot-based psychological interpretation meant for entertainment and introspection only. It does not reflect the real Min Yoongi as a person, nor does it claim any authority on his private life. This post explores archetypes, spiritual unrest, and emotional terrain through symbolic intuition. Don't take it as gospel.

🧷Note from lumi: This is long and not sugarcoated. If you made it here,thank you for reading.I have poured my entire heart and spleen on this,thank you so much.

What are Yoongi’s fears, his darker and hidden side?

✦ TAROT SPREAD

(Nine of Cups,The Devil,The Magician)

Yoongi might look like he has it all that soft, content smile, the quiet nods of gratitude, the life that seems so full on paper but under the surface? It’s more complicated than that. The Nine of Cups here doesn’t feel like “I’ve made it.” It feels more like“Am I even allowed to want more than this?” There’s this unspoken ache in him like he’s been so focused on creating for others, holding space for everyone else’s dreams, that he’s forgotten how to be selfish. And not in a bad way. In a human way. Like… he’s scared that asking for more happiness, more love, more peace, would somehow be greedy. That enjoying too much might mean it’ll all get taken away. He’s the type to say “I’m fine” with a little smile even when part of him is longing for more. But that longing gets buried. Because deep down, he’s probably thinking“If I reach for more, I might break what I’ve built.” The Nine of Cups becomes a kind of emotional armor. “Look, I’m good. I’m grateful. I don’t need anything else.” But it’s a quiet kind of fear, too that if he dares to want more, it’ll make him ungrateful or unworthy. Sometimes the life he’s worked so hard for starts to feel like a beautiful cage and the worst part? He’s the one locking the door.

This is the rawest part of Yoongi’s shadow. There’s this low, nearly invisible hum in the background of his mind one that never really shuts off. It’s made of control, of obsession, of trying to keep everything in its place because if he lets even one piece fall, he fears it’ll all unravel. There’s a quiet, relentless pressure to be perfect, to be composed, to be useful and underneath that? A darker fear he barely lets himself acknowledge: the fear that if he truly let go of the pain that shaped him, if he actually allowed himself to heal, he might lose the very thing that makes him who he is. His creativity, his intensity, his genius,it all came from that same dark well. The same sleepless nights, the same emotional collapse, the same moments he thought he wouldn’t make it. And he doesn’t say this out loud, but there’s a part of him that wonders… if I stop bleeding, will I still make art that cuts as deeply? That question haunts him. He’s built something extraordinary out of his suffering, and while he craves peace, he also clings to that chaos because at least it feels familiar. It gives him control. It gives him power but deep down, there’s a bruised part of his soul that believes he doesn’t deserve love unless he’s earning it, creating something out of it, turning it into gold. There’s this aching belief that if he’s not useful, if he’s not working, if he’s not producing something valuable, then maybe he’s not worthy of being chosen at all.

Outwardly, Yoongi comes across as a master of his craft sharp, capable, deliberate, someone who knows exactly what he’s doing. But deep down, there’s this creeping, quiet fear that maybe, just maybe, he’s a fraud. The Magician in this shadow context isn’t about confidence or skill; it’s about the ache of imposter syndrome. He worries that his talent might not be entirely real that what people admire could just be clever timing, good luck, or a carefully constructed illusion. There's this subtle guilt he carries, too, over how much control he has over how people see him. He’s hyper-aware of how his words, his music, even the silence he maintains, shape his image. And sometimes that power scares him. It makes him ask himself the hard questions late at night Am I still being me, or am I just becoming who they expect? The real fear isn’t whether people love him,it's whether they actually know him. Whether he still knows himself and in those quieter moments, when the world isn’t watching, the darker part of him wonders: You can make people believe anything. But can you sit with the truth of who you are when there’s no one left to perform for?

What are Yoongi’s toxic traits and behaviors in relationships (family, friends, and romantic) ?

✦ TAROT SPREAD

(Knight of Pentacles,King of Wands,Four of Cups,Eight of Wands (Bottom of the Deck)

This is his obsession with structure, routine, and responsibility not because he loves it, but because somewhere along the way, he began equating productivity with survival. It’s not just about ambition anymore; it’s about identity. If he’s not working, not progressing, not creating something that lasts then who is he, really? He’s been conditioned to believe his value lies in what he builds, not who he is when everything is still. So he throws himself into the grind with quiet desperation, waking up early, pushing through the fatigue, checking off goals like he’s afraid of what might rise to the surface if he ever slows down but beneath that calm discipline is a gnawing fear: what if no matter how much he accomplishes, he never feels fulfilled? What if he climbs every mountain, checks every box, and it all just… feels the same? That grief, the subtle ache of time slipping by while he's too focused on the next thing to savor the moment lives inside him like a ghost. He rarely talks about it, maybe even avoids thinking about it, but it haunts him during quiet nights when no one’s watching and the noise finally fades.

Yoongi has this huge inner fire that burns quietly, intensely. It's not flashy, but it's potent the kind of presence that can command a room without saying a word. And yet, one of his deepest fears tied to this fire is the possibility of being consumed by it. He’s terrified of the darker side of power including the pride, the ego, the way success can subtly erode the softness in a person. He doesn’t want to become someone who’s feared more than loved, someone who people respect but feel disconnected from. He’s hyper aware of how easily power can create distance, and that’s something that haunts him. Sometimes he pulls back emotionally not because he doesn't care, but because staying too open feels dangerous. He’s learned that too much vulnerability can make you lose your center, and so he keeps a certain distance,just enough to keep himself intact. There's also this intense passion within him, like creative voltage running through his veins. But that intensity can be overwhelming, even to him. He fears it might burn others if he lets it fully show, or worse, burn him out if he doesn't keep it under control. So he channels it into what he can master his music, his leadership, his craft. He turns it into something useful, something admirable. But in doing so, he also isolates himself. The very thing that makes him powerful is the same thing that makes him feel alone.

At the core, Yoongi isn’t emotionally numb,he’s overwhelmed by how deeply he feels. That’s the part most people miss. When he withdraws or seems distant, it’s not because he’s cold or doesn’t care. It’s because he’s terrified of what might surface if he lets those emotions rise unchecked. There’s this quiet ache in him, a kind of heaviness that settles in his chest when things get too still, too quiet. He distracts himself with structure, with endless projects, with music that feels safe to pour himself into because facing his own heart head on feels like standing at the edge of something bottomless. If he looks at the cup too long, he might drown in it. And the truth is, sometimes he already has. He doesn’t always know what to do with joy when it shows up. A part of him hesitates, freezes. Even when love or peace is offered to him sincerely, he tends to question it. Not because he doesn’t want it,but because deep down, there’s this whisper: "Do I really deserve this? What if it disappears the moment I relax?" So instead of reaching out, he emotionally flinches. He pulls back just enough to stay safe, but not so far that people notice. It’s a form of self-protection that slowly starts to look like self-sabotage. He knows how to function with sadness. He knows how to keep going with pressure.

What is the worst thing Yoongi 'can do' to someone emotionally, mentally, and spiritually, knowingly or unknowingly ?

✦ TAROT SPREAD

(Justice, The Chariot, Eight of Pentacles)

Yoongi’s emotional shadow can manifest as emotional coldness disguised as fairness. When hurt or betrayed, he can go into a deeply logical, detached mindset where he no longer feels the connection. He may withhold softness or closeness in the name of what’s fair, delivering cold truths like knives and standing behind the idea that “you get what you give.” but in doing so, he can emotionally devastate someone who expected warmth or reconciliation. Justice as his shadow becomes punishment: cutting someone out completely, shutting them down with rationality, refusing to budge even if it hurts the person deeply. The worst emotional wound? Making someone feel like they deserved to be abandoned or emotionally erased even if they just made a human mistake.

When Yoongi locks into tunnel vision, when he’s determined to move forward no matter the cost, he can mentally bulldoze people especially those who love him or want to be close. He might become hyper-focused on a goal or principle and ignore the emotional wreckage left behind. This is the kind of mindset that says, “I warned you. Don’t get in my way.” In relationships or close bonds, he can mentally exhaust others by constantly pushing for control, consistency, or emotional discipline. It can make someone feel like they have to earn their place beside him, or keep up with his mental pace or be left behind. Unknowingly, he could make someone feel small, incapable, or mentally unstable simply because they can’t match his speed or clarity when he’s in this mode.

The Eight of Pentacles shows that he could unknowingly drain someone spiritually by making them feel like they’ll never be good enough unless they’re constantly working, proving, or perfecting themselves. He can make someone feel like they’re on a never ending self improvement loop just to deserve his time, energy, or emotional presence.In the worst case scenario, Yoongi could spiritually exhaust someone by being emotionally unavailable but still requiring effort from them making them feel like they have to keep showing up, keep giving, keep fixing themselves just to stay close to him. That’s the unseen cost: being around him could feel like walking on eggshells, even if he never asks you to.

What has Yoongi actually 'done' to people (The Worst of the Worst) ?

✦ TAROT SPREAD

(The World ,Five of Cups, Knight of Wands)

Yoongi has, intentionally or not, made some people feel like they were part of something cosmic like they finally mattered. Like they were seen, understood, chosen. This card shows that he’s capable of giving people the illusion of emotional wholeness like their story found its final chapter with him. The pain he left before the ending ever arrived.

Yoongi has left people in a state of emotional mourning for the version of themselves they were when they were with him. He may have let someone down in a moment that really mattered. Or he gave so much affection, then emotionally withdrew so suddenly, it felt like death.He didn’t just walk away,he left people stuck watching what could’ve been, replaying it over and over in their minds.

Yoongi has burned through people’s lives like a wildfire intensely one day, completely gone the next. Passionate, inspired, romantic, comforting then suddenly distant, erratic, unreachable.

He may have swept someone off their feet, made them feel alive again, filled their world with color.....only to vanish or lose interest without explanation. His attention could have felt like sunlight, but when he took it away, it left people cold and doubting everything.

The Knight of Wands, in his shadow, can be impulsive, emotionally inconsistent, and selfish in love. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he’s always chasing something and people get caught in the flames.The worst thing Yoongi has done isn’t cruelty. It’s disappearing. It’s making people believe they were part of his forever, only to treat them like a chapter. It’s giving someone the world, then walking away like they imagined it.

What’s the worst thing Yoongi has done to himself?

✦ TAROT SPREAD

(The Star ,Six of Pentacles, King of Pentacles)

The Star is a card of hope, renewal, vulnerability, divine restoration but in this context, it reveals something deeply tragic.Yoongi has become a symbol of hope for others at the cost of his own.He has poured out parts of himself emotionally, artistically, spiritually so others could feel less alone, feel inspired, feel saved and yet… in doing so, he’s often neglected his own right to fully heal.He turned his own inner child into a lighthouse for others to find safety in, while he stayed lost at sea. (the water body represents specifically that in the star card).

Yoongi has spiritually under valued himself. This card speaks of imbalance the kind that looks generous on the outside, but is driven by a deep fear of being too much if he ever really needed anything. He’s given time, support, resources, energy, emotional labor… and likely struggled to ask for it back. He may have built his entire identity around being useful,reliable,the one who listens and the one who helps.He’s poured from an empty cup for years. Sometimes believing that if he just gives a little more, maybe someone will stay maybe someone will prove he doesn’t have to constantly perform to be worth something.He’s trained his nervous system to equate love with effort and when the effort stops… the love disappears orr so he fears.

The King of Pentacles is stable, wealthy, respected, grounded. He’s built an empire but in this shadow context, it reveals that Yoongi has sacrificed emotional depth for security. He’s chosen consistency, leadership, control but at what cost? This King doesn’t cry. He shows up. Pays the bills. Finishes the work but inside? He’s lonely. He fears letting go of his image. He fears being seen as fragile. He’s worn stoicism like armor while a part of him longs to be held without needing to achieve anything.He turned his soul into a brand. He prioritized stability over softness and now he’s trapped in a life where he’s everyone’s rock but has no idea where to fall himself.

Do BTS and Yoongi’s family know about the ways he’s hurt himself (emotionally, mentally) ?

✦ TAROT SPREAD

(The Moon,Ten of Wands,Queen of Cups,Five of Swords (Bottom of the Deck))

Yoongi’s inner pain is hidden behind a carefully constructed fog. His family and BTS may intuitively feel something’s wrong like shadows moving beneath the surface but they can’t grasp the full truth of it. He doesn’t tell them everything. Not because he’s being deceptive, but because he doesn’t know how to name his pain without downplaying it. He might speak vaguely, use humor, or change the subject. Even when he’s trying to be honest, it comes in cryptic through lyrics, brief comments, silence.His members likely feel when he’s emotionally withdrawn or haunted, but The Moon suggests they walk on eggshells around that part of him. It’s like looking at someone underwater, you know they’re not okay, but you can’t quite reach them.

BTS and his family are very aware that Yoongi burdens himself. They’ve watched him take on too much, keep pushing through physical pain, overwork, and emotional exhaustion all while refusing help.They’ve likely tried to intervene at times, but Yoongi’s response might have been calm deflection or insisting “he’s fine.”The Ten of Wands shows them watching him bend, strain, and quietly break, while knowing he’ll never admit it unless he’s already past his limit.The Ten of Wands shows them watching him bend, strain, and quietly break, while knowing he’ll never admit it unless he’s already past his limit.

This is likely a maternal or feminine presence,possibly a family member or even a BTS member with a nurturing spirit (like Jimin or Jin). This person knows Yoongi is in pain not because he says it, but because they feel it. They have the emotional intelligence and softness to sense his wounds before he speaks,but even with all their empathy, this Queen sometimes feels useless. Because Yoongi, being who he is, doesn’t want to “worry” people. He may respond with a smile, or distract with sarcasm, or simply vanish for a while and that leaves this person heartbroken.

BTS and his family may feel conflicted. They love him so much, but sometimes they feel like they’re fighting a war he won’t let them into. They might blame themselves for not noticing earlier or they might feel frustrated, knowing he’s hurting and not being able to fix it.This card also shows the emotional cost of being close to Yoongi. People love him, but his emotional walls are sharp. If they push too hard, he retreats or reacts. So over time, they may have learned to back off not because they don’t care, but because they’re trying not to make it worse.

People love him, but his emotional walls are sharp. If they push too hard, he retreats or reacts. So over time, they may have learned to back off because they’re trying not to make it worse.

Yoongi’s mental health journey since debut

✦ TAROT SPREAD

𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟑–𝟏𝟔: (Five of Swords, Temperance, Three of Swords)

In his early years, Yoongi was a walking contradiction: outwardly composed, inwardly unraveling. The Five of Swords shows us a young man silently battling with himself, his body, and his purpose. This was a time when he didn’t just feel misunderstood, he expected to be. He internalized failure, emotional isolation, and guilt. He likely took on more responsibility than he admitted, constantly trying to prove he was strong enough, smart enough, or “chill” enough. Temperance says he tried to keep the balance maybe through music, maybe through control but emotionally? He was drowning in unspoken sadness. The Three of Swords confirms it: Yoongi was quietly brokenhearted. Whether it was grief from his past, imposter syndrome, self-worth issues, or the sheer emotional toll of debuting, he endured more than he expressed. And worst of all? He thought he had to. That was the heartbreak,not just pain, but believing he didn’t deserve help for it.

𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟕–𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑: (The Hanged Man, Nine of Swords, Five of Swords)

The Hanged Man shows a period of emotional paralysis,where Yoongi might have stopped chasing external success and started confronting internal pain. Maybe through therapy, maybe through solitude, maybe through making Agust D his confession booth. He wasn't “getting better,” he was learning how to sit in the dark without letting it devour him. The Nine of Swords confirms this: anxiety, insomnia, guilt, self-blame. He may have cried in hotel bathtubs, on studio floors, in soundproof spaces where no one could hear him. It wasn’t dramatic. It was numb. The kind of suffering that eats you slowly. The Five of Swords appears again,suggesting he kept sabotaging his own healing. He might have pushed people away when he needed connection most. He might have told himself he didn’t deserve softness. This was the era he stopped pretending to be fine and started trying to understand why he wasn’t.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒–𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍: (Five of Swords, Death, Six of Pentacles)

Yoongi is actively shedding his old emotional patterns. Death is not about dying,it’s about choosing to stop surviving and finally start living. He's letting go of the belief that he has to be the strong one all the time. He’s burying the version of himself that only existed to serve others, to write pain into poetry, to control what couldn’t be fixed. The Five of Swords lingers his shadow isn’t gone. He still wrestles with mistrust, with the voice in his head that says, “They’ll leave if they see the real you" but the Six of Pentacles is his light: he’s finally learning how to receive. Not just love from others, but mercy from himself. He’s beginning to understand that rest is not weakness, asking for help is not failure, and joy does not need to be earned through suffering. He’s rebalancing the scales. He’s no longer giving his soul away just to feel worthy. He’s honoring the healing.

Is Yoongi fine after coming back from the military?

✦ TAROT SPREAD

(The Star, Ten of Wands, Page of Cups (Reversed))

Yoongi’s return from military service is quietly fragile. The Star tells us he’s hopeful but this hope is soft, tentative, and easily bruised. He wants to believe that his fans still love him, that his place in BTS still matters, that he can still be himself even if he’s changed. But the Ten of Wands reveals the pressure he’s carrying the burden of expectation, duty, relevance. He might feel he has to “be strong,” “be stable,” “be inspiring,” even if he’s still finding his emotional feet. The Page of Cups reversed shows he’s struggling to access his vulnerability. He might feel emotionally immature or blocked. He could be second-guessing his creative voice, feeling uncertain about how to reconnect with himself and others without performance. He’s likely being kind to everyone except himself. He wants to heal but he hasn’t quite given himself permission yet.

How can we make Yoongi feel better as Fans?

✦ TAROT SPREAD

(The Hermit, Four of Wands, The Moon)

Let him rest. Let him go quiet without panicking. Let him disappear without thinking he’s forgotten you. The Hermit says he’s finding his way back to himself not as an idol, but as a person. Celebrate him even when he’s not performing. The Four of Wands wants us to love him in stillness when he’s healing, growing, changing. That’s the real homecoming.The Moon is everything he hides.....the self-doubt, the fear of fading, the inner child who still wonders if he’s too much or not enough. Love him in the silence. Trust that your soft, steady love reaches him even when he can’t say it back.

✨ Lumi’s lil footnote✨ ok real talk…this tarot reading literally took me 2 full days, and ngl it was so energy draining I actually felt sick during parts of it. the energy around this was heavy, raw, and emotionally intense. but I really wanted to do it right. this isn’t just a reading, it’s my tribute to yoongi’s healing and resilience, esp after his military return. if you’re reading this: send him your love. 💜 — Lumi

✦ do you want a personal reading like this?

🌸 I offer:

Celebrity Tarot Reads (K-Pop, BTS, Actors) SP Manifestation Guidance Future Love + Shadow Work Spreads Moon-Coded Letter from Your Twin Flame Channeled Audio Readings + PDF Summaries ✧ First reading? Ask for a free pull!

—

📩 DMs Open: @xuexing-lumi Tumblr inbox

🖤 closing words from Lumi:

We ride or die, even through the mess. 💅 — Lumi, the Moon’s Bride 🌕💋

—

(ignore):

[comicslina]

HELLO, FRENS. Let's talk!!

Note: This is primarily for Jason fans, but some of it applies to Helena's fans, too. So pay attention. Please.

(So far I've completely avoided using the Helena tags on Tumblr out of respect, and I haven't even LOOKED because I know most of the posts from the past week would make a geiger counter scream.)

tl;dr- We FINALLY have a writer for Jason who can or might want to write him how we've been begging for all this time. Fellow fans and hyperfixaters, we must NOT fuck this up for ourselves.

Already, according to the writer's social media: "Comics people are so interesting. I've had hundreds of them ask me if I'm going to do a bad job writing these characters, like maybe I'm some kind of literary demon out to ruin their lives."

If you've been doing this, STOP. APOLOGIZE. You will METAPHORICALLY SEND FLOWERS. 🔪

Fiction is important, but real life breathing people are MORE important.

Let us be a fandom people WANT to write for.

You have fears, you have questions, doubts. You want to quiz the author on her values and knowledge. We have been burned for YEARS by writing that makes our fave look stupid and perpetuates crappy narratives. Haters abound, writers don't care about him and his fans, and now we have a new book announced that's promising us everything we've been wanting and everyone is screaming because we scared.

CHILL for a minute.

IF you reach out to the author- which you should think twice, maybe thrice about, maybe don't do it at all- you will be RESPECTFUL. You will be POLITE. You will not SPAM or FLAME or MAKE DEMANDS. You will be a MODEL FAN.

We will become THE BEST FUCKING FANDOM TO WRITE FOR, and give this writer THE MOST PLEASANT FUCKING FANDOM EXPERIENCE IN THE HISTORY OF COMIC BOOK FANDOM BULLSHIT.

You will understand that NOT EVERYONE WANTS THE SAME THING for Jason and Helena, and that is okay. We all have perfect versions of these characters in our heads. It's why we have fanfiction. Jason's fandom in particular has built several competing Platonic Ideals of Jason Todd in our heads, and we get pissed each time DC fails to approach even one of them.

But that might actually change. We might get CLOSER.

"But its pro-cop-"

The author is vocally ACAB.

"Helena deserves better she's being treated like an object-"

The author is a TRANS WOMAN who is VOCALLY FEMINIST and LEFTIST. It might be Jason's book, but this author is FAR more likely to treat her with respect than, say, fucking LOBDELL. We don't even know what Jason and Helena's relationship is going to look like. That cover might have nothing to do with it. Covers do that. I am personally down for it if it's done well, but I'm a horny bitch.

And being trans means she has been Through Some Shit, so she probably gets it. (Whys and hows of Jason and Helena's trauma.)

"The Huntress and Red Hood fandoms hate eachother-"

Grow up. What are you, 6? People like the characters they like for myriad reasons. I imprinted on Jason first, and he is a hot man, so I'm more interested in him than Helena. That doesn't mean I don't think Huntress is cool or that she doesn't deserve good books. DC has done both characters dirty, but this series might be a jumping off point for both of them.

"But my ship-"

We are not in control. I want them to make out sloppy-style after a tense, issues-long standoff. Doesn't mean I'm going to get it or that it's going to happen the way I want. Many people hate this idea. Treasure your fanfiction.

And Helena makes a lot of thematic sense for the story, regardless of romance. The two characters have interesting parallels to explore and haven't interacted much, so it's fresh ground. Having another character would mean telling a very different kind of story.

"But the helmet-"

We all love the helmet. We might even get it back one day. But not at the moment, because they're trying something different, and if losing the helmet is the price we have to pay for better writing, than so be it.

"I don't like the art-"

Bummer! Treat the artist with the same level of respect as this post demands for the writer.

"I didn't like her take on Jason in Beast World-"

We're always calling Jason "Potential Man," but with this author- and a black label- we might ACTUALLY get something good. By that I mean something that isn't made to prop up Batman and his values and make Jason look bad in comparison. Something that appears to have considerate thought put into it. She'll be somewhat bound by editorial, but she's still got WAY more leeway.

Me neither. To me he does what he does to protect the weak from experiencing what he has, not takes his day out on them. But that take might change, and if this new book starts out that way, it may not end that way. Regardless. You will be PLEASANT. If you are PLEASANT, maybe she will seek us out and LISTEN.

Lets support her.

"What if I don't like it? What if it's the same crap all over again?"

Again, you will BE POLITE. You will NOT HARASS THE CREATORS. Vote with your wallet. Write a letter. It's happened before, it will probably happen again in the future.

We will live.

I know absolutely for sure there will be features of it I probably won't like, because I am not on the editorial staff to force my opinion. It will be the same for most of us. It sucks, but at the end of the day it's still a comic book, and we'll always have fanwork.

There's a lot of crap happening out in the world right now. Don't add to it.

Peace. Be good, kids! ❤️

[changingplumbob]

Second Round - Day Four (R2) 1 of 3

@paracosmic-sims, @perolesims, @eljeebee, @jonquilyst, @riverofjazzsims, @matchalovertrait

Reflection on Progress: Oh, it was definitely great. I knew Deanna would fall for my charms as soon as we spent some time together, and look at that! Second place may not be the coveted *first*, but only losing to the girl who already had the advantage of starting on the lead isn't bad at all! Nothing I can't handle on the next few rounds, rest assured. The challenges were certainly something, though. Me? Winning at *videogames?* That's certainly news to me, I'm still trying to wrap my mind around it. But it was so worth it.

Hana: Honestly, while a new group is refreshing, I can't say it's not comforting to have at least one familiar face around. While we don't always see eye to eye, Hana has certainly left a decent impression on me, and I look forward to keep our art discussions going.

Isabella: Another contestant with fine taste? This round is really surprising.  She seems more level-headed than she gives herself credit for, but unfortunately didn't catch my attention much beyond her good fashion sense. Refined but not... distinctive. Like a timeless fashion article, in the sense that it can be always there, but never quite as loved as the season's trend, if it makes sense?  But that constance might be what keeps her afloat in the game, so it's worth noting, at least. I just think she'll get along better with Quetzalli than me, for example.

Isla: Style influencer and High Maintenance? Ugh, either a match made in heaven or hell. Probably hell, given she quite literaly had an outburst over a *dream*. Like... get it together girl, even *I* wouldn't demand this amount of catering over something as small as that. I'm not the most tranquil girl around, don't get me wrong, but even I could see that was diva-meltdown behaviour. And not the cute and relatable kind, either. That's the kind that gets you blacklisted on any self-respecting agencies. ...I fear the villa wouldn't still be standing at the end of the day, honestly, if most of us wake up on the wrong side of the bed. Too many clashing aspects. Who decided on this?

Nyami: Hm, the sixth place... So, second most sucessful of this group. That already makes her noteworthy. Though, I find it hard to like her from what I've seen, so she must really be putting in work to be this high still. Cringe, erratic, and still on top ten? *winces* What does Deanna see in her?

Quetzalli: Honestly, she seems to be the only one who hasn't shared a group with at least someone else before. Must feel bad to be the odd one out. She seems to enjoy a more refined style, from what I've noticed so that's always a pleasant thing to see - though her clothes... don't exactly covey that (not even quiet luxury... they seem plain?). I won't say she's not beautiful - even managed herself a fellow contestant's attention, from what I've seen? - but it's certainly way too understated.  She's probably someone who wants more, but doesn't know how to put herself out there and shine. Her behaviour in the challenges shows that too. A little too naive. But... ultimately not a problem to me, I think. Might even be a good connection to make, perhaps? Though, she seemed a bit clingy with Posy, and I'm still baffled that she opted to stay? She was offered, in her words, everything she wanted. She's low enough on the rank that her wanting to stay isn't a problem for me, but... why?

Reflection on Progress: Alright, I could’ve done better, but I’m happy for the chance to keep going and excited for the next adventures (:

Apolline: It's nice to go another round by her side. Despite our differences, she's the closest I can come to calling someone a 'friend' around here (:

Isabella: I’ve only seen them a few times, so it’s hard to have a solid opinion, but they seem like a really cool person and I think she’s beautiful, but very serious

Isla: She looks super cute! I can’t wait to actually get to know her and talk to her and all that.

Nyami: Another contestant I think is gorgeous! But she better watch out, 'cause I’m aiming for her spot in the ranking. Though, to be honest, the one I really want to knock off the podium is Lara. Nothing personal—just focused on the goal. hehe

Quetzalli: She’s so beautiful! And she seems super nice too—another contestant I think I’d really get along with (: I’m excited to get to know her even better

Reflection on Progress: It was a ride. A LOT happened, I mean a LOT, especially by the end of this round. Alaina joining the contest but she's engaged? And Berenice? Oh, I wish she never came here under pretenses. I miss her. I know I don't find her jokes funny, but right now? I really wish I could hear those jokes from her. The fight as well, I just hope nothing happens like that in the next round. I'm glad justice was served and Cassiel was removed. I hope Jerrica is okay. Anyway, I was ranked 18th! Not bad, I think. Though I'd have to work hard for my points the next round.

Apolline: Apolline is a bit of a princess, but I think we both appreciate the refined side of life. I think she and I could get along well, just talking about expensive art for hours. I'm looking forward to sharing the villa with her!

Hana: Another artist! Hana seems like a great person and I can't wait to spend more time getting to know her.

Isla: I thought we would butt heads for the whole round, but I'm so happy we got more closer. I'm so glad we're together again! I know we're supposed to be competing against each other, but still. I'd choose her to stay with.

Nyami: Gorgeous Nyami is with me again for this round. I remember losing against her during the staring contest. I felt like her eyes would swallow me and drown me with those adorable orbs! I'm just glad I'm with her this time!

Quetzalli: I saw Posy proposition her after the last elimination, and I saw Quetzalli really think about leaving with her. I like Quetzalli and I'm not saying she stayed for the screen time to help her career, but it's good we're rooming together at the villa this round. I'm looking forward to finding out if my suspicions are just jealousy, or if she really is just in this for the fame.

Reflection on Progress: I think it went pretty well! Definitely more ups than downs. I'm happy that I won a couple challenges and spent that extra time with Deanna!

Apolline: She's so pretty and I love her hair! I need to ask what shampoo she uses because her hair looks so soft and silky smooth!

Hana: I haven't heard much about her, so I don't really have an opinion of her yet. She's got interesting tattoos; tattoos aren't really my thing but they look good on her! Hopefully we'll get along.

Isabella: I am sooo thrilled that I will still be with Isabella! I think out of everyone in my first group I got along with her best. At first I wasn't sure if I'd like her or not, but now I'm confident that she is someone I'd love to stay friends with!

Nyami: I guess more cringy jokes await me! I've been learning to tolerate her but hopefully I can still escape when I want to like last round.

Quetzalli: I heard that there was some drama between her and Posy. Not sure what it was about but hopefully it won't carry over into this new group.

Reflection on Progress: I'm so proud of myself for making it through. I wasn't sure how this would play out and I am glad to have met everyone. I will miss Bernice though but i understand why she needed to go - it is a competition. I'm ready for the next round though to see how Deanna and I will continue to connect

Apolline: I'm imaging she'll see me as competition so I'm not expecting it to go well. I'd like to be friends but I'm not sure if we have much in common

Hana: She seems like a free spirit so hello! Fellow one right here! I am expecting that it won't be too hard to get to know her, if she has a good sense of humor

Isabella: So I am with Belle again? At least she'll be used to my jokes. We are different people but she's always polite

Isla: She's like me, her high maintenance is similar to my erratic nature. Sometimes we'll wake up on the right side of the bed and sometimes we don't. It'll be nice to spend time with her again

Quetzalli: So I wasn't there for the Posy drama but if Quetzalli turned her down that means she's someone that follows through. I can respect that

Reflection on Progress: I won't lie, it's a miracle I'm still in because of my unflirty nature. However, I've been having a great time. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and I need to strategize more effectively if I want to stay in.

Apolline: She makes me nervous. She's in second place, has cute outfits, and acts very proper. I think I'll forget how to act around her.

Hana: For a hot-headed person, she's effortlessly cool. I'm surprised she didn't rank higher.

Isabella: Another music lover! Maybe we can be besties!

Isla: I heard her dream job as a kid was to become a professional shell collector! That's adorable. I think we'll be good friends, too.

Nyami: Nyami is such a sweetie, no wonder she's also high up in the ranking.

[swan2swan]

If you ever find yourself thinking "I feel like I should like This Thing, but I just can't really like it that much for some reason? Is something wrong with me?", just look up people's opinions about it on the internet.

No, not those opinions. You're not looking to see "Why do people like this?" That won't work. You'll see other people liking The Thing and just feel weirder that you can't bring yourself to like it. Those are the wrong opinions.

You need to to find the Wrong Opinions. I mean the WRONG Opinions. Find the haters. Read their shallow, repetitive, unfounded pieces of libel and slander, and feel your annoyance turn to anger, the anger turn to rage, and when that rage has your brain nice and hot, you look back at That Thing You Can't Quite Like, and you wrap your hand around it, and you feel it melt and conform to your grip.

When your mind cools, you will find that Actually That Thing Is Very Cool, and you Like It Very Much.

[lesbianologist]

fuck, this is such a stunning reflection—thank you for writing all of this. i couldn’t agree more, and honestly, i think you’ve articulated one of the most quietly brilliant things hacks does.

hacks resists the impulse to villainize. ruby isn’t bad. she’s actually pretty wonderful—clever, grounded, present. in a world with less gravity, ava could’ve been deeply happy with her and fulfilled by their relationship together. but hacks knows that love, or longing, or connection doesn’t always follow clean lines. ava has this other insane pull—this magnetic, messy, overwhelming and “unnamed” thing with deborah—and ruby can feel. but the show doesn’t let us escape it. they showcase the ruin it has when ava chooses to go back to deb—what she has with ruby isn’t sustainable if she’s with deb. same with the throuple. it just cannot work.

what happened with ruby is painful because she’s good, because she’s right, and because ava couldn’t fully choose her. and you’re beyond right in that the show never lets us off the hook for that. hell, admitting that ruby and ava had issues because ava couldn’t let go of deborah setting her free is insane, but even more than that—that ava had to go to therapy and still couldn’t move on from deb. like you said, who among us hasn’t been ruby? we’ve all been there. kind, patient, waiting, watching someone we love drift towards someone they’re obviously not ready to let go of or not entirely finished with. it hurts even more if you can see it’s reciprocated. it’s handled with such grace and complexity. the show assumes we can hold that pain without looking away—and trusts us enough not to flatten it.

and your frasier comparison? absolutely fucking dead-on and i didn’t even see it so kudos to you. the niles/daphne arc remains one of the most emotionally unflinching slow burns in sitcom history, and the aftermath with mel and donny is still one of the sharpest subversions of “endgame” comfort. they don’t smooth it out. they don’t offer easy catharsis. they say: yes, you got what you wanted—but look who got hurt along the way. and for hacks to carry that same narrative honesty, that willingness to sit in the discomfort of flawed people making flawed choices, is so rare. it doesn’t mistake complexity for cruelty, or pain for punishment. it simply honors the truth that real connection, real love—is messy. and sometimes, someone has to be hurt for that truth to come to light.

it’s brave storytelling. and it’s exactly what keeps me coming back.

also, as a side note, when talking about ruby and ava and the throuple and all of that, i started thinking about how when deb/ruby talked about the ring on stage, it reflected yet another of deb’s jealousy, possessiveness, and territorial nature. it felt like yet another jealous ex moment, like the jealous ex trying to connect with a different and maybe healthier ex.

I still can't get over the fact that it's canon that Ava went to couples therapy with Ruby because she couldn't shut up about Deb, Ruby calling her out on considering Deborah more important than their life together, and Ava ACTUALLY choosing to go with D instead of Ruby.

the show slips it in so quietly, but it’s one of the most revealing tidbits of information we get: ava in therapy, unable to stop talking about deborah. and even more revealing is that ruby sees it for what it is. there’s something haunting in that. ava’s heart is already elsewhere, already spoken for. not in some grand declaration of love, like deb in 4.09, but in the slow erosion of everything that came after deborah. ava just continues to be pulled into deb's orbit. it's insane.

and it's so canonically gay lmao.