#personal car experts

[runawaycarouselhorse]

Don't feel too bad for him, it's all consequences of his own actions.

[ardri-na-bpiteog]

I'm going to start using a taser on people for their bad, simplistic takes on the Troubles and the IRA

[gender-euphowrya]

i'm getting a good grade in transgender

[fairydustedtheory]

As soon as i told my kid that i had the financial aid for the driving lessons (i still have to not suck at driving which remains to be seen), she admitted to me that she dreams of going on a road trip and camping.🚗⛰🏕🏖

It's funny because obviously i love the idea too but never told her because we've always been dependant on someone else driving us places so it wasn't in the cards at all. Plus, I've never even been camping in my whole life. I guess it's time to learn stuff on youtube?

[pandabibble]

We need to assemble a council of the greatest rope play experts in the world

and have them design better bras/seatbelts that aren't awkward for or uncomfortable for tiddy posessors to use

[hurtspideyparker]

If Civil War didn't end in divorce and everyone lived together Part 2

Read Part 1 here

Tony: Why is Underoos mopping the ceiling?

Sam: Told him since he's sticky that's his chore

Bucky: It's only fair he helps out around the house

Tony: Hm. Makes sense

-

Vision cooked dinner:

Peter: *pushing around food to make it look eaten*

Natasha: *surreptitiously spitting into napkin*

Steve: *taking small bites with tons of water*

Bucky: *just stares at full plate*

Tony: Well this is disgusting, I'm ordering pizza

-

Sam: C'mon man stop moping around, you gotta get yourself a girl

Bucky: Ok.

Sam: Ok? Okayyyyy! I know-

Bucky: Give me your phone

Sam: Oh you got a number in mind already hotshot? *hands phone over*

Bucky: *ring* Hi Sarah ;)

Sam: BOY-

-

Peter: Ned thought you would seperate your colours from your lights but he also thought you'd be homophobic so I don't pay him much mind cuz clearly I'm more of a superhero expert than him but he does have a 2% better average than me in history so like maybe you do hand wash your clothes and that's why I asked what underwear you wear because-

Steve: *listening intently with apprehension and alarm*

Natasha: I can't believe you found the one person on Earth who talks more nonsense than you

Tony: I know right, it's incredibly unnerving. I'm planning on adopting him

-

Peter: Mr. Stark I have to tell you something. I think Vision is a... *whispers* pervert

Tony: Um, why?

Peter: He keeps floating through my room without knocking! He saw me changing, he saw my nipples !

Tony: Well if anyone's a predator here it would be you. I mean showing your nipples to a 2 year old? Deplorable.

Peter:

Peter: Oh god, I'm the pervert...

-

Bucky: Y'know animosity isn't good between teammates. I think we should spend more time together

Sam: Am I being punked right now? Where's the camera

Bucky: I'm serious. I think it would be healthy for us to bond

Sam: Okay fine I'll bite... what did you have in mind

Bucky: Wanna go for a run?

Sam: *slams door in Bucky's face*

-

*staring at Bucky's sparkly clean metal arm*

Bucky: Dishwasher?

Peter: Dishwasher :)

(later that day)

Bucky: I've decided to let the child live

Peter: YoU wHaT?!

-

Thwip

Tony: Who took my coffee cup, It was right here

Thwip

Bruce: Um, has someone seen my book? I just had it

Thwip

Steve: I could've sworn I was holding a pen a moment ago

*giggling from the ceiling*

Tony: Young man I will take those webshooters away if you use them for shenanigans and rascality

Peter, muffled: Mr. Hawkeye told me to!

Clint: Oh so you're just gonna rat me out like that?

Peter: Sor- OOF

*falls out of ceiling vent*

-

Sam: You're in my spot

Bucky: There are no spots, it's a common area

Sam: Well that's my spot

Bucky: Did you buy the chair??

Sam: No, but everyone knows that's where I sit. Right Steve?

Steve: Oops I forgot something in my car, be right back *leaves*

Sam: Still my spot

Bucky: Still not

Sam: *sits on him*

Bucky: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ALL THE COUCHES ARE FREE-

Sam: IT'S MY SPOT YOU CAN'T TAKE A MAN'S FAVOURITE CHAIR-

BUCKY: YOU HAVE ISSUES GET OFF ME-

(one hour later)

Steve: Hey so turns out I don't have a car! Isn't that funn...

Sam & Bucky: *Squeezed awkwardly on the chair together*

Steve: I think I left something in my car

-

Steve: Leave the bedroom door open when you have Vision in there

Wanda: UGH you're so protective

Tony: Teenagers, am I right? Caught Pete reassembling my particle accelerator at midnight because he needed to neutralize a miniature nuclear bomb he nabbed off some guy he neglected to tell me was trying to kill him

Steve:

Steve: Wanda y'know what do whatever you want

Wanda: Really?

Steve: Yes just keep being normal. At least I can read about our issues in a parenting book

-

Thor: Ah, new warriors I see! Good to make all your acquaintance. But why are you so grumpy my friend?

Bucky: *glaring*

Peter: He's always like that. It's um, P- P- PMS? Wait -

Natasha: Yes it's PMS

Wanda: He's got it bad

Steve: *genuinely concerned* Bucky you didn't tell me something was wrong. What can I do to help?

Bucky:

Bucky: I like chocolate

-

Wanda: Welcome to the first annual girls night! This place reeks of men, so I thought we needed some women time

Pepper: Why is Vision here?

Wanda: I get sad when he's gone

Natasha: Why is Pietro here?

Pietro: Slay queens

Wanda: Moral support I think

Maria: Why is Peter here?

Wanda: He looked really upset when I said he wasn't included and I felt bad

Wanda: Anyways... yay girls! Who wants me to paint their nails?

Peter: ME ME ME

-

Steve: Pancakes or waffles?

Natasha: Pancakes

Steve: Good because I don't have a waffle maker

Natasha: Then why would you ask-

Steve: It's important for your voice to be heard, as team leader I value your opinion

*2 minutes later*

Steve: Good morning Clint, pancakes or waffles?

Clint: Waffles

Steve: Oh no.

-

Some of these were based on requests (ex. more Sam & Bucky, dad Steve w/ Wanda) so if you have certain dynamics you enjoy let me know !

[amtrak-official]

Me at a Gay Bar talking to the nearest person who will listen to me ramble: Okay so you see self driving cars are a fucking scam you hear me, there are too many variables on the road to trust a machine and they still will take just as long as a human to get places and they aren’t capable of making the same split second decisions a human can make, so we really shouldn’t be studying them in all honesty, if we want to pursue driverless transit we should focus on building automated train lines due to how since they function on a set track they decisions rarely need to be made, additionally the technology for them is proven having existed since the 60s, so if we really want good driverless transport we should do what every transit expert has suggested and just focus on building modern reliable public transit

[glitchfiles]

only 'til dawn. [ljn]

pairing ⋆ badboy!jeno x inexperienced/goodgirl!reader

wordcount ⋆ 2.7k+

warnings ⋆ SMUT MINORS DNI!!!, softdom!jeno, smoking, shotgunning, car sex, big dick jeno, corruption, praise, light degradation, oral (m receiving), cowgirl, spanking (once), light choking, creampie...

note ⋆ i had to leave this one in my drafts for some time first because i didn't want to upload two car sex fics in a row then i wanted to rewrite it then i couldn't be asked to do that fully... so yeah, enjoy :D

"fuck," jeno drawls out as his head lolls to the side, "you're shit at this." he chuckles at your feeble attempt to give him a blowjob.

you look up at him, he seems totally unphased by your attempts to get him off, even going as far as to fish a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the inner pocket of his leather jacket. the scowl that forms on your brow shows how much it dents your pride; he smirks down at you tauntingly.

"open your mouth a little more." he places a cigarette between his lips and lights the end. "you don't mind if i smoke, right?" you roll your eyes, he could have asked before. at least he had the courtesy to wind the window down.

there was no reason for you to debase yourself like this, the whole situation is beyond demeaning. you’re on your knees in the back of jeno’s car, struggling to please him and now he’s having a smoke mid-head?!

it felt as if your jaw was about to unhinge at any moment, you didn’t know it could stretch this far. the girls in the videos made it look so easy, compared to them, the way you were slobbering all over his girth was far from sexy. not to mention how you were clumsily pumping the rest of his length. not to toot your own horn, but you picked things up easily, this was a whole different ballpark to academic work. 

"you're too big," you whine. your lack of experience definitely didn't have anything to do with the shoddy head you were giving. how he was still hard was a wonder, you’re sure he’s seconds away from going flaccid.

normally, he would have put an end to the whole thing. it's not like he wasn't one text away from a few girls that could suck the soul out of him. however, considering how unsavoury his reputation was, the fact that you, the university’s golden girl, and much-revered student union president, were so eager to please him behind closed doors inflated his ego more than anything else could.

he couldn’t help but find humour in how ardently you refused to acknowledge him in public at times like this; if you spotted him on campus you looked the other way. but the moment he shot you a text, you were swooning and giggling, begging to meet up. so, here you were, in the dead of night, at the back of an empty parking lot a couple of miles away from campus.

“you’re lucky you have a patient teacher, i’m going to turn you into an expert!” jeno directs you between drags of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the windows as he laughs at you being unable to get the hang of it. saying you feel frustrated would be an understatement.

"i don't want to do this anymore," you sit up, finally admitting defeat and letting his heavy cock flop down against his abdomen. if jeno were a better person, he would have stopped you a few minutes ago, but you were so eager to please him and he loved the adorable pout on your lips and how your brows furrowed whenever you were exasperated.

"then what do you want to do?" you can think of a few things, but they would be super embarrassing to say. so, you refused to answer. he sighs before slotting his cigarette between his lips, leaving his hands free to pull you onto his lap.

"wanna try?" you don't know what possesses you, but you nod. 

how bad can it be? 

he taps the burnt end off, letting the ashes fall out the window before setting the cigarette between your lips. it feels childish to admit, but the fact that you had shared an indirect kiss makes you smile. this doesn't last long, though; after a short pull, you end up choking.

"god, that's awful!" you squeak as he belly laughs, only stopping when you hit his chest. all he's done tonight is tease you.

"i thought so too when i first tried." he soothes you, so as to not incur any more of your light-handed wrath. "why don't we start with some baby steps?" 

you're unsure what he means until his large, rough hand is placed gently under your jaw and his thumb brushes over your lower lip, "open up for me, angel."

he takes a long drag before tilting his head to the side and filling your mouth with a thick cloud of smoke. you're not sure what this is, but it feels intimate. it feels as if he’s breathing life into you. your whole body warms and tingles, your head spins, and a fire lights in your core.

once his lungs are empty, he seals it with a kiss. it's slow and passionate. his hand slides round to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. maybe it’s the nicotine running through your veins, you feel lightheaded. you let him slip his tongue past your lips to dance around your own.

the sweet flavour of your strawberry lip balm he was used to intermingled with the bitterness of his cigarette. he can't help but groan at the fact you taste a lot more like him now. 

the cigarette he's momentarily forgotten in his hand gets flicked away to burn to a butt somewhere on the tarmac outside. his now free hand comes to rest on your hip. it guides your body forwards, bringing your clothed centre flush against his bare cock.

you mewl into his mouth, he swallows down the sound. he’s greedy for more and starts rocking against you. grinding out then gulping down your noises, they go straight down to his cock. it’s throbbing, you can feel how painfully hard he is underneath you. only when he’s met with an uncomfortable stickiness due to his precum seeping through his shirt does he put an end to his gluttony.

a begrudging whine fills the car as he pulls your lips away from him. the look in his eyes alone was almost enough to make you cream, it was different to the cocky, yet lewd, eye fucking that seemed to be his default. those dark eyes of his turned into endless pits of boundless desire.

warm hands glide under your sweater, tugging it over your head, off your body to let it land somewhere in the front of his car. he does the same with his own shirt, sitting back to let you admire the rippling muscles on his torso. you delicately placed a hand on his chest, sliding it down to his abdomen; it seems he doesn’t have to have his dick in your mouth to have you drooling over him.

“like what you see, baby?” the smug look on his face makes your stomach twist.

“shut up,” you smash your lips against his again before he can speak again. 

jeno rushes to unclasp your bra, pushing the fabric out of his way so he can knead at your breasts; not before long, his mouth leaves you to pepper kisses down your neck then it encloses around one of your pert nipples. 

“mmm, jeno!” you mewl as his tongue laps at the bud, causing your back to arch in search of more stimulation. a hand weaves itself into his inky, thick locks, pushing him to give attention to the other side. “jeno, more!”

“i love hearing you say my name,” he growls against your chest, “wanted to hear you say it all week, but you don’t even spare me a glance unless i have my cock out.” 

you ignore the slight bitterness in his tone focusing on how he nips at your skin, leaving dark marks he hopes will last until he next sees you. marks that he hopes others will see and know you belong to someone; you’ll probably chastise him later over text but he doesn’t care, anything to keep him on your mind like you're always on his. 

reluctantly, he detaches himself from your chest and sits back, eyeing the drying traces of saliva he left with a dazed smile. 

“what next? tell me.” his hands delicately caress your hips, your cheeks begin to heat up and you avoid his eye contact. “don’t act all coy now, where’s the girl that begged me to drive her out here and fuck her dumb?” 

you were still clinging onto the last dregs of your virtuous good girl persona - the last white spots on a canvas he had first found unsullied. your first sin had been naivety, too easily seduced by a good-looking face and the sweet nothings he whispered in your ears but he had been more than happy to lengthen the list.

you wondered if this was how you had always been - or was he corrupting you. he broke down every conception you had of yourself and no one outside of the car you both sat in would believe this was you - you barely did yourself. some would say he was ruining you, but he’d never make you do something you didn’t want to, this was all you.

“please…” you let your head fall onto the crook of his neck, voice barely above a whisper. “want you inside.”

“a smart girl like you can be more descriptive than that.” he strokes a finger down your back, leaving a trail of heat on your spine, in hopes of prompting lewder vocabulary. you take a moment to chew your bottom lip and swallow down the last bit of dignity you had.

“please, fuck me.” you weep against the shell of his ear, “fill my pussy up, i need you so bad, jeno.” 

“sound so pretty when you tell me what you want.” his low-toned praise makes you shiver as he flips your skirt up and raises your hips. he pushes your panties to the side to position his cock at your dripping entrance. taking a second to tease your slit, making sure to brush over your swollen clit, only to hold you still when your hips jerk forward.

“look at me, angel.” you perk up for him, “so beautiful,” he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. his gaze holds yours firmly as he brings you down on his bulbous tip, stretching you out slowly.

you struggle to keep your eyes from shutting. your mouth hangs open letting out hushed gasps as you sink down an inch at a time. he thinks you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“keep going... yeah, just like that... so good...” his soft gaze, light touch and encouraging words make things easier. he can feel your walls begin to relax and hungrily accept his girth. 

“‘s so fucking big,” you wail out, not even having taken him fully. you couldn’t quite yet without his help, though you’ll get there eventually - he’d make sure of that. 

“i know, baby, but you take me so well. can you move for me?” you nod shyly, lifting yourself and dropping back down as far as you can with a long whine. up and down, you split yourself open over and over. 

jeno’s hands press into your flesh, silently encouraging you to take more of him. you work your hips faster, earning a deep groan from him as his head falls back. instinctively, your mouth attaches itself to his neck, mimicking the way he had kissed and sucked at your own earlier.

“for such a sweet, innocent girl, you sure do ride like a slut.” he breathily laughs as his hand comes down on your ass with a sounding slap. “like the way my cock stretches this tight cunt out.” there’s no hiding the way your walls clench at the sharp sting. you try to find refuge from your embarrassment by hiding your face in his shoulder, but he quickly takes ahold of your throat, forcing you to sit up straight.

“don’t hide from me,” he tells you warningly and squeezes your neck lightly. once again your eyes lock, his stare as intense as ever. your teeth sink into your bottom lip and you rest your hands on his strong chest, adopting a faster pace. 

he lets out moans which you naturally reciprocate, however, you embellish yours with his name; you feel his cock twitch at the sound of it. the look in his eyes turns wild as his fingers dig deeper into the meat of your ass, forming a nearly bruising grip; with the other hand, he’s careful not to cut off airflow but forms a hold that leaves you feeling dizzy. 

“you know exactly what you do to me.” he chuckles, “you were fucking made for me, made for taking my cock, weren’t you? yeah, so perfect, angel.”

your legs begin to shake, his words and his cock are quickly pushing you towards the pinnacle. you try your very best to work through the overwhelming pleasure and the ache in your thighs, wanting to get him off since you failed at sucking his dick. but you can't seem to power through it, tears well in your eyes as everything becomes too overwhelming, it's far too much.

“need help, baby?” his soft spot for you wins, “did such a good job for me. i’ll take care of you, make you cum all over my cock. want that?”

“please, need to cum so bad.” his hand leaves your neck and places itself and your other asscheek. he plants his feet firmly and then rams up into you.

your brain goes blank in an instant. 

he’s deep. so deep. too deep!

you cry out, nails digging into his broad, muscular shoulders to anchor yourself. the tears that had threatened to leave your eyes before stream down your face, staining your cheeks. your whole body quivers as his cock lays kisses on your cervix with each thrust. 

“jeno, oh my god, right there!” you practically scream. his face screws at the feeling of your walls constricting, getting tighter by the second and making it harder to move; he powers through by jackhammering into you with more force. 

it feels like you could break at any moment, he's bouncing you on his cock like you're a ragdoll and you're too weak to do anything but take and enjoy it. all it takes is a few more thrusts before you’re creaming all over him. your body seizes as your eyes roll back, and his name tumbles from your lips incessantly in pleasured sobs. 

it’s hard to keep you in one place as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, but he handles your squirming body with ease using his strength. the most ungodly wet squelches fill the car as he races towards his own release, your sticky mess clings to both of your thighs. 

“shit… pussy’s sucking me in so deep, gonna cum.” his chest rises and falls dramatically, he can barely breathe. his thrusts get choppier as he loses himself to the feral urge to paint your insides pearly white.

a heavy groan rips through him as his balls tighten, he nestles his cock nice and deep as he pours hot spurts of cum into you. he fills you with warmth; you feel complete for a moment. unfortunately, all good things must come to an end eventually. 

you could almost start crying again when he pulls you off of him. his praise on how well you took his cum as it dribbles out of your cunt makes up for it, though. his tongue swipes across his lips as he watches it drip all over his cock, unbothered by the fact half of it is soiling his leather car seats too. 

the sound of your wild breathing is all that fills the car for a moment until his lips find yours one last time. breathlessly kissing you, there is less vigour than before but just as much passion. your heart warms for a moment at the almost bashful smile on his face as he rests his forehead against yours and wipes the tears that still cling to your soft skin.

this feels right, perfect even, but it only takes a few words for him to fuck it all up.

“wanna come over to mine?” jeno regrets his words immediately, the expression on your face sour at the thought of someone spotting you walking into his dorm or one of his loud-mouthed roommates blabbering about you spending the night together.

give jeno a hand and he’ll end up taking the whole arm.

you pull away from him suddenly remembering who you are.

“don’t be ridiculous, you know i can’t even be caught dead with you.” you grimace at the mess between your legs as you reposition your panties; then, you search for the clothing he had strewn around the car.

you don’t even look at him when you demand him to. “just drop me off where you usually do.”

jeno grins even at your cold-hearted rejection. not just anyone could say they had a place between your legs; he’s sure he’ll have a place in your heart too soon enough…

★ thanks for reading! my inbox is open for feedback and requests! :3

© glitchfiles

[unrealisticlea]

Tommy Kinard is literally Megan Fox in Transformers, he’s too cool to be true, he’s a fantasy, he’s the Cool Girl Monologue from Gone Girl.

He’s hot. He has a cleft. Everyone around him becomes immediately enamored with him. Chim likes him. Eddie likes him. Chris likes him. Bobby likes him.

He’s not only a pilot but he was a war pilot and he can fly helicopters into hurricanes and he can land helicopters on capsized cruise ships and leave unscathed.

He’s a firefighter with 10+ years experience and can spend 24hr firefighting and still show up in time for a wedding and he apologizes for being late.

He’s a mechanic and he can repair vintage cars and he has a mechanic shop in his garage.

He likes craft beer, he’s a Muay Thai expert, he’s into MMA and he has tickets to sold out shows in Vegas. He’s also good at basketball.

But he also like rom coms, trivia karaoke and doesn’t like broody people. He’s funny. He’s sarcastic. He has a dry and dark sense of humor. He admits he’s jealous but doesn’t let his jealousy take control of him.

He’s patient. He’s kind. He’s willing to put his life on the line to help people. He apologizes when he hurts people even if he didn’t do it on purpose. He pays on the first date. He gives people a second chance. He always knows what to say. He doesn’t push but he tries to keep up.

This is why people who say “I don’t know why people like Tommy Kinard” are either dense or deliberately missing the point. He was written to be liked. They spent three episodes driving home how likable Tommy Kinard is.

They wanted Buck’s first relationship with a man to be well received by the audience so they wrote the perfect man. Someone that audience either wants to be or date.

I’m not saying everyone has to like him, it’s impossible to write a character that’s universally beloved because liking someone depends entirely on your taste in characters.

I’m just saying if you don’t understand why people like him that’s entirely on you. This is a character that in s7 was written to be liked, it’s not subtle, right now there’s no subtext that implies that he’s secretly an awful person and he’s gonna turn out to be a piece of shit.

In season 7 Tommy Kinard is canonically a cool guy and he’s canonically a good person. People who denies it are straight up lying.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Against Lore

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

One of my favorite nuggets of writing advice comes from James D Macdonald. Jim, a Navy vet with an encylopedic knowledge of gun lore, explained to a group of non-gun people how to write guns without getting derided by other gun people: "just add the word 'modified.'"

As in, "Her modified AR-15 kicked against her shoulder as she squeezed the trigger, but she held it steady on the car door, watching it disintegrate in a spatter of bullet-holes."

Jim's big idea was that gun people couldn't help but chew away at the verisimilitude of your fictional guns, their brains would automatically latch onto them and try to find the errors. But the word "modified" hijacked that impulse and turned it to the writer's advantage: a gun person's imagination gnaws at that word "modified," spinning up the cleverest possible explanation for how the gun in question could behave as depicted.

In other words, the gun person's impulse to one-up the writer by demonstrating their superior knowledge becomes an impulse to impart that superior knowledge to the writer. "Modified" puts the expert and the bullshitter on the same team, and conscripts the expert into fleshing out the bullshitter's lies.

Yes, writing is lying. Storytelling is genuinely weird. A storyteller who has successfully captured the audience has done so by convincing their hindbrains to care about the tribulations of imaginary people. These are people whose suffering, by definition, do not matter. Imaginary things didn't happen, so they can't matter. The deaths of Romeo and Juliet were less tragic than the death of the yogurt you had for breakfast. That yogurt was alive and now it's dead, whereas R&J never lived, never died, and don't matter:

https://locusmag.com/2014/11/cory-doctorow-stories-are-a-fuggly-hack/

Hijacking a stranger's empathic response is intrinsically adversarial. While storytelling is a benign activity, its underlying mechanic is extremely dangerous. Getting us to care about things that don't matter is how novels and movies work, but it's also how cults and cons work.

Cult leaders and con-artists know that they're engaged in mind-to-mind combat, and they make liberal use of Jim's hack of leaving blank spots for the mark to fill in. Think of Qanon drops: the mystical nonsense was just close enough to sensical that a vulnerable audience was compelled to try and untangle them, and ended up imparting more meaning to them than the hustler who posted them ever could have dreamt up.

Same with cons – there's a great scene in the Leverage: Redemption heist show where an experienced con-artist explains to a novice that the most convincing hustle is the one where you wait for the mark to tell you what they think you're doing, then run with it (scambaiters and other skeptics will recognize this as a relative of the "cold reading," where a "psychic" uses your own confirmations to flesh out their predictions).

As Douglas Adams put it:

A towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have "lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Magicians know this one, too. The point of a sleight is to misdirect the audience's attention, and use that moment of misattention to trick them, vanishing, stashing or producing something. The mark's mind is caught in a pleasurable agony: something seemingly impossible just happened. The mind splits into two parts, one of which insists that the impossible just happened, the other insisting that the impossible can't happen.

You know you've done it right if the audience says, "Do that again!" And that's the one thing you must not do. So long as you don't repeat the trick, the audience's imagination will chew on it endlessly, coming up with incredibly clever things that you must have done (a clever conjurer will know several ways to produce the same effect and will "do it again" by reproducing the effect via different means, which exponentially increases the audience's automatic imputation of clever methods to the performer).

Not for nothing, Jim Macdonald advises his writing students to study Magic and Showmanship, a classic text for aspiring conjurers:

https://memex.craphound.com/2007/11/13/magic-and-showmanship-classic-book-about-conjuring-has-many-lessons-for-writers/

There's a version of this in comedy, too. The scholarship of humor is clear on this: comedy comes from surprise. The audience knows they're about to be surprised when the punchline lands, and their mind is furiously trying to defuse the comedian's bomb before it detonates, cycling through potential punchlines of their own. This ramps up the suspense and the tension, so when the comedian does drop the punchline, the tension is released in a whoosh of laughter.

Your mind wants the tension to be resolved ASAP, but the pleasure comes from having that desire thwarted. Comedy – like most performance – has an element of authoritarianism. You don't give the audience what it wants, you give it what it needs.

Same goes for TTRPGs: the game master's role is to deny the players the victories and treasure they want, until they can't take it anymore, and then deliver it. That's the definition of an epic game. It's one of the durable advantages of human GMs over video game back-ends: they can ramp up the epicness by "cheating" on the play, giving the players the chance to squeak out improbable victories at the last possible second:

https://wilwheaton.typepad.com/wwdnbackup/2009/03/behind-the-screen.html

This is so effective that even crude approximations of it can turn video-games into cult hits – like Left4Dead, whose "Director" back-end would notice when the players were about to get destroyed and then substantially ramped up the chances of finding an amazing weapon – the chance would still be low overall, but there would be enough moments when the player got exactly what they'd been praying for, at the last possible instant, that it would feel amazing:

https://left4dead.fandom.com/wiki/The_Director#Special_Infected

Critically, Left4Dead's Director didn't do this every time. As any showman knows, the key to a great performance is "Always leave 'em wanting more." The musician's successful finale depends on doing every encore the audience demands, except the last one, so the crowd leaves with one tantalyzing and imaginary song playing in their minds, a performance better than any the musicians themselves could have delivered. Like the gun person who comes up with a cooler mod than the writer ever could, like the magic show attendee who comes up with a more elaborate explanation for the sleight than the conjurer could ever pull off, like the comedy club attendee whose imagination anticipates a surprise that grows larger the longer the joke goes on, the successful performance is an adversarial act of cooperation where the audience willingly and unwillingly cooperates with the performer to deny them the thing that they think they need, and deliver the thing they actually need.

This is my biggest problem with the notion that someday LLMs will get good enough at storytelling to give us the tales we demand, without having to suffer through a storyteller's sadistic denial of the resolutions we crave. When I'm reading a mystery, I want to turn to the last page and find out whodunnit, but I know that doing so will ruin the story. Telling the storyteller how the story should go is like trying to tickle yourself.

Like being tickled, experiencing only fun if the tickler respects your boundaries – but, like being tickled, there's always a part where you're squirming away, but you don't want it to stop. An AI storyteller that gives you exactly what you want is like a dungeon master who declares that every sword-swing kills the monster, and every treasure chest is full of epic items and platinum pieces. Yes, that's what you want, but if you get it, what's the point?

Seen in this light, performance is a kind of sado-masochism, where the performer delights in denying something to the audience, who, in turn, delights in the denial. Don't give the audience what they want, give them what they need.

What your audience needs is their own imagination. Decades ago, I was a freelance copywriter producing sales materials for Alias/Wavefront, a then-leading CGI firm that was inventing all kinds of never-seen VFX that would blow people away. One of the engineers I worked with told me something I never forgot: "Your imagination has more polygons than anything you can create with our software." He was talking about why it was critical to have some of the action happen in the shadows.

All of this is why series tend to go downhill. The first volume in any series leaves so much to the imagination. The map of the world is barely fleshed out, the characters' biographies are full of blank spots, the mechanics of the artifacts and the politics of the land are all just detailed enough that your mind automatically ascribes a level of detail to them, without knowing what that detail is.

This is the moment at which everything seems very clever, because your mind is just churning with all the different bits of elaborate lore that will fill in those lacunae and make them all fit together.

SPOILER ALERT: I'm about to give some spoilers for Furiosa.

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FURIOSA SPOILERS AHEAD!

Last night, we went to see Furiosa, the latest Mad Max movie, a prequel to 2015's Fury Road, which is one of the greatest movies ever made. Like most prequels, Furiosa functions as a lore-delivery vehicle, and as such, it's nowhere near as good as Fury Road.

Fury Road hints as so much worldbuilding. We learn about the three fortresses of the wasteland (the Citadel, the Bullet Farm, and Gastown) but we only see one (The Citadel). We learn that these three cities have a symbiotic relationship with one another, defined by a complex politics that is just barely stable. We meet Furiosa herself, and learn something of her biography – that she had been stolen from the Green Place, that she had suffered an arm amputation.

All of this is left for us to fill in, and for a decade, my hindbrain has been chewing on all of that, coming up with cool ways it could all fit together. I yearned to know the "real" explanation, but it was always unlikely that this real explanation would be as enjoyable as my own partial, ever-unfinished headcanon.

Furiosa is a great movie, but its worst parts are the canonical lore it settles. Partly, that's because some of that lore is just stupid. Why is the Bullet Farm an open-pit mine? I mean, it's visually amazing, but what does that have to do with making bullets? Sometimes, it's because the lore is banal – the solarpunk Green Place is a million times less cool than I had imagined it. Sometimes, it's because the lore is banal and stupid: the scenes where Furiosa's arm is crushed, then severed, then replaced, are both rushed and quasi-miraculous:

https://www.themarysue.com/how-does-furiosa-lose-her-arm/

But even if the lore had been good – not stupid, not banal – the best they could have hoped for was for the lore to be tidy. If it were surprising, it would seem contrived. A story whose loose ends have been tidily snipped away seems like it would be immensely satisfying, but it's not satisfying – it's just resolved. Like the band performing every encore you demand, until you no longer want to hear the band anymore – the feeling as you leave the hall isn't satisfaction, it's exhaustion.

So long as some key question remains unresolved, you're still wanting more. So long as the map has blank spots, your hindbrain will impute clever and exciting mysteries, tantalyzingly teetering on the edge of explicability, to the story.

Lore is always better as something to anticipate than it is to receive. The fans demand lore, but it should be doled out sparingly. Always leave 'em wanting more.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/27/cmon-do-it-again/#better_to_remain_silent_and_be_thought_a_fool_than_to_speak_and_remove_all_doubt

[flamingbluepanda]

How to Camp for Beginners

Hello! Tis I, your local boy scout/girl scout/avid gay camper, here to give some top notch Advice™️ about camping! The season is nearly upon us and the woods are a callin' so let's get out there and be safe kiddos!

Before you Go!

Make sure you find a campsite you like and that fits your comfort level! There's ZERO shame in picking a place with cabins, public restrooms, showers, heated pools, hot tubs- whatever your looking for!

Once you pick your campsite, make sure you know the area around it- especially if camping somewhere your unfamiliar with! Example questions to make sure you know: Where's the local hospital? Where's the closest grocery store? Gas station? Are there rangers at your campsite and how do you get in contact with them? Does your campsite provide anything at all as a courtesy?

Also make sure you know the wilderness around you and prep accordingly -- if your camping in a site with bears during their non hibernating months, make sure you bring bear safe trash recepitecals if your campsite doesny provide them

Bring people with you. People you know and trust. Seriously, the buddy system saves lives. Do NOT camp alone unless you are an EXPERT and know the area EXCRUCIATINGLY well. This is also not the place to go with your new romantic partner/friend/friend or partners family -- some people are very good at pretending to be safe and getting you alone in the woods is when they stop pretending.

Pack layers. Make sure you bring at least one set of sweatpants and hoodie, bonus points if their insulated. It gets very cold at night in most wilderness locations, even in the summer.!

Bring at least one set of waterproof clothes, including rain boots and a waterproof coat.

Pack however many sets of underwear and socks you think you need to bring, then pack more. Bring an overwhelming number of socks

Bring good sneakers that are broken in but not worn out

Flashlight with extra batteries and a portable battery cube, fully charged

Make sure you have sunscreen and bugspray, your skin will thank yoi

While packing food, make sure you bring things that will last the trip in an insulated bag or cooler. Don't buy your ice until your close to your camp. Some campsites will even offer bags of ice at the ranger station!

Bring PLENTY of water. My brother always packs ten nalgenes full of water, others bring a big pack of water bottles. Stay hydrated!

If you're bringing a furry friend, make sure they are fully up to date on their rabies and Lyme shots

Pack In!

Make sure you have a full tank of gas when you arrive at your campsite

I personally like to leave my phone in my car while I camp. Bring books/art supplies/journals or whatever you do for fun -- if that's your phone and you have service, great!

Having said that, if you ARE having a technology free camping trip, pick one person in your group with the best phone and declare them the emergency phone person

Best doesn't mean newest -- your friend who hates capitalism and has a Nokia that can survive nuclear fallout should be picked over your friend with the brand new super fragile iphone

Make sure the emergency phone remains fully charged and comes with you when you leave the campsite. Most emergency calls will work without cell service, but a dead phone can't make calls

Make sure you get the rangers number! Rangers are your friends, they want you to have a safe trip and are there for all your questions!

Also make sure to respect the rules of whatever campsite you're at -- if you're on boy scout property for example, you absolutely CANNOT bring alcohol. If you're having a fun adult camping trip, make sure you know the weed laws in that state before your puff and pass.

While setting up your campsite, try to find somewhere dry, that's not located near the bottom of a hill or next to a river.

Try to find places that don't have a ton of loose rocks or dirt, but where the ground is soft enough to nail in stakes for tents/canopies

Most campsites will have an assigned area with a fire pit, but if yours doesn't, make sure you collect enough rocks to build a fire circle before roasting any s'mores!

If your campsite doesn't let you bring cars past a certain point, make sure you know the fastest and safest route to the parking lot

I cannot stress how important it is to make sure you know the emergency numbers -- if theres a medical emergency, you may not be able to get someone to the car. Rangers will have ATVs and paramedics will have the skills to get people out of situations

Make sure your first aid kit is well packed with plenty of bandaids antiseptic and gauze- triangle bandages are also a versitle tool that can help with sprains splints and holding bandages in place. Preferably bring someone who knows at least basic first aid or CPR -- if you can't find a friend with that knowledge, make sure to be extra nice to the rangers

Bring an extra large bottle of your preferred over the counter painkillers -- dehydration and too much time in the sun can cause headaches! Also nifty for twisted ankles or sore backs from sleeping on the ground.

If you forgot your tent stakes, that's okay, put a spare cooler/bag/something heavy in the center of your tent to weigh it down in case of high winds.

If you forgot your rain canopy, a ripped trashbag will work in a pinch, but be warned: it's gonna get hot as HELL in that tent

During your Trip

Sunscreen and bugspray every day- even cloudy days have high UV rays, melanoma kills

Whether cooking on portable grill or campfire make sure your meat is fully cooked.

Chopping your produce and meat and cooking them in two separate packets of tin foil makes delicious meals, plus it's easy to check how done it is

Speaking of fires, make sure you have fireproof gloves and tongs if cooking over a campfire

Zip tents if rain is predicted but believe me, tents are like fucking hot boxes, so try to get as much air movement as you can.

If your campsite doesn't have latrines/portapotties/bathrooms (and you didn't bring one) be a good friend and make sure your camp's designated potty site is down wind of your camp. Also, human droppings can attract animals, so make sure it's a good distance away

(seriously though consider bringing a porta potty they make ones for campers)

CHECK FOR TICKS!!!! CHECK FOR TICKS EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU CAN!!!

Ticks like warm, dark places, so make sure you check behind your knees, under your arms, the back of your neck, in your socks and your privates! Ladies- that includes under the boobies. Wearing long pants, high socks, or long sleeves can be a simple and efficient tick deterrent, especially in marshy areas or tall grass. Don't forget to check your pets if they came with you!

If you find a tick, get some tweezers, grasp as close to the skin as you can, and slowly but firmly pull down on the tick- remember, you want the head out. You can also use a credit card or any other dull edge to help push downward.

Wet feet cause blisters, so always wear socks and change them often. If you get a blister, DONT POP IT, cover it with a bandaid or surround it with moleskin

Hydrate hydrate hydrate hydrate, drunk water every fifteen minutes even if your not thirsty

Remember to respect the nature around you- don't go pulling leaves off trees or disturbing animal dens, stay away from pretty much any animal- yes, even deer, bucks can and will gore you If frightened enough, deer can tramble you and even the cutest little Birdy can carry rabies and other diseases.

Poison Ivy has three leaves, poison oak looks like a strangling vine, and poison sumac has berries. Make sure you know what grows in your camping area.

If you brought a pet, don't let them eat any plants!

Make sure to use the buddy system especially if someone starts feeling ill- a lot of really dangerous illnesses start out looking a lot like colds and flu

Make sure to have a bucket of water next to your campfire, and every night make sure to completely douse your fire before turning it. Splash water on instead of dumping and make sure every ember is out- remember, only you can prevent wildfires

If you brought a gas powered generator for your campsite, make sure it's as far away as possible from the fire pit. Also, they're quite loud, so maybe don't put it near your tent. Put it on the outskirts of the campsite and don't leave it running when you're not there

Pack out!

LEAVE NO TRACE!!! make sure you clean up ALL your litter, all of it, every single one. Check and triple check your entire camp site.

Make sure everyones tent poles and stakes end up with the correct tent- you'd be surprised how brand specific stuff like that is.

Especially don't leave any food items -- there's likely going to be another person filling that campsite soon, they don't need moldy food attracting critters!

If there's a sign out sheet, don't forget to sign out at the ranger station! If they had to evacuate the campsite for whatever reason, they'll need to know you're gone!

Do a final tick/other bug check- you don't need to be bringing bugs home with you! Also check that there are no critters are in your supplies -- this sounds obvious, but you'd be surprised where snakes and mice can end up.

Give your pets an extra good bath when you get home. You don't know what could've gotten stuck in their fur!

Tick/spider bites tend to look like bullseyes. If you develop bullseye shaped rashes after you get home, seek medical attention.

Most of all, have fun and be safe!!!

[vroomvro0mferrari]

CL16 | Strategy to Your Heart

Summary: Ferrari hasn’t been doing well in the races lately, and according to Charles, there's only one person to blame for the bad strategies: you.

Charles Leclerc x colleague!Reader (enemies to lovers)

WC: 4.3K

Warnings: curse words, slightly misogynistic

Masterlist

Charles stormed into the garage, his eyes blazing with anger. His race had ended disastrously, again, and there was only one person to blame. As his race engineer, you were responsible for his strategy, which lately, had been lacking significantly and he despised you for it. The car was finally improving, yet he couldn’t seem to win a race. Simply because his race engineer managed to fuck up every time.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “Are you trying to sabotage me?”

You looked up in surprise as he approached you. Charles' anger was clear as day as he got in your face, making your hands shake from anxiety and your blood run cold. Your expression hardened as the accusation settled, a glare replacing the shock in your eyes. You opened your mouth to explain, to say something – to calm him down, but he cut you off. 

“I don’t need your excuses! You clearly don’t know what you’re doing!” He yelled. The look on his face, and the posture of his body – which was much taller than yours – were intimidating. Never mind his unrelenting glare and the finger he pointed in your face before storming off to his driver's room.

His insult stung deeply. You understood that he was upset at how the race went, but he could’ve reacted differently. He just humiliated you publicly, in front of all your colleagues; he didn’t even let you get a word in edgewise. You could feel the anger bubbling up inside you at his behaviour. How dare he insult you like that? It wasn’t even your fault. You stared after him as he stomped away, before turning on your feet, storming off in the opposite direction.

You had known Charles for a long time now. Although you had never spoken much, you always greeted each other, until you got your new position in the team. Charles was already driving for Ferrari when you first started there as an intern. You joined in on meetings with the drivers and sometimes spoke to them during these, but you didn’t see the drivers much otherwise. After your time as an intern, you had gotten a full-time job and worked your way up the team, and now, finally, you had made it to race strategist for Charles Leclerc, where your decisions actually had an effect – or so you thought.

During all your years at Ferrari, the previous head of strategy, Rueda, always listened to and appreciated your opinions and suggestions for the race strategies. He supported your development over the years and saw you grow from an inexperienced intern to an expert with a unique view. Before he left Ferrari, he promoted you to Charles’ race engineer; he believed in your skill and thought you could provide unexpected, but well-working strategies that would lead Charles to victories. 

However, after Rueda left, and Ravin Jain took over the job of head strategist, your opinions were ignored. You worked especially hard to convince him you deserved your current position. You developed numerous possible strategies for every one of Charles’ races, running tons of simulations to make sure you had a strategy for every situation. You thought about all the unexpected circumstances that might arise and how to maximise the outcome for each of them. You knew exactly what to do in every situation to ensure a good ending position for Charles, but Jain undermined you every single time. You would present him with all the information you had collected, and show him all the possible strategies and which ones you expected would work best, but he would never listen to you. Jain would always overrule your decisions with different options that somehow turned out much worse. As a result, Charles lost so many more places than necessary, and missed so many more podiums – wins even – than he should’ve.

The worst part was that Charles blamed you for everything. You were new in the position of race strategist, and you wanted to leave a good impression on the team and, most importantly, have a good working relationship with Charles. In your line of work, teamwork and cooperation, and consequently trust, are incredibly important. You wanted Charles to You wanted Charles to rely on you for strategy, allowing him to focus solely on driving. But he couldn’t. He questioned every advice you gave – whether it made sense – and more often than not, it didn’t. The relationship between the two of you was anything but one of trust.

Charles didn’t know what was happening between you and the head strategist. All he knew was that the strategies were awful and he was losing races that he could have won. He didn’t know how amazing and thought-out your own strategies really were, and how good you were at your job if you actually received the opportunity to do it. As a matter of fact, he had never had a real conversation with you before you got your new role. Previously, you just hung around in the background, only speaking with your team and some work friends you had made along the way, but never directly with the drivers. Quite frankly, he questioned whether you were even qualified for your job.

Although Charles didn’t know much about you, his opinion about you was formed and unchanging. To him, it seemed you didn’t know much about racing strategies or engineering; the results of your strategies and your silence during the debriefs were enough proof for him. There was only one logical explanation for how you’d gotten your role in the team; you had gotten your position through favouritism – or perhaps you’d done the head strategist a little ‘favour’.

– – – – –

During the next race, Jain had done it again. You had developed the perfect strategy for Charles, you had worked everything out so you were prepared for every situation. But when you showed the results to Jain and suggested your preferred strategy, he told you that your strategies could be better and you should ‘try this’. You knew it wasn’t a suggestion but an order to drop your strategy and use his instead. The result left you feeling defeated. Charles would undoubtedly be upset with the outcome, outing his anger on you, while you couldn’t do anything to make it better.

From your spot in the garage after the race, you could already see him stomping towards you. You couldn’t blame him really, he had missed out on yet another podium due to a bad strategy.

“What now?” you muttered under your breath as you saw him approach, bracing yourself for another confrontation.

“What now?” Charles echoed, his tone mocking. “You’re asking me that? You couldn’t form a proper strategy to save your life! How did you get this job in the first place? Sleep with the boss?”

You whipped your head around at his comment, narrowing your eyes as shock and anger coursed through your body. You had heard comments like this many times before; Formula 1 is a man’s world and you know what the men around you are like. You know you shouldn’t have expected anything less from Charles, yet you had. You were surprised that Charles would say something like this—something so vile. Yes, you had never really gotten along, but there had always been mutual respect. In all your interactions with Charles, he seemed kind enough, even if he was frustrated with you; to make such a misogynistic comment was a new low for him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? How can you even say something like that? Do you know how offensive that is?”

“You’re not denying it,” he yelled back at you.

You scoffed. “I’m not doing this,” you said, shaking your head before walking away, the tears welling up in your eyes. It felt like a betrayal. 

Charles followed you, “How about you explain why you keep screwing up my races?”

You ran your hands over your face in frustration as you rushed away from him, quickly making your way to your office. Charles had already upset you, and you didn’t want to cry in front of him – your job was already hard enough without him holding something like this over your head. If your colleagues found out you had cried on the job, you would never hear the end of how women can’t handle the pressure of F1. You tried to close the door as soon as you entered your office, but Charles was already there with you, staring you down. His arms were crossed in a nonchalant manner, but his face showed his annoyance clearly. “Well?”

You tried to avoid answering his question, but it seemed impossible. Even though you had kept silent (except for your scoff, that is), he wouldn’t leave you alone. God was this man frustrating. Your patience snapped.

“I’m not the one screwing up your races, Charles. If you have any issues with the strategies you should take it up with Jain, because he changes my plans every time.”

“What are you talking about?” He asked, frowning.

“Every strategy I create, Jain overrules,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you closed in on him. “I come up with plans based on simulations, and data. I’m ready for every scenario. But he dismisses them and forces his own strategies, which obviously don’t work. You’re blaming the wrong person.”

Charles stared at you, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to confusion. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I tried,” you replied, frustration seeping into your voice. “But you were too busy yelling at me to listen. And honestly, I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly processing what you had said. “So, Jain is the one messing up the strategies?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “And it’s been incredibly frustrating to watch my hard work get thrown out and to then take the blame when it fails.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. You’ve been yelling at me for months when it wasn’t even my fault.”

“Why didn’t you do anything about it?” Charles asked.

You laughed at his question. “What was I supposed to do? You know how it is—actually, you don’t, because drivers are privileged,” you sighed at the frown on Charles’ face, “no one would have believed me if I had told them, or they probably would have agreed. And if I had gone against Jain, I would have been fired so fast,” you trailed off.

Charles sighed. You were right; how on earth were they supposed to fix this? Jain would just continue to override your decisions no matter what, and that obviously wasn’t beneficial to anyone.

“For the next race, show me your strategy, okay? We can look at it together and if I agree we can work something out. Together.”

You smiled dryly at Charles’ suggestion. If he agrees? Who does he think he is? Nevertheless, you concur, if only to get rid of him. It doesn’t sound very convincing, but Charles is satisfied nonetheless.

– – – – –

For the next race, you had prepared more than usual. After the first few encounters with Jain you had given up on preparing your races thoroughly; it felt like a waste of time. But knowing that Charles would listen to you, and you might finally get to use your own strategy motivated you. 

You carefully discussed your plans with Charles in his driver’s room, away from everyone else. He listened attentively while you explained all the possible strategies and the one you thought would yield the best results. This was the first time Charles actually heard you talk about the strategies with enthusiasm, and he admired your knowledge of the topic, although he was somewhat surprised after your previous interactions. Hearing your passion for your work and knowing that you weren’t the reason for the unsuccessful races finally allowed the much-wanted bond of trust to form.

“We're going to use your strategy,” Charles said decisively. “No matter what Jain says, we'll do whatever you think is best. You've thought everything out, it'd be foolish to do something entirely different.”

"And if Jain gets mad and wants to fire me?" You asked, a hint of concern in your voice.

"The results will likely be good, so there'll be no reason for him to get mad,” Charles replied confidently. “But if he does, I'll vouch for you."

You nodded in response, a nervous but grateful smile on your face. It was exciting to finally use one of your own strategies, even though Jain would probably reject your proposals again.

Your assumption was correct; during your meeting with Jain, he had once more told you to follow his strategies instead of using your own ideas. Although Charles had told you there wouldn’t be any reason for your boss to get mad if the race went well, you weren’t assured enough to follow his advice. You couldn’t take any risks with your job – you weren’t experienced enough to get a similar job anywhere else, especially with the reputation Jain had built for you. If you had to follow his strategy to keep your job you would.

To say Charles was upset with the strategy during the race would be an understatement. He didn’t know where it had gone wrong – you had discussed this, hadn’t you? You came to the agreement that you would use your own strategy instead of listening to Jain, yet you hadn’t. The things you were telling him to do were nothing you had discussed during your private meeting. Charles felt frustrated at your inability to follow through; you were ruining his chances of a win because you were a coward who wouldn’t dare to stand up to her boss and he wasn’t going to take it.

“Boxing next lap, Charles.” 

Charles scoffed at your order before responding, “Box now? That’s ridiculous! The tyres are feeling fine, I can stay out longer.”

You sigh from your position on the pit wall. “Charles, the team thinks it’s best that you–” 

“I don’t care what the team thinks! What do you think is the best move?”

“Charles–” you stammer, getting nervous from his reaction.

“You know the team always makes the wrong calls, Y/N. What do you think we should do?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of the decision. If you go against Jain’s orders now and the race ends badly, you’ll be in big trouble. Charles said he’d vouch for you though, and the current strategy wasn’t going to get the team anywhere good either. You contemplate your options.

“Stay out a few more laps.”

Although you couldn’t see it, Charles smiled triumphantly in the car, knowing he had convinced you to use your own strategy. This was a good start, he just needed to do well now, to make sure you got your confidence back. So, for the next races, you would follow your own strategies as well instead of simply following Jain’s orders.

The race had ended up much better than anybody had expected, all thanks to your strategy. If you hadn’t switched up the strategy, Charles would have ended up significantly lower in the ranking. After finishing up his duties, Charles sought you out in the garage. You thought he would yell at you again, for going against your plan – going rogue, but he didn’t.  

“Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere. “Your strategy worked. Next time, we’ll use your plan again. From the start this time, forget whatever Jain tells you.” 

You nodded in response, a tight smile on your face. It was nice that Charles showed his appreciation for you. However, now that you were standing still instead of moving around, you were easier to spot. So far, you had managed to avoid Jain by blending in with the bustling garage, but Charles’s presence made you easy to find.

“Y/N!” Jain said loudly, making your eyes shoot over to him quickly.

“We need to have a serious talk! Follow me to my office.” The look on his face was scolding and his body posture showed his anger clearly as he walked off. 

You met Charles’ eyes for a second, a nervous smile on your face. “I better go,” you said before rushing after your boss. 

“I’ll come with you,” Charles responded firmly, joining your side.

“I said I’d vouch for you if Jain became angry. I always keep my word,” he said after seeing the confused look on your face.

Jain had already taken a seat in his office when you walked in.

“What the hell were you thinking? Ignoring my strategy?” he hollered.

You took a deep breath, mustering the courage to go against him, but Charles beat you to it, stepping out from behind the door.

“There’s no need to yell at your employee like that, Jain. Besides, her strategy led to much better results than boxing would have.”

Jain’s eyes quickly darted over to him in surprise, having missed his presence, before focusing on you. “You’re here to follow orders, Y/N. Not to make your own decisions. You disobeyed a direct instruction.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Charles had already started speaking, his voice steady but firm. 

“With all due respect, Jain, it’s clear that Y/N’s strategy was superior today. Her approach brought us better results, and we need to recognise that.”

Jain turned his glare to Charles, clearly not pleased with the driver’s intervention. “This is none of your business, Charles. She’s my employee, and she needs to follow my orders.”

“Actually, it is my business,” Charles shot back.

Your eyes darted over to him. This was not at all the right time, but he looked hot as fuck defending you like this. He hadn’t even had the time to change after the race, his driver’s suit hanging around his waist with his black fireproofs on full display. His hair was messy and his cheeks were flushed, whether it was from the race or frustration, you weren’t sure. You could feel your own cheeks turning hot at the sight, and you were certain a blush was spreading across your face, too.

“Her strategies directly affect my performance on the track. Today, she proved her worth. She deserves the chance to implement her plans without being overruled.”

The room fell silent as Jain stared at Charles, his anger simmering beneath the surface. 

No, not the right time at all.

Jain finally sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine. You’ve made your point. But if it fails there will be consequences.”

You nodded eagerly, “of course.”

Charles nodded as well, happy with the outcome.

– – – – –

The next few races turned out much better. Without interference, you could confidently present and implement your strategies. And the results spoke for themselves: Charles consistently finished on the podium. His performance improved so much that even Jain had to admit your strategies worked better than his.

When the next race weekend arrived tensions were high. So far, your racing strategies had proved successful, but you aimed for more every race. It was certainly helpful that you and Charles were a good team. Ever since the issues between Charles and you were resolved, there was mutual trust, and Charles supported every strategy you came up with, even if it seemed risky.

You wished Charles good luck with a nervous smile before he got in his car and, as had become a ritual, he responded confidently with a “we’ve got this” and a reassuring smile that somehow always calmed your nerves.

When the race began you confidently pursued your strategy while Charles navigated the track with precision. Everything went perfectly: the pit stops as swift and smooth as could be and every decision moving Charles closer to the front.

There were only a few laps to go with Charles steadily in second place, closing in on the leader. He managed to get within DRS range and, as the team watched in anticipation, executed a flawless overtake, taking the lead in the race. The garage filled with cheers and applause as the team celebrated his amazing overtake. Meanwhile, a big smile overtook your features as you watched Charles drive on the screen in front of you. 

You stared in disbelief when Charles crossed the finish line in first place. The joy was immense; the whole garage was celebrating the fresh win as you hugged the rest of the team on the pit wall in delight. You had done it – your strategy had led him to a win.

Following your colleagues, you rushed to the parc fermé, wanting to be the first to celebrate this amazing race with him. You watched as Charles got out of his car, pumping his fist in the air in victory. The smile on his face was huge as he jogged to the team waiting to congratulate him. 

“We did it, Y/N!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a celebratory hug. You laughed at his antics but hugged him back nevertheless. If there wasn’t a barrier between you, he would have lifted you up and spun you around, that’s how happy he was. Two months ago he couldn’t have envisioned a win any time soon, and now he had managed to snatch up the first place, all thanks to you.

After his weigh-in, he walked back to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I want you to come up on the podium with me,” he said. 

“Ah,” he tutted, already knowing you would protest before you even opened your mouth, “it’s just as much your win as it’s mine.”

“Charles…”

“You deserve to be up there too! It’s your first win!”

You stared at him hesitantly.

“Come on, Y/N. Just this once. If you say no, I’ll just ask again next time, and the time after that, and—”

“Next time?”

“Yes. We’re obviously going to win many more races together!” Charles said with a childish grin. “Come on!” He continued, tugging on your sleeve.

You finally succumbed, nodding your head. “Okay, fine.”

“Ah perfect! I’ll see you up there!” He said with a big grin, before walking off to do his interview.

You used the time Charles was in the cooldown room to mentally prepare yourself. You were about to stand on the podium. Your face was going to be broadcast on live TV for everyone to see, and it made you nervous. You smiled nervously at the people guiding you up the stairs to the podium where you met Charles. He smiled comfortingly and chatted with you relaxedly while you waited for his name to be called out. 

When the time came, you tried to stay in the background, hiding behind Charles who walked out in front of you before taking your place on the separate podium for the winning constructor. From your position, you could see the crowd cheering for Charles while the Monegasque anthem sounded over the track. You admired the sea of red that was here for Ferrari, for Charles. When the Italian anthem played you made eye contact with Charles, laughing silently with him over your colleagues singing along loudly.

You gracefully accepted the trophy for the team, smiling and lifting it up after it was offered to you. The sound of your team cheering and applauding filled you with joy. You couldn’t be prouder of Charles for this achievement, and maybe of yourself too, especially when you saw the admiring look Charles was sending you. It made your thoughts hazy, tuning out for a second as you enjoyed this moment of glory while staring out at the crowd in front of you.

Then, suddenly, you heard the pops of bottles. You could barely set down your trophy before your face was covered in champagne.

“Charles,” You gasped. 

Barely able to breathe, you tried to cover your face with your cap. It was no use, however; the champagne was already pricking in your eyes as you blindly tried to push Charles away. When the other men on the podium targeted him, you used the moment to pop your own bottle of champagne. Of course, your goal was to completely douse Charles as payback, but he was quick to flee. Before you got the chance to properly drench him, it was already time for the podium picture. Charles grinned at you mischievously from his spot next to you. “You look good in victory champagne,” he teased. 

You glared at him jokingly. You were certain that you looked ridiculous with your cap askew and your clothes completely soaked in champagne, not to mention the mascara that was probably running down your face. You rolled your eyes at his comment, but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.

“Thanks, I think.”

He laughed with you, a gleeful look on his face. 

“How about we go out for a celebratory drink?” He asked with a gentle smile.

You noticed the more serious tone in his voice straight away. His expression was one you didn’t recognise; he seemed almost insecure.

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn’t resist teasing him. 

“Are you asking me out, Charles?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Well, yeah. I guess I am. What do you say?”

You laughed again, before nodding your head. 

“A drink sounds good.”

[notsopersonalcharlie]

My Belle

Biker!Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader fluff

Bucky is part owner of a mechanic shop and bar, but his girlfriend is the one who rakes in the big bucks, so who's to judge him (his friends) if he's just a little (very) whipped for her.

Notes: Based on this post and this post! In my own personal headcannon readers name is Noelle, which explains the nickname bell(e) lol. There will CERTAINLY be more installments of this story. Gif isn't mine

You muttered under your breath as you pulled your work shoes off your stockinged feet. There were runs at the toes because you were too lazy last night to cut your toenails. Too lazy and distracted by a certain biker coming home. The same biker who was waiting outside, who had kindly turned off the idling engine, but still waited on the sidewalk patiently holding an extra helmet. 

Bucky looked down at his phone. The Howling Commando group chat was blowing up about some sports game and Bucky turned the notifications off before making sure you hadn’t messaged. You hadn’t. He checked your location, you were inside the building in front of him. He checked the texts again and then put his phone in his pocket. Staring at it won’t help, is what you would say. What did you know? Everything, Bucky thought to himself. Sam would have laughed in his face if he could hear the inner monologue.

“See ya monday!” Your team's receptionist called. 

“Not a moment sooner!” You quipped back over your shoulder as you pushed open the glass double doors. All six feet and a bit of your biker were waiting on the sidewalk, tattoos peeking out at the neck and along the wrists speaking of one of your favorite features of his.

“Hi Buck!” He looked up and a grin split his usually stoic face. 

“There’s my girl.” Two long strides and you were wrapped up in his arms, a warm kiss pressed hard to your lips. Bucky spun you in a circle.

“I missed you, belle.” 

“I missed you too, Buck.” Anyone would have thought you hadn’t seen each other in days, but Bucky had stopped by only a few hours before to drop off your lunch.

“You’re not getting on the bike like that, honey.” You rolled your eyes, setting down your bags. 

“I know, I forgot to grab my overpants this morning. Do you have extras?” Of course he did, you knew that, but it was the sweet pout and big eyes just for him. You knew he loved to take care of you, so if you “forgot” the pants, maybe it was just because he liked to know he was always prepared. 

“Of course I do.” He waited as you slid the cargo looking pants up over your work bottoms. He stored your bags away as you did, and then sat down on the bike, making sure your helmet, the black one with muted flowers sprouting along the edges that he bought especially for you, was secure on your head.

You slid onto the bike behind Bucky, taking a deep breath of the mechanics grease and sweat smell that always seemed to live on his biking jacket, before snapping your visor shut. Bucky couldn’t help the way his heart leapt a little like always when you wrapped his arms around his middle and rested the chin of your helmet against the middle of his back. Two squeezes to check that you was ready or okay, two back to tell him you was good to go. Three squeezes to say I love you, four back to say I love you too. 

Bucky started the bike and took off back toward the little house they shared just two blocks down from the Howling Commando. You watched the scenery passively, relying on Bucky’s expert riding to get you home safe. You was so glad it was the weekend. Work had been busy, all week you had found yourself calling Bucky, letting him know that you had to stay late, that you would call a rideshare home so he didn’t have to come. Of course every night by the time you were ready to go, Bucky was sitting outside, leaning against his bike. The only day he wasn’t, it was because he had to drive a few towns over that afternoon to pick up a special part for your car.

Instead Steve had been waiting with his own motorcycle, grinning ear to ear as he recited precisely the text Bucky had sent to make sure you was dressed properly and your helmet was on correctly. 

“You know he has never, since childhood, through the service, after, never once, acting like this with a girl.” You just rolled your eyes, followed the instructions as you always did, and sat on the back of Steve’s bike and let him drop you off right in front of the white picket fence Bucky had insisted he would build when you first moved in. 

“You there, belle?” You blinked and found that they had already gotten home. 

“Yeah, just... thinking.” You slid off the bike, gravel driveway crunching under your feet. Bucky pulled your helmet off your head and his blue eyes were intent on your expression, his adorable little pout on his lips.

“What’s up?” You took the helmet from his hands, setting it on the bike before pulling his gloves off his fingers and then intertwining your fingers together. 

“I love our life, Buck.”

“I love our life too.” He looked worried, the little crease between his eyebrows so endearing as always. You lifted one hand to rub your thumb to the spot, eliciting a smile from him. 

“That’s all, baby. I want to spend every day of my life with you.” The grin grew, and you found yourself lifted in the air again, and seated back on the bike. His sweet demeanor towards you and his friends made it easy to forget that Bucky was six feet tall and made entirely of muscle, even if he had built up a healthy bit of relationship chub since you started dating. Bucky kissed you, soft in the dying light of the evening. 

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you too, belle.” You stood like that for a long while, till the glow of the sun was barely left in the sky and the automatic yard lights had turned on. 

“What do you want to do tonight?” Bucky asked. Sweet, as always, but it was the same thing you did every night. 

“I can get changed and we can head over to the bar.” And as always, “Only if you want, honey.” 

Bucky put your things away, dirty lunch containers in the dishwasher and bag beside your desk in the living room, while you got dressed. It felt like it was a fresh start to life when you pulled on comfy jeans and one of the well worn and soft shop t-shirts. You grabbed a sweatshirt, and then paused and got another one for Bucky, before heading back into the kitchen where Bucky was looking at his phone. 

“Howling Commando, huh?” Bucky joked. You nodded with a grin, tossing him one of his gray Army sweatshirts. 

“Only if you'll let me be one."

"You're already an honorary member," Bucky responded, pressing a kiss to your temple. You walked down the road less than a half mile hand in hand. The bar must have been getting busy on a Friday night, because you hadn’t even made it within view before you could hear the rowdy sounds of your friends and regulars. The front patio was full of folks, some spilling over into the front driveway of the shop. 

“Oh! Can I check on my baby?” You asked, popping up on your toes to try to look into the tinted glass of the garage doors. 

“I thought I was your baby!” 

“She was my baby first,” you shot back, already heading for the side door between the bar and shop. Bucky tossed the keys to you. 

“Do you want your usual?” He was already headed toward the front door of the bar. 

“Mmm, how about whatever cocktail special Sam is whipping up today?” He nodded and you unlocked the door, pushing into the dark mechanics shop. The side door led right into the garage, as opposed to the neat front office, or at least Yelena liked to keep it neat, and you fumbled in the dark momentarily to find the lights. They were slow to warm up, but you started toward where your car had been sitting for a few weeks, inoperable while Bucky painstakingly replaced every piece of the engine to make sure it was as safe as possible for his girl. 

Bucky walked in the front of the bar after saying hello to a handful of regulars and service buddies who still stopped by. Steve was leaning against the front of the bar, and clapped him on the back when he sidled up beside him. 

“Where’s your better half?” 

“Checking on her baby,” Bucky waved for Sam’s attention, “Where’s Nat?” 

“Trying to get her to take a break.” Yelena scoffed from where she was sitting on a stool on the other side of Steve. 

“As if you could ever make her do that.” 

“I said trying to,” Steve shot back as Sam walked over. 

“Where’s your belle?” Bucky scowled at his friend. 

“Wants whatever cocktail concoction you’re making. I’ll take the usual.” 

The custom painted powder blue vintage Mini Cooper was more assembled than it had been when you checked in on it a few days ago, and as you got closer you could see that it was almost done, a few pieces were still sitting on Bucky’s workbench. 

A slightly Russian accented call of your name identified it as one of the two Romanoff sisters, one who ran the front of the shop and the other the front of the bar. 

“Yeah, I’m back here.” 

“I figured.” Natasha appeared from the other side of a Cadillac SUV. 

“She’s almost done!” You grinned. 

“I heard. The guys put me on break and when I was refusing, Bucky said I should come make sure you didn’t linger too long.” You laughed. 

“He hates when I mess with his work.”

“Then maybe you should come let him mess with your make up,” Natasha suggested. 

“Are you flirting with me for Bucky?” you asked incredulously. The redhead laughed as you followed her out the side door, locking it behind you before going into the bar from the front. Multiple of the regulars called out your names, offering waves and grins, and the cacophony doubled inside. 

“Finally! The better one! I have your drink right here!” Sam called. You smiled, taking the drink. 

“Thank you, kind sir.” The bar was reaching capacity, pool tables in the back already in full swing. The waiters were a constant blur, Howling Commando Bar shirts identifiable in the bustle from the star logo in white. 

“Buck said you had a long week at work,” Nat said, returning to her spot at the front of the bar waiting to intercept underaged looking patrons. 

“It was a busy one. We’re tr- Actually, you don’t really care and I don’t really want to talk about it. Where is Bucky?” You responded good naturedly, trying to spot the brunet in the crowd. 

“I think I can see Steve’s blond ass over there,” Sam said, pointing further into the bar. You took your drink and headed toward the general direction. Steve and Bucky were in the corner near the office, heads together. 

“Hey Steve!” Both men looked up, eyes wide, at your appearance, and quickly took half steps apart. 

“Not at all suspicious guys. Good thing you were special forces.” Steve smiled, and Bucky looked a little shy. 

“Buck keeps trying to hustle me in pool,” Steve responded, “I have fallen for that many many too many years in a row. Your turn to carry the burden.” He pushed into the crowd, leaving you beside Bucky. 

“What was that about?” 

“Just business stuff. How is the Sam special?” You eyed him as you took your first sip, pleasantly surprised by the lack of a remarkable burn on the back end of the taste.

“Better than the last one.” Bucky's hulking presence should have been stifling or claustrophobic, but instead it was comforting. You looked up into sincere blue eyes and he leaned down, pressing warm lips to yours. Your hands slipped up around his neck, holding your drink out so the condensation wouldn’t drip down the back of his shirt. Bucky’s arms were strong and warm and one hand palmed your ass before pulling away. Bucky’s hand found its way around your back as you looked across the bar.

“You know, you guys really did something,” you said, “I know I say it all the time. But it's just amazing.” Bucky and Steve had wanted to start something after they left the service and with their penchant for drinking and ability to fix nearly any mechanized vehicle a bar and mechanics shop made the most sense. Three members of their team, Tim Gabe and Percy, had moved on with their lives, even though they stopped by when they rolled through town. Sam, the Romanoff sisters, Tony, and a half dozen more had joined the family since the start, but there were still plaques honoring the fallen Commandos above the bar. 

“All we knew how to do.”

You spent the rest of the night drinking with regulars, Bucky beating them in pool and not taking money from them, and you running drinks and convincing one of the girls at the bar that Sam was actually sweet and coming by again couldn’t hurt. 

“If that’s what kinda wing woman I get when I make a good cocktail, I should really do it more often,” Sam joked when the group of women moved off. Bucky appeared over your shoulder, sliding his pint glass over to his friend who refilled it. 

“What’s that?” 

“Just trying to get Sammy a girlfriend, since he blew his shot with all our friends.” 

The bar was still in full swing when Bucky and you said your goodbyes, and if Bucky picked you up and carried you over his shoulder fireman style while you giggled the whole way home so they could get back a little faster, that was between the two of you.

Wonder what Bucky and Steve were talking about... Find out here right now!

[fastandcarlos]

Ray Of Sunshine : ̗̀➛ Logan Sargeant

summary: even on the darkest of days you're always there to make logan smile again somehow

You knew the moment the door slammed how your evening was going to unfold.

Your eyes didn’t even need to look up as you heard familiar mumblings under someone’s breath, heavy footsteps trudging through the driver’s room, sighs released every so often. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as Logan entered, his dejected state was something that you had to come to expect supporting him recently, nothing seemed to fall his way and his was becoming a harsher critic of himself with every week that passed. You could only take so much, hating the way the races seemed to beat any positivity out of him.

“I give up,” he despairingly grumbled.

It was the same each week, you sat in your own bubble and gave Logan a moment to let go of his frustrations. Everything he touched was slammed back down, every little problem was blown way out of proportion, and the Williams hoodie that he wore was taken off as quickly as possible. To say that luck wasn’t on Logan’s side was an understatement, you could see for yourself that every little thing that could go wrong was going wrong for him right now. Once his usual steps were complete, you stood up and placed your hand gently against Logan’s shoulder, feeling his body tense up as soon as he felt your touch on him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

There was a pause between you before Logan reacted, turning his head to glance back at you. There was no emotion on his face, his energy was empty, not even you seemed to be able to bring any enthusiasm back into Logan again.

After a few moments he simply smiled back at you before stepping away, leaving you stood in confusion in the middle of the room. You were used to Logan taking a little while to respond to you after a disappointing race, but even this was extreme by his standards. Most of the time you at least saw a hint of a smile on his face, but Logan had nothing left. His eyes were nowhere near as bright as they usually were, his confident stance had disappeared, replaced by a man who looked as if he couldn’t take the constant bottom place finishes any longer.

“It’s going to get better,” you tried to tell him, keeping your eyes firmly on Logan. “It’s not always going to be this way.”

“I can’t see any way out right now,” he admitted, letting go of yet another sigh. Your heart sunk as you listened to Logan, watching him scuff his feet along the floor before taking a seat, head in his hands.

“You’re a talented driver Logan, your time is going to come soon enough.”

“Yeah? When?!” The sudden rise in Logan’s voice made your body freeze, not expecting to be struck by such a harsh tone. “Every week I get humiliated by my team, my car, they’ve made it so clear they don’t want me anymore, so what’s the point of doing this anymore?”

You were left speechless by Logan’s sudden outburst, running your hands over the top of your head. Part of you wanted to run, but you knew deep down Logan couldn’t stand being left alone with his own thoughts after the race that he’d had. Despite how hard you tried to get him to see the positives, he just couldn’t do it, despite how encouraging you always tried to be with him. You tried your best to get Logan’s feelings, to sympathise with him but you had never been in that car, those dreaded team meetings, never had to hear the remarks that so many experts made about him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that.”

A faint whisper came from across the room, capturing your attention. Logan’s soft eyes looked across at you, his hand stretching out, offering for you to take a hold of it. Instantly you could hear how genuine Logan was in his voice, if there was one person who didn’t deserve to have all of this taken out on them, it was definitely you.

“You might not think it, but I’m disappointed too that this is how things are going right now,” you spoke, taking a hold of Logan’s hand.

I would do anything to make this better for you, to give you all of the things that you deserve and make sure you’re acknowledged for the amazing human being that you are.”

“I don’t need anything else when I’m with you.”

His reply captured you, it left you stunned as your wide eyes looked across at him. The smallest of smiles appeared on Logan’s face as he realised how shy you had suddenly become, feeling your heart race as you stumbled over your words, not quite sure what to say.

“Everything else might suck, but that doesn’t matter when I know that I’ve got you,” Logan whispered, pulling you close to him.

“You’re always going to have me, I’m your biggest fan, remember?” You chuckled, nudging gently against Logan’s side. You intertwined your hand in tighter with his, giving it a slight squeeze.

“I don’t think I’d carry on doing this week in week out if it wasn’t for your support,” Logan noted, his sincere eyes sticking on you. Your head shook as you met his gaze once again, you had every confidence that Logan would achieve his dreams, even when he could only doubt himself.

“I’m sorry if I ever make you feel like I don’t appreciate you,” Logan added, “because I really do. It must be frustrating for you too watching me come last every week, I’m sure you’d probably love to be able to see me up on the podium like all of your friends get to do.”

“All of their boyfriends don’t compare to you though,” you grinned, chuckling to yourself.

“Well, I am the most handsome driver in F1,” Logan teased, throwing his free arm across your shoulders, “of course none of those guys compare.”

Your eyes rolled as the familiar character that you had come to know and love started to appear before you again, the deprecating Logan had gone, and the charming one returned.

“I don’t care where you start, finish, or what happens in between, I’m always going to be with you, we’re a team,” you reminded him, leaning your head down so that it rested against Logan’s broad shoulder.

In Logan’s room was where the two of you stayed for most of the evening, shutting yourselves out from the chaos of the paddock. There was noise all around you, but none of that mattered, you had each other, and that was all that counted, especially to Logan anyway. Beyond those four walls he didn’t care what anyone else had to say about him, because he had you, his bright sunshine, even on those cloudiest of days.

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 4]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist

mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

cw: violence, blood, vomiting, allusions to sexual trauma

you wish he wasn't so kind

wc: 4.1k

Ever since you were a kid, all your life has been is a game of numbers.

It’s a grueling game, and you’re reminded of its indifference towards your feelings and needs as you scribble your thoughts into your journal. You’ve gotten very good at mental math over the years. Between calculating hours, wages, taxes, overtime… every single day you live is planned to perfection to make sure you can survive throughout the month. There isn’t a single pence not accounted for, nor pound that goes to waste. 

A sigh dances between your lips as you give your hand a break from writing. You’ve been sitting in that bed for what feels like hours just crunching numbers, and you can feel the effects of it ravaging your lower back and wrist. As your head rests against the wall behind you, you take a deep breath of the fresh air blowing through your open window. It’s always chilly in November, but you go insane being kooked up in the small confines of your studio apartment. It’s the only bit of freedom you can pretend to have without having to put yourself in the eyes of the public. 

Two weeks. That’s all you have left until the 25th. 

Your phone buzzes on the bed next to you, pulling you out of your thoughts, and you glance away from your notebook to look at the illuminated screen. Though you had told yourself you wouldn’t text Simon under any circumstances — you really were trying your best to avoid owing people — that leak in your sink had become unbearable. No longer a soft drip, it’s become a steady flow over night, and your head already hurts at the thought of your utility bills. You had messaged him earlier that morning, sheepishly requesting that he assist you once more, and he left almost immediately in order to buy the right materials. 

You take the phone into your hands and unlock it to view his message. Simon’s texts are… odd. They’re very short and blunt, just like he is. Proper capitalization and punctuation, and refuses to use any text talk. It’s nothing concerning, it just makes you feel like you’re speaking to a robot more often than not — or someone being held against their will to talk to you. No matter. Short and blunt is good. Quick. Painless. 

Be there in five.

It was a lie. He shows up three minutes later, and this time he doesn’t sneak up on you. You realize very quickly that instead of driving a car or taking the bus like any sane person would, he’s brought a motorcycle. The roar of the engine has you peeking out of your window down at the street as he quickly shuts it off. It’s hard to tell what kind it is, as you’re not exactly an expert on that type of stuff, but it’s a sleek black, and very well taken care of. Even with the helmet on you recognize right away that it’s him based off of his sheer size alone, but the confirmation comes quickly as he begins to shed his protective layers. 

His knock sounds at the door moments later, and you answer it with a throw blanket wrapped around your shoulders. A bright pink dusts the tip of his nose and his cheekbones, frosted from the bitter cold and his drive over. Simon looks down at you for a short moment before taking a quick scan of the area behind you. His eyes narrow when they return to you. 

“Chilly. Is your heat out?” he asks as he steps into the room. 

How the hell can he sniff stuff out like that so quickly? “Uhm, no I’ve just got the window open,” you explain. 

He gives you a strange look before humming in response and making his way toward your kitchen sink. There’s something wrong with him, surely. Throughout your entire life, you’ve never met someone so hellbent on trying to solve every single issue that just so happens to plague you. Even Row will give up after a period of you insisting that you’re fine, though she does so begrudgingly. Does he see you as some poor creature that can’t take care of itself? Or is he just genuinely this kind? 

Simon Riley is a strange man. Maybe it’s easier for him to stick around because you’re too nervous to tell him you don’t want him here. 

While he works on fixing your sink, you return back to your bed where you continue to crunch numbers and plan out the remaining time you have left this month. There’s always been a huge difference between living, and keeping yourself alive. It’s a balance you try to keep, though it’s extremely difficult. Paying for your rent keeps you alive. Getting Marco his money on time keeps you alive. And after you are finished with all that, you are left with £297 in your checking account. 

Working like a dog, just to live off of scraps. 

You draw an angry circle around your final number before tossing your journal back onto the mattress. How you’re going to afford groceries this month is beyond you. Work nights won’t be so bad, because Bruce — the chef and owner — is more than happy to make free orders for anyone working for him at Sapori. Any other day of the week will be a little tricky, but nothing you haven’t done before. 

A cold breeze puffs through the window, and you pull your blanket tighter around your shoulders. Simon’s still working on your sink with parts dismantled on the counter next to him. As he scrubs them clean with some sort of solvent, you can’t help but take notice of the way his back flexes with the movement. Even through the dark fabric of his long sleeved shirt it’s obvious how his muscles dance underneath it, like there’s too much of him to be properly contained by fabric alone.

Bee’s words from the other night ring loud in your mind. You sure know how to pull them. It’s laughable how she thinks you’re able to attract people as if Simon sees you as something more than a pathetic animal that doesn’t know how to care for itself. Though, you can’t exactly disagree with her. For all his rough edges, he’s an attractive man. But that’s about as far as you ever go. Looking, admiring from afar, keeping your distance. Distance is good. Keeps you safe. Keeps everyone safe. 

Besides, you’re not sure if intimacy is something that’s meant for you. Every time you think of a hand on your waist or hot breath on your face your body tenses so much you can feel it trying to rip itself to shreds. You think of someone’s lips on yours and you want to scream. You think of that hand, sliding between your thighs inside of your skirt, and the bile in your stomach starts to churn. 

“There we are,” Simon mutters to himself. 

As Simon runs some final tests on your sink, you slide out of your bed and tip toe into the kitchen behind him. Water no longer drips out of the spout, and the apartment feels oddly quiet without the constant stream, but you’re grateful to no longer have something quite literally siphoning out your finances. 

“Should be set,” Simon explains as he cleans up old, calcified hardware from your counter. He tosses the discarded metal into the paper bag the new ones came in before turning his attention to you with crossed arms. “Anythin’ else need fixing?” 

“No, nothing else is broken. For now,” you say in an attempt at humor. 

But there is one issue left: payment. 

“Thank you, again. I, uh, don’t really have the money to pay you for it, but I can comp another meal for you tonight, if you’d like?” you offer. 

“It’s no problem. Don’t worry about it. I’m workin’ tonight, anyway,” Simon excuses. 

This… is not how you expected the conversation to go. He seemed more than happy to accept free food last time, yet now he’s making it seem like you don’t need to pay him back at all. Of course you’ll have to pay him back. That’s how the world works. If he doesn’t want anything now, he’s going to want something later.

“I can drop it off tonight at the club,” you insist, desperate to finally be rid of him. “I’m sure you get hungry at work, and I know for a fact the food there is terrible.” 

Simon shrugs. “The chips aren’t that bad.” 

You look him up and down before raising an eyebrow. It’s a silent question — no, a protest — you know for a damn fact a small serving of chips isn’t enough for a man his size. 

“Text me what you want, and I’ll bring it by tonight,” you repeat, tone all but begging for him to accept. 

Dark eyes study you like you’re a specimen. His gaze feels like he’s pinning you to some examination board with your legs and arms splayed out. You’re on full display, chest and stomach waiting to be cut into. All he’s missing is the lab coat and scalpel to rip you open. 

“Alright. See you tonight then, sweetheart.” 

Work goes by fast. Too fast. It’s busy, which is to be expected of a Saturday, but this is outrageous. Between the takeout orders and the endless wave of patrons, it’s impossible for you to take any sort of breather. The aroma of fresh bread and cheeses soaks so deep into your being, you’re certain you’ll have to soak in the shower for hours in order to get it off of you. A deep ache plagues the bottoms of your feet, and by the time you’re finally able to lock the door it’s nearly midnight. 

Things always pass by in a blur on nights like this. The only thing you’re able to focus on between the tasks at hand is the sweat that gathers on your neck and soaks into the collar of your shirt. Really, it’s a blessing in disguise. A busy day means busy hands and busy hands mean you don’t have to think about the notification waiting for you on your phone, or the meal you’ll have to deliver soon.

Yet, your phone is the very first thing you reach for the moment you’re able to grab a seat. One of the waiters is huddled up in the booth next to you, rolling silverware for tomorrow night’s service, and the clinking drowns out the soft music playing through the speakers as you unlock your phone. 

Order whatever you want for tonight. Not picky. Come through the VIP entrance. I’ll wait for you. 

It was sent a while ago, just before eleven. He’s been waiting for nearly an hour and a half, and it’ll be much later by the time you finally get it to him. So much for paying him back. Maybe you should have waited for him to have a day off that way he wouldn’t be waiting for ages just to get his food — then again, you hate having to owe people for longer than needed. 

sorry, it’s been a long night. should be there before one! 

“Chip!” 

Your eyes dart away from your phone just in time to see Bee waving at you from the kitchen entrance. Her ponytail has gotten rather ratty throughout the busy night, yet her beauty is still effortless and captivating as large, sunflower-shaped earrings swing above her shoulders. 

“Bruce is gonna close up soon. Want anything?” she calls. 

“Uh, yeah, just an order of capellini pomodoro!” you shout back. 

Instead of answering you, she gives you a thumbs up before vanishing back into the kitchen. It’s an easy meal. Something quick. Usually your go-to dish whenever Bruce demands that he feeds you, which is quite often. You swear he has some sort of sixth sense that can detect whenever you’re trying to skip meals to save cash. 

A sharp buzz from your phone pulls your attention back down to your lap. Its screen illuminates with the preview of Simon’s response back to you. 

Take your time, sweetheart.

“Christ…” you mumble to yourself. 

You wish he wasn’t so kind. It would be easier to push him away if he was as cruel as everything else in your life is. 

It’s an awkward ride on the bus. Warmth seeps into your lap through the thin, styrofoam takeout box as the world passes by you in a blurr through shiny windows. There are two other women on the bus with you, and you find yourself breathing easier at the realization that there are no men around you. Everyone avoids eye contact with one another as a woman in scrubs types away furiously at her phone, and a woman who looks two seconds away from throwing up rests her head against the cold window on her left. All three of you exist simultaneously, yet so separate from one another. For once, a part of you is glad that you’re not alone. 

There’s an odd pit in your stomach that forms when the bus halts at your stop. It’s one thing coming to the club when you’ve got Row to drag you around, but it’s something else entirely when you know you’ll have to navigate the area all by yourself. Styrofoam squeaks as you grip the box in your hand and exit the bus where the chilly night air cuts right through your work clothes. There’s no need to zip your jumper up. It’s a short walk to the club, and you can already see a group of bouncers hanging around the front entrance of the building. 

Simon had told you to use the VIP entrance, but the issue is that you can’t remember where it’s at. You had only been there a few weeks ago, but you were so tired after your shift that you were too exhausted to really pay attention and remember anything. You have a vague memory of a neon sign, and two large double doors, but that’s about it. Instead of wandering around the building like an idiot, you decide to do something ultimately worse. 

“Excuse me.” 

The bouncers at the front entrances are in the middle of their smoke break as you interrupt them, and they look at you with narrowed, unentertained eyes. There’s a few steps that lead up to the entrance that makes you feel impossibly small as they scrutinize you like you’re just some bug on the pavement. You chew on your bottom lip before you clear your throat and try again. 

“I’m, uh, looking for the VIP entrance? I’m supposed to meet Simon?” you say. 

“You askin’ or tellin’ us?” one of the men asks with his cigarette stuck between his teeth.

Everything you say feels like a question, and you feel heat rise up in your face. You’re starting to second guess asking for help. Maybe you should just call Simon and ask him to meet you out front, but you’d hate to take him away from his job. No, you just need to grit your teeth and bare it. Once this is done, you don’t owe him anymore, and then you’ll never have to see him again. 

“Sorry,” you try again. “It’s just that, I’m supposed to bring Simon dinner tonight, I just need help finding the entrance.” 

“Sorry love, dunno a Simon.” 

You raise an eyebrow at the man, your confusion beating out the anxiety gripping your chest. “Doesn’t he work security with you?” 

The other man slaps the smoker on the arm — something playful and childish — before he rolls his eyes. 

“She’s talking about Riley, you dunce,” he explains. 

Terrible realization washes over the smoker’s face, and he quickly flicks his cigarette onto the ground where it sputters and dies in a little wisp underneath the sole of his boot. 

“Shit, of course,” he says, a silent apology soaking his words. He points a finger toward your right, guiding you along the darkness of the building. “VIP entrance, yeah? Just head that way and make a left before the alleyway.” 

It’s not the easiest set of directions to follow, but it’s certainly more than you had a moment ago. You give the two men a quiet thanks before trudging down the pavement. The only thing keeping you warm is the food in your hands, but the night air is sapping its heat faster than you had anticipated. You fear by the time you finally find Simon, it’ll be stone cold. Hopefully they have a microwave somewhere. 

Soon enough, it won’t be your problem.

Just like you were instructed, you make a left turn into the area you had assumed was the VIP entrance, yet you very quickly find yourself in the alley you were told to turn before. It’s a simple fix. Turn around, backtrack, and find the right turn — but it’s not. It’s not simple because the air is so acrid it starts to choke you. You’re frozen, stuck in time at the entrance of some grimy alley as two men converse with each other and pass notes and cash between one another. 

Dirty business. Dirty, filthy business that stains your skin and festers until you’re rotting. It makes your tongue go dry, but it only gets worse when you realize that you recognize one of the men. It’s difficult not to with his brown, undercut hair and stone cold eyes. You want to run, but it’s too late. His blue eyes have already found you in the darkness with a fire that illuminates you like a spotlight. He always looks angry — determined — with harsh features and tense lips. Yet, as he stares at you, he appears almost relieved. Like he had been looking for you. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as this man mutters something in Russian to his friend, who quickly brushes past you as he departs. Heavy feet brush against the stone floor of the alley as you’re approached by that monster of a man, and you tell yourself to look away, but you can’t. You know better than to look away from Andrei when his hands are in his pockets. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, stopping just close enough to crowd your space, but not close enough for you to step back. 

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth as you try to choke out the words to respond to him. “I’m… delivering food.” 

Andrei looks over his shoulder at the poorly illuminated area behind him, before he turns back to face you with a raised brow. “To who? The rats?” 

“I made a wrong turn,” you answer honestly. 

He chuckles, but there’s no amusement behind it. No, you’re nothing but a curious creature. One he can’t wait to cut into. 

“You’re always getting lost, aren’t you?” he questions. It’s not something he expects an answer for, and you know it, so you stay silent as he leans closer as if ready to tell you a secret. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

You’re very aware of that fact. You knew as much the moment you laid eyes on him. 

“I’ll just… drop this off and go. I’ll go home, I swear,” you attempt to plead. 

“Dangerous men here. Lots of them,” Andrei continues as if you had never spoken in the first place. “You’d do well to keep your distance. I know you like getting caught up in bad business, but this isn’t something you want to get stuck in. That much, I can promise you.” 

If only he knew how hard you try. You’ve been playing this grueling game since you were a kid. You’re just always dealt a bad hand. 

“Chip?” 

Simon’s voice bounces off the brick walls around you, rattling you to the point you swear your knees will give out. You’re unsure if you should feel relieved or terrified that he found you. How he did it, you’re not sure. Then again, he always seems to be searching for a problem to try and fix. Andrei looks over your shoulder. His lip twitches, and you swear you’re going to be sick. 

“Need something?” Andrei asks, bored. 

“Yeah,” Simon responds. Gravel and sand crunches behind you, and you jump as you feel a warm hand on your shoulder. “I need you to fuck off.” 

Amused, Andrei tilts his head to one side. Simon is significantly taller than him, yet he doesn’t seem intimidated at all. 

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he warns. 

“Don’t care,” Simon deadpans. “I said: Fuck. Off.”

There’s no time to warn Simon about the war he’s started with those words. Rage boils in Andrei’s eyes with a heat so violent you can feel it in his hands as he shoves you to the side. 

The takeout box slips out of your hands just in time for you to catch your fall. Soft flesh collides with sharp rocks and broken glass, but the adrenaline pumping through your system numbs the pain in your hands and knees. Angel hair pasta litters the ground around you, and the mouthwatering scent of Simon’s would-be meal becomes stomach churning. Something that can only be described as a strained sob escapes your mouth as you try to steady yourself and keep your body from toppling over onto the ground. 

All you wanted to do was drop off Simon’s meal and go home. 

It takes an eternity for you to push yourself to your feet and even then you almost fall back to the ground. You look at your hands, shredded and bleeding from whatever you were unfortunate enough to catch yourself on, and your body begins to tremble from the frigid air and shock that grips you like a vice. You hear grunting, and your stomach drops.

You turn your attention to the mess behind you, and the tinnitus in your ears suddenly roars louder than everything else around you. Blood gushes from the side of Andrei’s head and his nose, dribbling down his chin until it stains the dark fabric of his shirt. His head rolls against the back of the wall as he leans against it for support. You can hardly see what’s in his hands from behind Simon — who has decided to use himself as a physical barrier to keep Andrei from you — but the glint of the knife in his hand is unmistakable. 

It hits you all at once. The blood. How it spills on the linoleum floor and spreads, outlining the cooling body in the kitchen. You wonder how many other lives that knife has taken. That cruel, curved blade that taunts you as Andrei folds it up and shoves it back into his pocket. Pale eyes land on you in a warning as he wipes his face on the back of his hand, smearing blood across the flushed color of his cheeks. He doesn’t have to say his caveat out loud for you to know what he means. 

It’s only a matter of time before you’re next. 

There’s hardly enough time for you to turn around and brace your sore hands against the wall before your stomach bubbles. Rancid bile stings the back of your throat as you puke, vile liquid sloshing on the ground. There’s hardly anything inside of you to get rid of; just the consumed remnants of your brunch from hours ago. You try to keep it down, but you’re overwhelmed by the way the muscles in your body contract, contorting your body uncomfortably as you expel the only bit of sustenance you were able to eat that day. 

Simon’s hand rests on your hunched back, making you jump, but you can’t get yourself to turn and face him. Muffled words — your name and reassurances — break through that high pitched drone harassing your hearing, but it doesn’t quite reach you. Everything is disconnected. Nothing but frayed wires and nerves. Shuttering breaths. Cold blood. Trembling hands. Rocks sticking out of flesh. 

Then there’s nicotine. It’s faint; something that haunts the fabric of Simon’s shirt as he holds you close. You’re not sure if it’s to offer you comfort, or to keep your shaking legs from collapsing; you don’t care either way. Instead, you focus on the smell of him — old smoke mixed with something clean, like deodorant — as well as his warmth as he keeps you tucked close to his side. It does nothing to stave off the panic ravaging your chest, but it’s enough for now. 

“C’mon, I’ve got you,” Simon says, voice hardly cutting through the drum of your heart pounding in your chest. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

[incogrio]

omg I loved your soobin fic btw! I was wondering can you do ot5 txt being jealous/protective of the reader?

ot5 - jealousy, jealousy

pairing: ot5 x reader (separately)

genre: fluff, bit of smut and angst

synopsis: how the members show jealousy!

warnings: jealousy, possessiveness, smut, anger etc!

a/n: thank you so much for the request!! hope u enjoy!! this isn’t proof read don’t kill me pls!!

yeonjun:

i feel as though yeonjun would show his jealousy in a more whiney manner

like, he wouldn’t outright say anything to you or the person making him jealous in the moment

i imagine you’re also an idol, maybe even in txt and an interviewer makes comments about your appearance and how you’re the most desirable of the group

yeonjun, being ever professional simply smiles and laughs

lingers behind you as you reject the guy once the cameras are off

but after… he’ll come to you like a big baby all like

“he flirted with you right in front of meeeee..!!” he’d whine out with a slight high pitched tone as he tucked his head into your neck

“i rejected him, i only want you jjunie,” you’d reassure

only for him to respond with, “but i was right thereeeee!!! don’t i look boyfriend enough!!!!” and his perfect lips would form a perfect pout and you couldn’t resist but to kiss his sad face away :(

that would most likely lead to him smiling against your lips and the craziest sex ever.. like full on

“bet he has a smaller dick than me, huh? bet he couldn’t make you drool the way i do. he wishes he could see you like this doesn’t he? too bad only i can see you all disheveled.. only me, right baby? just daddy right?”

yes jjunie has a daddy kink argue with the WALL.

as for what made him jealous, i think he’s a little crazy and would be annoyed when someone so much as looks at you for too long

he would never blame you or your outfit, simply the pervs who wish they could have you

thinks it’s funny whenever you’re jealous, doesn’t really see that he’s just as hot as you

also finds it crazy that you’d think he’d want anyone else

just remind him that you only want him and kiss his pouty lips and maybe give him a blowjob and he’ll be fine…

until you do promotions again

soobin:

sigh… loser soobie doobie.

i feel like soobie would be annoyed by it if anything

also VERY passive aggressive

let’s say you’re in a library, looking at a book that you might want

a rando comes up mansplaining the novel you’re holding and soobin comes up behind you like 😒🤨

FR LOOKS AT HIM WITH SUCH DISGUST.

yall know that clip of him during that live where he’s looking at the members w that disgusted look? yeah that’s him rn

the guy reaches forward to touch your arm all like “i just think this book might be too complicated for you”

ha. ha ha. soobin pulls you back into his chest before the guy can touch you and looks at him so angrily. “they’re fine. they can pick their own book.” he says it with such an eerily calm tone despite his aggressive gum chewing and fingertips digging slightly into your waist.

mf just gives an awkward smile, raises his hands in surrender and walks away

soobin literally mutters “pussy” under his breath LMFAO

he doesn’t really say much after that, only keeping a hand on you till you get to the car

“bunny, do you think i should read this book or this one first?” you ask, lifting up both books as he pulls out of the parking lot.

he rolls his eyes slightly, driving (hotly) and looking only at the road before saying: “dunno. ask your new book expert boyfriend.”

you literally have to stifle your laugh. for soobie, he’s a sucker for your cuteness

soooo u just pout at him cutely and rest your elbow on the console and your head in your hand

“don’t be mad bunny… only want you :(“

he does that thing where he smiles and pokes his tongue to his cheek in faux annoyance (i’m horny)

just smiles and shakes his head, reaching to you and holding your thigh tightly, you rest your hand on his

he may seem all tough right now, but don’t worry soon you’ll have him tied up and whimpering after making him cum over and over to make sure he knows his worth 💋

tbh seems like the type to bring it up randomly too LMFAOO

beomgyu:

beomgyu… hehehe

i imagine this to happen outside of a food truck

he’s waiting w you, probably talking to you about something stupid and you suddenly get a poke on the shoulder

you turn around, and beomgyu looks with you and sees a guy

as you’re rejecting the guy, gyu is literally snickering and giggling to himself

you are so embarrassed by him this mf is literally cackling

you’d think there was a witch behind you

the guy is definitely STILL in earshot as he walks away dejectedly, and beomgyu immediately giggling and smoothly tugging you to be in his arms

“did you see his face???? he thought he had a chance w you???!!! my girl?? yahhhgh!!! he’s soooo stupid!” he says all loudly and dramatically. he has that little smirk on his face as he says this, but has his arms tightly around you as though the guy would come and kidnap you

you see behind the facade, simply reaching up and pressing a kiss to his lips. “only want you,” you mutter, and he hums and smiles against your lips

“ahhh i knowww!! that’s why it’s so funny!”

he’d rather die than admit insecurity in the middle of a goddamn food truck line.

probably doesn’t talk about it until it’s late at night and you’re cuddled in bed

he might even start crying :(

for gyu, i don’t see sex being a good reassurance thing for him

i think he’d prefer to just sit with you, watching a bad movie and making fun of it together

randomly kissing you and every time you know what he wants to hear: “only want you, bear”

if you were to fuck, he’d deffo want to eat you out

“only i can taste this pussy, only your bear,” he’d grumble as you twist his long hair in your fingers, tugging him closer to your sopping cunt

taehyun:

mickey mouse voice: oh boy!

if you think you’re getting any other reaction other than silence, you’re WRONG.

hmmm let’s say you’re at the gym, watching him work out bc wow free show

at one point he walks away to grab weights from the other side of the gym and you wait for him to come back

suddenly, a sweaty yucky man is getting closer to you, and oh wow look he’s staring at you

as taehyun turns around, he sees you talking to him but doesn’t really mind because he knows you’re his

but then he gets closer and hears the guy complimenting your body… he just pauses for a second, making brief eye contact w you and continuing to set up his little work out thing (i don’t work out can u tell)

he knows you’ll tell the guy why you’re actually here

“so… why don’t we go grab protein shakes after you finish working out?” you wanted to scream. you were wearing jeans. WHO WORKS OUT IN JEANS?? you hadn’t touched a single machine and you hate protein shakes. is this guy a dunce.

“oh no thank you, i’m here to watch my boyfriend. he’s right there,” you point at tae, who is now bench pressing over 100 pounds and woah.. hehe

yeah no the guy could not have left faster. tae still doesn’t say anything.

you keep watching him, now sitting on the floor until he gets up from the bench and sits in front of you

before you can ask, he gestures for you to hold his feet and starts doing sit ups

except, after the first one, he starts puckering his lips when he sits up

oh!

sit up after sit up, he kisses you as he comes back up

he literally did over one hundred and you were drunk on him by the time he finished

his way of staking his claim i suppose… probably made sure that the guy was watching too

tbh… that’s all the reaction you’re gonna get

after, you ask why he didn’t say anything and he just shrugs and is like, “i know you’re mine. and you know i’m yours. i don’t need to prove anything.”

then you’re like, “so why did you do the sit up thing”

“i was horny.” you literally choke on your smoothie

when you guys get home he definitely fucks you but not super roughly or anything… super romantically actually

his thought process, conscious or not, is: you could go out and fuck someone and they’d do it emotionlessly. he’s going to fuck you like you built the very universe your souls found each other in. (you did)

huening kai:

just a warning… he’s my bias so this might be a little crazy

you’re in a grocery store, he seems like one of those cringy bfs who’s steer the cart but have you in between him and the cart

i want him.

every few moments he’d press a kiss to your hair or simply lean down and have his face near yours until you got the hint

his chest is against your back… his huge broad chest… i’m ill.

OKAY LET ME GET TO THE ACTUAL JEALOUSY PART

okay so you guys stopped to look at the cereal because you wanted to get the one w his face

as you’re looking, hueningie squats down and checks the very bottom shelf

and thus, the worker that goes up to you does not see him

“hey! you need any help over here?” you look over, pointing to yourself in silent question. the guy nods. kai is immediately tuned into the convo as he pretends to look for more cereal

“hm? oh no! we’re good, just looking for a specific cereal,” you remain vague as to not reveal kai’s identity.

lol imagine you’re like “yeah my bf has a cereal w his face on it! yeah my bf who’s a famous idol!” LMFAOO

the guy nods, and you think the convo is over so you keep looking for cereal as you reach down and pet kai’s hair absentmindedly. you don’t know how reassuring it is to him.

“okay well… i just saw you and thought you were so super cute. like.. how do you not have a boyfriend?”

“i do actually,” you respond without evening looking at him. you tug kai’s hair, silently telling him to make himself known. he gets up, all six feet and muscles wearing a fitted top so you could see all of his strength and hard work as an idol.

“they’re not here,” he says plainly, without the usual sweet tone he’d give you. he also doesn’t even look at the worker.

the guy doesn’t even have enough time to apologize before kai’s leading you and the cart elsewhere. he gets quiet, but a different quiet to the other members. a sad one.

the moment you get home, he breaks down

he sobs, barely able to get out the fact that he doesn’t understand why you’re with him, why you wouldn’t want someone w a normal life, someone who’s more attractive (no such thing), someone who could love you publically

oh my baby :(((((

you pull him into a hug, his head ducking to be hidden in your neck, reassuring him quietly.

“huening… i promise you, you are the most attractive man on earth to me.” you say sternly, “the universe, even. it pains me that you can’t see that. i don’t want anyone else, just you, hyuka. and i love you enough to endure the fact that you can’t be public with us.”

he’s just whining now, not responding. he’s holding you so tightly that you’d think you’d turn into thin air.

after a lot of cuddles with his plushies, he’s okay :)

but then his members come home and see the tear stains on his face

they don’t know what happened and call him a baby and make a bunch of maknae jokes

yeah that’s the last straw. he takes you to his room and shoves you onto the bed (makes sure that not only are you comfy, but also that all his plushies are turned away)

he fucks you until you’ve both cum at least 4 times, and he’s borderline shooting blanks.

he’s moaning so loud, hips are shaking as he keeps pumping into you, filling you up

you’re even louder, legs shaking and hands pushing against his stomach in a faux plead for him to stop

every so often, he’d say something like, “not a fucking baby,” oh negative kai i want you.

“could a baby maknae fuck you like this? oh fuck honey, clench me like that. could that guy at the store make you shake like this? hm?

OH BROTHER!!

yeah neither of you can walk after that. and the members for SURE heard your moans and are now never calling him a baby ever again

unless he does aegyo bc come ON he’s baby then

probably becomes an inside joke between you guys

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