#which leaves him sort of rooted in his approach to acting

[pynkhues]

Because I am a filthy gossip fiend and a disgusting person, I am wondering what your take is on the Jeremy Strong no-show through award season! Is he REALLY just working? Does the entire Succession cast hate him? Do you think maybe he didn’t want to spend time with Brian Cox considering Brian has been making his mouth go so damn much since the show wrapped? What are your thoughts on the way the camera cut to Jessica Chastain’s extremely lukewarm applause after Jesse Armstrong thanked Brian in his best drama acceptance speech?

I mean, I tend to take these things at face value and Jeremy probably is simply taking the chance to work with Ali Abbasi before the play opens, but heee this is all fun and slightly evil to speculate on haha 😈

Ahahaha, I mean!! It does feel conspicuous, but then Brian hasn't been there either. I'd hope Brian's comments since the show would be water off a duck's back for everyone given it's over and he's been giving big old man yells at clouds energy, but who knows - actors are often a pretty sensitive lot, haha.

I actually don't tend to think there's much beef between the cast - both Jeremy and Kieran have made comments alluding to the fact that they can feel a bit like a real family in the sense that there's a lot of love but that they annoy each other too, and I suspect Jeremy, Kieran and Matthew in particular would rub up against each other given how different they are both as personalities and in their approach to acting.

Personally, I do think it's probably a work thing, which makes it a shame he doesn't get to be a part of Succession's victory lap. After all, contractually, he might not have been able to take time off.

Actors usually have to negotiate leave and are generally only allowed a certain amount that can be scheduled around - it's expensive to shut production down, and any delays can result in losing both cast and crew. I remember hearing that Zendaya had had to negotiate time off from Euphoria to do the Dune press tour which meant she was unable to take any further time off for events she was typically a given at like the MET Gala which the rest of the cast attended.

Depending on budget and availability, a lot of productions don't let actors take any time off at all, and the reality for Jeremy is that he's actually under a pretty inflexible schedule himself given An Enemy of the People starts on Broadway so soon. I imagine he just doesn't have the wriggle room, particularly as a co-lead, which likely isn't helped by the fact that Sebastian Stan doesn't have much either given Thunderbolts is in pre-production already too.

Plus, y'know, he's method, haha. To already be going between Roy Cohn and Dr. Thomas Stockmann, only to regress back into feelings of Kendall and Succession might've made the decision a headspace one too.

[caticius]

Barista Dabi

My au in which the league is just a silly group of friends because their parents were never bad :)

You walked into the small coffee shop on the corner of the street. Usually it was pretty busy in there since it was nearby UA high school and a big office building but luckily today it wasn’t so crowded. You didn’t go in there that often but enjoyed what they served there - one of the reasons it was so popular was because of how good their coffee was.

You thought for a while about what you might want, something sugary? No, not today. Having worked late last night you were pretty tired so decided on just black coffee

Approaching the counter you saw a new face. And damn, was it a nice one. He had tattoos covering his entire neck and piercings all over his face - on his lips, ears, eyebrows, and hell you wondered where else he might have them. He had deep eyebags that somehow made him even cuter and his hair was seemingly dyed black based off the white roots you could see peeking out but it suited him. God, it was almost unfair how beautiful this stranger was. He looked around your age - early twenties - especially considering he had tattoos. Definitely new to this coffee shop because you’d absolutely not forget a face like his.

You were in a trance-like state when you reached the counter, blush surely having bloomed over your cheeks. He gave a cold, expectant stare and you couldn’t help but notice his piercingly blue eyes. It felt like he was staring right through you and god that only added to his beauty.

“You gonna order or what?” He asked, crossing his arms and revealing more tattoos and numerous silver rings, along with black nail polish. That snapped you to reality though and you realised you had been staring at him dumbly for at least ten seconds.

“Oh.” Embarrassment consumed you. You just met this guy and already acted a fool in front of him. “Just a black coffee please.” You mumbled.

He raised an eyebrow and you could’ve sworn amusement had flickered across his face for a moment.

“Uh-huh. And who’s that for?” He asked. It was actually not okay how beautiful his voice was. Low and smooth.

“Um, [name].” You still had an embarrassed glow to your features, speaking almost ashamedly.

“Hmmm, that’s a nice name, [name].” He hummed, writing your name on a plastic cup. Wait what? Was he flirting with you? And god the way your name rolled off his tongue made your heart flutter. You looked down at his name tag.

‘Dabi’ it read.

“Thank you, Dabi.” You sort of giggled.

He chuckled quietly.

“Ah, that’s not my name. Just have that so strangers don’t speak to me as if they know me. You, sweetheart, can call me Touya.” He was definitely flirting with you. Oh my god,he was flirting with you.

“Nice to meet you, Touya.” You smiled, subconsciously leaning closer to the counter.

He gave a wide smile, meeting your eyes.

“You come here often?” He asked and you noticed he had a tongue piercing, which put unwelcome thoughts into your brain that quickly had to be suppressed.

“Only every once in a while.” You shrugged, but gave a tiny smirk “..but I might have to start coming here more often.”

Touya smirked back and looked you up and down. It felt as if he was undressing you with his gaze alone. He leaned forward a bit, one hand propping himself up on the counter as his face was only inches from yours, breath fanning over your face.

“I’d like that.” He whispered in an almost seductive tone, then quickly whipped around to grab your drink from his coworker. You could’ve sworn you were bright red.

It looked as if he was writing something on the cup before he turned back around and handed it to you.

“Enjoy your drink, sweetheart, come back soon.” He winked as you took the cup from his hands.

“Of course.” You smiled and turned to leave, noticing as you took the first sip that there was something written on it.

His phone number, with the words ‘text me’ under it.

You turned back around to look over your shoulder and saw he was still staring at you with an almost hungry gaze. You nodded, smiling, and left the coffee shop knowing this was gonna be your regular place from now on.

Doodle of Dabi like this except I forgot the arm tattoos rip. i might make a part two - this is my first tumblr post so I’m kind of nervous about posting, lol. lmk if you liked it!

[hellcifrogs]

Akatsuki Rin Anon!

I'd like to think that initially she would be too griefstricken. But then around the same time that Danzo drafts Kakashi into root/ sows seeds of there being something more to the attack- Rin starts to feel the full frontal assault of Kushina and Minato not being there to protect her anymore.

By the time Kakashi has met Tenzo, Rin starts piecing together a scene of what may have gone wrong that night and even before during team Minato's missions- approaching all sorts of unsavory crowds and places in her quest for answers- as much as she can. Being drafted into root in the process.

And about the time the entire rescue Tenzo, and capture Orochimaru debacle goes down, she had been in Ame- but she actually goes against Root- saving Nagato and Konan. Because much like Kakashi she was also taught to not ignore what is right when she has the power to correct it. This makes her Danzo's enemy- she is thankfully not murdered because she becomes to Ame what Naruto became to Suna.

She approaches Sarutobi with her warnings, is dismissed, removed from root with Danzo being given a warning and then put on an even tighter surveillance because she had been seen talking to the snake sannin.

Rin plays along because she can't leave Naruto behind. She won't. It burns that she isn't able to take care of him or be in contact- even though she understands the reasoning. (Doesn't stop her from being mad and feeling betrayed at Kakashi and Obito for running away in their grief, and leaving both her and Naruto alone and behind). Anonymity is protection. That reasoning meets a swift and violent death when Naruto is sent to live on his own and barely a week later his Jinchuuriki status is leaked. Rin has seen and lived through enough, she knows how this song and dance would go. Had already been forced to live with it once before Minato became Hokage. Had lived through and heard accounts of the ostracisation and hate thrown towards Sakumo, Kakashi, Obito and Kushina. But unlike Naruto's case where the entire village was made aware, her status and Kushina's status had only been known among the very higher ups, And a few among her sensei's generation.

This village seems determined to kill everyone she holds dear. Whether it be in body, mind, spirit or all. She won't let them kill Naruto as well.

Keeping in mind how much more reckless Danzo has gotten in his attempts to assasinate her, the information she has collected over the years, what she learnt from Obito and Orochimaru, Sarutobi's dismissal and Danzo's interest in Naruto... she just takes Naruto and gets the hell out.

Oh and Obito is acting as a temporary peace figure among the Uchiha and Senju factions because of his wood release and everything. He actually played a major role in sucking away the tailed beast bomb while Minato was busy fighting Madara or whoever. So Uchiha didn't get as much flak. Obito is unaware that he has a puppet seal on him.... And that there is a white Zetsu clone on him and that black Zetsu is keeping tabs on him...

What I am saying is Obito may have been literally used as a puppet in some instances and is blissfully unaware of this ... for now. The only reason he is being allowed to stay in Konoha is a) to collect information b) as a unknowing spy c) to plant a white Zetsu mole and lastly to set the board to arrange the ultimate heartbreak that would be needed to make him willingly go along with Madara's plans. Which means yes- Kakashi is being targetted but Kakashi is also obnoxiously good at surviving the impossible so he is fine and that part isn't something to worry about for now.

Why's everyone just having these crazy good AU ideas around here? 👀✨️

[lotusclan]

LOTUSCLAN'S BANE | Act I Scene II

First | Prev | Next

Climbing through and to the other side, Redshade was greeted to the clearing of LotusClan’s camp. Beside a short hill, a large assortment of mossy rocks in different shapes and sizes formed the walkable areas for the cats of the clan to hop along and rest upon, able to avoid the puddles that often formed between the stones. 

Between the larger boulders and the bushes that bordered the camp were where some of the dens were hidden, formed with stones and large twigs for extra reinforcement. Some of the dens used to be dug out underground, as Redshade recalled, but upkeep proved difficult.

Some of the younger warriors proposed that they start elevating the dens with stones for the water to move through the ground and not soak in the earth. This solution left less room for some and made sleeping on those stones uncomfortable, but moss was plentiful enough to make up for that.

Redshade watched as a few of his clanmates filtered in and out of the warriors' den with moss beds in their mouths, some exiting the den dragging out soaked moss, and others entering with slightly drier moss.

Back then, Redshade never made any input on this new construction of the dens; he knew he hated waking up with his fur cold and soaked from the mud, but he really only saw the moss-stone solution as fixing one thing yet adding more problems for the clan to work around.

Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of ginger fur slipped into one of the other dens, quickly catching his attention. The ginger cat had entered the nursery, which was the first den to be refortified with the moss-stone ground, and had the largest and flattest stones placed against the hill.

Redshade himself helped move those stones, mostly on his own at his insistence, and he recalled his shoulder swelling a bit for a few days after that construction. To him, it remained unfinished, but his clanmates kept telling him that his work was done, and the kits and guardians could rest fine there.

With his rabbit, still fresh to share, Redshade only took a few steps toward the nursery before he was met with an obstacle that sat his high and mighty self directly in front of the warrior.

Newtstar. 

“Redshade!” The young leader chirped, glossy brown tabby pelt reflecting the sunlight, blinding the warrior. “Beautiful, beautiful catch you got there! Let me walk you over to the fresh-kill pile so we can catch you up to speed on my morning announcement. Of course, I take absolutely no offense to your absence, and wouldn’t penalize you or anything like that of course, you’re a grown warrior and I’m not that type of leader, but I do think that every cat should be well informed on the current status of our borders!”

Redshade withheld a groan as Newtstar rambled on, leading him in the opposite direction of the nursery. He was grateful to have the rabbit he was carrying obstruct his mouth, giving him an excuse to not respond to the spindly brown tabby tom with any sort of polite formalities.  

Newtstar had only been the leader of LotusClan for two moons, and deputy for four. He belonged to a younger generation of warriors, and Redshade only recognized Newtwhisker for his inflated ego and mediocre battle skills. Every day, it proved more and more difficult for Redshade to give his respect to the current LotusClan leader, and often questioned why he was ever chosen to be in that position.

They approached the Talltree; a dead oak that stood sturdy on its giant roots, bare of any leaves, with its branches severed merely tail-lengths from its trunk. It was slanted enough for cats with the most minimal tree-climbing experience to ascend it easily, and what was left of its branches was still suitable for cats to perch on.

However, only the leader was given the right to, sit themself on the branches, as the Talltree was where the leader of LotusClan would give their addresses to the clan. And in the center of the trunk was a hollow, perhaps once an owl’s or hawk’s den, where the leader slept and held private discussions with other warriors.

At the base of the Talltree and between the large roots was the fresh-kill pile, as Redshade and Newtstar were approaching it. Newtstar leaped up to seat himself on one of the roots, tail flicking in anticipation, waiting for Redshade to drop the rabbit on the pile and join him. Reluctantly, he placed the rabbit down with the other prey, and climbed another root to sit near, but not too near.

“So!” Newtstar continued with a proud smirk. “Here’s our situation–There’s been a lot of reports from some of the other warriors that SpruceClan and PeakClan have been getting pretty… Stubborn and bold, recently, to put it in blunt terms. We’ve known that PeakClan’s had their eyes on Giant’s Rock for quite a bit, but hoo boy, have they been putting up a fight for it, you know how Cloudystar is. This morning I sent a scouting team to survey that portion of territory, as well as the lavender field near SpruceClan. I ended up speaking to Juniperstar myself over there the previous night, and she was civil... But persistent.”

Redshade stared at him for a few seconds. 

“What’s your point?”

“Oh, ah–” Caught off guard, Newtstar avoided Redshade’s gaze. His ears then perked up, catching the sight of another cat approaching. “Deerthorn! Please, join us.”

With grace in their step, a long-furred, heavily scarred, white, gray, and cream cat made their way forward to the two toms sitting at the base of the tree, clearing the roots in one swift movement.

Perching themself on the same root as Newtstar, the cat’s feathery tail fell over their paws. They met Redshade’s gaze, giving him a nod. Redshade nodded in return, fixing his posture.

Deerthorn was Newtstar’s deputy, and his former mentor, as well as a cat who Redshade had known for a very long time. Only a moon older than him, Redshade trained alongside Deerthorn as apprentices. Newtstar, in Redshade’s opinion, still had much to learn from them.

“Newtstar,” Deerthorn’s soft mew was just clear enough for the two toms to hear. “You don’t need to bore Redshade to death with all of this… Supplementary information. I’m sure he has already made his decision on the matter.”

Redshade turned his head. “What decision?”

Deerthorn turned to Newtstar. “Did you not tell him?”

“I was-!” Newtstar inhaled a sharp breath. “Getting to it.”

Deerthorn nodded.

“Right,” they mewed. “Between the three of us, Newtstar and I had a minor disagreement on how to handle this matter.”

“And this will remain between the three of us,” the young leader added. “We wouldn’t want the clan to worry about us having a disagreement.”

“What we’re asking here is…” Deerthorn exhaled. “Do we give up these pieces of land LotusClan have lived on for generations, land that is full of prey for us to prosper off of after our resources have plummeted from the flood, land that is dry enough for our paws to not go frozen while hunting, or do we…” The deputy trailed off, allowing the leader to speak up.

“We…” Newtstar paused, thinking. “Give it to them.”

Redshade was now sure this was a joke.

“Defend our territory,” Redshade spoke without hesitation. “Is this all you need me for?”

Deerthorn gave Newtstar a look. Newtstar kept his gaze straight forward.

“Yeah, you’re dismissed, I guess.”

Redshade dipped his head and hopped off the tree root.

He never understood why Newtstar and Deerthorn usually turned to him on matters of territorial disputes. It was obvious to Redshade that Giant’s Rock and the lavender field were valuable, LotusClan needed their supply more than ever. They had hungry mouths to feed. To him, Newtstar would certainly be spineless to give them both up to their enemies.

At the base of the Talltree, Redshade scanned the fresh-kill pile for the rabbit he left there. He scanned it again. 

Gone, he thought. Of course.

Redshade propped his forepaws on one of the tree’s roots, getting Newtstar and Deerthorn’s attention again.

“Did you see who–”

“Grapeberry.” The two responded in unison.

Grapeberry. Redshade suppressed a growl. Of course.

[undead-merman]

⸸Jersey Devil Asmodeus and Leviathan⸸ GN- Reader SFW

Asmodeus 

Appearance 

At seven feet tall Asmodeus has long equine-like legs with massive hooves as large as a man's head and just as capable of crushing one as well. His fur is rather long on his legs, especially around his hooves, but it’s well groomed. 

He has a long tail which has three barbs at the point which are razor sharp and when whipped can leave massive gashes in nearby trees and rocks. The barbs on his tail are polished a pearly white.

His back which is slightly slouched has a set of large leathery wings with barbs on each finger of the wing. His wings are as dark as a moonless night but along the fingers of his wings they have a pinkish tint.

His mouth is littered with large pointed teeth, porcelain white and made for tearing and ripping. He also possesses a black prehensile tongue with a tip of pink at the very end. His eyes are goat-like with horizontal pupils that glow a wine red. 

On his head are goat ears that twist and turn to any sound but he also has a pair of horns that stretch back past his head a few inches with a few ridges along the length of them.              

Monster habits

Living in and around a swamp like biome is a bit difficult for him since he has a distaste for uncleanness but he’s happy that because of his presence humans are scared to come near his domain. He does get lonely though so venturing out isn’t out of the question and he always has a good laugh seeing humans clamoring about after seeing him.

He enjoys singing to the song birds every once in a while. They sing back to him and he’ll mimic but when they sense his presence as they approach, they quickly turn to flee wildly, leaving him alone. He always feels a bit dejected afterwards, his tail falling sadly to the ground.  

Sometimes though when he’s bored or in a bad mood he loves attacking humans and terrorizing them, driving them mad. He takes great pleasure in seeing how his mere presence can cause terror and kill the people around him. His laugh sounds like a mix of tearing metal and a hyena laugh. He takes livestock as payment for their annoyance. 

He’s very wary of nosey humans wandering in since he relishes in the many bounties that grow or can only be found there. Rare herbs and flowers as well as the beauty of unspoiled nature. He has a love hate relationship with humans hating them for being tiny pests to him bothering his home but thriving off their terror and fear of him. He craves to hear them talk about him in fear over and over.     

Spending time with you

At first, he just sees you as another annoying human deciding to go where you don’t belong. He was excited to terrorize another human and perhaps ready to rip them apart but you gasped and had a look of terrifying wonder and you stupidly took out your camera to take a picture of him as he leapt to you and knocked you over pinning you to the ground. Instead of anger on his face and showing his teeth his face was hot and flushed. He asked you why you came out so far and by yourself. Unlike the others who had tried hunting him down you were simply curious and wanted to see him. 

It was right then and there it felt like he was struck with cupid’s arrow. Right at that moment he had to make you his. He grabs you by your shirt or shoulders as you're laying on the ground and flies back to his home. He takes you to a burrow underneath a collection of trees which is surprisingly spacious. He’s all over you calling you all sorts of pet names and just adoring you.

He takes you to some of the more romantic looking locations. His favorite is sitting on the ruins of an old building long since forgotten overlooking the forest in fall. The leaves dance around you both and it feels like only you two exist. 

He’s willing to do whatever it is you enjoy doing, bird watching, treasure hunting, simply just exploring the splendor that nature has to offer. He just begs of you to not drag him into the mud or make him play with bugs. He treats you like royalty ready to do everything for you since you’re so small and fragile compared to him. Plus he can’t hide how much he adores seeing your sweet face smile when he helps you down from ruins or trees or when he feeds you.  

His favorite thing to do is to have you both groom each other. He'll brush and style your hair and wash your back making you look as stunning as him but he enjoys it if you do the same to him, both working on each other lovingly he can't help but shake his tail like a happy dog. 

If you want to fly he’s happy to let you. He’s face lights up with a huge grin and takes you in his arms as he flies over the tall tree tops and soars over marshes. If you're feeling brave enough he’ll let you swing from his arms and the whole time he’ll laugh with you as your feet swing trying to make splashes in the water.    

Dark tendencies

Ever since that encounter he and you were now partners forever bound to one another in blood, body, and soul. So he’s now banned you from leaving the forest. And he tells you as he lovingly takes your chin into his fingers that he will know. He knows everything that happens in the forest. He plays it off with a kiss and a smile but with that cold seriousness tells you he will hunt you down if you even try. 

Asmodeus might even invite you to terrorize nearby humans be they camping or living in random houses or even the whole town he doesn’t care as long as they are suffering. If you refuse or try to scold him he frowns and pouts asking why you care for those nasty little things. He’ll try to pull you out of the den gently to take you and join him but any kind of resistance or protest his frown turns into a scowl and he’ll fly out.

If you allow him to take you he’ll take you to  

If any humans start coming near you for any reason he can sense it, and no matter where he is or what he is doing he darts through the forest branches before ripping them apart in a fit of rage. He despises such nosy humans. All of them are awful, you're the only expectation. 

Misc stuff

Despite hating bugs he does like butterflies. He’ll care for them, leaving them flowers or small dishes of blood to drink. He names each one and can recognize each one. 

He doesn’t cook his food but taking care of you and making you food, he finds he quite likes cooked food. He enjoys a nicely cooked and lightly seasoned steak and his wings shiver every time he eats it.

Leviathan

Appearance

Standing at an impressive seven and a half feet, his long legs are cervine and have short fur and it’s dark like dusk turning to night with some hints of navy blue when light hits them in the right way. 

His tail is long, much longer than his body and has three terrifyingly sharp serrated barbs on the end each barb is serrated and can slice through nearly anything like it was paper.

His wings are large and he can articulate every finger inside his wings with impressive range. The webbing is torn all over and gives his wings a more rugged appearance though they have a tinge of blue to them, looking closely his veins are navy blue and he bleeds blue blood. 

His mouth is filled with the same serrated teeth just like his tail. His teeth are also prehensile; he can flex them to make his teeth longer and coming more out of his gums and his long tongue is a dark indigo. His eyes are a rust orange with horizontal eyes that leaves a light trail as he moves. 

His horns are exactly like that of a buck, they’re large yet velvety in texture. His ears are drooping goat ears reaching to about his chin and their the same black as the fur on his legs.       

Monster habits

He enjoys the serenity and quietness of the swamps, the dark waters, he prefers to be alone. Sometimes when he’s alone he’ll enjoy just lounging in the marsh submerged in cool water with no one around except him and his imagination.

He enjoys watching the fish and underwater animals swim about. He mutters to them since they’re the only creatures that don’t flee or startle themselves to death just by seeing him, plus they’re quiet and pretty to see swirling about. Even when he’s hungry he doesn’t eat the fish, he enjoys them too much.

He absolutely despises humans but likes their possessions: books, small little trinkets, he collects them after either scaring the humans off or just eating them. It depends on how they act. But the things that he collects from them he keeps, he enjoys learning about the strange things humans make or collect. When he gets a bit antsy he hunts them down to strike fear into them, terrifying them, and taking livestock to devour or even raiding their things. 

Spending time with you

It was seeing the way you treated the creatures of his domain so carefully. It made his heart race with how such a human could exist, so tender and loving. His face heated and he took off into the tree canopy not caring if you heard him he just couldn’t handle how precious you were. 

Every time you came into the forest he would quickly dart to you to watch everything you did, fishing, camping, taking a walk. He admired everything you did and oh how he wished he had that thing called a camera so he could immortalize this moment. 

He has to work himself up to interact with you but he panics in the moment jumping out and startling you. He’s terrified you’ll run from him so he just grabs you and flies off to his home with you. His home is a cave with a wide opening yet covered in vines and tree roots from the trees above and the floor is covered in a leaf litter of bright fallen leaves. He explains everything trying his best to not scare you. 

He takes you to see some of the beautiful waters teeming with fish and life. The water crystal clear as you see the sea grass brushing each fish. Leviathan’s proud to admit he’s the one to have protected it and kept it pristine. 

He pleads with you to let him share his "acquired" collection with you. Showing you the things he's found or explaining some stories he's heard. Every time his face lights up with wonder. 

Dark tendencies

The forest, the swamps, the trails, everything in the forest is his. Especially you. It is all his and no one else's and he grits his teeth when people interrupt his tranquility. Humans are just so annoying yet how come they get some of the most interesting things? He hates it, it's not fair! He makes sure to let his frustration out in the most gruesome ways. Though he doesn't want you to see. He doesn't want you to be scared of him. 

He'll do anything to keep you in the forest offering you an easy life with just him. Tell him all you like that you have a home to go back to or other responsibilities to take care of and he'll find a way to keep you there. After all, you love him too, don't you? 

When other humans start getting too close he’s quick to deal with them so you don’t get any ideas of leaving him. He can’t have any humans trying to steal you away so he just bites into them and thrashes them around before leaving the other animals to deal with them as he quickly returns back to you. Though he makes sure to wash himself before he comes back. 

Since he met you he’s been scaring off humans less so he can just enjoy your presence and spend time with you but if you two have some kind of argument he takes it out on anything in the area. He enjoys the suffering he may cause and revels in it. Enjoying every scream and sob. Then returning to you like a sad dog begging for forgiveness as if it was just a game to relieve stress with.   

Misc stuff

He has very few manga but he treats them like they’re treasures. He absolutely adores them but he never knows how they end since he’s only gotten one or two of a series but if you know the stories he acts like you're a divine being with all knowing knowledge and asks you for every little detail of it. 

Leviathan likes the cold and often swims during cooler weather, he simply just enjoys colder water, not freezing though.

[alygatorwrites]

can I request a lil something? during the end of the manga or after the timeskip if you haven't read it yet, reiner still has feelings for historia and reader has one-sided feelings for him.

pieck gives reiner a small hint, saying he's wasting time while there's someone close to him that cares for him and points to you. he doesn't understand at first and maybe is conflicted about his feelings for you because of historia. reader is cool about it as she doesn't expect him to reciprocate her feelings.

a rollercoaster of emotions later, maybe there is a happy ending tho? i am curious to see what you can come up with 😭😭 i have dreaming of this scenario before bed and i can't help but get jealous of his crush on historia abjdsndks maybe you can help reiner reciprocate reader-chan's feelings or not

thank u so much aly 💖🥺

reciprocation

pairing: reiner braun x reader

a/n: OMG yesss! honestly, i was kinda annoyed at how reiner still had a crush on historia. i know that isayama wanted to show how everything went back to normal, but i was hoping that reiner would have a bigger role in the allied nations instead of being "dumbed down" to having an obsession with her. MAYBE THATS JUST THE JEALOUSY SPEAKING LMAO 😭 i was hoping this would be longer, although school has been killing me so im really sorry!! i hope its okay 💗💕 thank you honey!

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as reiner is handed historia’s letter, you fold your hands on the table and watch him without a word. when he reads the lines and smells the parchment - jean saying something snarky afterward - you say nothing.

you want reiner to be happy: you want to see him at ease like this more, face soft as the leaf of the page flits from his pinched fingers.

and so you let the man speak about historia like she’s a damn goddess, gushing over her handwriting, and keep your goddamn mouth shut. ignore your jealousy. your feelings.

the truth is, you’re in love with reiner.

you can’t even remember how it happened, but you can remember the first time you looked into those hazel eyes, and how you knew that they were going to stick with you for eternity.

you’ve come to accept his crush on the queen, though. reciprocation was never an option in your mind.

when jean begins to chew reiner out for lusting after a married woman, and reiner says something about jean being a horse, pieck’s gaze lands on you. “you’re rather quiet,” she says softly, resting her head on her palm.

you shrug, turning away from her. “i’m just tired.”

pieck catches your chin between her lithe fingers, and turns you to face her with a tiny smile. the young woman is very perceptive, and you’ve known her long enough. 

that’s when you notice the twinkle in her eye. she’s planning something.

pieck releases your jaw then, sitting up in her chair. “you’re wasting your time, reiner,” she says suddenly. “there’s already someone you know who cares for you.”

you pretend to not hear pieck - and definitely pretend you don’t see her faintly point at you through your peripheral. the movement of her fingers is barely there, but you catch it.

damn you, pieck.

the way you’re now pinned underneath armin, jean, connie, and reiner’s stares makes your stomach tie itself into knots with bubbling reluctance. shit, this is awkward. you want to run away.

still, you peer over to study reiner’s reaction. he looks confused at first, the contours of his face unreadable. you swear you see connie facepalm at the man’s cluelessness.

then reiner’s expression slowly changes: his eyes widen in awe, lips parting slightly, and brows knitting together. he seems genuinely surprised - and conflicted.

conflicted? why?

there’s no time to explain yourself though, because the door creaks open and annie steps in. her words fall on your deaf ears, and when everyone stands up to leave, you’re the first one out of the room. work beckons you as always.

two days pass.

you’ve been busy filling out tons of paperwork pertaining to the allied nations, so when you’re finally given a day off, you take it with open arms. 

freedom at last.

you lean against a bench outside of headquarters, enjoying the salty breeze that flutters along your skin. it’s dusk, the sky covered in a gradient of neon colors as the sun dips below the horizon.

you haven’t seen reiner since that day in the conference room. you wonder how he’s doing, what he’s thinking, how he’s holding up -

“hey.”

speak of the devil. you glance over your shoulder toward the voice, low and familiar.

reiner approaches you, clad in his uniform: the suit hugs his large frame perfectly, showing every flex of his muscles, and his blonde hair is neatly parted. the black tie looped around his neck just pulls it all together. it has you weak at the knees every. single. time.

“hey,” you answer, giving reiner a smile as he stops beside you.

and that’s when your heart lurches at the sight of him.

the sunset highlights reiner’s profile in gold, a heavenly shine that settles upon his blonde lashes and the flawless slope of his nose. the flecks in his irises sparkle – a beautiful mixture of soft browns and muted greens. the only thing you can do right now is admire the man. 

his words are what breaks you out of your daydream.

“work has been crazy lately, huh?” reiner says, focused on the candy-floss clouds and their fluffy shapes.

“well - yeah, pretty much. i don’t want to look at a pen or a piece of paper ever again.”

“that bad?”

“you have no idea. i almost regret marley and paradis reconciling.”

reiner chuckles gently at the joke, but it’s strained. his forehead remains creased, and he’s not really smiling. the emotion there is more … doubtful. it’s like he’s having some sort of inner conflict.

hopefully reiner’s not acting cautious because of the other day. you know he doesn’t return your feelings, and that’s totally okay. you’re happy enough being with him like this. “i’m not mad or anything, y’know.”

reiner stiffens at that. there’s a white flash of teeth when he chews on his lower lip. “i know.”

“good,” you hum, breathing out a sigh of relief. your core twists with envy when you force a grin. bite it back. tease him like always. “so about historia … ”

reiner’s eyes go wide almost comically, and you hear the breath in his lungs leave his firm chest in one exhale. there’s a light blush staining his cheeks now. it’s funny; he’s so goddamn big, yet he’s such a teddy bear.

“y-yeah,” reiner mutters. you observe the way his brows pinch together as he awkwardly shifts in place. it takes a while before the man composes himself again, which is strange.

is he scared or something? what the hell?

“pieck,” reiner hesitates for a moment. the golden strands of his hair ruffle in the wind and he appears ... well, lost. “was she being serious?”

the question is a shocker - jeez, he could have at least let you prepare yourself. a firm ‘no’ almost slips out, but you’ve never been much of a liar. not to reiner, anyway. crossing your arms against your chest, you inhale sharply and nod. avoid staring at him face-to-face. “yep.”

“ … why me?”

reiner says the words with a mixture of spite and anguish, a casual and rumbling voice. you immediately turn your head, frowning. “what?”

“i’ve done so many horrible things.” reiner exhales heavily and stares down at his hands; perhaps he’s imagining all the blood they’ve been stained with. “i betrayed everyone. i killed innocent people - all because i was selfish.”

it’s no surprise that reiner is broken after everything he’s been through, but it pains you to know that he continues to suffer in silence. whatever war is raging inside his ribcage tears him apart piece by piece, and you wish you could carry the burden. 

there’s probably nothing you can say to convince reiner that he was just a kid, a victim of circumstance. there’s nothing that can persuade him to see himself the way you do.

so you decide to tell reiner why you love him. 

you explain the amount of admiration you hold for him. tell him that you love the way he just wants to be someone his comrades can lean on, like a big brother. tell him that you think he’s the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen and how you think he deserves the world.

the way you spill your guts out snaps every nerve in your body. you don’t say everything you want to – but you tell him enough. a dark flush spreading across your face, you find the courage to look at him.

the world seems to stop on its axis when you find reiner staring right on back. the intensity of his eyes is stunning; they’re lit up with astonishment and affection.

god, the affection. you see it clear as day. maybe one of the greatest regrets in his life is how he forced himself to see you only as a friend.

that’s when he reaches out to you.

reiner retracts his hand twice, unsure, before slowly brushing his fingertips against yours. the touch is so feather-light that you almost can’t feel it. it’s a test - he’s waiting to see if you pull away. you can’t even move if you wanted to, because his fond gaze keeps you rooted to the spot before him. 

when you don’t recoil, reiner finally moves to gently hold your hand; his palm is so much bigger than yours, and your fingers slot together perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle’s final piece. 

heart thrumming like a hummingbird has been stuffed into your chest, you’re almost at a loss for words and come to a realization.

this utterly amazing man likes you. always has. 

but reiner shoved away the feelings for one simple reason; you deserved ‘better.’ focusing on the old crush he had on historia was a distraction - an attempt to convince himself to stop thinking about you.

because looking at you everyday and not being able to act upon his feelings was too painful.

“is this okay?” reiner asks lowly. there’s a slight pinkness to his cheeks, the color of a selfless love.

by some miracle, you manage to nod dumbly. “yeah, of course. it’s fine.” it’s amazing is what you actually want to say.  

reiner squeezes your hand at the reassurance, a sigh escaping from his throat. “i really—”

you wait for him to finish, but he doesn’t. reiner just searches your profile for signs of discomfort, and then untwines your hands to bravely swipe a thumb along the length of your cheekbone. 

there’s no time to speak because he’s already leaning down.  

the sensation of reiner’s lips pressing against yours lights your skin ablaze; you can feel the curling flames of passion sear your soul, made even more intense by the warmth of the sunlight on your back.

it’s natural, it’s tender, it’s warm.

reiner’s breath rattles into your mouth when you rest both palms against his solid chest and deepen the kiss. the musky smell of his aftershave and cologne envelops you completely, and fuck, it’s so good. your arms wrap around him, fingers passing over the sharp slopes of his shoulder blades.

as much as you wish the kiss could go on endlessly, there are people gathering outside. avoiding any unwanted attention from nosy strangers is very much appreciated.

you pull away to nuzzle your nose into reiner, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, protective arms moving to loop around your waist. it’s such an intimate caress that it sparks your brain into overdrive.

as the rushing sound of the breeze comes back to your ears through the quiet, you tuck the kiss away to be remembered forever. that’s all there is to it. being close to reiner like this - swaying together like wildflowers in the wind - is more important than anything else.

“i like you,” reiner murmurs.

the suddenness of it makes you laugh, and you can feel the upward quirk of reiner’s lips - a whisper of a peaceful smile and a sweet, sweet promise.

[devilyn]

i want to tell you i love you | tsukishima kei

— alexa, play: i won’t let you feel alone again by demxntia

Every single time that I lay my eyes on your face I'm falling for your body and your mind too Forget the past we can leave it all behind you I won't let you feel alone again I won't let you feel alone again, no

— synopsis: sometimes, tsukki wished he could be more honest with himself. because if he had honestly told you how he felt about you, he wouldn’t be standing outside your front door wondering how he should beg you for forgiveness right now. — genre: angst, happy ending, implications of nsfw, tsukki’s pride again. — word count: 1.8k

He wondered if he should even be here, standing outside your door without calling you beforehand. He knew you had to leave in 10 minutes if you wanted to make it to lecture in time, and he knew if you saw him your day would most likely be ruined.

Yet he didn't move from his spot by your front door.

Did you even want to see him? Chances were low. If anything, him being here was more likely to hurt you. But without thinking, his feet had brought him to your doorstep. Softly, he cursed and ran his hand through his hair.

He never knew what to do when it came to you and your undefined relationship.

"What are we?" you finally asked the other night with a softness in your eyes he never wanted to let go. 

"Nothing," is what he instinctively said to keep the walls around his heart up, but he felt it throb in his chest when he saw the way your expression fell. 

He hated labels. He hated defining things. It's why the two of you lasted so long. But it was only natural that you'd want some sort of definition of what was happening between the two of you.

If his high school teammates saw him now, most of them would probably be disappointed in the type of man he became. In fact, they'd yell at him to treat you better. So what was stopping him?

Pride. It was always his pride, and he hated it.

He nearly jumped in surprise when he heard your front door click and then swing open. You let out a similar noise of shock before finally looking up and meeting his golden eyes. Your haggard expression managed to become even more tired than before just at the sight of his face, and suddenly, he regretted coming.

"Why…?" you trailed off, knowing he knew what you meant.

"...needed to see you," he answered honestly, though he almost regretted that too when your brows furrowed and your expression darkened.

"I have class," you responded coldly, stepping outside the warm comforts of your apartment to brave the winter air. Tsukishima could see your breath, and the way you shuddered at the cool wind that blew by.

"M'not here for sex," he murmured and you scoffed, checking the time on your phone.

"Yeah, I figured that. You never come anytime before 9pm for sex," you tilted your head. "In fact, you never come before 9pm at all."

He felt like he was going to collapse, but his feet stayed rooted to the ground as he gazed down at you with an unreadable expression. Despite that, your hard expression softened into one he couldn't understand. He watched you glance at your phone again and curse under your breath. You would be late if you didn't leave now.

"Look, Kei," you stated quickly. "I need to go or I'll be late to class."

"You can miss one lecture."

You rolled your eyes and took a step forward in an attempt to slip past him. He wasn't sure how, but he managed to pull his feet from their spot by your front door to plant himself in front of you instead, blocking you from taking any more than three steps away from your doormat. Your expression morphed into one of displeasure once again.

"Kei," you spoke in a warning tone. "I'm going to be late."

"I want to talk--"

"You had your chance to talk last week," you interrupted, voice calm. "So move out of my way, or I'll block your number and you definitely won't be able to talk to me then."

"Either way, we know you're going to end up blocking my number after today anyway," he retorted with narrowed eyes, as you desperately looked for a way around his unnecessarily tall frame. "so let's talk now."

You scoffed and threw your hands into the air in defeat. Quickly, you whirled back around and forcefully unlocked your front door before yanking it open. Before stepping inside, you turn your head to glare at him.

"This is your last chance, Tsukishima Kei." 

He flashed you a bitter smile before following you inside your familiar apartment.

"Excuse the mess," you mumble, dropping your bag by the couch as you head into the kitchen to grab him a beverage.

He closed the door behind him, the soft click of the lock sealing his fate. How would he go about this? It's not like he came here with a plan. He had acted on emotion alone, and somehow ended up here. Yet, as you said, this was his last chance to be honest with himself, and with you.

"I hope water's fine. I don't have anything else," your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He watched you toss used tissues and napkins from the coffee table into the trash, briefly wiping it down with a wet towel before setting his beverage on top.

He took in your apartment for the first time during the daylight. It was uncharacteristically messy, with an emptied bag of chips tossed aside and a blanket and pillow laying haphazardly on your only couch. Your shoes were kicked to the side, and some clothes that he deemed as your pajamas were on the ground by the couch. As if you knew he was observing the sight, you hurriedly cleaned up the area.

"You don't need to clean," he said softly, though you made a soft noise that sounded like a snort. Clearly, you weren't going to listen to him.

"Sit," you told him as you made your way back to your bedroom to toss everything onto your bed to clean later. "And think thoroughly about what your excuse will be."

He did as you told him, taking a seat comfortably on your couch. He's spent an excessive amount of time here with you, usually with you perched in his lap with your lips against his. You always had this soft giggle he adored, and would try to draw out of you by kissing areas on your neck he knew were ticklish. He would rest his head on your lap after a long day of classes, volleyball practice, and generally dealing with others. You would run your hand through his hair absentmindedly while watching a show on your laptop, and he would gaze up at your focused expression with stars in his eyes. Then, his hand would reach up and pull you down for a kiss, which would eventually lead to more. 

There were many nights where he'd let you force him into washing the sheets because of the mess the two of you made, and you insisted it had to be a team effort because it was mostly his fault for initiating in the first place. Still, the sight of you writhing beneath him with red cheeks pleading for more always made the laundry day worth it. Plus, the bright smile you wore watching him reluctantly pull the sheets off your bed made him feel things he couldn't put into words.

"I love you," Tsukishima whispered softly to himself, as he heard the quiet pattering of your feet become louder with each step as you approached the common area. That was the lame excuse he had come up with.

You took the spot on the other side of the couch, turning so you could face him.

"So?" you tilted your head, fingers messing around with your phone as a distraction. "What's the excuse you came up with that was good enough to force me to skip class?"

He was silent, eyes taking in every inch of your face and the small changes that occurred over the span of the two days he hadn't seen you.

The bags under your eyes were new, along with your chapped lips and the sadness in your irises. His hand reached forward and he inched closer to you, leaning in to cup your cheek gently. Though you allowed the action, you stiffened and never tore your gaze from his. His golden-brown eyes flickered to your lips, thumb brushing over them slowly.

"I'm sorry," he finally mumbled, eyes closing as he leaned in again to rest his forehead against yours.

"For what?" you inquired quietly. You were testing him, and he knew it. He deserved it, really.

"For saying you meant nothing to me when that obviously isn't true," Tsukishima still had his palm cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your supple skin as he sighed quietly. The two of you were silent for a bit before you spoke up again, your voice shaky.

"...what am I supposed to believe, Kei? That you really want to be around me for more than just sex, or are you cruel enough to lie to my face to keep me around as someone you can run to whenever you wanna fuck?"

"You're worth more than that," his voice was weak, and he suppressed his pride that scolded him for speaking his true feelings. "And I'm sorry that I made you feel like you weren't. I'm sorry that I disproved my actions with my words because I was scared of giving my heart to someone."

He finally opened his eyes, and his heart trembled at the sight of your teary expression.

"I can't forgive you so easily, you know," your fingers reached up to trace the outline of his jaw, and a pleased hum left his lips.

"I'll make it up to you, until you believe me," he placed his hand over yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips and pressing light kisses to your fingertips. Your gaze was soft, admiring the adoration in his eyes.

"I like you a lot," you whimpered weakly, and he couldn't help but smile. He leaned down to finally kiss you like he had been wanting to since he first saw you, his fingers intertwining with yours.

"I know," he mumbled against your lips, and you weakly smacked his shoulder to which he snickered.

"Do you like me…?" you asked quietly, voice even smaller than before, as if you were afraid of his answer.

"...yeah. A lot," he answered honestly, and his heart swelled up with joy at the sight of your teary smile. With a soft giggle that sounded like home to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of you to press your lips to his again.

One day, he'd be able to vocalize just how much he loved that laugh of yours. One day, he'd be able to tell you honestly just how much he loves you.

[breeeliss]

i heard some people don’t know about the Taang/Kummi theory

So this was originally supposed to be a response to an ask I had gotten about this ATLA theory, but because Read More links on Tumblr asks seem to break once you edit them, I’m reposting so that people can actually see the post lol 

For anyone who wasn’t a part of the Toph x Aang LiveJournal fandom in the early 2000s, buckle up, because this bugged me out as a 13 year old. 

Remember the end of “The Swamp” (Book 2, Episode 4)? We find out the swamp isn’t haunted, Huu was just protecting it the whole time, and then he explains to Katara, Sokka, and Aang why the swamp is so mystical and sacred.

The swamp is just one big banyan grove tree that’s grown out over miles and miles. All the branches and trees they see are connected because they’re one big breathing organism. And that extends to life as well. We’re all living beings. We all share the same roots. We all are from the same tree, even if we don’t act like it. Everything is connected! Cool stuff.

But when Katara asks what her seeing her mother and what Sokka seeing Yue meant, Huu explains that “in the swamp, we see visions of people we lost, people we’ve loved, folks we think are gone, but the swamp tells us they’re not. We’re still connected to them. Time is an illusion, and so is death.” So Katara never really lost her mother and Sokka never really lost Yue because the connections we make in life transcend death and time. They’re not gone. They’re still a part of us. The swamp reminds us of this.

Now, to keep in theme with this, we probably would’ve expected Aang to also see visions of people he’s lost and loved before (Gyatso, the other Airbenders, his culture, etc.)

But for some reason, Aang sees...Toph. Someone he doesn’t know.

Huu doesn’t really give Aang an explanation for this, he sort of just lets Aang figure it out for himself. And what we’re left is “okay well if time is an illusion and this isn’t someone I’ve made a connection with yet, it’s someone I will make a connection with.” We’re made to accept that as viewers, but why was Aang’s vision so different? Was it really just to lead him in the direction of his Earthbending Master so that he can continue on with his destiny?

Or was it because, unbeknownst to Aang, Toph actually was someone that he had loved and lost before? Just not in this life. In another life. A past life. When he wasn’t Aang, but rather Avatar Kuruk, the Southern Water Tribe Avatar that came before Avatar Kyoshi.

✨Basically the theory is that Toph is one of the reincarnations of Ummi, the southern water tribe woman that fell in love with Avatar Kuruk and had her face tragically stolen by Koh, the Face Stealer.✨

Stay with me, because it gets way deeper.

Who are Kuruk and Ummi you ask?

We formally meet Kuruk during “Sozin’s Comet Part 2: The Old Masters” (Book 3, Episode 19) when Aang is appealing to his past lives for wisdom with regard to what to do with Ozai. Kuruk was a “go with the flow” (lmao) Avatar and sort of just let things play out and it seemed to work for him. He met a girl named Ummi, they fell in love, they were gonna get married, cool.  

According to the comic books, Koh I guess was kinda off-put by Kuruk’s arrogance? So as punishment this spirit straight up abducts Ummi on their wedding night and steals her face (ultimately killing her). He blames himself, saying if he’d been more attentive and active he could’ve saved her. He tried to kill Koh out of revenge over it, but could never do so. Koh alludes to this when Aang visits him in “The Siege of the North Part 2″ (Book 1, Episode 20) and shows Aang Ummi’s face. All in all, super tragic.

The Avatar never really “dies.” He’s constantly being reborn. The reason Aang is able to consult his past lives for wisdom is because all of his past lives are him. If the point of the swamp is to get you to understand that death is an illusion, then the swamp understands that the separation between Aang and Kuruk is also an illusion. They’re different people but also the same person all at once. They’re still connected.

So, assuming that Aang was no different from Katara and Sokka and was also seeing people that he’s loved and lost in the past while in the swamp, maybe Toph really is someone he’s met and known before. He just lost and loved her in a past life that neither of them remembers back when they were both completely different people.

But wait, what’s the proof that Ummi is one of Toph’s past lives?

This theory hinges on the assumption that the Avatar isn’t the only one who is capable of being reincarnated. So if you keep with that assumption, there are a few moments highlighted by the theory that connect Toph and Ummi.

The most obvious of which is that Toph is blind. Seeing as how Ummi lost her face when she was a human (and Koh still has it), it would make sense that her future reincarnations would potentially have some kind of loss of their senses attributed to, you know, getting your face ripped off. BUT, another detail that is, in my opinion, a little more interesting is one of Aang’s anxiety nightmares from “Nightmares and Daydreams” (Book 3, Episode 9). Specifically the part of the nightmare where Toph is featured looking like this:

(so creepy ;A;) But why does Toph manifest in Aang’s dream this way, devoid of life and devoid of a face of all things?

This dream that Aang is having is over his anxieties/fears over losing his friends. Sokka, Toph, and Katara all succumb to some sort of horrific end in this dream and Aang is unable to save them. It seems like his anxieties over losing Toph manifested through showing us Toph as a lifeless husk with...no face. Maybe when Aang was having this nightmare, some of the fears and anxieties felt by his previous lives were bleeding in. It would make sense that Kuruk’s greatest anxiety/fear would be losing his loved ones as well, after he failed to protect Ummi from having her face stolen.

And if we assume that Toph actually is Ummi (i.e. a reincarnation that Aang subconsciously remembers), it would make sense that Aang would see Toph standing there in the darkness. Her face stolen. Helpless to save her.

And then in “The Avatar and the Firelord” (Book 3, Episode 6), after learning about Zuko’s lineage and Avatar Roku’s relationship with Sozin, it’s Toph who remarks, “do you really think friendships can last more than one lifetime?”

It’s interesting that Toph would be the one to ask this. And it’s interesting that Aang is the one that reaches out to hold her hand first and tell him that he doesn’t see why that can’t be possible. Because these connections that transcend lifetimes aren’t limited to just the Avatar. They’re apparent in everyone’s lives, no matter who you are. And the fact that Toph and Aang were able to share that brief moment and give each other that reassurance makes sense if you consider that, several lifetimes ago for them both, they were a lot closer than just mere friends.

And are there other connections between Taang and Kummi?

The theory supports some interesting parallels between Kuruk and Ummi’s relationship and Toph and Aang’s relationship. Kuruk and Aang are very similar in that they both avoided their Avatar duties. Kuruk because of his lackadaisical nature and Aang because he was afraid.

Ummi ultimately ended up being Kuruk’s punishment for not being able break from this passivity and actively pursue his responsibilities as the Avatar. But, by contrast, Toph ended up being Aang’s greatest asset with regard to helping him break from his passivity and learn to face things head on no matter how impossible they may seem.

The Earthbending portion of “Bitter Work” (Book 2, Episode 9) is exclusively about this. Aang is passive by nature, hence why Earthbending is such a hard element for him to master. As Toph so eloquently put: “You had a perform stance, and a perfect form, but when it came right down to it you didn’t have the guts.” The whole episode she’s goading him into being strong and firm. She mercilessly lays into him for not being direct. For being a pushover. For not facing his problems. For not standing up for himself. For being passive. The very thing that was Kuruk’s downfall.

But the pushing works because Toph unlocks something very powerful in him. Toph taught him how to be active. To face his struggles head on. To not flinch before responsibility or danger. That moment where Aang stands up to the moose lion and promises Sokka that he won’t leave him alone (that he will be there to protect him, and he’ll stand staunch in the face of danger) is a really important emotional milestone. It’s a role that’s very different from the one that Katara plays in Aang’s life, but it’s no less important.

Katara has always been someone who cared deeply for Aang’s emotional needs, who understood the reasons why he was afraid, why he wanted to run away, why he wanted to avoid responsibility. But Toph was very much someone who took a much rougher approach to Aang. Because Aang needed it. Because Aang’s inactivity also threatened to be his downfall in this life because it got in the way of him mastering the Earth element. Toph and Aang became a victory instead of a tragedy. Toph wasn’t used as a way to hurt Aang, like Ummi was used to hurt Kuruk. Toph was one of Aang’s greatest sources of strength.

And it was their connection to each other -- their connection that transcended lifetimes -- that brought them back together as friends.

And maybe more if you feel like adding a ship to your repertoire.

[chipper-smol]

*cracks my writing knuckles bc my artistic patience isn’t enough to fill the ambiance and tone properly*

2K WORDS. JUST FOR YOU GUYS

Was their ire and spiteful nature exclusively directed at the Pale King? Some retainers of the palace would say yes. Others would object and say it extended to the Five Great Knights as well since Ogrim had yet to hold onto his charm for longer than a day and Hegemol continued to wield a pole instead of a mighty hammer.

Well if you asked the source, they would simply stare at you silently, but you might get the impression that they had strong opinions (a wild thing for a vessel to have) on a few individuals other than the King.

Which is why the Feral Vessel is currently running for their life with the Great Nailmaster Sly hot on their back.

“Give it back you impetuous brat!” Sly roars behind them as he bounces off the walls at unfathomable speeds. Ghost, now going by Feral, is only surviving thanks to their knowledge of Sly’s moves from the Godseeker’s Pantheons. Sly’s jumps are still wildly unpredictable to them, but their now longer legs help them meet the speed needed to dodge the flea’s grabs.

Why are they doing this in the first place?

Well because when a rule is made that the Feral Vessel isn’t allowed a nail in the palace, or in any location in Hollownest, the only reasonable way to follow that rule, if you are said Feral Vessel, is to obtain nails of increasing ridiculous sizes. They first took their sibling’s old nail after the Pure Vessel grew out of it, and then they continued from there. They thought of borrowing Sheo’s nail for a day, but they quickly realized after finding the three Nailmasters that they were still the three Nailstudents. They were adorable but small and didn’t have their nails.

So Sly was there and Feral had some lingering rage left over from the Pantheons and well, the decision wasn’t hard to make. Two aspids with one stone. Now they were finding out that conceptualizing that plan and executing that plan were completely different things.

How do they get him off their back!? They already tried losing him through the maze that is the White Palace but they could not build any distance between them and Sly to make the endless corners and hallways useful. They need something- anything-

A-HA! One of Hornet’s web traps! (ingenious sticky things that clung ruthlessly to the clothing of the royals that walked this palace.)

Feral musters up their soul to push themself into one last burst of speed. They dash over the top of the trap just as they hear Sly zooming right at their back. With a twist of their leg and a firm grip on the oversized nail they spin at the last moment and swat the flea with his own nail into the poorly hidden nest of sticky silk.

The indignant yell of rage made that whole marathon worth it.

Not wanting to squander their momentary freedom from Sly’s wrath, they quickly turn and hightail it out of there.

Left. Straight. Left. Right. Straight. Straight. Up. Up. Right. Left-

That should be enough, right? Feral slows down and leans against a wall to catch their breath. Great Pale Beings they have not felt that much adrenaline since the first time they danced with Grimm. They were safe, for now. Feral straightens up, adjusts the greatnail onto their back and looks around.

...

They glance back from where they came.

Where... is this? They know the palace like the back of their hand, even without the buzzsaws. This corridor isn’t familiar. There is only one open doorway with a shining pale light gently leaking into the tiled hallway. Curious yet cautious they approach. They had a sharp greatnail after all.

They step into the light and freeze as they see the towering form of the Queen leaning like a drifting tree over a lush bush. Her back was turned to them, maybe they could-

“Vessel,” her voice, even though a whisper is loud enough to seem like she’s speaking at normal volume. Feral had noticed that with all of the higher and pale beings they’ve known. They all whisper.

Still, they had conflicting feelings toward their mother that they hadn’t yet put into words. They were avoiding her. They still want to avoid her.

“Come, garden with me,” she says, not lifting her head an inch from her work. Feral itches to disobey, but the urge feels wrong. It doesn’t carry the same gleeful note that comes with directly ignoring the King’s orders. They don’t have a solid reason to dislike their mother and it doesn’t feel right to force one either.

It’s not often they feel hesitant, but the Queen has a fae-like air about her. She could hide cruel remarks in what seem to be compliments. They had seen her pick apart arguments to the letter until her opponent had nothing else to say. She wields her words like she would a nail, and a battlefield of diction is an area Feral is massively lacking in. Hopefully she doesn’t want much. Hopefully she wants them to retrieve some confusing herb or something.

Carefully, they enter the room— a green house— and slowly make their way over to the White Lady’s side. They peer over at what she’s tending to. It looks like a bundle of dozens of little blue buds. Her hands glow underneath and the flowers respond by drifting up gradually and opening their delicate petals.

Feral watches quietly.

“They are not what they make themself appear to be,” she says after a long pause. Feral tenses. She reaches to her side where a basket of tools hangs from a kingsmould that Feral didn’t realize was there and picks up a humorously small pair of scissors compared to her massive hands. She carefully begins to snip the bases of those small flowers, collecting them in one hand as they fall, “My senses may be fading as things do with time, but I am not yet so blind to see that they know things that they should not.”

Feral never tried to hide their emotions and personality when they emerged from the Abyss, but they found themself smothering their nervousness before it could leak out of them.

“… they are nervous?” The Queen finally turns to look at Feral with her slightly glassy blue eyes, “I did not intend my words to be a threat, but their reaction proves my thoughts correct.”

Feral maintains as much eye contact as they can before turning their gaze to the floor. The full force of a pale being’s attention wasn’t a thing most bugs could endure. She watches them. Silent. Considering.

“It is odd. I have wanted children of my own for so long, yet what I have received from this world is curious,” she turns back to the blue flowers and snips two more into her hand, “one offspring that is meant to be empty, yet wishes to be a child, and one offspring that acts like a child, yet has experienced more than a child should have.”

Feral feels an odd twisting in their gut. They want to leave, yet they now also want to stay. The Queen is perceptive, that was never a doubt and perhaps another reason why they avoided her. The fear of being known. Yet… now they are known and it’s more of a relief than anything. They slowly look back to her as she places the scissors back in the basket.

“I have wondered why, but I cannot come to a conclusion that satisfies me,” she places three flowers in her spare hand and begins to braid the stems, adding flowers as the braids start becoming short.

“Why do they hold their branch as if it were the familiar handle of a nail? Even though they are forbidden from holding their own?” More flowers are added into the craft she is making. It’s beginning to look circular. Feral watches quietly.

“How do they know to get charms and spells on their own?” She glances over at them, but doesn’t meet their eyes. They sense her gaze on their horns. She looks back down at the flowers and makes some sort of adjustment.

"Why do they stare at things that are not there?” Feral’s throat tightens with that question- or observation?

The Queen finally finishes whatever is in her hands and takes a step over to the Feral Vessel and leans down with an alien-like grace. Feral blinks as she threads the circle of flowers over their horns to then rest right at the base of their horns. They do not know why she is doing this, but they would not dare fight it. They have no desire to.

Her hands drift down from their horns to their face to gently cup and hold. Their eyes gently flutter. The warmth from her root palms seep into their mask as if they were sitting in a hot spring. With the warmth comes a feeling of peace. Understanding. Their eyes close and before they can catch themself they lean into her touch. They miss how her eyes soften as she rubs one of her thumbs against their temple.

“I thought I had been mistaken before, but I have noticed that their pranks on my beloved Wyrm have grown half hearted,” Feral’s chest sags in a mock-sigh and, not knowing why, they nod.

“Has the novelty of his frustrated yells gone stale?” They shake their head, shoulders lightly quivering as if laughing. They crack their eyes open to catch the end of a smile from their mother.

“Why is it then? Why have they lost their fire?”

Feral stays silent as that was all they can do, but the tightening of their brow and the way they pull away from the warm comfort of their mother’s hands speaks hundreds of unspoken words. They glance at their hands, clenching and unclenching them.

When they re-awoke at the bottom of the Abyss surrounded by the thousands of masks of their dead siblings they thought they had dream nailed the black egg at the bottom of the Abyss again, though they did not know how. Soon they realized after getting to the top alongside their sibling that it was not a dream, but reality. To their delight, they could act on their spans of anger and spite they had toward the Pale King.

They thought that once they had their fun they would go and defeat the Radiance by finding the Godseeker in the trash pit. They would scale the pantheons and destroy the infection before the Pure Vessel was sentenced to waste away in the Temple of the Black Egg. It was simple so they didn’t think hard about it.

Until they realized they didn’t have the dream nail. They stressed for a bit, but then thought they could go find the seer and ask for it again! When they made their way to the Resting Grounds however, her little burrow was nowhere to be seen. They truly panicked then, scouring Hollownest for any moths they could find, but the few ones they found were not the Seer. When they held up their, admittedly, crude drawings of the dream nail they were met with confused stares.

They felt scared, frustrated, anger, desperation and then numbness.

They had been trying to run away from these thoughts, but now they were back and plainly showing on their face for the Queen to read like a tablet. There is a long silence between them before her melody-like voice whispers once more.

“Do they know how to write?” She asks.

They shake their head. No. They barely knew how to read and that was from noticing patterns in the tablets and signs they stumbled across in Hollownest. The Queen stands up and with her Feral’s eyes follow.

“I will teach you my child. Come, and perhaps while you learn you may give me your name. Feral is such a harsh word to be called by.”

Feral watches the White Lady as she walks deeper into the greenhouse. Did she just… say she was going to teach them how to write? They would never have a voice to speak on their own with, but to have the power of script in their grasp…

Excitement sparks their step as they quickly run back to her side, looking up at her with such strong wonder that she can’t believe she ever doubted her offspring weren’t hollow. The crown of flowers bounce on their head with each eager step.

“Now it will take some time for us to get the right writing utensils, but perhaps the first thing you could tell me when you can write is how you got that massive nail on your back.”

[vampireinterview]

It has come to my attention that some of you have not been made aware of the fact that Plato was well known for being a Destiel shipper, in addition to the fact that he also wrote some philosophical works on the side. Let me explain.

Plato was an Athenian thinker whose real name was Aristocles (Plato most likely comes from the Greek word for ‘broad”, he might have been so jacked that people nicknamed him for his wide shoulders, which is irrelevant to the topic at hand but I’m collecting receipts on my hypothesis that all hellers are physical beheamoths). His work regarding the philosophy of love can be interpreted through the lens of the Deancas love story, which can potentially lead us to discover the very essence of what makes Destiel so impactful and universal, so bear with me, I’ll make it as introductory as possible.

Plato’s Symposium is a dialogue which contains the philosopher’s basic view on what love can be. The influence of the aforementioned text has been so strong that even those of us who are blissfully unaware of its contents have heard of the concept of “platonic love”. It is with great disappointment that I have to inform you about the fact that the way in which the term is colloquially used can be considered quite removed from the core idea of what Plato’s love is supposed to be about. Commonly people utilize it to refer to a non-romantic and non-sexual emotion towards an individual. However, even though the extrasensory love was the end goal, it was never too far distanced from the earthly, carnal desire that was supposed to lay the foundation for greater experiences.

One of the most illustrative elements of the Symposium is no doubt the Love Ladder metaphor (also known as Diotima’s Ladder of Love, the Scala Amoris); Plato believes the act of loving to be a part of the process of initiation into the non-material world of ideas. Every step of the ladder helps one approach the transcendence of one’s soul, and so we can single out six steps to immortal absolutes:

1. The first step is developing an appreciation for a particular person. It’s a very much carnal (though not necessarily conventionally sexual) desire for beauty of a specific individual. According to Plato only through the love of the physical can one love the non material. The visceral infatuation with another’s body is often strongly rooted with the self-hatred of one’s own aesthetical poverty: within the carnal love we seek to find that which our own body lacks. The desire between Dean and Cas doesn’t have to be seen as strictly sexual, as the appreciation of beauty does not warrant a conventionally erotic subtext. This sort of fascination with the flesh is most noticeably highlighted in the many “eye sex” scenes in seasons 4-5, and is later brought up by Hester:

The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost. 

2. The second step stems from the appreciation for all physicality derived directly from the love one has for the lover’s form. It’s fleshed out any time Dean finds beauty in the dark times, where he would have never found it before or when Cas sees humanity through the lens of the love he has for the beauty within Dean Winchester. This step is all about finding the allure in everybody, not in spite of but rather because of having fallen for a specific person’s material form.

3. The next step is a love which transcends the physical and teaches an individual to feel affection towards the souls. The attraction one can experience in relation to that which is non material is precisely what takes the function of the driving force behind both Castiel’s and Dean’s decisions in season 6 and onward (arguably even much earlier for Cas? or even Dean? Maybe we’re talking about season 4?). As evidenced by the apparent lack of attraction Dean experiences towards Jimmy himself, he must have already moved on to this stage (the Cas he loves is not just the vessel he inhabits). Castiel on the other hand feels heavily infatueted with Dean’s spiritual allure (even when he’s physically on the verge of a breakdown, he’s still beautiful, still Dean Winchester). 

4. It is only then that one can find love for the institution. If one worships souls, then one also has to worship the product of those souls: and, sure enough, loving humanity led Castiel to love its structures and ethical systems and be willing to die fighting for them. In the later seasons he exhibits fascination over all the little rules that guide an average human’s life (which is especially fleshed out in his season 7 dialogues, where he contemplates all the small details of the societal structure, ie: how important is lipstick to you?, maybe the human institutions should ban its production). Same can be said of Dean: the customs and traditions of other people are subject to his affectionate protection in the later seasons, which sets s6 and onwards Dean apart from the early seasons Dean who cared mostly about his blood relatives. The found family arc was for him a process of growing attached to the order of life which was previously foreign to him, and him learning to navigate functioning within a big family structure and an organization (the last one is physically manifested by his move from a chaotic life spent at random motels to living at the bunker, property of the institution of Men Of Letters).

5. Then comes the deep appreciation of knowledge. Now, it is widely disputed whether what Plato meant should be strictly narrowed down to just one kind of knowledge (in many English translations you might encounter the word ‘science’, though used in the ancient sense). The process of gaining knowledge is often equated with the understanding of ideas in Plato’s work, therefore we’re going to stick with that. The act of loving the process of discovering both the external and the internal world is a strong factor which pushes Dean to self examination, or the examination of the inner psyche. It is that pursuit of knowledge that is the very coronation of his entire character arc: the realization of his role within the story (”I’m not the ultimate killer”) which was directly derived from the act of loving Cas.

6. The final stage of platonic love is reaching the love of the very concept of Love. Once again, interpretations vary, but for the sake of the argument, I’ll clarify that: the discussed kind of love transcends both the body and the soul. An individual is in love with Beauty, not just one of it’s physical or spiritual manifestations. In my opinion, this stage is extremely well depicted during the 15x18 confession scene, for it is a kind of love achieved by Castiel. He is no longer just in love with the body or soul of Dean, he’s also in love with the sole idea of loving him. He quite literally states that he’s fallen in love with the idea of just being, just saying it, just falling in love. 

Upon achieving this state, he transcends his material conditions both by leaving the human world (his move to another dimension - the Empty - could be just an illustrative manifestation of the transcendental move of his essence) and giving birth to a new world order. The way in which he later on goes to rebuild Heaven and give birth to a completely new, structure of the universe is in line with a concept that Plato ties into the finale step of the Ladder - pregnancy of the soul. At one point in Symposium he describes Diotima saying that:

That in that life alone, when he looks at Beauty in the only way that Beauty can be seen--only then will it become possible for him to give birth not to images or virtue (Because he’s in touch with no images), but to true virtue (Because he is in touch with the true Beauty).

What is the christian equivalent and personification of the true idea of Virtue if not the abstract concept of Heaven? The moment Cas creates a new portrayal of Virtue he finishes the Ladder. It could also be argued that the true pregnancy of the soul was actually finished when Jack ascended to the status of God: an entity which belongs to the realm of ideas and is perfect by its very nature is birthed through Castiel’s love (which can be traced back to the feelings he has for Dean Winchester).

And it is the fact that Dean’s arc got stuck on the fifth stage of the Ladder that causes me so much pain. He dies before transcending and experiencing the non-temporal and non-relative feeling of love that one can gain only through the admiration of beauty itself. His life was cut short and his soul has already left the mortal, physical world, therefore he is forever unable to experience the feeling of loving Love and Virtue so much that his soul gives birth to an unbreakable idea.

In conclusion: if you ever see somebody say that Dean and Castiel’s relationship is platonic, just agree. It is very much so platonic in the sense that through their carnal and spiritual desires they’ve manged to (nearly, in Dean’s case) transcend their material conditions and reached the divine aspect of ideal Beauty and Virtue, rooted in a love that’s so deep that it’s perfectly able to redefine the structure of one’s existence.

tagging some people who have vaguely expressed interest in acquiring the third eye:

@cryptcas​ @futureheadnerd​ @doctorprofessorsong​ @sinnabonka​ @theangelwiththewormstache​ @absoluteheller​ @fivefeetfangirl​ 

[snackhobi]

pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 20.9k / genre: street racer au, driftracer!jimin, driftracer!reader, rivals to lovers, smut, some fluff too

summary: You used to think that there was nothing better than the sensation of coming first place. However, your rival- the talented, gorgeous, dangerous Park Jimin- is more than happy to prove you wrong.

warnings: unsafe driving (street races are technically illegal), cursing, sexually explicit content, fingering, slight orgasm delay, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, cum eating, unprotected sex, car sex (duh), creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk I think that’s everything

EDIT: part two now available!

--

It’s hot tonight.

Humid, too. Your hair has been pulled into a messy updo and your makeup is fierce, as always, and despite the mugginess in the air, you’re still wearing your usual leather jacket even though you can feel how the inside lining is sticking to your skin. You have appearances to maintain and the pastel pink jacket is part of your signature look, even in the heat of summer.

“Busy tonight,” Taehyung comments idly as he leans against the side of your car, and you hum in response.

“Good turn out.” You slam the bright red hood of your baby shut, finally satisfied. “Get off, please.”

Taehyung pouts as he does what he’s told, and pouts even harder when you end up reclining against the hood of the car, leaning your weight into your palms. Jungkook snickers at him from where he’s squatted to shut the toolbox and you laugh when Taehyung swings a halfhearted kick at the younger boy which is effortlessly parried.

The mountain road in Seongdong-gu is crowded. It’s rammed full of fans, throngs of men and women swarming the start of tonight’s route, mingling with each other and ogling the cars and their racers. Most people give you a wide berth, though; by now they’ve learned to stay away from your Pontiac, even if the flame-bright 2007 Solstice GXP is eye-catching in its rarity. Most racers don’t take kindly to random strangers touching their vehicles anyway. Jungkook and Taehyung are the only people who can touch your Solstice without you ripping them to shreds, your childhood friends working alongside you to make sure the engine is in full working order for the rigorous pacing you’re about to put it through.

Sometimes, though, other racers come over to try and flirt with you, usually people new to Seoul, unfamiliar with the circuit. You’ll giggle and simper under their gazes, acting like the ditz that they think you are, coquettish flirting that they don’t realise is a front. You know that a female drift racer is an oddity, and you are especially so with your American sports car standing out amongst a collection of souped up Nissans and Toyotas— you know they think you’re here for fun. That you’re in over your head.

You always make sure to prove them wrong.

“Heads up,” Jungkook mutters. You glance up to see where he’s looking, the lingering smile of your laughter immediately smoothing out when you spot who it is, face going neutral as you sit up.

Park Jimin looks beautiful tonight. He always does, though; plump lips, soft face, eyes darkened with shimmer, the blond of his styled hair contrasting with the dark roots of his undercut. Arresting and stunning. And, just like you, an oddity on these tracks. He knows how good he looks and leans into that beauty, and you know that the other men on this circuit used to underestimate him because of it, too. Just like they had with you and the overtly feminine colours of your outfits. A masquerade.

“Jimin.” You greet him coolly.

“Y/n,” he responds, as cordial as always. He tilts his head, the chains in his earrings swinging with the motion. “You’re looking well today.” When you don’t respond, he continues: “I came over to wish you good luck for the race.”

“I don’t need luck, but thank you.”

Jimin seems amused, smiling a little at your statement. You keep your eyes locked on his, refusing to let your gaze fall down to his lips. You never let yourself be caught off guard around him. 

You remember when he’d first started here, slipping into the pack of racers without any of them taking notice, a quiet, beautiful man surrounded by larger, louder men, his Skyline GTR just one car amongst many— but from the second you’d laid eyes on him, you’d known he was a force to be reckoned with. You could read it in every line of his stance, the way he moved, and how he had introduced himself to you: politely and civilly. No preening and strutting around, no sly attempts to look down your shirt, no ham-handed attempts at negging you.

Isn’t it sad that the second someone around here treats you like an equal, you have to be on guard?

“Good luck to you,” you say. Jimin laughs outright at this, the implication that you don’t need luck but he does; he seems genuinely amused rather than offended. He’s beautiful when he laughs, eyes squeezing shut into crescents, the apples of his cheeks defined with how his lips curve upwards, and honestly, it’s almost overwhelming— how he instantly turns so boyish, rather than remaining like some sort of distant, ethereal angel of beauty. 

For all that you consider Jimin a threat and your biggest rival— in your opinion your win records are starting to look too even— you don’t actually dislike him. It’s just wariness on your part, tempered with respect, though you have no idea what Jimin really thinks about you.

“Thank you.”

He leaves after giving you one, last lingering look, expression unreadable, returning to his black Nissan and his group that surround it. Jimin says something to Min Yoongi, who smiles so widely that you can see his gums. Taehyung muffles a small sigh of longing.

“The sexual tension between you two couldn’t be more obvious,” Jungkook says. For a second you think he’s talking about Taehyung and Yoongi, even if Yoongi isn’t looking in this direction, but then you realise Jungkook is talking about you. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Have you forgotten that I’m in a relationship, Kook?”

“You can still have sexual tension with someone.” Jungkook shrugs, unbothered. “If you keep eyefucking each other like that I’m going to have to request that you start wearing protection, otherwise someone’s going to get pregnant.”

“Glasses are just eyeball condoms,” Taehyung says, and then both boys crack up.

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Despite the tone of your voice a smile twists up the corners of your lips. 

The only other driver who comes up to greet you is Hoseok. You genuinely like Hoseok, waving at him when he approaches and tipping your head back in laughter when he jokes with you; you’ve known him for long enough to have learned that he’s not actually sleazy, so when he says something flirtatious you play up to it and bat your eyelashes at him before the two of you end up giggling at each other. When he leaves he winks at you and you blow him a small kiss, which makes him clutch his heart as he staggers back and you laugh again. 

Your smile still lingers after your laughter has faded, and you’re still smiling when you happen to make eye contact with Jimin, who’s looking over at you—the second your eyes lock he’s wrenching his gaze away, and even from this distance you can’t help but notice the hard set to his lips. Strange.

When you finally pull up to the start line, all semblance of laughter and levity has gone from your face. The course tonight isn’t entirely simple— the forested hills in the centre of Seoul are popular for good reason, usually deserted at night, the loops of the mountainous roads letting the racers show off exactly how good they are. The start line is just before a horseshoe curve, an arcing bend that’ll immediately set you at a disadvantage if you fuck up, but you’re not worried. You haven’t driven this particular route in Seongdong-gu in a race, the winding snake of a road falling down the mountainside in front of you, but you’ve driven similar routes plenty of times and all your practices have gone well. You feel confident.

Your baby purrs underneath and around you. The sound of the engine is one that’s as familiar to you as your own breathing, the feeling of the steering wheel under your hands entirely comfortable. You’re aware of every one of her parts, having rebuilt and tweaked her yourself, replacing the drop top, modifying her into the perfect drifting machine, and you’ve grown with her; you don’t like to wax lyrical but this car is an extension of yourself and you know her inside and out. Even if Jungkook and Taehyung are your friends and fellow co-owners of the garage, and help you check her over before each race, you’re the one who built her and maintains her.

Along the line other cars roll into place, flanking you. There’re familiar faces— Jimin and Hoseok, of course, but also Kim Namjoon, as well as the other usual people that Seokjin makes sure to invite to his meets, plus a few newcomers that you don’t recognise. The sound of your engines drown out the noises from the crowd, as loud as they are, milling around and holding their phones up to film the start of the race; the usual busy chaos. A flagger appears, a gorgeous girl in revealing clothes who soaks up the wolf whistles from the crowd as she saunters onto the track. You see how she flicks a wink at Namjoon, who grins back at her with bared teeth as she gets ready to motion with the checkered flag in her hands.

One of your hands tightens on the wheel. The other grips the gearstick, hard. The second the flag drops, you’re leaping forwards from the start line, Pontiac’s engine roaring as she responds eagerly to your commands. You round the first bend with ease, flicking your car into a smooth turn that sends dust flying from your tyres; in your mirrors you catch glimpses of the other drivers doing the same, and even if you weren’t familiar with the newbies and the regulars you’d be able to tell who was who from this one moment. A few struggle to complete the bend— one even goes into a tailspin, though fortunately he just stalls on the road instead of plummeting off it— and you and your competitors leave them in the dust as you approach the next turn.

Namjoon is next to you while Jimin is in front. The glint of your headlights off the sleek black paintwork of your rival's car seems almost like it’s taunting you. You grit your teeth and approach the next turn faster, harder, shaving off precious seconds by arcing your car more tightly after you’ve popped your handbrake, edging ahead of Namjoon and pulling closer to Jimin. You want to win, of course, but more than that, you have to beat him— you need another tally against your name.

The adrenaline is running high in your blood, rushing through your veins, spiking each time you squeal into another curve of road; where Jimin was initially ahead of you, you’re now almost level, approaching the last turn of the track. You suck in a lungful of air and lean your body into the weight of your car, throttling her to get more of an angle in the restricted hairpin turn, familiar and confident enough in your Solstice to know exactly how to steer her so you don’t lose control. 

It’s perfect. Jimin curves out more widely and takes longer to straighten up and by this point you’ve slammed down on the accelerator for the final, straight part of the road; you scream over the finish line first to the roar of the awaiting crowd and the wide grins of your teammates, Jungkook and Taehyung elated at your win.

It doesn’t take long for the other racers to finish after you. Jimin is only a few seconds behind you, an insignificant amount of time in the grand scheme of things, but in this moment, on this track, it means everything— the difference between winning or losing. 

“That was dope!” Jungkook whoops when you swing your door open, and you grin at him. You’re a little shaky as you step out of the car, breathing hard with the adrenaline that’s still in your system, lightheaded. You love this feeling. You love when you’re driving and your entire body is on edge and wound tight— but you love the come down, too, the way you can feel how the adrenaline is still roiling through your veins, dissipating. 

You’re surrounded by the hubbub of the crowd, screaming and yelling at each other and the racers, but they’re still careful to steer clear of the cars. You can feel the heat of your engine through the hood and touch your fingers tenderly to the warm metal; you briefly catch Jimin’s eye as he climbs out of his Skyline but before you can do anything, your crew are grabbing you and you’re inevitably pulled away to collect your prize money and, as Taehyung says, ‘get turnt’. 

(You don’t do this for the prize money, though. You don’t do it for the free booze, the drugs, the sex: none of that interests you. You do it because you love to drive, love the sensation of control as you make your car dance in ways most drivers can’t even dream of— love showing that you’re good enough to win.)

Jimin finds you later, sequestered from the crowd and sitting on the hood of your car. Even though you’d won you hadn’t searched out the limelight and had slipped out after making a cursory appearance. It’s this little ritual the two of you have, searching each other out after your races, a few stolen moments of privacy despite the throngs of fans that fill whatever area that Seokjin has relegated the afterparty to. You see that Jimin notices the still full bottle of soju in your hands. You’re only holding onto it for appearance’s sake, an excuse if someone tries to foist more on you— you don’t drink and drive. 

“Congratulations,” he says. His eye makeup is a little smudged, probably from the humidity, but he looks just as alluring as before, stylish rather than mussed. “You drove beautifully.”

“So did you,” you reply, honest. It had been a close call, but Jimin had drifted as well as always, Skyline gliding as smooth and soft as silk over the rough asphalt of the mountain roads. You might be wary of Park Jimin but you’re always civil with each other and you’re nothing if not honest— he’s incredible at what he does.

“Not beautifully enough.” Jimin smiles wryly, but you know this is directed at himself and not you. You’ve never seen him act bitter after losing, unlike some other racers. Then again, he doesn’t flaunt his wins, either. Which is similar to you, you guess, although you wonder why he races at all. You don’t judge based on appearances or personality— you’re certainly the poster girl for being an unusual candidate for a street racer— but you have to wonder what set Jimin onto this path in the first place. “I’ll have to do better next time.”

“Feel free not to, I’m happy if you want to let me win,” you joke.

“We both know that’s not true.” Jimin’s smile has shifted from wry into something smaller. It feels almost like a secret, and you find your heart stuttering in your chest at the sight of it, this tiny bit of- this tiny bit of openness from him. “You want to race against the best, not someone who’ll just hand you first place.”

You blink with surprise. You can’t help but let this surprise show on your face even if you normally try to control your expressions around Jimin; you never want to show vulnerability to any of your competitors, even the ones who seem like genuinely okay people, like Namjoon or Hoseok. “That’s true,” you say. What’s the point of coming first if it isn’t actually a challenge? That’s what makes wins all the better— knowing that you’ve worked for it, that you’ve worked hard, that you’re racing against the best of the best and still come out on top. There’s a difference between being inexperienced and incompetent. You have no time for the latter.

Jimin is close enough to touch you. You’re acutely aware of the sweat that’s beaded along your hairline, both your forehead and at the back of your neck; you’ve shed your leather jacket to try your best to cool down in the humid night air and the baring of your skin has helped somewhat, shorts and vest revealing swathes of skin that can feel the light touch of the breeze, as heavy with mugginess as it is.

Of course, he doesn’t touch you. Instead he brushes his fingers across the metal of the Solstice’s hood, light enough that his fingers don’t leave a mark. Normally if anyone even approaches her you can feel your hackles rising, the urge to snap at them overwhelming— there’s a reason people usually avoid approaching your car— but for some reason Jimin doesn’t conjure this feeling in you. You let the touch pass without comment and you notice that Jimin’s fingers go still for a moment. He’d been expecting you to tell him to stop.

“She’s beautiful,” he says. He’s still looking at you.

“The love of my life.” You can’t help but smile a little when you say this. You lavish praise onto this car, calling her your love and baby, and she gives back as much as you put in.

“Mm.” Jimin hums lightly and strokes his fingers down the car again, before splaying fingers out, palm pressed flat against the hood; you hear the metal of his rings touch against it. The suspension of your Solstice isn’t exactly the highest in the world and with the curve of the hood this has Jimin leaning against it in a way that seems almost flirtatious, his hip cocked, although his expression doesn’t betray anything. He’s intimidatingly gorgeous. “What made you choose this car?”

You shrug. “Gut feeling,” you say. “Desire. I saw it, I wanted it. I got it. Why did you choose a Skyline?”

“Because they’re good for drifting,” Jimin says, with a small grin. Skylines aren’t an uncommon sight on the circuit and it certainly would have been a lot cheaper to tweak a Nissan than your Pontiac, what with export costs and difficulties getting American car parts over here— but that’s one good thing about owning a garage. Easier access because of your connections. “And because I like them.”

You point at him, other fingers still hooked around the neck of the soju bottle. “See, that’s how you should think,” you say. “It’s what I did. Don’t choose something because it’s the smart choice. Choose it because you like it. If you want something, go for it. You’ll make it work.”

Something flickers across Jimin’s face. He opens his mouth to speak but then your phone goes off; it’s in your back pocket, pressed against the hood of your car, vibrations amplified against the metal. Jungkook’s calling you. No doubt he’s wondering where you’ve gone and if he needs to save you from hordes of fans or something.

You decline the call and shoot him a quick text, wedging the soju bottle between your thighs before you begin to type both hands. You don’t notice how Jimin eyes the motion, how the beads of condensation on the glass are slick against your skin, shining; by the time you glance up, looking through your lashes, Jimin has straightened and taken a step back, no longer touching the Solstice. “Stay out of trouble,” he says. “I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be counting the minutes,” you say, but it doesn’t come out as sarcastically as you mean it to. Jimin gives you one last smile, a subtle upturn to his perfect lips, before he turns to go. You find yourself staring at Jimin as he leaves and absently wondering how on earth he fits that spectacular ass into those jeans of his.

--

The next time you race against Jimin you’re kind of a mess.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jungkook asks, hesitantly, as you try to slam the hood of your car shut with less force than necessary; you fumble as you raise it and get it shut on the second try.

“I’m fine.” 

Taehyung and Jungkook exchange a look, but neither of them say anything. They’re clearly concerned about you and your weird behaviour. 

You haven’t told them the reason why you’re like this, not yet. You’d caught your boyfriend in bed with his ex; after their break-up they’d remained friends, and you being an idiot, had allowed it. You’d been unsure at first, but you’d decided to trust him after he'd kept on at you about it, only to discover that not only had he been cheating on you with his ex, he’d been cheating on you the whole time you’d been dating. Months of your time, spat on, wasted. You’re mad at him, at her, at them both, of course— you’d kicked them out of your apartment immediately, literally throwing their things out and slamming the door shut in his face when he’d tried to beg for forgiveness— but since that afternoon you’ve gone weirdly numb alongside the rage, and you go quiet when you’re angry, anyway. 

He’d been so nice on the surface, so kind to you, one of your few partners who’d been okay with the street racing and hadn’t tried to fight you on it, even if he’d never actually come to watch or actively encouraged you— but now that you think about it this is probably because it would have given him time to go fuck his sidepiece, which is what’s kind of messing you up the most. You feel stupid, too. Taehyung and Jungkook had always been wary of him, not liking his attitude and being mad that he hadn’t supported your interests. Boy, had they been proven right. Why hadn’t you listened to them?

(Why had you trusted him?)

You’re holding onto a spanner but fumble and drop it onto your foot. You’re wearing boots today so it’s not like it hurts, but the surprise of it brings you back into the moment, angry at your own clumsiness. Jungkook and Taehyung have retreated to the other side of the car; you haven’t told them about the cause of your mood yet and so they’re understandably perplexed at it. But you feel embarrassed and ashamed even if you logically know that it’s not your fault that you’d been cheated on and your oldest friends would never judge you— once this feeling passes, you’ll tell them. You know they’ll come up with some convoluted revenge plan, one that you’ll be totally on board with— but right now? Right now, you’re going to channel everything into this race. 

You’ve just finished flicking the clasps of your toolbox shut and straightened up when you notice that Min Yoongi has apparently walked over and is now talking to Taehyung, who looks faint, while Jungkook looks on with unbridled glee. You feel entertained at their expressions despite the tumult of feelings inside you, but then—

“Everything in working order?”

Of course, if Yoongi is here, Jimin would be, too. He looks so good it kind of hurts. His blonde hair has been pushed out of his face today, swooping away from his forehead, and rather than dangling chains he has simple hoops in his ears; it seems like he’s wearing contacts as well, light hazel eyes piercing as he watches you. (You miss the usual warmth of his dark brown eyes.)

“Pretty much,” you say. Jimin seems surprised at your lacklustre response but you can’t summon the energy needed to be your usual self, none of your subtle biting humour shining through tonight. You see how his brow twitches as he frowns a little; if you weren’t incorrect you’d say he seems— seems worried, almost? 

“That’s good.” He seems unsure about what to say, which is a first for him, and pauses before he speaks again, asking something he never has before. “Are you alright?”

You huff a laugh through your nose. “No, I’m half left,” you say, but then you give him a polite smile. “I’m okay. Do I not seem okay? Are you worried that I’ll pull out before the race starts? Don’t worry, I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”

It’s weird. Jimin is clearly unsatisfied with your response, but not because it could be considered kind of rude— although it definitely could— but because you’re deflecting, and he’s concerned about you.

Concerned about you? Huh. What an odd realisation.

“I know you wouldn’t pull out of a race,” Jimin says. His eyebrows have both risen a little, face somewhat dubious, but when he says this you know he means it. “I’ll see you on the track.”

When he goes, Yoongi does too, though not before smirking at Taehyung in a way that should probably be illegal— judging from the expression on Taehyung’s face he’s ascended to nirvana and Jungkook muffles a laugh into his palm as you wander over.

“Min Yoongi gave me his number.” Taehyung sounds faint. “Someone pinch me, I’m dreaming.”

Jungkook socks him in the shoulder and Taehyung yelps.

“He said pinch, not punch, Kook,” you say, but Jungkook looks unrepentant until Taehyung punches him back, and then he just looks hurt (emotionally and physically). Neither of you buy it. “I’m happy for you, Tae.”

“You should plan your wedding for October. I bet Yoongi loves Halloween and you’d look great in autumnal colours,” Jungkook says. Taehyung sighs dreamily.

They’re both so caught up in this development in Taehyung’s long term crush that it allows you to let the smile drop off your face, and for a second your exhaustion and hurt shines through before you school your expression. You can’t let anyone on the track witness you being weak— you’ve had to claw your way up in their estimations and you’re not going to let one shitty guy fuck up your performance and take away all that work from you.

A few cars away, unnoticed, Yoongi watches as Jimin watches you in turn, then claps him on the shoulder. “You’re not being especially subtle, kid.”

“I— subtle about what, hyung?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “That girl is a competitor, not your friend. Why are you worrying about her?”

Jimin pauses before a slow frown starts to grow on his face, organising his thoughts. “I don’t want to race against someone when they’re not giving me their best,” he says. “Where’s the challenge in that?”

Yoongi looks skeptical but decides not to comment and so Jimin is free to glance back at you.

You look fine now. Maybe a little more stern faced than usual, though it can be hard to read your expressions sometimes; Jimin has watched you enough to become infinitely familiar with the line of your lips and the steel in your eyes, the determination written into you, even if most people seem to be unable to see past the makeup and clothes you put on, a way to lull them into underestimating you. 

Most people are so quick to jump to conclusions based on appearance. You must have been the only one who hadn’t done that to him, shaking his hand firmly and carefully when he’d first rolled onto the circuit— he could see how your eyes had darted over him, reading him, taking him in, immediately cautious. You’d seen past the front he’d put on.

You’re endlessly fascinating. Whip smart and talented without being narcissistic, but also without any false humility. You know you’re good. And you know how to play the game, too, coy and flirtatious with the men who underestimate you before blasting past them on the track. Before Jisoo had quit and moved back to Gunpo, you’d been friendly with her, a measured rapport that you no longer have now that you’re the only female racer in the Seoul circuit, and it must be exhausting to consistently be discredited just because you’re a woman— but you never seem ruffled by it.

So what’s happened to you tonight?

He keeps his eyes on you when you pull up to the line. Today you’re in Incheon and your route is to the airport and back again. The start is on the top level of a car park and you’re behind Jimin at the starting line; he keeps his eyes on you in his rearview mirror and notices the hardness of your face, none of the usual anticipation and excitement that colours your features before a race has begun. He can’t help but wonder.

Then the flagger walks onto the track, and Jimin focuses on them, on the swoop of the flag, before the race begins.

--

You come fifth.

All things told, fifth place isn’t bad, especially considering who you were racing tonight; there are a lot of really talented drifters in Incheon who are a lot more familiar with its roads than you are, driving the airport route regularly and drifting in the deserted airport car parks, leaving evidence of their visits with black tyre marks in ringed circles in the parking lots.

So it’s no surprise that an Incheon native had come first (Choi Minho clearly knows what he’s doing). Jimin had come second. You’d just beaten out Namjoon, who’d shaken your hand afterwards and congratulated you on the last turn before the finish line, the way you’d ridden his drag to get the momentum needed to sling yourself forwards and beat him. It had been a good manoeuvre, sure, but you’re still disappointed in yourself.

It’s not the fact that you hadn’t won that’s bothering you. It’s the fact you’d driven terribly, even if someone watching from the outside wouldn’t have been able to tell. For all that you’d been planning to channel your turbulent emotions into drifting, your handling had been off and your reactions had been stunted and so your driving had suffered. Your Solstice had given you as good a performance as always, but it wasn’t the car, it was you. 

You feel like shit.

You leave the afterparty sooner than usual and rather than just escaping somewhere, you leave altogether; it’s hard to be subtle with the loud exhaust of your Pontiac but you manage it somehow, the crowds of fans and drivers too caught up in their own revelries to notice you slipping away. You pull up into the dark of a deserted car park. The only light is from street lamps on the ridge behind you and the moon in the clear sky above and you’re surrounded by nothing but the silence of abandoned vehicles. You let your head tip forward until you’re resting your forehead against the grip of your steering wheel, warm from where you’ve been holding it.

You lift your head to roll your windows down to try and get some cooler night air in, and so you hear the sound of another car pulling into the lot— you know the spread of those headlights, the rumble of that exhaust. Jimin pulls up next to you, coming to a sharp stop before he cuts his engine and the lights die. He climbs out of his car with his usual grace, though when he rounds the hood of your Pontiac to approach the driver’s side he seems to be moving faster than normal.

“Y/n.” He sounds oddly serious, almost accusatory. “What was that?”

“What?”

He’s staring at you through your open window, his face austere; there’s a loose lock of his hair hanging across his forehead, now, falling away from how it had been pushed out of his face. He looks a little dishevelled, but artfully so, and you can’t help but envy his ability to look fashionably beautiful at all times, even when he’s frowning at you. “Tonight. Your driving was off. What happened?” 

Oh. You look away from him, staring back out of the front windscreen, unable to keep staring into his eyes. You feel weirdly ashamed, like you’ve disappointed him. Normally you couldn’t give two shits about what other racers think of you, but Jimin— Jimin is different. Jimin is the one person you measure yourself against, the one person who you feel personally challenged by, as distinctive and unusual as you both seem on the circuit, standing out in your own idiosyncratic ways, and he’s struck right into the heart of things: your driving was shoddy and he knows it.

“I—” Your mouth opens, and then shuts again. Oh, God. You’ve been holding it together, but as you sit there with Jimin still watching you, something inside you starts to fray and unravel, the tightness of your control slipping away from you. “My boyfriend was cheating on me,” you confess, and then you splay a hand across your face. You hide your face from him and so you don’t see how Jimin stiffens, eyes widening when he notices that you’ve started to cry; you’re not sobbing or making any noise, but there’s a glint of wetness on your cheeks, tears silently rolling down your face. “I only found out today and I can’t stop thinking about it and it fucked up my driving. I should have done better.”

You don’t know why you’re telling him this. Every part of your reputation is built up around not letting your competitors see any weakness in you, and here you are, spilling a private facet of your life to your personal rival and crying in front of him. You can’t look him in the eye. You don’t want to see the judgement on his face, the way you must be falling in his estimations: the way he must be realising that you’re just some weak little girl who isn’t even good enough to keep a relationship going. No doubt any second he’s about to laugh at you, or scoff derisively, or tell you to stop being so dramatic and to stop snivelling like some sort of child, and you’ll be left trying to pick up the pieces of your shattered reputation from the dark grey tarmac.

“Hey.”

Jimin’s voice is soft. When you don’t respond you feel the lightest touch of his fingers against the back of your hand, still pressed against your face; you sniff and pull the hand away, hesitantly turning your head to look at Jimin, afraid of what you’re going to see, even after hearing the tone of his voice.

But there’s no judgement on his face. No derision. He’s crouched down by the side of your Pontiac so your faces are level— his earlier frown has disappeared completely and all you can see is compassion. He doesn’t look like he pities you and instead he looks warm and empathetic. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. He clearly, genuinely means it. “It must really hurt.”

You laugh wetly. “It’s so stupid.” There are tears still dribbling down your cheeks, though they’ve started to slow. “The more I think about it, the more I realise I didn’t even really like him that much? I just… I don’t know,” you sigh. “It does hurt. When you trust someone and they break that trust. Of course I immediately dumped him and I’ll never take him back, but… I still can’t believe he did that to me. With his ex? I should have seen it coming. I feel so stupid.”

Jimin stays quiet as you sniff again. You feel gross and messy, your face swollen from tears, and your makeup must be running, too. You must look terrible right now. And yet Jimin continues to look at you with that gentle understanding, like he doesn’t care about how you’ve just let slip this raw part of yourself. 

You wonder if he’s going to say the usual set phrases— that you deserve better (you do), that your ex was probably a dick anyway (he was), all of that— but he doesn’t. He doesn’t cheapen your pain with any normal idioms. Instead, he slowly reaches forward, giving you plenty of time to stop him or pull away, but you don’t. You let him take the edge of his sleeve and lightly dab at your cheeks, unheeding of how your tears darken the fabric of his expensive looking bomber jacket; the fabric isn’t exactly soft, but his touch is. You don’t know why you let him touch you, yet you don’t regret it, not with how kind he’s being to you right now. You let your traitorous body lean into his touch and he doesn’t react, but you’re not sure if that’s because he chooses not to or if he doesn’t notice.

When Jimin pulls back he keeps his fingers hooked on your door, on the lip where the window has retracted into, and his face is closer now. What little light is reaching the two of you seems to have gathered on him, like the moon can’t help but shine on the man— the silver light mellows him, softening the edges of his beauty, and he doesn’t look like your indomitable rival. He just looks like a person, a boy, surprisingly soft and cute, eyes warm.

(He looks like a friend.)

“There’s nothing stupid about trusting someone that you’re in a relationship with,�� Jimin says. “Relationships should be built on trust, and you weren’t stupid for investing yourself in that. What he did wasn’t a reflection on you, and it’s his burden to bear. Please don’t feel stupid.” He’s looking at you so sincerely and the thing inside you that had frayed and unraveled turns to liquid at the sight, trickling through your chest like a refreshing rush of water. 

“Okay.” Your voice is a murmur. “I mean, I do feel stupid right now, but I know you’re right.” It’s one thing to know an emotional truth, but it’s another to hear it said out loud by another person— and it’s nice to know that someone you’re not even that close to supports you. It’s why, in a way, it’s almost easier to believe Jimin; he has no reason to be nice to you. And yet here he is.

“Good.” Jimin is equally as quiet as you, but he sounds pleased, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“I’ll be fine by the next race,” you say. Even as you say that, you know it’s true— your sudden outburst of tears has already started to dry up, and for all that you still feel the pain inside you, you feel… better. Admitting this to Jimin has been weirdly soothing, even if you should probably be worried about how this is going to come back and bite you on the ass. For all that you’ve just been speaking about how someone had broken your trust, you find yourself trusting Jimin, trusting that he’s not going to use this moment of weakness against you later.

You already trust him more than you’d trusted your ex— but you’re not sure if that says something about Jimin or if that says something about you. 

“Don’t worry,” Jimin says. “We won’t count this race.”

You let slip a surprised cough of laughter. Even though you’d been crying less than five minutes ago you find that a smile begins to split your face and your spirits quietly lift when Jimin smiles back at you. You can’t help but notice that one of his front teeth is a little bit crooked, and you’re just— just captivated by it. You've never been this close to Jimin before, or let your eyes run across his face the way they are right now; it seems like there's still more to learn about his features, as familiar with them as you thought you were. 

“How gracious. That means I’m still ahead of you.” Your smile has grown smaller but no less happy, and you hope that Jimin knows that. Judging from the look on his face you’d say that he does. He’s always polite, but he’s never been this overtly, directly kind before, but you’ve also never allowed him the opportunity, the two of you keeping each other at a respectful arm’s length. You can’t help but feel grateful. “Jimin… thank you.”

He gives you a little shake of the head. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt like this,” he says. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re cheaper than therapy,” you reply, grinning at him while pressing your tongue against your teeth and touching it to your lower lip, a little cheeky; he seems surprised at the fact you’re talking to him like this when you’re normally more distant and deliver your lines without the weight of your laughter behind it, especially off the back of just crying. You’ve never seen Jimin caught off guard, even if he seems to gather himself up almost immediately.

“Maybe I should charge you, then,” he says with a smile, and you huff out a breath of laughter.

“That’s just greedy.” You lean back in the seat of your car, hair pressing against the headrest, and look at yourself in your rearview mirror. You don’t look anywhere as bad as you’d thought but you still wince a little. “Oh, wow. I should go home and wash off this mascara before someone sees me and mistakes me for a panda.”

“You make a very cute panda,” Jimin says. You scoff.

“Don’t try and lull me into a false sense of security so I go easy on you the next time we have a race. Just because I spilled a secret to you doesn’t mean that I like you.” You point at him, but the words come out softer than you mean them to and Jimin clearly doesn’t take them to heart.

“Of course not.”

The two of you drive back to Seoul together. When you get to longer, empty stretches of road you throttle your cars and weave around each other; your windows are still down and Jimin’s put his down too, heedless of how the wind is making a mess of his hair. At one point the two of you hit a turn and when you drift around it you let out a loud whoop of joy, chasing away your earlier sadness in the face of this euphoria. 

When you race you don’t let yourself go like this but there’s something to be said about letting yourself shout out loud as you drop into a corkscrew of a turn, riding it out with a screech from your tires, drifting and slamming down on the accelerator because you can. Jimin is grinning and though it’s hard to hear over the roar of your exhausts, he’s laughing; it’s nice to see that he's enjoying himself, too. Normally on the track he's single-minded and only focused on the win, not giving himself over to theatrics, but this, this lets you know that Jimin genuinely loves to drift, and something in you is glad.

You slide into another turn, popping your handbrake and letting the car swing around, and Jimin moves in tandem with you— when you race you’ll try to throw your opponents off, force risky moves so they’re forced off balance, but right now you’re not competing with each other and so you match each other’s motions. Smoke goes flying from your tyres, kicking back dust and burnt rubber, and you ride the spike of adrenaline in your blood with wide eyes and bared teeth. The adrenaline rises in your veins, and the unhappiness dims, and you join in with Jimin’s laughter when you hit another straight stretch of road. You leave your sadness behind in Incheon as you rush forwards and back to Seoul, Jimin matching your pace and coasting alongside you, and it feels weirdly peaceful. Weirdly right.

Once you reach the city and have to part, you pull up at a deserted intersection, adjacent to each other. Jimin’s hair has been entirely pulled out of its earlier style and he looks so much younger like this, blond locks falling over his forehead, dishevelled— you find that you really, really like it. He catches you looking and parts his lips, flicking out his tongue on one side of his mouth, similar to your earlier motion but a lot more shameless. You know the fact that you’re startled is obvious on your face but you’ve never seen him like this before, provocative and wild and free.

“How dare you,” you say mildly, and he throws his head back when he laughs.

--

“Okay, seriously,” Jungkook says. “What is going on between you and Jimin?”

You glance away from the aforementioned man who you’ve been watching as he’s been bent over the hood of his car, fiddling with something in the engine; it’s hard not to look, eyes glued to the motion of his hips and how he fills out his black jeans so perfectly. “Hm? What?”

“Kookie’s right, you’ve kind of been… uh… weird, recently.” Taehyung sounds hesitant.

“Weird? Tae, she goes up to Jimin to talk to him before races. She never does that with other people, let alone Park Jimin.”

“She does sometimes. She likes Hoseok.”

“Guys, I’m still here,” you say, lifting a hand. Both men shut up. “What’s weird about it?”

“Uh, everything?” Jungkook looks baffled. “Since when are you and Park Jimin bosom buddies? I thought you hated him.”

“I never said that,” you protest, which is true. “I just said he’s my biggest rival on the circuit. Doesn’t mean that I hate him.”

“Clearly not,” Jungkook says. “I was joking about the sexual tension before, but nowadays the two of you look like you’re constantly two seconds away from just eating each other. When did that happen?”

“You’re talking about cannibalism, Kook,” Taehyung says, and Jungkook flaps his hand at the other boy while saying you know what I mean.

Okay, admittedly, your friends both have a point. After you’d confessed your break-up to Jimin, even though you instinctively trust him (for some reason), there’d been the lingering concern that he was going to see this chink in your armour and exploit that weakness— but he hasn’t. He hasn’t even referred to it again, not explicitly; the next time you’d seen each other he’d just softly asked if you were okay, and when you’d said yes, that had been that. But as time has gone on you find that when you and Jimin talk, it’s not just the cursory exchanges you used to have. He lingers longer when he speaks to you before races and you open up conversation more when you find each other alone during the afterparties and it’s… it’s strangely easy to open up to Jimin.

So, yeah, you’ve been walking over to talk to him, too. He’d always been the one to search you out first, and you don’t want him to think that your friendship is one-sided, so you’ve been doing the same for him. Friendship. You’re friends with Park Jimin. Who would have thought you’d live to see the day?

“He’s looking over here,” Jungkook says, and you glance in Jimin’s direction. He always looks great but tonight he’s fucking devastating, hair in stylish waves and eyes smoky, the neckline of his shirt almost scandalously low, revealing his collarbones. When you make eye contact, rather than looking away he just stares back at you, before letting his lips curl up in what could be considered a flirtatious smirk— even from this far you can see the glisten of his lips, the dark pink of his pout.

That’s something that’s new, too. As you’ve both been getting to know each other more you’ve been letting down your defences, and one thing that’s apparently developed is this sort of give and take of coy banter, teasing flirtation that just slips out. Sure, you flirt jokingly with Hoseok too, but with Jimin it’s… it’s a bit heavier than that, a little more direct. But feels so natural that you don’t second guess it and you’re not about to stop someone as fucking hot as Park Jimin acting like he wants you, so.

You mirror a similar expression back, pouting your lips at him, and Jimin’s eyes look like they darken in response. Taehyung makes a little noise of distress. “Oh, my God, Kookie, I take it back, you’re right,” he says. “They do want to eat each other.”

“Shut up,” you say, finally tearing your eyes away from Jimin. “Don’t act like you don’t want Yoongi to eat your ass out on a car.”

“I do not!” Taehyung squeaks in a way that says he kind of absolutely does, but he’s embarrassed about it. “Shut up!”

“We’re just friends,” you say, before picking up your toolbox and shoving it into Jungkook’s arms. He makes a little oof sound as the weight of it hits his chest. “Don’t be jealous, you know I’m ride or die for the two of you.”

“You don’t try to eyefuck us like you do with Jimin,” Jungkook says.

“Do you want me to?” You raise your eyebrows at him. Taehyung looks horrified and Jungkooks makes a noise of disgust.

“You’re like our sister! That’s heinous,” he says. “I’m going to get rid of the toolbox and we’re never going to speak of this conversation again.”

“Please, let’s do that,” Taehyung begs. You laugh and roll your eyes but agree, glad that they’ve both dropped the Jimin thing.

You’re not blind. You’ve always known Jimin is drop-dead gorgeous, and it’s also hard not to admire someone when they’re as talented as he is— working hard to grow a skill is something you’ve always found attractive and Jimin drives his Skyline like it’s effortless, wheels spinning and car gliding into each bend as easy as breathing. Jungkook wasn’t necessarily wrong when he said you look like you want to eat him, but as close as Jimin and you are apparently getting, you have no plans to try and fuck your rival any time soon. He’s a friend now, yes, but you’re both competitors, too.

Taehyung catches sight of Yoongi nearby and brightens before wandering off, and Jungkook’s still absent— presumably putting the toolbox away— so you’re left alone by your Pontiac. You run a hand up the back of your neck and just under your updo, feeling your hair under your fingers, an instinctive habit that you don’t think about, but then someone behind you lets out a low whistle.

“Wow.”

You turn away from your car to see who it is. It’s a newcomer to the circuit, someone you haven’t spoken to so far, even if you’ve seen him around. He’s handsome, his hair a red that's darker than the eye-catching brightness of your car and he has a piercing in one of his undyed brows. You’ve only raced against him once— all things told he’s pretty good, even if he hadn’t made it to the top three (you’d beaten Jimin that time, too). 

“And you are?” You decide to play ignorant. The man grins at you, amused.

“I’m Changkyun,” he says. “And I know who you are, Y/n.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head at him. “How do you know that, exactly?”

“It’s hard to ignore a queen when she’s carving up the track.” His eyes slide away from you to your Pontiac, the way the light is glinting off her smooth curves and clean lines. “And when her car is almost as gorgeous as she is.”

You have to admit, as much as Changkyun is shamelessly flirting right now, he’s a lot more nuanced than the usual guys that come over to try it on with you. He clearly knows how good you are and this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him around the circuit so he’s probably aware of your reputation— but he’s still decided to bite the bullet and speak to you anyway. You have to give him props for that.

“A queen, huh?” His eyes flick back up to your face when you say this. “Is that what people say about me?”

“I don’t need someone to tell me that you deserve to be treated like royalty,” he says. “I knew that from the second I laid eyes on you.”

His voice is pitched low and there’s a smile playing at the edge of his lips. You raise your eyebrows and let your mouth purse a little, touching a finger to your bottom lip as if in thought; Changkyun’s dark eyes trace every motion, shameless.

“What does being treated like royalty mean, exactly?” You tap your lip, letting your nail press into the swell of flesh. “Being nice to me?”

“A hands on demonstration would be the best way to show you.” Changkyun has stepped closer to you, leaning in, although you notice he’s still giving you space— he really is a lot more nuanced than you’re used to. You’re begrudgingly impressed, even if you don’t show it. “If you’d like.”

“If I’m a queen, I don’t think I should let some regular commoner just touch me,” you say, a little haughty, and Changkyun laughs.

“That’s true,” he says, grinning at you with a mouthful of teeth, a wolf. “Winners are kings, right? How about if I beat you in the race today, you’ll think about it?”

You let out a little giggle, making it obvious that you don’t feel threatened. He really has endless confidence, especially considering how you’d outpaced him easily in the one race you’ve had together; he’s definitely capable of winning in his Silvia but it doesn’t matter how well he’s tweaked the S15 if he’s not able to drive it as well as he needs to. 

“Oh, I’ll definitely think about it,” you say. “I guess I should wish you good luck then, hm?”

He’s not offended by your laughter and instead it just seems like he wants to rise to the bait. “You’re too kind,” he says. “Would it be too much to ask for a good luck kiss?”

“It would.” You toss your head and he laughs again, quiet and low.

“Alright,” he says, that ever present grin still on his lips. “I’ll see you at the starting line, queen.”

When you climb into your car you know he’ll be watching you. You’re wearing a skirt today and the fabric hitches up when you lower yourself into your seat, revealing the skin of your thigh; you pay no attention to whoever’s looking. You don't have to. You know you look good.

You’ve driven this route in Namsan enough times that you could map out its topography in your sleep, its looping curves lending itself to being one of the most fun roads you get to drift on. Jimin rolls into a smooth stop next to you, Skyline easing into place, and you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. When you take in the expression on his face you almost do a double take.

He looks hungry. There’s no other way to describe it, really. You’re used to seeing resolve on his face, of course, his determination to win— but tonight he looks almost on edge, eyes hard as he stares out at the road and fingers wrapped tight around his steering wheel, like he’s going to throw his car forwards so he can win, starving for it.

When the flag drops Jimin’s Skyline jumps forward like a bullet from a gun. You try to match his pace but he throws you off when he slings himself out of a turn and slides into a choku-dori, the zig-zagging motion of his car catching you off guard and forcing you to drift longer after the turn, your foot tight on the clutch as the back of your Solstice swings around in a wider arc to avoid him. Jimin drives more recklessly tonight than you’re used to, drifting around each bend faster than you would dare: it’s exhilarating to watch even if he’s absolutely destroying you— he blasts over the finish line first to the roar of the crowd, the sound of his screaming throttle dying down as he pulls to a screeching stop, triumphant.

You and Hoseok come joint second, exactly the same time on the clock. You’re panting as you step out of your car, hands shaking with adrenaline, staring in Jimin’s direction with incredulity. Jungkook and Taehyung are waiting for you but when you ask for water they both rush off, saying they can cover more ground with the two of them (whatever that means). Hoseok distracts you when he comes over and high-fives you over your combined second place, indifferent to his loss.

“Jimin was driving like a beast today,” he comments as he glances over at the man. “I wonder what got into him?”

“I have no clue,” you say. Jimin isn’t looking over at you, distracted by groups of fans who have surrounded him before he disappears to collect his prize money, and you wonder what’s going through his head. “Did you see how he approached that second turn?”

“Yeah, I did.” Hoseok nods. “It was way more aggressive than usual, wasn’t it? Oh, I think someone wants to talk to you,” he says as he spots someone over your shoulder, taking a step back and wiggling his fingers at you in a goodbye wave. “I’ll catch you at the afterparty, cutie.”

‘Someone’ turns out to be Changkyun, of course. He’d come fourth. The final hairpin turn seems like it had thrown him off, though he’d recovered well from it if he’d only been beaten out by Namjoon. “Guess someone else has the title of king, tonight,” Changkyun says, and though he sounds disappointed, he sounds less bothered than you would have expected.

“So it seems.” You straighten as Jungkook approaches with a water bottle, already uncapped for you, and you accept it from him gratefully before taking in a sip. He gives Changkyun a long look but doesn’t say anything, though Changkyun seems uncowed. “You drove well, though.”

“That’s high praise, coming from you.” Changkyun seems pleased at your compliment. “Maybe I’ll beat you next time, huh?”

“I’ll try not to hold my breath,” you say drily, no longer in the mood to play along with him. You’re not trying to be cocky but the truth is that you’d never been worried about him beating you— and even if he had, you don’t fuck around with other drivers, or fans, as desperate as they might be. The underground racing scene is rife with this sort of stuff but you still have no interest in it and for all that Changkyun is undeniably attractive and admittedly intriguing, it’s nowhere near enough to genuinely catch your attention.

(There's only one driver on the circuit who has your attention the way Changkyun wants it, but no one needs to know that.)

Changkyun just laughs. He doesn’t seem surprised or offended at all. “Whatever makes you happy. Maybe I’ll see you at the afterparty.”

As he walks away, Jungkook clicks his tongue, unimpressed, while you gulp down another mouthful of water and try to still your adrenaline-shaking fingers.

The crowd at Namsan is pretty big tonight, the openness of the mountain roads allowing more people to get out here and park up to watch, but on the same token of being on a mountain it doesn’t exactly lend itself to being the sort of place that’s good to stand around and drink. There are some warehouses nearby that are empty overnight and it’s only a short drive there, people migrating after the race has finished; you’ll get other drivers who are too afraid to race coming to show off their cars, revving their engines and doing doughnuts in the deserted warehouse car parks. You park your Solstice away from this revelry, not wanting to be asked to join in— you’ve already had your adrenaline high of the night, and besides, everyone knows how good you are without you having to prove it by doing figure 8s in an old parking lot or burning out your tyres.

At one point you see Changkyun again but when he looks like he’s about to approach you, you just raise your eyebrows at him. He lifts his hands in a deferential act of surrender and leaves you alone which shows a surprising amount of self-awareness on his part.

You know Taehyung has wandered off with Yoongi, but you wonder where Jungkook is and turn away from where Changkyun is retreating to see if you can find him. Instead you see Jimin for the first time since the race, making eye contact— he must have been watching you, already looking in your direction when you spot him.

The second you see him, your lips unwittingly lift into a smile. It’s not even conscious on your part, your genuine happiness at seeing him shining through on your face. Jimin pauses but then a girl appears out of the crowd nearby and latches onto his arm, batting her eyelashes at the winner of the night; he’s startled by her appearance and looks away from you before he can smile back.

Normally you’d find it funny, that brief moment of bewilderment on Jimin’s face as he’s being accosted by someone, but for some reason today you don’t feel amused— the smile hardens on your face and jealousy licks at your insides before your eyes widen in surprise. You have no right or reason to feel like this. Jimin is free to do what he likes, of course, and the girl is gorgeous— why shouldn’t he just do what every other driver does and take what he wants?

You think you’re done socialising for the night. You’ll catch up with Taehyung and Jungkook later.

For once you’ve managed to get your hands on a non-alcoholic drink. You crack open the can of peach water and lean against your car as you sip it, feeling refreshed even if the liquid is tepid at best. You’re idly reading the ingredients list and raising your eyebrows at the sugar content when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching you; you glance up, wondering who’s come this far away from the party to your concealed parking spot.

“Jimin?” The surprise is obvious in your voice. Even though you still meet each other alone during each afterparty you’d never expected to see him so soon, especially considering the groupies who’d been gathering around him after he’d come first. The stunning girl who’d been clinging onto his arm is nowhere in sight. “Hi.”

“Hi.” There’s something in his expression that you can’t read. Despite his win, he still has that look of hunger on his face, although it seems more muted than it had earlier. Speaking of his win—

“Congrats on coming first,” you say, raising your can at him in a cheers motion. “That was some incredible driving. You deserve that win.” And everything else that comes with it, you think to yourself, the voice in your head shockingly bitter. You need to calm down.

Jimin is standing a lot closer than he normally does. It’s kind of hard to keep your eyes off the line of his neck and his collarbones; the vee of his shirt has dipped even lower, showing off even more of his skin. “It was close.”

You can’t help but laugh. “No, it wasn’t, and you know it. There’s no need to be humble. But really, your driving was unparalleled tonight. What was up with that? You’re not normally that much of a daredevil.”

Jimin pauses. “You want to know?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know, Jimin.” You’re being more standoffish now than you have been recently, but you can’t help it, even if you sort of feel like a petulant child. You’re still holding onto your can of peach water, arms loosely crossed in a way that allows you to keep lifting it to your mouth, and you raise one of your eyebrows at him as you take a drink from it; you almost choke on that sip of water when Jimin gets closer, crowding you against the car. His arms come to either side of you and he cages you in, trapping you. He leans forwards and your eyes go wide.

“You really want to know?” When he speaks his face is so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath curling out of his mouth; your eyes betray you and flit down to his lips, watching the way they curve themselves around the words. Even though you wrench them back up immediately you know Jimin would have seen you look, and there’s a quiet, pleased upturn to his lips now, though the intensity in his eyes hasn’t dimmed at all. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You might be at Jimin’s mercy right now, but you’re not about to let him know that— even if it’s patently obvious. You’ve pulled your arms closer to your chest, trying to crowd as far back against your car as you can, but Jimin is still so close. “Yeah. I do.”

“To prove that I’m better than him,” he says. “To put him in his place.”

Even though you probably shouldn’t laugh directly in Jimin’s face when he looks as intense as he does, you can’t help it. “What, Changkyun? Of course you’re better than him. Why would you feel the need to prove it?”

Jimin seems pleased by your praise, preening a little, but his eyes are still hooded as he looks at you. “So he knows that he’s never going to be good enough.”

His gaze is still heavy, eyes piercing. This entire situation is already spiralling out of your grasp, but even though your heart is pounding, you find that you don’t mind it at all. You'd told Jungkook earlier that you and Jimin are just friends, and you hadn't been lying, but right now it's getting hard to hold onto that fact— the warmth of Jimin's body so close to yours, his face so near to your own, the two of you almost flush.

“Good enough for what, Jimin?”

“Good enough to be the challenge that you want,” he answers. His voice is quiet but you still hear him perfectly. “The challenge that you need.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Oh. “I don’t have to look for that.” Your voice is a whisper, almost trembling as you admit this. As you lay yourself bare in front of Jimin. “You know that I’ve already found it.”

And Jimin— Jimin smiles. He takes a hand off the Pontiac and runs the pad of his thumb down your jawline before resting it just under the swell of your bottom lip. His touch is slow and languid, giving you time to pull away if you want to: but you don't want to. You tilt your head forward into his touch, tipping your head down so that his thumb rests on the seam of your lips instead, but then he takes the hand away. Before you can do or say anything, he sets it on your outer thigh, just below the hem of your skirt, and waits. There's a question in his eyes, a little lift of his eyebrows, still giving you a chance to push him away— but you don't, so he drags his hand upwards and begins to hitch up the material.

You set your can of unfinished peach water aside, metal clinking against the roof of your car. Now that your hands are free you wind them behind Jimin’s neck and tug him closer. Your noses brush as his hand changes direction, drawing his small, delicate fingers over the lace trim of your panties; your mouth opens and you tilt your head forwards, your lips almost touching, but not quite. Jimin doesn’t bridge that gap and seems content to let you get wound up, the way your hips twitch each time it seems like he’s going to dip between your legs but doesn’t.

“Stop teasing me.” Your voice comes out weak and breathy.

“Stop teasing you?” Jimin raises his eyebrows like he’s affronted, even as you part your legs further and he runs his fingers up the seam of your inner thigh, rather than where you really want him to touch. “I’m just returning the favour.”

It’s a little hard to focus on what he’s saying, your focus on the sensation of his fingertips on your skin, but you frown in confusion. “Returning the favour?”

“I’m showing you what you can have, but not giving it to you,” he says. “Changkyun almost thought he could have you. You’re always so coy with Hoseok, too. But you think I haven’t noticed how you’re different with me? You actually want me. But you just tease and flirt and then leave me wanting more.”

“Jimin.” You suck in a breath as you feel a fleeting touch of his fingers where you’ve been wanting them, the lightest run of his fingers over your slit, though you barely feel it through the fabric of your underwear. He must be able to feel the wetness of you through it. He’s barely touched you and you already feel like a wreck. “Kiss me.”

For a long second you think that he won’t acquiesce, but then his lips are against yours and you sigh against his mouth. You’ve always thought that his lips were sinful and you’re proven right, the swell of them so soft, the way he fits them together with yours; you bask in how gentle the kiss is, eyes slipping shut so you can focus on the sensation. One kiss turns into two, into three, presses of your lips against each other, and you’re so caught up in it that you almost forget about the warmth of Jimin’s hand between your thighs— but your eyes fly open and your breath hitches when he finally slips his fingers into your panties. He runs them up your lower lips, touch still teasing, but then he presses his fingertips against your clit, hard, and you gasp against his lips.

He swallows the sound. Your kisses become open mouthed and you lick desperately into his mouth before he starts to circle his fingers around your pearl of nerves, making you jolt against the side of the car. You have to tip your head back to suck in air, breathless from the kisses and sensitivity, and Jimin takes the opportunity to dip his head and kiss the side of your neck, dragging his teeth over your skin. He nips at the sensitive junction between your neck and shoulder and purses his lips before he sucks hard at it, laving his tongue over the mark that's sure to blossom into a hickey.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp. Jimin takes the hand that has been bracing himself against the car and moves it to the back of your neck instead, fingers resting at your lower hairline in a grasp that feels surprisingly tender even as he tips your head forward so he can catch your lips again, now that he's left a physical reminder of himself in your skin. The juxtaposition between the slowness of these kisses and the way he’s starting to teasingly dip his fingers just into your entrance is making your head spin, reeling, his soft lips opposing his firm touch. “Jimin.” Your voice is needy as you dig your fingers into Jimin’s shoulder blades. “Please, I need more.”

Jimin rests his forehead against yours, staring at you, and his voice is low as he speaks. “Don’t worry,” he says, with a little smile. “When we’re not racing, I’ll always make sure that you come first.”

You can’t help but giggle. “That’s so stupid,” you say, and Jimin laughs quietly with you, but then your laughter cuts into an inhalation of air as Jimin presses two fingers into you. “Oh, that’s just unfair,” you pant, but you tilt your hips forward to give him a better angle. You’ve always been fascinated with Jimin’s hands, as small and pretty as they are, and they don’t need to hit deep to make you feel good, filling you up so well as he continues to slide them into your tight, wet heat.

He uses the heel of his palm to grind against your clit as he continues to thrust his fingers into you, and it’s almost embarrassing, how quickly you approach your peak. Since you broke up with your ex you haven’t had sex with anyone else, and you’re usually so tired after work or racing that you don’t make time to pleasure yourself alone— but you get the feeling that even if these things weren’t true, you’d still get wound up this quickly, because it’s Jimin.

You think he knows that, too. You’ve stopped kissing, now, your mouths just open against each other, barely touching, and his eyes are drinking each of your reactions in, the way your body responds to him, the way the pleasure is written across your face. Your brows are drawn together and your breaths are coming faster, and Jimin pushes another finger in— it’s lewd, the slick sound of your wetness against his hand as he thrusts his fingers and continues to press his palm against your clit, the metal of his rings warmed from your skin. 

Just as you think you’re about to cum, Jimin’s hand stops. You make a noise of need, one of your hands coming to clutch his arm as you try to buck your hips, but it’s not enough. You choke back a sob. “Jimin,” you say. “I’m so close.”

“Ask politely, baby,” he replies, smile wicked, and you almost keen. Normally you’d refuse to beg, but you’re wound so tight right now, so needy—

“Please, Jimin,” you beg. “Let me cum, please, I wanna cum, please, fuck, oh—” Jimin’s started to move his hand again, even faster than before, and you grind your hips into it, riding those fingers with wanton desperation.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs. “I want to see you fall apart.”

You shudder at his words. It only takes a few more hard curls of his fingers and one particularly long press against your clit and you tumble over the edge; you can feel how your walls ripple around him as waves of pleasure spark through you, the cum that flushes out of you, and you’re writhing against the Pontiac, riding out your orgasm around his fingers. You don’t know what noises you’re making but Jimin muffles them, pressing his tongue past your lips and licking the sounds out of your mouth.

When he pulls his fingers out of you and takes his hands out of your panties, you shiver, still oversensitive. “God, Jimin, you make me feel so good,” you whimper. Jimin looks pleased, and when he lifts his hand to your lips you let them fall open as you stare up at him. You take his fingers into your mouth without protest, circling them with your tongue, licking across his knuckles and fingertips hungrily, the taste of your own pleasure lingering on your tongue as you bob your head and look at Jimin meaningfully.

You’re both startled out of the moment when you hear footsteps and voices approaching. You freeze, the two of you stiffening against each other; although you’re sequestered from the party, you’re not so far away that people couldn’t stumble across you. Jimin pulls your head into his chest so that you’re hidden from view, his head turning in the direction of the sounds— when they fade he lets you go and you go lax and flop backwards over the roof of your car, letting your arms spread wide after that brief moment of panic passes. Jimin turns his head to look down at you, and you give him a smile, still punch-drunk from your post orgasm come down, which he returns. His lips are kiss swollen and he looks so beautiful like this, silhouetted by the night sky behind him as he smiles at you, even if the rest of your surroundings leave something to be desired.

“Wow, Jimin.” You lift one of your hands to draw it down his chest, pulling the neckline of his shirt even lower, revealing more of his skin to you. You can’t help but sigh with delight, almost overwhelmed. “Do you have any idea how incredible you are?” 

His smile turns surprisingly cheeky. “Maybe, but I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to tell me again,” he says, and you laugh.

“Your praise kink is showing,” you tease. You lift your other hand and draw your palms over his stomach, surprised but pleased when you feel lines of hard muscle through the fabric of his shirt. “You never had anything to prove, you know,” you say, softer now. “Changkyun is nothing to me. No one else is. You’re the only person on this circuit who I watch.”

Jimin bends forwards, resting his elbows on the roof, hovering above you as he continues to give you that cheeky smile. “Oh?”

You smile back. “Don’t act like you don’t know it,” you say. It’s true that you hadn’t had plans to try and fuck Jimin, but it’s also true that— “When I drive, the only person I want to beat is you. No one else matters. You’ve ruined me, Park Jimin. I never used to care like this.”

In the distance, someone’s engine backfires. Neither of you react to the noise. Jimin is looking down at you with a soft but unreadable expression on his face. “I saw Changkyun approaching you at the afterparty.”

You tilt your head back against the car, lifting your chin as your eyes squeeze with laughter. “Then you saw how I basically told him to fuck off?”

“Yes.” Jimin’s smile goes so wide you can see his teeth, eyes crescents, face bright. “That made me happy.”

“Ah, so you like praise and you’re possessive. Cute,” you say, running a finger down Jimin’s forehead and to the end of his nose, before tapping it. “I suppose now is a good time to let you know that I’m possessive, too.”

“Good,” Jimin says, and then lets out a tinkling laugh when you make a kissing noise at him through pursed lips. “Is that why I saw you disappear after that girl grabbed me?”

“No comment,” you reply, but then pout at him when he crooks an eyebrow at you. “I wasn’t about to watch someone else climbing all over you, was I? She was gorgeous, of course I was jealous.”

“You have nothing to be jealous of.” Jimin lightly draws one of his hands over your collarbones, thumbing at the hollow under your neck, your skin hypersensitive to his touch. “You’re the only one I want.”

You let the self-satisfaction show on your face and Jimin laughs again. He’s still giggling when you start to run your fingers rhythmically through his hair, combing through the product that’s keeping it out of his face, and watch as the locks start to cover his forehead. He makes a questioning noise at the back of his throat. “What are you doing?”

“I want to look,” you say. He always has his forehead at least a little bared, and the one time you’d seen it covered, it had transformed his whole look, and you want to see if it was a fluke. 

It wasn’t. Like this his hair is so long it hangs in his eyes, but because he’s bent forward it just frames his face instead, and it almost feels like a curtain that’s shutting off the rest of the world, letting you see a softer side that he never reveals on the circuit. “Ah, there it is. The duality of man,” you sigh happily. Cute, but gorgeous. Soft, but devastating. Incredible.

You draw your hands back down his body, and then you roughly tug his shirt out from where it’s been tucked into his trousers. You feel how his stomach jumps when you lightly drag your fingers across it, feeling the faint definition of abs, and you can’t help but grin. “You’re a fucking meal, Park Jimin,” you say, hooking your fingers in his belt. You tug on it, using the weight of Jimin’s body help you up— he straightens as you do, and your hips are flush, the material of your skirt still hitched up so that the damp material of your panties is rubbing against him, and you can feel his growing hardness. “Can I have a taste?”

Jimin laughs again. When you smile back at him, he leans in and slants his mouth against yours, a small touch of your lips before he pulls back. “Anything you want,” he says, and your smile turns hungry.

You tug at him, repositioning your bodies so that he’s pressed up against the Pontiac instead. He leans back on his arms, bracing his palms against the low roof of the car as you step back for a little bit of room so that you can unbuckle his belt. You use one hand to lift his shirt up, revealing his chest and stomach to you, the lines of muscle he keeps hidden away. Your mouth waters. You’re briefly distracted when you notice stark lines of black on his ribs, splaying your fingers under the tattoo you find there; you want to taste it. So you crouch, dipping your head to lick across the sensitive skin of his rib cage and over each letter, NEVERMIND etched permanently into his skin.

You can feel how Jimin reacts, the way his chest jumps as he sucks in a breath. You want to know what the tattoo means, why he got it, but that can wait— right now you have more pressing matters to attend to. You run your tongue down the line of his stomach as you drag his zipper down with deft fingers, and then pull your face away to watch as you start to pull his jeans down. You take in the sight of his hard cock, contained by his briefs, the damp patch of precum darkening the fabric around the head.

You glance up at Jimin as you shift from a crouch and fully onto your knees. Your bare skin presses against the pavement, rough, but you don’t care; Jimin’s eyes are dark and heavy as he watches you kneel in front of him, and you keep your eyes locked as you purse your lips and kiss the tip of his cock through his underwear. He hisses. You grip his shaft through the fabric, mouthing at the head and dragging your wet tongue across the cotton, staring coyly up at him the whole time.

“Tease,” Jimin says. You huff out a laugh and take your hand away from where it’s been holding his shirt up and cup his balls through his briefs, drunk on how you can see and feel his dick twitching when you do. 

“I give as good as I get, babe,” you say. Jimin takes one of his hands off the Pontiac to rest on the top of your head and lightly tangles his fingers in your hair, grip just edging on firm— you understand the tacit implication of his action and surrender control to him, skimming your hands over his hip bones and around to his ass. 

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t stared at his behind a thousand times, his thick thighs and his round ass, and it feels even better under your hands than you thought. You dip your fingers under the waistband of his briefs and into the soft flesh underneath it, digging your fingernails in before pulling the underwear down so you expose Jimin to the night air. His cock bobs as it comes free of the fabric, as perfect as the rest of him, flushed red head shining with precum. 

Maybe you have a bit of an oral fixation and love giving head, or maybe Jimin’s cock is impossible to resist: all you know is that you need to taste him. Your mouth falls open and you let your tongue rest on your bottom lip for just a moment before you suck the head of his cock into your mouth. He makes the prettiest noise, his fingers tightening against your scalp as you tongue at the slit and lap up the precum that’s gathered there, salt and warmth bursting across your taste buds. Your hands aren’t idle, either, touching the parts of his cock that aren’t in your mouth, fingers on his shaft and around his balls. 

You run your mouth along the side of his length, flicking your tongue and dragging it across a vein, watching Jimin the whole time. He’s staring at you, the way you use your spit-slick lips to press kisses along his cock, the tip, drinking down every drip of precum that beads there, tonguing the sensitive spot just under the head where it meets the shaft. 

Saliva is filling your mouth, mingling with the taste of Jimin on your tongue, and you swallow him back down. You relax your jaw and lower your head, taking Jimin down inch by inch, the weight of his cock heavy in your mouth; you continue to roll his balls in your hand while you use the other to grip what little’s not in your mouth. Jimin’s eyes are wide as he watches how you skilfully swallow him down until you can feel him at the back of your throat, breathing through your nose, and then you start to rapidly bob your head.

“Oh, fuck!” Jimin’s hips jump and you almost gag when his cock thrusts into your throat, off rhythm to how you’re moving, but you’re nothing if not a trooper and recover quickly.  He’s not the biggest you’ve ever had but that just means that you can swallow most of him down, deepthroating him, noises lewd as saliva drips past your lips and onto your chin. You’ve never been afraid to get dirty, and seeing the way Jimin is quickly losing control makes it all the better; you feel his balls tightening in your hand and you can see how his face is twisting, his brows furrowed and his lips falling open as he breathes through his mouth, thrusting forwards in time with the bobbing of your head. You desperately chase that, matching his rhythm as he speeds up; you want to wreck him. 

His fingers dig into your scalp. “I’m gonna cum,” he warns, and you just flick him a glance through your lashes as you swallow particularly loudly and start to go faster, turning your focus to his head, using a hand to twist around his shaft and jerk off his length. His hips drive forward one more time before he cries out, and you can feel how his cock twitches as he cums into your mouth, hot and salty; you suck down each wave of cum, lips tight around him as your hand continues to milk him, grip firm, until he’s twitching from oversensitivity and pulling you off him with the fingers in your hair.

You’re still holding onto his softening length. He looks fucked out, pupils blown, a pink flush down his neck, and he’s panting almost as hard as you are; he watches as you lick your lips, and you feel how his dick gives a half-hearted twitch in your hands, although his face twists a little into a pained expression. “You’re unbelievable,” Jimin says, and you let out a little laugh, pleased.

“And your dick is spectacular,” you say. Your voice is a little hoarse, but god, that was worth it and you would do it again. You’d suck Park Jimin’s cock until you lost your voice if he’d let you. You lift the fabric of your shirt to wipe your chin and mouth, cleaning the saliva that’s gathered and then turn your attention back to the man, hand gentle in your hair as he’s been watching you.

You lift his briefs and jeans for him, standing up and brushing your knees off before you tuck his shirt back in and then do up his zip and buckle his belt, smoothing his outfit back into place. You’re looking down at your hands as you do this, and so you don’t see the way Jimin is looking at you with something akin to affection. “I know a lot of guys don’t like dick mouth,” you say, flicking your eyes up. “But—”

Jimin’s kissing you before you can finish your sentence. You muffle a noise of surprise and kiss him back, shivering when he licks into your mouth, running his tongue across your teeth and over your lips. When you pull back, you end up giggling a little, running a finger under his chin and then tapping his swollen lips. “I was about to say, I still have my water, but I guess that doesn’t matter now, huh?”

You still reach for your drink, lifting the can from where it’s remained steady on the car, filling your mouth with the sweet taste of peach and fizz as you swish it around and then swallow. Jimin watches as you do and then reaches for the can himself— you tip it against his lips and let him finish the rest, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs, and tilt your head to kiss it as it does. He shivers, and you nose at his neck before sucking the skin so that you'll leave a mark on him, too. A reminder of you. He smells so nice, soft orange and something floral, maybe, subtle and light; you really like all these little details about Jimin, how he’s not brash at all, but rather, elegant and understated— and yet still undeniably powerful in his own way. 

You both startle when you hear someone calling out your name, surprisingly nearby. It sounds like they’re coming right in your direction, just around the corner, and there’s only two people who know where you like to park—

“Y/n! I’ve been looking everywhere for y- oh.” Jungkook literally freezes mid step, one foot in the air, blinking at how you and Jimin are standing flush with each other, Jimin’s stance wide so you can stand between his legs, while his hands are resting on your waist. You can see the cogs in Jungkook's mind working, and he puts his foot down in slow-mo as he slowly starts to smile. "Oh, didn't mean to interrupt, don't mind me," he says with a shit eating grin.

"It's okay," Jimin says. "I should go."

You can't help but pout. "So soon? Kookie can leave."

Jimin seems amused, but much to your surprise he indulges you with a small kiss; you didn't think he'd be so forward when someone else was watching. “I'll see you at the next race, sweet thing,” he murmurs, acting as if Jungkook isn't there.

“If you win again, I'll do something nice for you,” you say, and he laughs.

“And if you win?”

“Then you have to do something nice for me. Equal exchange, darling.”

Jimin just smiles. “Sounds like an agreement.”

He leaves with a small wave, and even flicks a wink at Jungkook as he goes past, the taller man watching him go. As soon as Jimin is out of sight your friend rounds on you with a I Knew It expression on his face.

“Yeah, okay, you were right,” you say, lifting a hand to cut him off before he can say anything. “You should just feel glad you hadn't turned up earlier. I think you might have seen some things you would regret.”

“That's gross,” Jungkook says, though he sounds cheerful. He loves being proven right. Brat. “You’d better not start letting him win, though.”

You snort. “Please, as if I would. The race is part of the foreplay.”

“That’s gross,” Jungkook says again. This time he sounds like he means it, and you laugh.

--

“There are way too many people here today,” Taehyung says. You can’t help but agree.

“They need to back off before I start swinging,” you mutter. Jungkook grabs your shoulder and squeezes it.

“We’ve got you,” he says, and you relax.

The multi-level car park in Yongsan is packed to the gills with people, faces in the crowd you know you’ve never seen; you’ve never raced here before and you’re not sure how word got out to so many people, but they’re clearly not familiar with the unspoken etiquette of the circuit and people keep trying to approach your goddamn car. You’ll allow it after a race, people rushing up to congratulate or whatever, but right now you’re grateful to have Jungkook and Taehyung warding people off while you staunchly ignore the wolf whistles aimed in your direction. You're too uncomfortable to play up to it today.

There are a lot of really tweaked out cars here. There’s even another American car, an electric blue Mustang that’s really beautiful, but you wonder at the choice of such a long pony car in the tight corners of an indoor car park.

“At least the prize money will be good?” Taehyung hazards. He’s not wrong— the prize money is a few hundred thousand won higher than normal, probably reflecting the more luxurious district that you’re racing in today. You wonder if that’s why Seokjin organised it here, for more exposure, more cash. The truth is, though, there are more important things that you want to win tonight. On that note—

“Hi, sweet thing,” Jimin says from behind you, and you turn around.

“Jiminie,” you sigh, relieved. Under his jacket his shirt is loose, material tastefully flimsy, and you can’t help but feel smug at the blossoms of colour over his pale neck and across his clavicle, tacit reminders of the race before last when he’d edged ahead of you just before the finish line. The pleats of your skirt cover your upper legs, but Jimin has already seen the similar blooms he’d left on your inner thighs, drawing out the noises you’d made as he’d eaten you out on the hood of his Nissan after your last win. “God, you look good.”

He smiles. “You do too, baby.”

You already feel more relaxed upon seeing him, warmth bursting through your chest at the pet names. “It’s so busy today.” There’s a little whine in your voice as you complain to Jimin and he crooks you a smile, indulgent.

“Just keep your eyes on me, ignore everyone else.”

“That’s like telling the sun to shine, it’s going to happen whether you say it or not,” you scoff. Jimin gives you that smile that he reserves for you, that only you can read because no one else is as good at deciphering his expressions as you are— flattered, bashful, pleased. It’s small, subdued because of the people around you, but you’ll make sure to make him smile like that again later when the two of you are alone together. You melt a little and try not to overthink how quickly Jimin has wormed his way inside your heart; at the end of the day, despite how many times you’ve touched him with your mouth and your hands, you’re still rivals. (Even if that line seems to be growing ever more blurred as time goes on.)

“So when’s the wedding?” Jungkook asks once Jimin’s out of earshot.

“It’s not like that, it’s just a physical thing,” you say. 

“Riiiiiiiiiiight.” Jungkook raises his eyebrows at you. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“He really likes you, you know,” Taehyung mentions conversationally. “Yoongi says he talks about you a lot.”

“Almost as much as she talks about him?” Jungkook looks at you knowingly, and you pout at them both.

“Leave me alone, you know I’m a delicate flower,” you say, which makes them laugh. You don’t talk about Jimin that much, no matter what Jungkook says.

Your eyebrows raise when you find out who you’re racing tonight. They’ve put you up against someone you don’t recognise or know the name of, the driver of the Mustang, it turns out, the Yongsan crowd wanting to see how both American cars will fare against each other. Your Pontiac is a lot smaller, nippier, but you have no idea what’s under the hood of the other car— although you have to admit the matching blue LEDs that are shining out under the Mustang and from its headlights are pretty, a lot more dramatic than your unadorned Solstice. But you’ve never been showy, and theatrical prettiness means nothing when you’re racing. It’s down to mechanics and skill, not aesthetic. (Besides, your car is beautiful enough that she doesn’t need flashy additions to draw the eye.)

You catch sight of Jimin in your rearview mirror just as you’ve finished strapping yourself in. He’s a point of stillness in the heaving crowd that’s pressing in on the start of the race from all sides, and you see how his eyes crinkle as he smiles and mouths good luck. You rev your engine, finding yourself smiling back before you look over at the driver of the Mustang, who has a cocky grin on his face.

“I’m going to eat you alive,” he says, and you just smile beatifically while batting your eyelashes.

“Big words for such a small man,” you reply, and you see how his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, white knuckled. “Ooh, did that make you mad? Would you rather I pretended to be worried? Who even are you, anyway?”

“I’m going to make you regret saying that,” he snarls, and you laugh.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” you say, winking at him before your window rises and cuts him off.

The second the race begins you slam down on your accelerator, Solstice leaping forward as the Mustang screeches to life beside you. He’s a reckless driver, slamming into turns with too much speed and relying on the heavier weight of his car to keep him steady; you’re having to drive cautiously, swerving away from him when he seems to get too close to you, which happens more often than you like. It almost seems intentional, like he’s trying to take you out, and you grit your teeth as you slide into another turn, watching as he goes wide and sends safety cones scattering as his car swings into them.

It’s not hard to pull out ahead. You pop your handbrake as you approach the spiral ramp up to the final level and your Solstice curls into the rising turn with ease, the shortness of your car meaning that you can soar through the tightness of the walls without scraping along the sides. You emerge onto the rooftop to a yelling crowd and pump your throttle, turning your wheel so you arc out and slide to a smooth stop.

The Mustang appears moments after, though you’re being swarmed by the crowd and almost don’t notice. Thankfully Jungkook and Taehyung are the first to reach you, as normal, a fact which you’re grateful for moments later when the Mustang driver shoves his way through the crowd and makes a direct beeline for you.

You’ve been drifting for a long time, and you’ve experienced your fair share of abuse and bitterness from people who’ve lost against you, but you’ve been around long enough and built up enough of a reputation that you avoid most of it nowadays. The Mustang driver, however, looks furious, apoplectic with rage, and you don’t know what’s going through his head as he approaches you, but it can’t be anything good. You instinctively reach out for the person closest to you— Taehyung— who starts to turn, and Jungkook has noticed him too, already moving to interpose himself.

“Get out of my way,” the Mustang driver barks. “That bitch is mine.”

“Back off,” Jungkook snarls. You’ve never heard him sound like this before, this level of ferocity, eyes wild. “Take one step closer and I’ll make you fucking regret it.”

Taehyung also steps in front of you. There’s a moment where you wonder if you could have avoided this— if you hadn’t taunted him at the beginning, maybe?— but Taehyung’s hand squeezes yours reassuringly, and you realise it probably would have panned out like this anyway. Some people just hate to lose. You catch sight of Jimin at the front of the crowd, staring at you with concern, but Yoongi’s got a hold of him, fingers wrapped tight around his wrist as he holds him in place.

“What are you, her little bitch boy?” The Mustang driver barks at Jungkook. “Are you her little fuckbuddy, huh?”

Jungkook has a black belt in Taekwondo and he’s recently started boxing, too, on top of his general gym rat lifestyle, muscles visible under the tattoos that adorn his arms. Jungkook is literally the worst person you could ever want to get into a fight against; he’s sweet and lovely but he won’t take things lying down, especially if it’s one of his friends being threatened. You see how Jungkook’s shoulders go stiff, and you know you’re seconds away from a physical altercation— the onlookers are making no moves to intervene, and instead are fumbling for their phones to film it— but then Hoseok is there, sliding between them, fingers touching Jungkook’s rising hand.

“Guys, guys, guys,” he laughs breezily, as if he isn’t in the firing line right now. “What’s the hold up? I’m waiting for my turn to race but it seems like the crowd is all here rather than at the starting line.”

“I have some things to say to her,” the Mustang driver says, pointing at you. “And this asshole is in my way.”

Jungkook’s lip curls back from his teeth, but before he can say anything, Hoseok laughs again. “Is that what this is about? Is she really worth your time and energy? If you start a fight, you’ll be banned from the circuit.”

You don’t catch the rest of what Hoseok says, Taehyung turning you away from them and hustling you to your car. “We’ll deal with this, don’t worry,” he says, voice low as he opens your door for you. “I’ll speak to Seokjin and make sure this guy gets dealt with, but for now it’s probably a good idea to get out of here.”

Your eyes flicker over to where the guys are still standing— Jungkook still looks tense, even if it seems like Hoseok is doing his best to smooth things over, casual and at ease. You have no doubt that this is the last time you’ll see the Mustang driver, as confrontational and aggressive as he is, but you still don’t like how genuinely useless you feel right now.  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“We’ll be fine,” Taehyung says. “Go on. I promise I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

You relent and do as you’re told. “I’m going to Namsan,” you tell him, and he nods in understanding.

You catch Jimin’s eye in your rearview as you gun your engine and leave, and you know without a doubt that he’ll come find you later. The drive to Namsan is a familiar one, although you don’t drift or speed and instead you take your time; you roll to a quiet stop once you reach your destination, rough dirt underfoot as you step out of your car, staring at the panorama of downtown Seoul. You don’t know how long you’ve been reclining against your car and drinking down the sight of the city lights below you when you register the sound of Jimin’s deep exhaust rumbling up the mountain road, the sound of his Skyline as familiar to you as your Pontiac by this point, turning your head to see him pull into the deserted lay-by beside you.

“You found me,” you say by way of greeting. Jimin doesn’t even shut his door and immediately makes his way over to you and cups your face in his hands. You relax into his touch, letting your eyes slip shut as he brushes a thumb over your cheek.

“Tae told me where you’d be,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You smile lazily, eyes slowly opening. Jimin is filling your vision, surrounded by the twinkling lights of Seoul below and the dark night sky above, and he’s still the most beautiful thing you can see. “It’s not the first time I’ve had an asshole get angry at me, but he’s definitely the most aggressive I’ve ever experienced.” A frown mars Jimin’s features, and you lift one of your hands to smooth out the lines in his brow. “It’s okay. I’m grateful that I have the boys to look after me. And you, too.”

Jimin’s frown fades, but he still looks unhappy. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For not being able to do more. I just stood there and watched.”

You smile gently. “You didn’t have to get involved, Jimin,” you say. “I didn’t expect you to do anything.”

You mean this in a nice way but Jimin’s face goes hard. You’re about to ask if you said something wrong when he cuts you off by kissing you fiercely, and you have to grab his shoulders to keep yourself to tipping backwards on the Pontiac’s hood. Jimin’s hands slide down your waist and he cups your ass before he lifts you; you squeal in surprise and latch onto him, curling your arms and legs around him so he doesn’t drop you.

Jimin might look lithe, but you’ve seen his bare arms and chest often enough to know of the muscle power he has. He walks the two of you to his car, kissing you as he does and your eyes widen as you realise he’s about to try and manoeuvre you both in through the open door while still holding onto you. He makes a noise against your lips as you pull away from the kiss.

“Jimin, put me down for a second,” you say.

“I don’t want to stop touching you.” He noses at your neck, and you shiver.

“If you drop me I’ll never forgive you,” you murmur, and he relents, careful as he sets you down, digging his fingers hard into your ass before he lets go. You’ve barely caught your balance before Jimin slides into his seat, kicking the bar under the chair to send it as far back as possible.

“Get in,” he says, and you instantly comply, climbing into his lap before he slams the door shut. It’s cramped like this but neither of you care, Jimin capturing your lips again as you grind against him, the fabric of your skirt rubbing over his jeans— you’ve started to wear skirts and dresses more often for the ease of access it offers Jimin once a race is over.

“Someone seems a little desperate today.” You mean to sound teasing but you’re too breathless to do so. “You want me to suck your dick that badly?”

“No,” Jimin answers, and the movement of your hips stutters a little as you react with confusion, but then— “I’m going to fuck you tonight, sweet thing,” he continues, and a moan slips unbidden from your lips. The two of you haven’t fucked yet, never going further than using your hands and mouths, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t imagined Jimin’s cock inside you instead of just his fingers and tongue. “Does my baby like the sound of that?”

“Please,” you say. “God, please, Jimin, I want it so bad, want you to fuck me.”

One thing you’ve learned about Jimin is that he likes it when you’re desperate. He loves to edge you, watch you squirm, the power of your pleasure entirely in his hands, but you know how to play with him, too— know how to beg the way he likes it so that he gives you what you want. His pupils dilate as he listens to you plead and you can feel how hard he’s growing beneath you. He slides his hands under your jacket and over your shoulders, helping you slide it off, although it almost gets tangled over the steering wheel as you wriggle in his lap.

“This is so clumsy,” you giggle, and Jimin laughs too as you both struggle to throw the leather jacket onto the passenger seat, but then he grabs your hips and grinds up against your clothed heat and you gasp. “Oh, fuck. Take that damn shirt off, I want to see you too.”

It’s fumbled and chaotic but the two of you end up shedding your upper layer of clothes, shirts cast aside and forgotten. Jimin helps unclasp your bra, kissing the swell of your breasts before the garment drops and is thrown aside too, Jimin taking the opportunity to dip his head and lick one of your nipples. You gasp again and grab at his hair, grip tightening as he runs his tongue over the hardening bud while circling the other with a fingertip. He keeps changing his attention between them, sucking and licking them until you’re a panting, writhing mess in his lap, lips moving so perfectly against your skin.

“Jimin, please,” you whisper, running your hands over all the bare skin you can touch. “I want to feel you.”

It takes less effort than you’d thought as you crane your body upwards to give Jimin space to shove his jeans and underwear down. His cock is hard, lying against his stomach and smearing precum against his skin as he leans back in the chair. You spit into your palm before taking the length in your hand; a familiar weight by now, the curve of him so perfect in your palm, and you shiver in anticipation. Jimin jolts as you pump him to full hardness, running your thumb over the slit of his cock and gathering the wetness there before spreading it over the rest of him, twisting your wrist as you let your hand rise and fall. 

“Fuck,” Jimin swears, grip on your hips so tight it’s almost bruising. You’re still in your skirt and panties, but somehow it seems dirtier like this than if you’d been fully naked; Jimin’s hand slips under your skirt and pushes the material of your panties aside, revealing your core to him, and you shudder when he drags a finger up your slit, feeling the wetness that’s gathered around your opening. His eyes are hungry. “Always so wet for me.”

You drag your hips forward into his touch, trembling when you feel the press of his fingers over your clit. “Always want you,” you breathe. “Please, I want your cock in me so bad—”

He silences you with a kiss, tongue slick and wet in your mouth, and you lean into it, hand tightening around his length as you move to guide it into you. He stops you with firm hands, one on your waist and the other bracing your inner thigh, and you whine against his lips. “Jimin, Jiminie, I need you.”

“Hold on,” he says, but you can hear the edge to his voice, how he doesn’t want to stop either. “I just— condom—”

“I’m clean,” you say, legs trembling as you continue to hold your position above him, muscles screaming at you to just drop down and let Jimin’s cock fill you up the way you want, but you stay steady. “I got tested after I broke up with my ex— and I’m still on the pill— fuck, Jimin, wanna feel you fill me up.”

Jimin’s eyes are blown, swallowing the dark brown of his irises. The hand on your inner thigh moves and he plunges two fingers into you and you suck in air, your body opening up for him as he presses deep into your inner walls. One thing you’ve discovered over the months is that Jimin reverts to his Busan dialect when he’s turned on, his voice a surprisingly deep drawl that makes you shiver. “Baby wants my cum, hm?”

Your head drops forward and you pant against his shoulder, body jolting each time he curls his fingers against your sweet spot just the way you like it. “Yes, I want it,” you say, and then gasp as he pushes another finger in, hard and fast, stretching you; you’re so turned on and wet that it slips in easily. “Jimin, please.”

Normally you’re certain he’d drag this out longer but he seems as desperate as you, pulling his fingers out of you in one deft motion that has your pussy clenching around the sudden emptiness. He shifts his hands to your waist, holding you tight, and you use one of your hands to keep the material of your sodden panties out of the way as you hold onto his cock with the other, guiding the tip towards your entrance. Jimin lets you down slowly, his head breaching you first and stretching you so well; you tip your head back and arch your spine as you feel him slowly splitting you open, thicker than his fingers as you lower down inch by glorious inch until your hips are flush and you’ve taken him as deep as you can.

Jimin rolls his hips upwards and your hands fly to his shoulders for balance as you clench around him. He hisses. “You’re so tight, sweet thing,” he says, and you grind down against him, moving your hips in little circular motions that has both of you gasping. You bite your lip as Jimin lifts you back up, just as slow as before, and you revel in the sensation of his cock dragging against your inner walls, sensations electric inside you. 

You keep this languid pace for a while, wet and slick, Jimin sucking more marks into your neck as you drag your nails down his chest before you decide to switch things up— you catch Jimin off guard, his hands loose around your waist now, and drop your hips down. The air is punched out of your lungs at the way Jimin’s cock thrusts into you and fills you up all at once, so deep and full, a similar moan ripped out of his lips before his eyes go dark.

“So that’s the game you want to play,” he says. You grin mischievously as you tilt your hips so that your clit rubs against him, shuddering as your toes curl at the pleasure shooting through you.

“You said you’d always make me come first,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him innocently, as if you’re not grinding down his cock. “I thought I’d help you out.”

A thrill sparks through you at Jimin’s expression. He doesn’t respond with words and instead he tightens his grip around your waist before he pulls you almost entirely off his cock, the flushed head just touching your entrance as you squirm in his hold. You wonder if he’s going to keep teasing you but then his hips buck upwards as he pulls you down, and you cry out as he drives into you, setting an unforgiving pace as he begins to drill into you. The car starts to rock with his sharp motions, filled with the sounds of your gasps and moans as you ride him, the slap of skin on skin as you edge closer and closer to your orgasm— but when you tilt your face back and your eyes slip shut one of his hands grips your chin and pulls your head forward.

“Eyes on me.” He’s slowed his ruthless pace, staring into your eyes as he rolls his hips fluidly against yours. “I want to look at me when you cum around my cock.”

“J-Jimin,” you hiccup, and he continues to watch your face as he thrusts into you again— your mouth falls open as your body jolts forward in his lap, but you keep your eyes locked on his. “Jimin, I’m so close,” you say, and he responds with a particularly hard drive upwards. One of your hands drops from his shoulder to rub at your clit, fingers desperate as you circle the bundle of nerves in time with the motion of Jimin’s hips, and you know you’re so close to your peak— a few more presses of his cock into you and you’re gone, pleasure sparking through you as you cum and tighten around him, walls rippling against his cock. You cry out, body tensing as you lean into the sensation, shuddering at how much wetter you grow, flushing out of you onto Jimin’s still-hard erection.

Your eyes widen when he doesn��t stop moving. You’re being thrown into oversensitivity, writhing as Jimin continues to pump his hard length into you, but he knows you can take it, drawing multiple orgasms out of you with his fingers and tongue; your hand falls away from your sensitive pearl as Jimin keeps you bouncing in his lap, each deep push into you more than enough to draw out the pleasure from your first orgasm, sobbing in a gasping breath each time he breaches you again. You do your best to match his pace, and you can tell that he’s close, his rhythm starting to falter as the noises slipping past his lips grow more guttural. All his usual sophistication is completely gone as he chases his own release, but he’s still elegant, still gorgeous— it’s the shimmer of sweat at his temples from his exertions and the growing heat in the car, the motion of his body as he rolls his hips, the beautiful dark of his eyes and the kiss-swollen flush to his already full lips. Park Jimin is so utterly overwhelming, and somehow, in some way, he’s yours, and you’re blindsided by your second orgasm, the realisation throwing you into more waves of pleasure as your body goes tense again and you grind down into Jimin with a drawn out moan.

Jimin’s hips stutter. He’s clearly as surprised as you at the fact you’ve come again so soon, but then his eyes fall shut as he grits his teeth after one particularly tight clench of your pussy and he’s cumming too. He empties himself inside you, hot cum painting your insides with each twitch of his cock as you press closer to him, bodies locked together. He chases each wave of his cum with a thrust, pushing as deep into you as he can,  the last, weaker ripples of your own orgasm drawing the evidence of his pleasure further inside you until he finally stills, hips flush.

You’re both panting as you come down from your highs, your muscles protesting in the uncomfortable position you’re keeping them in, as cramped as you are- but you don’t want to separate from Jimin, and he seems to feel the same, grip sliding from your waist to circle his arms around you and pull you impossibly closer. He keeps you close as he helps lift you upwards, his cock sliding out of you; you clench as tight as you can but not before a dribble of his cum drips out of you and runs down his softening length, and you shiver at the sensation of that warmth as Jimin sets you gently back down in his lap before settling against you.

His head is nestled against your chest, hair tickling your neck and under your chin. All the lust from your fucking feels like it’s slowly ebbing away, and you’re left with tenderness instead, your fingers scratching lightly through the shorter hair at the nape of Jimin’s neck in a manner that’s more affectionate than it probably should be; this is just physical, it’s all physical, but you like Jimin so much that you can’t help but let that adoration shine through right now. If he says anything about it afterwards you can just blame it on the post orgasm glow. It’s fine. This is fine. He doesn’t need to know.

Eventually Jimin pulls his head away and you lean back so that he can look up at you. You’re stunned by how unguarded his expression is, how warm his eyes are. (He looks how you feel.)

“My baby,” he murmurs, and you smile.

“Jiminie.” A giggle slips out of you as Jimin’s hands cup your face, touch so light it’s ticklish. “Say it again.”

“My baby,” he repeats, fond, but then the warmth fades from his face and his expression becomes serious. “Y/n. Do you want this?”

“Hm?” You make a little noise of confusion. “Want what? You? Of course. Isn’t that obvious? I thought the fact that we just fucked would have been a giveaway.”

Normally he would have laughed at this, you know he would have, but his face stays level. He draws a thumb down the side of your face, and you turn into the touch. “Is that all you want? Just to fuck?”

Your eyes widen as they flick over his face, the implication behind his words. “What?”

“Do you know how much it killed me to watch Hoseok step in for you? It should have been me.” Jimin’s frowning, and you hate that expression, hate the anger on his face that he has directed towards himself. “I don’t want to stand by and pretend like you don’t mean anything to me. I don’t want to have to keep sneaking around and acting like I don’t want you. I want everyone to know that you’re mine and I’m yours, that they shouldn’t dare to try and put their hands on you.”

“Jimin,” you breathe. “Are you… are you saying you want to make this official? You want to be my boyfriend?” You run a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, looking him in the eye even though you feel oddly vulnerable. “You want that?”

“Yes.” He lets you continue to fiddle with his hair, rhythmically combing it away from his forehead with your fingers. “Do you?”

You sigh as you go boneless against him. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something more,” you admit, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, uncharacteristically shy. “I think I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, even though I thought you were a threat.”

Jimin stills at your confession and then laughs. “Because I’m so gorgeous?”

“And so humble, too,” you say, before pulling back to kiss his forehead, and then his nose, and then his lips. He smiles so wide his eyes squeeze shut. “Oh, keep smiling like that, you’re so cute when you smile like that.”

He keeps smiling like that as you kiss him again. He’s still smiling once you’ve redressed, even though you keep whining about your leg muscles cramping from how you’ve been curled into his lap; you lean against the door as you sit in his passenger seat and have your legs kicked over the centre console of his car so that he can massage your thighs, so maybe you’re exaggerating your complaints so that Jimin keeps his hands on you, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “I’ve been watching you from the very beginning, too,” Jimin says, and you kick your foot lightly in his grasp.

“That’s rivalry, babe,” you tease, and giggle when he catches your foot and holds it still. “Of course you’ve been watching me, you had to know what the competition was up to.”

“I wanted to bend you over the hood of your pretty little car from the second I heard you open that smart mouth of yours,” he says, and looks pleased when he feels how you shiver under his touch.

“You can do that whenever you’d like, now,” you say. You draw your legs back so that you can shift forwards and lean over the centre console, putting your fingers under Jimin’s chin so that you can plant a small kiss on his lips. “Boyfriend privileges.”

If someone had told you, back when you’d first met Park Jimin, that you’d end up like this, you would have laughed in their face and called them ridiculous. But now when he smiles up at you in a way that’s utterly open and sweet, completely at odds to how he presents himself on the circuit, it just feels natural. Like you’ve been drifting towards this moment from the second you’d locked eyes and shaken hands, rivals to lovers to partners, blending all those different facets into one; like it was inevitable from the start.

“Does that mean I can kiss you in public?” Jimin asks, and you kiss him again, letting it linger this time, sucking his plush bottom lip into your mouth and nipping lightly at it before pulling your head back.

“Baby, I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

--

The next time you meet at Namsan, Jimin’s dyed his hair. It’s no longer honey blond, and instead it’s baby pink, a soft pastel shade that of course looks beautiful on him, not to mention—

“You dyed your hair the same colour as my jacket,” you say, voice faint.

“Surprise, sweet thing.” This time when Jimin smiles it’s wide and open, ignoring the fact you’re about to race each other, ignoring the other drivers on the track, ignoring the crowd of onlookers; he only has eyes for you. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like— Park Jimin, I’m going to fuck your brains out after this race is over,” you say. “But right now I demand that you kiss me before I lose my mind.”

You end up kissing him against the side of your Pontiac, sucking on his tongue in a way that’s utterly lewd and scandalous, neither of you paying attention to shocked reactions it causes.

“Get a room,” Jungkook hollers, and Jimin laughs into your mouth as you flip him the bird.

--

[you can read the second part here!]

[mellowswriting]

Sweet but Fierce S/O

**some of these are more blurbs than headcanons... what can I say, it got away from me

Mando: 

The duality is something Mando sees often with you, and he can’t deny that he loves it. You aren’t just sweet and soft with him, an experienced bounty hunter who by definition was the opposite of soft, but you were so good with the Child. You could get him to sleep like you had cast a spell over him, fed and played and talked with him as if you could actually understand his babbling. Soft and sweet wasn’t something Mando saw often in his life and now he can’t get enough of it.

But Mando is familiar with fierce, and seeing the way you protect the Child and his beskar-clad father? It honestly turns him on beyond comprehension. How can the same hands that provide comfort and care so readily also viciously break the bones in the wrist of someone unfortunate enough to have made a grab for the Child? How can the same hands that make warm, delicious food for your little clan (a habit you picked up after balking at Mando’s tendency to survive solely on ration bars) also steadily hold a blaster to the temple of an idiot who tried to remove Mando’s helmet?

As a Mandalorian, he is so used to the world being black and white, either or. Every bit of you is refreshing to him - the considerate gestures, the soothing touches, the biting need to protect those you love. It’s a precious quality. 

It’s also incredibly attractive. Mandalorian culture is based in caring for and protecting children, so seeing you so fiercely loving?? Basically it makes him want to rail you into oblivion, but that’s neither here nor there. 

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales:

Frankie could use a little sweetness in his life. It’s been a tough time, coming back from all that shit that went down in South America. He was closer than ever with the boys of course, but something was missing. He needed something more. So when Pope introduced you to him at his barbeque, Frankie was beyond interested.

It was a whirlwind, falling in love with you. You changed his life in the best ways; taught him which yoga poses would help with his achy back, filled his house with soft blankets and delicious coffees, listened to him ramble on as he drove. And the way you talked about your work, your career? It’s enamoring. 

Your work is how he gets to see that fierce side. The two of you were out to lunch when your phone rang - it was one of your clients, apparently dealing with some sort of crisis. Frankie couldn’t deny you when you asked him to drive you to her home, especially since he had driven you to the small restaurant. Frankie leans against his car door as you go up to her house. 

Apparently her landlord was illegally trying to evict her. You have no issue getting in his face and telling him with a terrifying kind of calm that you have no issue calling the police and your company’s lawyers. You’ll have him buried in litigation and fines for the next decade if he doesn’t stop being a greedy piece of shit and go about his day elsewhere. If that wasn’t enough to have Frankie wide eyed (and drooling just a bit tbh), you seem to fall right back into your sweet self as you calm your client and reassure her that all will be fine. 

Hell, maybe Frankie could use a little spitfire in his life, too.

Javier Peña:

How? Just. How?

Javier doesn't understand how you've managed to be so sweet when surrounded by the shit you both worked with everyday. Your eyes are so bright and soft, your smiles easy and pure, every gesture full of unwavering kindness. Working in admin meant you saw all of the reports, all of the gruesome pictures of the aftermath of Escobar’s men. So again: how?

Christ, you always offer to get coffees for him and Murphy on those endlessly long days where every lead seems to fizzle out and he wants nothing more than to put his hand through a wall. Your presence is a bright spot in the office, even when the rain clouds hang heavy around his head. 

Javier seeks you out on those bad days. It isn’t intentional - usually, at least. He’ll tell Murphy he needs to go for a walk before he starts throwing things and will find himself at your desk with you looking up at him with those big, soft eyes and asking if you can help at all. If only he had the words to tell you that your presence was helpful in and of itself. 

Eventually Murphy gets onto him about it, tells him to just ask you out already because he’s tired of the longing. So Javi bucks up and makes his way to your desk with a surprising amount of nerves in his stomach. Fuck, how long had it been since he asked someone on an actual date and not just out to drinks as a prelude to fucking?

The sight of Agent Buchanan perched slightly on the edge of your desk gives him pause. The man is obviously laying on the charm and Javi is about to turn on his heel when he notices how uncomfortable you look. Javi’s eyes narrow because seriously? This dude is gonna fuck with the one literal ray of sunshine in the office? Buchanan leans forward and places his hand on your thigh and that’s when Javier is marching forward to break his spine in fucking half…

Before he can even get to you, you slip your fingers under his and give him that soft, sweet smile… and Buchanan’s middle finger is shoved back at a vicious angle. Over his pained sounds, Javier can hear the anger in your voice. “I said no thank you, asshole.”

Holy fuck. If Javier was interested before, he’s downright obsessed now. 

And as always, the honorable mention of Javier’s innocence kink. 

Ezra: 

At first Ezra thinks it's some sort of bluff, the charming and easygoing nature you portrayed. When you came across him in the Green wounded and in dire need of a new filter and probably a meal or two, you just… helped him. His very own partner left him for dead, and here you were, offering him a lifeline without expecting anything in return.

Yeah, no. That’s not something that happens, especially not in the Green.

He isn’t afraid to call you on it, either. This man is straight and to the point in every aspect of his life, might as well do the same in his death instead of getting jerked around. But you just… grinned, all conspiratorial, and whispered, “I’m actually just using you for good karma. This is a selfish act, don’t worry.” 

Huh.

It takes Ezra a moment to be assured that you aren’t playing some kind of long con as you nurse him back to health. You still clean his wounds and force him to take medication to help his lungs recover from the toxic air with confidence and ease despite his untrusting looks. Once he gets over his fears, there’s no getting rid of him. Ezra likes you. He likes the sweetness, the gentle touches. That’s why he offers you his partnership and beams when you accept.

Besides simply liking you, your kindness is a rarity that sparks a deep need in Ezra to keep you safe, protected. The idea of you harvesting on your own with no one to watch your back makes him feel sick to his stomach.

It’s the third day he’s out harvesting with you that he realizes you absolutely do not need his protection. You hear the duo approaching before Ezra does and immediately shove him into the raised, gnarled roots behind a tree - and the shot that would’ve caught him in the chest flies harmlessly past. Before Ezra can tell you to stay put and let him handle it, you’re scrambling out from behind the tree and he can hear the sound of your thrower discharging and a body crumpling to the ground. 

Ezra shoots out to help but you’re trying to wrestle the other man to the ground and Kevva damnit, he can’t get a clear shot with all that writhing about. Just as he goes to jump into the mix, whatever hold you have on the man straightens his arm out behind his back in a harsh, unforgiving line. The man’s thrower slips from his incapacitated hand and the sight of you snatching up midair and firing it right through his helmet has to be the most erotic thing Ezra has ever seen.

You can expect this man to wax poetic about the twofold of your personality for hours. Goes on and on about how he loves seeing the different ways you light up: in passion, in pleasure, in anger. It’s downright titillating. 

Marcus Pike:

Working with you gives leaves Marcus in the perfect position to see both sides. You’re so compassionate with the victims as you guide them through the legal processes but you also look ridiculously hot with a gun in your hand. Or while you pull on your bulletproof vest. Or when you’re strapping a holster to your thigh.

What can he say, Marcus can’t get enough of you either way. 

He loves when you give him that grateful smile when he brings you a coffee. The shoulder rubs you give him when he’s been sitting at his desk for too long leave him hazy with a mix of love and pleasure. The way you open your arms up for him to crawl into bed, still half asleep but still wanting him against you… it was pure heaven. 

Marcus also loves the hard edge in your voice when you’re interrogating a suspect. He loves the fire in your eyes when he wraps a hand around your throat and growls out exactly what he’s going to do to you, that bratty energy radiating off you and filling him with the need to break you down until he gets to see the pretty, begging glimmer of his sweet little thing again. 

Max Phillips:

Max is the kind of man who loves having a pretty, wide eyed thing beneath him, watching their face morph into that surprised pleasure. That’s exactly what he’s gonna get from you, too. He just knows it.

You’re the kind of person everyone loves working with, always offering a smile and kind words throughout the day. You work so hard and so diligently, that work ethic is something that leaves you offering your assistance when you’ve finished up before closing time. Max thrives on those moments where you peek into his office and ask if there’s anything he needs - maybe a coffee or some help with some paperwork. 

One day he decides, fuck it. Throws caution to the wind because hey, this is Max fucking Phillips we’re talking about here. So he waves you in when you pop by, lets you sit in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk, and whispers “You can help by bending that pretty little ass over my desk.”, his hands braced on either armrest. 

The last thing Max expects is a harsh smack across his face. He stumbles back, eyes wide as you stand and glare at him. “Go fuck yourself, Phillips.” 

Okay, yeah. He deserved that. The great thing about him, though? Max also loves the chase. And what could be better than slowly but surely convincing you that the best thing for you is letting him rail you into oblivion? 

Pero Tovar:

Before he sees that fierce side of you, Pero keeps his distance. He’s a sellsword for god’s sake, he feels he has no business around such softness. He’ll hurt you, he’s sure of it. But that doesn’t stop him from looking. Pero often sees you in the market and every time, you take his breath away. You could usually be found aiding an elder in gathering their shopping into their carts or kneeling down to speak with the local children running amok.

As a man who spent his life surrounded by battle and hardship, it was a nice change.

It wasn’t long until he caught your eye, and Pero floundered. He didn’t know what to do with that first small gesture - he just stared at you when you offered him a small bundle of cheeses and meat to aid him on his two month long journey he was about to set off on. Of course he later cursed himself for the stunned silence he offered in response to your well wishes and the small wave you gave before you left him standing like a fool next to his horse. 

Pero would thank you properly when he returned, that was the resolve he came to while away. You deserved to hear the words at the very least. He takes a moment to clean up before he sets out to find you, not wanting you to see him covered in grime, and as always, he spots you within moments of entering the village. Except something is… off. Your face through the shop window lacks it’s usual brightness, your eyebrows pinched together, something akin to fear replacing the brightness your eyes usually held. That’s when Pero realizes there’s a man holding a dagger to the shopkeeper and demanding the man's coin. 

By the time Pero has his own dagger in hand and shoves through the door, the man is already crumpling to the ground from the harsh kick you landed at the back of his knee. Pero watches in  awe as you take advantage of his confusion to snatch the blade from his hand and point it at him with your foot pressed firm to his back. 

Despite just how amazing you look like that, Pero takes over quickly, wanting you out of harm’s way immediately. The assailant is taken care of after a small struggle and when you rush towards him to make sure he isn’t hurt, a fire lights in his belly. As you fret over him, your soft hands searching for any harm to his scarred, calloused skin, Pero knows. He’s found his person, he can feel it in his gut, deep in his bones. 

[yandere-sins]

The Fox Wedding - Prologue I

Summary: You are to marry the fox spirit Kita Shinsuke after you accidentally agreed to become his wife by signing the deed to your new home. A contract is a contract, he says, but is there more to this marriage than you know? Will you be whisked away by one of the foxy twins instead, or have to marry Kita after all? Can you be with a creature that only seems tender on the surface, or will you try to run even if it might cost you your life? Choose your route carefully, you never know what these foxes are up to!

Characters: Kitsune!Kita Shinsuke, Kitsune!Miya Atsumu, Kitsune!Miya Osamu, Kitsune!Suna Rintarou, afab!Reader

Rating: Explicit Warnings for this chapter: Yandere, Kidnapping, Forced/Unhealthy Relationships

a/n: Welcome to my new series! I’ve been carrying the starts of this idea around for a while now, but while I was doing commissions it really began to spread it’s roots, so here we are! You can, of course, read every chapter that will come out, or choose your ‘route’ from the ones available after they are all finished (; Please mind the specific warnings for each chapter, as they will vary. Here’s the prologue, please enjoy and leave me a comment what you thought about it! ♥

There was no use in screaming and crying, only a few annoyed sighs you heard from the guard on top of the staircase leading outside. No matter how hard you banged on the bars, yelled for someone to release you, or sobbed into your hands, no one came to your aid, having decided to let you have your ‘temper tantrum’ down here alone. What an inhuman way to keep you, in a moldy, make-shift cell, underground, with only a bucket for your needs and a - stolen - bottle of water. 

“If we’re lucky, you’ll lose a few pounds before the wedding,” they said, bringing their long kimono sleeves to their faces to hide the ill-willed smirks behind them. But that was the least terrible thing the foxes appearing as human women had done to you so far.

Walking back from the bars to the small window, you stepped onto the single chair in your cell to look outside. Occasionally, you heard voices echoing from the buildings around you. The wind swayed the tall grasses covering every inch of the small village, aside from that, everything seemed abandoned. Roofs you could see had holes, there were no streets with cars or rails with trains nearby. The only thing you knew was there were the animals. The bugs in the grass, the deers in the forest, and the foxes in the village.

Crouching off the chair, you sat down, deflated, scared, cold. Not even your pullover could keep you warm, and you shivered, rubbing your hands against each other and blowing air on them in an attempt to warm up. But it was an effort in vain, you just tried to trick your mind into doing anything. Anything, besides freaking out. 

You had every right to be unnerved. It wasn’t every day that some strange man with perky fox ears and a fluffy tail swaying left to right appeared in front of you, announcing you were to become his wife. Actually, the chances of that to happen were so low, you couldn’t even speak of it as a common occurrence at all. He introduced himself, but no matter how hard you tried to remember, the name ‘Kita Shinsuke’ wasn’t one you were familiar with. As absurd as it sounded, you really tried to use logic on a person that was beyond any kind of human reason in the first place.

For the first few seconds, you thought you had actually made a promise to marry this man. Perhaps by accident, maybe drunk? But the longer you thought about it, the clearer you realized that there was no such thing as accidentally accepting a marriage proposal. However, by that time, you had already let him into your newly bought home, served him tea, and questioned his announcement. 

“It’s in the contract,” he had explained, softly, no immediate expression on his face. You couldn’t tell if his voice sounded upset or amused. Everything about him was so relaxed and indifferent, he made the situation seem almost laughable easy. “You agreed to be my wife when you bought the land.”

That was ridiculous. Even you knew there had been no such agreement, and yet, you still tried to find your contract, unable to discern it from all the other documents you hadn’t yet sorted in after just moving into this house two days ago. Much to your surprise, it had been Kita who helped you find what you were looking for, all the other papers seemingly flying out of his hand’s way as he reached by you to grab the contract from them. The old, parchment-like deed of ownership in his hand made you realize for the first time how odd the features of this man were. Fingers as pristine as a child, yet, with sharp, pointy claws instead of nails on them. Not to count the ears and tail that moved accordingly to his doings.

It also made you realize for the first time how deep in trouble you were as you read over the deed again. 

In a matter of seconds, your life had changed around completely. You saw darkness in front of your eyes every time you tried to focus, your mind becoming dizzy from realizing your name underneath the additional marriage condition listed on the deed. Next thing you knew, he caught you with one arm, and you held on to the soft fabric of his kimono, scared you might lose conscience with your heart both setting out and raising your blood pressure way too fast. But that was only just the beginning of your troubles.

You barely remembered everything that happened until you eventually ended up in this cell. Just a lot of denial and refusal, people storming your house and dragging you out. You could still feel their long fingers and sharp claws pressing into your skin, your wrists and digging into your shoulders, and how their mouths formed grins too wide to be human. Screaming and kicking, you didn’t make it easy for them, but with your house so secluded from everyone else’s, you doubted anyone could hear you.

Moving to Japan, starting over, and live the best life you could imagine for yourself, that had been your dream. Now, more than ever, and in a scenario you couldn’t even have imagined in your worst nightmares, it was taking a turn for the worse.

“Kita-san,” you greeted him, your lips shaking as you held back more tears. Looking at him, it was almost unbearable to see him so calm in your distraught presence. “I want to leave--”

“You’re cold,” he noted, unfazed by the words you were about to mutter. Hugging yourself a bit tighter, you couldn’t deny what he was saying. The bars - as sturdy and metal as they seemed when you rattled them before - twisted and turned as his hand approached them, creating a gap big enough for him to step through. Only now, in the dim light of a candle he was holding, did you see the fur blanket over his arm, which he brought to you. Though you dodged away, Kita was unfazed by your fear, letting the cover fall from his arm and draping it over your shoulder no matter if you wanted him to or not. Admittedly, you were glad to receive a little something to warm up, gripping it with your hands quickly to pull it tighter around you. 

Only when you were done shivering, you noticed his hand hadn’t vanished, picking at the part around your neck. With a flinch, you felt his cold fingers dig beneath your hair, pulling it out from under the fur and adjusting the neck properly. It was uncomfortable to have him touch you so casually, perhaps more like a parent would than a stranger who called himself your fiance, but you had to admit it was warmer this way.

“Do you want to marry?” you asked him quietly, a bold question perhaps, but what else was there to talk about? His hand halted, laying down on your shoulder gently, yet you felt almost as if this was a simplified neck hold like you’d do with a cat or dog if they misbehaved. “There’s no use questioning what we want or not. We have a contract, and you signed it. That’s why we are marrying.”

There was a logic to the way he was speaking, yet his words haunted you. Contract here, contract there, what did it matter when this was about marriage? An act of love and partnership? Was this what people called ‘settling for someone’? He couldn’t be seriously wanting to go through with marrying a total stranger just because of a contract, right?

“But I don’t love you! I don’t even know you!” Turning to him, you regretted searching for eye contact with this man, his eyes being just as unnerving as his whole demeanor. Especially now that they seemed to be lit even without the candlelight reflecting in them. Almost as scary was the deep breath that he took after you said what was on your tongue for too long, and you turned away again, not expecting an answer from him. Shrugging off the blanket, you mumbled, “I don’t want to marry you…”

Before it could leave your shoulder, Kita caught it, placing it back where he thought it belonged, and proceeded to make sure it sat right again. This time, the tugs on your hair were a bit rougher, and one of his fingers even scratched you, which you noted briefly with a whine. Kita rounded you, hand falling from your shoulder to the front of your neck, driving up your throat with its claws until it reached your chin, and lifting it, he made you look back into his eyes, despite the tears collecting in yours falling from your cheeks and wetting his hand too.

“My family wants us to marry, and I care about my family.” 

He dragged his hand up your cheek, wiping the tears collecting in your eye with his thumb before leaning down to give your forehead a short kiss. “And now you’re my family too, so I care about you. Keep the fur on, I don’t want my wife to be sick on our wedding day, and then sleep until you’re woken up.”

“How can you care for me if you don’t even know me?” you sobbed, lowering your eyes, unable to keep looking at him. 

“Who said I don’t?”

Ears peaking up, you held your breath, trying to listen if he said anything more. But Kita didn’t care to explain until you finally looked up again, expecting an explanation that you feared he wouldn’t give you. “The ways of the gods are unfathomable, but that doesn’t mean everything that happens is without reason. We met before, [Name], even if I’m afraid you don’t remember.”

For a split second, and perhaps, for the first time that you met him, you saw his brows furrow slightly as he said the last words, his hand falling from your face, as he turned towards the exit, his feet not making any sounds as he stepped away from you. “What do you mean?” you mumbled after him, his back now illuminated by the white moonlight coming through your cell’s window. 

“Who are you?” you kept asking, standing up, barely able to hold on to the fur as you chased after him. However, the moment he stepped through the opening in the bars, they closed rapidly, keeping you from following him outside. All you could do was grip the cold iron with your hands, as Kita turned around briefly. “What are you?” You wished he’d answer you, at least now, at least before this whole ordeal was about to go down. Answer all questions, or even just one, so you could tame those raging feelings of confusion and fear inside of you. 

But instead, he merely put his free hand next to yours, fingers laying down on your wrist for a moment before they patted down your arm, telling you to let go of the bars. Instead, he caught your hand, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the cold knuckles tenderly. 

The candlelight vanished as a cold draft filled the air, coming from above the stairs. “Kita-sama?” an unknown voice asked, and you shied away as all you heard was a short growl in return. However, he held your hand tightly in his, not letting go even when the door seemed to fall shut quickly.

“I’m your husband,” were his last words before he finally let go of you, taking his quiet, barely noticeable leave.

Even when you assumed he was gone, you couldn’t find a calm second to collect your thoughts, the questions and lost answers working you up endlessly. You wished for some clarity, a miracle, or preferable even - an explanation. 

But your night was far from over, even if there might be even more questions than answers awaiting you.

➤ [Move forward to Prologue II]

[akiraink-no]

Empires SMP-Spirts/Fae AU

Hey! So I was watching Shubble’s stream(right after her first episode and as she was playing, I got some ideas for the Empires SMP!  Note: I haven’t watched everyone’s episodes on Empires, but I highly suggest that you check them all out. Pearl and Gem’s videos on Empires are some of my favorites, but I also love Shubble, Scott, fWhip, and Pixlriffs.

Initial World-building:  I like to think that the Empires SMP is a story of spirits/fae/royal courts. For example some of the players would be spirits or fae creatures. (Think Scott, Shubble, Jimmy?? And maybe Pixl), and the rest would be normal, human players that are royals. (Again, fWhip, Mythical, Pearl, Katherine, Joey, Gem, etc…)  I’ll start with the fae creatures first and if I’m up to it, I’ll post my ideas for the others. 

Scott Smajor: Ice/Wind

So in my head, I like to think that Scott is a fae creature from the court of ice and wind. (Mostly because ice powers are cool and because he’s in a mountain). He has explicitly stated that he’s building in an elven sort of style, which can still match with him being from a fae court. 

Personality: 

I would like to say he’s cold, calculating, and even ruthless or cruel at times (He murdered Gem after she died, guys, come on). He sees the people around him as assets that can help him, but he doesn’t form a real connection with any of them just yet. Everything is very strict and formal around him

I like to think that because wind spirits are pretty mischievous and free spirited, he has a softer side to him as well. He likes to pull pranks, but doesn’t know when too far is too far. His pranks can border on cruel and sometimes insensitive, but it’s because wind/ice spirits are probably the most detached from the other spirits

Appearance:

As for his appearance, I’m taking his skin as part of my inspiration. I like the idea of him in whites, blues, golds, and silvers. He has a crown of diamond shards that mimic ice and is held together with silver and gold that mimic branches. His robes are mostly white(representing snow) and there would be a trim of blue for the skies above his lands. He might have either arm bands, bracelets, or rings that are made of silver or gold(representing the times when the sun or moon hits the snow). 

Powers(?)

Because Scott is an ice/wind spirit, I think it would be cool if parts of him would reflect that. Maybe his skin is super pale and cold to the touch. Maybe he doesn’t wear furry coats because he doesn’t get cold. 

The air around him gets colder when he’s angry or stressed, and if he gets really pissed, he could make it start to snow around him. When he’s sad, ice starts to freeze the ground under his feet or plants around him. Maybe it gets windy when he’s happy or dies down when something shocks him

I also think it’d be cool if he had like… frost walker(?) on his feet. Like the water freezes should he get too close and he doesn’t even realize it until someone points it out. It makes travel easy for him, but also an annoyance when he is doing a build or getting a bucket of water

Shubble: Nature/Decay

So Shubble’s kingdom/empire is called the Undergrowth. When I think of that, I think of mushrooms, soil, roots, and trees. It’s pretty close to what she’s planning right now. Her style of building gives me very cottage core vibes that’s very overgrown. I like to think that she’s a nature spirit because she has said that nature provides and that just seems like a very spirit thing to say. 

So I know I said decay, but when it comes to decay, it has an interesting look to everyone. Sometimes it’s bleached bones and withered grass, sometimes it’s spongy soil and mushrooms. I like to think that Shubble is the kinder side to decay(That’s saved for someone else). Something that must happen for the cycle of life to continue, she isn’t ruthless or cruel, she’s just trying to help the earth along.

Personality: 

Shubble would be very kind, sweet, and overall very trusting. That doesn’t mean she’s stupid or naive, it just means she’s willing to be kind to people first and give them chances to show their kindness. (I spent a long time in her chat during her streams and… yeah, wholesome energy). 

She doesn’t see the people around her as assets and rather hopes to make friends rather than enemies. I won’t say she forms connections quickly(mostly because I haven’t seen her interact with others just yet). But she is very trusting. (remember fWhips potatoes and Pearl’s shovel). During her stream after her first episode aired, she talked about hoping to be friends with Katherine from House Blossom and is aiming to stay as peaceful as possible during the time of the server. 

Appearance: 

So I haven’t seen her skin yet(mostly because this is coming out before we see it.) But she’s using a lot of browns, yellows, greens, and reds. I would like to say that her outfit would sort of reflect that. Instead of a crown of precious gems and metals, it’s maybe a crown of twigs, branches, leaves, and maybe some smaller mushrooms. (Antlers would be cool, so… ) 

I don’t think a dress would work, since she does a lot of work around her base. (Her stream was having her working with trees, leaves, and mining), so I think maybe a pair of overalls (maybe a brown?), a yellow/red undershirt and maybe a dark green jacket. Her outfit would be perfect for her to get on her hands and knees and dig into the earth(Gardener! Shubble). 

Powers:

I feel like because Shubble has this overall sweet and kind energy, I think mushrooms would grow from around her feet. Maybe she can sense when things are about to pass on and tries to make them as comfortable as possible. She can communicate with the earth below her(again, nature provides), and can speak with the animals to some degree

I would like to see spore blossoms react to her. Since spores are also the seeds for mushrooms, it’d just make sense in my head. Maybe she can coax plants to bloom or grow slightly faster around her if she’s happy. Maybe when she’s sad, things start to wilt or shrivel up. Her anger makes things die or age rapidly around her. Her touch can either harm or heal. Knitting the body’s wounds or it could tear into them, causing them agony. 

Jimmy: Ghosts/Decay

I like to think that maybe Jimmy started out human. Or maybe he’s half human. Like one of his parents was human and the other was a fae. (It would certainly explain his skin) 

Personality:

So I haven’t watched a lot of Jimmy, but I wanted to get this off my chest because it’s been in my head for a while now. I think Jimmy, like Shubble, is trusting. Not as much as Shubble, but he does aim for friendship first and then enemy second. So, maybe he’s an opportunist instead. 

Another thing that he might be is petty or spiteful(see his and Sausage’s argument over a music disc). Another ruler might negotiate or bargain their way to what they want, but I think that either Jimmy is pretty young(for fae standards) or his mixed bloodline makes it hard for him to act with a clearer head. It’s pretty clear that he wants others to take him seriously, but at the same time, he can act very impulsive and rashly(See all of 3rd life). 

Appearance: 

It’s pretty clear that Jimmy has that green tinge to his skin. But I think he would have colours such as green(for obvious reasons), browns, and maybe some greys(for clay in the swamp). He wouldn’t have a crown, instead, he’d have a set of gills on each side of his neck. Since I like to think that he swims around in the swamp to talk to the cod in his kingdom. 

For more formal events, he might have a brown cloak and pants with a rich green tunic. He doesn’t look the most royal, but maybe that’s okay because he doesn’t want to be seen as super royal to the rest of his kingdom. Maybe he feels like if he appears to be too royal, the people of his kingdom wouldn’t approach him. 

Powers: 

So Jimmy’s was pretty difficult. Swamps aren’t like ice and wind or nature. But he is a spirit of decay. A less kind version of decay, but not overall cruel. Maybe his decay strikes faster than Shubbles. Where she is understanding and aims to help those along, Jimmy is buried with memories, sunken bodies, and ghostly apparitions. 

So maybe he can see the dead, ghosts who haven’t passed on and simply wander his empire. His eyes glow a faint green whenever he talks to them and tries to aid them to move on to the afterlife.When he’s happy, he shines in the dark backdrop of the swamp, drawing more of the dead, eager to pass on. 

Maybe his anger results in ghostly wails or being dragged into the soft earth around his home. His sadness draws more of the dead to his area, even if they didn’t die there. His pain and grief is like a blackhole, pulling souls in and forcing them to stick around, stuck in his orbit. Maybe a certain few stayed because he was the first one who spoke to them, who reached out to them, who made an effort. 

Pixlriffs:Time/Death

So Pixlriffs has said that he wants to watch over the others deaths with his vigil and he lives in a desert, so I thought they would work with each other. When you think of time, you think of hourglasses, they have sand so that’s the connection I made. 

Personality: 

So Pix has shown an unhinged side to his overall calm and collected composure.(Example, Episode Ten, I think?) His: I sent five people to their deaths and they granted me wings(paraphrased) line is both chilling and is also perfect for a spirit of time/death. 

He, like Scott, is a bit disconnected from the others. Not by accident or nature, but by choice. As a spirit of time and death, he sees the clocks above everyone’s heads, knowing when their last breaths will be taken and when those clocks finally stop. 

It’s not that he’s apathetic to his fellow kings and queens, but rather he is scared. He doesn’t want to form connections only to see them disappear like a drop of sand in a desert. He wishes to honour the people who have weaseled their way into his heart. So he keeps the vigil to count their deaths and remind them that they will not be forgotten. Pixl is a watcher, an overseer that is afraid of the day his friends will pass on and leave him alone. 

Appearance:

The man calls himself the copper king, so I have to have those shades of copper in his outfits somewhere. Teal, brown(for bronze), and those shades between (for copper)are very good(both in builds and on clothes). I also think that pale yellow(representing the sand) is also a nice touch and green for his lush gardens is also a wonderful tone. 

He has a cape that is mostly teal(I’m thinking the shift between the third to final stage) with a bronze belt. The pale yellow would be his shirt and his pants would be a darker brown. Matching his boots. 

I think he would have a crown with pale yellow crystals(yellow zircon or topaz) with bronze wires making up the rest of the crown. Maybe there are pieces of turquoise or aquamarine, that would be cool too. 

Powers: 

The man is basically a watcher. He has wings and can see through time. Like I said before, he can see the clocks ticking above the other players’ heads. Seeing how long they have until their last breath. Pixl is equal parts chaotic and calm. So I think he has a good control over his emotions. 

When he’s stressed things start to wilt under his feet(another reason he lives in a desert), in his anger, he can cause death. Maybe he’s just an omen or something that draws in death. (See his end raiding attempts one and two). I like to think that maybe he has the ability to hold flames or make small ones(just for his candles), he isn’t violent or uses them to hurt others. He simply just uses them to light his candles. 

He’s more than capable with his other abilities. 

This is all I have for now. If I decide to do the others, I’ll add a link to this post. I’d appreciate some information or ideas for the other players since I haven’t had the chance to touch down on all of them. If you have any ideas, feel free to send them to me too!

[creativerogues]

Using Myths to Create a Campaign Setting...

So while researching for this Mega-Post (which will probably become one part of many), I’ve found that myths, legends and folklore as a whole is really just a cool thing to read about.

There’s so much creativity and wonder in every myth, and it’s been super fun to find story elements that have persisted all the way to the modern day.

With that said, and wait for it: Making a D&D Setting can be really really tiring.

So, after rediscovering my love of mythology, I thought I’d take a new approach to all this: Using “Comparative Mythology”.

“Wait! What’s Comparative Mythology?” I hear you ask. Well Comparative Mythology is when you compare myths from different cultures and identify all the things they share.

So let’s start this Mega-Post by ending this long-winded intro and getting to the whole point of this: The Common Myths!

The Creation of Mankind from Clay

The creation of man from clay is a thing that recurs throughout a bunch of world religions and mythologies. In this Myth, Mankind is created from dust, clay or earth by a single deity.

In Greek Mythology, Prometheus molded men out of water and earth.

In Egyptian Mythology, one of the several ‘Creator Gods’, called Ptah, is a Potter who fashions the bodies of humans (and some Gods) from clay.

The Theft of Fire

The theft of fire for humanity is another that recurs in many world mythologies. Where a deity, sometimes the deity of earth, the forge, or the deity that actually created Mankind, steals a portion of the Sun or a Magical Heavenly Flame and gives it to humanity so they don’t freeze to death or starve because they can’t cook their food.

Probably the most famous version of this Myth comes from Greek Mythology, where the Titan Prometheus stole the heavenly fire of the gods and gave it to humanity, the thing he created from clay, so they could build their first civilisation.

The Great Flood

Cultures around the world tell stories about a great flood that leaves only one survivor or a group of survivors. Sometimes the Flood is meant to restart the world, defeat a great evil, or as a punishment to Mankind for some known or unknown thing.

In the Hebrew Bible, probably the most famous example of this, God sends down a global flood that wipes out humanity, with only one man surviving and saving the world’s species by taking them aboard a giant boat.

In Greek Mythology, a Myth says that Zeus, Head of the Gods, sent down a great storm to flood the world after people started trying to sacrifice humans to him, which was completely against the Greek Laws of Hospitality and a big ol’ no-no in the eyes of Zeus.

The Dying-And-Rising God

Many Myths feature a God or Goddess who dies somehow and returns to life thanks to the help of the other Gods.

In Egyptian Mythology, Osiris, who was slain by his brother Seth, was brought back to life by his sisters Isis and Nephtys. Osiris eventually became the ‘King of the Dead’ while his Son became ‘King of the Living’, which may have something to do with a Father-like Figure giving power to their Son, which is another theme that pops up in a few cultures…

In Greek Mythology, it’s Adonis, a beautiful man born from his Mother that just so happened to be turned into a tree. But after being left in a Forest by Aphrodite and told to avoid any wild Boars (also known as Ares in disguise), Adonis immediately decided to do the opposite and hunt down the wild Boar (also known as Ares, the God of War). The fight didn’t really go in Adonis’ favour, and after Aphrodite found out, she stormed into the Underworld and demanded her Boyfriend back, and eventually Zeus got involved, deciding to split the Year in two, the warmer months (summer and spring) where Adonis would be with Aphrodite, and the colder months (autumn and winter) where Adonis would go back into the Underworld. This is why Adonis is associated so much with spring, renewal and rebirth.

The Creative Sacrifice

Many cultures have stories about divine figures whose death creates a certain part of reality. 

These myths seem especially common among cultures that are farmers or have agriculture as a major part of their society.

In Norse Mythology, the First Giant, known as Ymir or ‘The Cosmic Giant’ was killed to create the World of Norse Myth.

In Aztec Myth, after Huitzilopochtli kills his sister Coyolxauhqui and his 400 brothers, Coyolxauhqui's severed head becomes the moon, and her 400 dead brothers become the stars in the night sky.

In Greek Mythology, when the many-eyed Giant Argus was slain by Hermes, Argus' eyes were transferred by Hera to the tail of the peacock, hence the beautiful tail feathers of a peacock!

The Seat of the World

The seat of the world is usually noted as a place that sits at the centre of the world and acts as a point of contact between different levels of the universe: Usually Heaven, Earth and the Underworld.

And as a small Sidenote, there’s a LOT of mythologies and world religions that use a giant ‘Cosmic Tree’ to represent the seat of the world, and they usually describe it as “a great tree joining heaven, earth, and the underworld”, with branches that reach the Heavens and whose roots that reach the Underworld.

In Hindu, Jain, and Buddhist Mythology, Mount Meru (also recognised as Sumeru, Sineru or Mahāmeru), is a sacred five-peaked mountain, and is considered to be the centre of all universes, both physical and spiritual.

In Norse Mythology, Yggdrasil is an immense mythical cosmic tree that connects the Nine Worlds of Norse Cosmology.

In Greek Mythology, the “Seat of the World” was the City of Delphi, the literal centre of the Greek Mythological World. Delphi was almost always seen as “the belly-button of the world”, with many tales surrounding the famous Oracle of Delphi. You could also consider Mount Olympus to be a sort-of “Seat of the World” too, since that’s the famous place where only the Gods lived...

The Ideal God

This is usually referring to a King, Queen or some kind of Head of a Pantheon, a God to rule the Gods.

Even actual Official D&D Settings do this by having an ‘Overgod’.

In Norse Mythology, Odin is the Leader of the Gods.

In Greek Mythology, Zeus is Head of the Gods, though Hera (his Wife) also has some influence on the Pantheon.

In Roman Mythology, which is extremely similar to Greek Mythology, they have Jupiter as the Head of the Pantheon and King of the Gods.

In Egyptian Mythology, Ra is Head of the Pantheon, though some interpretations vary on his actual name.

And as a side-note, it seems most ‘Head of the Pantheon’ Gods are male with some sort of connection to the Sky, the Sun, or Storms, and are often extremely wise or extremely powerful, usually depicted as extremely ripped and wielding big ol’ stabby weapons...

And weirdly enough, most have some sort of connection to birds, I can’t really find out where that comes from, but it’s cool nonetheless.

The War with the Titans

This is usually the Myth that creates the “Official Pantheon” for a Place’s Religion. The Titans (or sometimes called Primordials, beings that represent chaotic and destructive elements like Fire and Lightning) fight the Gods, sometimes a few Gods die, but the Gods always win.

Again, the most famous version of this Myths is In Greek Mythology, where the Titanomachy was a ten-year series of battles consisting mostly of the Titans fighting the Olympian Gods and their allies. This event is also known as the War of the Titans, Battle of the Titans, Battle of the Gods, or just The Titan War, which is just a cool name in general...

Gargantuan Giants

By “Gargantuan Giants”, I mean Gargantuan compared to Humans, who in most cultures were less than 6 Feet Tall, so sometimes Giants were as short of 8 Feet, and others they are quite literally the size of the Universe…

In Greek Mythology, there’s the myth of Ourion (or more commonly known as ‘Orion’) the Giant, a Huntsman famous for being placed among the stars as the constellation of Orion. There’s also the Hecatonchires, also known as the Hundred-Handed Giants, as well as the Myth of the Cyclopes and a bunch of other Gods and Demigods who are described as “Giant” in size.

In Norse Mythology, there’s dozens of famous giants, also known as Jotuun in some texts. From Surtur, the fire giant that leads his kin into battle during Ragnarok, to the trickster giant Utgard-Loki, famous for annoying the Hel out of Thor and thoroughly embarrassing him in front of all the other giants.

Mythical Dragons and Serpents

Sometimes just large snakes and other times gigantic snakes, legendary snakes and serpent-like creatures appear in the folklore of a bunch of different cultures around the world. And speaking of Dragons, while they vary from region to region, they’re almost always depicted as gargantuan serpentine creatures with four-legs.

Mythical Serpents in Mythology

In Egyptian Mythology, Atum shaped the world thanks to four mythical serpents. Also in Egyptian Mythology is Apophis, a gargantuan mythical serpent that symbolises chaos, who tries to eat the sun every day as part of the Journey of Ra and his Sun-Barge/Sun-Boat.

In Greek Mythology, there’s the Lernaean Hydra, more often known simply as the Hydra, a multi-headed snake monster killed by Heracles as part of his Twelve Labours. There’s also Python, a big ol’ sea snake with the gift of prophecy, that was then promptly killed by a Baby Apollo...

In Aztec Mythology, there’s Quetzalcoatl, a giant feathered serpent (and sometimes a dragon!) characterised as the God of Wind, the Dawn, the Planet Venus, Arts and Crafts, Wisdom and Knowledge.

And another thing, it seems some Myths depict these giant snakes as pets or living weapons used by Kings, Queens or even the Gods to keep their subjects in check.

Dragons in Mythology

In Eastern Cultures and Mythologies, Dragons are usually depicted as wingless, four-legged, serpentine creatures with above-average intelligence and the ability to control rivers, the ocean, the wind and the weather.

In Western Cultures and Mythologies, Dragons are often depicted as savage, winged, horned, four-legged, and capable of breathing fire.

The Myth that founds a Custom

This myth is way more varied than the rest. Many cultures have myths describing the origin of their customs, with most societies often justifying their customs by claiming that the Gods or the Mythical Heroes of their Culture established those customs.

The Curse of Cannibalism 

Human cannibalism features in the myths, folklore, and legends of many cultures and is most often attributed to evil characters, with the idea that consuming human flesh is an evil act that usually transforms the person into a monster of some kind.

In Greek Mythology, there exists the Lamia, a woman who became a child-eating monster after her children were destroyed by Hera after Hera learnt of her husband Zeus’ little “escapades”.

In Native American Myth, there’s the famous Wendigo, a creature (or sometimes depicted as an evil spirit) from folklore, with some sources saying Wendigos are created when a human resorts to cannibalism to survive.

The Hero's Adventure to save their Lover

This is usually a story of three parts: Hero gains a Lover, Lover dies through unforeseen circumstances, and finally the Hero goes on an Adventure (most commonly going to the Underworld) to meet/save/resurrect their Lover.

This Myth can also be known as the “Hero goes to the Underworld to save their Lover” Myth, which is also super common when you look at all the different world cultures.

In an old Babylonian Myth, the Babylonian Goddess Ishtar (Goddess of Love, War and Fertility) gets trapped in the Underworld with the Queen of the Dead after trying to save her husband from the Underworld. But then Asushunamir, a gender-ambiguous individual constructed by Enki (a Babylonian Ocean God), is sent to the Underworld to save Ishtar, so I guess that’s two stories in one?

In Japanese Mythology, Japan has two Creator Deities: Izanagi and Izanami. But after the Birth of Kagi-Tsuchi (the Fire God), Izanami dies. So Izanagi decides to just go on down to the Underworld to get her back. But after lighting a torch in the Underworld when he’s specifically told not to, Izanami is understandably peeved and sends a bunch of monsters after Izanagi to chase him down until Izanagi decides to block the entrance to the Underworld with a giant rock so no monsters get out. Yay?

In Greek Mythology, Orpheus (one of Apollo’s kids) walks on down to the Greek Underworld to chat with Hades and maybe get his dead lover Eurydice back. Hades says “Yeah, sure bro! Just don’t look at her before you two get back to the World of the Living again, okay?” But Orpheus, like an idiot, decides to immediately do the opposite after thinking Hades is tricking him, and Eurydice is dragged back down in the Underworld to stay there forever...

The Sun gets eaten by a Giant Beast

This is usually what Cultures and World Religions use to explain celestial events such as an Eclipse.

In Aztec Mythology, they had a God called Huitzilopochtli (Yay! I spelt it right!) who was their Sun God and God of War and Human Sacrifice.  Huitzilopochtli also had 400 Brothers and one Sister: Coyolxauhqui. After murdering his sister, Coyolxauhqui’s severed head becomes the moon and several of Huitzilopochtli’s brothers become the stars. And now the sun is constantly at risk of being devoured by the night sky and to put this all short: Huitzilopochtli is constantly fighting off the severed head of his sister (The Moon) to stop her eating/murdering the sun and the earth. FUN!

In Norse Mythology, at some point during Ragnarok (the Norse “End of the World” Myth), the sun and moon are eaten, possibly by Fenrir, but definitely by Mythical Wolf of some variety, sources differ.

In Egyptian Mythology, the Egyptians would pray against Apophis (the giant snake in the Underworld) to squash his nightly attempts to eat the sun as it passed through the Underworld.

And as a side-note, this one doesn't have to be a Beast, sometimes the sun is stolen by a thief, or something happens and it's sealed away or just straight up nopes out and disappears for a few days...

Gods named after Planets

It’s right in the name, a lot of Gods are named after Planets, Stars, Constellations and other Celestial Objects.

In Egyptian Mythology, the Gods are actually named after the various Stars and Constellations that can be seen in Egypt’s night sky.

In Roman Mythology, examples include Jupiter, Head of the Pantheon, as well as Mars the God of War, Mercury the God of Merchants, and Venus the Goddess of Love and Beauty, as well as Neptune, Saturn and More!

The Beast to be Released and Kill the World

This is usually a Wolf, Snake, or other Giant Beast that, when the Apocalypse comes, is released from whatever bindings they have and wreak havoc on the Mortal World. Sometimes the Beast is chained away or trapped in the Underworld, but other times they’re just sleeping until the Apocalypse comes knocking…

In Egyptian Mythology, this Beast is known as Apophis, a Giant Snake trapped in the Underworld that tries every day to eat the Sun (and sometimes eat Ra too!) before Apophis is defeated by the powers of Gods and the apocalypse is stopped for another day.

In Norse Mythology, this Beast is Fenrir, a Giant Wolf and Son of the Trickster God Loki. Fenrir is bound by a series of heavy chains, and when Ragnarok (the Norse version of the Apocalypse) comes, Fenrir will break his chains and go on a big ol’ god-killin’ spree!

So there you go! I’m so sorry for having to cut quite a bit of content, since I didn’t want to make this Post a full-blown essay.

If I missed your favourite myth, or forgot to add a detail that you thought was important or cool, I apologise profusely.

The research for this Post was A LOT, and I just want to thank everyone in the Community who helped out and contributed to this thing.

I hope that when you’re building your own D&D Worlds, you can look back at this Post as inspiration for creating a pretty cool and realistic world for your Players to mess around in...

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS Do-S Kyuuketsu VERSUS Ⅲ Vol.5 Shuu VS Yuma [Track 2]

Original title: 在りし日の証

Source: Diabolik Lovers VERSUS III Vol. 5 Shuu VS Yuma [CD not owned by me]

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Toriumi Kousuke & Tatsuhisa Suzuki

Translator’s note: Sly Yuma is the best kind of Yuma. I honestly really love the tension between him and Shuu. They have such a cute past together and a lot of potential to still be good friends despite their vastly different personalities. I feel like they would get a lot out of the friendship though. Yuma could get Shuu to stop sitting on his butt all day while Shuu could teach Yuma a thing or two about thinking before acting, haha.

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5 ll Track 6

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 2: Marks of the Past

The two of you are walking through the forest.

Shuu: ...I’m pretty sure that once we make it past here...Mmh. Seems like I wasn’t wrong.

*Rustle*

Shuu: This tree is still here, huh? ...If I recall correctly there’s an escape route by the root...

*Rustle*

Shuu: Yeah...It should still be useable. ーー Oi, don’t stand there spacing out. Get over here already. Do you want to be left behind in a forest full of monsters?

You ask Shuu if they are going the right way.

Shuu: Haah...? Are you making fun of me? This is Vampire territory. In what world would I get lost?

The two of you continue walking.

*Drip drip drip*

Shuu: ...This place hasn’t changed at all.

You ask if he has been here before.

Shuu: I used to play here as a child, that’s all. ...!

Shuu suddenly comes to a halt.

Shuu: These doodles...

You look at them in confusion.

Shuu: It’s written in this world’s language. I guess you can’t read it, huh?

You ask what it says.

Shuu: I’m pretty sure that back then, he also...

You tilt your head to the side.

Shuu: It’s nothing. More importantly, let’s hurry aーー

He flinches, sensing a presence nearby.

Shuu: Oi, you! Come here!

*Rustle*

Shuu: Shh...! Somebody’s coming!

Approaching footsteps can be heard.

Shuu: ...!! Mukami...Yuma?

Yuma: ...!?

Shuu: What are you doing here...?

Yuma: That’s what I’d like to know! Don’t give me a fuckin’ heart attack!

Shuu: ...Let’s go.

Yuma: Wait!

Yuma grabs hold of his wrist.

Shuu: Don’t touch me!

Yuma: Don’t try and run.

Shuu: I’m not running.

Yuma: Heeh? Then while we’re here together anyway, why don’t we take a lil’ trip down memory lane, huh? ...There happens to be someone here to listen to our stories as well.

Yuma glances over at you.

Shuu: Ridiculous...If that’s what you want to do, suit yourself, but I’m leaving.

Shuu starts walking away.

Yuma: I mean, fine by me. ...But in return, leave this chick behind.

Shuu: ...!?

Yuma: Ya don’t mind, do ya?

Shuu: ...Be my guest.

Yuma: Hah! As to be expected of a lil’ rich kid, you’re quick to understand. Couldn’t be me. ...I mean, in the end, I’m nothin’ but a filthy farm boy. I refuse to let go of what I want, no matter what. ーー Especially when I’m ‘bout to lose it to some aristocrat. Well, I guess that sort of stuff doesn’t matter to Mr. Rich Boy who always has everythin’ go exactly his way.

Shuu: ...Please don’t assume that everything always plays out in my advantage.

Yuma: Hah! Ya tell me.

Shuu: You can only say that...because you don’t about us at all, no?

Yuma: ...Now don’t be mockin’ me. I know ya.

Yuma walks up to Shuu.

Yuma: We were pals in the past ーー Nah, pretty much best buds, no?

He grabs hold of Shuu’s collar.

Yuma: Have ya forgotten ‘bout that already? Doesn’t lookin’ at the words written on this wall bring back any memories?

Shuu: ...!! Don’t tell me...Your memory has...?

Yuma: So it really is true...

Shuu: ...!

Yuma: I’ve only regained fragments of my memories. So I tricked ya into revealin’ the truth.

Shuu: Che...

Yuma: You’ve only got yerself to blame for takin’ the bait. ...Well, I’m sure ya would have much preferred if I never remembered at all. ...I’ve been wantin’ to ask ya this whole time. ‘Bout the fire which broke out in my village that day, for example.

Shuu: ...

You perk up your head.

Yuma: Hehe...You’re curious as well, aren’t ya?

You nod.

Yuma: Come on, tell me. You’ve got somethin’ to tell me, don’t ya? On the day of the fire, what did ya see? What did ya think? We’ve both gathered here, so let’s use the opportunity to get things straight...Shuu.

Shuu: There’s not really...anything I have to tell you.

Yuma: Cut the crap!! ...That side of ya is exactly what pisses me off!! If ya think ya can get away with keepin’ quiet, you’re gravely mistaken! You witnessed the truth with yer very own eyes that day, no!? Then why are ya tryin’ to hide it!?

Shuu: ...Hah. Aren’t you getting the wrong idea here?

*Rustle*

Shuu: I’m not simply remaining silent. I just don’t feel like I need to tell you. Don’t try and act like you know me, when you barely remember anything. It’s annoying...

Yuma: Che...Spare me the bullshit.

You run up to them and try to stop their fight.

Shuu & Yuma: ...!?

Yuma: Oi, don’t butt in.

Yuma: Shut up, keep quiet!

Shuu: Haah...Whatever.

Yuma: Aah!? Hold it! ...You’re fine with this chick bein’ taken away from you!?

Shuu: Go ahead? You’re the one who asked me to leave her behind, remember? Well, one of those ‘rich kids’ you hate so much is being generous enough to lend her to you, so why don’t you happily accept the offering?

Shuu walks away.

Yuma: ...Ugh!

Yuma punches the wall.

*THUD*

Yuma: Fuck...!! I don’t like this one bit...!!

*THUD*

Yuma: Makin’ fun of me like that...! Ugh!

*THUD*

You try and stop Yuma.

Yuma: Don’t stop me! Buzz off...!!

You seem worried about the drawings on the wall being destroyed.

Yuma: The doodles...? Ya really think I give a damn ‘bout what happens to thoー ...Haah...My bad. I lost my temper for a sec there...I guess I’m havin’ trouble bein’ honest with myself as well. ...Altho you wouldn’t say so at present, we were actually reallly close back when we scribbled these.

You ask Yuma what is written on the wall.

Yuma: This was my name when I was still human...and this one’s his. His real name. ...His ‘Vampire name’, in other words, what he is truly called. Don’t ask me ‘bout the details. I can’t read these after all. ...But I’m certain that when we were kids, we both wrote our names on here. Guess ya could say this was like our secret hideout.

You seem surprised.

Yuma: Hard to believe, huh? I don’t remember everythin’, but it’s all too weird to be just some fantasy made up by me. These should be...definite memories of our time spent together.

You ask why the two of them don’t get along at present.

Yuma: We’ve both changed. ...The fire which broke out in my village. And the fact that I became a Vampire. Regardless of my memories being intact or not, the cirumstances are just far too different. I can’t imagine...the two of us will ever get along again. Besides, I don’t think I can ever forgive him for all those years he simply turned a blind eye to everythin’. Right now...He’s nothin’ but a coward runnin’ away from the reality he doesn’t want to accept.

*Rustle*

Yuma: Tsk...Anyway, I don’t know if it’s ‘cause I’ve been reminiscin’ ‘bout the part, but it’s as if my mind is shrouded in a fog, I feel like crap.

You voice your concerns.

Yuma: I’m not that weak, I don’t need ya worryin’ over me. I’m sure I’ll feel better if I just leave this place. ーー Let’s go. I don’t know if it’ll make much difference to ya, but I’m gonna take ya someplace nice.

You seem worried about Shuu.

Yuma: Don’t let it bother ya. He said he doesn’t need ya, remember? ...Come on, follow me.

Yuma grabs hold of your wrist and drags you along.

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー