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c0llisiion · 5 months

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NUMB TO THE FEELING — j.jk

♡pairing : jjk + fem!reader

♡: not proof read, exs, idol!jungkook x idol!reader , fwb kinda? , smut , mutual masturbation - lmk if i missed any!

W/C : 1,162

Pt.2 , Pt.3

A/N : SORRY 4 DISAPPEARING AGAINNNNN! i js got too busy guys 😣😣😣😣 rqs are open! Send in your rqs and prompts ily <33 anyways here is a jk fic i wrote instead of finishing my other jk fic :3

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ MDNI. Please refrain from reading if the topics make you uncomfortable. ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

2 months. Its been 2 months since you broke it off with jungkook. It was all over the news, a hot topic for the k media. ‘BTS’s Jungkook and Y/G/N’s y/n ends 4 year relationship’, was still trending on naver. It happened so quickly. Knets are already placing the blame on you for the breakup, as they view you as a mean rebel idol who breaks hearts and messes around. A face of disgust was plastered on your face as you scroll through the endless amounts of hate comments knets put under the articles.

“Wow I always knew she was a bitch”

“She definitely cheated on him with another idol lol”

“What do you expect when you date a wh*re? Jungkook should have never dated her”

“She ruined his image”

Back and forth, people were calling you degrading names and putting Jungkook in a good light. They said all of this while not knowing a single thing about how your breakup unfolded. It was mutual. You both started getting busy with schedules. That simple. Maybe a few disagreements here and there. Maybe a few trust issues but the main point was it was mutual and you both broke up because of schedules. You got tired of the same comments and decided to turn off your phone but you got a new notification.

baby star candy 🤍

Hey

Tf is he doing at this hour?

Y/n

???

baby star candy 🤍

Is it okay if i come over?

Classic jungkook. Getting straight to the point. You stared at the text for a while not realising that you were leaving him on seen.

My baby star candy 🤍

Helloooooo?????

Its fine if you dont want me to

Y/n

Yes. Quick.

You sent your reply before his second text got to properly load. And there you were. Your phone turned off, biting your nails as you waited for jungkook.

It didn't take him a lot of time. Reaching your place in under 7 minutes and 13 seconds. You heard your doorbell and you immediately rushed to the door. You stood at the door for some time, avoiding the impression that you were eagerly anticipating his arrival.

You opened the door and see the tall bulky black haired man with his calvin klein hoodie and grey shorts. You stared at him before he brought you back to reality by snapping his fingers. You let him in before locking the door. You grabbed him by his wrists and took him upstairs to your room.

He quickly settled in your bed letting out a deep sigh, Relaxing and stretching his limbs out onto the bed. His arm was tucked behind his head as he patted the empty space next to him with half lidded eyes. You rolled your eyes before snuggling with him. Your tv was on and playing a random tv show you put almost an hour ago, forgetting to it turn off. You sighed and relaxed into his arm. The silence was comfortable. Jungkook was playing with the hems of shorts and you with the drawstrings of his shorts. You knew where this would lead to.

His hands started slowly massaging your thighs and ass in a comforting way. Its like he knew you were sad. And he did. “Im sorry” he spoke up. You looked up at him. His eyes were focused on the tv infront. “Im sorry about those comments. I should have said somethin’.” He said finally looking down at you. You shook your head and nuzzled into him closer “dont be. Its not your fault. Tbh i really dont gaf.” He chuckled at your attitude. He always liked your idgaf attitude. That’s what made him ask you out. “So you are not sad?” He asked his hands trailing up your shirt, cold fingers resting under your tits. “Hmm i was but then there is no reason for me to be. Maybe we should upload one of our sextapes to show those bitchy knets and completely appall them..” you giggled thinking about their reaction. Jungkook sighed and chuckled. “Yeah? Which one? Our old ones or the one we are gonna make rn?” His cold fingers squeezed your bare tits and tugged on your hard nipples. You hissed at the feeling. He grabbed your hand using his other hand and started using yours to rub himself through his shorts. He let out a soft groan throwing his head back. You bit your lip as you felt his hand lower into your shorts, quickly taking your sensitive bud in between his fingers, tugging it gently. You gasped and held onto his wrists as he continued abusing your bud. He was growing harder and harder because of your hands and the unholy sounds you let out every time he flicked your clit. You put your hands into his shorts and wrapped your fingers around his dick. Your movements were restricted by his shorts which opted you to pull his dick completely out. You stared at it. Oh how much you missed that monster. “Quit staring baby..” you felt yourself melt as he inserts two fingers into your sopping hole. A loud squelch was heard when he started fingering you. Your hands lazily worked up and down his shaft. Small spurts of precum already leaking out of his red tip. You picked up your pace and so did he. You twisted your wrists around his tip. You knew how sensitive he was there and continued. His eyes were squeezed shut as soft moans left his mouth. He started choking on them as he felt your hands squeeze around his length. God the way you had this man under your control with Just your hands was insane. He was quick to return the favour as two more fingers were added. His thumb rested on your clit rubbing it in circles furiously as he fucked your cunt with his long fingers. Loud noises accompanied by yours and his moans were the only sounds heard in the room. Your vision went white as you finally reached your end. Squirting all over his hands and wetting your shorts as well as your sheets. You let out choked out moans and your back arched off of the bed.

“Attagirl…” jungkook said with furrowed eyebrows as he kept finger fucking you. Your hand movements got sloppy which prompted jungkook to thrust into your hands. You picked up pace which made jungkook stiffen. You knew his orgasm was close from the his facial expressions and his voice. You stared at his face as you watch your ex boyfriend come undone under your grasp. He let out a final gasp before cumming all over your hands. You slowed down your movements finally letting go of his softening cock before bringing your fingers to your mouth, licking all his salty cum clean, staring deeply into his brown eyes.

Only you had him like this. No other woman will never come to your level ever.

A/n : HEHEHE sex tape part 2? 🤭🤭🤭🤭 ALSO SORRY FOR THE USAGE OF BABY STAR CANDYAJJEKAJWJA I JS HAD TOOOOOO

#bts reactions #jungkook smut #bts smut #taehyung smut #bts #jungkook #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #jeongguk #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook reaction #jungkook headcanons #bts x reader #fem reader

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asterlark · 5 months

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me and den @unloneliest were just talking about murderbot and ART's relationship and i want to discuss how they quite literally complete each other's sensory and emotional experience of the world!!

there's a few great posts on here such as this one about how murderbot uses drones to fully and properly experience the world around it (it also accesses security cameras/other systems for this same purpose). but i haven't seen anyone so far talk about how once MB stops working for the company and consequently doesn't have a hubsystem/secsystem to connect to anymore (which for its entire existence up to that point had been how it was used to interacting with its environment/doing its job), after it meets ART, ART starts to fill that gap.

ART gives MB access to more cameras, systems, and information archives than it would normally be able to connect with while MB is on its own outside of ART's... body(? lol), but also directly gives MB access to its own cameras, drones, archives, facilities, and processing space. additionally, so much of ART's function is dedicated to analysis, lateral thinking, and logical reasoning, and it not only uses those skills in service of reaching murderbot's goals, it teaches murderbot how to use those same skills. (ART might be a bit of an asshole about how it does this, but that doesn't negate just how much it does for murderbot for no reason other than it's bored/interested in MB as an individual.)

we all love goofing about how artificial condition can basically be boiled down to "two robots in a trench coat trying to get through a job interview" (which is entirely accurate tbh) but that's also such a great example of ART fulfilling the role of both murderbot's "hubsystem" and "secsystem", allowing it to fully experience its environment/ succeed in its goals. ART provides MB with crucial information, context, and constructive criticism, and uses its significant processing power to act as MB's backup and support system while they work together.

from ART's side of things, we get a very explicit explanation of how it needs the context of murderbot's emotional reactions to media in order to fully understand and experience the media as intended. it tried to watch media with its humans, and it didn't completely understand just by studying their reactions. but when it's in a feed connection with murderbot, who isn't human but has human neural tissue, ART is finally able to thoroughly process the emotional aspects of media (side note, once it actually understands the emotional stakes in a way that makes sense for it, it's so frightened by the possibility of the fictional ship/crew in worldhoppers being catastrophically injured or killed that it makes murderbot pause for a significant amount of time before it feels prepared to go on. like!! ART really fucking loves its crew, that is all).

looking at things further from ART's perspective: its relationship with murderbot is ostensibly the very first relationship it's been able to establish with not only someone outside of its crew, but also with any construct at all. while ART loves its crew very much (see previous point re: being so so scared for the fate of the fictional crew of worldhoppers), it never had a choice in forming relationships with them. it was quite literally programmed to build those relationships with its crew and students. ART loves its function, its job, and nearly all of the humans that spend time inside of it, but its relationship with murderbot is the first time it's able to choose to make a new friend. that new friend is also someone who, due to its partial machine intelligence, is able to understand and know ART on a whole other level of intimacy that humans simply aren't capable of. (that part goes for murderbot, too, obviously; ART is its first actual friend outside of the presaux team, and its first bot friend ever.)

and because murderbot is murderbot, and not a "nice/polite to ART most of the time" human, this is also one of the first times that ART gets real feedback from a friend about the ways that its actions impact others. after the whole situation in network effect, when the truth of the kidnapping comes to light and murderbot hides in the bathroom refusing to talk to ART (and admittedly ART doesn't handle this well lol) - ART is forced to confront that despite it making the only call it felt able to make in that horrifying situation, despite it thinking that that was the right call, its actions hurt murderbot, and several other humans were caught in the crossfire. what's most scary to ART in that moment is the idea that murderbot might never forgive it, might never want to talk to it again. it's already so attached to this friendship, so concerned with murderbot's wellbeing, that the thought of that friendship being over because of its own behavior is terrifying. (to me, this almost mirrors murderbot's complete emotional collapse when it thinks that ART has been killed. the other more overt mirror is ART fully intending on bombing the colony to get murderbot back.)

in den's words, they both increase the other's capacity to feel: ART by acting as a part of murderbot's sensory system, and murderbot by acting as a means by which ART can access emotion. they love one another so much they would do pretty much anything to keep each other safe/avenge each other, but what's more, they unequivocally make each other more whole.

#the murderbot diaries #murderbot #asshole research transport #network effect #mine #idk what else to tag lol #BIG thanks to den unloneliest for helping so much with the drafting/editing of this!!!#we both were having some brain fog issues yesterday so we joked that with our combined forces we can make one (1) post lol #just like mb and ART fr!!!!#anyway im so fucking emotional over themmmmm #murderbot meta #the murderbot diaries meta

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merakiui · 8 months

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boyfriend.

yandere!female!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, implied (cyber)stalking, cheating, dub-con, alcohol/intoxication, characters written as 18+ note - riddle seeks to prune the filthy weeds from your life, starting with your ill-mannered boyfriend. // inspired by dove cameron's boyfriend.

i. i can’t believe we’re finally alone. i can’t believe i almost went home. what are the chances? everyone’s dancing, and he’s not with you.

Riddle has never traveled to this part of the city before—the seedy, unsavory sliver overshadowed by towering skyscrapers, illicit, perilous secrets tucked away in every alley. It’s not as if she’s here under duress. Although if you were to frame it from her perspective, it would feel less like an active, consensual choice and more of a you’ve-forced-my-hand choice. It’s blatant rule-breaking all the same, a stain on her delicate character. Blight on her shiny social status as a golden child, forever marked as the obedient one.

She’s lived her rebellious streak, was punished swiftly and accordingly, and strived to be better in the aftermath. It was one thing to slip out during independent study, and that fun had been trampled upon by a cruel, heeled foot. That was a child’s error. A lesson learned. A valid reason to sever all distractions and improve academically, consequently maturing with sharp, sparkling intelligence and abysmal social skills.

But Riddle is no longer that starry-eyed, impressionable child, and she does not make the same mistake twice.

Or so she’s always believed, but she’s willing to risk an unforgiving tongue-lashing and life imprisonment at the hands of her mother if it means she can fix things. No matter how she spins it, the truth remains the same: She’s fallen back on an old habit, sneaking out and keeping secrets. She’s an open book to Trey, though, who she’d taken care to message on the train ride into the city, her text mostly cryptic: Should anything happen, this is where I’ll be. It’s wrong to skirt around the truth, especially when it’s your closest friend. She knows this, but then she also knows Trey gives terribly good advice. The type of terribly good advice you often don’t want to hear.

Advice like: “You need to let her go.”

And Riddle can’t—won’t.

So she steps into the digital footprints left by that brash, brutish party animal you lovingly call your boyfriend, and she follows the string of social media posts like a diligent detective, flicking through each with manicured fingernails. She commits them to memory so that they remain imprinted in her mind before they’ll eventually expire at the twenty-four hour mark.

In the days leading up to tonight, Cater had taken her out for their usual self-care makeover day, which was really just a day dedicated to dressing up and gossiping at the salon. It was a monthly arrangement, and it kept the both of them entertained and sane. The latter of those two was called into question when Riddle, wholly out of character, selected black nail polish for her mani-pedi, which left Cater looking on with brewing curiosity. She gazed at him, pouty lips upturned slyly, and said, “I thought I’d give red a temporary break.”

“Oh, but red is so your color!” he insisted, raising his phone to capture both of them in frame.

Riddle smiled at the camera. “I know.”

It has always been her color, a staple in her closet. It’s a favorite she can never truly shake, hence why it stains her lips instead. Bright like arterial blood, a blossoming carnation, it stands out starkly on her pale countenance—the only splotch of color on her person. Cater took her shopping when he’d learned she was attempting to fit a new style into her wardrobe of prim, modest clothes. They ran up and down the racks, grinning at each other from across the store and holding up sweaters and skirts, weighing whether either would suit Riddle’s night out. In the end, she settled for the outfit she wears now: a red tube top, a cropped puffer jacket, a pencil skirt that doesn’t pass the fingertip test (not that she cares to follow that rule), tights, and knee-high heeled boots. To finish the look, she’s pulled her hair from its usual plaits, allowing it to cascade down her back like a crimson waterfall. Fingerless lace gloves adorn her hands, stitched with intricate patterns of roses and thorns.

Cater called it the Femme Fatale Friday fit. It’s a Saturday night, but it feels like Friday when she peers at her reflection in a pocket mirror, checking her makeup once more.

She will not make the same mistake twice. She’s a paragon of perfection—Riddle Rosehearts, for seven’s sake!

Stuffing the mirror into a matching handbag, she eyes the skyscraper looming before her, sleek with its metal framework and industrial glass. The bright cityscape reflects off of each window, dazzling with luminous specks of light. She considers the contents in her purse, reviews each with a critical eye, and inhales a steadying breath.

This is necessary.

She’s an adult now, nearly finished with her graduate studies. She lives on her own in a quaint, pet-friendly apartment with her hedgehog, and she works part-time at the café down the street, putting forth her best effort as she weathers the woes of university. Despite all of this independence, she doesn’t feel like an adult.

Not when she can hear her mother in the back of her head: You look ridiculous. Come home right now before you make a fool of yourself and sully my good name.

Riddle scowls at the concrete, curling her fingers into fists.

She’s an adult now. She is not her mother’s doll.

Leaving all hostility and self-doubt at the door, she steps through the lobby and beelines for the lift. It carries her to her destination—one of the highest floors. A penthouse suite.

And not just any penthouse suite. Floyd Leech’s penthouse suite.

Under normal circumstances, she would never willingly set foot in his territory. She survived four years of school with him, which was already a sickening amount, and in that time she watched him glide through his undergraduate with just barely passing grades. That wasn’t enough to stoke the red-hot embers of envy, though. It only made him seem even more like a cockroach, unable to be crushed by the weight of scholarly responsibilities, for he never took anything seriously.

For that reason, Riddle has never envied Floyd. But by the end of their third year, he had something Riddle didn’t.

He had you.

How he managed to settle into a relationship when all he did was slack off, party, and break the rules was beyond Riddle. He was a slippery delinquent, hardly deserving of your sweet affections, and yet you looked at him like he was the only one on the planet. Just where was the appeal? His manner of dress is sloppy. The way he carries himself is unpalatable and crude. The way he acts suggests his insipience is incurable. Even when he applies himself, he is still Floyd and that doesn’t clean his slate or shine his reputation. So in Riddle’s discerning eyes, he does not possess a scintilla of romantic appeal.

You don’t seem to agree with these sentiments, for you’ve been with Floyd for four long years.

Love is blinding, but Riddle has never been in love before and so she doesn’t have adequate data to prove this point. It was forbidden in her home. She’s only allowed to love the men her mother handpicks, plucking each specimen like they’re ripened strawberries from a bush. In the beginning she found all manner of minor details to excuse them from her life, insisting upon a nonexistent list of impossibly high standards. He was too tall. He was too forward with his interest. He wore contrasting colors. He didn’t like tea. These reasons were far too critical and childish, and each man had been sent away in a huff. Her mother would scold her, halving her with a nasty glare: “Are you planning to die alone?”

Yes, Riddle realized by the twentieth admonishment, yet another man cast aside. If dying alone means romantic freedom in life, I’ll do just that.

The elevator spits her out into the hall, which isn’t as silent as she thought it’d be. Bass shakes through the walls, reverberating all the way through her ribs as if it intends to stir up her organs. She catches her reflection in the windows, noting the dark, monstrous scowl, and smooths her face into something courageous. She means business as she clicks down the hall, preparing herself for the whirlwind that undoubtedly waits behind the door. Riddle starts to wonder how Floyd’s neighbors have yet to file a noise complaint and then stops, her thoughts cutting off abruptly. It’s a challenge to make complaints when your father holds parts of the city’s underground in his palms.

He’s got it easy, that spoiled pest.

Riddle’s gait slows to a halt and she reaches out to knock thrice. The door is thrown open before she can even bring her fist down. Soon she’s staring at a rosy-cheeked stranger, whose eyes trace her figure like he’s trying to paint her on his mental canvas. She’s prepared for the worst, having tucked the spray in her bag, its container disguised to look like lipstick. The strawberry keychain hanging from her purse is a self-defense alarm, ready to be pulled at a moment’s notice. His ogling does not frighten her, nor do his intentions, if he can even harbor any in that intoxicated brain of his. She’s braved scarier horrors. Like living out years of her life with her mother.

“Heyyy, you one of Floyd’s girls? Here for the party?”

Riddle suppresses the disgusted shiver threatening to crawl up her spine, swallowing bile. “Just the party.”

She is no one’s girl. Definitely not Floyd’s.

When she’s let inside and the stench of sweat and alcohol assault her nostrils, coupled with the too-loud party music, she considers retreating, her mother’s judgment echoing: You look ridiculous. Her fingers twitch towards her purse. One text and Trey would pick her up. One call and Cater would be on his way. But then she’d be forced to tell them the truth—would have to admit that she’s chasing the one person she can never have.

She hardens her resolve, pushes through the throng of bodies in an effort to find refreshments, and there you are, her perfect, pretty wallflower in a perfect, pretty silver dress. The dim neon lighting casts you in a luscious pink haze, and she watches you scroll through your phone, your eyelids falling and opening. You’re so beautiful—the sweetest thing she’s ever seen, more saccharine than a truckload of strawberry tarts. Her hand slides away from her purse, and she tamps down a gleeful smile, stepping over to you with newfound confidence.

“(Name)?”

You turn your whole body towards her, your gaze unfocused. She can smell the liquor on you, can see the hickeys not quite covered by a velvet choker. Her gaze narrows. He’s all over you, isn’t he? From top to bottom, you are covered in traces of him. Her nose scrunches. Just what do you see in him?

It should be her teeth on your skin, tearing it open, bruising it, tasting slick copper on her tongue. It should have always been her, but it’s not. Why did you have to settle for less when you’re entitled to so much more?

You peer at her like she’s something in a museum, perplexing and abstract. And then it clicks. You gasp, your mouth falling open in awe, and your words come out horribly slurred. She fails to hide her wince when you throw your arms around her, hanging off of her like a tote on a shoulder.

“Riddle! You…seriously showed up… Can’t believe it’s really you. It feels like it’s been forever.” You pull away, swaying with the motion, and place your hands on her arms. “Your outfit is suuuper cute.”

She’s blushing. She knows she is because her face is burning with heat and suddenly it’s much too stifling in here. “Oh. Ah, um, t-thank you very much… You look very nice, too.”

Really? Is that the best thing I could say? ‘You look very nice’? Honestly, Riddle…

But you smile, and the sight steals her heart all over again. You can have it. By all means take her heart. Take it and love it to pieces. That way it will be fair when she takes yours. An even exchange in accordance with the rules of love.

Or maybe it’s more so the rules of romantic warfare, carried out to the extreme on a chessboard. Or a croquet court. Something sporty and metaphorical, anyway.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” she asks, refusing to say his name lest she speak him into existence and tarnish her near-perfect evening.

Her question strikes a chord within you, and you heave an exaggerated sigh. You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the wall for support. “Left me to go hang with the guys. S’not fair!” you whine, sliding further down until you’re sitting in a defeated heap.

Riddle bends down to your height, her tone as soft and sympathetic as her expression. “Does he always do this?”

Hurt flashes across your face, but you don’t say anything. So he does. Why is she not surprised?

Who in the world leaves their partner at a party, vulnerable and alone? Riddle thinks, anger flaring up in her chest. Someone could take advantage of you. You’re in no state to be standing here by yourself. That fool… He doesn’t know how to treat a lady at all. How have you put up with him for four years? Your patience amazes me.

“It’s not like…” You shut your eyes and rest your head against the wall. “Not like an always-happening thing…”

Riddle isn’t going to sugarcoat it. She wants her words to cut deep, all the way to the heart you’ve allowed Floyd to bind. “Whether or not he does it often, the fact still stands that he left you intoxicated in the corner of this room. That’s careless and unsafe.” She tilts her head, admiring the way you’ve done your makeup, the way your plush lips jut out in a miserable pout. And it just rushes out, words she’s thought but never had the courage to say. At least, not to the sober you. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You deserve so much better.”

Like me, she almost adds, but that’s too direct. And she’s not even sure the admission will land when you’re so out of it.

“Appreciate it…” You scrub your face, groaning. “Ugh. I feel sick…”

“Would you like to get some fresh air?”

You shake your head, stubborn to a fault. “Can’t. Gotta wait for Floyd.”

Riddle frowns. “I highly doubt he’s coming back anytime soon.”

“Still.”

“At the very least, let’s get you some water.” She offers her hand, hoping and praying to the heavens above that you’ll take it.

You do. It’s a flawless fit. Her heart flutters, weightless and feathery, when her fingers close around yours. She wonders what moisturizer you use, what sort of lotions kiss your skin. Are they scented, or is that just your perfume? Or have you done away with perfume for tonight and is that a natural fragrance? Or maybe it’s the sweet scent of a fruity wine, printed on your tongue like a delicious tattoo.

She wants to kiss you.

“Just how much have you had to drink?”

“Like a cup or two? I…dunno. Does it matter?”

You stumble when she helps you up, grabbing at her shoulder for support. Riddle almost falls back, but the wall braces her. You place your palm right by her head, and suddenly you’re leaning in, inadvertently pinning her to the wall. Her pupils nearly eclipse her blue-grey irises, and her breath sticks in her throat. Oh, you’re so close. You’re a drunken mess, pushing yourself up against her, your beauty enveloping her like a chrysalis. If this is a dream, she never wants to wake, for the world that awaits her beyond this is cold and colorless.

Your head lowers to the dip between shoulder and neck, and she gazes heavenward. The ceiling is much nicer at this moment, if only so she can clear her own heady haze of impure thoughts.

There are people about, she has to remind herself, shaking off the urge to close her fingers around your chin and tilt your head up to meet her mouth. And she has a boyfriend. Just because I can doesn’t mean I should.

But the chance is much too beguiling. You’re right here, quite literally within her reach, and Floyd’s nowhere in sight. It’s too perfect. She can’t quite wrap you in an affectionate embrace—though that is an irresistible urge she must fight off—so she settles to rub circles into your back instead, dutifully reflecting the role of a concerned friend. It’s not the part she wishes to play. Rather, she’d gladly take on the title of boyfriend if it meant you’d feel loved. Every day, at every hour, for the rest of your life. She’d do all the things Floyd ought to do: care for you, appreciate you, protect you, stay by your side through thick and thin.

Love is a dangerous, thorny thing, but it’s the encroaching jealousy that kills.

Floyd doesn’t deserve you. If anything, he deserves a mouth full of soap to scrub every profanity he’s ever uttered. Just what does he tell you in bed? That you’re a good girl? That you’re soooo tight? That you can take it? Does he know which ways you like it? Does he know where to touch so you’ll unravel faster? Does he know how to get you properly, thoroughly worked up, so much so that it feels like your skin is aflame with potent want and desire?

Does he even know your anatomy, or are you simply a body for his avaricious appetite?

Like roses twining possessively around a trellis, Riddle holds you close in her arms, her hand sweeping across your lower back. Her glacial eyes scan the crowd, warding off anyone who may be curious with her most malevolent death stare.

“Mm… I need to lie down. My head is…spinning…”

With that, the murderous, overprotective haze sticking to Riddle like a poisonous fog dissipates. A sickly sweet smile widens on ruby-red lips. “Let’s find someplace quiet.”

Together, the two of you stagger-walk out of the room, leaving the party and its inhabitants behind. Crossing through the attached kitchenette, Riddle pilfers a bottled water from the fridge.

Her mind is sharp as a cut diamond. Her skin prickles with anticipation.

Down the hall you go, with Riddle supporting you with what minimal physical strength she has. A door looms before the both of you, cast in a comfortable glow from a neighboring skyscraper, and you struggle to pull your heels off while she pushes the door open. It reveals a messy room, clothing and candy wrappers strewn about sloppily.

Riddle feels like she’s on top of the world, and she is. Up in the clouds on the forty-third floor of this luxurious penthouse apartment.

ii. i could be a better boyfriend than him. i could do the shit that he never did. up all night, i won’t quit.

All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle pined. Hopelessly. Forlornly. Desperately.

Hungrily.

It was unbecoming to want something to such an obsessive degree. She buried herself in her studies to do away with lustful delusions, each more distracting than the last. But then you would crop up in her life when she least expected it and soon the two of you were studying together. Soon you were visiting her dorm to watch movies during the times in which she allowed herself the break (and she only did so because it was you). Soon you were spending nights in her room, sleeping sprawled on the floor even though she offered her bed time and time again. You’d get ready in the mornings, debating what the breakfast menu would entail. She’d watch your reflection in the floor mirror as you pulled your shirt up and over your head, eyeing the way you slid seamlessly into a lacy black bra. And then she’d change out of her nightgown, and you’d comment on her undergarments.

“We should go shopping sometime. You gotta get cuter stuff!”

“Why should I? No one’s going to see it,” she insisted with a flustered huff.

“I’ll see it the next time I sleep over,” you told her, smiling innocently as you stepped into a blue handkerchief skirt. “Besides, there are so many cute sets you could wear. You’d look so pretty in something red and frilly. You’re totally missing out.”

Riddle considered it back then. Your eager eyes had almost won her over, but she was firm in her decision. “I’m fine with what I have now.”

And the conversation ended there. She really wishes you would have pushed it back then because just a little nudge in that direction and she would have given in, entirely at your mercy.

Selfishly, she just yearned to be stuck in a changing stall with you.

All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle fostered a special sort of friendship with you. You’d stop by her dorm during finals to insist she take a break, your offer too tempting. She’s always been weak to sweets. You were close enough to exchange intimate details with one another. She listened to all of your dating woes, and conversely you’d sit still and bear witness to her ramblings about fascinating law facts. Sometimes she’d rant about her mother. You always listened. “She sounds like she sucks,” you said once. “How are you even related to her? You’re so nice.”

It was a pleasant three years. If she deluded herself enough, she could have pretended you were her girlfriend and then she’d have something to tell her mother to put an end to the countless attempts at scoring her a husband. I will never marry any of your options, she would think, playing the confrontation out in her head. I have a partner now and we’re very happy together. Sometimes Riddle imagined her mother tossing darts at a board with photographs of men attached to it, disregarding compatibility altogether in favor of upholding traditional rules. But then Riddle realized she’d have to die before she could ever admit her own romantic freedoms to her mother, and so that conversation only ever came about in daydreams.

I’d rather die alone than live life shackled in a loveless marriage. She wonders if her father thought the same.

Those three years had been a wonderful reality, filled with sugared, candy-coated love. A one-sided love, sure. But Riddle could settle for platonic affections, for that was just as sweet.

And then he arrived at the doorstep to Riddle’s fantasy cottage, kicking the walls down and sweeping you off your feet.

Floyd Leech has always been a nuisance. You were there to shoo him away every time he came knocking, all broad grins and vexatious jeers. He listened to you most days, a mutt without proper leashing, oddly loyal to you. As if you were his keeper of sorts. Riddle was amazed, befuddled, and worried all at once. Unlike her, you could keep your cool, could still smile so kindly even when Floyd was being an utter pain in the ass with his foolish nicknames. When he tried to pluck Riddle’s hairpin from out of her braids—a handmade gift you had given her for her birthday—she slapped him hard across the face and hissed, “Don’t ever put your filthy paws on me again.”

And maybe it was because you were there that she was able to recover shortly after the outburst. (Although she still meant that slap with every fiber of her being.) Maybe you were her collar. Maybe you were her keeper. Maybe she was meant to meet you so that you could color her world, lead her along into the friendship she’d been robbed of as a child.

Looking back, Riddle realizes that was the catalyst. Because when Floyd cradled his bright-red cheek, giggling like a maniac, you asked him, “Don’t you have anything better to do? Can’t you bother someone else?”

And then you were made the prime target.

What’s worse is that you reveled in it, adored every ounce of attention Floyd gave you like it was something holy, later admitting to Riddle during a movie marathon that you “wondered if Floyd was seeing anyone.” She wanted to retch. You, a seraph incarnate, with a devil like Floyd? Impossible. But your tone was so whimsical; you were dreaming of it. You liked him.

She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

By the end of her third year, just as finals gave way to summer, you threw your arms around Floyd’s neck while he pressed you up against the trunk of a flowering tree. Pink petals fluttered to the ground, and with the falling blossoms came Riddle’s hope, crashing and burning in a heartbroken heap.

She won’t make the same mistake twice, which is precisely why, when you flop onto Floyd’s unmade bed, she turns the lock to keep all outside influences away. The party is but a mere muffle now, thrumming through the floorboards with reckless abandon.

Her nose wrinkles at the pile of dirty laundry. Slob, she thinks, brimming with hate. What does she see in you? You’re a mess, you’re definitely a criminal, you can’t keep a stable job, you throw obnoxious parties every other week, you leave your own girlfriend unattended… What part of that is appealing? She gazes at you next. You’re too good for him, (Name). You can do so much better. Raise your standards. Find someone respectable and attentive. Someone who’ll stay with you forever. Someone who won’t let you get stupidly drunk and then run off to Queen-knows-where.

“Someone like me,” she mutters.

You have to be coerced into drinking, and you’re so sleepy that the water dribbles down your chin. Riddle tuts at you, swiping the liquid away with her sleeve.

“You’re a mess,” she says, affectionate despite the barb.

You’re my mess.

She slides your heels off, casting them elsewhere. You look like a starfish when you lay sprawled, or maybe you’re more like a snow angel. Only rather than snow, you imprint yourself amongst wrinkled sheets. Riddle knows it’s wrong, but you’re right here. She’s waited so many years for a moment like this one.

It’s not fair.

She unzips her boots, kicks them off, and stands at the edge of the bed, locked in a fierce debate. You should have thrown your arms around her that day. You should have kissed her, should have spent the last four years with her, should have stayed in her life like the permanent fixture you were destined to be. She’s never wanted anything more than this. Not even a surplus of strawberry tarts. Not even the dreams she’s working tirelessly towards achieving. She’s only ever wanted you.

But Floyd took you away, and her world has never been the same since.

The mattress dips under her weight; she’s made up her mind.

“Do you remember the promise we made?” she whispers, running her hands up your legs. You lift your head to look at her, eyes glassy with inebriated exhaustion. “The one in which we’d live together after graduation? You said you’d want to live somewhere pet-friendly so we could get hedgehogs and name them Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

You hum, your lashes fluttering.

“We could still do that. Just you and me. Without your boyfriend.”

“What?”

Her fingers catch on the waistband of your panties. “Hm?”

“Mm, no, nothing… You should get going. It’s late…” “Someone has to look after you.”

“Floyd can.”

She presses her thumbs into your hips and the tiniest gasp leaves your parted lips. “But Floyd’s not.”

“He will.”

“He won’t,” she snaps. Something flickers in your eyes, a flash of unrest. Riddle chews her lower lip. “He’s… (Name), what do you see in him? Honestly, truly, what is it? Please educate me. Please… What does he have that I don’t? What makes you stay?”

“Cuz he’s my boyfriend,” you mutter slowly, perplexed, “and I love him.”

“Do you?”

“Riddle, why are you so…” The words fizzle out on your tongue when her touch strays too close to home. “Wait… We can’t… Not in here.”

“Why not? It’s just one more mess. He won’t even notice.”

“That’s not it… Riddle, wait. I… I don’t like you in that—”

She collapses, anchoring herself to you, her manicured nails digging deep into your arms. And then her mouth is on yours, clumsy and uncoordinated. She doesn’t want to hear it—can’t bear to hear it. She knows the truth. It’s haunted her from the day she met you, a shadow looming like a guillotine’s blade. You were fated to be forever out of reach. Just like those strawberry tarts in the bakery window. The kiss is filthy, all desire and zero skill. Her tongue flashes into your mouth. It’s nothing like the way they describe it in fiction or portray it in films. It’s obscene. Sinful. Libidinous. Her lipstick smears; she tastes the wine in your throat, licks your teeth and nibbles your lip, delicate and gruesome all at once. She tries her best, unyielding.

The technique doesn’t matter. Not now, anyway. It’s just blind, unrequited passion. She’ll learn it eventually and when she does she’ll kiss you drunk. It’s just another thing she’ll master. And she will because that’s just who she is. Give her a textbook and she’ll have it memorized. Give her a kiss and she’ll return to practice it to perfection.

She pulls away, panting, her lipstick in disarray. It’s all over you, smudging on the corners of your mouth. Running a hand through her hair, her figure outlined in the tantalizing glow from the city lights, she licks her lips.

“Riddle…”

Spoken soft like prayer, it’s a whisper she’ll treasure. Over and over, without end, repeat it like a mantra.

“Riddle, please…”

“He doesn’t know anything about your preferences, does he?” Your dress is slid up next. She traces a heart into your bare stomach, capturing your navel in invisible lines. You shudder under her touch, grabbing at her wrist with a limp hand. She brings it up to her lips and presses a chaste kiss to the top of it. “I know you much better than he does. I always have.”

To prove it, she presses two fingers to your clothed pussy. You whine, reedy and high-pitched. “But…”

“I read it takes fourteen minutes for women to reach their end during partnered sex.” She levels you with a half-lidded stare, smirking. What she lacks in skill, she makes up for in raw confidence. “I’ll only need less than that, so you won’t have to feign anything for my sake. I know you well enough, my rose.”

A wide range of emotions waltzes across your countenance. Your arm falls over your face next. It’s defeat or hesitant acceptance, but to Riddle it’s love.

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, conceding. “And then…you need to leave.”

She makes you cum in just five, covers you in lipstick prints, each kiss a sly cover-up. Floyd may be all over you, bites and bruises blooming new and old, but he’s not inside you, wringing you out like a sodden towel. You sob like you’re in heat when she sinks her fingers into your slick warmth, scissoring so slowly, until you’re begging her to make you cum again. Your fluids soak through the sheets. The scent of sex and sweat hangs heavy in the air. She’s alive, wildly untamed, a knight who’s just rescued the princess and slayed a bloodthirsty dragon.

Her head is between your thighs next, her hands braced on either leg to keep them apart. You watch her with glazed eyes, soon throwing your head back when she slides your hood up to reveal your pretty, pert clit. Experimentally, she licks a teasing stripe up your slit. You shiver and dig your fingers into her scalp, imprisoning her there. It’s where she’s always wanted to be.

“Tell me,” she murmurs, the words fanning across your pussy, “if he’s so good, why haven’t you proven it? Is this the most you’ve ever cum in a night? Does he please you or do you please him? If he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, why are you still so unsatisfied?”

“Because… B-Because!”

Your protests are fragmented and spotted with gasps. That’s arguably more telling than a detailed response.

Riddle smiles like a Cheshire, her eyes narrowed victoriously. Spidery digits creep along your thighs. Her thumbs dip into your pussy, spreading it wide for her viewing pleasure. “Don’t think of him. Tonight, it’s just you and me. I’ll give you what you’re owed. That and so much more.”

Like a fragile statue, you topple. Right into her, bucking against her mouth like the world is ending, and she’s there to steady you.

She always is.

iii. i’m gonna steal you from him. i could be such a gentleman. plus, you know my clothes would fit.

“Sooo… Gimme the goss. How was your night out?”

Riddle looks up from an assortment of nail polish colors, each one more red than the last, and says, “It was more enjoyable than I thought.”

“Yeah?” Cater prompts, brows raised. “Don’t be so vague! I wanna know all the juicy details. It’s rare for you to stay out so late. And to go to a party, of all things, in the city? Hello?! New Riddle, who’s this?”

“I was only meeting an old friend.”

“That’s what they all say.”

The technician asks her to pick a color. “This one,” she says, pointing. “The one named Sanguine Sunrise.”

“You’re totes keeping me in the dark!” Cater whines, dramatic. “At least give Cay-Cay some hints! Something! Anything! Spare change, please?”

Riddle smiles smugly. Pride drips from every syllable when she speaks next. “My friend will be spending this Valentine’s Day alone.”

“Bummer.”

“Not quite. She’ll have me and half-priced chocolates. A rather charming combination, no?”

Cater laughs. “GL. I’m rooting for you.”

You don’t need to, she thinks, tracing the love bite stamped into her skin, hidden under the soft fabric of her blouse. Because I’m already winning.

Her phone buzzes with a text: about last night… if i did anything weird, i’m so sorry. i was way too drunk.

Riddle turns it over, dips her feet in the heated water, and settles into the massage chair, pleased as a peach. “It was one bad decision. Four years of bad decisions, but it’s forgiven. We all make silly mistakes when we’re lovestruck. Hopefully her silly mistake disappears for good and we never have to speak of him again.”

“You’re so scary, Riddle. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Another message arrives: i think we might’ve kissed last night. i’m really super sorry.

There’s a brief delay.

ok this is gonna sound weird coming from me but maybe we can do it again??? floyd’s kisses are sorta… :/

Her phone vibrates for the final time that afternoon.

actually i’m just gonna stop talking omg i’m crazy. i have a bf and everything. sorry riddle please ignore all of this kk tysm ttyl <3

wait one more text before i forget,, if you wanna meet up for tea i wouldn’t mind. we should definitely catch up when i’m not hungover. kk bye fr this time <3

A start is a start. You can’t grow a rose tree without first planting a seed.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere riddle rosehearts x reader #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle #yandere riddle x reader #n/sfw #tw: dubcon

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glittter-skeleton · 2 months

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I haven’t seen anyone talk about Alastor’s cannibalism in relation to his relationship with Vox

So with most cannibalistic serial killers the reason they are people wasn’t because they liked the taste. It’s about full control and psycho-sexual desire as consumption.

The want of control is obvious all though Alastor’s character over himself and others. From the way he clearly gets joy out of ordering Husk around and literally owning his soul to his own ever-present smile (if we assume he’s not forsed into it as has not yet been confirmed) as a means of controlling his own character at all times. But with cannibalism it’s more than that, it’s control over your victim ever after they died, the power to not only control their souls but their body

And that’s where the psycho-sexual part of it comes in. In resent years movies like “raw” and “bones and all” we see what has always been a part of cannibalism: desire. Because it’s not only the power, it’s also the feeling of consumption, of becoming one with your victim. I’m a way, that’s not too different from sex in it’s most pure and carnal. In real killers most of the cases of cannibalism are sexual, with sex crimes accompanying. We can assume Alastor wasn’t like that, but the element or the carnal desire that plays such a big part in cannibalism still follows his character.

All of that to say that the desire that Alastor can feel in his own twisted way towards other demons is… impossible with Vox. He’s not made of flesh and bone (most probably) and we don’t know if he ever was. There is nothing for Alastor to feel attracted towards, not even his body (in the most literal way). We can also play with the idea that Vox is a sort of Ship of Theseus-type cyborg replacing parts of himself with machine one by one until there is none left as we do not know of any other demons in hell who are anywhere like him. So even if Alastor could feel that sort of way towards Vox, it is no more. And on the other side, if Vox was literally re-born as machine (maybe as ironic punishment for trying to be like one on earth like cutting off his emotions, etc) than that Alastor finds most desirable in a person was never there in Vox to begin with.

This parts a bit of stretch but even without the cannibalism Alastor thrives in watching people who are hopeful, souls who try and fail over and over again. Which maybe, as a machine, Vox originally wasn’t. Maybe at the start of their relationship he was calculating and unemotional which pairs well with Alastor’s own mask of detachment and indifference but also makes him completely uninteresting to Alastor as a subject of desire. But on the other hand Vox isn’t just machine, he’s a TV and his character reflects the media’s reactionary and emotional judgment. I just don’t know how Alastor ever worked with Vox if he’s always had the mindset we see in the show. But if that’s the case Alastor does feed on Vox’s desperation but never fully, never truly desiring him the consuming, power-play way that he feels most strongly (aka the want to eat him). I present you with both readings of Vox’s past emotional state as we do not as of now know what their relationship has been before

TLDR: Vox is the pinnacle of un-fuckable to Alastor, as even though he does not feel sexual desire the cannibalistic part of him can feel the psycho-sexual want to consume a body. Which he can’t with Vox who is machine.

I’d love to hear what other have to say about a machine loving a cannibal so please feel free to share your readings in the tags

#a machine loving an asexual cannibal isn’t that an idea #I’ll give you everything but what you desire most I do not have #no matter what I do #he can take him apart and still have him functional probably but I don’t think he’s into that #radiostatic #hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin analysis #hazbin theory #staticradio #alastor x vox #vox x alastor #alastor analysis

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ladykailitha · 4 months

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Batshit Soulmates: in Medias Res

As promised, the soulmate AU you've all been waiting for. I don't have a set schedule for this. I'll post chapters as they come. That said, I do have a backlog of chapters to put out on the regular.

Summary: Steve's never met his soulmate. Even though everyone else in his life has. Most of them are even bonded. Literal teenagers got their soulmates before Steve. He tries not to take it personally. He tries really hard not to take it personally when he finds out it's Eddie Munson when he has a bottle at his throat. He tries even harder not to take personally when everything that could go wrong, does.

*throws chapter at you and runs*

***

“I just think we should wait,” Steve huffed for what felt like the millionth time. “Give our allies more time to get to Hawkins.”

“But the longer we wait,” Nancy growled back, “the likelihood of Vecna finding someone we don’t know to haunt and kill goes up.”

“Except we know who his next victim is!” Steve yelled back. “You! And excuse me for thinking that using you as bait would be better than a fifteen year old girl!”

“Steve!” Max hissed. “What the hell?!”

Steve looked down at his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked up at Nancy and dared her to tell him he was wrong.

But Nancy was stubborn. “The batteries on her Walkman are going to die sooner, rather than later. I know this whole thing sucks, but the longer we put it off the sooner Vecna could wipe out the whole town.”

Steve looked around the room for support and got none. He sighed. No one was on his side in this. But he could feel it. If they waited just five more minutes. But it was five minutes he wasn’t going to get.

He looked down at his feet again as Nancy started listing off who would go where. His head shot up when Dustin and Eddie were told to be the distraction.

“What?” he said. “No. Eddie is my soulmate.”

Robin put her hand his shoulder. “I know, but we can’t leave Dustin alone and you need to come with Nancy and me to kill Vecna.”

Steve’s face shuttered. So the choice was to go with the girls and protect them or go with Eddie and Dustin and protect them, leaving the girls to battle Vecna by themselves?

No.

No, no, no, no.

He had to protect everyone. Why couldn’t he protect everyone?

It was killing him.

“Just go!” Eddie said. “You know you’re going to be needed when it comes to killing this bastard. They’re going to need your strength.”

Steve let out a whine that had been caught in his throat. “You’re telling me to leave you...” He didn’t understand.

Eddie pressed his fingers into his eye. “It’s not because–it’s not what you think. Honest. This is just proper strategy and you know it. Dustin and I aren’t going to be doing anything but drawing the attention of the demobats away from you and the girls.”

Steve let out another noise of distress. He knew Eddie was right. He did. It just hurt that in the five days since meeting his soulmate, they had spent a total of less than a day together. And most of that was spent getting ready for this.

“All right,” he finally agreed.

Everyone let out a sigh of relief and that made Steve’s heart hurt. They weren’t counting on him to make the right decision. They weren’t counting on him to do the smart thing. Even Eddie had sighed in relief.

Steve shut down. Maybe his mother had been right. Maybe soulmates weren’t everything they cracked up to be. Maybe it was good he was find this out now, before he got too attached.

He gave his little speech and made them promise not to be heroes.

Eddie looked down at the ground and then back up at Steve’s retreating back. He closed his eyes and opened them slowly.

“Hey, Steve?” he called out.

Steve turned around, trying to keep the hope out of his eyes.

“Make him pay.”

Steve nodded and turned back around, his heart shattering in his chest. He was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Hoping for a declaration of love. Hoping that Eddie felt something for him. But despite Eddie’s reassurances that he no longer thought that Steve was douchebag, he still couldn’t get over the fact that he had been fated to be his soulmate.

He felt the ice creep up his chest to nestle around his heart. All his life he hoped that his soulmate would be the one that’d love him unconditionally when no one else could. But he guessed that was only for children’s fairy tales.

Steve had barely taken two steps when he heard the sound of running feet and then he was being spun around. He was suddenly face to face with Eddie and he couldn’t breathe. Eddie gently took his face in his hands and kissed him on the lips.

Steve had melted. That is the only explanation for how gooey his insides had become. Eddie pulled back.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he panted. “Be safe. Come back to me, okay, Stevie?”

Steve rested his head against Eddie’s. “You, too. I can’t lose you now. Please.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie whispered. “Okay.”

Steve watched as his soulmate ran back to Dustin, his heart just as heavy, but now whole.

Robin tapped his shoulder. “Come on, Steve. Vecna needs to die so you can be together without having to always look over your shoulder.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. Nancy took his hand and gave it a squeeze. He let her lead him away from the best boy he had ever known to kill the person who was responsible for all the turmoil in their lives.

Shit.

Eddie looked up at the rope ladder in dismay. All around him he could hear the sounds of the demobats clawing their way through the vents. If he climbed the rope, they would break through the gate and Dustin would be a sitting duck.

They would both die.

“Get Steve on the walkie-talkie!” Eddie yelled. “Tell him the bats are about to break through this gate and I’m leading them away from you.”

“Eddie!” Dustin yelled. “Don’t!”

Eddie took a deep breath and cut the rope ladder.

“No!” Dustin yelled.

“Get Steve!” Eddie yelled over his shoulder as he strapped his makeshift spear and shield to back. He zipped up his jacket, knowing full well that armor was no good if it didn’t cover the bits that needed protecting. He took the bandanna off his hair and tied around his face.

God he hated this place.

He grabbed one of the bikes and hopped on. He just needed to give Steve, Nancy and Robin enough time to kill Vecna so that Dustin was safe.

That’s all he needed. Just two minutes.

Behind him he could hear the screech of the bats turn from the trailer to chase him. After all even a moving target out in the open is better than a sitting target in a tin can.

Eddie wasn’t sure how long he could outrun them. He wasn’t exactly in peak physical condition but he had to try.

It took him a bit to realize that subconsciously he hadn’t been running from Dustin, but to Steve. And just how fucked up was that. Which of course was when the front tire hit a small hole in the ground and he went tumbling, rolling in the dirt. His shield and spear prevented him from getting up and he thought for sure that this was the end.

But suddenly he was being righted and yanked to his feet.

“Eddie!” Steve called over the screeching of the bats.

“Steve!” Eddie called back. “Are the girls okay?”

Steve nodded. “I left Robin with the Malatov cocktails and Nancy with her shot gun. They’re kicking his ass.”

Eddie pursed his lips and nodded back. “Dustin is safe. Or as safe as I can make that kid.”

Steve closed his eyes. “He said you told him the bats were breaking in though the vents.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I didn’t want them to get to him or out into Hawkins, lynch mob aside, so I lead them away.”

Steve gave him a hug. “Well then, let’s keep their attention on us, shall we?”

“Bring it on!” Eddie yelled, pulling off his shield and spear.

Steve stood at his back, ax in one hand, nail bat in the other. He twirled them both, warming up his wrists as he stared up the sky that was now thick with bats.

And even though they had only fought together once before, they moved as one, anticipating each other’s movements and covering each other’s backs.

Steve hit a bat so hard its guts rained down upon them, spraying them with black goo. Eddie in turn protected them with his shield putting it in front of him as the bats slammed into it full force.

He could feel his feet sliding back, but Steve was there and he leaned backward, putting all his weight against Eddie to brace him up.

Eddie had been on the verge of giving up, tears streaming down his face as he fought against impossible odds. But Steve was there. And he remembered that every impossible thing he had ever thought in his life had be come possible in this one man. And he was damned if he wasn’t going to survive this too.

“I love you,” Steve whispered.

Eddie closed his eyes and whispered back. “I love you, too, Stevie.”

The bats soon realized that they couldn’t get through Eddie and turned, swirling in the sky and Eddie could feel it before it happened. They were going to attack Steve.

He pushed Steve to the ground and lifted his shield above their heads. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” Steve replied.

And then all the bats dived at once.

***

Yeah...don't expect a quick resolution to that. Just know, I'm a sucker for happy endings. ;)

Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epilogue

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #soulmate au #alternate season 4 #robin/vickie #jancy #byler #dustin/suzie #lumax

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ostensiblynone · 5 months

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Ryan: Breakups are very tough. Your life goes on, though. I was very sad after a breakup, but my life went on. Shane: It did. Steven: It did, and— Ryan: But it does feel like the end of the world. That's actually one thing Shane told me, when I was going through my breakup, that I haven't really forgot. It did—it did help quite a bit. He had mentioned that when people go through breakups, in that time, it does feel like it is at the center of the universe and in re- reality, it doesn't really matter that much in the grand scheme of things. Shane: I mean, it's one of those things where you can't—yeah—you go through those phases where you simply can't imagine ever [wheezes] not feeling horrible. Steven: Loving again. Ryan: Yeah. Shane: And then eventually, uh. Ryan: It was very helpful, 'cause I was pretty down during that time. But I, uh. We've never actually mentioned this in any media that we've done— Steven: What? Ryan: —but Shane has a very—it's funny to me now—and, look, it's—and we both find it funny—don't get angry at Shane—I think it's very funny. There's a photo of me [laughs]. There's a photo of me in Savannah, Georgia. We were filming an Unsolved episode. At the time I was very depressed and I was going through this breakup. You could actually see it in those Unsolved episodes. I had lost—I want to say 20 pounds. Shane: Yeah. Ryan: Like, 'cause I was just—I was unable to eat. I was just not—I had no appetite. And there's a photo that Shane took of me standing on the street with T.J. Marchbank. Shane: And to be clear, when I took the photo, I was just like, 'hey guys!' [mimes holding up a cameraphone] It was just— Ryan: 'Hey, look over here!' kind of thing. Shane: Yeah. And then I looked at the photo and I was like, 'oh boy.' [Ryan and Steven laugh] Ryan: And you could see in my face I'm just not having a good time. Steven: [to Shane] Do you have the photo? Shane: Yeah! Ryan: And look I get that this is, like, you know, a weird thing to think is very funny. [points to self] I think it's funny but—uh. Shane: Well, in retrospect we can laugh. Ryan: Yeah, in retrospect we can laugh. Shane: Especially because, you know, it was a great time for T.J. 'cause he had just started wearing hair gel. Ryan: That's correct. Steven: [laughs] Ryan: T.J. had never understood how to do his hair or use gel and so I guess we taught him how to do his hair. Shane: So he's looking—he's like, looking like Mister Cool over there and you're looking like Mister Real— Ryan: I—I look like a husk of a human. Shane: Well, you're going through the—you're going through the motions of—you're smiling. Ryan: Yeah. I remember just before this picture I had run, like, five miles. Shane: So, to the naked eye, it's like: there's two guys. Let me zoom in on Ryan. Ryan: [laughs] Steven: [laughs] oh! Ryan: Just the saddest man on Earth. [all laugh] Ryan: It was not a good time. Shane: That was rough. Ryan: But, a very funny memory.

Pod Watcher 007: Movies, Water, Magic posted Nov 27, 2023

#pod watcher #watcher #watcher entertainment #ryan bergara #shane madej #steven lim #bfu #buzzfeed unsolved #TJ marchbank

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coachs-locker-room · 4 months

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Would love to be a hot wrestler in a wrestling singlet. Is this possible?

It's been a while since I last had an order of singlets, but I'm sure that I can find an old one of mine that you can borrow. A nimble fella like yourself should look into bulking up a bit - especially if you want to be in action on the team!

- -

Almost forgetting about the odd exchange at the gym until you were about to go to bed, you pulled the singlet out of your gym bag. You had a strange memory of being asked for something in return, but your mind went blank whenever you thought of what it was… nevertheless, feeling the fabric in your hands, you thought it would only be right to give the singlet a try on your next visit to the gym.

When the day came, your heart wanted to start racing as the tight fabric stretched across your legs and torso, but it never came. With a feeling of disappointment, both in yourself and the singlet itself, you realised that you didn't feel or look like the hot wrestlers you lusted after. Determined, and somewhat inspired by all of the 'New Year New You' content that had been everywhere this month, you took out your phone and snapped a pic for yourself. Clear that if you dared to share the image on social media, the ridicule from your friendship group would make you leave you even more crushed.

With a deep sigh, you pulled on a big hoodie and shorts, dumped two extra scoops of protein powder into your cup, and connected your headphones to the gym speaker system before leaving the locker room.

Within the first fifteen minutes, you started to feel the strangest effects surge through you. You could only compare it to being over-caffeinated, but you felt pure energy and confidence surging through you like electricity re-charging a battery. Smashing your last set, you pulled off your hoodie as you walked over to the water fountain for a break, and caught your reflection in the mirror. You don't have to worry about your friends any more - if anyone is doing the crushing, it's you.

—-

If you enjoyed this tf, you can send me a tip on Ko-Fi and for more tf locker room posts and to request your own, follow @coachs-locker-room Post tf- image of lil_cubcake on Instagram: link singlet image of @pup-trexx: link

#tf ask box #tf story #male tf #jockification #transformation #tf blog #locker room tf #wrestler tf

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drak3n · 4 months

Text

TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE: PROLOGUE

ꨄ. SYNOPSIS: the launching of a new platform magically re-connecting seperated people has shaken the entirety of social media. after many months of contemplation and denial, you give in to your urges.

ꨄ. SENA’S NOTE: this merely serves as a way to introduce all eight parts of the mini-series! as they’re all characters from different fandoms, there clearly won’t be names or any specific action in this! so this is a little short :)

TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE MASTERLIST

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

everywhere.

it was everywhere you went. following you around like it was your shadow, cornering you at any given possibility.

you knew the drill. once something went viral anywhere, it would stick around for some time and then be forgotten.

that wasn’t the case with this damn live show. not at all. the first time it had been announced on international tv must have been ages ago, like around the beginning of the year. yet, the hype never seemed to die down, with more and more people freaking out online and in real life about how it changed their lives.

you were convinced it was a scam. like come on, who even believed in a fairy tale like that? being reunited with a lost lover, or any kind of lover who it didn’t work out with?

there was a reason it hadn’t worked out. because if there wasn’t, you’d still surely be with that person.

it started with trailers being shown on every channel you zipped through, announcing free slots for their newest season and putting emphasis on their confidentiality. how people had the choice to stay anonymous while spilling their private and embarrassing matters to so-called love experts.

such bullshit.

now, it went way past that. you ended up avoiding watching tv, just to literally be haunted by that cursed show in other ways. through flyers and stickers flying around, through posters hung up on subway stations and even inside of said subways, hell, a couple of days ago, there was even an airship promoting it.

TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE. a silly name for a concept just as silly as that.

what did you have to do again to apply?

right, as if there was any way of forgetting with how much your coworkers were babbling about it. they made sure to remind you of that every day.

“i’m still thinking if i should just call them the next time and try my luck,” you heard one of many tell another while you were waiting in the line for your lunch. “i really, really want to make up with my ex. they’re my only hope.”

their conversation went on for many more minutes, and you were glad when you finally were next in line to greet the lunch lady with a tired smile. as she filled your tray in a halfhearted manner, your smile quickly faded away upon hearing her talk to a fellow worker behind the counters.

“my son and his teenage love reconciled after he applied there. they are awaiting their first child soon!” the elderly woman gushed while placing a cup of pudding onto your tray, waiting for you to scan your employee id before you shuffled away from the line to plop down on an empty space in the crowded lunch hall.

it was all the same. love, love, love. always those same old problems. getting dumped, being abandoned, or doing the dumping and abandoning.

regret, sadness, frustration, desperation.

you came home that sane evening with thoughts plaguing your mind; with the big question if those were all signs for you to see. if everything you’d been hearing and seeing for these past couple of months were meant to open your eyes, somehow. to get the hint.

making a beeline to your bedroom, your eyes darted to the package placed on your bed. still untouched and waiting to be sent. the pastel pink stamp had been placed on the corner of the box yesterday by you. those fuckers made so much money with their hit show that they distributed stamps, to force them to send more drama their way for them to indulge in.

it was stupid that you had even put in the effort to package what was meant to have been tossed away long ago. it might or might not have been long yet, but why did you keep that?

as a writer, you couldn’t contain yourself. even back then, you had always known you’d end up becoming anything connected to writing, journaling, whatever. it was almost annoying how you used to document all those feelings you couldn’t put into words.

specifically writing letters had always been your passion. writing down your heartbreaks and grief into words and making them come to life on paper.

words you failed to tell him.

the recipients were all written on the envelopes inside the box, some years ago, and some recently, and you didn’t even know if they were still the same addresses.

for some, you knew for sure they weren’t.

even if the cast of TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE — if they picked you, that is — wouldn’t find their current addresses, you were for sure going to be relieved. those letters had been a significant burden on your heart ever since you had written them.

for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel any kind of satisfaction from writing. these letters existed to be sent. and you were realizing it just now.

they were meant to be read aloud, understood. they had to be read by others for you to be at peace with your unresolved feelings.

the very next morning, you handed the package to the post office, bidding farewell to years of bottled-up and hidden feelings.

it wasn’t until a week later that you received a letter, with the same pink stamp and sender the same you had sent your letters to. you found yourself reading it in front of the door to your apartment:

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

dear contestant,

we thank you for your package and were enthralled to read about your experiences. upon short discussions within our team of experts, we soon decided to choose your case to present in our next live airing, which is going to be this saturday!

the letters have already been sent out to their respective addresses — some of which we had to adjust as there have been changes.

it is up to you if you want to join us for our next airing — it be via call or even by showing up at our studio! we will welcome you in any case and make sure you will reunite with one of your lost loves.

please do not worry, as we will handle all of your data with the utmost care and make sure that none of it is leaked for other purposes.

up until then, stay lovely and trust the process!

ꨄ. your TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE cast

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

PROCEED TO OPEN LETTER

THE LOST LOVE ꨄ TOJI FUSHIGURO

THE ONE NIGHT STAND ꨄ HIROMI HIGURUMA

THE NEMESIS ꨄ ATSUMU MIYA

THE BEST FRIEND ꨄ KEN RYUGYJI

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS GONE WRONG ꨄ SHUJI HANMA

THE FORBIDDEN LOVE ꨄ LEVI ACKERMAN

RIGHT PERSON, WRONG TIMING ꨄ TOUYA TODOROKI

THE BOY NEXT DOOR ꨄ SHOUEI BAROU

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

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vanessagillings · 29 days

Note

Please talk about your favorite animated movies and what makes them special to you! I'm really curious about what you enjoyed about them both in the past and now?

haha, okay you asked!

I LOVE animated movies. My theory on this is that it took me a long time to emotionally relate to most media growing up, where I felt next to nothing watching most movies and shows as a young kid, and didn't relate to books until I was quite a lot older (I read picture books until I was around 10, and then suddenly in middle school, I hopped right to adult novels like 1984 and the entire Darkover series by Marion Zimmer Bradley, ha). But even before I emotionally related to fiction, I really enjoyed watching animation. It was nice to look at, and I enjoyed watching everything move and change. I grew up in the 90's where animated movies were largely 2D, and I spent hours watching and re-watching my favorite movies just studying how the characters moved -- it's definitely a lot of where I got my understanding of human expressions from. But I also think as I got older and started to relate more to fiction, animation was easier to parse emotionally than live action. The body language is clear. The stories are direct and not as forgiving of bad human behavior (I get frustrated sometimes with the defeatism in adult media, that assumes that People Just Act Badly, and that just needs to be accepted). Facial expressions are also exaggerated and more stylized -- think of a single arched eyebrow, for example, an expression that's commonly drawn to express one particular emotion in animation/illustration but which you next to never see on a real human face. My first introduction into serious reading was also manga -- a highly visual medium -- which uses a lot of the same tactics stylistically as western animation: big, expressive faces, bold gestures and big stories. Compare manga with western comics being printed at the time and it's even more obvious to me why I didn't particularly like comics until I was given manga as an option -- and thankfully I lived close to a kinokuniya, so I could spend all my allowance on untranslated books and magazines, which is also where I learned Japanese (もうたくさん忘れてしまいましたけど).

As far as my favorite movies? THAT IS SO HARD. The first animated movie that BLEW MY MIND was The Lion King. I saw it in theaters when I was eight and I was obsessed; it was definitely one of my first special interests. I know that entire movie line by line, frame by frame, and I had the stuffed animals and the trading cards and the clothes (man, was I teased for those clothes!). My other favorite movies as a kid were The Land Before Time, American Tale, and The Secret of NIMH (I was a big Don Bluth fan!) which have left deep impressions on how to approach storytelling for children; I warn you, I go hard on emotions for kids, because I needed that as a kid, and I know I'm not alone. Some of my other favorites are anything Miyazaki but especially Howl's Moving Castle (I relate to Sophie a lot), Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs (what I watch when I'm In A Mood), Ratatouille (a huge source of echolalia for my husband and me, we often detect nuttiness, let me tell you), Wallace and Gromit and Fantastic Mr Fox, which I watch every fall as an autumnal tradition. Even as an adult who likes live action, too, I still tend to like slightly over the top directors like Wes Anderson and Guy Ritchie, or movies that are highly cinematic like Road to Perdition, which is still one of my favorite films of all time.

In my opinion, animation is a super important medium outside of it being a very beautiful one. I truly believe it helped me access and understand emotion better as a child, and as an adult, it's a massive source of inspiration in my own work 💛

(Sorry for length, but you did ask!)

#actually autistic #asks

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angsthology · 4 months

Text

“oh, god, no...” — or an alt title: three people bonding over random things as alex makes a horrible decision

one of his worst ideas ever. he’s never doing it ever again.

a/n ckckckckcck i love u dino anon but i was a bit stumped on where this could go BUT i give u surprise to make it more fun i love love love alex my i wanna say pookie but i cant take that word seriously. also im guilty of oversharing roolore in these suposedly shorter chapters. and now that im realizing things this kinda suck lawl

THE KANGAROO(KIE) VS. THE WORLD

after a long day of media, roo was finally free to do whatever she pleased (that being going back to her hotel and pass out until whatever time her body wakes up). currently, she’s slipping on her backpack and taking her phone out, scrolling mindlessly on her contacts until she found the right name.

“where the hell are you?” she starts, holding her phone to her face. “alright. you wanna watch a movie ‘til we pass out?” she paused waiting for an answer as she walks out of the building, “‘kay, i’ll meet you out front.”

just as she clicked her phone off, she looked up to be met with a face that just… stood there with a smile—making her jump and scream in surprise, catching the attention of people around.

when she collected all her life (that had been scattered when she got spooked) she took notice of the source of her heart-attack. he smiled innocently still, as if he’s done nothing wrong.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!”

alex, the culprit in question didn’t falter (though he did flinch a little bit at her outburst), he saw this one coming and to be quite frank, he did this to himself.

“i deserved that.” he closed his eyes in acceptance of defeat. alas, he brushed it off, he moved to her side and slung a hand around her shoulder. she was about to shrug him off but decided against it. “how would you feel about helping me pick my next hair color?”

that piqued her interest, she finally looks up to come face-to-face with him again, though now a smile graced her face like a cheshire cat.

his face fell. he was starting to slowly regret his decision.

without another word, a large grin still etching her face, she fished her phone out of her pocket and started scrolling through something. when alex tried to take a peek, she immediately moved away to prevent him from doing so mumbling something along the lines of ‘corporate secrets’.

he made a face at her words. but when she finally showed him her screen, he felt as if the face he made before was a bit premature.

“what the hell is that?!” he exclaimed.

she moved her phone so she could see the picture for herself seeing not what she had opened before but rather a video instead, “oh, sorry, this was from my pitbull concert. he’s great, isn’t he?” she happily showed him the video again.

he gave her another face.

“right, uh, here.” she showed him the correct picture.

he paused. “…what is that supposed to be?”

looking at the picture again, she took a second to think about it then shrug, “neon green/yellow-ish, give or take.”

his mouth drops at her direction. “what do you mean?”

“what do you mean, ‘what do i mean’?” she takes a look at his shocked face then decided to continue, “i mean: neon green/yellow-ish!” pausing, thinking back her words, “give or take!” she pauses again and re-clarified much calmer, “okay, maybe a bit more faded and muted.”

he shook his head, non-verbally ending that part of the discussion.

“where are we even going to get that kind of color?”

she shrugs, “i know a guy.”

the two girls were now currently sitting on the couch, the doberman peacefully laying between them—her eyes too, like theirs, glued to the television playing jurassic park when suddenly a knock came, shifting all three of the girls’ attention towards it.

roo was about to get up to check who it was. being who she was, she had to be extra careful who to let into her living quarters.

“it’s me!” the other side announced.

she looked away from the door and blinked, her brows screwing together in thought until she realized who that voice belonged to.

“alex?” she tested the waters.

“yeah!”

she sighed, her eyes then looking expectantly at the dog that lied beside her, tilting her head as if she were the dog asking their owner for something.

the dog whimpers as if groaning at her request. alas, she jumped off the couch begrudgingly walking towards the door and jumping up to open it.

“he— huh?” alex stopped in his tracks when instead of seeing his friend right behind the door, she was way far sitting on the couch with her friend. she greeted him nonetheless then motioning her hand towards the dog that sat quaintly besides the door, smiling up at him happily.

“oh!” he raised his brows in surprise then bending down to pet the dog who happily accepted, “who’s this fella?” he asked in a high-pitched voice, his accent stronger than usual.

“that’s jet, she’s mine.” roo answered from the couch, jurassic park long forgotten. “what are you doing here?” she asked the brit.

alex then moved his attention away from the dog, his hand still petting her chin, “uhm—i need your help.”

“with what?” her voice slightly gurgling from taking a sip of her drink.

he then holds up the boxes of hair dye with a forced awkward smile.

she gave him a look, “what about your girlfriend?”

“busy today,” he shrugged.

“then do it tomorrow.” she counters.

“okay, fine, i’m bored and alone.” he confessed.

she wanted to help; she really did but—

she groaned loudly; head thrown back to rest on the back of the couch.

“would you believe me if i say my ass is glued and have already morphed into this couch?”

“i would, actually.”

suddenly, from far behind on the other side of the couch—her presence almost forgotten—nika made herself present, “i’ll help. my ass is getting tired of the couch and i’m pretty good with handling people’s hair; i actually spent a summer working in my mom’s salon once.”

roo the gasped, turning around to face her friend with her jaw slack in shock—sarcasm written all over her face—“you had a job? like an actual job? once upon a time?”

“oh shut the fuck up,” she waved off the racing driver and stood up from her seat on the couch over to the other. “now get up, let’s do this.”

about a half an hour into their attempt, nika and alex had set up a mini salon chair using one of the hotel’s dining table chairs with a layer of plastic sitting on the ground. the latter sat on a chair in the middle of the room with a cloth draped over the top of his body. if anyone were to come in through the front door right now, they would assume kidnapping with a side of chemical testing. nika herself had changed into one of her uglier shirts incase they would accidentally get some dye on it.

the alfa romeo driver, on the other hand, still sat where she was the entire time unmoving and un-helping, now having the large dog sat on her lap feeding treats off of her hand while the other scratches the dog between her ears.

“alright. i think that’s all of your hair.” the girl stepped back from her friend’s friend’s hair, admiring the work she’s done. “now we wait. —good luck al,” she said as she took off the plastic gloves that were now mostly green.

alex—whose chair was facing the door for some reason—gripped the chair with his two (clean) hands and moved it around along with himself so he can face the couch. “so…” he looked between his co-worker and her friend, “does she just… go everywhere with you?”

“yeah.” she answered shortly before continuing, “you guys have wags i have… this.”

he looked at nika again, “no offense to you, but—”

“it’s fine, have you met her?” she shrugged pointing at the little shit she unfortunately calls a friend.

he chuckled then continued, “what about daisy-mae? i thought she was your best friend?”

“she is. this one’s just fit baggage claim. plus—daisy’s a serious scholar she’s still very busy getting her degree.”

from the kitchen sink, nika scoffed, “yeah, while she’s stuck with me around the world, mae’s stuck with atticus in college.”

alex the jumped into the conversation at the familiar name, “oh! the drummer, right?”

“yes.”

“oh—hey,” nika turned around from the sink and walked to the closest counter to the two friends, “there’s still quite some left, who wants it?”

as if sensing an idea in the air, jet jumps off roo’s lap and ran into another room.

said girl sighs, “man, knew jet was too smart for trips like this. should’ve known i should’ve brought bennie instead.”

as if the dog heard her, a bark came from the other room.

“whatever. i guess that’s one option out the window,” she turns to nika over the counter, “do me!” she smiles happily.

“alright. your death wish.”

alex, who was momentarily smiling, dropped his previous expression, “wait what—”

te1enoviyuhs

liked by daisymaerose, selvnika, and 836,735 others

tagged: selvnika and lilymhe

te1enoviyuh some notes from yours truly:

lilymhe why did u have to dump babysitting duties

and gooddyeyoung thank u for the hair dye i love hayley williams 🥰

and uh i guess awstenknight thanks for the hookup and free dye

and to everyone else!!!! hey. dump acc just dropped

see all 836 comments.

backbiteroo WHO LET YOU DO THIS

te1enoviyuh backbiteroo myself. i am a grown woman.

selvnika the nika salon is now open for business 🥰

te1enoviyuh selvnika i hope you bankrupt and close

selvnika te1enoviyuh kiss yourself.

norrislftv selvnika ??????

norrislftv OH

alex_albon why was i not tagged 😕 i thought we were twins now

te1enoviyuh alex_albon hm. sure. u wish

daisymaerose hi jet

liked by te1enoviyuh

gaslytv what does... alex mean... when he said... twins...

schupastry this is so random but so cute

awstenknight youre welcome grinch

te1enoviyuh awstenknight 🖕

lilymhe 😬😬 i apologize for having a job

te1enoviyuh lilymhe don’t apologize for that. apologize for not taking ur kid to work.

lilymhe te1enoviyuh that i won’t apologize for.

50kidgaroos BABE WAKE UP NEW DUMP ACCOUNT JUST DROPPED

taglist; @treehouse-mouse @disneyprincemuke @yansbolobao @leilanixx @judespoision @vellicora @bborra

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one x reader #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x female reader #f1 smau #formula 1 smau #formula one smau #formula 1 x oc #tine’s roo vs the world #alex albon x reader #alex albon x you

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