#(way to say you're a deity without saying you're a deity)

[wine-cult]

This is actually something we naturally pay a lot of attention to! We are hyperautoanalytical, for reasons related to Autism, OCD, BPD and also trauma-related hypervigilance. Plus we have a collective special interest in etymology. And we go through life with Such intention that most folks can't even see.

Collectively, there are things we all do:

We are required to all use UK spellings, even if the individual is specifically American [which they're not happy about but this is enforced by the brain via much discomforts if they try to use US spellings]. Anything else here, the brain allows to be optional.

We prefer [square brackets] instead of (parentheses) because we find things easier to read that way.

We also do tone tags as [./tag] instead of just /tag for the same reason.

We usually italicise any titles, and, unlike our usual text acronym behaviour [ex: omg], capitalise titles that are in their own font, acronym or not, such as BMC [Be More Chill] and EPIC: The Musical.

We also capitalise and use apostrophes on certain specific acronyms like DM's, MAP's, TERF's, PDA, MOGAI and LIOM, AD and BCE, etc.

But specifically do not capitalise certain other acronyms like omg, wtf, lol, lmao, idk, idc, iirc, ab, smth bc, and "etc." itself. We're also very particular about including the period after "etc."

More to the last point, we will specifically avoid using these at the beginnings of sentences if we want the sentence to be capitalised.

We also refuse to capitalise keyboard smashes, and try to avoid any solitary instances of hh, hhhh, kkk or xxx [h, x and k are all letters we sometimes use alone for onomatopoeia]

We collectively use o.0 and <3 a lot.

We use an apostrophe for 'cause, because... we do.

Ellipses are generally only 3, and if they're 2 or 4 or more, it is intentional and means something.

On the mismatch of AD and BCE, we've only known BC to mean "before Christ", and while we don't have a problem with Jesus [we don't worship him but he's cool], we just. no. He's just one guy, deity or not. If it was defined by the birth of Lord Hypnos, who we do worship, we still would prefer Before Common Era. "After Death" though makes no sense and also is made up, it's ad domini, and we believe the creators of the calendar deserve the respect of AD continuing to be used, because they did a good job so the Latin can stay. Plus we don't like "common era", especially in comparison to BCE, nor do we like BC alone due to "bc" being short for "because".

Other than all that, even though there are of course many similarities, we definitely do type differently. Although there are too many of us to be able to really identify us in this way, the differences still are there.

Rosalie prefers to be able to properly use the Oxford comma.

Riley uses every abbreviation and shortcut available and ends every phrase with ellipses.

My zizi Andromeda uses Emphasis Capitalisation a Lot for Everything, All of the time.

My sibling Ivy uses a lotttttttttt of exclamation points.

Jester makes sures to use all the proper spelling and punctuation and also it comes through that it's emotionless.

Odysseus, when he was solely Máxime Le Mal [mixtive] felt self conscious saying "ze" instead of "the" but avoided using any contractions. He stopped avoiding it after absorbing the source of Odysseus though.

Terry and Avery, who are fictives of the same American Southerner, both spell in accordance to their accents. Yer instead of your/you're, cain't instead of can't [not "cain" though, even though they pronounce it that way, since that one could easily be misunderstood] replacing a lot letters with apostrophes, such as bein', liter'ly, 'cept etc. Although the apostrophe isn't always used, particularly for -ing words, since there are so many, so they'll just drop the g without replacing it [Avery especially but Terry too].

Fin capitalised names [but not all proper nouns] and "I" but avoided sentence capitalisation. It also critically under-uses commas.

Raine avoids any and all capitalisation, including for "I", proper nouns including names, and anything else. Even xyr display name on PluralKit is lowercase. Xe also avoids apostrophes iirc.

Hale and Troy² I can quote on things they noticed about their own typing...

And there's certainly more! There are hundreds of headmates and also not everything is easily explainable dnakwndjfns. Plus ofc there are typing quirks too.

It's also important to note that we tend to mask a lot more on a platform like Tumblr in this way. On Discord, we can much easier express our own individual typing styles comfortably and freely. On Tumblr, as a platform that functions very differently than a chatform, we feel the need to express more proper grammar and spelling, as well as find a balance between 'overly excited' and 'emotionless therefore comes across as mad', both of which are how we general tend to be. I don't think this is plurality masking though, it's very much Autism masking.

-- Eowyn (zhe/it/they/ask)

question 69: would you say any of you have different typing styles and/or make different choices about whicj words to use and how to phrase things? or is it mostly the same?

[witchescollection]

do y'all ever just scroll past a tumblr post and promptly realise how cult-y it is?

[st4rbwrry]

𝓢𝓐𝓣𝓞𝓡𝓤’𝓢 𝓖𝓘𝓡𝓛.    satoru gojo.

ᰔᩚ warnings. 5.2k, fem!reader, professor!satoru x college student!reader, classroom sex cs duh, reader’s 23! & satoru’s 30!, oral ꒰ f + m ꒱, titty sucking, biting, size kink, voice kink, sub / dom dynamic, fingering, choking, spanking, lotssss of dirty talk omgie, multiple orgasms, pet names ꒰ lil’ girl (literally just a taunt), pretty, baby ꒱, roughhhhh sex ona desk, minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs + comments are greatly appreciated. ♡

꒰ mocha’s note ! ꒱ : got inspired by miller’s girl and wrote this in literally five hours. so, happy bday daddy. <3

he always knew there was something wrong with you. how could there not be? one, you’re deadly in the eyes. that he solidified the first day. always looking at him like you wanted to eat him. two, you're a mythical deity. stunning. you could be born in a different world for all he knew. sometimes he hated those voices that told him to stare at you. watch you watch him. velvet red hair cut in layers that reach the middle of your back. dermal piercing a few inches below your right eye, multiple on your ears, septum ring in your nose. your eyes are slanted like a cat, fluffy lashes enhance your features. your lips always look soft, darkly lined, and topped with a sheen of gloss. 

most days you dressed according to weather, or really whatever you felt comfortable in. yesterday, when going over the topic for an essay he wanted everyone to have written and turned in before spring break hit, you were different. just tuesday you were wearing oversized men’s jorts with a basketball jersey tied up to your back. now, when you walked into his classroom with less clothing than he’s ever seen you in, he had to question it. you looked nice. it wasn’t any of his business, maybe you could be going out later with friends. it’s not his business. 

what was his business was how you strutted up to his desk after you waited for every student to exit class. satoru sat in his leather chair, legs sprawled and hands clasped together in front of him as he leaned back into his seat. his eyes absentmindedly trail up and down your body full of curves and soft, ample skin. the tattoos on various areas of your body are more evident. the black prescription glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose as you chew your gum and hand over your essay. those short ass white ruffled shorts and a yellow crop top, without a bra, with green accents and black font that read ‘soulaan’ in the middle a distraction.

“hi, ꒰♡꒱. you’re always one of the few people who turn in their work early.” 

“what can i say, i was very passionate about this essay,” you twirl your finger within your necklace, scanning his entire face with flirtation. satoru hums, pretending not to notice. “i really put my entire soul into it, so please take your time reading it. it’ll mean a lot.” 

“must’ve been a really interesting dream of yours.” 

“you have no idea.” 

and you were fucking right. that night satoru went home and started his usual routine of getting comfortable, making dinner, and brewing some coffee so he’s wide awake to read over thirty student essays. luckily, he didn’t ask for much. they were given two options. their goal was to describe the perception of dreams or in detail, write a tragic fantasy story. most of the essays he read felt like middle school writing, frustratingly rubbing his temples as he graded multiple papers, trying to figure out why basic comprehension skills were lacking, even doubting himself as a teacher. he tries not to stay up for hours, flipping through papers and scribbling—until he sees your name on the corner. 

satoru sniffles, taking a sip of his coffee before he’s getting comfortable in his chair, sinking into it and beginning to read what you wrote about. you’ve always had a way with words, great formatting, expansive dictionary. when reading your dream, it felt like a real novel, like he was a part of it. then, he felt really a part of it, to a point where it was uncomfortable. the story has to do with a woman who aches for an intimate union with her lover, yet he’s withholding her pleasure, leaving her trembling on the precipice of desire in their lover's den. the greek god you describe as your lover is dominating. stunning facial features, starlight hair, and crystal blue eyes. the woman is feeble, urging him to see her, to yearn for her, to become one with her. abandoning her needs for his personal endeavors. 

with gentle touches that linger on the softness of her plush thighs, smoothing along her brown skin shining under the moonlight, she results in the sensual act of pleasuring herself. the help of her lover is nowhere to be found in the darkness where her body laid on milk-toned, silk sheets. leaving her to pursue the cavern flowing with burning, hot arousal. she finds herself daydreaming of what could’ve been as her delicate fingers find themselves sinking between her precious legs. trailing another hand to her throat which she clutches tight as if it were his. rolling her hips into her hand to grind on as if he were entering himself into her. dulcet whimpers escaping her throat as her body arches off the bed in ecstasy, mind swirling with pleasurable emotions and unforeseen desires. rocking her body upon the bed as if his heavy, big body hovered over her and lost himself in her. spanking herself as if it were him. chewing on her lower lip as if he were gnawing at them. orgasming with tiny whimpers and sobs as if he were the cause. him, him, him. . . 

the heat encasing satoru’s face could only sum up one feeling; arousal. the essay goes on for so much longer, conjuring up unwanted fantasies of a woman he promised to push back into the furthest parts of his brain. you were altering his mind. it was clear as day exactly who you wrote this for and about. him. what you wanted from him, the longing ache to have him. it’s enough to give him a migraine, cutting off his desk lamp before forcing himself to take a very cold shower. those words replay in his mind, the image becoming erotically more vivid. picturing your body atop of silk sheets where you’d fuck yourself out of pity. is that how he’s making you feel? edged? unsatisfied? whimpering in your loneliness? he’d never do that to you. 

satoru hates himself for needing to handle the painful hard on he’d gotten, head buried under the stream of water as his fist twists roughly around his aching dick, grunting at any image of your face coming to mind. it was a highly inappropriate thing to do. a professor and his student sleeping together? it’s all too cliche. you were a grown ass woman, so if teasing him by switching up how you dressed to purposely gain his attention, and writing erotic pornography was your way of showing him you needed him for one act, one day, one night of nasty ass sex . . what were he to do? you are a beautiful woman, and he’s always felt a source of attraction to you, but you weren’t worth jeopardizing his career for. it’d have to wait. 

the last day before spring break came and he was ready to confront you about your so-called ‘essay’. when he notices you walking into class, he tries to avoid staring at your attire; a really short black pleated skirt with a matching ed hardy tank top and glossy mary jane’s on your feet. gulping and keeping his focus on your eyes as he whispers, “stay after class. i need to talk to you.” 

you try to hide the smirk wanting to display upon your face, winking at him before nodding and finding your seat. class seems exceptionally longer today, finding yourself dozing off for most parts, shutting off your brain by doodling into your journal or making a grocery list for this weekend. pulling a sweet treat from your purse, you find a pink lollipop to distract yourself with, oral fixation getting to you. satoru almost chokes on his words when he catches you swirling your tongue mindlessly around your candy, being a fucking brat in his eyes. gently kicking your feet and resting your chin in your hand to keep yourself from sleeping. 

when the lecture ended, that’s when your heart began to race in excitement, and maybe a sheer sense of nervousness. curious to hear what he was going to say to you. making your way down the steep stairs of the class, you sit in the front row, plopping into a chair and crossing your legs as you look up at him, watching him say his final goodbyes as the class completely clears out. half of the campus was empty considering most students began making their way home, so really only fifteen students showed their faces today. 

satoru’s shoulders roll as he sighs, folding his arms in front of him. “so, ꒰♡꒱. . . i read your essay.” 

“uh huh, what’d you think?” you smile. 

“it's definitely something. very good writing, never doubted you on that. but, i do have some questions.” 

you snap your fingers before pointing them his way like a gun. “shoot!”

“you remember the topic of discussion, correct?” 

“wrote it down in bold,” you nod. 

“right, but, i think we went far off topic. as in, inappropriately.” 

“what are we, in high school?” you scoff. “i’ve read worse. i used to grade papers for teachers.” 

“i understand that. but it’s evidently not what i meant as far as the topic goes. in this dream of yours, the two characters are . .” he pauses, trying to figure out what to say. 

“fucking,” you finish for him, still sucking on your lollipop. 

satoru’s gaze flew there momentarily before finding your eyes again. “having intercourse, yes. i’m just having a hard time comprehending what you wrote.”

“why is that?” 

“how is it considered a tragedy?” 

“well, the woman couldn’t have what she wanted in the end. she was edged, given false hope from promises that were made to her. pleading for any form of gratification. why, as a man, deny your lover of acts that forever bonds their love?” 

you bat your lashes, eyes going wide as you word it so . . dreadfully. satoru inhales, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he squints at you. 

“so, she killed herself in the end, because she wasn’t gratified?” 

“as implied, yes. the pain of a woman, you’d never understand. it’s unbearable. feels like death, satoru,” a pained sigh emits from you as you hold your heart and shake your head. “ugh.” 

“꒰♡꒱,” satoru blinks, your games becoming unfunny. “was this dream something you recalled, or are you trying to imply something?” 

“dreams can’t always exist, unless you persuade yourself to make it real,” you respond firmly, making yourself as clear as you possibly can. 

“do you want it to be real?” 

“do you?” you counter. 

satoru pokes his inner cheek with his tongue, turning his attention away. “i-i can’t answer that.” 

“why not?”

“it’s just . . not in my position to answer that. it’s inappropriate.” 

“but, you felt it, right?” your voice grows softer.

he looks at you. “felt what?” 

“our attraction to each other,” your head slowly tilts to the side, eyeing him up and down, watching him slightly shift. “through that essay. what i want from you, what you’ve been wanting from me, professor satoru.” 

his jaw stiffens. “you’re essentially crossing a line.” 

“the only thing i’m crossing are my legs,” a loud pop! rings as you remove the lollipop from your mouth, looking at it before deciding to crack it in your mouth and tossing the white stick somewhere in the room. satoru’s fists clench whilst he admires your glistening legs. “you want them . . un-crossed? open?” 

“꒰♡꒱.” 

“mhm,” you moan after hearing your name desperately fall from his lips. he didn’t mean for it to sound that way, sucking in his breath as your fingers trail within your plush inner thighs. “it’s wet, professor satoru. see.” 

next, you spread your legs apart, lifting your skirt up some more so satoru can easily see the imprint of your cunt against the red fabric of your cotton panties, wetness sealing and sticking to you. 

satoru clears his throat, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck with a rough grunt, trying to contain himself from acting on his obvious desires. his polished loafers click amongst the tile as he strides quickly towards the classroom door, locking it and pulling the shade down so there would be no interruptions. he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he shouldn’t even react this quickly in fact. but he’s been pent up ever since last night, having such a hard time sleeping. only the thought of you glimmering in his mind. 

satoru takes a deep breath with shut eyes, hands sliding back into his slacks pockets as he leans against the desk, one foot crossed over the other, those once daydream blue eyes now staring maliciously in your direction. you bite your lip, slowly rising from your seat to strut towards him, hips swaying salaciously. 

your body brushes amongst his seductively slow, tits grazing his chest and arms that are tightly fitted into his baby blue button down, lips coming up to graze over his clenched jawline. your hand trails up his left arm, feeling the hair on his skin rise as your nails brush along his neck where a vein throbs violently, blood rushing. 

“don’t be so scared, i don’t bite. and i don’t tell.” 

in a swift move, you're hiking your body on top of the mahogany wood desk, kicking off your shoes and planting your feet flat on the surface, legs spread wide to allow him to slot himself between you. satoru’s vision remains unchanged, still staring at the seat you once resided in as he breathed heavily. your manicured foot skims up and down his strong arm, your short, bubblegum acrylics sliding into your mouth as you lewdly suck on your own fingers while mewling. satoru can see you in his peripheral vision, your hips shifting dauntingly, just waiting for him to react. 

“you already locked the door, what are you waiting for?” 

“for you to say it.” 

you grin. “say what, baby?” 

satoru scoffs, shifting in his spot from the sudden pet name, dick uncomfortably hard. “that you want me to fuck you, ꒰♡꒱. i need to hear it.” 

okay, you get it. lowering your leg from touching him, you go to grab his hand instead, the expensive watch on his wrist cold to touch as you guide him to touch the top of your thigh. “want you to fuck me like you've been needing to, satoru. please.” 

an unexplainable breath of air releases from him as he finally faces you, and seeing you spread along his desk like this felt like a hallucination. most of this didn’t feel real. maybe he was still sleeping? and if that was the case, there were no rules. his towering body slots between your thighs, glaring down at you possessively as he smoothes both his veiny hands up and down your thighs, tightening at your hips before sliding back up. going back down to apply pressure to your ass, then lowering his head to your pretty face. 

“gimme your mouth,” satoru rasps, clutching your neck to pull your face up before you oblige and lean in for a kiss first to feed his hunger. 

satoru grunts in your mouth, soft lips molding with your own in a passionate kiss. it’s slow, sucking on each other's lips before you’re sucking and moaning on his thick tongue, moaning into his mouth while he pants into yours. you suck on his lips, turning your head slightly to deepen the kiss, unbuttoning his shirt, desperate to feel the heat from his skin. then goes his belt, unraveling it along with pulling down his zipper, and that causes satoru to get aggressive with his mouth. kissing so rough it makes your pussy throb. 

“you taste so good, pretty,” he moans in between, turning your neck to the side to latch his lips and tongue on the flesh, your eyes rolling back as he found your sensitive spot. you gasp from the whimper he emits as he does it. 

“f-fuck,” you whimper, gripping his wrist as he suddenly sinks his teeth delicately into your skin, soothing it with a rough, slow swiped of his tongue before ending it with a kiss. 

he’s traveling to the other side to do the same, your hips rocking on the desk to try to get closer to him, his bulge only grazing your soaked pussy. you lift your hips and scoot closer, balancing yourself by gripping onto his shoulders to drag yourself against the outline of his dick. satoru moans from the motion, locking his right hand under your left thigh to raise higher so he could grind against you like you whimpered for, dry humping you as he continues to kiss you.  

soon, he’s lifting your top over your tits, eyeing them as they sit on your chest, barbells pierced into the dark skin of your nipples. it created a visceral response from him, shifting his hips to grind against you harder as if he’s fucking you slow, cocking his head to latch his full mouth around your tits. your head falls back as he pulls them into his mouth greedily, dropping your hips on him mindlessly. 

“satoru, you’re g’na make me cum too soon,” you whine into his ear, but he ignores you completely, almost growling like a dominant animal in heat as he locks you close. 

“g’na cum a few times fuckin’ me, so get over it,” he mumbles after releasing your tit with a lewd pop, switching his mouth to drop his tongue and enclose his lips over the other, tongue flicking with his hands slamming against the side of your ass falling bare of your skirt. 

satoru hisses a deep ‘fuck’ as you rotate your hips quicker, humping him like a bunny, an orgasm in fact happening. satoru picks up his pace, rolling his hips forward to match your rhythm, his eyes sparkling from your desperation. he’s leaking precum, and your slickness is drenching his briefs. 

“mgh, baby—fuck,” your tongue lolls out to lick and suck at the shell of his ear, biting gently on his earlobe as your knees buckle and you whimper while grabbing at his backside to pull him indefinitely closer. 

“lemme taste that shit,” satoru’s almost begging, your heavy breathing by his ear and inability to stop moving your hips fucking him up. he knows you taste as good as you look. 

you grip the edges of the desk as you nod, legs shakily raising as he roughly pulls your victoria’s secret thong with a blinged hemline off to finally see his other girl, lowering to his knees in worship. 

“she’s pretty as hell,” he whispers with an erotically drawn-out moan, licking his lips before he leaves open-mouthed kisses at your inner thighs, holding yourself open for him. he spanks your thigh hard, the hit making you squeak and stare at him with a stretched jaw and furrowed brows. “where’s that thank you, lil’ girl?”

“t-thank you, baby.” 

“mhm, that’s right,” now his lips are latching onto your sluice clit, hungry eyes piercing into your every emotion as you whimper pathetically and maintain eye contact you’re sure he wants. “fuck yes, baby. so fuckin’ good, girl. rock on my face.” 

sinking your teeth into your lips which you’re sure were bitten red and nearly chapped, you comply, gripping tight on the desk while your other hand tangles into tresses of white, swallowing and lifting your hips just like you were doing a few minutes ago. satoru’s thumbs are embedded into either side of your thighs, using only your pelvic muscle to shift into his mouth, his fat tongue hot on your pussy. 

“tongue so good, baby. nng,” your face scrunched up as he growls into your cunt, your inner thighs shaking when he slicks his face up and down your pussy, juices covering his chin. “right there, right there!” 

satoru keeps his mouth where you want it, focusing mostly on your engorged clit pulsating on his tongue, digging into and occasionally capturing it with his lips, his salvia drooling onto you as he moans, his eyes scrolling as you tug at his hair. 

“oooooo, fuck, yessss,” you didn’t mean to scream, but his attention on your clit gets distracted by his thick fingers sliding into your hole, twisting and thrusting two of them simultaneously. his jaw shifts quick, kissing and licking while he fucks you open. “ ‘t-toruuuhh.” 

“unh huh,” satoru continues to swallow you. “gimme that fuckin’ cream, baby. i want it all in my mouth. make me proud. atta girl.” 

you cry out, stomach heaving. “i love when you talk like that.” 

his fingers pull out to quickly spank your clit, your hips stuttering as he’s slipping them back in, pumping three to four times before taking them out again and spanking your clit again. “that’s what you like?” 

“y-yessss!” 

“fuckin’ sexy ass girl,” he spanks your outer thigh with vigor, coming to grab your throat once again, giving you a chaste kiss while he finger fucks you faster. “ain’t you? fuckin’ let me know. scream that shit out loud.” 

“i amm, ugh—god . . pleaseeee.” 

“go ‘head and cum, c’mon. gotta paint my dick pretty with it, yeah?”

“oh . . my . . g-goddd,” the way he talks to you makes you dizzy, and it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of. his mouth is filthy, and when you cum hard for the second time, he makes sure you suck on his fingers to taste yourself. wrapping your lips around them to suck them clean before satoru’s sticking out his tongue to rush over your mouth along with his fingers, pulling them into his mouth to suck after. 

your eyes are drooped, feeling so fucked out without actually having him fuck you yet. who would’ve expected your professor to be this . . nasty? it’s like he’s been waiting for you to speak up so he can fulfill his own disgusting fantasies. safe to say, you made a good choice. 

satoru’s standing back to his full height, which never fails to make you ditzy from the size difference. you feel so small on this desk under him. 

“c’mere, move up all the way,” he’s now guiding you to turn your back to him, which makes you pout since you wanted to face him. he chuckles deeply at the audible disapproval, swatting your ass. “you’ll still see my face, greedy. be patient.” 

he positioned you on your knees on top of the desk facing a dusty chalkboard, spread eagle and hands pinned behind your back, almost curled up into a fetal position with your tits to your knees. satoru swallows, your pretty red hair falling angelically around your soft features as you wait for him to fuck you. his dick is throbbing in his fist he’s pumping it into, the shlick shlick noise leaving you anticipated as he uses your arousal as lube. he’s aligning the tip with your opening, teasingly rubbing the head up and down, the vein on the underside of his heavy dick throbbing. 

his other hand is keeping you pinned down at your hip, also lifting the flesh of your ass so he can slide into you. he’s pushing forward, choking on a moan the deeper he gets. you’re real tight, it being slightly difficult to push fully into you. words like ‘relax’ and ‘breathe baby’ utters painfully from satoru as he tries not to lose his shit at the sight of your pussy literally gripping his dick to pull back in after he slightly shifts back. when he’s halfway in, leaving the hand on your hip, he uses the other you lock your wrists behind your back, gyrating his hips to cock back and grind into you. 

“ooo, f-fuck,” you whimper, hands wiggling in his grasp, nails managing to scratch his arm. satoru watches the flesh of your ass bounce with every deep, slow thrust, pussy squelching. 

“see? look at the shit,” satoru comments to himself, knitting his brows together in fascination. “told ya’ it’d make it pretty,” 

“can’t see it,” you whimper, upset. 

“you can feel it, right? it’s stretchin’ that pretty girl open,” satoru moans gruffly, moving himself closer so his sharp hips hit your ass with every movement. he’s getting rougher, your skin nearly bruising from his hot touches, the bangles on your wrist clinking with each thrust. 

“i feel it,” you hiss, stomach caving in. “bet s’so pretty.”

“yeah? promise to give it a taste after?” 

“yeah,” you nod slowly, eyes tightly shut. “y-yeah. will, ‘toru.” 

“good girl.” 

gasps fill the air when he fucks you harder, balls slapping against your sticky clit as your ass recoils and claps back onto his abdomen. he’s got a deadlock on your posture, satoru’s face completely serious as he fucks you so, so rough. his sounds are animalistic compared to your own; whiny and soft. coughing out moans as you heave against the desk creating a spot of condescension. he’s so big hovering over you, bending you underneath him, papers falling off the desk while he rutted into you. skin clapping, moans synchronized, and sweat dripping. it’s the hottest fucking scene. 

“takin’ me so deep, baby. this shit feels so fuckin’ . . good, god,” satoru’s voice breaks, hitting you ass with a dirty grunt. “ungh, fuckin this pussy g’na get me in trouble.” 

“i n-need you,” you fight to break free from his grip, flipping your hair over to one side of your face as you sit up after he releases his grasp. “closer.” 

taking the initiative, you go to stand on your feet, back pressing to his chest as he clasps your throat, standing on your tiptoes to rotate and grind your ass back on his dick, stuffing you so full you feel it in your tummy.  

“that’s my girl,” satoru’s kissing your earlobe, pressing his cheek onto the side of your face as the two of you controlled your breathing together. “it’s your dick, take it. fuck that pussy how you want. i’m your fuckin’ toy.” 

“ssshit,” sucking your lips inwardly, you keep your hand on satoru’s wrist while your arm slings behind his neck to balance yourself, the ridges of veins on his dick scratching all the good, achy parts. 

“c’mon, girl, got me waitin’ too long,” without incoming, satoru spanks your thigh, hips thrusting steadily. “if you g’na fuck me, do it right.” 

you try to keep your composure, but the sultry, deep baritone of his voice directly by your ear makes your waist stutter, that warm, bubbly feeling swarming in your tummy. his mouth is back on your neck, and that activates you quick, sobbing and clapping your ass back needily. the mutual desperation to cum is at an all-time high. 

“there we go, t-there we go, girl. that’s what i wanted. s’good,” satoru’s gorgeous eyes cast white, jaw dropping as he grunts, holding your waist just to hold you, allowing you to handle it. “ungh, fuck. keep fuckin’ back.” 

the burn in your legs prolongs as you sway your hips and fuck back on him, his grip on you keeping you balanced to give you enough space to move how you want. this dick is slick with your cum, a ring of cream covering it as you cry and push all your weight back so you're feeling every inch while he's experiencing every tight clench.

“ ‘toru, i—” your words are cut off by an interrupted orgasm, cumming yet again as you greedily roll your ass back with weak cries. your legs feel staticky, almost falling down before satoru makes sure to lock his forearm around your stomach. 

“ ‘toru needs t’ cum too.” 

interlocking his right hand with yours, the two of you hold hands as he lays it on your thigh, bringing your head back to rest on his shoulder with a hand grasping your throat tight, nearly cutting your airways. he’s getting . . mad? nothing satisfies him more than to know he’s made a woman cum multiple times in one session, but when he gets as horny and fucked out as he was now? it wasn’t a good idea to leave him without one orgasm. and he can definitely give you more than just one. he wanted to show you that, you deserved that. 

satoru begins to pull his hips back, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips to let you know he still cares and will comfort you after. just needs a few minutes of shutting off that part of his brain to fuck himself dumb. your pussy clenches and pulsates sloppily on his dick as he fucks you harder than he has before, the breath knocking out of your throat while he squeezes his eyes shut and pounds assertively. they’re neither fast nor slow, just steady and rough. like he’s been needing it so damn bad. the warmth of you getting him out of character, the scent of your perfume enveloping him. the conditioner in your soft, red velvet hair. the tattoos inked into your brown skin, the piercings on your ears and face. your fogged-up glasses, courtesy to him. the unexplainable pleasure he derives off of hearing you whimper ‘toru, toru, toru’. 

who knows what kind of fucking spell you put on him. he just knows he’ll never, ever erase today from his memory. it’ll play like a tantalizing loop. tears threaten to fall from your eyes, cunt going sore from his brutal pivots, falling back weakly into his strong body and gasping from every deliciously deep, thrust. satoru kisses at your face, lashes kissing your cheekbones, trying your best to look up at him. and when you do, you can see he’s utterly gone. the groans emanating, feral growls, and pinball white eyeballs that couldn’t stop scrolling into the back of his head. you watch him mumble your name while spewing expletives, pink lips wide as his whimpers and moans break apart.

“fuck!” he bellows, moving your bodies back towards the desk as he pins you down flat and fucks your ass back onto him, that pressure tugging at him. he's pressing the side of his cheek with yours, breathing heavily while gripping your jaw and dropping his weight on your backside. “fuck, fuck. fuck.” 

“ ‘toru, please cum for me, baby. w’na taste you so bad.”

and he does, as soon as you say his goddamn name like that again, that vanilla voice of yours, seductive yet sweet, coaxing him to cum. 

“knees, baby. suck me,” satoru heaves in a high pitch.

hurriedly, you twist your body to crouch below him, palm wrapping around his dick, satoru’s hand taking strands of your hair to make a ponytail on the back of your head to bob your head to suck him, hips stuttering and his lips damn near quivering. your cheeks hollow inwards as you swallow him in your throat, satoru guiding your head as he shoots his cum hot in your mouth. you moan around him, staring up at him through your dark falsies to be rewarded with the beautiful sight of his snow white hair shielding his face, blue eyes glowing as he looks at you with a genuine laugh. 

pulling your head back, you wipe your mouth slowly with the back of your hand, satoru’s dick twitching midair, semi-hard. he holds both palms out, waiting for you to grab him so he can pull you up. you take them, and he brings your chest to his. 

“fuck, you’ve got me spent,” his hands are now on either side of your face, locking his lips with yours once more. “so damn good.” 

“mhm,” you blink with a goofy smile, pulling your shirt down and smoothing your hair. kissing his face, you wipe your lipgloss off any part of his skin. “so, same time after break?” 

© 𝑠𝑡4𝑟𝑏𝑤𝑟𝑟𝑦 . all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life.♡

[hellsslibrary]

Sae + feminization and breeding kink please I need it

You can make him an omega too if you want

"Come on, dude. Skirts were originally made for men, they rock them way better than girls..."

MASTERLIST is here.

#a.n. : THIS WAS THE BEST THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN. If anything, for the script I took that extra scene where they assumed Sae was a crossdresser, but if he really was and that makeup bag wasn't from Aiku's ex, yeah. So you can imagine that picture of Sae.

!!Warnings: crossdressing, light feminization, breeding kink (obviously), top!reader, bottom!Sae, no dom/sub boundaries, but Sae is a little more dominant if you choose (sorry, power bottom Sae world domination), praise and worship, riding, thoughts about what Sae would be like if he were a girl, but they're not serious, at the end Sae puts lipstick on your lips because I thought it was cute.

The soft rustle of the sheets, Sae's almost inaudible sighs, your moans, the slight groaning of the bed and the slapping of bodies against each other echoed in the large bedroom. Your eyes were fixed on Sae's calm and contented face as he slowly rode your cock.

His damn long eyelashes were even more visible because of the mascara on them, his lips were tinted with cute pink lipstick, and his cheeks were blushing not only from your actions with him. There were gold earrings in his ears, as well as a small necklace around his neck. On his torso was your shirt, which was not buttoned up, and on his hips was a regular pleated skirt and fuck... It was the hottest view in the world.

"So... What were you angry about when you came?" you ask, breaking out of your thoughts about admiring the perfect man on your cock, forcing him to open his eyes and look at you.

"I'm not angry, just a little disappointed. This infantile striker from the U-20 was rummaging through my bag... Found makeup there," Sae says evenly, interrupted by a light sigh from his lips as your hips slightly moved up during his bouncing. "They put it down to the fact that I have a girlfriend or something. It doesn't matter, don't think about it."

"You? A girlfriend? Funny..." you giggle, squeezing his waist tighter, which is why he started pushing on your shaft a little harder, pressing his hips on you. "When you reveal our relationship, it's obviously... Will make them disappointed? What should people think in such a situation? I don't know."

"I'm telling you, don't think about it. Even if they thought it was mine, it doesn't matter at all," Sae shakes his head at your thoughts, tightening his grip on your chest, leaving red marks from his nails there.

"Mmm, what do you think you would look like if you were a girl? Well, I mean, your breasts... I think it would be small, it would suit you. Maybe A-cup? Maximum B-cup..?"

"Idiot, what are you thinking about? If I were a girl, nothing would have changed... You just wouldn't get out of my cunt," the midfielder whispers, frowning slightly, moving his hips in a circular motion and then shrugging his shoulders. "But I think so. Small breasts sound logical. You are gay, why are you having such thoughts?"

"I don't know... You'd be such a queen... You're still the queen, though," you chuckle, lightly pressing on Sae's lower back, making him arch back, admiring his slender but muscular curves.

He just raises an eyebrow at these words, but doesn't pay attention to them, closing his eyes again and just focusing on how your cock feels inside him.

But your eyes didn't close for a second. How could they when a literal deity was riding your dick? Exactly, no way. You tried to absorb his every reaction, the way his breathing hitches, the way his hips twitch, the way his eyelashes flutter, the way he bites his lip to hide his moans, all of it.

You would literally worship this body without ceasing, if it were physically possible, of course. He would kiss every inch of you, come up with the most original and romantic epithets just for him, just for the beautiful man in front of you.

"Sae?"you ask carefully, looking at him, and his only reaction is to mumble. "You like it when I'm in your bussy, right?"

Sae's eyes immediately open and he stops his movements, looking at you with such a disapproving look that even your cock inside Sae moves from humiliation... Or something else.

"What is it... Bussy?" He's asking, even though he clearly doesn't want to know the answer to that question, judging by your face, which is red with shame and obvious excitement.

"Pussy. Man's. Like a boy plus a pussy and you get a bussy..."

Sae just blinks slowly at your explanation, and then sighs as expected. After all, what did he expect from you? And he resumes his movements, making you whimper softly at the feeling of him squeezing around you.

"Yes, I like it," he whispers confidently, flicking your nipple, which makes you blush even more, but you're clearly smiling contentedly, and then you raise yourself up on your elbows and kiss him.

The elder Itoshi just sighs, but puts his hands on your shoulders, responding with a kiss, which is why most of you have to push into him obviously not rhythmically, given the not particularly comfortable position, but it doesn't matter. The way his lips slide against yours and you feel the faint taste of chocolate from his lipstick, the way he moaned softly into your mouth was enough.

He pulls away first when he notices that you're whimpering from lack of movement and gently pushes you back onto the pillows, eyeing you. A barely visible smile suddenly appears on his face, only the corners of his lips turn up.

"Sae, why are you smiling, hmm?" you ask, rubbing his sides, thinking maybe he's amused by your impatience or something, but the next second he grabs your chin, grabbing something from the bedside table and opening it.

"You look good with my lipstick," he whispers, carefully smearing the lipstick on your slightly moist, pouty lips, and then pulling away, slowly running his thumb along the edge of your lips, where his own lipstick smeared after the kiss. "You also obviously enjoyed the taste, no?"

"If you were on my face, it would be even better... Mmm!" escapes your lips, but Sae just snorts and kisses you again, grabbing your chest and slightly accelerating his hips, swallowing your moans with pleasure.

"You're going to be an even better boy and make me cum, and I'll think about it, okay?" Sae asks, whispering it into your lips, narrowing his gaze when he looks at your lust-clouded eyes, and after your quick nod, he just kisses you gently on the cheek.

[levanterhaze]

GAMEBOY — BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader this one is just pure angst and drama, no smut, just teasing each other like two idiots.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[ 5.7k words ]♡― i had to continue this fic in a 2nd part, i felt necessary. maybe i'll continue it in a few more chapters (PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP ON ME) and thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has commented and appreciated this piece. it means a lot to a person who is non-native english wrt. without further ado, have a good read, loves!

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one]

you’re so indecisive of what I’m saying tryna catch the beat, make up your heart don't know if you're happy or complaining don't want for us to end, where do I start?

The pounding in your head was a testament to last night’s choices. Aspirin was non-negotiable. You could hear Eunji and Sohee's voices from the living room and were surprised that both of them were already awake after their all-nighter.

After leaving the room with Bangchan—because, of course, that happened—you ducked into the bathroom, shot off a text about vomiting and existential regret, and decided to make a graceful exit. Well, as graceful as one could manage after wild sex with the person you’d sworn to hate forever. Pride was nowhere in the equation, but who cared?

As soon as your eyes saw daylight, Eunji and Sohee looked at you judgmentally. You froze in your tracks, still wearing pink Hello Kitty jammies like a monument to your shame. Their judgment was immediate, sharp as a blade. Your heart sped up.

“You’re alive,” Sohee deadpanned, taking a bite of a cinnamon roll. “And looking like shit.”

“Appreciate it,” you shot back, throwing yourself into a chair. “Really warms the soul.”

Eunji’s smoothie slurp was unnecessarily loud, drilling straight into your skull. “We thought about waking you for breakfast but figured you’d need the recovery time.”

You dismissed the idea with a hand wave. "That's okay. Wouldn’t have gotten up anyway.”

"We can have lunch together, if you like. I really need a detox after last night." Sohee curled her lips into a grimace and you almost smiled. Detox advice from Sohee was peak irony.

But then Eunji, ever the chaos-bringer, dropped the bomb. “Oh my God, you guys, I heard the craziest thing last night! Jiwoon—my lit classmate—said he walked in on someone having super loud sex at the party. Guess who it was? Bangchan!”

Your heart plummeted straight into your stomach.

Silence remained and Sohee raised her eyebrows at Eunji.

“Apparently, the guy is a structural hazard,” Sohee chimed in, amused. “Minho said he once broke a floorboard. Who even does that?” Your red-haired friend says giggling.

Eunji giggled. “The girl’s lucky. If Bangchan wrecked me, I’d consider it an honor.”

You summoned your most convincing disdain, rolling your eyes with the energy of someone deeply unimpressed. “Honestly, can we not make him sound like some sort of deity?”

But guilt clung to you like a second skin, mingling with vivid flashes of last night—the furniture banging against the wall, Bangchan’s muscles taut as he tried to steady it. The memory burned, searing and humiliating, until Eunji’s voice yanked you back to reality.

The memory faded like mist when Eunji said it again. "Anyway, the girl’s lucky. I wish I was knocked down by Bangchan."

Lucky. That’s what they’d call you if they knew. Lucky—and a traitor to everything you’d loudly professed about hating him. They didn’t know it was you, and you intended to keep it that way.

From the tone of the chat, Jiwoon didn't see who was in the room with Bangchan, which means he didn't know you were the girl. Trying to ignore the talking and the sweat growing on your hands, you got up and declared that you were going to take a shower and maybe run some laps around the athletics track, because you really needed some fresh air.

The dorm felt claustrophobic. Eunji and Sohee were your best friends and you felt awful for not telling them the truth.

These were your best friends, but the truth felt like a grenade you couldn’t risk dropping. For months, you’d built your personality around despising Bangchan, and now? One night had unraveled it all.

Worst of all? You couldn’t stop replaying every second of it—and how much you’d loved it.

Sex had always been an exercise in mediocrity. Your exes? Predictably average, hitting the bare minimum on their way to their own finish line. As for finding the clitoris? Let’s just say they navigated like someone using a map upside down—an unsurprising disappointment every single time.

Now, though, Bangchan was something else entirely. A campus legend with a reputation as vast as it was unshakable. Everyone knew about his conquests—more women than you had fingers to count. Every rumor you’d rolled your eyes at turned out to be painfully, thrillingly true. He was better than anything you could have imagined.

Even after a long shower, his touch lingered, like phantom fingerprints etched into your skin. You could still feel him, every moment replaying in a maddening loop. No one had ever made you come twice in one night. No one. That fact alone made him unforgettable—and insufferably smug, no doubt.

Pulling on comfortable clothes, you grabbed a bag, stuffed in some essentials, and checked your phone. The group chat was overflowing with photos and messages from last night’s chaos, but you scrolled past all of it. There was only one person you needed right now.

You: Up for a morning run?

The reply came in under two minutes.

Hyunjin: It’s two in the afternoon. You: Morning for me. Hyunjin: Fine. Be there in five.

You tossed your phone into your bag and took a deep breath. A run was exactly what you needed—to burn off this restless energy and, hopefully, forget how guilty you felt.

You found Hyunjin on the running track near the outdoor field, surrounded by lush greenery and bursts of flowers the campus meticulously maintained. He looked effortlessly good, of course—baggy clothes hanging just right, dark hair falling over his face like it had been styled by the gods.

You started running side by side, silence settling between you. It was comfortable but heavy, like a bubble that needed popping. The kiss was the unspoken elephant on the track, but Hyunjin, ever observant, didn’t push. Not yet.

The day was crisp, the kind of weather that made you feel invincible. You poured your focus into your pace, and before you knew it, you’d pulled ahead. “Okay, okay—hold up,” Hyunjin called, his voice carrying just enough humor to make you smirk.

You stopped a few strides ahead, spinning on your heel to face him. He sauntered toward you, not even winded, like running was merely a mild inconvenience.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he said, his tone playful but probing.

“There’s nothing to tell,” you countered, already feeling your resolve falter.

“Uh-huh.” He stopped in front of you, his gaze narrowing. “Then why, exactly, did you ask me to kiss you last night?”

Well. There it was. No escaping now.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool as you grabbed the water bottle from your bag. “I was... needy, I guess.”

Hyunjin raised a brow, crossing his arms like he wasn’t buying it. “Needy, huh?”

“Look,” you said, exhaling sharply, “I’m sorry if it made things weird. You’re my best friend, and the last thing I want is for that to get messed up.”

“Relax,” he said, grinning as he ran a hand through his hair. “A kiss isn’t going to scare me off. You’re stuck with me.”

His easy laugh melted some of your tension, but before you could respond, he clapped his hands together with mock seriousness. “Tell you what—first one to the other side of campus owes the winner a banana milk.”

The sudden challenge caught you off guard, and you raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said, already turning on his heel to start jogging backward. “Unless you’re too scared.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you bolted after him. “You’re so on.”

You lost the run, but of course, Hyunjin still paid for the drink. That summed him up as a friend.

After he dashed off to rehearse with Felix—because apparently, everyone else was rehearsing but you—a thought hit you like a lightbulb flickering to life. Rumors? Easy to spread. But if you wanted to get ahead of them, you had to go straight to the source.

With a mission in mind, you swaggered toward the gym where the basketball team was practicing. It wasn’t exactly classified info—every girl on campus could probably tell you when and where their training sessions were. You zipped your jacket up to your chin like it was some sort of emotional armor, grabbed your water bottle for moral support, and marched down the corridors. The door to the gym was already cracked open, and as you pushed it, everything seemed to slow down in the most dramatic way.

The guys were running drills, their shoes squeaking on the court like a broken record. The noise grated on your nerves, but you weren’t here for the sound; you were here for the spectacle. The stands were dotted with girls, some wrapped up in their player-boyfriend fantasies, while others... Well, who knows what they were thinking. You didn’t care. You had your eyes on the real prize today.

There he was, standing out like a sore thumb. His black and white uniform somehow looked too good on him. Focus, girl. You hid behind the staircase, crouched like a sneaky little spy, waiting for the game to wrap up.

It took nearly ten minutes, but eventually, the whistle blew. You adjusted your posture, trying to act casual, though you were definitely still paying attention to how the sweat trickled down Bangchan's forehead. It brought you war flashbacks. When the players scattered to grab towels and water, you took your cue to appear from behind the bleachers, giving a quick, awkward wave before ducking back again.

Bangchan's eyes scanned the area, and when they landed on you, his brows shot up in surprise.  In the meantime, he did the inevitable: he took off his shirt and used it to get dry. Great. Just great.

"Did you come to watch?" He smirked, that cocky grin of his. "Didn't know you were into basketball."

You rolled your eyes. His ability to flirt in every situation was almost impressive.

"Ha-ha. No." You sucked in a breath, desperately trying to obey your brain's commands. Don't look down. Don’t you dare look down. "Actually, I came to ask for a favor."

He leaned against the wall, eyebrow quirked, looking amused. "Okay...?"

“Right. I want what happened yesterday to stay a secret.”

Bangchan's eyebrow arched higher, an expression of entertained disbelief crossing his face. He crossed his arms, flexing those muscles in a way that made the mission of not looking at them impossible.

“'You think I'm going around saying we fucked?"

You roll your eyes, frustration building up, and clench your hand into a fist. Sure, say it louder, let the world know.

“Isn't that exactly what you do? Brag about your sexual life?”

The boy nodded, puffing out his chest, he shot back. "Ever heard me brag about it?"

“I don't need to hear it from you. The campus does it for you.” It was infuriating how this worked out. Everyone thought Bangchan was the type of guy, praising his victories and glorifying him every time he got between some girl's pants. 

Meanwhile, girls were severely censured for even kissing a guy at a party.

"Right. So you're just going off what people say about me?" His tone was challenging, like he couldn’t care less.

In a long drawn-out sigh, you fidgeted with your hands, intending to put the matter to one side. "Can you just keep this between us? I don't want anyone to know."

"Whatever, it's no big deal," he replied nonchalantly, shrugging. "If it's that important to you."

The words stung more than they should have. It wasn’t just the lack of care, it was the way he made it sound like it didn’t matter. No big deal. It hurt your pride, even if you didn’t mean it to. But that was Bangchan, wasn’t it? Haughty and self-righteous. Yeah, he was great in bed, but his attitude? Utterly shitty.

“Thanks.” You said it briefly, biting down your pride and leaving the scene as fast as you could. Speaking to him seemed like a fool's errand, but you couldn't risk it.

Behind you, Bangchan pursed his lips into a thin line, watching you go. To him, you were hopeless—always on guard, never letting your walls down. He knew he was right, even if it was a thin line. Sure, it was fun to rile you up, but it was maddening that you hated him for things he hadn’t even done.

Getting you to change your mind, though? That was the challenge. But if that’s what it took, he was more than willing to play the long game.

Early next week. Only Tuesday, and auditions loomed just a day away. You’d been agonizing over the perfect solo—one that wouldn’t just get you a role but the role. Monday was a blur of brainstorming with Hyunjin and Seungmin, your trusted theater comrades. Between swapping notes, debating song choices, and plenty of eye rolls, you managed to help each other refine your audition pieces. It was productive. Chaotic, but productive.

Your last hour of the day belonged to the theater, and it was sacred. The stage wasn’t just a place; it was a state of mind. The second the music hit, the world faded. Bills, homework, exes who ghosted you—it all melted away. Up there, you weren’t just alive; you were electric. It wasn’t just a hobby; it was instinct.

Your mom used to say you were born for the stage. She loved telling the story of how, as a kid, you’d belt out The Little Mermaid soundtrack so often the neighbors probably debated filing a noise complaint. Singing “Part of Your World” at the top of your lungs? A daily ritual. But the first time you sang for real—no plastic microphone, no stuffed animal audience—it clicked.

This was more than a passion. It was home.

Since high school, your hunger for the stage—and the spotlight—was insatiable. If there was a club, you wanted in. University was no different. People noticed you, not just for your knack for hitting sharp, glass-shattering high notes, but for your versatility. You could slip from sweet soprano to soulful belter faster than a drama major running late to class. On stage, you were magnetic.

Everyone gathered on stage, and Mrs. Baek appeared a few moments later with her round glasses and wavy hair around her face. Her figure was solid and powerful, as was her voice and knowledge.

But today, something was off. The crease on her forehead gave her away before she said a word. It was like a ripple of unease spread across the stage, and you didn’t miss a beat. You were already bracing for the bad news.

Then, a slim figure in a long skirt and boots strode into the center of the circle, sighing like she’d just carried the weight of the world—and maybe she had. “Okay, kids. Listen up.” Every pair of eyes locked onto her as if she were delivering the prophecy of doom. “We’re postponing the auditions. Indefinitely.”

Her announcement hit like a gut punch, and the stage erupted into chaos. Whispers turned to complaints, and complaints turned to full-blown outrage. Seungmin cast a skeptical glance at Mrs. Baek, then at you and Hyunjin, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

What the hell was going on?

“All right, settle down,” Mrs. Baek said, slipping her glasses off and pinching the bridge of her nose with that practiced mix of authority and exhaustion only she could pull off. “Jun-ho, our sound engineer, has officially dropped out of college. And to make matters worse, the university has decided to cut funding for the theater department in favor of... sports.”

“You're shitting me.” Nahee’s voice sliced through the commotion like a whip. She quickly caught herself, mumbling, “Sorry... but seriously—”

“That’s so unfair!” another voice chimed in from the back, frustration rippling through the group like a shockwave. “Basketball and soccer aren’t the only things this university has going for it.”

“I get it, kids. Believe me, I tried.” Mrs. Baek’s tone softened, but her words were anything but comforting. “I went to the administration, pleaded our case... But unless we can find enough volunteers and funding, I’m afraid auditions are canceled. Indefinitely.”

It felt like a cruel joke. The theater had always been your sanctuary, the one place where you could shed your armor and just be. And now? It was slipping through your fingers.

When Mrs. Baek dismissed the group, some students stormed out in anger, others lingered, trying to process what had just happened. For you, Hyunjin, and Seungmin, the next logical step was the canteen. Food couldn’t fix this, but it was something.

“This is absurd. Now we're all supposed to close our eyes and applaud this nonsense?” Seungmin boomed as the three of you walked to the canteen. It was packed every day, regardless of the time of the day.

At a table outside, you spotted Sohee and Minho. Eunji, Changbin, Felix and Bangchan.

Just when you thought your day couldn't get any worse...

“Tell me about it, I'm so pissed off!” Everyone looked at you, hearing loud and clear about your discontent. All three of you pulled up a chair and you sat down facing Changbin.

“Someone's jumpy.” Sohee leaned across the table. “What's wrong? You three look like shit.”

“It turns out the university cut the theater’s funding in favor of sports.” Your voice was sharp, and your glare shot directly at Bangchan, who was busy texting like the world wasn’t crumbling around him. He looked up, one eyebrow raised in confusion, as if you’d just accused him of single-handedly ruining the arts.

You looked away, rage bubbling in your veins.

“That sucks.” Felix shot back with a supportive smile. “I know how important the theater is to you guys.”

“Everyone’s been working so hard,” Seungmin muttered, sinking into his chair like the weight of the news had finally crushed him. “It’s just... unfair.”

A heavy silence settled over the table, broken only by the sound of Bangchan’s nails tapping on his phone screen. You glanced his way, the sight of him completely disengaged making your blood boil.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Eunji twisted her lips, hopeful.

“Car wash?” Changbin suggested with a mischievous grin. “Classic fundraiser, right?”

“Sure,” you shot back, deadpan, “let’s exploit women for the sake of art.” Your glare could’ve leveled him then and there. Changbin leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Okay, fine. What about food?” Sohee jumped in, glancing at Minho for support. “Muffins, cupcakes, something simple. People love that stuff.”

Hyunjin's face lights up like a light bulb. “Felix makes brownies. Amazing brownies.”

Felix smirked, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I don’t wanna brag, but they’re basically legendary.”

“Alright, then.” Changbin grinned, pointing a finger gun between Felix and you. “You two make the brownies. And we,” he motioned to himself and Bangchan, “sell them.”

You and Bangchan exchange glances for a millisecond.

“I’ve got the perfect idea,”  he says, a wicked smile slipping from his lips.

You raise an eyebrow, laughing. “What? Are you going to sell brownies naked around campus?”

The grin widened, and that’s when you knew you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

Felix had assured you he could handle everything, but your stubbornness wouldn’t let you sit this one out. If it was for the theater, you were all in. He handed over his famous brownie recipe like it was a national secret.

So, on Thursday, you got hands-on. Literally.

Eunji had come through with the shopping, and soon your dorm looked like a war zone—chocolate smudges on the counters, flour dusting the floor, and batter splattered in places you couldn’t quite explain. You only had a cramped space and a big dream of pulling this off.

You were just pouring the batter into a pan when a sharp knock at the door startled you. Wiping your hands on your skirt, you swung it open, expecting maybe Eunji or Hyunjin. Instead, there stood Bangchan, leaning casually against the door frame like he had nowhere else to be.

“Uh… hello?” You blinked, your brow furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

Bangchan stood back for a second, observing how exceptionally good you looked.

“So… newsflash,” he started, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You might wanna double that recipe.”

Confusion flashed across your eyes. “What do you mean?”

He straightened up, clearly enjoying your puzzled reaction. “I may have the entire basketball team to help out with the sale.”

Your jaw dropped as his words sank in. “You what?”

His grin widened at your disbelief. “You heard me. More hands, more sales. I figured we could use the hype.”

It was insane. But it was also brilliant. A rush of excitement shot through you, lighting up your face. “That’s… that’s fantastic!” you blurted, beaming before instinctively biting your lip to rein in your enthusiasm.

Bangchan tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost genuine. “Thought you’d like that.”

“Oh, shit. I'll tell Felix, we're going to need an extra oven.” You walked over to the coffee table, where your phone was.

Before you could dial, Bangchan’s voice cut through your focus. “You shouldn’t go there.” He was still standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression surprisingly earnest. “It’s a mess. Like, biohazard-level chaos.” You lose heart, trying to think of another alternative. “You can use my dorm. If you want.” He quickly adds the last sentence.

Your stomach dropped at the suggestion. The idea of stepping into Bangchan’s dorm felt like walking into enemy territory. Risky. Dangerous. Not worth the potential fallout. “It’s fine,” you said, waving him off. “I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it.”

But Bangchan leaned against the doorframe, his smirk resurfacing. “You sure? There are a lot of brownies to bake, and I don’t think you’ve got all night.”

As much as you hated to admit it, he wasn’t wrong. Time was slipping through your fingers like sand, and with the entire basketball team now involved, efficiency was critical. “Fine,” you muttered, hating the way the word tasted in your mouth. “But only if you help.”

“You don't have to ask twice.”

It turned out Bangchan’s “help” involved more than just offering his kitchen. He insisted on carrying every utensil, baking sheet, and ingredient across campus himself, as though showing off how capable he was. By the time you arrived at his so-called dorm, you’d pieced together another puzzle about him.

Rich, but not obnoxiously so. Still, his “dorm” was more like a chic little apartment, complete with a full kitchen, two bedrooms, and sleek decor that screamed privilege. The space was annoyingly Bangchan—polished, put together, and just distant enough to be intriguing.

“Cool place.” You muttered after he closed the door behind you. Scanning the room and trying not to sound impressed.

“Thanks.” he gave you a smile. “So, this is the kitchen.” He motioned to a modern setup that looked like it belonged in a Food Network show. Top class stuff. “Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” you replied, slipping your hands into your pockets. “Not just for the space but… you know, for helping.”

It was obvious that he was making this effort because the theater was important to his friends Seungmin and Hyunjin. Why else would he do all this? Still, you appreciated it.

His lips twitched into a grin. “Wow. Didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that.” 

You rolled your eyes, biting back the retort bubbling at your tongue. Play nice. He’s helping. 

“Relax,” he added, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Just kidding. There’s booze in the fridge, by the way. Help yourself.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you said, sidestepping the offer.

“I’ve gotta sort something out with the coach,” he said, grabbing his phone. “I’ll be back in 20. Think you’ll survive here alone?”

Honestly, being in his apartment without him sounded like the best possible scenario. You gave a small nod. “Yeah, no worries.”

With that, he left, and the door clicked shut behind him. You exhaled, a long breath that carried the weight of the past few days. Now you were in enemy territory, surrounded by his world, and somehow, that felt far more personal than it should.

How had this become your life? Baking brownies in Bangchan’s kitchen? It was almost as absurd as sleeping with him—a mistake you’d promised yourself you’d never make. But here you were, crossing one forbidden line after another.

You weren’t exactly a disaster in the kitchen, but you weren’t a pro either. Somehow, though, in thirty minutes flat, four trays of brownies were baking away in Bangchan’s fancy oven. The rest of the kitchen, however, looked like a war zone. Eggshells piled in the sink. Flour scattered across the floor. Chocolate batter smeared on your shirt. Your skirt? A masterpiece of handprints from raw dough. But hey, it was all for the sake of art—and funding.

While you whisked and poured, you couldn’t resist turning on your favorite song, What Is This Feeling from Wicked. Singing along word for word, you hit every high note with a grin. That song had landed you the role of Glinda in high school, and the nostalgia hit you square in the chest. Those were good times. Simpler times.

The chorus was still ringing in your ears as you crouched to scrub a stubborn chocolate stain on the floor. That’s when the door swung open, and Bangchan walked in, freezing mid-step as he surveyed the chaos.

“Holy shit. Are you all right?” he asked, his tone somewhere between amusement and genuine concern.

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest as you scrambled to turn off the music. In your rush, your phone slipped from your flour-dusted hands and landed on the counter with a soft thud. You straightened, cheeks flushing. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing your hands on your already-ruined skirt. “Sorry about the mess. I’ll clean it up, I promise.”

He looked around, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. His eyes flicked from the chaotic kitchen to you, taking in the state of your clothes. “You’ve got something… there,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the chocolate smear on your shoulder.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “As soon as I’m done here, I’ll head back to the dorm and clean this up.”

Bangchan tilted his head, clearly unimpressed with your plan. “I can lend you a shirt. Might make you feel more comfortable.”

“No, no. I’m fine,” you said, waving him off. “But thanks.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. Then, without hesitation, he reached behind his neck and yanked off the black shirt he was wearing, leaving him in nothing but his jeans and a devilish grin. “Here,” he said, holding the shirt out to you like it was the most casual thing in the world.

You blinked, completely caught off guard. “You know you could’ve just grabbed another shirt, right? Like, one you’re not currently wearing?”

He leaned in slightly, the grin widening in a way that made your stomach flip. “And where’s the fun in that?”

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at him, equal parts annoyed and flustered. His shirt hung in the air between you, a silent dare. Finally, you snatched it from his hand, muttering, “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, unbothered, and strolled over to the counter like he hadn’t just walked into the kitchen half-dressed.

After a few minutes, you walked back into the kitchen, now wearing Bangchan’s shirt. It hung a little loose on you, the soft fabric brushing against your skin and carrying a mix of fresh laundry and whatever cologne he used. Not that you noticed. Much.

Bangchan was at the sink, scrubbing a mixing bowl. His back was to you at first, but when he turned around, his gaze lingered a second too long before he coughed and looked back down. “Did you know,” he started, shaking his head with a teasing grin, “that you’re officially the world’s clumsiest cook? There’s brownie batter... under the sink.”

You glanced at the cabinet beneath the counter, then back at him. “Hey, I said I’d clean up,” you defended, marching into the kitchen with your head held high. “And for the record, I never claimed to be a good cook. I’m just trying to help.”

Bangchan barked out a laugh, drying his hands on a towel. “Help? No fucking way. You’re a disaster, love.”

You froze, raising an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?” You crossed your arms, the oversized sleeves of his shirt only slightly undermining your indignation. “I didn’t see you stepping up to bake anything.. Let’s see you handle a whisk without breaking something.”

He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself. “Trust me, I’d still be better than whatever chaos you’ve got going on here.”

Your lips quirked into a slow smirk, and you reached for the bag of flour on the counter. “Oh yeah? Well, let’s see you handle this.” Before he could react, you scooped a handful of flour and tossed it right at him, the fine powder exploding across his chest like a smoke bomb.

Bangchan froze for a second, blinking down at the mess. Then, his lips curved into a wicked grin that should have been your warning. “Oh, it’s on now.”

With your hands on your lip, you realized that you had fucked up. “I'm sorry, I...”

Too late. In the blink of an eye, Bangchan scooped up the sugar and poured it all over your hair. You stared, half-shocked, half-impressed by his audacity. You parted your lips to fire back, but before a word could escape, the sound of his laughter erupted from deep in his chest.

“Really? Is this how it’s gonna go?” You grabbed the cocoa powder with a grin. Oh, he wanted a war? You were so ready. “Bring it on,” you shot back, face lighting up with mischief. 

You were almost halfway to smearing him with chocolate when his hand shot out and stopped yours midair. The cocoa slipped through your fingers, and just like that, your plan hit the ground.

Then, you collided—chest to chest. Bangchan wasn’t laughing anymore, and you could feel the shift in the air, the heat between you two now undeniable. His lips curled into that damn smirk, the one that told you everything. Your heart was racing, but the thought of pulling away didn’t even cross your mind. The only question now was who was going to make the first move.

A silent battle passed between you two. His gaze locked onto yours, sensing the shift in your expression—less defiant, more... willing. And just like that, the tension morphed into something else, something undeniable.

Without hesitation, you leaned in, your lips brushing his. Bangchan’s breath hitched, a soft grunt escaping him at the sudden contact. Your hands, still coated with the remnants of your baking disaster, slid over his broad shoulders. You were a mess, sugar and flour everywhere, but somehow, it made everything feel a little more real. And Bangchan? He didn’t seem to mind one bit.

All he seemed to care about was having your lips on his. And fuck, you could feel how much he wanted it.

Bangchan grabbed your ass possessively, squeezing it and making a raspy moan escape your lips. You pushed him against the wall, without detaching your lips, savoring how the softness of his lips felt like cotton candy.

When you finally broke away, your chests heaving, your fingers still pressed into his skin, you met his gaze. His chest rose and fell beneath your touch, and you could feel the pull between you intensify again, magnetic.

“I should probably clean up this mess.” your voice broke the tension, but the realization hit harder than it should’ve. Bangchan was clearly fed up with your habit of diving in and then ghosting the consequences. 

“Don’t you dare.” his voice was low, the words like a command you weren’t about to ignore. His eyes locked with yours—intense. “You want this.” his lips brushed against yours, a tease that made your heart leap, while his words hung heavy in the air. “I know you do.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears, drowning out everything but him.

“Bangchan.” You whispered, barely able to breathe. The heat from his hardness spread like wildfire, and your body seemed to betray you. “We can’t.” you licked your lips—stupid, because he was already there, sealing your protest with a sloppy kiss, stealing that last ounce of restraint.

You were losing it. Why did he have to be so... goddamn good at this?

“Oh yeah?” he pulled away, just enough to make you regret the distance. “Tell me one good reason. Just one.”

You snorted, doing everything you could to hold it together, but the pull between you was undeniable. “Please.”

He tilted his head, lips twitching like he wanted to argue, but instead he closed his eyes and muttered a curse under his breath. “Fine,” he grumbled, walking away, but the air between you two still crackled.

The rest of the kitchen cleanup was like some strange form of punishment. You moved in sync, two people acting like they hadn’t just burned down every ounce of decorum in the room. The silence was deafening, the kind of awkward that made you wish you could pull the floor open and swallow you whole. But instead, you just scrubbed harder, hoping it’d drown out the thundering thoughts in your head.

He pulled away, no jokes, no teasing—just silence. It was like a switch had flipped, and the tension that had once sparked between you now lay dormant, suffocating. You didn't know if you hated the quiet or if you hated yourself more for letting things go as far as they had.

When everything was finally done, he still helped you carry your things to the dorm, his touch lingering just a little too long as he adjusted the bag over your shoulder. You were too busy battling the whirlwind of your own thoughts, replaying every moment, every look, and cursing both him and yourself for what you’d just crossed into.

You hated how easy it had been. How natural. And you hated even more that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to regret it—at least, not yet.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik

[sharoo]

Self-knowledge as a theme in STP messes me up so bad, bros.

This all starts with how little the Princess can tell you if you ask her about herself. How little you can say about yourself, more often than not. Most of the time Quiet doesn't even know what they look like!

The Narrator makes it a point to make the Princess' cluelessness, her lack of self-knowledge, into deception, but really, both the protagonists don't know themselves. How could they?

The concepts of bounds, of something that isn't you, the distinction of "self" and "other", "you" and "I", the concept of something being not like yourself... this is the first time this deity which is now two has ever experienced it.

The Shifting Mound and the Long Quiet did not exist until the Narrator tore a whole into parts.

Now, this deity in twain has to reorient. It has only begun existing, it's not yet known itself. A toddler has to develop a self-concept, and the concepts of others.

Now imagine, for the first time in your solitary existence, that there is something that you are not. Unknowable, foreign.

What are they like, you think? Are they a friend? Should I get to know them? Are they a foe? I do not know them, I cannot trust them... Or can I?

This brings to mind, of all things, Contrapoints' video on Twilight, where she speaks about the concepts of Union and Division in relation to love. And while she speaks of it in terms of eros, it can apply here just as easily, romantically and platonically.

Love is the union of two beings. We love because something outside of us allows us to be more than ourself. In others, many seek that which they lack. We seek out people so that we may develop through our similarities and contrasts with them, to change an be changed.

We seek out people because there can be no I without a You. To exist in a void is not a fulfilling experience.

We cannot discover ourself if he have nothing that allows us to compare ourself. The mirrors elude us throughout the game, always leading to the princess - she is the only way we may know ourselves, the mirrors tease as they disappear. And at the end of the route, only then, can you see yourself, now that you have a complete knowledge of yourself in a given scenario, with a given persona.

Was the princess someone you decided to trust? Or to betray? Was she a foe? A friend? A nightmare? A victim?

You both try to find out who you are through your relationship.

The princess assumes many faces and attitudes in response to you, you assume voices and attitudes in response to her. You're two batches of clay shaping each other at the same time. It's almost like knowing someone your entire life, seeing them go through different phases as they try to find out their identity in the world, their place. The 5 routes, whatever they be, are your "adolescence".

And growing means you will hurt each other, intentionally or not. There will be fights, disagreements, there will be heartache, and comfort and love.

And everything will pass.

Shifty, before she's complete, before she discovers her godhood, makes this point so clear.

How could she not be kind to you? You are the only thing in this place that is not her. What reason could she have to hate you? To make the only friend she could have into an enemy?

That's why, at the end of every route, all hurts are forgiven. All the heartache is acknowledged, understood, and then she moves on. So that you may continue being together, so that she may see what else you do.

Even godhood can become a phase. The Shifting Mound recognises what you both were, but it need not be you unless you accept it. Because self-knowledge is unending. You are always changing, and you can always change.

You can accept being a god, and that becomes you.

You can reject being a god, and that becomes you.

You are by that point an "adult". The figure trying to dictate who both of you are is gone, and you can decide for yourself.

I think this is partially why I love the Leave with Stranger ending the best of all the endings. You begin it by avoiding knowledge of yourself and of another. The self can only exist as far as it is not like the others.

And you meet the Stranger, this being who knows so little about herself, because she too has been deprived of another. The route is quick. It really cannot amount to much, because if you don't know yourself, it's so hard to build a relationship.

But at the end, they've matured. You gave each other time to become fuller beings. You met this person again and they seem so much happier with themself than they were in youth.

I love how they say "We're just a stranger.", and the voices point out how it needn't be sad that you don't know her, unless you make it out to be. You can get to know them, the real them, and they can do that with you.

The way the Stranger speaks if the position of a God only underlines how much the heart of the Shifting Mound can understand self-knowledge.

They speak of how they feel themself be pulled towards taking the position of godhood, of being everything, yet find it confining. Restricting.

"We want more. We want whatever might be on the other side of this door. Something new, that we'll experience together. With someone who exists outside of us. Someone who can see us in a way we can never see ourself."

Self-knowledge through relationships and reflection on how you impact other people.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi!! could I request Argenti, Boothill and Jing Yuan when someone tries to flirt with their s/o? I absolutely adore your writing btw!! Hope you're doing good!!

Boothill

Has a bullet with their name written on it and it was in times like theses where he wishes his shit hadn’t been tampered with, just so he could curse the bastard out for merely brushing shoulders either you.

Words such as:

Mother fudger

Heck

And Gosh darn it

Weren’t exactly going to scare the person flirting with you off with their tail between their legs but threatening to shot them would. However after the person had scampered off, Boothill would be subjected to you scolding him about threatening people for simply flirting with you, when there were other ways to do so without the inclusion of unnecessary violence.

Boothill can’t help it! He hates it when people flirt with his darling and he isn’t one for sharing you either, he’d much rather hog all of your time and attention for himself! You were his partner! Not everyone else’s!

‘Boothill.’ You said warningly.

‘What?’ He said as he tugged you into his side, keeping his arm at your waist possessively. ‘He was getting a little too cosy and I had to remind that fudging idiot to keep his hands to himself.’ He adds with a smirk, stealing a kiss from your lips.

His jealously stems from his own hatred towards his metal body, you could find someone else who could feel you in your entirety beyond from their face and head, unlike him.

‘I get that and I thank you for running them off, but you know you don’t have to worry about me looking at anyone else.’ You reassured him as you held his face in your hands and watched as his smile falters and his featured relaxed into your touch. ‘You’re all I want, you’re all i’ll ever need regardless of your inability to physically feel.’ You then pressed your forehead against his, feeling him push himself further against you in a selfish need to feel you. ‘You’re my handsome, handsome cowboy.’ You whispered.

‘I am your handsome, handsome cowboy.’ He muttered under his breath.

Argenti

He’s not jealous in the slightest.

He’s the most trusting in the strength of your relationship and you to even allow for an ounce of doubt to permeate his thoughts.

If anything he’d agree with everything the person was saying about you while adding onto it, making the person feel as though their attempts at flirting with you were useless, especially when the cherry haired knight beside you was casually waxing poetry on your ethereal beauty.

‘Indeed they are a beauty to behold indeed.’ He’d say as he knelt before you and held your hands in his all the while making sure his eyes remained glued on you as he spoke. ‘I’d kneel before their alter for the rest of eternity if it meant achieving the impossible and catching their gaze, they truly are my reason for breathing, the reason I see beauty whenever I travel, as they are the true beauty I have been seeking for my whole life.’ He finishes by kissing the back of your hands softly, his thumbs caressing the skin there as though they were porcelain.

The person who was flirting with you left not long after because how could they compare with that?!

All they said was that you were cute and Argenti took that and made you come across as though you were a deity lost to time, finally having been found after so long.

They knew they couldn’t win and left for easier people to pull their mediocre pick up lines on.

Argenti is your Gomez, you are his Morticia. There was no one getting between you two because the love you had was stronger than most.

Jealousy doesn’t exist when you actually trust someone whom you claim is half of your own soul.

Jing yuan

He finds the face they make upon realising who’s s/o they’ve been flirting with particularly funny to be even remotely jealous.

Not to say that he doesn’t get jealous, he does but it’s not nearly as evident. He’s self assured in his relationship with you that he didn’t even think of the person flirting with you as a threat even in the slightest.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt your riveting conversation but I’d like my partner back now.’ He’d say as he stood behind the person flirting with you.

‘Look buddy I found them,’ the person looked behind them, and upon realising who was behind them, the words of annoyance were quickly discarded as they could only stare at a smiling Jing Yuan, ‘first…’

Jing yuan raised his brows as the Cheshire smile on his lips only grew at the evident regret across their face. ‘Hmmm? Cat got your tongue? You seem a bit pale, maybe you should go sit down and rest.’ He suggested and watched in amusement as the person didn’t fight back, but instead wordlessly followed his instruction and walked away for you both to go somewhere else.

‘You’re having too much fun with this.’ You’d tell Jing Yuan as he placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you out of the establishment.

‘What can I say, their expressions may be the same every time but that doesn’t stop them from being more humorous than the last.’ He replies with a chuckle as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. ‘However I cannot blame them for finding you as appealing as I do if they’re so desperate as to flirt for your attention.’ He adds and you huff and crossed your arms. ‘As if you were any different.’

Jing yuan raised his brows, silently telling you to continue.

‘When you wanted my attention, you would sit next to me and rest your head on my shoulder before falling asleep.’ You added and Jing yuan chuckles. ‘I didn’t-‘

‘All. The. Time.’ You cut him off, emphasising each word that left your mouth. ‘Yangqing told me that you only did that to me, no one else got that special treatment from the all mighty general.’ You smirked at Jing Yuan who muttered a soft ‘Yangqing.’ under his breath as you held onto his side. ‘It doesn’t matter now because I thought it was extremely cute.’ You reassured him with a kiss to the cheek as you both walked home, tucked closely against one another, the events that happened prior having completely been forgotten as you reminisced the past.

[acid-ixx]

✮ — 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 : in which control is your only friend . . . (concept idea)

guys let me cook on this one but i suddenly want to post about an isekai trope au with modern! reader being transported into the world of dc comics. of course you're sentient, but sentience doesn't mean autonomy, because you're forced to don a new identity as a vigilante; guided by a malicious system only you can perceive.

a superhero, a new canon to the world, whose body is still adjusting to its given powers. you are not omnipotent, you are not a deity, and you most certainly could not adapt at such a timely rate; but you were once omniscient to the multiple plots and universes of the world you now live in. that is the only advantage you have amongst the unease you feel at the knowledge that eyes are now plastered all over your existence; a twisted game toying with you, with the price being your very life.

turns out, your existence is controlled by the very viewers (you guys, the commentors, the voters) who determine whichever fate you land on, a rule told by the system from when you were once transported into the world. whether it'd be mere yes or no answers to awkward questions, or even something as major as choosing to save others, or yourself in a life or death situation, and even as far as your love interests— only they can choose, and you'd be left to commit upon such acts, with or without your consent.

imagine, not only your presence is bared naked to the entire world, but every word you say are remembered, are criticized weekly. each and every action of yours that aren't determined by your cruel fans will gain both equal and opposite reactions.

your superhero name is chosen by whoever is the sick mastermind of this entire game. and you! for now, silly you would enjoy the momentary lapses of excitement meeting your favorite characters, but happiness in such a world does not exist. the longer you stay, where every week, your own destiny dictated by phone calls, comments, likes, reactions, and polls; the more you wish you never once set out to abide within the rules of this... game.

it is only your emotions, your thoughts that you can control, but never certain actions at major events. there is no such thing as discontinuity, or changing plotlines once you're able to catch a moment on what you truly wish to say.

as your story is published amongst thousands of people, it is up to your viewers, your deities, to decide whether or not you should live, die, or give you a chance to try to survive without them.

and it is up to you whether to fight back, or to allow their choices to destroy your very life.

either way, your tale is set to capture the hearts of many. and the only destiny nobody, not even your fanbase, nor you, could change, are the multiple set of characters within your world to eventually set their eyes on you.

and my, oh my, it is never once mentioned within these lines of texts that these characters are controlled by anybody, no?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ are you interested to join your journey ?

♛ —⠀YES !⠀ yes, i'd love to see where this goes.

♚ —⠀NO !⠀⠀i'd rather not endanger myself, no thank you.

[dragon-ascent]

Hi hi hi!!! I absolutely adore your Zhongli fics your characterization of him makes me swoon he’s such a cutie

Out of curiosity, what’s your opinion on the Zhongli/Morax x reader trope of reader initially being a sacrifice to the dragon god only for Zhongli to be like “What no I don’t take sacrifices???” And just taking reader in as a sort of roommate or something like that. It’s a trope I find really interesting and funny and I’m curious to hear your thoughts on it :)

Hi hi and thank you! Zhongli's the cutest patootie :) <3 And I freaking LOVE that trope!!! Like, easily top 3 trope for Zhongli if you ask me. (I could make a whole tierlist of tropes for him, but that's a post for another day haha.)

Ik you just asked for thoughts but have a little write-up, as a treat. :)

xxx

Rex Lapis is a tad offended that he'd be perceived as the type of god to take human sacrifices, since he does everything in his power to ensure mortals feel comfortable and safe around him. But he's assimilated many groups of people into his land, so it's only natural some may still retain the beliefs and customs they did under the deities preceding him, as grim as that may be.

When you're left in front of his abode as a sacrifice, he sees how urgently he needs to rectify those customs.

You're a jittery thing, all nerves and shudders and, to his dismay, rather scantily-clad especially given the season. He does his best to push the implications of your clothing to the back of his mind as he brings you into his home and warms you up by the fire with some nice warm blankets too.

He assures you he will not lay a finger on you with malicious intent, but you're staring at him like a deer in headlights - like he'll throw you into the fire at any moment if you so much as breathe wrong. Every movement of his makes you stiffen, and even the tea he brews for you is met with trepidation in every sip.

He can't send you back to your people as they'll believe you're a faulty sacrifice and kill you off themselves - so Rex Lapis takes you in his care instead.

He feeds you, clothes you, and even lets you rest in his bed while he takes the floor beside you. You're mostly quiet at first, but as the days pass and there's no sign of him hurting, devouring, or killing you, a seed of trust in his words blossoms. You believe the God of Contracts when he gives you his word he will keep you safe and cared for.

Given the way he treats you, there's no reason to feel otherwise - you've become something of a close companion to him, someone to share the tender joys and sorrows of life with. He used to go on strolls by his lonesome, but now he finds that having someone to walk with is much more enriching, giving his evenings an added tinge of fulfilment.

People do stare and whisper when they see you by the god's side, but if this is how Rex Lapis chooses to make use of their 'sacrifice,' who are they to argue?

Some watch, agog, as the golden deity takes you to the market and practically splurges on you. You shyly point to a sweet treat that looks appetizing, and he boxes a dozen of them without a moment's hesitation. A pretty accessory catches your eye for a second longer than the others, and when you turn to move on to the next stall, Rex Lapis is having said accessory taken off display and handed to you.

"These are the calligraphy brushes I spoke of yesterday," he tells you casually as he runs a finger along the sleek wooden writing instruments. "Would you like to give the activity a try?" It only takes one meek nod from you for him to get you a whole set of the brushes, promising to teach you when you both get home.

It's a shocking sight to everyone who'd betrayed you, everyone who'd so easily given you up for some false belief they held on to so stubbornly: here you are, being treated like you're actually worth something to the god, what with the way he smiles and laughs softly at something you say, the way he gently touches your elbow to veer you away from the evening rush, the way his footsteps fall in rhythm with yours.

As you pass certain familiar faces, your head snaps down and you fall silent, and Rex Lapis immediately knows they're the ones responsible for your plight. He throws them a sharp, stone-cold glare over your downcast head, and they recoil in fright, quickly turning the other way to pretend they can't feel like a whole landslide of shame now hurtles along their spines.

Needless to say, he is greeted by no more human sacrifices at his door. The one he does have, he ensures a long, happy and healthy life for.

[sanjisboyfie]

golden retriever boyfriend ! itadori yuji

yuji x male reader

-> very short but i wanted to show smoe love to this cutie wootie patootie.

- oh my fucking god. the absolute sweetest boyfriend i fear. this guy literally praises the ground that you walk on and is at your beck and call as if you were a deity and he is your servant. your day is just him constantly asking if he can do anything for you to make you happier, usually the response is just his company, which he blushes and playfully smacks you for.

"honey, do you wanna go to the store to buy some more snacks before we binge watch?" yuji asked, a wide grin on his face, "gojo-sensei forgot to take back his wallet he leant me from my last mission, so we can splurge and he won't even notice!"

you laughed at his eagerness, but shook your head. instead, you opened your arms up for him to cuddle himself into and said, "i just want to spend some time with you, i missed you,"

without wasting another second, yuji jumped into your arms and peppered kisses all over your neck, jaw, and face, "i missed you even moreee!! let's turn on your show already, then," yuji contentedly closed his eyes, breathing in your scent as his cheek was pressed against your chest.

he was in heaven.

- constantly thinking of you. he's always seeing things on the street that remind him of you, always wondering if you'd like something he picked out for you from a street vendor, will constantly be talking nobara and megumi's ear off about, "oh, [name] really likes that restaurant! should i buy him something to go?" "haha, me and [name] watched that movie last night and he really liked the main character's best friend, even though i liked the main character more!" "nobara, do you think [name] is more handsome wearing a bracelet or necklace? huh? well, i think he lookes handsome either way, but i don't have money for both so i need someone unbiased to choose."

they think they've heard enough, but they very clearly haven't since yuji always goes above and beyond in talking about you.

you're there to hear the praises he sings for you 50% of the time, but the other 50%...poor nobara and megumi because they gotta deal with his yappin ass. he never shuts up in general (he's just a bby) but when he gets on a tangent talking about you ... it's like this guy doesn't need to breathe.

he's just so happy and content with the relationship you guys have he can't help but make it known to everyone around!!! another thing is he could care less if it annoys the fuck out of everyone around him, he just nods his head at their annoyance and then goes, "well, anyway, haha, as i was saying before i was interuppted!"

literally inumaki probably has had to restraint himself from telling yuji to "shut the fuck up" because he just wouldn't shut up.

- yuji likes to make it obvious to you how loyal of a boyfriend he is. he barely glances at other people on the street if he's with you. he has actual hearts in his eyes when he even sees you in his periphereals, if you are right in front of him, dear lord save him.

the two of you were walking down the street to the conveince store. your pinkies were linked together as yuji listened to you talk about your day and the training you had to do. at one point you were complaining about gojo's antics as an irresponsible teacher and yuji couldn't help but think how adorable that annoyed look on your face was.

the pout on your lips, even you rolling your eyes was so attractive to him. he was enthralled by your story and, of course, you, he didn't even realize that he walked right into the clear glass door of the store.

as he face planted staight into the wall, you immediately are fussing over if he is alright. he turns to you with a grin, nodding his head to show he was fine. but the smallest drop of blood coming from his nose said otherwise.

and as you fretted over his very minor injury, he couldn't help but sigh in content as he thought you tending to him was the most heartwarming thing he has ever experienced.

"you'd be a great nurse, [name]," he says, not minding the subtle glare you threw at him, "your hands are so soft and gentle-"

"they're about to smack you if you don't shut up," you gruffly replied, but yuji wasn't deterred at all in singing your praises even more.

"you're so kind to me," he says with a dreamy look in his eyes.

once again, you sighed heavily at your boyfriend's attitude, pinching his ear, "quit it, yuji! what if you actually got hurt, you're lucky it was just a rush of blood. you need to be more focused, especially if we're gonna be out there fighting curses,"

yuji, unfortunately, doesn't take any of your warnings seriously. as he presses his cheek to the palm of his hand, he just stares at you lovingly, "what do you think? should we buy you a cute little nurse outfit and i can be your sick patient? you'd look so handsome in scrubs!"

another pinch to his ear, "yuji! are you even listening?!"

- has this really adorable habit of just getting lost in whatever you're saying and blinking owlishly at you with a very cute smile on his face. it's a really adorable sight, but when you're actually trying to tell him something, he's just looking at you like ":3" and not at all listening to what you're saying.

"gojo-sensei said to be extra careful because the blades were just sharpened, alright?" you advised, looking at the myriad of cursed tools that you were going to be training with. "hm, what do you think suits your fighting style more, babe?"

yuji only tightened his grip around your waist, burying his face into your neck as he was just too focused on your body against his to even begin formulating an answer to your question. even though it was a fairly easy question to answer.

"itadori yuji," you warn, sensing that he was spacing out once again.

"noooo," he whines, squeezing you tight, "'m your baby, not itadori yuji," he complains, exaggerating his name as if it were the worst sound in the world.

"well, you're going to stay itadori yuji until you answer my question," you say, wondering why you had to disclipline your boyfriend as if he were your child. you soften up though when you hear him whine once again, burying his head deeper into your neck.

ruffling his hair as a way of comforting him, ultimately caving in to his whines and attitude, you softly say, "baby, can you just help me out really quick?"

"kisses after i do?"

"of course,"

yuji is grinning like a fool and is suddenly very intrigued in the conversation on what curse tool works best with his fighting style.

GIVE ME ITADORI YUJI AS MY BOYFRIEND and id treat him like a king, thats all im saying. he deserves so much love, please.

[alltimefail]

Why doesn't Edwin call Charles, "Charlie?"

I shared the isolated audio of Charles' death scene where his "friends" taunted him as they killed him, and in that video, they called him "Charlie." This confirmed what many people in fandom already believed: Charles, a sporty teenage boy in the 80s, would not have gone by his proper first name and likely went by a nickname/shortened version of his name instead.

Now that we know that to be true, it does beg the question: why does Edwin call him Charles? I told you all not to get me started on this in the tags, but you stinkers want me to yap, so let's get into it! 😜

This is a very uninteresting answer, but I think Edwin does not call Charles "Charlie" simply because Charles did not introduce himself as such. Had he introduced himself as Charlie, I don't think Edwin would call him anything else.

This actually brings us to the "meat" of this analysis, and the more important question we need to ask: why would Charles choose not to introduce himself as "Charlie" if that's what people seemed to call him?

I have a couple of theories:

The first one: when Charles meets Edwin he's in a fragile state. A boy he's never seen in all his time at school approaches him, seeming to come out of thin air, just to bring him a lantern without any strings attached (even though Charles cannot give him anything in return). Charles has never experienced that kind of unconditional kindness in his life, and I'm sure that alone was enough to be a bit earth-shaking, mind-scrambling, and intimidating.

But it doesn't end there! The boy who brings the lantern is also claiming to be dead. Delerium/hallucinations are a common symptom of hypothermia so Charles could have though that Edwin was not real or was maybe even some kind of angel-like figure coming to keep him company in his final moments. I mean, the boy's wearing a dated school uniform, enters in a halo glow of golden light, and can walk through walls...it's not the wildest conclusion to jump to.

I think either of thos things individually or a combination of having your guard up, being a bit frazzled from the whole "dying" thing, and believing you're in the presence of an ethereal deity (combined with the fact that you're a people pleaser at your core) is enough to feel compelled to introduce yourself not in formal manner. Not to mention if Edwin introduced himself first, hand outstretched in a formal matter and proper posh accent on full display (something I can totally see him doing), Charles might have felt a bit silly calling himself by such a casual title.

While I think all of this can be varying degrees of true, however, my biggest personal headcanon is that Charles might not have introduced himself as Charlie because who's to say he LIKED that nickname? My circumstances were similar to Charles' growing up, I also had many nicknames from friends and family that I didn't ask for but was given anyway against my will... and I always hated it. Still cringe at some of them to this day, actually! So I think it's possible that Charlie Rowland met Edwin Payne, with all his formal stature and proper professional-sounding name, and took the opportunity to choose what he'd like to go by, without the influence of family or friends. In that way, his chosen identity that would kick off the rest of his existence moving forward (unknown to him at the moment, but true from a narrative standpoint nonetheless) serves as a "Taking your power back" moment for Charles who literally just heard the name "Charlie" being hurled at him as he begged for mercy from people who were supposed to be his friends. Even if he tolerated the nickname "Charlie" before, it certainly wouldn't have fond associations following the event that ended his life (if it had any positive associations to begin with).

Again, speaking from experience, Charlie also sounds like the kind of nickname that could be sugar-sweet on some tongues, innocent even, (his mother cooing over a young Charles), but terrifying from an abusive figure... a scathing kind of mockery. I've always imagined that Charles' dad more than likely called him Charlie, for example, and not in a fond, loving way (in the same way his so-called "friends" were not doing so in a loving way).

So yeah, why would Charles WANT to go by Charlie?

Now that we've established that, we can go back to Edwin...what you came here for!

All that in mind, I still don't see Edwin as the nickname type at all. From a romance standpoint I could maybe see him using a few dated, sappy endearments, but we don't ever hear him use a casual name toward anyone. In his lifetime Charlie would have been a perfectly normal name, but the kind of "fond" nicknaming practices and casual male friendships that happened in 1989 were not common practices in 1916, the Edwardian era. Even with his infinite fondness of Charles, I could never see Edwin uttering "Charlie." It doesn't feel right.

Plus, let's be honest: Edwin says Charles' name with enough love and reverence that he doesn't need to use an endearment. His tone says it all (lol).

Beyond that though, like I said above, I can't see Edwin feeling to impulse to call him "Charlie" because that's not how Charles introduced himself. Edwin strikes me as the kind of person that would be like, "If he wanted to be called Charlie, he surely would have said as much" and left it at that. But a name like Charlie also conveys a sort of youthfulness, and while he and Charles are 16 forever, technically, they have been detached from their lives for a long time and they're MUCH older than 16 in experience and in their professional life.

The only question I was left with, and one I've seen several people ponder, is why Charles would suggest they call The Night Nurse Charlie, (like from Charlie's Angels), as it seems a bit strange if his own name is Charlie/he went by Charlie. My answer/interpretation isn't that exciting, but it's one I feel makes the most sense: I honestly think this can easily be explained away by the fact that Charles is so far removed from that identity and so dissociated from his life that he no longer associates the name "Charlie" with himself in any way. Like it literally didn't even occur to him, in that moment, that Charlie/Charles are so similar because he has built a barrier in his mind between himself and that nickname; they're two entirely different identifiers to him. Whether that be a coping mechanism, or simply just something he wasn't thinking so deeply about (it has been 30 years since anyone called him that, except for Brad and Hunter in Port Townsend), we can't say for sure. However, it's clear Charles does not want to go by Charlie, and at least now we can safely assume why.

Let me know your thoughts! Do you agree with my interpretation? Do you have your own opinion that I didn't cover? Feel free to share with me!

Keep streaming Dead Boy Detectives & screaming about it ! Hugs to each and every one of you! 💜

[thriftedtchotchkes]

eyes on the monitor

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: mike catches something on the security cameras that really shouldn't be happening at a family-friendly pizzeria—even an abandoned one

warnings: 18+ MDNI, stranger!reader, submissive!mike, trespassing, smut, m&f masturbation, public masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, squirting, finger sucking, cum eating, looming danger

word count: 3k

Mike has seen a lot of things on the security monitors in his three short nights working at Freddy's. 

Old animatronics that still roam about like they're possessed, cryptic messages written on dusty windows and mirrors. But he can honestly say he never saw this coming.

As the cameras shift from right to left, one of the screens glitches and crackles, and then there's you, tucked into a booth like you belong there. Except you don't. He's not even sure how you evaded his notice, let alone how you got into the building.

Don't you have any idea what's lurking in these halls? The dangers that patiently wait behind the curtained stage not even ten feet from where you're sitting? From where you're...

Fuck.

There's no way you possibly can because you're still lounging there without a care in the world, your legs spread wide and your jeans dangling off one ankle while you fuck yourself on your fingers. Two of them, your ring and middle, pump a steady rhythm in and out, dribbling slick all over the vinyl beneath you. You're so wet, even the camera's picking up the refracted light from the prize counter glinting off your pussy.

He should be panicked. He should be halfway to the auditorium by now to stop you, to drag you out of the pizzeria before the unthinkable happens, but—

But he can't bring himself to move or stop watching. He can't stop himself from palming his stiffening cock through his pants, either. Your head lolls back onto the booth and your body readjusts, giving him the perfect view of your languid movements. Now, it's almost like you're on display just for him.

And suddenly, he doesn't care about Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, or Foxy. He definitely doesn't care about his job or whatever else that career counselor said on the phone. The only thing Mike cares about is getting his dick out as fast as humanly possible so he can match the calculated press of your fingers and your frustratingly unhurried pace. 

You're thoroughly enjoying your pleasure—that much is clear—and it would be so easy to just...join in. He'd planned on sleeping through his fourth night, but now that you're here, there's nothing else he'd rather be doing than spending his shift fucking his fist and pretending it's you.

It'd be wrong. So, so wrong, but as you continue on, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil, he can feel himself getting harder and harder. There's a growing wet patch on the front of his sweatpants that's getting difficult to ignore, and he nearly moans as he grinds the heel of his hand into his lap for relief.

His gaze trails down your figure, surprisingly clear on the aging monitors, and he watches, dry-mouthed, as your unoccupied hand snakes up your body to tweak a nipple through your shirt. 

Fuck it, he can't take this anymore.

He yanks his pants down so fast, he's shocked he doesn't knock himself onto the floor, and hisses out a breath the moment his fingers wrap around himself. It aches with how good it feels, but he only allows his eyes to roll back for a split second before they're locked back on you. 

And you're sexy as hell. Your shirt's been tugged up and tucked under your chin to reveal that you decided to forgo a bra, in addition to the rest of your inhibitions, and he's thanking every deity he doesn't believe in that he doesn't have to imagine the plush curve of your tits and how they'd look sucked into his mouth.

Crap. He can't keep thinking shit like that if he wants to last longer than a few minutes. Ignoring the angry pulsing against his palm, he starts to stroke himself in time with your thrusts, diligently following your lead. But you're moving so slowly like you've got all the time in the world in this abandoned wonderland you've claimed for yourself, and Mike's time is limited. 

The longer this night goes on, the more restless they become, and it won't be long before those curtains open and you're interrupted. For good. There must be something seriously wrong with him, because he doesn't give a shit about that, either. They can wait. He's got another job to finish, and he needs this.

It's been so long since he last allowed himself to let go, and even longer since his body actually wanted to. He's harder than he's ever been in his life, and it's confusing and a little painful, and yet he hopes he lasts until his alarm goes off at 6 a.m., teetering on the edge of nirvana right alongside you. He wants you to make him cum so badly, and he knows you will, even if you don't know it yourself.

Tiny, hushed pleas escape him as your fingers speed up, begging you to coax him, to encourage him to be good for you and follow your every move. His office is too far from the auditorium for his words to carry, but he continues to moan them anyway, desperately. Obediently.

His eyes flutter closed as he succumbs to the fantasy of your lips grazing the shell of his ear, giving him firm instructions and praising him when he proves how well he can listen.

Such a good boy for me, Mike. A little faster, not too much. Nice and tight, just like that.

"Fuck. Like this? Is...is this okay?" he whimpers aloud, thumbing over the tip on his next upstroke. 

His hips buck into his hand at the sensation, and he grits his teeth, anticipating an admonishment that never comes. He's more than a little disappointed. 

That is, until he hears it, crystal clear as it filters through the cracked door and reverberates through his entire body. A needy, perfect moan, rising in pitch and volume with each passing moment. Yours.

You must've heard him, somehow. It's the only explanation. He has no idea how long he's been babbling, drunk on the tight, slick slide of skin against skin, but you're responding to it encouragingly like he's only ever imagined in his wettest dreams.

Mike's eyes shoot open, darting back to the monitor, and he has to grip the base of his cock tight to keep from cumming then and there. You're staring directly at the camera now, your chest heaving as you fuck yourself with three fingers, and he winces at how quickly his balls start to tighten.

He's going to cum. Shit. Shit.

But you didn't tell him he could. You're not even aware of the power you hold over him, and yet—

"You sound close, baby. You gonna cum for me?"

He sees your lips move and then your voice rings out a moment later, breathy and labored, and...how the fuck did you end up in this place? Who are you? He fucks into his fist frantically, leaking precum all over his fingers, and he can feel sweat matting his dark curls to his forehead, pooling where his aching wrist meets his hip bone. 

Maybe it doesn't even matter how or why you're in this pizzeria, not anymore. He can't stop anyway, not when you're urging him on and calling him baby. He feels delirious, blind to the rest of the security monitors and newly flickering lights. To the purple curtain slowly opening behind you.

Right now, it's just you and him. The familiar, searing heat in the pit of his groin, and the wet squelch of your fingers stroking your convulsing walls and rubbing tight circles into your clit—you're both so close, he knows it. He just needs you to say it. He needs your permission.

"Only if—," he gasps, belatedly realizing that his other hand is cupping his balls, squeezing reflexively without his permission. "—only if you say I can."

He watches your jaw drop, and your thighs begin to quake in response. Quicker than he can process, there's a sudden shift, and your gaze darkens mischievously to match the subtle quirk of your lips. You're in control now and you know it. You like it. He does, too.

Your pace doesn't slow at all and, instead, your hips begin to swivel into your touch, grinding into the sticky vinyl bench for more friction. 

So, that turns you on, huh? If he strains his ears, he swears he can just make out the squeaking of a diner booth being pushed to its limit. He's never been more jealous of furniture in his life.

That could've been him, if only he'd manned up and done his damn job. He could've had you bent over that table or bouncing on his cock; felt you gushing around him, clamping down on him. You would've wrung him dry.

Turns out you still do, just from a little further away. 

"Still hanging in there?" you coo from the other room, but the teasing in your voice is undercut by something headier. You sound wrecked.

His eyebrows pinch together, his expression almost pained, and he can feel that telltale pressure building, building.

"Y-yeah, but I...fuck, I can't hold it anymore," he whimpers, unable to keep his hips from snapping up into his hand. His thrusts are getting sloppier and tears are beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes. He wishes you could see him right now. "C-can I? Please."

Your fingers stutter and, for a second, he thinks he might've pushed you over the edge, but you recover just long enough to give him one final push. To tell him the one thing he's been longing to hear since he tugged down his pants and started playing your little game.

"Such a good boy," you repeat from earlier, a murmur that just barely reaches his ears, except this time it's really you and not just a fantasy. "Cum, baby. Let me hear you."

Then, his mind goes blissfully blank.

Mike doesn't just cum, he bursts. Soft whimpers taper into something guttural and animalistic as thick spurts coat his security vest and dribble down his length, soaking into the thick fabric of his sweatpants. He moans his way through it, nearly giving himself a friction burn with the intensity of his grip and speed. And he's loud, just like you told him to be. Much louder than he should be.

For a brief moment, his vision whites out, and he almost misses what he's been looking forward to all night. He blinks away the lingering spots obscuring his sight, and that's when it happens. Bathed in flashing green and yellow fluorescents, your entire body curls in on itself, shaking as your orgasm overcomes you and soaks the floor. 

His cock jerks pathetically in his hand as you work yourself through it, your eyes heavy-lidded and still locked on the camera. After a few more pumps, you slump into your seat and remove your fingers from your cunt, sucking them wetly into your mouth. 

He should get up. He should walk right into that auditorium with his dick still out so you can clean him up too, but he feels frozen in place. The skin at the back of his neck prickles and erupts into goosebumps and it feels like a warning, yet he still can't bring himself to look away from you. 

So, he doesn't notice the purple curtain opening just a fraction more in the background, and the curved, silver hook that peeks out from behind it. The blood rushing in your ears and steady heaving of your chest masks the metallic rattling, leaving you dangerously in the dark, too.

But Mike's eyes on the monitor are just enough to keep the pirate in his cove, and you're captivating enough to ensure they stay there. 

Sticky fingers twitch in his lap and, as if you can tell, you smirk around your own before pulling them free with a lewd pop. His mouth waters at the thought of what you must taste like and, unbeknownst to him, you're thinking the exact same about him. Since you're not there to help him yourself, you ask him to be good for you one last time.

"It's your turn," you laugh teasingly, swirling your tongue around your fingertips. "You should probably clean yourself up before you head home. It's almost six."

Heat curls low in his stomach and compels him to obey again. A cursory glance down at his watch tells him you're right—his alarm will go off soon, way sooner than he expected, and he's still covered in sweat and his own release. He could pop out of the office to the bathroom and be back before any real damage is done, probably. But that's not really what you're asking for.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he calls out, not bothering to hide the neediness in his voice. He's never experienced anything like this—like you—before and he's not sure he'll get the opportunity ever again.

"Lick it off. All of it," you instruct, dropping your fingers between your legs to swirl around your clit before popping them back into your mouth. Slowly, you show him exactly what you want, and he's a little horrified to realize he's getting hard again. "Can you do that for me?"

He nods quickly, forgetting you can't see his approval, but it doesn't matter, anyway. He's sucking the drying cum off his palm and fingers faster than he can reply, and his muffled responding moan tells you everything you need to know. After everything that's happened during this unexplainable night shift and everything you've made him feel, he'd likely do anything you asked.

"Such a good listener," you continue, ceasing your ministrations to lazily slip your underwear and jeans back into place. 

He's hit with a sudden wave of panic. This can't be over yet. There's still so much mystery shrouding you and whatever connection you have to this place, and if you leave now, he'll be left wondering forever. He wants answers, but disappointingly, you only leave him with more questions.

"How did I get so lucky with you, huh? The other security guards weren't nearly this fun," you smirk, dropping another bomb he never saw coming.

Oh. Oh. He freezes as he finishes laving the remaining wetness between his thumb and index fingers, the reality of the situation finally making itself known. This isn't the first time you've done this. It's probably not even the second or third. This is a habit, and he's not the only unwitting participant to fall prey to your seduction.

Fuck, he knew you were too good to be true. He hates that his body's still fighting his rationality while you sit there genuinely believing you've done nothing wrong. So innocent and, yet, still such an enigma. No one's ever made him cum that hard but, thankfully, his head is finally clear enough to put a stop to all of this. It's time to do his job.

The opportunity presents itself almost immediately. The flickering lights that have progressively gotten worse since his shift started reach a fever pitch, and the familiar figure in the corner of the screen reveals itself, wrenching his attention away from you. 

Mike barely has enough time to warn you before the screens start to glitch—every single one of them—and display nothing more than lines and lines of meaningless code. 

"You have to go. Now," he yells, struggling to be heard over the tinny screeching and jarring sounds of children's laughter crackling violently over the intercom. "Just—get out of here. Run, you have to run!"

He doesn't wait for a response, operating on autopilot as he wrestles his pants up and shoots out of his seat to the breaker box across the room. Terror and adrenaline pump through his veins, puppeteering him through the instructions left for him by Mr. Raglan.

Pull the lever down then back up, reset the power, and wait for the monitors to reboot. All he can do now is hope the machines don't deem you a threat and let you go. The room is plunged into darkness and the speakers go eerily silent.

Then, the systems come back online just like they're supposed to. But you're gone. He frantically searches the monitors for even a trace of you, evidence that you ever existed at all, but there's nothing. The only relief he's granted is that there's no blood or pieces of you scattered across the building. There's nothing at all.

Bracing himself on the desk in front of him, he breathes in desperate lungfuls of air, crashing from his adrenaline-fueled high and giving in to exhaustion. Just one more night. One more night at Freddy's, and he'll take that paycheck and never look back.

After a while of waiting for his panic to subside, his watch starts to beep, signaling the end of this night from hell. Fighting to ignore his conflicting feelings and lingering confusion, and even more so the phantom heat still licking at the base of his spine when he lets his thoughts stray back to you, he grabs his backpack and all but speed walks to the breaker to cut the power again.

As his fingers close around the lever, the intercom suddenly crackles to life. Something akin to hope blooms in his chest, and he whips around to see your image picked up by the camera at the entrance, radiant and unharmed under the morning sun of a new day. 

You're smiling, and he can't find it in himself to care that he's smiling back. You turn to leave, then think better of it.

"Same time tomorrow?" 

He scoffs, shaking his head at how ridiculous his life has become since he started this gig. If not even haunted animatronic mascots and the looming threat of death can't keep you away, then who is he to try? 

Yeah. He'll see you tomorrow.

thanks for reading!

[notlongtolove]

empty my soul

they say the seven deadly sins are seven ways of mortal death, seven paths to eternal damnation, each a step away from redemption. but spencer knows that he would follow any path if it led him to you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff?

content: implied intimacy, religious mentions, you're intoxicating and spencer contemplates the pull of his desire and devotion toward you through the seven deadly sins

word count: 1.8k

note: ngl i wrote half of this on the plane and almost forgot ab it. i feel like this concept would have been better utilised if i could write smut but i dont think i am all that good at writing smut

a line: He’ll take the sins, the ungodly weight of them, without question, without hesitation. To keep you. Always you.

I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea, Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes; I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me, I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul as it leads. - sara teasdale

Spencer Reid has never been religious. He doesn’t believe in a higher being, doesn’t think the universe bends to the will of anything greater than chance. He’s a man defined by facts, by logic, by what can be measured and proven. Still, with the nature of his job and the evils he’s seen, Spencer Reid tries to be a good person. He believes he is one, for the most part.

In the office, he pours the last of the coffee into Derek's mug first, even though he needs the caffeine just as badly. On the subway, he stands without hesitation to offer his seat to a pregnant lady juggling an oversized tote despite the exhaustion of his day. Climbing the stairs, he stops to smile at the old man on the landing who’s always surrounded by his cats—even if he’s never gotten a smile back.

He tells himself these things matter. That they tip the scale in his favor.

Because the seven deadly sins—those cardinal vices—are a map of human weakness.

It’s a moral compass he has never adhered to himself—Yet tonight, standing at his front door, key in hand, he wonders if he’s unwittingly broken them all.

The hallway is dim, but he can see the soft flicker of his bedside lamp through the cracked bedroom door. He opens it quietly, and there you are. He steps inside, careful not to disturb you. You’re sleeping, peaceful. You're in his shirt, curled up on his bed. Absolute perfection.

Spencer doesn’t believe in angels, but if they walked among mortals, he thinks you’d be the closest thing to one. 

It’s the sin of self-admiration, the opposite of humility. Pride. He knows it well. C.S. Lewis wrote that pride is the root of all sin, the ego in direct defiance of God. Spencer has always thought himself better than that. He doesn’t believe in claiming you, in reducing you to an extension of himself. But when the team goes out and you’re there, turning heads, earning glances that linger too long, he tells himself it’s admiration, not possession, that makes his chest swell. To think you’re his? The pride seeps in, unbidden.

He crosses the room slowly. Standing at the edge of the bed, he watches you. Right now, he’s certain of one thing—he’s not sure he’s capable of redemption. Not tonight. You need your rest, and he knows he should let you sleep. He knows it as surely as he knows the formulas that balance delicate equations, the weight of the gun on his hip.

But he doesn’t want to. It’s greed, plain and simple. Henry Edward Manning called avarice a mire that pulls a man deeper into the world, making it his god. Spencer’s greed is less tangible than wealth or power, but it consumes him all the same. It's not enough to watch you sleep, though the sight should be enough. It’s a sight he’s memorized, filed away for lonely nights away from you. But tonight, it just isn’t enough. 

Spencer kneels beside the bed, though not in prayer—No deity would grant absolution for the choices he’s about to make. It’s a desperate worship, a wordless plea. He presses a kiss to your shoulder. Light, reverent. Another one to your temple. Then to the corner of your mouth. And another. And another. He wants more. Needs more. Gluttony, he thinks. A thousand wouldn’t sate him. Even a million might not be enough.

Your lashes flutter, and for a moment, guilt flickers in his chest. You’ve had a long day, too. He should pull away, let you sleep. But your lips part in a quiet murmur of his name, and suddenly, the rest of the world is a distant, muted thing.

“Spencer,” you whisper, your voice soft and trusting, not even fully awake.

“Hey, honey,” he replies, just as softly, brushing his fingers gently through your hair.

“When’d you get back?”

“Just now,” he murmurs, his hand caressing the curve of your hair. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

“C’mere,” you say, your hand reaching out, fingers curling weakly at the fabric of his shirt, a silent plea. 

Usually, he’d shower first. Wash off the day—the grime, the weight of it all—but tonight has been long and harrowing, and you’re right here, pulling him closer. So instead, with careful, practiced movements, he undresses quietly, slipping into a fresh pair of clothes, careful not to disturb you.

By the time he slides under the covers, you’re already half-lost to sleep again. But your body shifts instinctively, finding his, limbs tangling in his as though your subconscious can’t bear to be apart. It’s muscle memory now, the way you fit against him. Your body stays nestled against his, and Spencer simply holds you. 

He remembers the first nights you stayed over, how you tossed and turned and barely managed a few restless hours of sleep. You’d told him about your insomnia, how it often robbed you of rest. And yet, months later, you sleep peacefully beside him, body curled into his sheets like you’ve always belonged here. Something stirs within his chest, spreading warmth through his ribs—a realization that you feel safe with him. Safe enough to rest, to let go, to sleep soundly in a world that’s often unforgiving. 

Sometimes, if he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with you, Spencer thinks he might envy you. For so long before he met you, he’d wondered what he was doing all this for. His intellect, his job—it always felt like a machine churning without any real purpose. But with you, lying here in his arms, he knows. 

It’s for the way you can sleep soundly, untouched by the ugliness of the world. For the way you can keep enough of your light to bring into places he thought would always remain dark. Bertrand Russell said that envy was one of the most potent causes of unhappiness. But when it comes to you, Spencer finds it doesn’t matter. Yes, he envies your innocence, your unbroken joy, the way you make him smile even after the hardest days. But it’s a quiet kind of envy, the kind that makes his purpose clear. Because he’s made it his job—his life’s work—to protect people like you. To keep you safe from the things he can’t unsee, from the shadows that haunt his own nights.

It awakens something deep and instinctual in him, something unyielding. A primal need to protect you, to keep you sheltered from every storm. Spencer has never been quick to anger, never one to let wrath consume him. The Catholic Church teaches that anger, when it evolves into a deliberate, lethal intent, becomes gravely sinful—a mortal sin.

Spencer has spent years dissecting the complexity of human nature, he’s seen enough of humanity’s darkness to understand the weight of wrath and how sharp it cuts. He’s always believed he was different, too rational, too objective to ever give in to that kind of furious violence. 

But then, you came along.

And now he knows, if it ever came to that—if the world dared to reach for you, to try and take you from him—he would not hesitate. Every choice, every principle, every shred of his reasoned sanity would be sacrificed without question. If and when it ever came to you, he’d burn the entire world down if it meant keeping you safe, to protect the very heart of you. 

He presses a kiss to your head in an effort to ground himself. His kisses are deeper now, still tender but lingering longer. His lips trail lower, brushing over your temple, the slope of your shoulder. You shift slightly in your sleep, a soft murmur escaping your lips, but you don’t wake. Spencer breathes you in. The scent of you—cinnamon and sandalwood—faint traces of the perfume he’d picked out for you two months ago. 

In the stillness of the room, a soft glow catches his attention. His phone lights up on the nightstand, screen down, casting a faint halo on the wood. A message, maybe two—something that could wait. Especially when you’re here. 

Sloth is a sin of omission. Spencer understands its meaning, shirking responsibilities, choosing complacency over action. Ignoring his buzzing phone, his waiting work. All reminders of what he should be doing, of what he could be, if he let himself. He decides that he’ll shoulder it all again tomorrow. Tonight, the choice is clear. Tonight, he chooses you. 

But then the buzz sharpens into a ring, cutting through the stillness. He watches you stir, your brow furrowing as the sound pulls you from sleep. With a sigh, Spencer picks up the phone, already regretting the intrusion.

“Yeah?” he says softly, careful not to wake you fully.

Morgan’s voice crackles on the other end, urgent but not life-threatening—a file, a lead, something work-related that Spencer should care about but can’t bring himself to fully process. He glances at you, watching as you sit up, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“Sorry,” he mouths, guilt flickering across his face. But you only move closer, leaning into him, a silent reassurance that you’re not all that annoyed by the disruption. 

As Morgan keeps talking, your lips find the edge of Spencer’s jaw, pressing soft, deliberate kisses against his skin. The first kiss is soft, exploratory. The second lingers, deliberate. He swallows hard, his free hand instinctively moving to your waist, fingers splayed against your hip as if to anchor himself. 

Ah, the final sin.

Lust.

Defined as an intense longing, a surrender to physical desire. Even the earliest of men had been warned of its impurity, it's the act that binds one as “a slave of the devil”. But in this moment, Spencer can’t think of anything holier than the way your lips trail from his jaw to his neck, slow and deliberate.

He clears his throat, trying to focus on Morgan’s words, but his resolve is crumbling. The effort feels futile as your kisses deepen, trailing a slow, intoxicating path around his neck. Each one pulls him further from the conversation on the phone, as if to remind him where his attention truly belongs. 

“Uh, Morgan,” he interrupts, his voice strained. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”

There’s a pause, a low chuckle from the other end. “Yeah, man. Go get some sleep.”

“Thanks,” Spencer mutters, ending the call.

Before he can set the phone down, your hand finds his, taking it and placing it face down on the nightstand. The motion is deliberate, final. Then you’re pulling him back to you, your lips claiming his, his hands wandering with lazy, unhurried intent. There’s no hurry, no rush—just the quiet of this moment.

You’re intoxicating, the thought of resisting the pull you have on him, inconceivable.

They say the seven deadly sins are the seven ways of mortal death, seven paths to eternal damnation, each a step away from redemption. But Spencer knows that he would blindly and gladly follow any path if it led him to you.

If surrendering to sin means getting to hold you like this—then so be it. He’d forgo every cup of caffeine, every fleeting subway seat, every awkward, unreciprocated greeting, if it meant tipping the scales just enough to keep these moments. He’ll take the sins, the ungodly weight of them, without question, without hesitation. To keep you. Always you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: work song by hozier meet me in amsterdam by rini

[r3ynah]

THE FAMILY OF BEAUTIES

The girls the boys they all like Carmen.

(In this scenario Carmen is the fentons).

I just want to headcanon, that the Fenton's have a ethereal type of beauty, not sexy or hot. Ethereal, like if you didn't know that they're a family of Mad scientist, a obsessive therapist and a dead boy. they could've passed as deity's.

And the amity park's citizens can and will totally agree, they might've disagree and fight for a lot of things but the only thing they can agree on was the Fenton's was down to earth beautiful.

Like Jack Fenton for example, He has built that can seemingly bench you without any hesitation, but a himbo at heart, the greys of his hair compliments way it mixes with the black hair of his, if Jack isn't in his ghost hunting suit, he is pretty decent when it comes to his fashion sense, When Jazz first brought along her friends, the first thing they asked was if Jack was single, which caused Jazz to smack their heads individually with a newspaper.

And don't get me started with Madeline Fenton, because I cannot stop when it comes to her, My girl with her short straight Reddish-brown hair, looks like a masculine but also feminine beauty, Can and will bench you, if you have any ill intent towards her family, she came from a long line of riches if I say so myself. Tall as fuck, about 6'7 while Jack is 7'0. very elegant when it comes to fighting, that it looks like she's just dancing, Was titled as a Milf by Danny's classmate which made the boy groan in annoyance, Sam and Tucker calls out to Maddie and says "Mother is Mothering", just to get something out of Danny who looks at them with disgust knowing full well what they were trying to do. While Maddie is just happy for the kids to see her as a mother figure.

Now Jazz, My love, my girl. Her long Red hair that came down to her hips, and her blue eyes, made all the girls and boys in her college swoon, with her 6'4 figure she strutted down the halls with confidence, beauty and brains everyone would oh so called it, and her knowledge in martial arts didn't lessen her attractiveness, The humans and ghosts can agree with that delightfully.

And now her dearest sibling Danny, Danny is a nonbinary fuck that can gender envy anyone he meets, that's why he got bullied in the first place, he was too fucking beautiful and handsome at the same time, all the boys and girls of his school have atleast had a crush on him, He was the only cute boy there, what could they do? He stared at them with his icey colored eyes that made their legs tremble from the pressure, and that black hair that always seemed messy but in a good way. It didn't help when he got that lichtenberg scar, that ran up his neck and the side of his face. you should've seen him in P.E cause my guy got everyone staring at him.

And the Fenton family has fashion sense, if they really put their mind and soul into it, everytime they dressed up for a family reunion or just an outing it was a very sweet treat for everyone's eyes. like how it is right now.

The Amity parkers waved goodbye at the Fenton's as they went on and attended a gala they were invited to, it was supposedly because of the sudden rise and popularity of their works and how's it been helping the environment.

One citizen sighed as he looked at the car that family was driving as it slowly became smaller and smaller.

"You think they can handle Gotham, heard nasty thing bout that place." She questioned

"Girl, Gotham should be the one readying to handle them, that family may be beautiful, but their crazy." Her friend's answered

"well that does give them a more attractive look isn't it?"

"I hate how you're right."

__

The Gala the Fenton's went to certainly had an awkward atmosphere when they went inside, all the guest kept staring at them that it was starting to get creepy, did they overdress or underdressed, come on just walk towards start to talk or criticize them, because it's starting to get embarrassing for the family.

Gotham wasn't fucking prepared to meet the Fentons like as in, They had been awestrucked when the family walked in. A very tall man seemingly in his 40's with his hair gelled back, and a suit that fitted him too perfectly, gosh dang, even the homophobic guests couldn't help but stare, And then there was his Wife her straight her was curled and brushed out leaving a wavy effect that compliments her face shape, and that dress she was wearing was utterly gorgeous, fancy but also simple and mature, the heels certainly helped her height more and made her look more intimidating, The ladies blushed when she looks at them and smiles.

And don't get them started with the couples children, who looked adorable and elegant at the same time, The older sister had a aura that says: 'Im in your presence bow down' (And they would've if it was in a more private area due to the paparazzi's out the window). She wore a spaghetti strapped dress that had a slit on either side and was , making it more comfortable to move in for the girl, partnered by a white shawl made of silk, she had heels that also complimented he already tall stature, her hair was tied in a neat bun, with a few strands free to not make her face feel bare. And lastly the youngest everyone assumed, wearing a suit, double-breasted suit that was elegant and sophisticated it matched the way his hair is messed up for him to still look young, he was also wearing a black shawl that had specks of white making it look like stars. The family had a colour scheme of green, that made all gothamites present swoon, Including a certain family of bats.

(I might make a fanart of this later.)

[maxs-grimoire]

This is a great question! I'm more than happy to answer this for you :)

Ways to communicate with deities without meditation

Method 1: Divination

Try communicating using divination! You can use tarot, runes, a pendulum, or any other type of divination method, set an intention and set up protections so only the deity you want to communicate with can talk to you, and then ask them if they want to work with you.

Method 2: Prayer

Research the prayer methods for the specific pantheon and type of deity you're trying to communicate with (for example, muttering a prayer quietly with hands on the ground for a Greek, cthonic deity) and ask them if they want to work with you. Pay attention to any physical sensations, such as your stomach filling with butterflies, or a gut feeling the answer is one way or the other, etc.

Method 3: Ask for signs

Along with the last one, you can ask for signs from the deity that they accept and want to work with you. Ask for something specific enough that it is noticeable and unique, but not something so specific that it's impossible for it to happen.

Remember, if a deity says NO to working you, it'll be ok! You have to respect that. Just like deities should respect you saying no to working with them, it's the same the other way around.

[ayeochi]

・✶ ｡ﾟ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃 ;

cw: obsession, stalking, kidnapping, mature themes.

𖣠 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃! He never imagined that someone like you could exist. To him, you are like an unattainable deity: gentle, radiant and so above everything he knows. Your smile paralyzes him, your words are like music, and every time you look at him or talk to him, he almost faints. He can hardly understand how you are able to notice someone like him — so mediocre, so insignificant. He convinces himself that your kindness is a sign, a message that you are made for him.

𖣠 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃! He collects everything he can get his hands on of you. From photos taken in secret, to small objects you left behind. He has your pens, your hair clips, even a scarf you discarded, but which he picked up as if it were a sacred artifact. The underwear you left in the laundry? He keeps them like the greatest of his trophies, inhaling your scent as he imagines you wearing them. He even stole a fingernail he found in the trash. Everything is a piece of you that he needs to have close by, because that's the only way he feels alive.

𖣠 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃! Every night, he lies in bed with trembling hands, thinking about you. He imagines your smile, your skin, your voice calling his name sweetly. His thoughts soon become fantasies, more intimate, more forbidden. He murmurs your name as his breathing becomes heavy, his hand sliding until he relieves the uncontrollable desire you provoke. He whispers between moans how much he loves you, how much he wants you, how much he can no longer live without you.

𖣠 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃! Every day without you is torture, and today he reached his limit. He spent hours planning every detail. He followed you until he was sure he could act without being noticed. And then, everything happens too fast: a moment of distraction and you are in his arms, your vision darkening as he murmurs apologies and promises in your ear.

𖣠 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃! When you wake up, the room around you is unfamiliar, but decorated with everything you love. Books, flowers, your favorite foods. He is sitting on the floor, at your feet, crying and shaking. "I... I needed you. You don't understand how much it hurts me to see you so far away. But now... now you are here, with me. I promise that no one will hurt you, ever. Not even you can leave me."

𖣠 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃! His eyes are red from crying, but there is something else in them: a feverish shine, a mixture of devotion and desire. He approaches, hesitantly, his breathing irregular. "Please... love me. I'll do anything for you. All you have to do is say so. You... you're everything to me."