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miabebe · 3 months ago

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Anything and Always (YJH)

Was it really love if it didn't include just a little madness? What was love if it didn't cross the line? And how was it love if it wasn't regardless of anything and longer than always?

Pairing - Afab!reader x Yoon Jeonghan

Word count - 3.9K (this is a miracle)

Genre - Oof buckle up my friends. This is a halloween special so I tried not hold back - its a psycho-thriller, there's smut and then there's more pyscho-ness, it's a rideee! Warnings under the cut!

A/n - It's the week leading up to Halloween folks! Unfortunately I'm not the biggest fan of clowns and ghosts and vampires etc, but I do love me a good dose of psychos (who I think are scarier btw) so here you goooo! You can also check out Seungcheol's and Joshua's!

Big big big thanks to @tusswrites and @tomodachiii - you guys were really the hands behind this one ❤️

warnings - death, murder, blood, lots of toxic emotions like jealousy, possessiveness, extreme insensitivity, PDA, sex in a public place but no one sees them? unprotected sex, rough sex, filthy talk, marking, manhandling, mentions of blowjobs and sloppy seconds, mentions of exhibitionism, choking, creampie, fingering, stalking, obsession, disposing bodies mentioned?, honestly this whole fic is just a warning at this point, idk what to say

“.....Police say that this is possibly the most brutal act of violence they have come across in Seoul city in a long time. The forensics department is still trying to identify the body but estimate that the time of death might have been around 6 months ago. The motive of the crime is still unclear and….”

Ignoring the sound of the tv you glanced at the two figures on the other side of the glass, standing close to each other, snickering away. Your hand tightened around the letter opener, the sharp edge slicing your skin open, blood trickling down your fist. The crimson felt cold but there was a strange fire coursing through your being.

How dare she? How dare she twirl her hair like a schoolgirl and put her hands on him? And what kind of fool did she take you to be? Did she think you couldn’t see the way she was stuck to your boyfriend like a leech or did she want you to see her making a move on your man? If it was the latter then she was most definitely successful – your eyes hadn’t left their huddled figures in the last ten minutes. At least not until red began to leak onto the papers strewn on the table. Groaning slightly, you quickly let the blade go and grabbed a tissue instead.

But you couldn’t let go of what was happening outside.

Pushing your chair back, you reached for your red satin gloves and slipped them on, covering your wound. It stung as the cloth grazed your skin but you knew it would feel better later, when you’ll run your hand through your boyfriend’s soft tresses as he fucks you into oblivion. He always made everything so much better.

In complete contrast to the professional approach you’ve always advised your employees to maintain, you opened the door of your cabin and walked over to the pair, hugging your boyfriend from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Han.” You muttered, placing a soft kiss on the side of his neck before glancing at the woman before you. She tried not to look at you, the same way the entire office was averting their eyes, choosing to look down at the floor instead. Afterall, no one wanted to see their boss romancing right in the middle of the workspace. You didn’t care what they thought, at least not anymore. All that mattered to you was what Jeonghan felt, so when he slowly pulled your hands away from him, you were a little hurt.

But in all fairness, Jeonghan was always like this. Always so wary of people around him, always so conscious, always so proper. If you were being honest, even you used to be the same until a few months ago. Until Jeonghan came into your life to be precise.

Before him life was different. Inheriting your father’s company at such a young age meant you had to prove you were worthy, you had to make sure you were taken seriously. That’s why you made it a point to enforce discipline at work – employees always had to be on time, tardiness was looked down upon, improper dressing was not allowed, discussing anything unrelated to work was not permitted and office romance was strictly forbidden. Again, all that was until Jeonghan made his way into your office one fine day, to interview for the position of your secretary.

You still remembered the moment he walked into your room, clutching his file against his chest, looking around with big eyes. Your childhood nanny turned caretaker introduced him, stating he was a smart guy who just finished his MBA and had a lot of potential. Apparently, a few months ago, he was recruited on the street and used to work as a part time model in your company – you couldn’t seem to recollect his face as he went on explaining how he wanted to do a more serious job now. Surely you would have known if the literal man of your dreams worked in the same space as you right? But then again, before your father died and you took over, you used to work in the writing column of this fashion magazine, the photography side of things was never in your radar. Yoon Jeonghan was never in your radar.

Making him your secretary was quite an easy decision – he had the qualifications, he already knew the company in and out and very soon, he knew you just the same too.

Well, almost.

He knew you took your coffee with foam art but he didn’t know it was because you liked that concentrated look on his face when he making it. He knew you always wore gloves as a fashion statement, but didn't know it was also to stop yourself from digging your nails into your skin every time you were stressed. He knew your caretaker and how important she was to you, but he didn’t know she was the closest thing you had to a mother, one whose presence you craved since you were a child. He knew inheriting this company had always been your dream but he didn’t know it was you who mixed the sleeping pills in your father’s milk that led to his overdose.

Albeit you only added enough to make sure he wouldn’t make it to the extremely important meeting the next day. The idea was that you would have gotten the chance to replace him as CEO temporarily and show the board your talent, but apparently your father was weak enough to die from that miniscule amount, allowing you to permanently take over his role. But this wasn’t your fault, was it? So there was nothing for Jeonghan to know about it.

Though there were a few things that he had discovered over time that a part of you wished he hadn’t - your anger, your impulsiveness, your stubbornness, your possessiveness…. He didn't know how bad it could get, but Jeonghan knew enough. That’s why the first thing he did when he pulled away from your grip was lead you to the private washroom in your cabin and fuck you mindless, thrusting into you hard and fast, letting your mark his neck carelessly.

Letting you mark him as yours.

“Fuck, baby.” He sighed, pulling you closer and wrapping your legs around his waist. Your pencil skirt went further up your torso as your boobs spilled out of your bra thanks to his sheer force as he showed no signs of slowing down. The granite of the sink counter felt unbearably cold against your bare ass but you didn’t care. Not when this position allowed him to ram into you while you ran your glove clad fingers in his hair, moaning right into his ear, and coaxing him further.

“Cum in me Hannie.” You purred, fingers digging into his arm. “Don't you want to fuck it back into me after work? I know how much you love your own sloppy seconds.”

“Don’t.” He groaned, his thrusts becoming harsher just at the thought of it. “We have an investor meeting after work today and I need to go pick up my niece after that. We can’t, baby.”

You rolled your eyes before pulling him into a heated kiss. This was what you loved and hated about this man. From day one, he was incredibly efficient, always so aware of your schedules, of which client calls to avoid, which pen to carry to sign official documents - he was the perfect secretary, always keeping an eye on everything. He was also a perfectly good man, always donning the sweetest smile, trying to be helpful, staying alert about your smallest needs and wants. As much as you loved how he looked after you, it was seeing him being nice to everyone else that bothered you.

Why did he have to lean over the desk of the girl clearly pretending to be stupid when he clarified her doubts? Why did he always agree to the dinners and the after work parties that various women in the company invited him to? Why did the lady in the canteen always bat her eyes at him and give him extra sandwiches? And was it your fault that one fine day nearly all these women decided to mass resign from your company? Yeah maybe you glared at them a bit too much and maybe you increased their workload to an unbearable amount but they chose to resign, that wasn’t on you right? Honestly, you should have stopped employing women after that - at least then you wouldn’t have hired her and seen her getting all handsy with your man.

“Stop thinking about her.”

Pulling you off the counter Jeonghan spun you around, letting you look at your fucked out face in the mirror. Your lipstick was smudged at the edges and the remnants of his cum were still at the corner of your lips from when you let him fuck your mouth minutes ago. “Eyes and mind on me when I’m fucking you, sweetheart.” He grabbed your face with his hand, squeezing it roughly. “The only thought that should be in your pretty little head is me, so stop thinking about her.”

And this was yet another reason you loved this man. He knew you like the back of his hand. He could tell from the slightest change in your expression what exactly you were thinking. He could tell from the furrow of your eyebrow what exactly you needed. He could tell when you wanted to be handled softly, and gently made love to and when you needed to just be fucked like a ragdoll. Right now, you just needed him to fuck the inappropriate thoughts out of your head and that’s exactly what he was doing, snapping his hips against yours with a relentless pace. Jeonghan might be someone who looked sweet and soft and fragile but man was he capable of fucking like a beast. No wonder you fell in love with him.

The moment you realised you had fallen head over heels for him, the first thing you did was simply tell him. Though it took him a fleeting moment, he confessed that he had been in love with you for the longest time now. Brfore you could properly even kiss him, he pushed you against the office window 78 floors high and fucked you right against it, ignoring the hundreds of staff on the other side of the glass cabin who didn’t know what to do but immediately evacuate from the floor.

Since then, you had gotten the glass tinted and the two of you had christened almost every piece of furniture in your cabin in a similar fashion. You had Jeonghan’s things moved into your office from his cubicle and at any point you were not working, there was only one thing you were doing. Rather, one man you were doing. People would walk in on you more often than you liked to admit but stopping wasn’t an option and shame really wasn't a part of your character profile anymore. Only one thing mattered, then, now and always - Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan.

“Oh god I’m close fuck fuck fu…” You felt your mouth hang as the feeling began to tighten in you, your legs weakening. With a hand on your back, Jeonghan pushed you onto the marble of the counter, your breasts and cheek pressed onto it, his other hand on your neck, pinning you in place

“Me too baby.” He groaned, fucking himself in you harder, momentarily forgetting how tight his grip around your neck was. The oxygen to your brain being cut off only made you feel more insane, mumbling meaningless words as you felt yourself being split open by the man you love. It was only when he saw your eyes nearly roll back that he loosened his hold, pressing his fingers into the soft skin on your hips, thrusting faster and deeper, grazing that spot again and again until you finally snapped. With a loud unintelligible moan, your walls fluttered around him, clamping his length and coating it with slick in a way that immediately sent him over the edge as he came, spilling into you in spurts. With a few more thrusts he continued to ride out his high like he didn't want to leave your warmth but when you winced at the overstimulation, he grimaced and finally pulled out.

As the two of you caught your breaths, slowly straightening yourself, you turned, finding yourself towered by him. Sighing, he caught your lips with his in a sweet kiss, in complete contrast to the way he slipped his fingers into your hole, pushing his cum further into you, for later. When the two of you finally parted, he stepped back, pulling up and buttoning his pants with a small smirk on his face. You smiled back, adjusting the panties he wasn’t even bothered to remove in his urgency, as you rang for your caretaker. Like always she would help you with your clothes, hair, makeup and make you look presentable but what was the point? Anyways, in a few hour’s time, everyone would get off work and you’d have to attend that one last meeting of the day but since it was just an audio call, you could still ride Jeonghan on your office chair while you were at it. You knew how much he loved the sight of his dick covered in his own cum pumping in and out of you so another round today was a given.

Just as Jeonghan finished dressing himself, your caretaker walked in with a fresh set of clothes, trying not to meet either of your eyes as always. Normally, Jeonghan didn’t hang around till you were made decent to the public eye, he let you have your space to dress but today it was like he could tell you wanted him around. Though his neck was littered with the red of bruises and your lipstick, and he smelled like he was doused in the sweet scent of you, the image of that woman’s hand on him kept flashing in your mind. You knew he could tell you had slipped back into those thoughts as he sighed, shaking his head.

Putting his arm out he stopped the older woman, much to your surprise. “Let me.”

And she did, handing your clothes to him before bowing deeply and excusing herself from there.

Your eyes followed Jeonghan as he slowly undressed you of your wrinkled clothes, sweetly kissing you anywhere and everywhere he could. You loved feeling his mouth on you like this and you know he loved it too, you could feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin. Except when he slipped your gloves off; then his expression shifted to one of pained worry.

“What happened?” He looked at you confused. “Y/n what-“

“I’m fine.” You brushed him off, but his grip on your wrist was tight. “I wasn’t careful when I used the letter opener so it just….”

“Baby.” If he could tell you were lying, you didn’t know. He just kissed your palm softly, looking at you like he was hurting more than you were.

This man loved you. He loved you so much. He loved you just the way you were, he always made sure to let you know just how much he cared, yet you couldn’t help but continue to obsess over that memory.

Shaking your head, you kissed him back, long and hard.

You had to get it out of your mind. You had to do whatever it took to get it out of your mind.

This entire weekend you didn’t get to see Jeonghan thanks to his niece’s birthday.

As much as you shouldn’t be jealous of a little girl for getting so much of your boyfriend’s attention, you were. You didn’t like anyone getting between you and Jeonghan but knowing how much he loved her, you were willing to let it slide. You still wanted to see him first thing Monday morning so you made sure to reach work as early as you could and were waiting by the door for him.

Instead, to your surprise and disappointment, you were met with the familiar face of just the woman you didn’t want to see as she limped in, bandages scattered all over her body, her arm in a cast, hanging in a sling around her neck.

Running your eyes over it, a small triumphant smile creeped on your face – now let her try and touch your man.

As though on cue, Jeonghan walked in, his eyes flickering between both the women before him. Reaching for your hand he pulled out the white glove you had donned today, running his finger along the fading wound. Seeing that it was much better, he interlaced his fingers with yours, and led you away to your cabin, without sparing his colleague a second look. You though, turned around just to catch sight of her dejected face.

As Jeonghan prepared your morning coffee, you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his shoulder, looking at the way he meticulously pressed the coffee powder. There was no fear or possessiveness in this hug, you were just happy. Jeonghan made you happy. He always made sure you were happy.

Since the day he began working in this company, your smile was what he craved for the most. No, not since he began working as your secretary - since he was recruited as a model, when he first laid his eyes on you.

It was during a press conference, announcing you had joined your father's company now that you had graduated from business school. You looked so prim and proper, like a sweet little girl from a high society, a perfect heiress with your glove clad hands clasped, resting on your lap modestly. Something about you was just so…. innocent, so easy to corrupt. It made Jeonghan fear for you - The corporate world was harsh and cutthroat. Sweet little things like you didn't belong here.

But over time Jeonghan learnt you weren't the little innocent girl you seemed like after all. He saw how ambitious you were, willing to even put down others to climb the ladder, willing to do anything. He saw your anger and the things it made you do. He saw your tantrums when you didn't get what you wanted. He saw everything because Jeonghan was always watching. Always.

He was watching you at work, he was watching you make your way home, he was watching what you did in your little penthouse, strutting around in your pretty night dresses…. Jeonghan was always watching. That's how he knew that you liked men with longer hair, and that you preferred them blonde and tall and lean. That's how he made sure to groom himself, to become the man of your dreams. Because he knew exactly what your dreams were - afterall, he always watched you sleep too.

That's also how he knew the number of sleeping pills you added in your father's milk weren't right. Yes you were ambitious and vile but you were short sighted. What you needed wasn't an opportunity to prove yourself but a permanent position to lead the company. That was your dream after all and Jeonghan would do whatever it took to make them come true. That's why he slipped in more pills into the glass - silly little you could surely not have thought so far.

The thing that Jeonghan didn't take into consideration though, was how inaccessible you would be to him once you became CEO. He didn’t get to see you as often and even if he did, you always had company. You were constantly monitored, always followed by security, always protected. He needed other ways of getting close to you, other ways he could keep an eye on you.

The first step was to get your previous secretary to resign. Honestly, that was probably the hardest step along the way - no matter what Jeonghan did, and mind you, he did everything possible, she did not step down from her position. So he did what he had to make sure she never returned, to make sure they didn't ever find her.

Although he might have been a little less successful on that front - from what he heard on the news yesterday, it turned out that after all this while, they finally had found her. He just hoped that the cops didn't dig around there any further - it wasn't like anything could trace back to him, he made sure of that, but he didn't know if they could digest everything they would find in his favorite dumping spot. Afterall, he had to make all those who truly knew him disappear - he couldn't take the risk of anyone letting you know what he was capable of. Of how far he was willing to go for you.

Your caretaker knew. She was the only one who knew but Jeonghan needed her. He needed someone you trusted to recommend him to you so he dealt with her in a way that was far easier - he just promised her he would pick up her granddaughter everyday after working hours and make sure she reached home safely as long as she kept her mouth shut and introduced him to you. The old lady was a sensible one - she did what she was told. Perhaps she knew that if she didn't, no one would question if her foot were to accidentally slip and send her plunging down 78 stories. No one would care.

But if anything similar were to happen to the colleague who was trying to make a move on him yesterday, Jeonghan knew you would be suspected. He couldn't have that happen, he couldn't have anything happen to you.

That's why he followed the woman around over the weekend, making note of where she went and what she did, waiting for the perfect opportunity to make his move. She told all the concerned employees asking her that she was too drunk and so she didn't realise she had walked into incoming traffic and Jeonghan didn’t see the need to correct her - she didn't walk on her own will, she was shoved.

But then again, all that happened was she broke an arm and a few ribs, and dislocated her shoulder, it was hardly anything. At least when compared to the wound on your hand because of her. All that mattered was that the sight of her finally seemed to have put a smile on your face, knowing that he wouldn't have those hands on him again. That was enough for him, your happiness was enough for him. For that he would do anything.

“Thank you for all that you do for me Han.” You muttered against his skin breathing in the combined scent of him and the coffee as he smiled to himself. But of course.

Topping off your drink with a tiny foam heart, he turned to hand it to you, receiving your sweet smile in return. It made him scoff inwardly. Look at you, pretending to be all innocent.

Like you too weren’t obsessively stalking her over the weekend.

Like it wasn’t your car that caused the accident that night.

Like you didn’t pay off the cops to let you go while your employee laid bleeding and unconscious on the road.

You always tried to hide so much behind that saccharine smile, but how could you? How could you when he was always watching? How could you when he would do anything to be by your side? How could you when he loved you more than anything Y/n?

More than anything and longer than always.

A/n - This is the first time I've dabbled in a genre like this so I'm nervous - kind comments and just thoughts in general are much appreciated! You can also check out Seungcheol's and Joshua's :)

#svthub #thediamondlifenetwork #jeonghan smut #jeonghan halloween #jeonghan angst #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan thriller #yoon jeonghan smut #yoon jeonghan #halloween fanfic #seventeen halloween #seventeen smut #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #darksvt

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lovecla · 5 months ago

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IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

00.3. how was your first night together?

➴ warnings: nsfw, rough sex, oral sex (f. receiving), use of the word slut, bit of humiliation, dacryphilia, subspace kinda?, protected sex, nipple sucking, curse words, aftercare, cockwarming, dirty talk.

➴ word count: 2.2k

➴ author’s note: i have nothing to say for myself… also, this is the first straight smut I write in YEARS. so pls bear with me… also2, im highly aware that jack is probably a cutie pie during sex (and dw!! we’ll get there eventually) but something abt this jack… makes me dizzy. hope u all enjoy!!

—♡

LEAVING the party with this man— you still didn’t even know his name— was probably the best decision you had ever made, after auditioning for that one show that changed your life back when you were thirteen.

The pretty boy drove you to his actual house and rested his hand on your thigh the entire ride. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with the thought of letting a man, who you barely even knew, fuck you senseless.

Maybe Grace was right and you did have a little bit of a thing for humiliation.

Although nothing compared to when he opened the door of his huge house for you, and kissed you before he had even closed it properly. His kiss was bruising and angry, his hands gripping your waist with just the right amount of strength and you could swear you were melting in his arms.

“Fuck,” you moaned, sitting on his lap. “What’s your name?”

He laughed, eyes red and mouth swollen. “You don’t know who I am?”

“No?” You raised your eyebrow, smirking.

“I’m Jack Hughes.” He said, looking bothered by the fact that you didn’t know who he was.

“Hi, Jack Hughes,” you said, rocking your hips against his. “I’m Sophia.”

“Oh, I know who you are, baby,” he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “That concert Nico went to? I was there too.”

Now that surprised you.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” He was the one smirking now. You rolled your eyes.

“Less yapping and more fucking. I’m starting to think you’re full of shit.”

You barely had time to finish breathing after your sentence before he grabbed you by your waist, and lifted you, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

He somehow managed to climb up the stairs while holding you and hell if that didn’t make you wetter. You could feel your panties sticky and glued to your intimate part, and honestly there wasn’t anything that you wanted more than to remove them.

He placed you in the bed, gentler than you’d expect him to, and you watched as he removed his suit, his toned abs making you clench around nothing. He pushed his somewhat long hair back before getting his hands on you again.

“Let’s get this monstrosity out of you,” he growled before almost ripping the jersey out of you. You laid on the bed now wearing just your bra and your mini-skirt. “Much better.”

You turned around, deciding that he deserved a show. Removing your bra, you actually moaned when you felt the cold air hit your hard nipples. You fought the need of touching them, and went straight to removing your skirt and panties, not letting yourself feel shy or embarrassed.

You felt Jack’s hands on you, turning you around and getting you on your knees. He looked at you like a predator and from just one look at his pants, you could tell that that man was packed.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do, baby,” he whispered, blue eyes staring down at you. “You’re gonna sit that sweet, needy cunt on my face, and I’m gonna eat you out until you’re coming. Then,” he stepped closer, not breaking eye contact. “I’m gonna fuck you fast and rough. That’s how I like it. And with that slutty face of yours,” he scoffed, eyes full of lust and desire. “I’m guessing that’s how you like it too.”

You bit your lips, nodding with your head, because you didn’t trust yourself enough to do anything besides moaning.

He removed the rest of his clothes and, yay, you were right, but also— fuck. You were right. His cock was big and thick and looked like it would reach your stomach and rearrange your organs.

Just how you liked it.

He laid on the bed and grabbed your hips, making you sit on his face, and when the tip of his tongue met your aching clit, you swear you saw stars.

You were holding yourself on the headboard, not wanting to hurt him. He looked like a great guy, and didn’t deserve to die because he suffocated during sex.

But it looked like he had other plans.

“I think I told you to sit your cunt on my face, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but—”

“Do as I fucking say.” Even though he said it, he was the one who grabbed your thighs and pulled you down, making your pussy cover his entire mouth.

Your moans were probably heard from across the street, but you didn’t care. It had been way too long since your last time and this? This was heaven. Jack was a fucking munch. The way he licked your clit and fucked his tongue inside you? Yeah, he knew what he was doing.

“J-Jack, fuck,” you heard yourself saying, eyes starting to feel wet and mind going all blank. “God, what the fuck.”

The wet noises could be heard whenever your moans came out softly, and his hands on your thighs only made it all better, because you knew it would bruise. You knew it would leave a mark there and it felt so good to know that this was the man marking you up.

You looked down by accident and you came right on the spot when you made eye contact with the man underneath you; it should have been embarrassing to look at him eating you out but it wasn’t anything like that. You felt owned and desired. You felt whole.

He removed his lips from your pussy, not before licking it a few times, and turned you around, him on top of you. He moved so he could grab the condom from the bedside table— fuckboy move, totally— and you watched as he put it on.

He kissed you one more time while he inserted himself on you, not really giving you the time to adjust. You felt your hole burning, and it felt good. You were so wet that the squelching sounds were almost embarrassing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He was hitting you on the right spots.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured, slamming into you with force. “Pussy so ‘fuckin tight for me. Holy shit.”

“Harder, p-please,” you heard yourself saying and you saw how his bright, blue eyes were changing into a dark, ocean color. You saw danger in them.

“You’re still speaking so I guess I’m not doing my job the right way, huh?” He said, taking almost all of his cock out just to slam it back into you with strength.

Your mind was going to a very strange place where you couldn’t really think straight and even though that should be scary, you felt nothing but… free.

The pleasure was so fucking good and your pussy had never felt so satisfied, as corny as it sounded. He had his lips on your right nipple, sucking and biting, his right hand rubbing your clit fast and precise, while his dick slammed into you with the right amount of pressure.

You could feel the tension building up inside of you and you knew you were going to come again, and soon, but when you tried to say something, warn him, it felt like you had grabbed a stick of glue and glued your mouth shut.

But it was too much, your legs were trembling and your eyes were wet, tears cascading down your face. You knew your face was red and probably slutty like Jack had said but it didn’t matter.

“Poor slut can’t even talk, mhm?” You heard Jack mock you, and fuck if it didn’t make you clench your hole around his dick. “You liked being called that, didn't you? Little slut. My brainless, stupid slut.”

His hand started to move faster on your clit and you tried to close your legs, out of pure instinct.

“None of that, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, still fucking you rough and hard. “Keep those pretty, little legs open for me. Isn’t that what you’re here for? Letting me, a guy who you barely know, fuck you senseless.”

You were fully crying now, holding onto him with so much force, secretly thankful that he was a Hockey player and probably used to all the roughness.

“I-I’m gonna,” you mumbled, not even thinking straight.

“You’re gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Yeah? Gonna make a mess for me and wet my bed sheets even more?”

You felt yourself nodding, biting your lips when you felt yourself coming. Jack was still fucking you, searching for his own release. He lifted himself just enough to grab you by your waist and slam himself into you, over and over again.

Your tits went up and down and your eyes went to the back of your head.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up now, baby. C’mon, sweetheart, I’m gonna come, fuck.” Jack cursed, thrusting into you one last time, before coming inside the condom.

All you could hear were your sniffles and his breathing. Your legs were still shaking and your body felt the same way it did whenever you had a fever.

You could hear Jack moving, but you only acted when you felt himself removing his dick. “N-No. Please, stay. Just… for a bit?” You sounded fragile, almost insecure, and you hated it. It wasn’t anything like you, at all. You had guys and girls throwing themselves at you everyday— not that it mattered, you never took interest in any of them— so you shouldn’t act like a needy… slut.

But your fucked up brain couldn’t handle the thought of Jack leaving you. So, you did what you could. Begged.

You heard him chuckling and before your brain could tell you that he was laughing at your request, you felt him moving you both around and, without removing his cock from you, he managed to lay on the bed and let you on top of his, your head on the crock of his neck, your intimate parts still connected.

You sighed, content and full, feeling even better when he put the duvet on top of you both, making you snuggle even closer. He chuckled again.

“Feeling very cozy in there, right, sweetheart?” He mumbled, and you smiled, even if he couldn’t see. He smelled like sandalwood and something else, something that didn’t smell like a cologne or anything like that— just him.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, you probably snoozed after a minute or two, but you woke up startled, feeling empty because he had just removed himself from you. You whined.

“We need to clean you up, c’mon,” he said, rising from the bed and taking you with him. He didn’t seem to care that you were both naked and you looked like you had seen better days— your makeup was all smudged and your eyeliner was long gone. But you felt so freaking good. “I need you to pee. I’ll wait for you outside if you want.”

You looked at the man in front of you, who looked nothing like the cocky guy who hit on you not even three hours ago. He looked soft and gentle, and you were all here for it.

“That’d be great, thank you,” you said softly, and he kissed you on the forehead, before leaving and closing the door behind him. You looked at your reflection in the big ass mirror in front of you and sighed, smiling. You looked fucked but damn. You felt like you had just hit the jackpot.

And maybe you had.

You peed and cleaned yourself, trying to remove the remains of your makeup with wet paper. It didn’t do much, but it was better than going out there looking like Chucky’s bride.

You opened the bathroom door, feeling cold once again. Now that your body temperature was going back to normal, you felt cold walking around naked.

Jack was standing in the middle of the room, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing else.

It should be illegal for someone to look this good after rearranging my organs.

“I picked some of my clothes for you. You won’t be sleeping in my bed with Nico’s ugly jersey,” he raised his brow, looking truly upset with Nico’s shirt.

You smiled. “It’s fine. I’m not going to spend the night. That is against the rules of a one night stand.”

It felt stupid to say shit like that, but it was true. Now that the sex drive was going away, you regained some of your senses and confidence and you knew that being a clingy bitch wouldn’t get you anything.

“I mean, I can sleep in my guest room if sleeping with me makes you uncomfortable, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go back to your house alone at one in the fucking morning.”

“I know how to take care of myself, Hughes,” you heard yourself saying and you wanted to slap yourself. Where did the attitude even come from anyway? “Besides, I’ll just get an Uber.”

“The fuck you will,” he laughed— he actually laughed. You couldn’t believe it. “Lay down. With how hard I fucked you, you should be like Aurora from Sleeping Beauty anytime now.”

You suppress a giggle, giving in. So easy. “You’re annoying as fuck.”

“Funny, you didn't say that when I was eating your pussy.” He shrugged and climbed on the right side of his bed.

Your face went all shades of red.

“Come on, Sophia. Think about your poor consequences tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes and climbed on his king sized bed. He wrapped his hands around your waist and you put your head in his chest, and listened to his heartbeat until you fell asleep.

He was right. You could manage the consequences tomorrow.

#jack hughes x you #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x oc #jack hughes fic #jack hughes smut #IYLMLMK

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fanbasetwo · 1 month ago

Text

THE TO-DO LIST , ANTON !

﹙ ☘️ ﹚ ぃ ──── THIS MIGHT SOUND CRAZY BUT TRUST ME IT'S TRUE!

PAIRING : phone ! lee anton × student ! afab reader

SYNOPSIS : Anton was a good guy, no doubt about it. The only problem? He was your phone. How, exactly, did your phone transform into this strikingly handsome guy? It was baffling, frustrating, and, honestly, a bit overwhelming. Here you were, trying to navigate a world where your device had somehow become a charming, infuriatingly attractive human being. And to make matters worse, he was as stubborn and endearing as any person you'd ever met.

GENRE : fluff + crack + sad ending

WARNING(S) : I don't really think there's any aside from mentions of period and blood in the start, kissing (can be slightly suggestive) and a possible sad ending but if there's more—please lmk.

WORD COUNT : 15.9K , RIIZE MASTERLIST!!

NOTE FROM SENA , okay so this fic is turned into an anton fic but is originally from my enhypen blog—so forgive me if there's ‘riki or niki’ in some parts instead of anton, though I've thoroughly read and made sure that there are none. If you enjoyed reading this, I'd appreciate a like and reblog <3

YOU HATE THIS.

You hate everything about it: the constant ache in your lower abdomen, the bloating that makes you uncomfortable, and worst of all, the emotional chaos you're forced to go through while navigating the constant tension your family adds to your life. It's almost too much. Almost.

Stepping into the bathroom, you peel off your bloodied underwear with a groan. This feels just another battle in a war you are losing. The step forward into the shower brings down upon your body warm water flowing. It streams down along your back and legs carrying away the last drops of blood. For that one instant, it soothes all the pain, but not for long.

You press your palms flat against the cool tiles of the wall, leaning forward as the steam rises around you. “Why can't one thing be easy?” you mutter, your voice barely audible over the rush of water.

The thought of your so-called friends creeps into your mind. Friends? you scoff internally. They aren't friends. They're just people who keep you around to have someone to poke fun at, and you? Too naïve, too hopeful, let them.

Your school's anti-bullying policy flashes across your mind next. What a joke. The only time they ever step in is when someone like you stands up to the bullies. It's infuriating.

With a disgusted huff, you twist the shower handle, dialing up the heat until the water is near-scalding. For an instant, the burn feels even slightly more pleasing than the general dull ache throughout your body. But that comfort loses itself too soon as well as the water becomes unbearable (too hot) to touch. “Great,” you say sarcastically and twist the knob off entirely.

The bathroom is silent except for the sporadic drip of the faucet. You take a towel and dab at yourself slowly, deliberatively drying yourself. You wince as your clothes touch your sore skin but continue through the motions nonetheless.

You then walk into the counter, reach in for the pack of pads, and pull one out. You stare at it for a moment before letting out a deep breath. The thought of using tampons crosses your mind. You shudder. Some things are just too much of a hassle to consider: the fumbling with the applicator before inserting something. You shake your head, muttering “Not for me,” place the pad carefully in a fresh pair of underwear you slip on, and feel familiar, slightly cushioned comfort.

The next comes the outfit. Half-day at school, of course means no uniforms—but, in keeping with the school's dress code, naturally. You rifle through your closet before settling on the usual choice: oversized, baggy. So comfortable. So practical. How can some of those girls make such a racket and carry themselves about in what would have otherwise been flashy, tight clothes? How do they manage to study?

As you pull the hoodie over your head, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. For a moment, you pause, taking in the faint puffiness under your eyes and the dull expression on your face. You look tired. No, you look exhausted. You let out a sigh as you run a hand through your damp hair, tying it into a loose ponytail.

As you step out of the bathroom, still adjusting your hoodie, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. There’s a man—a complete stranger—sitting casually on your bed like he owns the place. Your first instinct is to scream, but the sheer absurdity of his presence silences you momentarily. He looks…naive, almost harmless, as if he hasn't just committed a blatant act of breaking and entering.

But harmless or not, he’s still a stranger in your room. Your instincts kick in, and you grab the closest thing within reach—a dusty second-grade participation trophy your sister once won. You don’t care about the trophy. It’s been collecting cobwebs for years, and if it breaks while bashing in this intruder's head, so be it.

With the makeshift weapon clutched tightly in your hand, you take a step toward him. He notices, his head tilting slightly, and for a brief second, confusion flashes across his face. He raises his hands, palms out in surrender, and says in the calmest tone imaginable, “You’re not actually going to hit me, are you?”

His question catches you off guard. What? Of course you’re going to hit him! How dare he act so calm, as if he’s the victim here? You narrow your eyes, gripping the trophy even tighter.

“Well, if you’re going to intrude in my room and act like you’re some innocent little boy who doesn’t know what he’s doing, you’ve got another thing coming!” you snap, taking a step closer. “I’ll call the police!”

Your voice rises with conviction as you mentally prepare to shout for your mom, who’s probably awake by now. Surely she’d hear the commotion and come running. But the man, completely unfazed, leans back slightly on the bed. He rolls his eyes, letting out a dramatic sigh.

“Well, then. Go ahead. Call the police,” he says, his tone dripping with nonchalance, as if this is the most mundane situation in the world.

The sheer audacity leaves you momentarily stunned. Who does this guy think he is? Acting like this is his room, like he’s inviting you to call for help. Your grip loosens slightly on the trophy as your mind races. Why isn’t he scared? Why isn’t he running? Has he done this before?

You glance around, searching for your phone. Where is it? You could’ve sworn you left it on your desk, but it’s nowhere in sight. Panic creeps into your chest. He still hasn’t moved. His eyes flick around the room, scanning the details, but he doesn’t seem in a rush to do anything.

The way he observes everything so calmly only fuels your fear. Your gut tells you this guy is dangerous, no matter how unbothered he looks. Your heart pounds as your brain screams: Stranger danger. Stranger danger.

“I’m serious,” you blurt out, your voice quivering slightly despite your best efforts to stay strong. “I’ll scream. I’ll—”

“Then scream,” he interrupts, his voice sharp but not loud. His gaze finally locks with yours, and for the first time, you notice something unsettling in his expression. A flicker of something you can’t quite place. Not anger, not malice—just…calculation.

Your breath catches. He’s not leaving. He’s not running. This isn’t over.

With a frustrated sigh, you blurt out, “Where’s my darn phone?!”

Your eyes scan the room, darting over every surface in search of it. The guy—still sitting lazily on your bed—doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he tilts his head slightly and says, in the most deadpan tone imaginable, “Why are you searching when I’m right here?”

You freeze mid-step, slowly turning to look at him. What? Did he just…? Your first thought is this guy is absolutely insane. No rational person would say that, and suddenly, you’re wondering if he’s got some kind of mental illness. And, because your irritation is outweighing your common sense, you let the words slip right out of your mouth:

“I’m searching for my phone, you idiot. Just wait—just you see—I’m gonna call the police on you!”

It’s a dumb move, announcing your plan to the potential intruder. But at this point, logic has taken a backseat to sheer annoyance.

The guy blinks at you, seemingly unfazed, and mutters in that same emotionless tone, “I am your phone.”

You stare at him, disbelief written all over your face. “If you’re my phone,” you snap, crossing your arms, “then call the cops yourself.”

You return to searching, hands rummaging through the clutter on your desk. But then you hear something that makes you stop cold: a dialing sound. Not from a phone, but from him. Slowly, you turn back to see a faint, glowing screen appear above his head. The digital display shows numbers being dialed.

Your heart races as the call connects. A voice crackles through the air—an officer, calm and professional, asking, “Hello? Is everything alright there?”

Your jaw drops. What do you even say? Panic sets in. “Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice shaking. “Everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

The officer pauses, clearly unconvinced, but then ends the call with a polite goodbye.

You stare at the man—your phone?—in complete shock. He looks at you as if nothing unusual has happened, his expression blank. Slowly, you lower yourself onto the edge of the bed, pressing a trembling hand to your forehead.

“What the hell…” you mutter, more to yourself than to him. This can’t be real. Phones don’t turn into people. And yet, the evidence is sitting right in front of you—a very real, very handsome guy, casually perched on your bed like this is the most normal thing in the world.

He shifts slightly, his head tilting again. “You seem stressed,” he says, his tone flat but oddly observant.

“Stressed?” you snap, gesturing wildly. “Of course I’m stressed! My phone—my phone—just turned into you! How is this even possible?!”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “You dropped me too many times. I think I just… evolved.”

“EVOLVED?!” You bury your face in your hands, groaning. None of this makes sense. You don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or check yourself into a psych ward.

“How…” you start, your voice muffled behind your hands, “how is this even happening?”

“That’s what I’m here to figure out,” he replies simply, leaning back on his elbows.

You peek at him through your fingers, still in disbelief. “This can’t be real. There’s no way. You—no, this—” You cut yourself off, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

Your phone—no, the guy—tilts his head again, studying you. “You’ll get used to it,” he says, almost like a promise.

But you’re not so sure about that.

“So… you’re my phone?” you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief, eyes narrowing as you study the boy in front of you.

“No doubt,” he answers almost immediately, like he’s personally offended you’d even question it.

You squint at him, crossing your arms. “Then prove it. What’s my name, my last semester grade, and… my favorite boy band?”

You’re sure this will trip him up. After all, your phone holds all your secrets. If he’s lying, he wouldn’t know the answers. You’ve texted casually about your life, sure, but your grade? That’s buried deep in your notes app. And your favorite K-pop group? Well, okay, maybe you’ve obsessively streamed their content, but still.

“Y/N, C-minus, and TXT,” he says without hesitation, his gaze steady as he stares you down.

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. “What the hell?” you mutter, stunned. No one knew your last semester grade—not even your parents. You hid it like a crime. And how could he guess your favorite group so easily?

You scowl, determined to poke a hole in his claim. “That’s not enough. Maybe you stalked me or paid too much attention to my life,” you argue, crossing your arms smugly, waiting for him to stumble.

But instead, he smirks—an infuriatingly cocky smirk. “Those videos you watch while pretending to be asleep under your blanket—”

“Shut up!” you cut him off, your cheeks instantly flaming. Oh, my god. That was not something anyone was supposed to know. “Fine, I believe you!” you snap, desperate to stop him before he digs up more embarrassing truths.

But he’s not done. He leans closer, his voice dropping as he adds, “And how about that sob story you wrote in your digital journal? The one you cringed at so hard you almost deleted the whole app?”

Your entire face burns. “I said I believe you! Now shut the fck up!” The words come out louder than you intended, practically echoing in the room.

There’s a knock on the door, followed by it swinging open.

“You seriously aren’t ready for school yet?” your mom complains, arms crossed as she glares at you.

Your heart stops. You whip around, fully expecting her to freak out at the sight of a random guy in your room. But when you look back at your bed…

He’s gone.

In his place lies your phone—ordinary, rectangular, and definitely not a human boy.

You stare at it, dumbfounded, while your mom narrows her eyes at you. “Well?” she snaps.

“I—I’m getting ready,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady. You glance back at the phone, half-expecting it to sprout arms and legs again. But it doesn’t move.

Your mom sighs, muttering something about you being late, and slams the door shut.

You flop down onto the bed, your head spinning. Did you just imagine all of that? Was it some kind of stress-induced hallucination? But… no, it felt real. Too real.

Your hand hovers over your phone. “What the hell just happened?” you whisper, the memory of his smug face flashing in your mind. You’re not sure if you’re losing it or if your phone just pulled the biggest prank of your life. Either way, it’s going to be a long day.

You couldn't focus at all during school. The weight of your phone in your pocket felt heavier than usual, as though it was a ticking time bomb waiting to spring legs and arms again. The thought of keeping it in your bag seemed like a bad idea—what if it turned into him again and someone saw? The last thing you needed was to explain that.

And yet, your mind kept wandering back to him. The guy. The phone. Whatever he was. He was… kind of handsome.

You mentally slapped yourself. Snap out of it, Y/N. It’s your phone, not a K-drama lead! Still, the thought lingered, making your stomach churn. What if you’d imagined everything? What if it was all in your head?

You tried to shake the unsettling thought, but it stuck. Maybe you were losing it. After all, you weren’t exactly what anyone would call normal. You’d always kept to yourself, avoided making friends, and generally preferred your own company. Isn’t that how they describe psychopaths in true crime documentaries?

You shivered at the thought. Maybe Eunmi would understand. She was quiet, kept her distance from people too. You glanced across the classroom and spotted her sitting by herself. Perfect. You grabbed your stuff and slid into the seat next to her.

Eunmi turned to you, her brows furrowing in confusion. Without a word, she grabbed her things and moved to another seat across the room.

“Wtf?” you muttered, glaring after her. “Some people are so ungrateful. She could’ve just said she didn’t want to talk.”

You slumped back in your seat, fuming and plotting petty revenge in your head. But before you could dwell on it too much, the classroom door creaked open. Miss Shin walked in, her expression as flat and lifeless as her lectures.

History. Great.

You suppressed a groan as she began her lesson, droning on about wars and treaties in the most monotone voice imaginable. You weren’t saying history couldn’t be interesting—it totally could. But with Miss Shin? She made even the most exciting historical events feel like watching paint dry.

Why was she even hired as a teacher? She should’ve been a librarian or something.

You stifled a yawn, covering your mouth with your hand. The effort was pointless, though. Half the class was already yawning or staring blankly at their desks.

Your hand brushed against your pocket, the outline of your phone reminding you of the chaos from this morning. You couldn’t help but peek down at it. Was it just your imagination, or did it feel warmer than usual?

Stay calm, you told yourself. Don’t freak out. But the thought lingered—what if this wasn’t over? What if he—or it—came back?

You swallowed hard and glanced around the room. No one was paying attention to you, thankfully. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something about today was far from normal.

“So this…” Miss Shin droned on, gesturing at the board where her half-hearted notes were scrawled. Whatever she was explaining had already flown over your head. You didn’t care. You weren’t in the mood to pay attention, let alone write anything down.

You flipped open your notebook—still blank, as usual—and stared at the empty page. The thought of filling it with Miss Shin’s monotony made your eyelids droop. All you wanted was to go back home, crawl into bed, and pretend this bizarre day hadn’t happened. Maybe that was the real reason you were seeing things—exhaustion messing with your brain.

A faint ding from your pocket pulled you out of your thoughts. You frowned and pulled out your phone. A notification glared up at you:

“Write it down.”

What the…? You didn’t remember setting up anything like that. Before you could process it, you sneezed unexpectedly, the sharp sound echoing across the silent classroom. Heads turned toward you, your classmates throwing judgmental looks your way.

You tried to ignore them, but then your phone started to vibrate—loudly. The desk buzzed beneath your hands, and you could feel the attention of the entire room shifting onto you.

This was a nightmare.

Your classmates whispered among themselves, some shooting you annoyed glances. You were already the so-called “bad influence” in the school, the one parents warned their kids to stay away from. But this? This was next-level humiliation.

The phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. You tried pressing random buttons, but nothing worked. It was as if your phone—or he—was demanding your cooperation.

You sighed, gripping your pen. Maybe, just maybe, the only way to shut it up was to do what it wanted. As ridiculous as it sounded, you decided to test your theory.

The moment your pen touched the page and you started copying the notes on the board, the vibrating stopped. Silence finally returned, and you let out a breath of relief.

But your heart raced. This wasn’t normal. None of it was.

Your father had gifted you this phone before he passed away. It was sentimental, irreplaceable. But now it felt like a curse. A device that had taken on a life of its own—or, more disturbingly, a human form.

You glanced at your pocket where the phone rested quietly, as if nothing had happened. You couldn’t shake the thought that whatever this was, it wasn’t over. For now, though, you had no choice but to keep writing, pretending like everything was fine.

The park is quiet, save for the distant chatter of kids playing and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. You sit on a bench, your elbows resting on your knees, and your gaze fixed on the ground. Your phone lies next to you, placed carefully on the seat, as if you’re afraid it might suddenly sprout arms and legs again.

Your schoolbag acts as a barrier between you and the phone, like it’ll somehow protect you from whatever is going on. You sigh heavily, the weight of the day pressing down on you. “I should really see a therapist,” you mutter under your breath, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration.

The unexpected sensation of an arm draping casually over your shoulder sends a shiver down your spine. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as your head snaps to the side. And there he is—again. The guy who claims to be your phone, lounging as if nothing about this is strange.

“Why did you disappear this morning when my mom came in?” you ask, your voice a mix of confusion and exasperation.

He shrugs nonchalantly, leaning back on the bench like he owns the place. His posture is relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, his expression completely void of emotion. “Nobody else can see me except you.”

His answer is so matter-of-fact that it takes you a second to process. You lean forward, resting your forearms on your knees, and glance at him sideways. “Great,” you say dryly, “so not only do I have a talking phone, but it’s also invisible to everyone else. Just my luck.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the sky like he’s analyzing the clouds. The silence stretches, and you realize something that’s been bugging you since the first time he appeared.

“Do you even have a personality?” you blurt out, sitting up straight to face him. The question isn’t kind, but at this point, you don’t care. He doesn’t seem to have feelings, anyway—why would he? He’s a phone.

He finally turns to look at you, his face as blank as always. Then, without missing a beat, he says, “Apparently, the phone takes after its owner.”

His words hit you like a slap. Your jaw drops, and you feel a rush of indignation. “Excuse me? Are you saying I don’t have a personality?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he replies, completely unfazed.

You stare at him, stunned. Nobody’s ever said anything like that to you before. Sure, you’ve had fake friends talk behind your back and parents who sometimes pointed out your flaws, but being insulted by your own phone? That’s a new low.

“You’ve got some nerve,” you snap, crossing your arms.

He tilts his head, studying you like you’re an object of mild interest. “I’m just stating the facts. You’ve been carrying me around all this time; I’m bound to reflect you.”

You scoff, turning away to glare at the horizon. The breeze ruffles your hair, and you feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. “You know,” you mutter, “for something that’s supposed to be mine, you’re awfully rude.”

“Rude?” he echoes, sounding genuinely curious. “I didn’t realize honesty was rude. Maybe that’s another reflection of you.”

You whip your head back toward him, your mouth opening to retort, but the look on his face—calm, blank, unbothered—leaves you speechless.

For a moment, you just sit there, glaring at him while he stares back with that same neutral expression. It’s infuriating. You slump back against the bench, throwing your head back and groaning in frustration.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” you say to no one in particular.

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at you with something that might almost be amusement. “You kept me for years. This is just karma.”

“Karma for what?” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him.

“For ignoring the warranty,” he deadpans, and for the first time, you think you see the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glare at him, utterly done. “I hate you.”

“You’ll still carry me everywhere,” he points out, leaning back again and crossing his arms smugly.

You groan again, pressing your palms to your face because of how annoying he truly was. For a moment neither of you spoke.

“Why would you vibrate in class? That was so embarrassing,” you say, breaking the tension and changing the subject. You’re not about to argue further, so you sling an arm around his shoulder like you’re old friends.

He immediately stiffens and shrugs your arm off with a look of mild disgust. “Because you weren’t writing the notes,” he replies flatly, brushing off your gesture like you’ve personally offended him.

You blink, stunned. The audacity.

“And why do you care so much about that? You’re supposed to be my phone,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Because, well…” He pauses, and suddenly, that glowing screen appears above his head again. It’s flipping through your search history.

Your heart drops. “What are you doing?! Close it!” you hiss, panic bubbling in your chest as you glance around to make sure no one’s nearby.

He doesn’t even flinch at your tone, completely unbothered. “Relax. I’m just looking for something,” he says, his voice taking on an infuriatingly smug edge.

“I searched those things because they’re private,” you mutter, your frustration building. You ball your fists at your sides, resisting the urge to throttle him—not that it would make any difference. He’s a freaking machine.

“You shouldn’t have searched them if you didn’t want anyone to see,” he replies, his monotone voice now laced with an evil undertone. His smirk grows as the glowing screen halts, revealing a to-do list. Your middle school to-do list.

You feel the blood drain from your face. “No, no, no,” you mumble, already dreading what’s coming next.

“Let’s see,” he says, clearly enjoying this. He leans forward slightly, reading aloud:

001. Get A’s in at least three subjects.

002. Get a boyfriend before graduation.

003. Make at least one friend.

The list glows mockingly between the two of you.

You groan and press a hand to your forehead. “You’re not seriously going to dwell on something I wrote as a literal kid,” you mutter, voice dripping with disbelief.

“Why not? You still haven’t checked anything off,” he points out, tilting his head like he’s genuinely curious about your failure.

“Because—” you start, your voice rising in frustration, “that was middle school! None of that even matters now!”

“Well, well, well... If I’m looking at your past history and the things in your other notes...” He trails off, his glowing screen flipping again as though searching for the most humiliating detail to dig up.

Then it stops. His screen flashes: 15% character development since middle school.

Your jaw drops. The sheer amount of disrespect—oh, lord. You point an accusatory finger at him, utterly offended by your own phone.

“That is so false! If I hadn’t had character development, I wouldn’t have stood up to the bullies in middle school. Or cut off all my toxic friends!” you argue, arms crossing tightly over your chest. The nerve of this guy.

He tilts his head, unimpressed. “That’s why it said 15% development. The other 85%? Still not there. Let’s just say, you need to study harder instead of spending hours watching those—”

You slap a hand over his mouth, glaring up at him despite the fact that he’s way taller. “SHUT UP!”

He doesn’t resist, just blinks at you like this is all beneath him. Meanwhile, you grab your water bottle and take a sip, trying to calm your boiling frustration. After a deep breath, you lower the bottle and mutter, “If you’ve turned into a human, why can’t you, I don’t know, switch to being female? Maybe I’d connect with you better.”

It’s not really a question. More of a passive-aggressive command for him to get out of your life entirely.

“Well,” he starts, completely unfazed, “cheap phones apparently only transform into males. If your phone was more expensive, maybe I’d be a girl.”

The silence that follows is deafening. His expression is as emotionless as ever, so he clearly doesn’t realize the massive mistake he just made.

You stare at him, the words hitting like a punch to the gut. Slowly, you lower your gaze, your voice quieter now. “It was gifted by my dad… my late dad,” you mumble.

His screen flickers uncertainly, but he doesn’t say anything. You sigh, pressing your palms against your face, trying to hold back the sting of tears threatening to spill.

Your dad had been the best—kind, patient, your biggest supporter. And then, when you were seven, everything changed. After he passed, your mom remarried. You didn’t want to accept the man as your stepdad, not when you still held on so tightly to the memory of your father.

It wasn’t until you were older—seventeen, to be exact—that you realized how selfish you’d been. Your mom had spent years grieving, and she deserved love, even if it hurt you to see someone else in your dad’s place.

The man was nice to you, patient even when you were rude. But every time you looked at him, it reminded you that your dad was gone.

The phone sitting next to you now—this phone—was your dad’s. You’d taken it after growing up, cherishing it because it had been his. Back then, it brought you comfort.

You never could’ve imagined it would one day transform into some smug guy with no tact whatsoever.

“If I wanted my phone to transform into someone… it would be my dad,” you mutter, swiping at a tear that threatens to escape the confines of your closed eyelids.

He stays silent for a moment, his screen flickering dimly before he mumbles, “But… wouldn't it be sad? Seeing him trapped inside a device?”

The softness in his voice makes you laugh—an awkward, bittersweet laugh. What were you even doing? Seeking comfort from your phone?

“Why are you laughing?” he asks, tilting his head in confusion.

“Since you’re so smart and apparently great at giving correct statements, why don’t you figure out yourself why I’m laughing?” you reply, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

He looks thoroughly puzzled, his glowing eyes blinking as though trying to process. Of course, he wouldn’t understand. He was a machine. A device that knew nothing about the complexities of the actual world.

Before you can explain—or tell him to drop it entirely—the skies open up. The first raindrop splatters onto the ground, quickly followed by another, then another. Within seconds, it’s pouring.

Your smile fades, replaced with pure horror as realization strikes. He’s your phone. Not a regular guy. Meaning— “You’re not waterproof!” you yelp, panic kicking in.

“What?” he asks, his confusion somehow even more clueless than before.

“We need to run!” you blurt out, already yanking off your jacket.

You grab his shoulders, tugging him down since he’s ridiculously tall—and far too proud of it. Wrapping the jacket over his head as a makeshift cover, you mutter under your breath, “I swear, if you short-circuit on me, I’m going to lose it.”

He mumbles something, but you’re not listening. You grab his hand, practically dragging him through the downpour. The jacket flutters slightly as you shield him, doing your best to keep him—and by extension, your phone—dry.

If anyone saw you, they’d think this was a scene straight out of a romance movie. The two of you running through the rain, hands intertwined, your jacket protecting his head.

But no. This wasn’t a romantic moment. Not even close.

This was you desperately trying to save your phone. A phone that was probably going to haunt you later by bringing up your middle school to-do list the second it powered back on.

The next day, you hug your pillow tightly, the soft fabric providing a fleeting moment of peace as sleep lingers in your half-conscious mind. The blanket drapes over you completely, cocooning you in warmth, and for a blissful second, you forget the bizarre events of the day before.

That is, until a cold splash of water shocks you into reality.

“WHAT THE HELL?” you hiss, bolting upright, water dripping from your hair and stinging your eyes. You frantically swipe at your face, blinking to focus on the perpetrator.

Standing there with a glass in hand and an infuriatingly calm expression is him.

“Just waking you up,” he says with a shrug, as if drenching someone in cold water is the most reasonable way to start a morning.

Your patience snaps. Without thinking, you grip his shoulders and push him down onto the now-soaked bed, your movements fueled by a mix of irritation and disbelief. You hover over him, faces mere inches apart, as you glare.

“If you ever pull that stunt again,” you growl, your voice low and dangerous, “I swear I’ll punch you. Hard.”

For a moment, he stares up at you, unflinching. His expression remains annoyingly blank, devoid of any real emotion. “You won’t,” he says flatly, his voice laced with the same maddening nonchalance.

The tension in the air is palpable, and just as you’re about to argue—or maybe prove him wrong—the sound of your door creaking open freezes you in place.

Your mother stands in the doorway, her expression teetering between confusion and concern as she takes in the scene: you, soaking wet and hovering over what appears to be… nothing.

You glance down, heart sinking.

The boy is gone.

In his place, lying on the bed, is your phone—completely ordinary, as if nothing ever happened.

You gape at it, then back at your mom, trying to string together some sort of explanation. But what could you even say? That your phone turned into a person yesterday, drenched you in water, and then vanished the second she walked in?

The bed is still soaked with the cold water your phone—now suspiciously ordinary—had poured on you moments ago. Your mother’s voice cuts through the tense silence like a whip, her tone sharp and unforgiving.

“Did you wet your bed?” she demands, though it’s not really a question. Her eyes are blazing with indignation, and you can tell she already believes the answer.

Your stomach twists in frustration. Of all things, this has to happen on a weekend—a day meant for rest, now utterly ruined by this bizarre, unbelievable mess. And all because of that darn phone.

“No, Mom… I don’t know how the water got there,” you mutter, keeping your voice as steady as possible. The truth is out of the question. Telling her your phone had somehow turned into a boy and splashed you awake would sound absurd even to you.

“So the water just appeared there by itself?” she snaps, crossing her arms as if she’s daring you to double down on your story. Her disbelief burns in the air between you, and you feel a spark of anger flicker beneath your skin.

Your mother has always been quick to anger, her patience worn thin ever since your dad passed away. You love her—of course, you do—but moments like this stretch your tolerance to its limit.

She huffs loudly, a sound filled with both exasperation and finality. “I expect this mess cleaned up before you go anywhere,” she says curtly, her words laced with a warning. Then, without waiting for a response, she turns on her heel and shuts the door behind her with a thud.

You’re left alone in the room, staring at the wet mattress and the phone in your hand. The absurdity of the situation hits you all over again, and a bitter laugh bubbles in your throat.

“Thanks for that,” you mutter under your breath to the device, as if it could still hear you.

But it remains silent—an ordinary, lifeless phone. And yet, you can’t shake the feeling that somewhere within its circuits, it’s smirking.

You sit on the soaked bed, hugging your knees to your chest. The chill from the cold water clings to your skin, but in the biting cold of December, it doesn’t really matter anymore. The wet bed is just another indignity added to the list of things you’re enduring today—courtesy of your phone.

Your eyes trail to the closed door, and a heaviness settles in your chest. Your mom hardly speaks to you unless it’s about your studies. Anything else—your health, your feelings—just turns into a sharp yell, as though shouting could substitute for care.

With a sigh, you get up, water dripping from your clothes as you grab a cloth to clean the floor. Kneeling down, you watch the fabric soak up the water, leaving dark patches on the cloth as it gets heavier.

“Such a sad life I have,” you mutter irritably, throwing a glance toward your phone sitting innocently on the desk. Its stillness is almost mocking, like it’s pretending to have no part in this disaster.

Your lips curl into a taunting smirk as you direct your words at it. “Must be nice, huh? Creating a mess and then leaving me to deal with it. Why not become a human and help me clean this up?”

You roll your eyes, half-hoping—no, fully expecting—it to transform and lend a hand. But no. The lazy little piece of tech remains where it is, as lifeless as any other phone. The longer you stare at it, the more ridiculous you feel.

“Figures,” you huff under your breath, dragging the damp cloth across the floor. The absurdity of it all makes you question yourself. Did it ever really turn into a human? Or are you just losing your mind?

Either way, it’s not helping. And now, the floor’s dry, but your patience is wrung out completely.

“When we reach there, you don’t get to disturb me, Anton” you say firmly to the guy walking beside you. He’s the embodiment of your phone—a fact you’re still trying to wrap your head around.

“Anton” he repeats, tilting his head in confusion, his expression as blank as an untouched canvas. “Who’s Anton here?”

“You,” you reply with an exasperated sigh. “I’m naming you Anton. Or Zynton, whatever. It’s too weird to keep thinking of you as my phone.”

“That’s a weird name,” he comments, his tone matter-of-fact.

Your eyes narrow at him. “Be happy I’m not holding a grudge for what you did this morning,” you snap, barely holding back your frustration.

“What did I do so wrong?” he asks, genuinely perplexed. His human brows knit together in confusion, and it almost makes you doubt his intentions. Almost. “You set an alarm, and I woke you up,” he adds, as if the logic is foolproof.

“You created a mess!” you counter, gesturing emphatically with your hands. “Yes, I set an alarm—but a virtual alarm. Not an invitation for someone to literally pour cold water on me in the middle of freezing winter!”

He stares at you, his innocent expression unshaken, and you groan in defeat.

Scolding him feels pointless. At the end of the day, he’s still a phone—albeit a bizarrely human one. And while his actions drive you up the wall, you remind yourself that yelling at him won’t change anything. Technology doesn’t have feelings.

Or so you keep telling yourself.

And now, here you are, on your way to a study session with two classmates. Not because you’re overly eager or dedicated, but because you’re failing your classes. Hard. And your phone—master of your life apparently—had made it a point to remind you of the ancient to-do list you’d scribbled in middle school.

The list wasn’t exactly groundbreaking:

i. Get a boyfriend. ii. Get a friend. iii. Score at least three A’s in school.

Simple, right? Wrong.

Studying alone never worked for you. If you tried, you’d inevitably end up daydreaming, scrolling through social media, or finding creative ways to procrastinate. So, you’d resorted to digging through the school’s study groups and joining the only active one left. You didn’t know who the other two members were, but that was a minor detail.

You grab your phone—yes, the normal phone, since Anton decided to turn back into his original form. You still cringe at how uninspired his name is, but for now, it works.

The plan is simple: fit into the study group, make a friend (or something that vaguely resembles friendship), and start checking boxes off the list. Not that your phone would ever know, you think with a sly smirk.

Shoving the device into your pocket, you make your way to the designated spot, but as soon as you see the two group members, you freeze.

It’s Eunmi and Jungwon.

Eunmi—the same girl who once shot you a disgusted look and turned her back on you like you were nothing more than yesterday’s trash. Oh, how you’d love to knock that smug grin off her face.

And then there’s Jungwon. Handsome, quiet Jungwon. You’ve never spoken to him, but he has an air about him that practically screams “perfect study partner.”

Suddenly, you realize how this could work in your favor.

Step one: Get a boyfriend. Jungwon’s good looks and his apparent lack of social drama make him the ideal choice. You’re not looking for love; you’re looking to cross a line off your list.

Step two: Make a friend. Eunmi? Ugh. As much as it pains you, she qualifies—even if you have to grit your teeth and fake it. If not her, then someone else will eventually fit the bill. Surely, you’re not that unfriendable… right?

Step three: Score three A’s. With Jungwon’s brains and a bit of effort on your part, that goal might actually be achievable.

It’s a win-win-win, you tell yourself, a cunning glint in your eye. You take a deep breath and plaster on your most convincing smile. It’s time to work some magic—your reputation be damned.

You slide into the seat opposite Jungwon, deliberately ignoring Eunmi. The phone in your pocket is entirely forgotten for now as you focus on your new plan.

“So, I guess I’ll be studying with you guys?” you ask, letting a soft, harmless smile linger on your lips while keeping your gaze locked on Jungwon. You casually unzip your bag, pulling out a battered zoology book and setting it on the table as if you’re here for serious business.

Jungwon, polite as ever, gives you a small nod. “Well, kind of. You can say that,” he replies. He doesn’t seem unfriendly, though you can tell by his tone that he and Eunmi have been in this study group for a while. Of course, that makes you the outsider. Not that it bothers you—this is just a stepping stone to your ultimate goals.

And then Eunmi speaks.

“What made you want to study all of a sudden, Miss Bad Grades?”

You clench your jaw but force your face to remain neutral, even though your fingers itch to grab a fistful of her perfectly styled hair and yank. How dare this girl try to ruin your impression in front of Jungwon? Sure, your reputation in school isn’t stellar, but she didn’t have to say it out loud.

“I wanted to do better,” you reply smoothly, keeping your voice calm and unbothered. Your smile doesn’t waver, though inside, you’re plotting about five different ways to get back at her if she keeps this up.

The study session has barely begun, and already, you’re wondering how you’re going to survive without snapping. You glance at Jungwon, hoping he’ll say something to shift the conversation, but he’s already flipping through his notebook, oblivious to the silent tension brewing between you and Eunmi.

The session drags on, and while your eyes occasionally skim the words in your textbook, your brain is busy analyzing the way Jungwon’s lips press together when he’s concentrating. You imagine how soft they must feel, how it would be to kiss him. But no, not yet. You can’t. Not until you’ve executed your plan.

Time slips away unnoticed until your phone starts buzzing in your pocket, jolting you from your daydreams. Internally, you curse. What does Anton want this time? That mischievous, human-turned-phone was always up to something.

Eunmi, of course, notices. She shakes her head in that condescending way that practically screams, See? I told you she’s not serious about studying. You don’t need to hear her words to know she’s silently plotting to turn Jungwon against you. The smug look on her face makes your fingers twitch.

“Such a bitch,” you mutter under your breath before quickly masking your irritation.

“I’ll—be right back,” you say with a sheepish smile, standing up from the table. The chair scrapes against the floor, earning you a scoff from Eunmi. She doesn’t even try to hide her disdain.

Jungwon gives a distracted hum, barely lifting his head from his book. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Could this guy act like he cares for once? I’m right here, desperate for your attention, and you’re more invested in spermatogenesis?

Your phone is still vibrating as you weave through the tables, making your way to the restroom. Once inside, you slip into a stall and lock the door behind you. Pulling out your phone, you press the power button like you’re interrogating a criminal.

“Hey, Anton? Why are you buzzing?” you hiss, glaring at the glowing phone in your hand. Frustration bubbles in your chest as you slump onto the toilet seat, trying to avoid drawing more attention.

Before you can even blink, the phone morphs, and there he is—Anton. Towering over you, his presence taking up the cramped stall like he owns it. You freeze, your eyes widening as you realize just how compromising this position looks. His knees brush yours, and his hands press against the walls, effectively trapping you in place.

“H-Hey! Get off me!” you stammer, squirming as much as the limited space allows. But even when he shifts slightly, it doesn’t make much of a difference. He’s still leaning in way too close for comfort.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he says, his voice low but cutting. “Why were you staring at Jungwon instead of finishing the chapter?”

The question knocks the breath out of you. You gape at him, your brain scrambling to come up with an excuse. How does he even know? He’s just a phone!

“That’s—none of your business!” you sputter, crossing your arms defensively.

“Oh, it is my business,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t I the one keeping track of your precious little checklist?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “One of the tasks is getting a boyfriend, isn’t it? So yeah, I was looking at him. Got a problem with that?”

Anton’s expression shifts, and for the first time, there’s a flicker of something almost human in his sharp gaze. Disbelief? Annoyance? Whatever it is, it’s enough to make him scoff audibly.

“You’re thinking him? That guy? Seriously?” he asks, his voice dripping with judgment. “Your taste in men is worse than I thought.”

“Excuse me?” You glare, feeling your blood boil. “He’s charming and—”

“You wouldn’t know charming if it hit you in the face,” Anton cuts you off, rolling his eyes with an exasperated sigh. For someone who used to be a piece of metal and glass, he’s got an awful lot of opinions.

Before you can retort, he turns back into your phone in the blink of an eye, falling toward the floor. You scramble to catch him, nearly fumbling in the process, and clutch him tightly in your hand.

“You are the worst,” you mutter, shoving him back into your pocket.

But as you stand up and unlock the stall, brushing yourself off, the thought lingers: Why did he get so worked up? You shake your head, pushing the question away. Who cares? It’s not like his opinion matters, right?

Right.

A week passes, and you’re still not fully adjusted to the bizarre reality that your phone occasionally transforms into a sarcastic, human-sized headache named Anton. It’s unsettling but oddly entertaining—though you’d never admit that to him.

The study group, on the other hand, is a battlefield you didn’t sign up for. Not because of the studying—oh no, that’s manageable. It’s Eunmi, who seems to have declared you her mortal enemy the moment you walked in.

Her latest tactics are as subtle as a neon sign. First, there was the juice incident. She accidentally spilled her drink all over your notes, forcing you to grit your teeth and smile like a beauty pageant contestant while internally screaming. You knew it wasn’t an accident—her little smirk gave her away—but yelling at her in front of Jungwon? No way. That would only play into her hands.

Then came the note-snatching debacle. Eunmi sweetly asked to borrow your notes, even though hers were perfectly fine. Next thing you know, there’s a loud rip as she flips a page too aggressively. Your precious, perfectly organised notes—ruined. You’re convinced she’s trying to provoke you into losing your temper, hoping Jungwon will see you as the unhinged maniac she wants you to be.

But you’re smarter than that. You refuse to give her the satisfaction.

Jungwon, oblivious as ever, doesn’t seem to notice the cold war brewing at the table. Over the past week, you’ve come to realise just how clueless he is—not just about Eunmi’s schemes but also about your less-than-stellar reputation.

How is it possible that he doesn’t know? You were practically infamous for your fiery temper in school. Yet here he is, helping you with notes, explaining concepts patiently, even sharing his own work with you—all without a hint of hesitation.

Sometimes, he surprises you even more. Like when he casually suggests the two of you study alone. Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest each time he does, but you force yourself to decline.

Not because you don’t want to.

You do—desperately.

But according to your well-studied guide on “How to Win a Guy Over,” playing hard to get is essential. If you said yes too quickly, wouldn’t he stop finding you interesting?

So, with every ounce of willpower, you smile, place a hand over your racing heart, and politely refuse.

“Maybe next time,” you say, pretending to be unfazed, when really, you’re screaming internally.

You tell yourself it’s working. Jungwon seems more intrigued every day—or at least, that’s what you tell yourself to justify the agony of sitting through another study session with her.

Lately, Anton, or whatever you had whimsically decided to call him—had taken it upon himself to discipline you. Whenever study time rolled around, he would shut your bedroom door with the finality of a prison warden, ensuring zero distractions.

At first, it was kind of helpful. You begrudgingly admitted that. But as the days went on, it started to get unbearable.

Without your phone—because your phone was, unfortunately, a human being now—there was no scrolling through your feed, no binge-watching your favorite group’s reels, and no celebrity TikToks. Worse, you hadn’t even heard TXT’s latest song or watched their new music video because someone refused to let you.

You tapped your pen against your desk, fidgeting with boredom. “Please,” you whined, turning in your chair to face him. “I studied for like, three hours, didn’t I? Now be a good boy and let mama see some reels or TikToks!” You added the last part with a teasing lilt, hoping to fluster him.

But you forgot—this was Anton. Your sentient, emotionally unavailable phone. Feelings? Not his thing.

“No,” he replied flatly, arms crossed like he was the boss of you.

“Please, Zynton!” you tried again, throwing in some puppy-dog eyes for good measure.

He raised a brow, unimpressed. “Zynton? Didn’t you already name me Anton?” His tone was laced with exasperation, like he couldn’t fathom how you’d forgotten the name you gave him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you huffed, brushing off his sarcasm. “I swear, it’s just one music video. That’s it. I’ve earned it!”

He didn’t respond immediately, his face a mix of suspicion and resignation. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But just one video.”

Your face lit up as a glowing screen materialized above his head, displaying the thumbnail of TXT’s latest music video. As it began to play, you clapped in delight and sang along, fully immersing yourself in the moment.

But just as you were getting into it—pausing to admire Soobin’s part—Anton froze the video mid-frame.

“Enough,” he said, his tone as dry as the Sahara.

You glared at him, fists clenched as if contemplating whether punching him was worth the effort. Instead, you let out an exaggerated groan, slumping in your chair.

Anton ignored your dramatics, a timer popping up in the digital display above his head. It ticked down with cruel efficiency, mocking you.

“Can you believe this?” you muttered under your breath. “My phone is moody.”

“I wish I was with Jungwon,” you muttered, shooting a glare at the sulking figure in front of you. You didn’t even try to hide the exasperation in your voice.

Anton’s eyes snapped to yours, his expression hardening as if you’d just insulted his entire existence. “Why the blonde-haired guy?” he asked, his lips twisting into a bitter frown.

It was the first time you’d seen him show this much emotion, and it was shockingly clear—he despised Jungwon.

“He has a name,” you said defensively, crossing your arms.

Anton wasn’t having it. “So, you’re now his personal lawyer?” he shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “This is why you don’t get good grades. Stop running after that guy.”

You blinked, caught between indignation and disbelief. “Excuse me?” His logic—or lack thereof—was baffling. He’d been the one insisting you get a boyfriend before high school ended. But now? Now he was acting like you’d committed some unspeakable crime.

Before you could form a retort, he sighed dramatically and transformed back into a phone, flopping onto your bed with a heavy thud.

You groaned, snatching him up. “What is your problem?” You pressed the power button, trying to unlock the screen, but the phone didn’t respond. No matter how many times you swiped or tapped, it stubbornly refused to work.

“Are you kidding me?” you hissed, your annoyance bubbling over.

From your bed, the phone-turned-human smirked, lounging like he owned the place before flickering back into a phone. The audacity.

“Aghhh, fine! I’ll study!” you snapped, stomping back to your desk. Your chair scraped loudly against the floor as you plopped down, glaring daggers at the sulking phone.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him flickering in and out of human form, like some glitching video game character. One moment he was there, leaning against your pillows with his arms crossed and an unimpressed look; the next, he was just a lifeless phone.

It was almost…cute? No, no, you shook your head. There was nothing cute about your phone-human hybrid being this petty.

Still, you found your eyes wandering back to him more often than you’d like to admit. And each time, you caught the faintest hint of a smug expression on his face, as if he knew he was winning this ridiculous battle of wills.

“Yes, Mom, I’ll go! Just two minutes!” you shout, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a passable top in a rush. All this, just to take out the trash. A noble cause? Hardly. But it was enough to earn your mom’s approval.

Anton—or your phone, rather—lay silent on your desk. He wasn’t in human form right now, but if he were, you could already picture him sulking. He’d been unusually quiet since you decided to help your mom instead of following his meticulous study schedule. Not that you minded the silence; it felt like a small victory.

With a sigh, you grab the trash bag, sliding your phone into your pocket. “Be good,” you mutter under your breath, half expecting some smart-aleck comment from him, but the screen remains dark.

Slipping into your worn-out slippers, you trudge down the apartment stairs, the trash bag swinging lightly in your grip. The cool evening air brushes against your face as you step outside, breathing in the faint scent of street food from the stalls down the block.

“Phew,” you murmur to yourself, relieved to have made it out without any drama. That is until your heart nearly stops.

There, by the communal trash bins, is Jungwon. Casual and effortlessly perfect, dressed in a plain hoodie and jeans, his hair falling into his eyes in a way that shouldn’t look this good.

Your gaze drops to your outfit—a mismatched catastrophe of sweatpants, an old shirt, and slippers. You might as well be cosplaying a beggar (according to your mom).

Mentally cursing your life choices, you toss the trash bag into the bin, dusting your hands and praying for a clean escape. But before you can make your getaway, a hand touches your shoulder.

“You live around here?” Jungwon’s voice is light and curious, but it feels like a spotlight on your very soul.

“Uh, yeah… kind of,” you stammer, suddenly hyper-aware of how ridiculous you must look.

“And that is…?” His voice trails off as he points behind you, his brows knitting together.

You turn slowly, dread pooling in your stomach. Standing a few feet away is Anton, in his fully human form, arms crossed, looking like he’s been summoned from the depths of your worst nightmares.

Your hand shoots into your pocket, fumbling for your phone. Except—your pocket is empty.

Your brain short-circuits. He can see Anton!

“Boyfriend. Her boyfriend,” Anton announces sharply, his voice cutting through the moment like a knife. His eyes narrow at Jungwon, his disdain palpable. If looks could kill, Jungwon would have been incinerated on the spot.

Your mouth drops open, no words forming. Anton, your phone-human hybrid, is showing emotion. And not just any emotion—jealousy.

Jungwon’s lips part, clearly taken aback, but he quickly recovers, a polite smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh… I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do,” Anton snaps, stepping closer and crossing his arms protectively.

All you can do is stand there, torn between laughing hysterically at the absurdity of the situation and wanting the earth to swallow you whole. This is your life now—your phone pretending to be your boyfriend in front of your crush. Fantastic.

“Is it true?” Jungwon asks, tilting his head slightly. His tone is soft, uncertain, like he’s piecing together a puzzle that suddenly doesn’t make sense. He had never known you had a boyfriend. The poor guy had even started thinking maybe—just maybe—you might be interested in him. But now? He thinks otherwise.

“Yeah… I think so,” you mutter, your voice barely audible as you glance at Anton. Confusion swirls in your head like a storm. Why on earth is this bastard acting like a full-fledged human, let alone ruining the sliver of progress you'd made with Jungwon?

“It’s 100% true,” Anton cuts in, his voice low and menacing as he steps between you and Jungwon. “So, I suggest you stay away from my girlfriend.”

Jungwon blinks, his lips parting slightly in disbelief. “Oh… okay,” he says after a moment, his voice a mix of confusion and reluctant acceptance. Relief flashes briefly across his face—better to find out now than after he’d fallen for you completely, he reasons.

He tosses his trash into the bin, bows politely—because, of course, Jungwon’s still a gentleman—and turns on his heel, walking back toward his apartment.

As soon as he’s out of sight, you whirl on Anton, fury bubbling just beneath the surface. “You ruined it, Zynton!” you hiss through gritted teeth, your voice a harsh whisper to avoid attracting any curious neighbors.

He just shrugs, utterly unbothered. A screen materializes above his head, glowing faintly in the dim light. It displays a graph, bold and undeniable: Jungwon negatively affects your study efficiency by 60%.

“See?” he says, pointing at the glowing data like it’s irrefutable proof. “I’m doing you a favor. Jungwon’s presence is literally detrimental to your academic success.”

You stare at the screen, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. You’re at a loss. How are you supposed to argue with statistics? It’s infuriatingly logical, and yet, entirely absurd.

Your foot taps impatiently on the pavement as you cross your arms. “Why do you hate Jungwon so much?” you ask, your voice sharp with exasperation. Deep down, you’re fighting the urge to smack him—though you quickly remind yourself that assaulting your phone probably isn’t the best idea.

“Like I said,” Anton replies, folding his arms with a dramatic sigh. “That boy ruins your studies. You could look for a boyfriend somewhere else.”

You groan, running a hand down your face. The memory of Jungwon’s hurt, betrayed expression as he walked away is burned into your mind. But there’s something even more pressing you need to know. You fix Anton with a narrowed gaze, your brow arching suspiciously. “Why did you say you were my boyfriend?”

For the first time, Anton hesitates. His usually confident demeanor falters, and a sheepish smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He scratches the back of his neck, avoiding your glare like a guilty child caught red-handed.

“I mean… it’s the most effective method to turn a guy away,” he says finally, shrugging like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you deadpan, but Anton presses on, completely unfazed.

“It’s just basic strategy,” he explains, nodding as though he’s a seasoned love expert. “I’ve read enough online to know that guys back off when they think someone’s already taken. Works like a charm.”

You stare at him, incredulous. The audacity of this device—no, this thing—is beyond anything you’ve ever encountered. “You’re basing my love life on… internet articles?”

“Trust me,” he says with a wink, flashing a smug grin. “I’ve got access to all the data.”

You groan again, louder this time, wondering if tossing him into the trash bin would solve all your problems. If only.

Anton trails behind you as you climb the stairs to your apartment, his steps eerily silent despite his human-like form. At your door, you stop abruptly and turn to him, panic creeping into your voice. “Turn back into a phone, Zynton. Now.”

He folds his arms and tilts his head, looking every bit like a rebellious teenager. “You literally named me Anton. Can you settle on one name for once?” His tone carries a tinge of irritation, and you blink in disbelief at the audacity of your phone to talk back to you.

“Okay, fine. My dear Anton, please turn back into a phone—”

Before you can finish, your mother’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. “Y/N! Are you back yet?”

Your heart lurches, a surge of panic shooting through you. Your eyes dart to Anton, your expression pleading. “Turn back into a phone. Now,” you hiss under your breath, motioning wildly for him to do something—anything—before disaster strikes.

To your immense relief, Anton flashes you an exaggerated wink and morphs seamlessly back into your phone, the glowing screen dimming as he settles into your palm. You clutch him tightly, hiding him in your fist just as the door swings open.

Your mother appears, her usual stern expression replaced with something unnervingly mild. “Why are you standing there? Come inside and study.”

Her voice is calm—too calm. It sends a shiver down your spine. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost believe this gentleness was her true nature. But you do know better, and you don’t trust it for a second.

“Coming,” you mumble, stepping inside. Your stepdad is lounging on the couch, the rustle of his newspaper the only sound he makes. You deliberately avoid his gaze, moving as quietly as possible. Your footsteps are measured and light as you head straight for your room, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Once inside, you let out a long, weary sigh, your body sinking onto the bed. The room is dim, curtains drawn tightly shut to block out the evening light. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out Anton and place him beside you on the bed.

“Hey,” you whisper, exhaustion evident in your voice. “You can turn into a human now.”

Barely a second passes before a familiar presence materializes next to you. Anton sits there, leaning back casually against the headboard like he owns the place. His eyes sparkle with that same smug mischief, and you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

The two of you are lying side by side, close enough for your shoulders to brush. The thought hits you suddenly: if anyone walked in right now, they’d think you were a couple. The intimacy of the moment feels strangely... natural.

But you shake the thought away, annoyed at yourself for even entertaining it. You’re not interested in Anton like that. You’re not. Except...

You steal a glance at him. His human form is alarmingly realistic, right down to the faint curve of his lips and the way his hair falls perfectly out of place.

Maybe you’re not interested in Jungwon anymore. Maybe—just maybe—you like Anton instead.

But there’s no way you’d ever admit that. Not to him. The moment those words leave your mouth, he’ll launch into some long-winded lecture about how technology can’t reciprocate feelings. You’d never hear the end of it.

Anton catches you staring and raises an eyebrow, smirking. “What?”

“Nothing,” you snap, turning away quickly, cheeks heating up.

“Sure,” he drawls, his tone dripping with playful suspicion. “Keep telling yourself that, Y/N.”

You groan, grabbing a pillow and smacking him with it. He laughs, the sound annoyingly human, as he ducks out of the way.

This is your life now, you think, burying your face in your hands. And somehow, against all odds, you don’t entirely hate it.

An idea sparks in your mind as you turn onto your side, your gaze landing on Anton. He’s sitting upright, leaning back against the headboard, his expression unreadable. You hesitate for a moment before speaking, voice soft yet teasing. “Hey… since you’re a phone—”

Anton tilts his head slightly, intrigued, the faintest arch of his brow urging you to continue. He lets out a curious hum, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he waits for whatever nonsense you’re about to spout.

For all his smugness, you remind yourself, Anton is still a phone. And phones are supposed to be smart, right? Smarter than this, at least.

You clear your throat, sitting up just enough to meet his gaze. “So, I’m in search of a boyfriend,” you begin, the words tumbling out too quickly. You falter for a second as Anton’s side-eye nearly makes you choke on your own sentence. His expression is the perfect mix of judgmental and unimpressed—eerily similar to your mom’s whenever she catches you slacking off on your studies.

“Of course, while studying too,” you add hastily, holding your hands up defensively. You know better than to ignore the unspoken priorities Anton seems to share with your mother.

He doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue. You take a deep breath, your next words tumbling out in one rushed, embarrassed blur. “Wouldn’t it be nice if you… you know, taught me how to kiss?”

Anton’s reaction is immediate and comical. His eyes widen, and his lips part as if he’s about to say something, only for his voice to falter into a confused sputter. “What??”

His expression is so innocent, so utterly clueless, that you almost feel guilty. But not enough to take it back. A tiny part of you is curious—what would it feel like, even if he isn’t technically human?

“Is that how single you really are?” his voice drips with mockery, his lips twitching into an amused smirk. “Seriously?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you throw the nearest pillow at him in a half-hearted attempt to regain your dignity. “Don’t act like you’re better than me,” you snap, though your voice lacks bite. “I’m just—curious, okay? And you’re the first guy I’ve been close to, so it’s only natural!”

Anton doesn’t look convinced. If anything, he looks even more amused. “Natural? That’s bold coming from someone asking her phone for kissing lessons.”

You roll your eyes, frustrated but undeterred. “You’re not just a phone! You’re—well, you’re you. And besides,” you mutter, lowering your gaze, “it’s not like you’ll judge me for being bad at it. You’re not even real.”

“Ouch.” Anton places a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Not real? I’m literally the only reason you’re not failing your exams right now.”

You bury your face in your hands, groaning. “Forget I said anything.”

But Anton isn’t letting this go. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that,” he says, leaning back with a smug grin. “Is it because you think I don’t understand emotions the way a human does?”

You hesitate, guilt pricking at the edges of your conscience. “No! That’s not—”

He cuts you off with a knowing look, his smirk softening just slightly. “Relax. You’re single. It’s pathetic, but I get it.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you grab the blanket and throw it over the both of you.

You roll closer to him, your face buried in his chest as you sigh dramatically. “See?” you mumble, your voice muffled. “I’ve been single my whole life. No boyfriend, no first kiss, nothing. You’re the only guy who’s stuck around, and even then, you’re technically stuck with me.”

Anton rolls his eyes, a mix of pity and exasperation crossing his face. “Wow. Way to guilt-trip your phone.”

You peek up at him, hopeful. “So… will you?”

He shakes his head, clearly unimpressed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Is that a yes?”

Anton sighs, muttering something under his breath about how pathetic humans are. But he doesn’t move away, which you decide to take as a yes.

After all, he’s just a machine, right? He doesn’t understand what this means. Not really. And that’s exactly why you’re doing this—or at least, that’s what you tell yourself as your heart pounds in your chest.

Your eyes light up the moment Anton nods, the glowing screen above his head dimming to black. Without a second thought, you grab a pillow and plop it over his face as you climb onto him, pinning him down. Or at least, you try to pin him down—because no matter how much determination you pour into your stance, it’s painfully obvious you’re more like an ant attempting to subdue an elephant.

Still, you try to exude confidence, looking down at him with a smirk. “Only for research purposes… of course,” you announce dramatically, hands planted on his chest like you’re staking your claim.

Anton, unimpressed as always, rolls his eyes. “Yeah… research purposes,” he repeats with dripping sarcasm.

He shifts under you, and for a brief moment, you forget he’s a phone. Forget that his abilities extend far beyond your average human knowledge. Within seconds, he’s analyzing articles, tutorials, and even kissing technique videos from the depths of the internet. His hands move to cup your cheeks, startling you with the sheer firmness of his touch.

“Hey, gentle!” you mumble, your words muffled by the pressure on your cheeks. You raise a hand to tap against his shoulder, a mix of surprise and irritation bubbling up. “You’re squishing my face!”

Anton’s hands retreat instantly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. For all his snark and superiority, you realize he doesn’t quite know his own strength—or, perhaps, he doesn’t understand the delicacy required for moments like this. After all, he’s a phone. Why would he know?

He clears his throat, his tone shifting into something more clinical, more detached. “According to the articles—”

You don’t let him finish. Before he can launch into a lecture, you lean forward and press your lips to his, cutting him off entirely.

It’s messy, clumsy even, your inexperience showing in the way your lips move against his. But the taste of him—soft, cool, and faintly electric—takes you by surprise. Not that you’ve kissed anyone else before, but something about this feels… better. Different.

“Just feel,” you whisper against his lips, your breath mingling with his in the quiet room. For once, Anton doesn’t argue, doesn’t mock. His hands find their way to your waist, steadying you with an ease that betrays his otherwise flustered expression.

He’s stunned. Completely and utterly stunned. For a first kiss, you’re better than he would have expected, not that he’d ever admit it. He wonders, fleetingly, if this is what those articles meant by connection.

And then, just as he’s starting to process the whirlwind of sensations, you stop. You rest your head against his chest, your body growing heavier as exhaustion takes over.

“Wait—are you falling asleep?” he asks, incredulous.

Your response is a barely coherent mumble, your lips still lightly pressed against his. “Mhm. Tired.”

Anton sighs, frustration laced with disbelief. He feels the faint trickle of drool escaping from your mouth onto his, his lips parting in distaste. “Hey, you’re drooling—”

“Charge you in the morning,” you murmur sleepily, cutting him off again.

He stares at you, torn between exasperation and something he can’t quite place. He adjusts you carefully, shifting your weight so you’re resting more comfortably against his chest. He makes sure your head doesn’t slide too close to his charging port—because as awkward as this moment is, he’s not about to risk short-circuiting because of you.

Still, as he looks down at your peaceful expression, a strange sensation tugs at him. It’s foreign, unquantifiable, something no article or video could explain. He brushes a hand over your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle, and lets out a soft sigh.

“Is this… what they meant?” he whispers, more to himself than to you.

The answer doesn’t come, but for once, Anton doesn’t feel the need to know.

You wake up with a soft murmur, the warmth of sleep still clinging to your skin. You realize, half-dazed, that your arms are wrapped around what feels like a body—Anton’s body. His form is strangely solid and comforting, and in your sleepy haze, you have no intention of moving. His warmth against you is too cozy, and the soft rise and fall of his “chest”—though artificial—makes you feel safer than you have in a while.

“Anton...” you murmur again, still unsure of what time it is, your words heavy with drowsiness. But then, you feel the slight shift of his body, and you hear his voice—distorted and rough, as though it's being dragged from the depths of a drained battery.

“My battery's low,” he whispers, a groan underlying his words. “Please charge me real quick...” His voice cracks, but you can't help but chuckle at how human it sounds, despite him being technically not a person.

You bury your face deeper into his chest, too comfortable to get up, and in a daze, you mumble, “Just five more minutes... I'm too cozy...”

But Anton doesn’t let you get away with it. There’s a slight, almost exaggerated sigh from him before he says, “No... It's literally six a.m.... Please get ready... for school.”

You groan in response, the panic setting in as you finally start to register his words. “Mom should've woken me up...” You shoot out of bed, suddenly scrambling to get ready. The weight of the morning hits you all at once—your mind still fuzzy but your body on overdrive as you throw yourself into a frenzy of motion.

Your fingers tremble as you tug off your pajama top, realizing with horror that you haven't even showered. You curse under your breath, glancing at Anton, who’s still next to you.

Your heart skips a beat. Wait.

“Anton,” you mutter, an unsettling thought popping into your head. You pause, standing mid-action, your clothes half-changed. “Did you always see me change?” Your voice cracks as you ask, and your cheeks start to heat up, a flush spreading across your face as the realization creeps in.

You’ve always placed your phone on the bed or on the drawer while changing. Could he have been watching all this time, even before his human-phone transformation?

You glance over at Anton, and to your surprise, you see his screen flicker with a rapid flush of red, like he's embarrassed. His voice, strained and hurried, shoots back at you, “NO!” It's a sharp refusal, almost defensive, and it makes you pause in your tracks.

“Did you...?” you ask again, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“I said NO!” His voice is forceful now, though still faint from the low battery, and you can see the unmistakable redness flickering across his screen. It’s such a far cry from the dispassionate, cold phone he once was, and it throws you off. Was this the same Anton who had no emotions at all when he first turned into a human? The same one who would have no qualms about anything?

The thought makes you chuckle nervously, trying to dismiss the awkwardness that crawls up your neck. “Okay, okay, I get it. Stop yelling.”

You roll your eyes and go back to getting dressed, though the entire room suddenly feels way smaller than it should. You can’t help but throw a glance at Anton again—who, despite being a phone, seems to be desperately looking away from you, his screen flickering like a bashful person avoiding eye contact.

As you change, you remind yourself over and over that Anton is just a phone—a very advanced phone, yes, but still just a phone. It’s only logical that he can’t be embarrassed. You try to shrug it off, but the blush still lingers on your cheeks.

Once you’re dressed, the urgency hits you again. You’re running late, and the panic sets in like a wave. You grab your bag and rush around the room, tossing items into it without thinking—until you remember.

“Oh shoot! Anton!” You scramble for your phone, your fingers fumbling as you finally find him on the bed. You look at his screen, blinking. Wait. Is he still charging?

But before you can get the chance to plug him in, Anton’s voice cracks again, a little louder this time, and it’s so faint you barely catch it. “You’re really going to leave me like this...?” he asks, almost accusing.

You freeze, your guilt swelling as you gaze at him, knowing that if you didn’t charge him now, he’d be completely dead by the time you get back. With a deep breath, you plug him in quickly, hoping the connection will last until you return.

But the weird thing is, for the first time, you realize that in a twisted way—this phone might actually be the one who understands you better than anyone else.

You’re practically panting by the time you get to school, the weight of your backpack pressing down on you with every step. Your stomach growls in protest, reminding you that in your mad rush, you forgot your tiffin at home. Great. Just great.

But the real problem is the five marks. The professor’s new rule is burning a hole in your mind: Whoever comes late will have five marks deducted. It's just five marks, but it might as well be the difference between life and death. Okay, maybe not life or death, but definitely failure.

You’re barely scraping by in math, and losing even those five marks would push you into the dreaded abyss of failure. You can already feel the weight of your mother’s disapproval on your shoulders, and you really don’t want that. Not today. Not ever.

Your school isn’t far—just a fifteen-minute walk—but with the panic setting in, your legs are moving faster than your brain. Walking = fine. Running = late. You’d prefer to walk but today, you’re in run mode, your heart hammering against your chest, your breath coming in quick, sharp gasps.

“Who even made schools?” you mutter under your breath, sweat trickling down your neck. You can already feel your body protesting against the injustice of it all. As if it weren't bad enough, your backpack feels like a weight you’re carrying to the moon.

You round the corner, spotting a few other late students sneaking in, looking as panicked as you feel. The guard is too busy talking to someone else to notice, and you take full advantage of it, slipping through the gate like a ninja trained by your mother herself. You’ve gotten really good at this.

When you reach the classroom, relief floods over you. The professor isn’t there yet. Thank goodness. You rush to the nearest available seat—right next to Jungwon. It's the only one left, and you’re not about to argue. You plop down with a loud sigh, feeling the adrenaline start to wear off, leaving you a little breathless.

But then Jungwon turns to you, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Does your boyfriend not come to our school?”

You blink. Boyfriend? Who—what?

“I have a boyfriend?” You ask, clearly puzzled, still catching your breath.

“Uh… the one I met last night when you were throwing trash…” he adds, trailing off awkwardly, clearly unsure of himself now. “Is he not your boyfriend?”

Your stomach flips. Oh, God. This is it. Your brain starts spinning, and suddenly your mouth feels dry. You can’t go back on yesterday's statement. You definitely can’t let Jungwon go back to your mom and casually mention you have a boyfriend. That would end with your mother’s legendary interrogation skills being put into full force, and you’re not sure you’d survive it.

You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.

OPTION (A) : You could admit Anton isn’t your boyfriend, but that would open a whole new can of worms, and you can already hear Jungwon’s voice in your head: “Wait, so who was that guy?” Not a conversation you want to have.

OPTION (B) : You could tell him that Anton is just a friend, but that might lead to even more awkward questions, and you have no idea how you’d explain that whole situation without sounding like you’re caught in a web of lies.

But before you can choose, the door creaks open, and the professor walks in, immediately starting the lesson. You have no choice but to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Yes, he’s my boyfriend.” The words come out, and you instantly regret them. You can practically hear the sound of your own gulp echoing in your ears. Jungwon, looking slightly taken aback, awkwardly nods, unsure of how to respond. He’s clearly not going to ask more questions—at least not here—and his attention turns back to the professor.

You breathe a sigh of relief, but the panic is still bubbling inside you. You’ve just added another layer of complication to your already messy life. Now, you’re officially that girl—the one with a mysterious, possibly nonexistent boyfriend who has a habit of turning into a human phone. What could go wrong?

You sneak a glance down at your phone, trying to be as discreet as possible. Back in the day, you would’ve been nervously fidgeting in your seat next to Jungwon, trying not to spill your awkwardness all over the place. But right now? You couldn’t care less about Jungwon. All you could think about was that handsome guy who had somehow turned into your phone.

Why are you so cute, Anton?

You tap your phone screen, waiting for it to light up, but nothing happens. You try again, your frustration building. Come on... please respond. This is getting ridiculous.

“Hey, Anton? Respond, please!” you whisper under your breath, glancing around quickly to make sure no one else is noticing your little outburst. Jungwon, who’s sitting right next to you, doesn’t seem to catch on. He’s too busy, probably thinking about his own thoughts. You, on the other hand, are glued to your phone, silently begging for Anton to do anything.

But no, nothing happens. It's like he's just… ignoring you. And that drives you crazy. Why isn't he responding? Was it because you're sitting next to Jungwon? Did he suddenly become jealous?

The thought of Anton acting all possessive, even from within your phone, actually makes you giggle. But your giggles quickly turn into frustration again as your screen stays blank.

So, you do what anyone would do in this situation: you bury yourself in your notes, hoping that focusing on your studies will distract you from the fact that Anton, your human-turned-phone boyfriend, is giving you the silent treatment. You're still a bit puzzled by the whole situation.

Finally when classes end, and your backpack feels impossibly heavy as you hurriedly shove your books inside. You’re already planning your escape when Jungwon calls out to you.

“Hey Y/n, would you be up for a study session? You can bring your boyfriend too…” His words trail off, clearly surprised by how quickly you’re moving to leave.

Your reaction is instantaneous: you bolt out of there like you’ve just been given an Olympic sprinting challenge, the door swinging behind you with a dramatic swoosh. You don’t even wait for a reply, practically disappearing from his sight.

Jungwon, stunned, blinks a couple of times before finally muttering, “What… just happened?”

“Must be her boyfriend,” Eunmi remarks, her voice strangely neutral instead of the usual sharp tone she reserves for anything remotely related to you. She looks over at Jungwon, her gaze lingering for a moment, before turning her attention elsewhere. Jungwon, though, is far less enthusiastic about packing his bag now, his thoughts clearly on something else.

Meanwhile, you can’t help but laugh a little as you make your way out of the building. There’s no way you were going to let Anton’s weird silence ruin your day. Besides, you’d figured it out—he's just being a dramatic phone, and you’re not about to let that control you. At least, not for now.

As you leave, you can’t stop thinking about how ridiculously possessive he’s been lately. Maybe he does feel something. You can’t help but smile, a little too fond of your human-turned-phone

As soon as you get home, you plug Anton in, sighing in relief as the charging icon pops up on your screen. You can hear your mom in the background, rambling about your day at school, but honestly? You don’t have the energy to care. You flop onto your bed, completely drained, and let out a deep breath as you watch Anton slowly transform back into a human.

“Thank goodness,” you mutter, finally feeling a little more at ease.

“You should've just charged me in the morning,” he grumbles, still holding the charging wire in his mouth. It's almost comical how he’s still acting like a phone despite being human now.

“Sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, a small smile creeping onto your face despite how tired you are. But then, as the moment settles, a thought hits you, and you can't help but ask, “Do you ever think you'll go back to being a normal phone? Or am I stuck with you like this forever?”

Anton hums in response, the charging wire still hanging from his mouth. “Not sure.”

“Of course you're not sure,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. But a tiny knot of worry tightens in your stomach. The idea of him eventually disappearing back into your phone, of him going back to being just an object, stings more than you'd like to admit. He might be your phone, but the human version? He's been becoming something else to you lately. And you don’t know if you're ready to lose that just yet.

Two months had passed, and it was starting to feel like Anton was slowly slipping away. At first, it was subtle—just a few hours of the day where he stayed in phone form. But today? Nothing. No human version of Anton, just your regular, lifeless phone.

You poke at your lunch with a fork, but how could you even eat when your mind keeps wandering back to your phone? It’s just sitting there on the table, performing like a regular device, no magic, no human form.

“Is something wrong?” Jungwon asks, glancing up from his own lunch. Eunmi’s sitting across from you, not even trying to be friendly, as usual.

“You should watch your phone less,” Eunmi comments, and you roll your eyes, trying to ignore her. If only she knew how much your phone meant to you right now.

You swipe left and right, desperately trying to find something—anything—that could explain why Anton’s still not turning human. You’re not sure what you’re expecting, but this feels like some sort of betrayal from a phone.

“Hmmph,” you mutter under your breath, but it doesn't help. The weight of Eunmi’s voice still lingers in your mind, but you’re too focused on the empty feeling of staring at a screen that’s supposed to be connected to something more.

“Why is he not becoming a human?” you mumble, too frustrated to care that you’re speaking aloud. The problem? Only you know about Anton’s transformation, so you can’t even vent about it to anyone.

“What?” Eunmi asks, her eyebrow arching as she shares a confused look with Jungwon.

You wave it off, brushing away the awkwardness, and go back to stabbing at your lunch. But it’s no use—the food tastes bland, almost like cardboard. Honestly, at this point, the only thing that could make it better is if Anton turned back into the human version of himself and saved you from this mess of a lunch. But nope, your phone’s just sitting there, mocking you.

You somehow manage to finish the rest of the school day, the classes dragging by like a blur, but the one thing that kept bothering you was that Anton was still not turning human.

“Ugh, this isn’t working,” you mutter to yourself as you stand in front of the repair shop owner, trying not to look too ridiculous. You can already feel the weight of the situation—the shopkeeper can’t possibly know about your phone turning into a human, can he? That would be absurd.

“What exactly is the problem?” he asks, tilting his head as he takes your phone to inspect it.

You freeze. What exactly do you say? You can’t tell him that your phone is a person who’s been hanging out as a human every now and then, right? It sounds insane.

“Uh…,” you stammer, struggling for an explanation, but it’s useless. You’re not sure what to say that wouldn’t get you committed to some strange techy cult or a mental hospital.

“It’s all good, ma’am,” he says with a sigh, handing your phone back to you, like everything is totally normal. But if everything is “all good,” why isn’t Anton turning back into a human?

You leave the store, confusion taking over. The lighthearted, slightly strange feeling you once had about Anton being a human version of a phone has now been replaced with a gnawing emptiness. You can’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s gone for good.

Your bag feels heavier than usual, weighed down by the thoughts swirling in your mind. You drag yourself home, the steps feeling longer than normal, as if the world is slowly sinking into a gray, monotonous fog.

“How was school?” your stepdad asks, the usual cheerful tone in his voice, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. You barely acknowledge his question, as you’re still lost in your own thoughts. You hear your mom sigh, disappointed, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You head straight to your room, exhaustion taking over. You plug Anton in to charge, desperate to see that familiar human version of him again. The seconds tick by as you watch the charging light glow. But nothing changes. The charging is full. Anton is still… just a phone.

You sigh heavily, sinking down on your bed. What if he’s really gone for good? You can't help but feel like you're losing a part of your world, and suddenly, the idea of just using a regular phone feels... boring.

Tears well up in your eyes as you stubbornly mutter, “I won’t talk to you ever if you don't turn in now!” The words feel hollow the second they leave your lips, but it’s a lie you tell yourself. You would never stop talking to Anton, not for anything. But a small part of you is desperate for him to just... come back. You need to see him as a human again, even if you know that it might not happen.

“Please!” you whisper desperately, pressing your lips against the cold screen of your phone, leaving a red imprint there. It’s a pathetic gesture, but it’s all you can think of. A little kiss for him, as if that might somehow wake him up from whatever spell he’s trapped in.

“Fine. Don’t come,” you mutter, frustration taking over as you place the phone back on the study desk. The weight of the situation settles in as you slump down onto the bed, still in your school clothes. You don’t even care to change—you're too tired, too emotionally drained from everything.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there, staring at the ceiling, but it doesn’t matter. Sleep overtakes you, and you drift off in the quiet of your room, lost in the silence.

Suddenly, you feel it—the presence of someone standing above you. A familiar weight in the air, but not the same as before. You rub your eyes, blinking away the grogginess, and then you see him.

Anton.

He’s standing there, in front of you, and your breath catches. But then, your eyes widen in shock. His body is covered in marks. Red, faint imprints that make your face burn as you realize—those are from your kisses. The ones you left on the screen, desperate for him to turn back. It’s embarrassing, but there's no time for that now. You throw yourself at him, arms wide as you practically tackle him with a hug.

His shirt wrinkles beneath your fingers as you clutch it tight, a mixture of relief and frustration in your chest. You pull away, looking up at him, almost desperate. “Why did you leave? Why didn’t you turn back?” Your voice cracks, the raw emotion flooding through you, but the words tumble out in a mess of desperation.

But then, he pushes you away. You stumble back slightly, the sudden distance between you too much to handle.

“I couldn’t turn,” he says, his voice low, almost pained. “And I think it’s better if you don’t get too attached. I’m just a device, remember?” He speaks the words softly, but there’s a coolness to them that hurts.

You blink, the words settling into your chest like a stone. “Why can’t you stay like this forever?” The question slips out before you can stop it, eyes burning with the need to understand. You feel his thumb brush away a tear that’s escaped down your cheek, but it only makes you feel more fragile. “I don’t understand… How can a phone... with no feelings... like me... feel something?”

He takes a deep breath, his gaze softening for just a moment. And then, for the first time since this entire weird and wonderful thing began, he steps closer. Your heart races as he closes the distance, and before you can even think, your hands are on his shirt, clutching it like it’s the only thing that’s keeping you grounded.

You pull him into a messy kiss, lips moving against his in a rush of desperation, a wild need to feel him close. You kiss him over and over again, each one more frantic than the last, but just as quickly as he was there...Your lips meet nothing.

You pull back in confusion, eyes wide as you try to make sense of it. Where did he go? You open your eyes fully, but there's nothing in front of you. Just empty space.

Your phone falls to the ground, the sharp sound of it hitting the floor snapping you back to reality. You kneel down quickly, heart pounding, and check it, relieved to see that it's still in one piece. No cracks, no breaks. Just a phone.

And then, it hits you. You can’t keep holding on to something—or someone—that isn’t real. You swallow hard, tears welling up in your eyes again as you stare at the device in your hands, the phone that was once a person to you. The bittersweet smile on your lips isn’t one of happiness, but of acceptance and yet... sadness.

“Fine,” you whisper to no one in particular. “I’ll check off the three tasks on my to-do list. You’ll be proud of me.”

But as you stare at the phone, your thumb grazing over its screen, you know deep down that it’s not the tasks that need to be checked off.

It’s your heart.

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skull-fvcker · 2 months ago

Text

Morality

❥ Yandere! Arcane Viktor x Gender Neutral! Reader

A/N: cross-posted from my ao3. Old fanfiction from 2021, written way before season two. Thought I might as well post it here—the final episode broke me, by the way.

Summary: Years worth of obsession and fantasy obfuscated his once comprehensible brain. But it felt as if this was a crucial transition. Viktor is convinced he is a good man, but his actions are speaking otherwise against his morality.

Warnings: 7204 words, MDNI, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, viktor is delusional, yandere viktor by the way, dubious consent(he coerces you), unhealthy and one-sided relationship, gender-neutral pronouns used for reader, no usage of y/n, gentle sex, set in season 1

In all honesty, Viktor did not know how it started or when it got out of hand. It started as a simple fascination and he had treated it as such. Nothing was wrong with that, he was a man of science after all. It was in his nature to feel drawn to things that he did not quite understand. Many years have passed since that day. Before his strange obsession came into his life. Honestly, now that he was alone to think about it, had it ever come into his life at all? Or, by some force of nature, he had forced it into his own life? The ever-changing flow of time halted the very moment Viktor had initially realised that he had more than a problem on his hands.

Viktor thought of himself as a man with morals. He was not the best person, yes, there are plenty of others that shone brighter than he did, but he found his value in his work and ethics. That being said, nothing about him was right. His work had been clogged for year's now; the chaotic office space merely setting as a permanent indication that he had slipped too far this time. Above all else, he had guaranteed himself that his work came foremost, give or take a few instances in which it did not. This case was different, however. A disturbing accomplishment that, when asked initially, he wrote off his findings as evidence, or even lack thereof. Whether or not he was believed, was foreign to even him.

Directly adjacent to his cluttered working place—being neat had long passed his troubled brain, hadn't it?— lie his crutch, sat in such a way that it may fall at any minute. Viktor paid it no mind, at least not at first, but looking over his notes and the observations that he had written down, an idea popped up within what was left of a comprehensive state of mind. Of course, how could he have been so oblivious to forget such a thing, it was written clear as day in these scattered notes. His nimble, cold fingers grasped at the end of his crutch and he tugged it over and dug it into the floor while it enabled him to stand.

Viktor's book laid sloppily in his hand, page open in clear view. "Yes," he breathed, "I suppose this will do." He closed the withered book and shoved it between his left arm and clothed side. Periodically, an opportunity was difficult to come by. He had to do the best with what he had been given, though an itch in his brain told him that: why settle for fine, when you can go beyond?

The aforementioned person that he mentioned, the obsession - the two had never even met before, Hell, Viktor was certain it never even knew of his existence. It was ostensibly a normal upper city citizen with no strange qualities, nothing special about its behaviours nor its personality. It was normal. But it made him feel bizarre inside. He could effortlessly correlate it to that of an over-easy egg slowly cooking within a skillet until the yoke bursts for seemingly no reason and tarnishes the taste of the egg entirely. Just like that, it was ruining him. Granted, neither of them seemed to be eggs, but he believed the metaphor to fit rather well. Humanity always seemed to be so fickle, so easily swayed and broken. Just like an egg.

No matter the weakened disposition he had, nor the lingering scent of death he had become accustomed to, nothing prepared Viktor for the way his certain obsession made him feel. He was intelligent enough to not let these be known, oh, how he would hate the way that Jayce would assume the worst of his sentiments. Would he? Jayce had changed rather strikingly since the first day the two had met. Nevertheless, Viktor never seemed to be the man for love, much less protection of those around him.

Moreover, he was sure that with such dehumanising language and behaviour, nobody would hear his side of the matter. After all, calling the object of your affection an "it," and "thing," definitely does not look good for your compassion. Still, it gave him a reason to humanise his behaviour—if his obsession is not seen as equal, then what's the issue, exactly? To be blunt, it served no purpose other than to make him feel better since not a soul knew of this but him.

Sure, it did not occur to him that he would have strayed this far, but sometimes you have to do what you can to keep someone safe. He was in no state to protect someone on his own, he knew this far too well, he could never protect anyone with this sickly, frail body of his. That is why kidnapping was an absolute must. Reminiscing of the past did no good but to open up older wounds that set themselves up for failure, but the first day they had formally met was an exhilarating experience.

When they had seen him, there was a quizzical expression plastered on their face, and they even confused him for a council member of all things—never attentive, he presumed—but upon realising who he was, Viktor found himself met with immediate scepticism. Viktor could not fault them, it was something he knew all too well, though, maybe he should have saved his anguish for another day. The way their warmer hand held onto his own when he reached out to shake it. Their hand was soft, softer than his at least, and much less calloused. Smaller. Yet, their fingers did not hold the appearance of his own; on the contrary, they looked healthy. Healthier than him.

Of course, with someone who seemed to not have any imperfection, how was Viktor not supposed to fall for them, much less become intrigued with their very existence at that point? Humans were so fickle, he knew very well with how his body had grown to become sicker, but they seemed so robust, so self-sufficient. It was just like any other person, nothing too special but it stood out to him and that was what mattered.

It hurt him, really it did, to see them gawk at him with betrayal, to seem so frightened of someone who wasn't even strong, to begin with, but love came with sacrifice and even if he couldn't help everyone, then he would try to help them the best that he could.

Viktor revolted and fought against his rationality, he really did, he tried his absolute best to make sense of both his actions and what he had done. Within the months, he had thoroughly convinced himself that it was for the greater good, for the safety of his obsession; to keep them isolated from others. It was not the healthiest choice, he would acknowledge at the time, but now he may argue that it was the only thing he could have done upon meeting them formally. He just could not let them go.

Months had passed since that day, but it was fun to reminisce sometimes. Besides, it was even better that, when he had the time, they were someone in which he could spoil with every day. Yes, Viktor took things slow and always was sure to leave them be, yet give them company, but watching them stare at him with a look that he could hardly even decipher anymore, left him breathless. And he didn't even know why.

That very thing forced him into the very dilemma that he is in now. Standing in front of a locked door with a flawlessly crafted key lying in his tremoring hand. It was from excitement, he knew it was. It was like this was his own secret sanctuary where he hid his most precious desire and treasure, his perfect obsession that wept behind locked doors. It was the same every day, no matter how long he would stare.

The door opened with a slight rasp, the only other noise being a stifled sob and the sound of scuffing against the floor, then the buoyancy of bedsprings. His stiff body staggered against the sturdy cane, his hunched over body barely allowing the light to pool in around the walls of the door frame. Every day seemed no closer to his objective. He didn't even know how he had done this. Years worth of obsession and fantasy obfuscated his once comprehensible brain. But it felt as if this was a crucial transition.

Viktor is convinced he is a good man, but his actions are speaking otherwise against his morality.

"Good morning, dear. Have you slept well?" The sounds of chains screamed in his ears when he spoke. All these years and his lover still has not gotten used to their living state. "Ehh... I have already assured you. Good behaviour is rewarded, please understand that this is an absolute must to keep you safe." They were terrified. Of him. Isolation was a punishment and he could never help but feel dreadful about them being punished for things out of their control.

"When can I go home?" was the concern they always pleaded with whenever they saw him. Viktor tried to not let it get under his skin, really he did, but the knowledge that they did not want to be with him weighed heavy on his mind. He loved them, they had to recognize. Their eyes were so passive; it reminded him of when he had first seen the mutation, Rio, when he was a young boy. Curiosity, distress; panic. They just did not understand this yet.

Perhaps all the days that he merely sat there and stared at them with a desolate expression thoroughly destroyed the way they would perceive him, or how he would blatantly ignore their tantrums and screaming, tapping his fingers along the edge of his crutch like a patient father waiting for their child to calm down. Of course, Viktor never mistreated them. The most he did was further isolate them, which explained the absolutely pitiful state that they were in right now.

Reluctance to accept the changing future will result in the fear of what's to come. He understands it's different from what they were used to. But one must adapt to their surroundings and become accustomed. Viktor has already sacrificed so much for them; when was it their turn to return the favour? The ever-changing future is something he will never know for certain.

Viktor sighed, watching them press their body against the nook of the room where their bed had been so delicately placed. The bedsheets had been sent into a state of disrepair, and certain pillows seemed more shapely than the rest. From clutching them too tightly, he inferred. It was adorable.

"This is your home," It was no wonder that they attempted to squeeze themselves farther against the wall when he staggered closer. "I don't have any food this time, I'm afraid," he stood right at the side of their mattress, directly in front of trembling form, his eyes fixated on the plate that sat adjacent to the bed, at least a few days old now. "Though, I'm glad that you, ehm, were able to finish your last meal. Good job." A sigh escaped him after the carefully placed praise fell from his lips and, upon staring hastily at them, he recalled the fear blending within their wide eyes. "However," he found himself fumbling over his words, "I know that you've been a little, eh... downcast, as of late so I have decided that I am going to offer you something that I'm sure you would love," he paused, almost reluctant to reach forward and stroke the hair behind their ear. Hesitant to touch them lovingly.

This situation was a troublesome one, of course, it would be, but he was not a fool in the matter. He read up on numerous articles simply so he can keep things safe for them — falling for one's captor, he had thought about it, yet the turmoil often sets in when he realises that they hadn't developed such a thing just yet. Had he not been too kind? Perhaps, it was the chains around their body? Particular disorders of the mind were so hard to force into existence; was that such a terrible thing to wish for? They looked as if they served more as a pet than anything else, honestly. But that's love, this is just his love. Viktor was well aware that a plethora of things regarding both he and his health weren't precisely right, particularly in concerns to other people. Honestly, staring at them in such a miserable state made him feel almost remorseful.

They must feel so trapped, not to mention secluded, after all, he was never able to spend as much time with them as he would have preferred. He wondered, did they feel imprisoned in their own body, too? Probably not in the way that he did, but it was a suspicion that lingered in his mind. He set his hand on the side of their face unexpectedly, and they jolted back. Granted, he was certain that his hand was freezing. But, Hell, it appeared as if they had almost whimpered at his touch. Still, he had never done anything to harm them, he's only keeping them safe. The images of the mutation Rio sitting in a tank of fluids that he knew all too well now, the thought of it being kept alive despite its pleas not to. Such lengths are just an experiment to preserve life. He understood, now. Not in the way that he should have, but he did.

Maybe that was how they felt. Like a trapped animal, frightened and alone. But they have him, they may not want him, but he is there.

Viktor's knees buckled as they pressed against the edge of the mattress, gently hoisting one after the other to get closer to the horrified individual hiding from his affection, which was already something which he never exhibited frequently.

"I want you to understand," he ran his thumb along their cheek with feathery soft touches, "I know you still don't understand why I'm doing this, or why you're here but rest assured that it's all out of genuine love." When you're going to change the world, don't ask for permission. "Alone. You're lonely and you're scared. I know how you feel. But you're special," their eyes met Viktor's for but an instant and it sent shock waves down his spine. Don't ask permission. "You're special to me, and that is what truly matters at this moment." They were about to cry. Correction, they were sobbing. And it was all his fault. Emotional turmoil mixed with the trauma enforced within them made this happen - because of Viktor.

And despite it all, Viktor could not help but feel proud of his accomplishments.

"Please," their name rolled off of his tongue like a loose screw in his brain, though more akin to a prayer. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, please." Their disobedience irritated him and sent his nostrils flaring, but he didn't allow that to show outwardly. They were already so skittish, why would he threaten them further? "Mm, I will reiterate it as many times as you desire: good behaviour is rewarded. If... If you're good—for me—then, and only then, will I allow you to go outside." His words set off a fire in their brain, he could tell how their breathing unexpectedly halted and they went completely tight-lipped. Was that all it took for them to settle down? An effortlessly broken promise?

Right, they were at their wit's end, weren't they? Their emotions override their rationality. The sunlight would be good for their health, after all. Quite frankly, the thought was unsettling, Viktor didn't want them out of his sight, but if it would make them satisfied then he could make configurations for such a thing. Though, he would have to be cautious to not allow anyone to see them. What if they tried to... escape, in a sense? It was dangerous, he would have to think about it thoroughly.

"Do you mean it?" They said, suddenly. Their head was raised aloft and their wide eyes stared directly at him. "If I'm good... I'll be able to go outside? It's—" A sharp inhale. "It's been months," they were optimistic. Why was it so unbearable to see them so miserable?

For all but a juncture, Viktor felt himself at a loss for words. There was no telling whether or not he would be able to keep that promise, but he could try. They just need to learn to embrace change and adapt, maybe they will forget about it in due time. "I mean it," he said without thought, "you have my word." Did they, truly? You should not make promises that you are incapable of keeping, but just this once, the way their expression lit up and how the tears fell from their eyes, made Viktor feel as if he had done something right this entire time. Without a single word, his hand slowly lowered from their warm cheek, his gangly fingers running alongside the edges of the collar that adorned their flawless neck.

In pursuit of great, we failed to do good.

How would Viktor feel if someone had done this to him? It was a rhetorical question; nobody cared for him enough to go to such drastic lengths to proclaim their love. Therefore, this couldn't have been an unfair thing for him to do. "We must adapt to change," he spoke softly as his fingers danced around their trembling jaw. "You must adapt to change." His voice dropped an octave, gaze falling back onto their face. He had adapted to this change flawlessly fine, it was them that had to figure out how to. They were ultimate perfection in his eyes—there was just one, little issue...

"What are you doing?" Their voice quivered. Viktor's hand slipped down to their collarbones, pinching against the soft fleshy prison.

"Ahm, eh, I am... feeling you, merely. Nothing more," their breath hitched at his actions. "Unless you want me to do more?" An unexpected whimper came from them, in which he did not know if it was good or not, but knowing them, it emanated from apprehension. "I love you, you know that. I would never force you to do something. Think of it as a friendly suggestion," Viktor's blunt fingernails found themselves becoming caught on the neckline of their shirt. "So, will you let me?" There was a pause between them. Most importantly, the air seemed to grow still. Tension so thick that you could slice it in half with a knife.

They shifted but didn't give Viktor a clear yes or no. In all honesty, they seemed to be dismissing him altogether. He could feel their body heat begin to amplify, a telltale indication of both their embarrassment and if he dares say desire. A relatively foolish notion, he was well aware, however, that did not mean anything in his mind, not in the current time. The future could come later, and his life may pass him by. But the future does not exist, does it? Not until you make it so. If he didn't take satisfaction in the opportunity that he had right now, then it may never come up again.

Nevertheless, he took the chance and leaned forward, inch by inch until his face had pressed into what was seen within the crook of their neck. Their skin was soft, warm; pulsating. "I am obsessed with you," both of his hands set themselves upon their shoulders, thumbs clutching against the blade of their clavicles. "I am, truly. My devotion, my love, my obsession for you—that will be the only thing that will never change no matter the year to come. You may push me away all that you desire, but I will come back to you. I love you." His chapped lips pressed in between their jawline and neck, a chaste kiss that he allowed to linger on their skin. They didn't even bother pushing him away. They had the strength to, yet abstained.

We failed to do good.

"Understand my efforts," his voice was barely above a whisper, "you must have seen them. Make sense of my love for you." His grip on their shoulders tightened, but he knew it would never be enough to harm them. It wasn't as if he wanted to injure them in the first place, either. However, it was short-lived, and Viktor's hands fell from their shoulders to their bound wrists, and straight down to their tremoring hands. "I have always wanted to do more with you—to be what most would consider a "couple" yet you keep pushing me away." During his rambling, Viktor heard them mumble something under their breath. "Could you repeat that?"

"I said I'm sorry," they whispered. For the first time, it seemed that they were apologising to him so sincerely, maybe with actual suspicions that something may transpire if they were to not apologise. It was startling, but a chance to hear their voice was satisfactory for Viktor. There was a lingering breath that he could feel tickle the back of his neck, coupled together with their heaving chest. They were scared.

We have to make it right.

Viktor felt his heart hammer against his rib cage, a knot forming in his throat bitterly. This clammy feeling in his chest was unneeded. "Well," he spoke with a sharp exhale, "do you know what would make me forgive you?" As if he hadn't already forgiven them, to begin with. Upon feeling them nod slowly, Viktor pulled away from them and hurried his hands from their own, to their neck. His touches were faint, but loving. Held a certain edge to them, hinted at with a distinct emotion. "I'm very sure you're aware of what I'm getting at," his breathing picked up, just as theirs did, and for a few instants, it seemed that theirs was in sync with his own. To his surprise, they shifted and nodded in agreement, but did not vocalise it.

Anxiously, Viktor proceeded to slowly creep his body forward, even closer to them than he was before. He felt his heart thumping against his rib cage, the wind being knocked from his lungs as he shakily exhaled. Viktor was not the type of man for sex, he never had the time to do it; but when it came to his little obsession, why not indulge? Their consent was dubious at best, but at this point, any hint of acceptance was promising enough for him. He struggled to rationalise his thinking but instead was only met with a cluttered mess within his brain. Viktor couldn't concentrate on anything other than them at this moment. It was just the two of them, and that was all that truly carried weight to him.

His kisses against their skin were light, virtually non-existent, but the genuine love that he harboured for them persisted despite their shuddering breathing; despite their apprehension. Viktor's lips pressed against their tender jawline until he finally met the edges of their lips. His hands were twitching, cupping the sides of their face with his thumbs caressing the skin underneath their eyes. This would be their first kiss together. Would they reciprocate it? He sure hopes that they would in some way, they don't seem to have any reasoning as to why they wouldn't. He pulled back momentarily to stare at them, only to notice that they weren't looking at him at all. That would be okay.

"You're mine," he breathed as he pressed his lips against their own once again. Viktor felt as if his chapped, thin lips were being engulfed by theirs—though, theirs were equally as chapped as he were. He made a mental note to up their water intake. The kiss did not quite feel the way that he visualized it to feel—he thought it would have felt more romantic in a sense. Moreover, he would have believed that they wouldn't be chained to the wall in such an intimate instant. But, good behaviour is rewarded. This was temporary, they knew that, as did he. Just as the kiss was about to end, he felt them lean into it and press their lips into his own. That, above everything else, made him feel like the blessedest man in all of Piltover. Of Zaun, anywhere.

"I love you more than anything," confessed Viktor as he pulled away from their lips. "I'm glad that you're mine." And he meant it.

Their breath hitched just as it constantly did when he touched them. Maybe it was the fact that his hands were gradually examining their body, tilting across every crevice, from where their midsection concave whenever they'd instinctively suck it in out of humiliation, to the quiver of the skin around their navel when his fingers ran along the sensitive region. Viktor's hands were underneath their shirt, his wiry fingers eagerly squeezing the skin. They squeaked at first, his hands were frigid after all but eventually unwound though not peeking at him. Viktor wished that they would look at him like a person rather than an oddity.

The hem of their trousers huddled against their hips, hiding away the most intimate part of their body that only Viktor was allowed to see. For a moment, he looked into their eyes for the right to go ahead, but upon being avoided, Viktor merely yanked them down with enthusiasm pulsing through his veins. His thumbs pressed between their navel and hipbones, in an almost comforting gesture. But it wasn't as if they cared in the long run, however, he could hear their hitching breath. Through dirty-minded thoughts, Viktor's right hand loomed above their sex while his other clasped against their hipbone for support. He was actually doing this—something that he had just as much as dreamed of for years.

"Please," their whiny voice startled his thoughts. "Just... be gentle with me," they didn't seem to be in the mood to fight him at all. That's good. Viktor was sure he had neither the strength nor the energy to deal with it.

His thumb pressed against the sensitive nub below, threatening a gasp from them. "I'll never hurt you," he rubbed their hip in synchronisation with his sensual touches against their sex. "I promise, I will do what I can to make you feel pleasured." His breathing picked up as arousal trickled down his spine like that of the emotions that he loathed. "I want... to see the inside of you. All of you," he spoke aloud, a hint of longing in his tone which he had shoved back this entire time. He wanted them to comprehend his love to its full potential.

Viktor's face pressed against the crook of their neck once again, shifting his hips as he closed his eyes. They were making noises, now, their chained wrists clicking against the harsh metals as they lifted their hands to dig into his back. Secretly, he had hoped that they would call his name. He knew that they knew it. They've spoken it countless times before. Granted, it was always in a fit of rage or hysteria which followed, "I hate you," and, "You ruined my life." But they knew his name at the very least.

Moreover, they were unravelling at the seams. They liked this just as much as Viktor did. They loved him, they had to. Lust and love were on a thin line, so closely drawn together yet had such distinct differences. Could the same be said about obsession? Maybe so, but that did not mean much by this point.

"I love you," he breathed into their neck, his warm breath no doubt sending shivers down his spine or so he hoped. "You feel so soft, so pretty..." His fingers toyed with their sex, jerking in sporadic movements which caused their hips to buck against him, further spurring him on. "Do you like it when I touch you like this? Like I—" his breath hitched when their hands clenched the fabric of his vest, "Like I own you?" For once, they actually agreed with him.

"Y-yes," they let out a pitiful, rueful whine more akin to someone who was used to this sort of thing. But that was inane. They belonged to him. "It feels—It feels really good, I..." Their hips were rolling now, eagerly trying to accept his love rather than pushing it away like they always had been. They were accepting change. They were adapting. "Jus—just like that, please, Viktor—"

And at that moment, time seemed to halt.

They said his name, not out of pure spite or anger, not from him doing something they did not like, but in pleasure. The pleasure that he was inflicting on them. "You're doing such a good job, So good for me," it came out as more of a wheeze than praise, though there was a hint of worship hidden within it. "Are you going to come soon? I want you to come undone because of me. I love you," his lips returned their place at their neck, his crooked teeth nibbling onto their soft skin, further forcing out a reaction from them. Just from their responses and noises alone, Viktor felt as if he was going to come any second now instead, and he hadn't even touched himself. All he could feel was his dick beginning to strain against his dress pants.

It was getting so hot and stuffy, surely he should take off his vest and dress shirt soon. The things that they did to him were things that he didn't even expect. The love he harboured, the desire he held—they were his weak spot. This precious creature. Viktor felt his breathing pick up as he pulled his teeth away from their neck, their delicate skin caught between his incisors.

Once more, slowly, his fingers gently danced around their sex, forcing himself to concentrate and try to block out the absolutely lovely noises that they were emitting. The noises, be as they may, were provided to him involuntarily, he attempting to reject the wail of pleasure that came from them. The squelchy sound of their fluid pooling around his fingers met his ears, giving a sick taste of satisfaction. His left hand clenched their skin a little too tightly for even his standards, the wiry fingers of his right hand working against him, deliberately circulating apart and snapping concurrently, a shudder running down his spine at the howl they made along with the response their body offered. Devoiding much of a thought, Viktor pulled his left hand away from their hipbone, dragging the appendage straight to the front of his dress pants, fumbling with both the zipper and hem in an attempt to pull it away from his groin.

"Oh," he heaved as he pulled away, ignoring the whimper that came from his lover in front of him. They wanted this. They needed this. Needed him. "Would you mind if I tried..." The words died in his mouth as soon as they came out, his left hand hovering above his concealed groin. Surely, they would say yes? They seemed a bit dazed, though perhaps it was his fault for not allowing them the relief that they were so close to acquiring. "I want to... feel you. I may not last very long," he fished his dick out of his boxers, feeling his face heat up to the point where he was sure it was red. "Do you want to?"

They made eye contact with him this time. The humanity, the want, the greed and the fear shone in their eyes brightly, but nothing could cover the telltale signs of love and lust. Viktor already knew the answer, they didn't even have to answer him, he already knew what it was going to be by their reaction alone. This was the key to their heart.

Now, at first, Viktor would not lie when he said that it made him feel a bit shy, or nervous—the thought of them seeing such an intimate part of his body, one of which he knows can be heavily judged based on size, was nervewracking to him. But the lack of disgust in their eyes—or maybe it was hidden between a thick cloud of lust—made him believe otherwise. They liked what they saw, and hopefully, nothing would change the way that they saw him. Their approval is what he strives for. However, that does not exactly matter with how far things have gotten. How many times has he repeated that phrase in his head?

The silence was deafening, but it was enough for Viktor to shuffle forward and shift his weight onto his somewhat good leg, swallowing the rising lump in his throat as he used his free hand to pull down their trousers. After this, he would be sure to give things a thorough wash. "Can you come closer?" He asked as he pulled his hand away. Please come closer.

He hadn't expected them to listen to him, nor to actually push themselves off the wall just to get closer to him, but, at the same time, he was not complaining. "Good job," he praised, his hands returning to place on their hips. Their skin felt so warm, but Viktor could still feel the reluctance radiating off of their perfect form. Now, this was just a question of whether or not he should go through with It. If he should finish claiming them.

The rattling chains served as a constant reminder for them to not fall out of line, and Viktor was sure that they did not want to do such a thing, especially not so close to salvation at this point. Steadily, Viktor felt their thighs wrap around his hips, and though the pressure and their weight being shifted onto him were agonising, he tried to force his way through it. The way that he could feel the tip of his dick press against them—that was like pure ecstasy. He never thought the day would come when they would grind into his lap so sensually, and act as if they had never tormented him for years to come.

"God," there was a slight plea laced within his velvet tone, "I need to be inside of you. Please," as much as Viktor loved them, he could never trust them to be the one providing. Not with how their behaviour had exhibited... less than desirable traits. "Will you allow me? We could finally become one in a sense. I just want to feel your insides around me, I want to feel your body heat against me." Whether or not they found pleasure in Viktor's begging, they offered him a response anyway:

"Shut up," was what they said. "Go ahead."

And with that, Viktor found himself slowly pushing their body down into the mattress, further ruining the bedspread and sheets that weren't even properly fixed in the first place. They still seemed reluctant, as their tone even harboured a certain edge to it, but hell, Viktor could not fault them. He feels nervous, too, of course, he does. Pulling down their trousers fully to their calves, he felt a knot grow within his throat. The thought of someone else doing this to them caused bile and jealousy to rise within his empty stomach, curling and screaming in the back of his mind, yet he pushed it aside in favour of much kinder thoughts.

A part of him wished to be able to twist and manipulate this circumstance, but he knew he didn't want to do such a thing - Viktor wanted nothing more than for them to just become wholly his and only his until death would take hold of them both. And even then, that would not split them apart nor dwindle his love for them. "I'm going to..." There was a brief pause, embarrassment etched across his face, "Er, make love to you," he spoke aloud, though it was more as if he was convincing himself that he was going to, rather than informing them.

There was little to no resistance when Viktor pressed himself inside, but it was such a foreign feeling that he could not help but whimper at the sensation. They were warm on the inside, and not the mention that their body would occasionally clench around his dick. His golden eyes gaped at their face, eyeing the expressions that they would make, all the way until the hilt of his dick finally pressed against their pelvic area. This was embarrassing.

Shamelessly, Viktor pulled back his hips, only to snap them forward with a moan. He tried his best to keep quiet, however, with the way that they started breathing heavily with their knees pressed up against the sides of his thighs, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. They were perfect, they felt perfect - on the inside, the outside, no matter. He hunched his body over their own, using the strength in his arms—what was left of it, anyway—to keep himself up. Viktor had no clue how long he would last, nor how his body would allow him to continue. But with how it felt, he hoped it would be long enough.

"You—you're... You're big," they suddenly confessed, a slight whimper escaping with the moan that left them. Fuck, they sounded so adorable like that. "Don't... Stop, please—"

A shiver ran down Viktor's spine at the blatant praise that fell from their lips shamelessly, it seemed so heinous, almost as if they were trying to get him going. "Ah..." Keep talking. "You, ah—you think so?" He panted as his hips snapped forward once, then twice. Was he drooling? Shit, he was drooling. "You feel so good on the in—the inside. So warm, so inviting. I would never... want to stop," a particularly loud moan escaped him, which seemed to be a hybrid of both a moan and wheeze. His lover didn't seem to notice nor care, however.

Why would they ever want to leave when they have such luxury in their life? Here they were, underneath Viktor with their eyes clenched tightly, hands balled up in fists as strings of moans escaped their bitten lips. They looked gorgeous like that. It even made Viktor feel powerful to know that he was able to make them feel such a way. Nearly impossible, he thought, if they weren't tied up and reluctant to accept him, they might have tried something devious and that would have ruined every single thing that Viktor had planned. Still, they're accepting his love.

His rhythm wasn't exactly straight nor following any set beat. Viktor felt as if his movements were sloppy and skewed, choppy thrusts and shuddering muscles that he was surprised had lasted this long. He could feel himself growing close, but he couldn't allow himself to unless they had, first. They mattered more than anything else.

"D... Darling," he nearly cried out, "I love you so much—" One of their hands threw itself behind Viktor's head, tangling their fingers within his messy locks of dark hair, gently tugging him forward. A shock ran down his spine at the gesture.

"I know," they breathed, "I know you do." Were they feeding into his delusion and leaving him to feel as if they felt the same, or did they genuinely love him at this moment? The way their eyes slowly peeked open was complete bliss for him, the irises that stared directly into his own with blown-out pupils—love.

He felt his sloppy movements speeding up, all while his body became sore from the extended movements, and all while this happened he felt the drool collect on the edge of his lips, dripping down his chin to their shirt, wetting the wrinkled fabrics. It didn't matter how ruined it would get, Viktor made a mental note to give them an even better shirt. Nevertheless, a knot coiled itself within his gut, curling around his navel and shooting a cramp up his spine in an almost pleasurable manner.

His bottom lip caught itself in between his incisors, muffling a forthcoming moan. "Are you—" a choked moan. "Are you clos—close? Please—" There was borderline whimpering in tone and he could not help but feel embarrassed for it, but the trembling person below made him feel a little better about his childish worries. They nodded without speaking, staring at him through thick eyelashes. They were gorgeous.

Viktor smiled, and it met his eyes. "So am I."

It was blissful, for him, at least—everything seemed perfect and in order as Viktor's right hand clasped around the side of their waist, squeezing the soft, malleable flesh: pliant. His breathing picked up, as did theirs, but he was determined to stretch this out for as long as he allowed himself to. As he closed his eyes tightly, Viktor felt his thumb dig into the dip between their stomach and hip bone, causing a red indentation on the soft skin. Through his pleasure, he could hear the loud sound of their moans below, as well as the sound of skin slapping against the skin; the squelch of genetic fluids mixed. Viktor's eyebrows furrowed together at the sound, his head falling against their chest, forehead pressed directly above their heart. Their clavicle, he presumed. They felt so good, he didn't want to stop, but he was so close.

"Viktor—" they cried out, suddenly, "I'm g—going—" there was a loud, rueful cry, followed by a high-pitched whimper. He could feel them clench around his dick, and then they had come. This sent him over the edge. Viktor lifted his head weakly and pressed his lips against their own, his saliva smearing all over their mouth and cheeks. He moaned into their mouth, pressing his hips forward one more time as his hand clenched their skin, surely hard enough to leave a bruise. He emptied inside of them, the muscles in his thighs twitching and convulsing, his dick soon going limp thereafter.

For a moment, Viktor caught his breath, chest heaving with laboured breaths. Tears pricked his vision when he opened his eyes, and the slobber dripped from his lips. His legs felt as if they were stuck in mud, but how did they feel? As he lifted himself, Viktor stared down at the person below him, completely covered in the afterglow. I came inside, that was an accident, he thought, but they looked so cute like that.

Much like before, Viktor felt a knot form in the middle of his throat, Adam's apple bobbing with each calculated swallow and breath.

Viktor felt breathless, but he felt as if that was to be expected. He stared down below at the barely visible person he had claimed just a few moments prior; his vision betraying him. He rests his forehead against theirs, a promise of devotion. "What can I do to make you love me?"

"Let me go," they whispered in a soft croon.

"You know I cannot afford to do that. You're mine."

#arcane #arcane x reader #viktor arcane x reader #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere viktor #yandere arcane #arcane viktor #arcane viktor x reader #yandere viktor x reader

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pathologicalreid · 10 months ago

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hiii love! I’d love to request a fic where Spencer takes care of the reader in anyway. Fluff, angst, h/c idk my depressed ass would just love something like that 🥰

dazed days | S.R.

your job at the FBI is hard, but life with spencer is easy

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader category: fluffy with a smidge hurt/comfort content warnings: mild disassociation, crying, nondescript case related crimes, nonsexual nudity word count: 1.17k a/n: hi sweetie baby angel! thank you so much for your request, i hope you like it! additionally, thank you all for 1k followers that's absolutely insane and i love each and every one of you <333

You hated court days.

It didn’t happen that often, usually, local police or FBI field offices were more than capable of taking care of cases after the BAU left, but sometimes team members were called in as expert witnesses.

This time, you were called in as an expert witness. It was a rough case, all of the victims were around your age, and the one surviving victim was in the courtroom too.

You never spoke about it, but sometimes it was easier for you to have faith that the survivors would get the help they needed. It was easier for you to move to the next case so that you wouldn’t have to ruminate over someone else’s pain. Today you needed to put yourself back into that case, back to two months ago when you were sat in front of families and telling them their children were gone.

And you’d need to go back tomorrow, the court didn’t come to a decision today.

Stumbling over your own feet, you dropped your bag on the ground haphazardly before you moved to the couch. You stepped out of your shoes as you did so, promising yourself you’d pick them up once the world stopped crumbling.

There were still hours before Spencer would come home from Quantico. Slowly, you pulled your blazer off and laid it over the arm of the couch before resting your head on the pillows, curling your body in on itself.

It felt like minutes later that the door opened, “Love, did you leave the door unlocked?” Spencer called out, obviously not having seen you on the couch. How long had you been lying there? When you didn’t answer, Spencer wandered around the living room before spotting you on the couch. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. “Are you alright?”

There’s that sort of unnamable feeling where you’re perfectly fine, but the moment someone asks you if you’re fine the floodgates open. That was how you were feeling, and you looked past Spencer as your eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, honey,” he breathed, moving so that he was sitting on the couch next to you, maneuvering your body so that you were leaning on him, depending on him to keep you steady. “Have you been sleeping since you got home?”

You hummed, adjusting so that you were leaning straight back on the couch. “Not sleeping,” you mumbled.

Spencer dropped a soft kiss on your shoulder, “Just thinking?” His voice was still reverent, “Do you want to think out loud?”

Closing your eyes, you shook your head despondently. Honestly, you weren’t even sure you had been thinking at all – you were simply waiting for time to pass.

“What if you go take a shower and put on some comfortable clothes? We can get takeout and watch a movie if you want,” he offered.

You had nearly forgotten that you were still wearing slacks and a blouse, but as soon as Spencer mentioned it, you felt drawn to the idea of washing this entire day off. Silently, you stood up and walked to the bathroom.

Spencer opened the door as soon as you turned off the water, meeting you with a towel that he had just pulled out of the dryer. “Do you feel any better?” He asked, wrapping the towel around you before he tenderly kissed your forehead.

Nodding, you used part of the towel to wipe your face. He left to let you dry yourself off before you walked into your bedroom to get dressed, just to find that he had laid out comfy clothes for you, pajama shorts paired with an old CalTech sweatshirt – your favorite one to steal.

Briefly, you sat on the edge of the bed before the smell of food kindly coaxed you out into the kitchen. “You got pad Thai?”

He nodded while pulling two forks out of the silverware drawer, “It’s your favorite comfort food.” He handed you a fork before setting his down on the kitchen counter, he held a takeout container out toward you, “Pad Thai for your thoughts?”

You smiled softly as you took the container into your hands, “It’s just hard to go back sometimes, you know?”

“Back to old cases?” He asked for clarification, popping the lid off of his container and gesturing for you to lead the way to the couch.

As you walked, you noticed that everything that you had scattered when you got home had been picked up. Your shoes were on the rack by the door, and your bag had been hung on the hooks on the wall. You bashfully mumbled a thank you before sitting down on the couch. “Sometimes I have a hard time believing that we’re helping people. When I see the parents and the husbands, it’s difficult for me to recognize that finding the people who did that to their loved ones is in any way aiding them.”

Spencer nodded understandingly, “Some people find comfort in knowing that what happened to their loved one can never happen to anyone else.”

“But what about the other people? What about the people who are hurting? How do we make sure they’re taken care of?” You rebutted. That was a lot of therapy that a lot of people needed.

Setting his container on the coffee table, he took yours out of your hand and did the same before he dragged you into his lap. He placed his hands on your waist, “Do you want someone else to take your place tomorrow?”

You knew he was offering to go in your stead, but you couldn’t ask that of him. This was part of the job, and if you were lucky you wouldn’t have to go back to court until next calendar year. “No, I’ll be okay,” you reassured him, placing a hand on either one of his shoulders.

Gently, he swept a strand of hair off of your forehead, “You have such a big heart.”

Sighing, you leaned forward so your bodies were flush, resting your chin on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around him.

Momentarily, the two of you remained silent. Spencer gently slid a hand under your sweatshirt, softly skimming his fingers up and down your back.

“I know we do good stuff, but sometimes it doesn’t feel good,” you whispered, wishing there was a way you could speak more eloquently. “If you keep doing that, I’ll fall asleep,” you informed him, your eyes were already beginning to droop as a result of his ministrations.

He just hummed in response, “What do you want to do?”

You pulled away from him reluctantly, “Dinner and a movie.” Climbing off of his lap, you reached for your food again. Watching as he reached for the remote, “Wait, you got to pick last time!”

“Yes, but you’re going to pick The Parent Trap,” he responded. “So, I’ll put it on.”

You slumped back onto the couch, “Just make sure it’s the-“

He had already hit play, “1998 version, I know.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #written by margot #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #margot's requests #criminal minds hurt/comfort #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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spark-w-chlo · 5 months ago

Text

Anything for You

Poor!Kenny x Rich!Fem!Reader

CW's: car sex, riding, p in v, nicknames, strong language, smoking, hair pulling

Enjoy! <3

-----------------------------------<3----------------------------------------

"Are you sure you want me to wear this?" I ask Kenny, showing him the long, backless black dress that he chose from the closet. Kenny lounged on our bed, staring. He agreed to live with me if we would split the rent. So our place wasn't the largest, or the nicest. But he did let me buy the decor and furniture. Besides, it didn't matter to me where we lived as long as I lived with him.

"Yes, that one. With heels too." I raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything more. Kenny and I didn't go out often as he always, always paid. He would never let me pay for our meals out. And Kenny didn't have a lot to pay with. So I tried to refrain from going out. I even learned how to cook and honestly, I loved being the one to feed Kenny. I fell in love with Kenny for who he was, his monetary situation had nothing to do with our relationship.

"Kenny, where are we going?" He just kept smiling at me, shaking his head. I realized I wasn't going to get anywhere with him.

"Okay, I'll wear the dress."

"Kenny...? What are we doing here?" Kenny and I stood in front of one of the more expensive restaurants in Colorado. I've eaten here before. It's good but way too expensive.

"I'm taking you out to dinner." Kenny was wearing a black suit, no tie. I won't lie, he looked hot. I wanted to rip his clothes off and fuck him right there when he showed me. But now I feel kind of queasy. He guided me inside the restaurant and we sat at a table promptly.

"Kenny, this place is too expensive, I don't want to eat here." I whispered across the table. "At least let me pay." He took my hand and kissed the knuckles.

"I wanted to treat you to dinner." His smile, dimples, creased eyes made me want to cry. He was so excited but he couldn't afford this. I knew he couldn't afford it.

"Kenny. I love you so much. We've been together for so long. I don't need places like this. I'd be just as happy at City Wok." He rolled his eyes, squeezing my hand.

"Kenny, please. I don't think we can afford this." The waiter popped up beside us, not allowing me to say anymore.

"Sir, the champagne you requested." He showed Kenny the bottle and he nodded, prompting the waiter to pour the golden drink into our glasses.

Now I was just confused. I gave Kenny a questioning glance as the waiter walked away.

"Y/N. I know I can't afford this place. But you deserve it. More than anything, you deserve a lifestyle I can't provide for you." I recoiled. Is he breaking up with me. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. He takes my hand again and squeezes it.

"But I also know you so well. I knew you prefer a cheap cheeseburger than an expensive meal. I know you'd rather cook at home. I know I'll spend my entire life making you as happy as you deserve to be. I can't make more money than you do, but I can make sure you'll never know the hardships of life. But you're right. I can't afford this meal." He lifts his glass of champagne and downs the entire thing before standing up, straightening his dress jacket, and standing before me.

"Y/N..." Kenny gets on one knee before me. "I can't afford this meal because I spent it all on a ring." He pulls out a black velvet box and opens it. I gasp. A gorgeous diamond with a simple gold band shines in the felt.

"I want to spend every moment of my life with you. Eating greasy cheeseburgers and your experimental cooking. I want to fight with you and have kids with you and grow old with you-"

"Yes, yes yes." I cry, grabbing Kenny's face and kissing his lips. I couldn't hear anyone else, see anyone other than Kenny.

"We're only here for drinks, I'm getting you a cheeseburger on the way home." He smiles at me and takes my hand to slid the perfect ring down my finger.

"Grab the bottle, lets get out of here."

------------------------------------<3---------------------------------------

A breathy moan leaves my lips as Kenny kisses his way down my neck. His lips find my breast and he takes it into his hand, kissing, licking, and sucking on my sensitive skin.

We'd finished the large bottle of champagne in the car. It sat facing South Park, where the Halloween Witch Week commenced every year. It was secluded. We drank the champagne, smoked a joint Kenny had stashed away, and were now about to fuck in the drivers seat of his car.

"Kenny." I whined, wiggling on top of him. His cock was deep inside me and I could feel him every time he twitched. But he wouldn't let me move. He just kept touching me.

"Be patient princess. I want to taste my wife's skin." We weren't even married yet and he was calling me his wife. I grew impatient, my brain a little delirious with his tongue on my skin, cock inside me, drinks and weed. There was so much going on, I couldn't focus.

I began to grind on top of him and- fuck, he bit me! "Kenny!" I gasped. I looked down to my breast to find a perfect set of bite marks.

"You couldn't wait, I had to punish you." Slowly, Kenny lifted me and then let me sink back onto him. I moaned in his ear, grasping his hair. My dress was coiled around my waist, panties abandoned long ago. He repeated this, slowly. It was agonizing in the best way. I could feel every part of him. I don't think I was even doing any work. Kenny was using my body however he pleased.

Kenny wrapped a fist in my hair and pulled my head back. He stared at me as we fucked, slowly, lovingly. He brought my mouth down onto his as he pushed my hips down hard. I gasped into his mouth, allowing him to explore it with his tongue. His soft thrusts were hard, aggressive now. I couldn't focus on anything but Kenny. His body against mine, his tongue in my mouth, his cock invading me deep and hard. I could feel my orgasm rushing me.

Kenny pulled away. "I can feel you princess, are you gonna come on my cock?" I couldn't even nod. My eyes rolled back into my head as my orgasm rushed through me. I could feel Kenny follow close behind me. He groaned into my chest as he filled me.

"Kenny." I finally whispered.

"Yes, my love?" He kissed my neck tenderly, rubbing his hand up and down my back.

"I want a cheeseburger." "You want a cheeseburger."

I laughed lightly, resting my forehead against his.

"Yes, my husband. I need a cheeseburger."

#southpark fanfiction #south park smut #south park x reader #south park x y/n #kenny mccormick #kenny x reader #kenny x y/n #fem reader

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feinv · 7 months ago

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can i kindly req for a arthur morgan x hyperfem reader.... pov he is just so so so in live with her...

arthur morgan x hyperfem!reader.

a/n. introducing my other hyperfixation on this blog. hope this won’t flop. if you don’t wanna see this you can block these tags! hope you like this dolly <3

arthur morgan is a romantic.

spending the majority of his life being without a significant other, he kept repressing all those emotions. and repressing just made them stronger.

but lucky for him he has you!

he doesn’t understand why a sweet thing like you would even look at his direction. but you did. and he wasn’t a fool to let you go after that. he absolutely gives you princess treatment. will do like. literally anything just to see you smile.

arthur loves taking you to beautiful places he encountered while riding around. seeing your eyes sparkle and that pretty smile you flush him is enough for him to die a happy man right there next to you.

he is absolutely feral at how adorable you look. like all the time. we all know 1800s underwears were like just a plain white fabric. but you still managed to stitch them up in a certain way and add a few small bows to make them look cuter! he is honestly so amazed that nothing ever stops you from doing your girly things, and he is always there to tell you that you did a good job and it looks perfect <3

he loves showing you off, especially when he knows he has the pleasure of calling you his. he will do any dirty job and hard labor just to get money and buy you anything you want.

he knows it's hard feeling beautiful when you have limited resources in a camp. so he would buy you whatever clothes you want, whatever jewelry and accessories you look at for more than five seconds when he takes you to a town. (he might even steal some really expensive ones and tell you he traded for those)

of course he would think you look gorgeous even if your entire face was covered in dirt and mud. but it matters to him that you feel happy and confident in yourself. and it's his mission to fulfill that goal for as long as he alive.

every time he would bring back a little something that reminded him of you — a book, a small painting, perfumes that smell just like you, and everything else in between.

he would help you with chores however he can just to ease some of your work and have more alone time together. the boys would tease him for being "a housewife," but he wouldn't give a shit. he might as well do every single of your chores if it meant he would have you all to himself in the confines of his tent.

showers you in compliments. all day 24/7. he knows the words will eventually fail him because he physically cannot tell u how infatuated he is with you and how flawless you are to him. but he will try either way.

“you are so beautiful, darlin'. my pretty girl,” while his fingers gently tuck hair away from your face, his thumb soothing your soft skin. and you would blush and avert his gaze because like :< but he would simply pepper feather light kisses all over your face before connecting your lips in such a tender kiss you would forget that’s a 6 feet tall ripped cowboy.

his side bag and some of his clothes in general would have small hearts or bows engraved in them with pink thread. every time he looks at them he gets reminded there is someone waiting for him to come back. and his heart just swells at that thought.

would also sneak you away from the camp to a pretty field where the two of you could just stargaze together or lay on the grass for hours. you would ramble about your day while he sketches you, your sweet voice literally making him float in the clouds.

arthur morgan loves being around you, being with you. you don't even have to be doing anything together, he just loves having you near him, close and safe :3

©️feinv, 2024.

#what a man #chat where do i find one irl #—🎀#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #arthur morgan drabble #arthur morgan fluff #rdr #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan x female reader #feinv—am #—arthursdoll

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cozzzynook · 7 months ago

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Hiii cozzzyyyy

What do we think about Rodimus adopting a lil human in secret on the LL, but Drift discovers it and tells Ratchet? And all three o them just look blankly at the human (that doesn't understand what's going on ofc ofc)?

Thank uuu <3

Hi Bee,

Hear me out.

The human he brings aboard the lost light that doesn’t know whats going on is actually cyberronian and a baby.

The found them crying next to their offline creators and couldn’t just leave them there. He was going to tell police officials but when he picked the fresh bitty up and they stopped crying. Reaching out and gripping his chassis and digit whimpering for him, he just couldn’t bare to part with them.

Sooo he snuck them on board and let the ship take off.

Of course he told officials about the bitty’s creators and told Prowl in secret what he’d done and that he wasn’t giving the bitty up. Prowl can honestly say he’s never actually heard Rodimus sound threatening and he admired it before putting official documents in stating Rodimus was the sparklings caregiver now before sending them to him and hanging up.

Rodimus was entirely pleased with himself and more than happy to get started on bathing the dirty bitty that wasn’t old enough to have plating on their exposed protoform. He learned the bitty was a little mecha and so as he had them wrapped in a soft warmer against his chassis he had to figure out a name and get a bitty berth installed.

He wasn’t entirely out of his league here since he used to caretake for orphanages on Nyon. He knew what sparklings needed and their development. So he knew this was a fresh spark that wouldn’t be able to be away from him for a long time since the connection with his creators was severed so early in life.

Of course..in all his plannings he forgot to tell his crew and co captain…who just so happened to walk into his hab with Minimus and stare at the sparkling with open jaws and he immediately had to explain the situation.

“So you weren’t carrying this whole time and popped out a sparkling on a dangerous mission?”

“No I’m not an idiot!”

He looked extremely offended and felt it too which upset the sparkling almost pulling them from recharge if it weren’t for him calming them down.

“I got the paperwork and everything. I got attached…don’t look at me like that Mins! I’m not popping out a sparkling!”

The smug look on the mini turbo fox face plates and his co captains was pissing him off.

Just because he was a carrier mech did not mean he would go following his coding and pop out bitlets.

He was destined for greater things than being a broodmare! He said as much too.

“Rodimus its not meant like that. Carriers just-”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he was genuinely upset but trying not to take it out on them since they didn’t do anything wrong. He was just sensitive about his coding and frame.

“I’d like some time off from being in public to get a better bond with them and get all the supplies I need. I’ll do all my paperwork here. I’ll keep my comm open as well.”

He ushered them out after letting Minimus hold his sparkling who began to fuss but didn’t cry.

“Lets get you some panel wraps and bottles annndd I’m gonna need to find you a crib…and a name.”

The bitty just kept sucking on their hand and he was off to find such things in the storage rooms while the dead shift was at its quietest time.

He managed to luck out on getting multiple blankets and an abundance of reusable panel wrappers. He’d brought those things back to his hab and set them on a gentle wash in his cleaning closet before heading back out to find a crib and clothes and some bottles.

He was yet again lucky in his search. Finding bottles, clothes and even a few pacifiers along with a stuffed fox that looked suspiciously like Minimus handy work made him smile. He’d have to thank his friend for leaving this here for him.

He was bummed he couldn’t find a crib but he had everything else he needed and he decided to enjoy the win. He’d gotten everything clean and settled when the bitty began to fuss and he knew immediately what time it was.

“I’m gonna fix a bottle. I know, I know. You’re hungry its okay,” he soothed to the upset sparkling.

He felt his chassis growing tight and he groaned looking down at the shifted plating to the still unfinished diluted energon meant for sparklings. He wasn’t about to make his sparkling wait an hour for fuel that wouldn’t be half as good as what his frame decided to make against his wishes.

So with a final groan and a hope for his luck to continue and his sparkling not getting attached to this form of feeding, he unclasped his chassis and let his breast mesh free. They were already filling with milk and he grimaced at how natural it all felt.

He didn’t like being a carrier but he wasn’t going to let that get in the way of feeding his sparkling.

With that line running through his mind, he held his sparkling up to his nozzle and allowed them to turn their helm crying until eventually they smelled him and the energon his frame was building before opening teary optics and latching on.

The first few suckles felt weird but eventually he felt the milk begin to release and his sparkling was greedily suckling blinking the tears from their optics.

Rodimus didn’t want to admit how close and connected he felt to the fresh bitty letting them drink from him.

He’d always had a problem with being a carrier and few mechs knew that he was and all that did knew by accident. It was something he liked pretending he wasn’t but that was extremely hard to do when a bitty was nursing from his mesh.

He sighed and looked to the bottles on the drying rack and figured he might as well try organizing his hab and bitty proofing it.

By the time he was done, the bitty was finished nursing and he was burping them. They’d fallen to recharge immediately and he smiled looking down at them. They were tiny, even for a new sparkling they were tiny. He was going to comm First aid to come to his hab in the morning so he could get them fully examined.

Carrier instincts would’ve alerted him if something was wrong with a sparkling even if they weren’t his own. But he wanted to be completely sure.

He laid the sparkling on his lap and began squeezing the rest of his milk into a bottle.

He’d have to find a crib and milk pump the next time he went to the storage rooms.

He stood and held the sparkling to his breast mesh that was still too tender to close his chassis over. He really hoped his bitty would take a bottle and not his nozzles and that his milk could be turned off when he called First aid.

He laid in his berth, nest fresh courtesy of Ratchet and Drift who were on took an extra, with a servo on the bitty thinking of possible names when he felt his optics almost slip closed until panic gripped him.

“Frag I didn’t tell them I adopted a bitty…”

Recharge was not exactly restful due to his nerves and waking a few hours later to the bitty whimpering wanting milk was something that stole his attention from Drift and Ratchets reactions.

He’d tried getting the bitty to take the sparkling fuel he’d put on earlier but the bitty hollered energon murder and he sighed lowering his helmet trying to suppress tears.

He’d lowered them to his nozzle and they immediately gripped on. He looked to the warm energon bottle and picked it up slipping it into the bitties mouth only for them to spit it out and spit up the milk.

It took over ten minutes to calm them down before deciding never to do that again and just accept he would have to feed from his nozzles.

The bitty gave a little glare at him with blue optics that looked so much like Drift and Ratchets when he did something to endanger himself he smiled a little making the bitty giggle.

It was spark warming and asserted that he made the right decision in keeping them.

“Your gonna be trouble aren’t ya lil mecha,” he cooed, cleaning himself and the bitty while allowing them to drink. He’d put the sparkling energon by the door and thought of how he was going to tell Drift and Ratchet.

He went through the motions of burping the bitty and soothing them to sleep before starting on paperwork. By the time he finished he leaned back in his chair and looked down at his breast mesh and the bitty sleeping on them.

He maneuvered the bitty and tried to put his breasts back into his chassis only to wince and hiss in pain.

‘That won’t work. Damnit. I’ll have to get a new chassis supporter.’

He looked down at the bitty and couldn’t find it in himself to blame them or really be upset. He was still pushing off the mental breakdown at succumbing to his carrier protocols. But looking down at the bitty he found it a tad easier.

Things didn’t feel so bad…until he heard the hab door open.

He stiffened in his seat and slowly turned his helm to see Drift and Ratchet staring at him and their hab.

He tried to smile but it came off wobbly and afraid and the sparkling made a whimpering noise that pulled his attention.

He shushed them gently with a small bounce and they nuzzled into him.

He looked back up to see the spot by the door empty with Drift and Ratchet right in front of Rodimus staring shocked at the fresh bitty in his arms recharging on swollen exposed breast mesh.

“Hehe. Surprise? Funny story here.”

“Roddy were you sparked and didn’t know it?! Did you emerge our sparkling on a mission?!”

Drift was seething with a myraid of emotions but not one was anger. He was thankfully whispering as he did so and was visibly checking him over before getting closer only to stop so Ratchet could begin scanning the sparkling and Rodimus.

“No I wasn’t sparked! And no I didn’t emerge a bitty! They don’t even look like us!”

He whispered venomously before pausing. They all stopped for a moment before Rodimus apologized.

“I’m not getting sparked. Ever,” he spoke, looking them in the optic before motioning for Ratchet to keep working.

The mech gave him a look he didn’t want to see so he turned his helm and let Ratchet work.

“The sparkling is fine,” he stood, looking at the fresh sparkling still sleeping on Rodimus who had an arm covering his nozzles.

He refused to move it because he didn’t want them seeing.

He knew they knew. They had since before they got together. He’d blown up almost saying some really nasty things when they revealed to him they knew by his scent, nest, clingy behavior he thought he shut down and the way he’d act around sparklings. Of course having this revealed made him all but destroy his carrying instincts and reject anything remotely like it.

It hurt. Physically and mentally to do so but he did it anyway and rejected any advice on not doing it. Of course he took it a step further and took preventative pills that kept him from going into heat and added an extra spark baffle. He really hated being a carrier and how it made him look to other mechs and femmes. He was not weak. He was not some birthing machine and he was not going to degrade himself by popping out sparklings and prove them all right. He was more than a carrier mech. He was a living being. He wouldn’t succumb to code.

Of course doing all this and having no heat put him in danger and made him sick but he truly would rather get sick than suffer another heat and possibly get sparked.

It took passing out after throwing up energon for his own medical right to be snatched away. He was taken off heat suppressants and his spark baffles were removed leaving him with just one.

He’d rode out his heat painfully by himself and left the medical center before they could try talking him into something he didn’t want. He ignored his teammates outside of battle planning for a long time. He ignored Ratchet and Drift, at the time Deadlock, for even longer since they just didn’t get it.

As much as he butted helms with Optimus the mech understood but still didn’t want him endangering his life. The only medic he really trusted was First Aid who admitted he didn’t understand but tried to give him the best option instead of getting snippy with him or pushing carrier scrap at him.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when he feels Ratchet put a servo on his breast mesh and feel around it. He knows he isn’t being a perv but he still hates it. He’d never exposed his breast mesh to them before and hadn’t ever planned to.

“Well?”

He was getting more impatient and uncomfortable by the moment and Ratchet gave him a look that he returned with the beginnings of a snarl that he restrained.

“Milk won’t stop till the kid doesn’t need it anymore. You’ll need a new chassis plating. I’ll get to working on one-”

“I’ll have First aid make me one. Its fine. You both should rest. I’ll explain everything when you wake up.”

He was standing before either could get a word in. Was it fair? Not at all. But he really didn’t want this conversation nor the carrier slag they’d throw his way.

“Kid, get back here. This is a conversation we’re having now.”

He glared but didn’t go any further.

“I didn’t purposely attach the sparkling. It just..happened. I saw them crying near their creators when I went down to the lab. They were already gone and gray.”

“I wasn’t even thinking when I took them and decided to keep them. I’m sorry I didn’t ask first or tell you. You don’t have to care for them, I can do that on my own.”

He’d done it with sparklings at the centers and they’d recovered until they found a proper home during the war. So he knew he could.

“I’m not asking either of you to do anything and if they are a crying sparkling I’m going back to my hab.”

“Rodimus!”

Drift had yelled his name a little too loud to stop him from spiraling and putting distance between them. The mech was holding his arms on both sides and he wasn’t aware he’d been venting hard.

“Stop,” Drift vented hard, looking at him with his finials back and fangs poking out.

“You’re not going to your old hab. You’re staying here with us, where you belong,” Drift told him. “We’re not angry and we don’t blame you for getting attached. We just..”

“We’re surprised kid. Shocked really,” Ratchet came close and he felt crowded. The sparkling was picking up on his emotions and while that made him happy because it meant a bond was in place, he didn’t want them exposed to painful emotions or his cluster of feelings so he vented and bounced them. Keeping his gaze on the sparkling, trying not to notice how their gazes stuck to him and the longing in their optics, he started speaking again.

“I have the papers that say he’s mine already..Megs and Minimus know already because they came by unannounced.”

“Only yours?”

Ratchet was the one to ask and he felt bad that he didn’t think they’d want their names on the papers as well.

“I didn’t think you’d want your names on it. I didn’t think about anything other than your reactions honestly and I wasn’t fair in those thoughts either. I’m sorry.”

He owed it to them to at least get their frustrations out so he looked them in the optics expecting glares only to feel sadness and that was so much worst.

“Roddy…we aren’t..give us the papers.”

He went over to his desk and situated the sparkling while covering his nozzles and pulled the papers out handing them over.

They both signed it.

And he was both relieved and guilt ridden.

Both wanted a sparkling and were even partners with a mech who could carry by tank and yet…

“Why isn’t his name on here?”

“I couldn’t think of one…so I guess..as his sires, you can name him. If you want.”

They looked at him as if he’d revealed the secrets of Cybertron and he might as well have. Naming was a huge deal in their culture and for a carrier to completely allow the sires full handle of it meant a lot.

He looked down at the sparkling and stood beside them, “here, hold him.”

It was Ratchet who gently took the sparkling which made the bitty wake up looking confused. Their optics nor senses were actually developed but they could tell the difference between stranger, carrier and sire. They could smell that he was near but couldn’t feel him. And yet the sparkling didn’t cry which was a good sign. They did sneeze and Ratchet melted at the sight with Drift not far behind and he hadn’t even held the bitty yet.

It made Rodimus smile but the guilt ate away at him.

Truth be told, he really did want sparklings, but he hated the stereotypes, prejudice and weakness being a carrier brought on. He never wanted to be weak or seen as weak and he hated how he would be viewed if he were to get sparked. So he denied and rejected it and in the process, he denied himself and his partners something they all wanted. Its one of the reasons he wasn’t conjunxed with them while the two were. It was usually a guarantee a carrier would get sparked once they conjunxed. His fears greatly outweighed the speak of what if he still felt.

He was also certain they would one day tire of him and leave when they realized they could do better.

‘I sprung a bitty on them that isn’t even ours by emergence and they still want me,’ he let a few tears fall silently. ‘I’ve been unfair to them…’

He watched as Ratchet gave the bitty to Drift and how the mech melted completely with tears in his optics. Their bitty still didn’t cry which was also a very good sign he felt a connection to the two. He quietly bent down and grabbed a blanket to cover his exposed nozzles. He should let Ratchet make him a new chassis cover.

The feelings were overwhelming and he felt less of a warrior and solider and more the code he tried to reject for millions of years.

He..hated the vulnerability still and tried to quietly shift into the other room for a moment to gather himself but the two held him on both sides of his arms.

“What? Is he hungry?”

He didn’t want to make optic contact and tried to play off his sniffle until Ratchet pulled him in. He tried to move back but neither mechs allowed it.

“Kid..for once..don’t fight it..it doesn’t make you any less and it’s not a bad thing. Just for now..let it out..don’t reject it. Don’t reject us.”

The dam burst and he was sobbing with his intake covered by his servos to keep from being too loud. He kept his face plates hidden and felt Drift hug his back with their sparkling secure in his hold. Their arms tightened around him. He felt all the things he never allowed himself.

Safe. Vulnerable. Secure. Open. Tender. Exposed and held together as he mended himself whole with their comfort.

It felt as good as it hurt and by the end of his tears he felt raw and their nest had never felt so good to slip inside. He felt Drift and Ratchet pressed on both sides of him after giving him their sparkling when he whined for him.

Their sparkling nuzzled into him and made cooing noises, trying to fight their sleep but Drift wouldn’t let them. His humming was infectious and it was hard for him to stay awake but the plating that remained on his upper frame left him so uncomfortable. He knew what that meant but he wasn’t sure he could handle accepting it.

“It’s okay, Roddy,” Drift whispered in his audial, slowly taking the locks off his tank and back strut plating with Rstchets help. He felt pure relief at the metal being removed allowing his belly and wide hips room to breathe.

Accepting the sparkling as his own, his frame producing milk and allowing his emotions freedom in the presence of his partners triggered his body to go into a pseudo heat that was brought on from denying his code all these years.

“Let us take care of you,” Ratchet kissed along his neck cables, servos rubbing the chub along his belly, sending butterflies bursting within him at the love and comfort freely given.

Drift rubbed his palms along his hips and bit into his neck, hands making their way up to his sensitive breasts where he tensed and Ratchet cooed at him, reassuring him as he too cupped Rodimus breast. Both slipping the blanket free and wrapping the sparkling inside it.

The bitty inhaled the pheromones in the air and began to fall into recharge. What smelled of heat to adult mechs smelled of sleep pheromones to sparklings.

They placed the bitty on the edge of the nest yet still within close servo and optic contact.

Laid out bare for them to see, Rodimus tried to cover his nozzles but the two stopped him. Both Drift and Ratchet pressed a kiss to his nozzles before licking the dark milk duct and kissing the tender mesh again.

They enjoyed the way they bounced heavily and how his belly followed suit.

“You make an amazing person and carrier, sweet spark,” it was Ratchet who always spoke sweet words while taking them apart in berth. The medic popped his panels open and let his spike free, Drift followed pressing kisses to Rodimus’s belly, servo rubbing the chub as he worshipped it with kisses making Rodimus array snap open and lock.

Drift placed a kiss on his soaking valve before moving to let Ratchet do the same.

“You’ll look even more beautiful growing, swelling full with our sparkling. You already look so beautiful caring for our first one,” Drift soothed into his audial. They both were lining up to meet at the entrance of his valve, both their spike heads bobbing together before slowly slipping inside.

They all groaned together in unison until Drift and Ratchet nipped at his nozzles pulling them. Their servos resting interlocked over his belly as they rubbed the soft flesh stimulating his nerves. Bobbing their throats to a wave beat as they drank from him while fully sheathing their spikes deep inside him.

They left him a silent screaming, back arched mess that could do nothing more than cry and whisper his begging for their soft loving touches that left him exposed emotionally and a soaking, valve squelching mess that tried to cycle and lock down on their raw spikes that were struggling to keep from bursting inside him.

He felt their grip on his belly tighten and they rubbed his flesh as if he were already accepting their loads for a new spark when he felt their chassis open and his spark thrum to life.

Three different hues of blue made the dark room glow. Spike and valve bio lights pulsed and grew vibrant while Drift and Ratchet lifted themselves to hover and look down at Rodimus who looked up at them.

“We aren’t letting you go, Roddy. Not now, not if we never got to conjunx and spark you,” he leaned down, kissing the sobbing mech who gazed up at him before Ratchet leaned down capturing plump lips that quivered at his bite. “But now that we have, no more running and hiding from us. We love you Rodimus and we know you love us too.”

Rodimus sobbed even harder.

Feeling their sparks glow and leave their chambers to meet between them and merge making them all conjunx and completing the connection.

They overloaded together, squeezing each other, Rodimus’s valve clamping down on their spikes that buried within his soft tank lining spilling into him. Their sparks dancing getting lost in each other until none could be distinguished and they all held a large piece of each other once their sparks returned to them.

Rodimus was enternally grateful to have Drift and Ratchets servos in his belly as he felt the flesh stretch and grow heavy at all the transfluid that sloshed and flowed inside him. He felt his valve and cheeks grow hot all over again and he moaned, rocking into them.

“Please,” he cried, feeling them rub his distended belly full of transfluid, valve throbbing hot as his tank wanted more. “Please,” he begged again, seeing the two smirk.

“We’ll give you everything you want and need, sweet spark,” his medic promised.

“We just hope you don’t mind carrying two or three by the time we’re done with you.”

“Although, it’d be nice to see you so round and full of three while feeding our first,” Ratchet chuckled.

“Maybe we aim for three next time?” Drift kissed along Rodimus’s face, nuzzling into his olfactory sensor when the mech needed the reassurance and care.

“We can discuss that later. For now,” Ratchet pulled Rodimus close, washing his em field over the mech who needed their affection they were more than happy to give, ��lets focus on mending him. He needs our love first, we can think on that later.”

With a nod from Drift and a quick check on their sleeping sparkling, they made love to their conjunx.

My mind…went elsewhere..anyway if anyone wants to tip me the link to my kofi is on my pinned post.

#dratchrod #sparklings #mechpreg #hurt/comfort #angst/comfort #valveplug #drift #ratchet #rodimus #drift transformers #drift x rodimus x ratchet #ratchet transformers #Rodimus prime #transformers x reader

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b3rrymilks · 1 year ago

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𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 !

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : a cute lil sleepover with your boyfriend miles :)

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : <3 this was also requested by anon, so enjoy luv ! (sorry for all the angst on my page rn..💔💔) this is very short due to my mind not being able to cook anything longer up. my minds been a bit all over the place😭😭 sorryyy💔 ART CRED : thokzu on tt

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : miles morales (1610) x reader

ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ

🕷️ while being conjoined at the hands, you both danced around in the pouring rain. your laughter filled the small space you danced in. miles was a nice change of pace in your life, ever since you’d gotten with him, things have changed for the better.

“you’re so beautiful” miles wasn’t usually the type to get all sappy without nearly having a nervous breakdown. “what did you do?” you replied, squinting and pointing an accusing finger at him. “nothing nothing, i just wanted you to know” miles laughed, watching you happily. this moment was cut short by his mother yelling. “MILES GONZALO MORALES GET INTO THIS HOUSE OR SO HELP ME!” her screams were louder than the rain. somehow.

when you two both walked into the house, rio had placed multiple towels on the floor so the rain wouldn’t get spread all over the floor. “you two—“ her lecture paused as she stared at the both of you. standing there soaked holding eachothers hands. “—get changed before you get sick.” she said, throwing even more towels at you two. “nowwww!” she added, watching you both still standing there, giggling.

what you two didn’t know, was that she watched the entire time as you two danced out in the rain. she found it heartwarming as her and jeff did the dame thing when they were kids.

miles wrapped a towel around you and rubbed it all around, creating friction to warm you up. “well, there’s no taking you home in this rain, my mom would kill me if either of us got sick.” miles spoke, looking around his room for a change of clothes for you. “uhh, here” he handed you one of his large white shirts, and fluffy pajama pants that his mom had bought a dupe of.

miles loved to draw, it was one of his favorite hobbies. he would often sketch you during class, as you would be nearly falling asleep at the boring lesson. no matter where he was or what he was doing he would always find himself drawing you. he had multiple sketchbooks already full, and every 2 pages there was a sketch of you.

there was something about the rain that was calming, making you tired. the rain definitely wasn’t going to let up soon, so you joined miles in his room as he completed his physics homework. he rubbed his temples in confusion. he had missed a few days of class, meaning he was behind in work. “you know it’s a trick question right miles?” you told him, giggling at his frustration. “no it’s not? it’s—“ he paused mid sentence, rereading the question. “no way…” he whispered, looking back at you. your giggling finally got to him, making him grab a pillow from his bed and toss it at you.

“hey HEY! it’s not my fault you missed class” holding the pillow up in defense. “you think it’s so funny hm??” he asked, picking up another larger pillow and threw it at you. loud laughter eventually filled miles’ room as you both began throwing pillows at each other.

his parents sat in the living room, listening to the laughter. “hope he’s done his physics homework.” his father spoke through an exhale, finishing his water. in honestly, they were all glad miles was happy and had someone to hang around with. (tehee.. get it? hang aroun? alr my bad don’t block me pls💔)

“okay okay fine! i’m sorry” you apologized to miles who was still hitting you with the large soft pillow. “i forgive you.. for now” miles spoke before falling onto his bed, pulling you close. his body heat quickly spread between the both of you.

soon the laughter died down, and the rain continued to patter against the window in his room. with slow blinks and miles caressing your face, you slowly fell asleep.

“i love you.” miles whispered pressing a gentle kiss onto your forehead, watching your chest rise and fall. “you are a lover boy huh? crazyyyy” his father peeked into his cracked open door. “dad! get—“ lowering his voice, “—get out.” embarrassment quickly setting in. as his father left, he closed the door. “he takes after his father.” he mumbled with a laugh.

#💫 » 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐄’𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 ˚ ˛ * 。#miles morales #across the spiderverse #miles g morales #sony spiderverse #spider man across the spider verse #fluff #miles x reader #miles gonzalo morales #miles morales 1610 #miles morales x reader

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eddie-stinks-munson · 6 months ago

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Summer Depression- Eddie Munson

Prompt: Sharing Each Others Clothes Eddie Munson x Reader Word Count: 638 Tags: Fluff, Sad Sweetness (?) Reader is not gender specific, no y/n I don't think it's my best but my wife likes it

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The sun was setting and there was a crisp breeze to the air, fall was right on the horizon. You’d spent the entire summer causing chaos all over Hawkins with your friends, from dusk til dawn. Now that summer was coming to a close, you couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness begin to color your days.

You looked out over the lake, the sounds of your friends laughing and yelling in the woods behind you fading away as you got lost in your thoughts. Camping wasn’t your favorite activity, but you couldn’t think of a better way to close out the season than drinking and playing games with your friends, far away from the stresses of the real world.

A chill ran down your spine as a breeze blew by, pushing out what felt like the last of the summer heat, and welcoming in the cool night air. You quickly rubbed your hands up and down the length of your arms, trying in vain, to keep the heat from escaping.

You wanted to pretend that summer would never end, school would never come, and you could carry on- blissfully free of the responsibility and social conventions that came along with life going back to business as usual. As the cold settled in your bones, so did a sense of dread.

“You cold, Sweetheart?” A familiar voice called out from behind you, startling you out of your depressing ruminations.

“A little,” you replied, hugging yourself tighter and trying to suppress a shiver.

Eddie’s arms wrapped around you, engulfing your entire body in his warmth. You naturally melted into his embrace and sighed deeply. Taking in the scent that was so uniquely him: weed, campfire, and oreo cookies.

“More than a little,” Eddie mumbled, squeezing you tighter “Jesus Christ, you’re freezing.”

Before you could say anything, he was backing away and clumsily pulling his hoodie over his head. Only getting stuck for a minute in the process. You giggled as you watched, and Eddie playfully scowled, and gently threw the garment at you in a way that was so over the top you weren’t quite sure how he even managed to do it.

“I’m okay Eds, really,” you protested, involuntarily hugging the toasty material to your chest.

“I insist,” Eddie countered, “what kind of man lets his best friend freeze to death right in front of him.”

“Fine,” you conceded. Honestly there was little use in arguing with Eddie when he put his mind to something. Especially when it came to your safety or comfort.

You slipped the sweatshirt over your head, and let the hood conceal your eyes for a moment. Eddie’s laughter got closer, and you could feel his breath on your face.

“It looks good on you,” Eddie mused, gently taking the hood down, and looking at you with a soft smile.

You stared back up at him with the same tender fondness, “thank you.”

His deep brown eyes seemed to sparkle in the moonlight, and your bodies slowly gravitated toward each other, like the pull of the tides. Eddie’s hands gripped the hood as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world as his lips ghosted over yours, and his breath tickled your nose.

You closed the distance between you, savoring the heat of his plush lips against yours. The kiss was soft, sweet, and filled with anticipation. Your heart fluttered in your chest and for a moment you’d forgotten how to breathe. When you pulled away, your foreheads stayed pressed together, the both of you frozen in time.

Still not daring to move- because if you moved you might wake up and this will all have been a dream- Eddie whispered, “I’ve been waiting all summer to do that.”

Maybe the end of summer wasn’t that bad after all.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #idk what else to tag this #Eddie Munson Fluff

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to-thelakes · 10 months ago

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exhausted

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader (mentions of matt murdock)

summary; after you lose your cool at matt and frank, frank comes to see you and helps you get some much-needed rest

warnings; initial angst, a smidge of hurt/comfort, fluff, domestic frank castle, soft frank castle, exhausted reader, insomniac reader, discussion of nightmares

notes; this one-shot is an oldie but a goodie, i keep reading back and looking at some one-shots i've previously written and i think this one is good enough that i can share it with the world, i wrote it initially with sharing it in mind so i might as well do it! also this one-shot thingie was inspired by a one-shot i saw here on tumblr, the beginning of this is pretty similar to the one i read so if anyone knows what fic i'm referencing, i'd love to be able to credit who inspired this! otherwise, this is just some comforting frank content because i am an avid insomniac and sometimes you just need the big scary punisher to help you fall asleep

masterlist

You weren’t entirely sure how it had happened but at some point between knowing Matt and Frank, you had become their nurse. Of course, you didn’t particularly mind. Matt had always been kind to you and you enjoyed his company. He was a little flirty but you were used to it and you could lament in your misery with him.

With Frank, he had saved you from some criminals months ago and you had been freaking out. He did his best to calm you down before walking you home and after a particularly bad night, Matt brought Frank to you to patch up. Honestly, you didn’t mind their company and you didn’t mind patching them up.

Ever since you’d moved on from being a Nurse, you’d refound your passion for caring for people but only if it was Frank or Matt. But you also hated taking care of them. Despite having a relatively normal life and sleep schedule compared to when you were a nurse, you were still woken up in the middle of the night by them.

It had been a quiet night for you. You’d finished work and curled up on your bed to drift off and you had. It had been a blissful sleep until you were rudely awoken by your phone ringing. You wanted to tell whoever it was to leave you the fuck alone but when you saw it was Matt, you answered. He asked if you could come over and help patch Frank and him up.

You - reluctantly - agreed since he was only a block over. You didn’t want them bloody up your apartment and so with a great huff, you got out of bed. You changed into comfortable clothes and then grabbed your kit for nights like these and headed to Matt’s place.

Getting in wasn’t hard even in your exhausted and sleepy daze. You managed to find your way up to the fire escape where the two men were sitting. Well, Frank was sat, leaning against the vent, cradling a wound while Matt stood. He was pacing in his Daredevil costume and he looked frustrated. It was practically radiating off of him.

They both looked pretty bruised and yet, they were still arguing. It took you a minute to catch on to the conversation but the second you did you sighed.

“You gotta let me do my shit, altar boy. I don’t give a shit what you can sense, I know what I’m doing and we would have been fine if you hadn’t stopped me from doing my goddamn job,” Frank raged as he stared up at Matt. His hand was pressed against the wound on his side and yet his jaw still flexed with obvious annoyance.

“If you had just listened to me then we would have been fine! You never listen, I can hear more than you can. I can hear their guns, Frank. If you had just shut your damn mouth for one goddamn second, it would have been fine!” Matt snapped in response. His annoyance was radiating off of him and you just looked between them. You weren’t entirely convinced that even of them had realised you were there but you knew Matt could smell you.

“I listen fucking plenty. I knew what I was getting my sorry ass into but you just have to be the fucking saviour, don’t you Red? Always a hero,” Frank scoffed. His tone was scathing and he winced when the pain only seemed to get worse. The irritation that Matt waking you up had began only seemed to grow as you listened to them continue to bicker back and forth about who was right and who was responsible for Frank’s wound. And why Red just couldn’t have listened to Frank for one goddamn minute.

It was probably five minutes of bickering and you had finally had enough. You dropped your kit bag onto the floor and suddenly, both of their attentions snapped to you.

“You are both so insufferable!” You snapped suddenly, glaring between the two men, “I get my ass out of bed after working all fucking day for you two to be bickering like three-year-olds over something that doesn’t fucking matter anymore. Take my shit and patch yourself up. I’m done with this.” Your anger only seemed to grow and you watched as both Matt and Frank’s face fell. You stepped back from the pair of them, “Ungrateful bastards,” You muttered as you headed back to the fire escape and towards Matt’s apartment.

“Hey(!), sweetheart,” Frank’s voice made you pause in your steps. If his next words weren’t an apology, you were going to scream, “Don’t gotta be so fucking moody. Didn’t even see ya.” That was it and you turned on your heel to face them again.

“I couldn’t give a shit if you didn’t see me Frank. I know sure as hell that Matt could smell me before I even got onto the fucking roof. And I’m sure his senses will tell him that I haven’t showered in three days because I’ve been so busy with my new fucking workload that I have barely had the chance to take care of myself. This is the first evening that I haven’t had to work late for my asshole boss and I finally managed to get some sleep until you assholes had to wake me up because you can never work together! I honestly don’t care what happens to you next time. If one of you gets bloody and bruised, don’t fucking call me. Lose my number, both of you.” And with that final word, you walked off the roof and down to Matt’s apartment. You felt like crying, the irritation had seeped into frustration and the tears were blurring your vision as you pulled the apartment door open.

“Sweetheart,” Matt’s voice was so soft as he rushed over to you in the doorway. Your head snapped up so that he could look at you or you assumed he was, you could tell where he was looking with that stupid mask on, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called,” Matt’s voice had softened significantly as he was looking at you.

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” You bit back. Matt’s lips turned down into a frown. He suddenly had no idea what to say. He had never seen you like this. Even when you were stressed and overworked as a nurse, you always had this sunny disposition to everything that you did. This was new, he hated it because he knew it was his fault.

“Please, how can I fix this?” Matt asked and you rolled your eyes. The apartment door still open in front of you.

“I told you, lose my number,” You snapped. Matt frowned but before he could even say anything, you were gone. He let out a frustrated huff and he listened as you walked to the elevator and disappeared down to street-level. He didn’t know what to do now.

The weekend eventually rolled around and you were relaxing for the first time in a very long time. You were curled up on the couch, watching trash TV with a pizza from your favourite take-out on the coffee table. It was the ideal day.

Well, that was until you heard a knock at your apartment door. A soft huff escaped your lips and you unfurled yourself from your cocoon of blankets to answer it. When you pulled the door open, the last person you expected stood on the other side. Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in Frank Castle in all his broad glory with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Your favourite flowers no doubt. You didn’t even know what to say.

“Ya said don’t call,” Frank began and then he held out the flowers, “So I came over instead.” There was a slight softness to his words and it made you let out a soft chuckle. You shook your head but took the bouquet from his hands.

“Thank you,” You mumbled before gesturing for him to come in. The trashy TV show you had on was playing as you grabbed a vase from under the sink and ripped the wrapping from around the flowers. You then grabbed some scissors from the drawer and Frank watched as you snipped the ends at a diagonal and placed them into the water before adding the packet of food.

“M’sorry about the other night,” Frank said after a few beats of silence. You shrugged and rearranged the flowers and when you were happy enough with them, you took them over to the windowsill to replace the faux flowers you had put there weeks ago, “I really appreciate everything’ ya do for me,” He said as he watched you move. You shrugged and wrapped your arms around yourself, moving to sit down on your sofa. You didn’t want to have this conversation.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” You said firmly. Frank sighed and he glanced at the door, not sure whether you wanted him to leave or stay. You glanced back at him expectantly and so he walked over, sitting down on the couch beside you. You grabbed a slice of pizza and offered it to him. He found himself smiling as he took it from your hands.

“M’really sorry, I didn’t-” But before Frank could get any further you put your hand up to silence him. Then your gaze turned on him and he looked back at you.

“Frank, I seriously don’t wanna think about it. Just eat your pizza and shut up,” You told him as you reached out for another slice for yourself. He grunted in response and you seemed pleased with that. You shuffled back, pulling blankets over your shoulder with your free hand before you took a bite out of the pizza. Frank was sitting on one of the blankets on the sofa but you didn’t bother to say anything as you ate.

Your gaze was fixed on the TV. There was about to be an elimination from the show and although you didn’t care for many of the contestants, there was one guy that you wanted to get kicked out. He had the most infuriating personality and had treated every girl like an object since he had been introduced. He rubbed you the wrong way and so, you watched with bated breath to see if he would finally be kicked out.

And he was. Frank noticed the victorious grin on your face as he leaned over for another slice of pizza. You let him grab it as you finished your slice off. Then you shuffled on the sofa and adjusted the blankets around your shoulder again.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” You broke the silence between the pair of you. The sound of the TV was the only thing that was filling the air until that.

He glanced over at you before he shook his head, letting out a grunt of disagreement. You nodded and then pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulder, “I’ve had a really stressful week at work, I’ve not been sleeping well and I thought that when I quit my job at Metro General my late nights would end. That I would be able to sleep properly again. But you and Matt changed that and I don’t mind. I usually don’t mind at all but this week, I just- I couldn’t do it. I had dragged myself out of sleep which I had barely been able to get into and then you both just bickered. And I really don’t mind helping either of you. I like helping you both but I just can’t do it right now.”

You were rambling, you knew you were rambling but you felt like Frank deserved an explanation. He was injured and you had left him to be stitched up by Matt. It felt cruel but you were also exhausted. Not even by them, just by life.

“You don’t gotta explain,” Frank said after a beat. You looked up at him, he had a sorrowful look on his face. It was almost guilty-looking and you didn’t want him to feel guilty. A soft huff escaped your lips as you ran your fingers across your face.

“No, I do because I didn’t have to blow up at you guys. I didn’t have to be so rude. I could have just left but I made a scene and it wa-” Frank cut you off before you got a chance to finish your sentence.

“Ya had every right to shout. We dragged you outta bed for somethin’ that we coulda handled on our own. You were angry and shit, I woulda said worse. You can’t bottle that shit up, you know?” He responded as he looked down at you. You let out a soft sigh, running your fingers through your hair. You didn’t know what to even say.

“I’m just so tired, Frank,” You mumbled. It had been weighing on you all week and it was the first time you had let yourself admit it. You were so exhausted. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. The tension in the room seemed to increase tenfold at the submission and Frank was silently observing you as you reached for a pizza slice, hoping to distract your exhaustion-addled mind. It was too much.

“Lie down for a bit, yeah?” He said and you looked up at him, confusion etched across your features. Almost bemused by his words.

“I’ve tried that Frank. Plus, it’s too early,” You mumbled before you took a bite of your pizza. He shook his head and closed the pizza box on the coffee table. He then reached for the TV remote and he switched it off.

“Nah, enough of this shit. We’re gonna lie down and I’ll make sure you get some goddamn sleep. alright?” There was no room to argue with him and as he stood up, looming above you, you weren’t entirely sure you had the bravery to. So, you simply nodded your head. You placed the half-eaten pizza slice into the box and then got to your feet, leaving your cocoon of blankets on the sofa so you could go to bed, “You gonna brush your teeth?” He asked. You nodded your head. Even though you had just eaten, you had to make sure that they were brushed before you went to bed and so, Frank lingered in the doorway as you brushed your teeth, “Red’s gonna give you shit when he finds out about this, sweetheart,” Frank commented off-handedly. You spat some toothpaste into the sink before you glanced over at him.

“He can smell when I last showered, I think he already knows,” You muttered before you finished brushing your teeth. You grabbed the towel and washed the toothpaste off your mouth, washing your mouth out with water before you stepped back. You were already in pyjamas so you were ready for bed.

“Yeah, that’s what he tells ya,” Frank mumbled as you headed towards your bedroom. Frank slipped his boots off at the foot of your bed and discarded his jacket on top of your dresser before he glanced over at you.

“Are you sleeping in the bed too?” You asked tentatively. Frank turned to look at you, cocking an eyebrow.

“That a problem?” He asked curiously. You shook your head and he nodded, “You been gettin’ nightmares?” His question caught you completely off-guard and you just stared at him, dumb-founded from the side of your bed. He huffed out in mild amusement, “You were an ER nurse, gives its own scars,” He shrugged. You sighed and rubbed your hands across your face.

“It’s not nightmares. It’s just not dreams either. I can just hear flatlining and feel blood and I’m running down corridors, plagued by the clean smell of the hospital. It’s sterile and I wake up and I swear I can smell it,” You mumbled, trying your best to explain the experiences. You hated calling them nightmares because nothing scary happened. It was just your feelings and memories of the place you used to love.

“You wake up scared?” He asked as he walked over to the opposite side of the bed. You nodded your head, “Then it’s a nightmare. When did your dirtbag ex break up with you?” You didn’t seem to understand how that correlated but it had been only a month ago. It coincided with the exact time you began to have issues sleeping.

“A month ago. I’ve not been a nurse for months. Why is that relevant?” You asked as you decided to pull the covers back but you didn’t get in.

“You’re sleeping alone, sweetheart. Does things to you especially when you’re not used to,” He stated blankly. It seemed to dawn on you why he knew this and you just stared at him for a moment, not sure whether to apologise or offer sympathy but he didn’t give you a chance, “Now let’s get you some sleep, hm?” You smiled thankfully and slipped under the covers. Frank slipped under them beside you and you pulled them up to your shoulder.

Then you grabbed onto the pillow, adjusting it under your head. Frank was facing you, his hands resting in front of him as yours rested under your head. He watched you adjust and get comfortable before you let out a sigh.

“I always hated sleeping alone,” You mumbled after a moment of silence, “When I was a kid, my little brother would always get nightmares and so we’d sleep in the same bed. Then, by the time he had grown out of that habit, I was old enough that I was going to high school and my parents began to - reluctantly - let my partner stay over. Then, I went to college and I basically spent every night with someone in my bed whether that was a friend or someone I was dating. I never really got used to sleeping alone, I guess.” Although Frank didn’t have the exact same feeling as you as he had slept alone plenty of times while he was on tours, he understood what you meant. After he lost Maria, he found it impossible to sleep alone. The nightmares tormented him. It got better with time but never really truly better. It’s the main reason why he pushed his body to the point of collapse. Then he didn’t have to worry about trying to fall asleep alone. It just happened because his body didn’t give him a choice. You had started to do the same.

“Just try and get some sleep tonight, yeah?” He suggested. You nodded and you let your eyes fall closed. He shifted on the bed before he let his eyes close as well. You sighed and felt your eyes forcing themselves back open. They didn’t want to stay closed and after a few more minutes of desperately trying to keep them closed, you rolled onto your back.

And you stared at the ceiling like you had for so many nights over the past few months. You were never able to sleep, when you woke up from sleep, you just stared. You had memorised every crack in the shitty ceiling and now there was nothing new to look at. You didn’t know what was wrong with you but you hated it.

“Hey,” Frank said softly. It was so quiet that you almost missed it and then you turned your head to the side to look at him, “You gotta tell me what ya need if I’m gonna help,” You knew what you needed but you weren’t about to ask Frank for it. This was already crossing the bounds of your friendship and you felt almost disrespectful even doing this but he seemed insistent. His eyes were burning into the side of your head.

“My ex used to…” You trailed off, not sure whether to say it. Frank grunted in a somewhat encouraging way as he shuffled towards you, “They used to cuddle with me when I couldn’t sleep and they’d… God I can’t ask this of you.” You cut yourself off before you could finish your sentence. Your hands pressed over your face, embarrassment flooding your face in the form of heat crawling up your neck and across your cheeks. This was too much.

“Hey, hey, listen to me,” He brought your hands away from your face and you turned to look at him, meeting his soft gaze, “I don’t give a shit if it’s embarrassing, tell me.” His words were firm and you sighed, taking a deep breath before you turned over onto your side so that you could look at him properly again.

“They’d like hold me against their chest, like my forehead against their chest and then they’d run their fingers across my arm. It just always relaxed me,” You finally admitted. Frank smiled softly, not even caring what you were asking of him. Instead, he shuffled forward on the bed and brought you towards him.

“Come ‘ere,” He mumbled. You shuffled into him and with a tentative breath, you rested your forehead against his chest. One of his hands rested under his head while the other moved to rest against the back of your arm. He drew you closer and you gave in, letting your body mold against his. His fingers slowly began to trace along the skin on the back of your arm.

A soft breath of relief escaped your lips, the familiar touch cooled your nervous system in seconds. Your eyes fell closed, tension releasing at the movements as you moved your arms around Frank. Your hand draped over his hip as you felt exhaustion return to your body after you had fought it away all day.

“Thank you,” You muttered under your breath. Your voice was slower than before, sleep ready to take you as you relaxed into his hold.

“Sleep well, sweetheart,” He mumbled against your hair as he rested against you. His touch against your skin was the last thing you remembered before the bliss of sleep took you in.

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