#I love that people are writing what they want

[unpretty]

How did you get so good at writing??? Did you take classes? I feel like you should get paid all the money for this! (I subscribe to your website!)

after i dropped out of high school i found a torrent of like 5GB of OCRd romance novels and i read like 3 romance novels a day for a while

read enough romance novels and you will realize that they live or die entirely on technical skill. if you are new to romance novels then even bad ones can dazzle you with novelty but by the time you are on your 30th historical fake engagement between a bluestocking and a rakish duke you can grade them and you know when they've failed. when two books have what should be the same main characters hitting the same plot beats, but one of those books is delightful and the other fucking sucks, you learn some things. some books are bad and still delightful. other books are good but they just don't hit. you start to see the seams in the bad ones. 'oh, this is a weird out of character moment because she wanted to have the kabedon moment and didn't know how to get there'. 'she didn't want the ust to end but couldn't think of a better reason than this deus ex cockblock.' that kind of thing.

you could probably do this with other genres but i like romance because the plot is two people fall in love. that's it. everything else is set dressing. if you can figure out how to make that work you can carry it over into whatever other genre you feel like. mysteries would give you a different skillset around plotting that i don't have.

anyway after that i wrote a lot.

[sidneywasfound]

TOO MUCH INFORMATION | Oscar Piastri x Fem!Singer!Latina!Reader

SUMMARY; 🇧🇷 💞 You and Oscar decided to go vacation to Brazil after one of your shows,It was a beautiful experience that you decided to share on social media. Oscar definitely didn't think anything weird when he saw an interview of his outgoing girlfriend being trending top on Twitter... until he remembered how bold and reckless she can be without realizing it.

WARNINGS; SMAU,Fluff,talks of sex,reader is outgoing and bold,Reader speaks spanish,Reader wrote Bed chem,Use of y/n (one time) Photos from Pinterest (not mine!!),Portuguese Translated with translator hehe,Probably Bad English writing,English is not My first language

AUTHORS NOTE; I wanted to thank you all for the support you gave me on my last fic andd that You can go and take a look right heree ♡

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Jan 18 via Instagram

yourusername

Liked by lando,oscarpiastri and 2.345.089 others...

yourusername; ¡Muchísimas Gracias por todo el apoyo Brasil! Eu amo muito todos vocês! 🇧🇷🤍

View all comments ...

Oscarpiastri; How are you so beautiful and talented?? 😍. └yourusername; Te amooo hermosoo❤️

username; Not Oscar being a simp for her in the comments 😭

username; I LOVE YOU

username; I was there!!!

username; WE LOVE YOU Come back to Brazil soon!! Liked by author ♡

username; I heard you're staying longer in Brazil? Is that true? I hope so!

yourbffusername; HERMOSAA,espero poder verte pronto amiga ❤️ └yourusername; Eso espero amiga ❤️ te amoo

username; NOBODY IS GOING TO TALK ABOUT BED CHEM OUTRO?!?! She really is bold compared to the other WAGS thats why i love her 💋. Liked by autor ♡

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yourusername via instagram story

"Brasil had really good bed chem 💋🇧🇷"

Liked Oscarpiastri,Alexandrasaintmleux and 324.789 others...

Limited comments

yourbffusername;From one day to the next I find myself with the best girl in Brazil?!?!

yourbffusername; btw you sexy mami in bed chem 😍

lando; WHY DIDN'T YOU INVITE ME?

Alexandrasaintmleux; I think Lando is jealous...you don't know it's a girls' day out! and Oscar thirdwheeling...🥲

oscarpiastri; that outro it's...

⋅°₊ • ୨୧ ‧₊° ⋅

Jan 23 via Instagram

yourusername

Liked by oscarpiastri,sabrinacarpenter and 3.056.789 others...

yourusername; 🇧🇷💞 This would be like a January dump???

View all comments...

sabrinacarpenter; Gorgeous girlll 💞. └yourusername; 💕 love youu

yourbffusername; 😍😍😍😍

oscarpiastri; You really posted my photo sunbathing with the helmet... └yourusername; pero te ves bien!! Me hiciste sentir cosas de lando Norris 😍🫦🫦 └lando; HEY I don't know what you said but I take it as an offense just in case...

username; i'm sorry...GIRL WHAT?!!?!? this girl is social anxiety worst fear

username; I love how she is so..."explícit", like I feel like the fourth photo would be a weird thing for a WAG to post, ESPECIALLY IF SHE'S OSCAR'S (the most shy guy ever) GIRLFRIEND └username; I KNOW,Although I feel that some Latinos are naturally like that lmao.BUT GOD OSCAR HOW ARE YOU GOING TO PRESUME THIS IN FRONT OF PEOPLE WITH HUNGER 😍

username; She delivered if i may...

username; LISTEN TOMORROW SHE WILL DO AN INTERVIEW ON A LATIN PODCAST WHICH IS NOW IN BRAZIL!!! can wait to see it

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Jan 24 via instagram story

"Enjoying some time before the interview with my amigos latinos!!"

Likes by oscarpiastri and 897.507 others...

comments

yourbffusername; GIRLL

username; MAMI ?!😍

username; NANAA HERMOSAA

username; Me seeing my girlfriend after saying that I only came here to see Oscar 😍😍

username; OSCAR You need to share her!!

username; He brags this in front of the poor people, how humble he is not 😓

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Jan 24 via a podcast!

It was beautiful, you felt at home,They asked you interesting questions about your career which you answered with joy. The environment became more comfortable turning into a fluent fun and... bold side.

"así que fuiste a Brasil con tu novio,no?" Lara said.(So you went to Brazil with Oscar, right?)

"oh sí...la pasamos estamos pasando súper bien!,es una lastima que en una semana se acabe todo..."You said sadly.(Oh yes...we are having a great time! It's a shame that everything will be over in a week...")

"jaja pues entonces que aproveche estos días al máximo,salgan a citas...vayan a la playa...vean la vista del balcón del hotel acurrucados..." Juan joked.("Haha, well then make the most of these days, go on dates...go to the beach...enjoy the view from the hotel balcony while you cuddle...")

You laughed covering your mouth understanding what kind of topic the conversation was leading to."ahh si,si...tranquilo que estamos disfrutando muchiiisimo,bastante créeme" You said playing with the microphone.(Ohh yes, yes... don't worry, we are enjoying it very much,quite much Believe me).

They both laughed and played along with your joke."Enserio?,ok pero dinos más! Queremos detalles!,que hacen..en el...día" Lara said camouflaging her question.(Really? Ok, but tell us more! We want details! What do you do...on the...day?).

You laughed and Juan looked at you ."tampoco creo que quiera decir mucho! Tiene que mantener su imagen." He scoffed.(I don't think she wants to say anything either!, she needs to keep her image clean.)

You laughed mischievously."oh no...el problema es que mi novio es muy tímido!" You said as an excuse.(Oh no the problem is that My boyfriend is very shy!).

"claro...pero del otro lado de la puerta también?, es como Sabrina Carpenter dijo!" Lara said looking for details.(Sure...but what about the other side of the door?...it's like Sabrina Carpenter said!)

"Me quedaré callada para no ponerlo en una situación incómoda jaja pero...tampoco voy a mentir sobre que no lo disfruto todas las noches!" You said to burst out laughing,Lara and Juan opened their eyes wide and laughed with you.("I'll keep quiet to not put him on the hot seat haha but... I'm not going to lie about not enjoying doing it every night either!")

"Por suerte la señorita era tranquila!" Juan said laughing.(Luckily,the lady was calm!)

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Jan 25 via isntagram

oscarpiastri

Liked by lando,Charles_leclerc and 2.034.589 others...

oscarpiastri; I really enjoyed Brazil! 🇧🇷 (I don't want to talk about it)

View all comments

lando: Well I guess it was good that they didn't invite me, I didn't want to interrupt their "happiness". └oscarpiastri: shut up

username: lando 😭

username: GIRL-

username: THAT'S WHY HER FRIENSD LEFT BRAZIL BEFORE THEM??!

yourusername: jiji sorry didnt wanted to expose you i'm that way 😚 Liked by author ♡

username: this girl is going to kill him one day

nicolepiastri: I hope you enjoyed it! Liked by autor♡

username: not nicole commenting 😭

username: y/n and Oscar's managers must be about to scold her lmfao

username: i Guess this prove they really have bed chem 😅

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[barrenclan]

"Gold Flowers"

Finally, time to talk about Daffodilcloud! I love this girlie real badly, and I was looking forward to writing about her future. In it, I wanted to re-examine some of the insecurities she'd shown early on in the story, and show both how they still existed but also how she's grown outside of them. She's a lot more comfortable in her own skin now, and is finding better ways to cope with disappointment and grief.

I also wanted to focus on how she's been figuring out what she wants from other people, too, and teasing it out of those expectations she drilled into her head to 'have kittens'. Really she wants gentle affection and a guarantee of safety, of somebody who is able to give her as much or more love than she gives away.

I hope you all like Duncan, I think he's a sweetheart. He's named after a cat I had when I was a little kid.

The title for this epilogue is taken from Theodore Sturgeon's story "Baby Is Three": “She made me go ahead of her into a room as big as our swimming hole. It had books all over and leather on top of the tables, with gold flowers drawn into the corners.”

Previous < > Next

[yukioos]

"Probably write a part 3????" BABY I NEED A WHOLE SERIES! This is SO good and I can't wait to see where you take it xx

BETTER IN THE DARK

SUMMARY: hwang in-ho x wife reader // after voting, the majority decides the players will stay in the game for at least one more round. after you’re served dinner, two men come up to you and flirt with you. when you don’t answer, they try to pick a fight with you. once it gets too intense, in-ho steps in and saves you. he brings you back to the group and gives you a kiss goodnight.

AUTHORS NOTE: hi! i’m probably gonna turn this into a series bc i like writing about this. hope u guys r okay with that! there are 1.8k words in this. here are the links to part 1 part 2 ALSO THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 600 FOLLOWERS I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH

WARNINGS: not proofread, violence, cussing, thanos and nam-gyu are dicks

TAGS: @annasnape7 @watasinekoru @namelesslosers @sxmmerchxldblog @lisaannwalterlover @gracesworks @vkeyy

after the majority vote was to stay in the games, dinner was served to the players. you stood in line behind your husband, who tried not to glance at you once he walked away. a circle guard held out a metal container for you.

you gently grabbed the cold container, smiling and mumbling out a “thank you.” before stepping out of line to your bed. you opened the container to see rice, a fried egg, beans, anchovies, kimchi, and some sort of sausage. you sat on the stairs for a couple of minutes as you ate, before a crowd began to swarm gi-hun and a man next to him.

when you looked closer, you realized in-ho was leading the group. the ‘o’ group was asking about the next game, and the former player replied, explaining how dalgona was to be the next game, and the shapes to choose. however, gi-hun couldn’t have been more wrong.

his friend asked, “so, of those, which was the easiest one to do?” and leaned in close, the ‘o’ group copying him, listening intently to gi-hun’s next words.

he replied, “the triangle.”

player 390 then asked, “and which was the hardest one?”

gi-hun answered with one word, not caring to say anymore, “umbrella.”

in-ho scoffed, “umbrella?” he rolled his eyes, laughing, “what— players actually picked umbrella?” he stood up, “they had no idea what the game was so i bet they were totally screwed, right?” the crowd agreed, nodding their heads and murmuring to one another. player 456 stared at your husband, eyebrows pointed upwards, ashamedly.

you paused your chewing and giggled to yourself, knowing in-ho loved to get on people’s nerves, and he did so successfully. player 100 suggested no one should tell anyone else to pick the triangle for the next game, as he wanted more prize money to be added. gi-hun immediately refused, explaining he wanted everyone to survive. the crowd walked away, but your husband stayed, probably trying to interrogate the former player.

your husband sat down next to player 390, and began to ask why gi-hun came back to the game, opposing every answer he gained. once they’d argued long enough about players voting ‘x’ and players voting ‘o,’ the former player’s friend intervened, and began to talk about how they needed to win the next game. the conversation began to get boring, so you returned to slowly eating your food, missing all the activities back at home.

after almost finishing half of your meal, a boy with black shoulder-length hair came to your bed and leaned against it. he stared at you for a few seconds before leaning his arm against the metal pole. you stared back with intensity, attempting to appear unapproachable and rude. he asked, “what’s a pretty lady like you doing in a shitty place like this?” and gave you an uncanny smile, causing your stomach to twist uncomfortably. the words would’ve been better if they were from your husband.

you continued to stare at him, not yet answering him. a sinking feeling fled into your chest, you might’ve needed to eventually fight him if he continued giving you trouble. player 124 continued, “come on, why aren’t you talkin’? i’m not gonna do any harm.”

footsteps began to approach your bed, almost caging you in. a man with purple hair and painted nails, player 230, placed his hands above a metal beam. he inquired, “hey, why aren’t you answering him? you scared? he’s a good guy, promise.” you still kept your legs crossed, and looked down at your white sheets, wishing they would go away. deep down, you knew they wouldn’t.

in your peripheral vision, you saw the two of them give each other a knowing glance, causing your stomach to churn. you quickly swallowed your food, anticipating something odd to happen. a hand suddenly grabbed your jacket and threw you to the ground. as your knees hit the hard floor, you sighed, knowing this was to happen.

as you slowly pushed yourself onto your hands, your hair dangled in front of your face, making it difficult to see anything. a fist collided with your face, causing your head to bang to the ground. people all around the room gasped at the scene, which unfortunately, included you. before you could get up, player 230 grabbed you by the neck and put his face close to yours, “why the fuck didn’t you answer him, huh? he was tryin’ to be nice, and you ignored him.” he chuckled, “now this is what you get—“

before he could continue, you balled your fist up and punched him square in the jaw. as in-ho watched the scene unravel, he knew eventually, the two would team up on you and overpower you somehow. his breathing became erratic, his eyes were as sharp as knives. he clenched his fists and ignored a question of worry from player 388.

maybe acting weaker would be better. or would acting stronger be better? you knew you could easily win these games against everyone in this room, including the creator himself, but you didn’t know how to show yourself to others. how the hell were you supposed to appear as? timid? confident? polite? intimidating? rude? god, you didn’t know, but you began to occasionally fight the men back, wanting to appear as someone who isn’t one side of anything, but the middle. swing a punch or kick every so often, but enough to let them get a couple hits.

fuck, that was not a healthy mindset. in-ho would never let you take shit from anyone.

player 001 stood up and strode over with confidence and anger. he asked, “hey kids, what makes you think you can hit anyone like that? it’s disrespectful to her, and everyone surrounding you. it’s bad manners, “not to mention, it’s two against one.” he hoped your body would be feeling well enough to play the games properly.

as the men started to walk away from your body, which was laying on the ground, the two of you felt a wave of relief. you knew in-ho would be able to take them down easily, he was specially trained to fight like hell with little effort. the purple-haired man ran his mouth, causing your husband to grab him by the neck, immediately feeling a tugging hand around his wrist. player 124 walked over, attempting to stop in-ho, “hey, get your fucking—“ he was immediately kicked in the shin a numerous amount of times before he fell to the ground, weakly holding his knee.

all the pain in your body disappeared as you stared in awe at your husband. you couldn’t believe he was yours, but you were so proud. he barely broke a sweat as he fought those men to protect you.

the group groaned, some even covered their mouths in shock. your husband let go of his neck, almost throwing him multiple feet away. the rapper mumbled and attempted to make a swing at the older man, only getting hit in the stomach as a response he hunched over in pain and gasped, “wait— wait a minute—” but was treated with no mercy. in-ho grabbed the man’s outstretched hand and twisted it, making you wince once you heard bones cracking.

he fell to the ground and groaned as he was kicked in the chest and face multiple times, trying to pathetically back away. he mumbled, “i’m sorry, sir—“ as in-ho held his hand tight against his neck. he let go, still fuming and warm. the purple-haired man coughed, and the players erupted with cheer and compliments to your husband. he awkwardly glanced around and fixed his hair, not used to all the attention. he remembered the reason why he was fighting in the first place, because of you. he quickly turned around, wide eyes darting everywhere until they landed on your body, sitting on the ground. you nervously glanced up at him, and he placed his hand in front of you, wanting you to take it.

you stood up with his help and bowed, “thank you, sir, i don’t know what i would’ve done if you didn’t step in and save me.”

he replied, “please don’t thank me, miss. it’s the least i could’ve done for you.” you shyly smiled and averted your gaze, causing him to teasingly tilt his head in the way you were looking. he wanted your eyes on his again.

he loved feeling your soft hands against his. in-ho was in deep, as he was feeling uneasy without you even after an hour of not talking to you. in-ho stated, “how about i walk you over to a group? one of the players has participated in these games, so we’ll have a high chance of winning if we stick together.” you nodded and he guided you, asking you questions about yourself as if he didn’t know you like the back of his hand. once the two of you sat down and he introduced you to the other players, he sat down close to you, but not close enough to be knee-to-knee or shoulder-to-shoulder. he asked, “do you feel okay? you took a lot of hits back there.”

you nodded, and he and his group continued to fill you in with what player 456 knows about the game. you had to admit, it was difficult playing as someone you weren’t. it was even harder to act like you didn’t know your favorite person, your husband.

hours passed, and before you knew it, it was around time to sleep. as you were about to leave to walk to your bed, a hand stopped you, gently grabbing your arm. in-ho suggested, “how about you sleep here? player 456 recommended we stay close together, so we’ll be safer.”

he pulled that lie out of his ass. gi-hun didn’t say anything about staying together at night.

you thought for a moment and grinned, “sure, why not,” and laid down on a mattress, pulling the sheets over your body. you laid on your side and mumbled, “night, young-il,” as in-ho ordered you to call him, as it was an alias. he turned his head to you and smiled, muttering a soft ‘good night,’ when you heard those words, you immediately passed out.

in-ho took a moment to himself and glanced around, making sure no one was looking before he walked to your bed. he kneeled down and gently placed his rough hand on your cheek, rubbing it as he whispered praises into your hair. he kissed your forehead, as he always did after you fell asleep.

he was so glad that you were okay.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ we're doing better ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊�� your husband has finally been honest with you, but what now?┊3.0k words; prt one (here)

contains: his pov, lots of perspective and lore, love at first sight, happy ending where the reader forgives him, note that sociopathic/psychopathic behavior has no known cure & that this is unrealistic fiction, he can’t be fixed but he can be here <3

➤ author's note: the long-awaited & heavily-requested part two!! the ending is sucky because i didn’t plan to write a part two and because i personally wouldn’t have forgiven him, but lots of you guys seemed to want to. i wanted to write something exploring their relationship, so i hope this is received well & that you guys will enjoy!

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning” were the last words you said to him before rushing out the door and disappearing to your mother’s house. that was last night, but it was now early evening with the sun finishing its descent over the horizon and you were nowhere to be seen. he briefly wondered if you were also watching it from wherever you were like he was through the window, knowing that you adored the beautiful array of colors blending into each other and always pointed it out when you were with him. he never cared for it himself and took the sight for granted until you came along. now he’s aching for your presence asking him if he thought it was pretty when you were always the prettiest sight in his eyes with the orange light reflecting on you.

his hand was itching to call you or send a text, but he decided against it. you needed your space, especially after that fateful conversation which left him with regret weighing heavy on his chest. he wasn’t sure what the regret stemmed from, if it was regret from not trying harder to keep his secret, if it was from not being more careful to hide his tracks from seong gi-hun, if it was from attempting to build a normal life, or if it was leading the type of life had in the first place. it was a mix of everything, and he hated the feeling of it.

gong ji-cheol never regretted anything in his life. he didn’t regret spending his days getting a sadistic kick out of playing judge and jury to people he viewed as worthless trash when they lost against him, whether it was slapping people he was recruiting into games they would inevitably die in or spending his free time messing around with homeless people. he didn’t regret getting tangled up with the mysterious oh il-nam and the activities occurring on that island, starting as a guard and working his way up to a salesman. he didn’t regret firing a gun on his own father in cold blood when he unknowingly begged his own flesh and blood to spare him.

he’s a man who was steadfast and stubborn when it came to his fucked-up morals and ideals, always believing from a young age that it made him better than others. there was never a reason for him to change as he got older when he found himself working for a hidden organization that introduced him to the addicting taste of death, paid well, and protected him from the law if the unlikely situation of getting caught by authorities for his crimes ever happened. he never cared to do the right thing was doing wrong was just so much more suited to him, never minding the strict set of rules he had to adhere to as long as he was allowed to freely exercise his psychopathic tendencies without trouble following him. it made him feel like a god at times who was so high above normal people if he ignored that he was still an employee with a boss.

and now he’s sitting in the living room, disheveled and staring at the floor waiting for your return like a dog awaiting its master.

he couldn’t even be mad at you for storming out like that. he’s surprised about how mellow your reaction was to learning the truth of his occupation and how dirty the cash he used to spoil you was, how you didn’t scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and how you didn’t call the police— or maybe you had already called them at some point today and his friends in higher places were working to keep him safe. more than anything, he misses you, filled with a feeling of longing he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before.

at first, he was only trying to look normal. the people around him started to wonder why a man as tall and handsome as he with money that flowed in like water from an unknown source he kept secret was still single. when people wonder, they start to become nosy. he couldn’t have that if he wanted to keep up the lifestyle he had, so he started searching for someone suited to be his wife. 

to others, he seemed incredibly picky, never reaching out for a second date even once or even bothering to send a polite text saying he didn’t feel a connection. to him, he didn’t think he was picky enough. despite carefully combing through his options and sometimes even hiring private investigators to stalk them if needed, there was always something he missed which was a dealbreaker for him in a relationship: ignorance and stupidity, improper table manners when he reserved at a fine restaurant, running more than fifteen minutes late without traffic in the way, and most importantly for him, asking too many prying personal questions which weren’t relevant on the first date. yes, he understands that first dates are all about getting to know each other, no, he doesn’t find it necessary to talk about stupid things. although he would rather not say anything at all, he’s very particular about how quickly he shares information about himself with others and gets ticked off by anyone who tries too hard to learn more about it (he won’t admit it, but he also gets a bit threatened by it).

by the time the day his first date with you rolled around, he was ready for it to be his last before he lived out his life alone as originally planned. he lost his faith that he would find someone who lived up to his lofty expectations and received news that oh il-nam was dead. the next games were canceled to mourn the loss of the founder, and part of ji-cheol wondered if he should cancel the date as well to take the time to pay his respects. he didn’t think you would be the one and believed there wouldn’t be any difference whether or not he actually showed up.

yet there was something in him that refused to pick up the phone and make up an excuse. it was indescribable like a higher power making sure that he followed the path intended for him. he told himself it was nothing but not wanting to be rude when it was only half an hour before the arranged time and because he didn’t want to pay the cancellation fee, nothing more nothing less. he never cared before if he was thought of as rude to people he didn’t intend to keep in his life for long, and he had enough money to buy the entire place if he wanted to.

so what was his problem all of a sudden?

you showed up perfectly on time, a few seconds before the clock struck, looking beautiful. it’s not a word he uses often. pretty, maybe, but not beautiful, yet it was the first word that crossed his mind when you introduced yourself. he found himself enamored by your presence and everything about it from how you carried yourself to the subtle glitter eyeshadow that made your eyes sparkle to the dainty jewelry hanging around your neck, so enamored that he forgot to accept your outstretched hand and to get up to pull out your seat for you at first.

more than easy on the eyes, dressed appropriately, good table manners, well-educated, never pressing too hard on matters he clearly didn’t want to talk about, you were quickly checking off everything on his list as his partner— although what he was really looking for was to draw away suspicions and your likable personality made you perfect for the job, he could even see you as a companion. even if you were visibly nervous, he didn’t mind, your timidness was adorable actually, akin to a little bunny being fed by his hand.

when he finally got home, he realized he was still smiling when he’s usually constantly reminding himself to do so. he also realized that he lost track of time and came back a whopping two hours later than he expected.

it was history from there, gong ji-cheol, a man who saw other humans as unequal trash, had succumbed to love at first sight, which baffled him.

it made him remember a scene from his childhood, one where he asked his mother why she remained married to his deadbeat father after another night of him not showing up in favor of gambling and drinking instead of spending it with his own family. she embraced him with tears, once again reminding him of her own tale of love at first sight, and also telling him that when you’re so deep in love like she was, you’re willing to forgive them for anything.

he thought she was stupid for that. now he knows he’s truly just like his mother just like everyone said.

you were shy in the first steps of the relationship, quickly realizing that you had become a glorified sugar baby of sorts. he didn’t know how to express his affection through words nor did he have the extra time to spend with you during that time of the year, so he spoiled you with lavish gifts and wealth beyond your wildest dreams. any debts you might have were paid off, one of the nicest condos in korea was bought for you to move in together, your parent's retirement was paid off in full to allow them to stop working, and any other money-related issues were quickly covered by him. you could even quit your job if you wanted to, but you didn’t want to become too dependent on him and wouldn’t know what to do with all the extra time in your day.

it soon became clear there was a boundary not to be crossed, which was not to dig too much into his personal life. if he gave you a curt, general answer to your question, you were not to say anything more about the matter. no one you spoke to about this thought this was too strange, even when you were preparing to get married, because what was there to worry your pretty head about? you love him and he loves you, he was treating you better than a queen, and his wealth spread into your circle of people you cared about with friends getting luxury perfumes and parents getting first-class tickets to wherever they wanted. in a way, they didn’t want to ask any more questions if it meant angering him and possibly not having these things anymore.

you never liked it, but he never cared about it. they were just trivial things and he was perfectly fine with sharing what he had, or at least, that’s what he told you. it was mainly to ensure he was well-liked among them and no one would ever try to come between you.

the only people who ever did were a few snakes parading as your friends trying to steal him away from you, trying to seduce him, and getting too close for his comfort. you were too sweet to notice and always forgave it if you did, but he noticed their lingering eyes and was disgusted. it was the one time he allowed his mask to slip, calling them out for being human garbage with a polite smile on his face as they gasped in shock. if they tried to cry to you about how awful he was to them, he simply told you the truth and encouraged you to cut them off which you always did.

the garden he carefully cultivated of a normal domestic life was flourishing. you were so captivated by the colorful flowers he planted and the butterflies pollinating them that you didn’t notice how dirty his gloved hands were when ripping out anything that didn’t belong like weeds trying to sprout through the soil. he was always sure to take them off and discard them afterward, never daring to touch you with the sins of his life outside of you.

then you fell pregnant after months of trying, and while he was overjoyed at first with renovations in mind to turn one of the extra rooms into a nursery, there was an unease in him wondering if the child would turn out like him: a remorseless psychopath who would one day kill his own father as he did his. he would later by a few books about parenting, hoping that he could prevent that type of future.

time flew by and he hadn’t killed anyone in a while although he was still complicit in hundreds of deaths a year. his violent urges slowly calmed and his hand was only raised during ddakji matches, but even then, they were more gentle than before (which meant that they still stung and made their face swell up, but it was an improvement when in the past, he would sometimes hit them so hard that they could taste blood on their tongue). 

the effects of being a husband and soon-to-be father were changing who he was at his very core, but it didn’t change everything he’s already done.

he was stupid to think he could have such a picture-perfect life with the woman he loved after everything. for someone who meticulously plans out things down to each syllable of the words he spoke, he didn’t have the foggiest idea what to do once he was found out.

the law couldn’t touch him, but he didn’t care about the law, he cared about you and your unborn child. 

he ran his hand through his messy dark locks, sighing in frustration trying to think of a solution as he dug around the kitchen until he fished out an entire bottle of wine. he could manipulate himself out of this situation as he had done countless times before, he’s a snake with a forked silver tongue who could easily get his way just by flickering it, but the thought of lying to you again broke his once unfeeling heart. it would never be the same way again with your relationship tainted with distrust. the truth would have to come out eventually.

oh god, but what would he do without you? 

before he could begin to spiral for the fourth time that day about what would happen if you left him, the familiar sound of a keypad being pressed and the front door being unlocked. he froze in place, not expecting you to come back at that very moment— but he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. he wasn’t sure of anything, simply staring at you when you caught him hunched over the counter drinking straight from a bottle of wine and looking like a child whose mom just caught him sneaking a snack at two in the morning.

“oh god, i leave for a day and you’re already a wreck, what happened to the ji-cheol who’s always put together even when it’s raining?” you approached him casually, reaching up to mess around with his hair until he looked more like his usual self. there was an air of awkwardness you tried to hide and was successful for the most part, but he could read you easier than a book. you were nervous around him now, acting with slight fear and carefulness like you were inching around a predator, and even flinched when he hugged you to feel your presence and breathe in your scent. 

you hugged him back after a moment, looking up at him with your voice shaking, “if it’s really… that… then i understand it would be dangerous for you to tell me, so i won’t ask any more questions… i don’t… i don’t want to leave you and leave our child fatherless…”

if you were any other person in the world, he would have smirked at the fact that he didn’t need to bother trying to manipulate you into staying with him. he would have relished his control over you and how you came back in the end, free to continue killing and asking people to play a game with him to satisfy his sadistic desires. 

but you weren’t any other person in the world, you were his wife.

“you really forgive me? after knowing all that?”

“i guess love really does let you look past everything no matter how bad… at least you didn’t cheat on me as my friends suggested, that would be the real unforgivable offense…”

the topic of his occupation never came up again, but he made the choice to resign on account of it no longer fitting with his current lifestyle. the current frontman, who was an old friend of his, looked upon him fondly for his loyalty, thanked him for his service, and was even kind enough to use his connections to find him a new place to work. it was boring by his standards, but it paid well and wasn’t illegal, so he persevered. he now has plenty of things to tell you about his workplace, from the annoying co-worker who keeps showing him the most random unfunny things on the internet to how the coffee shop downstairs wasn’t half bad. mundane things that made you grin when he told you about his day, which was all that mattered to him.

you soon gave birth to a healthy baby girl with his eyes and your smile. the world became a lot brighter, even with all the sleepless nights of her crying and learning how to change diapers. she was a little joy born out of his love for you. 

finally, you’re both doing better, and he no longer has to hide himself away from you.

tag list!! @tric0rd / @solatiiium / @iloveragdollcats / @sugaremedy / @pear-1206 / @orangutanjazz / @boowiththegoo / @knoepfl / @miaasmf / @queenjang21 / @larissa-slays69 / @munch3025 / @qrstarz / @capital-koreasofia / @swiftieee4lifeee / @liliylikescats / @maryyyswift / @vaenys2 / @bane-y-zane / @dynaloy / @chunkzdeluluwife / @everyonelovestay / @tomhollandtoothbrush

there will not be a part three, thank you for reading!!

[thetreestumptherapist]

I don't really care about the font. As long as it is easily readable for me while I am working. I started some stories in Google docs, but moved them to Microsoft Word and am considering going back for convenience sake and I haven't touched them since I moved them partly because of the default fonts. (I am aware I could change them, but I am too lazy to do so) Maybe I do care after all...

I 100% could write it by hand, and have considered it. The only reason I don't is because editing is more difficult on paper.

I haven't been writing long enough to develop a specific ritual. So maybe my lack of ritual is the real curse?

Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis. That and Hippopotomonstrosesqippedaliaphobia. Yes, these are spelled mostly from memory. I checked the spelling for the phobia, I did not do so for the osis.

I don't know if it's a superstition really, but your characters are alive and will 100% change the story on you and there's nothing you can do about it if you want your story to come out good and cohesive.

I have two. That I will never get it the way I like it, (I know this is an unsolvable dilemma, but it's still a fear) and that no one will like it or even see it when I publish it.

Watching my story come together. As well as coming up with a solid idea for the next part of the story.

Dialogue, because I suck at it.

I do believe in ghosts. Probably not the ghosts you're thinking of though. As a Christian I do believe spirits do things we can't see, but not quite like the stereotypical ghosts in fiction. Although they are very similar.

Depends on your definition of haunted. Haunted as in I was horrified by it? I can't think of one right now, but I am almost positive it has happened. Haunted as in hung over my head because I haven't finished it yet? Yes, my own writing has done that. As have many stories that I need to finish reading.

I am not sure what that old advice is, and I don't know that I want to. Yes, I grieve the darlings lost. I have not yet killed a darling, but I am a sucker for pain and suffering. It just has to be handled correctly. So, if I ever kill a darling, believe me, it will be felt throughout the story and your life. A darling graveyard is a wonderful idea. Thank you for the suggestion. >:)

The Lorem Ipsum is a cruel and unusual punishment. As for the wishes, gaining the ability to actually finish my work, having the dialogue come out correctly, and having the writing be less awkward. I think those would be my wishes. The ability to finish my work could possibly be replaced with the ability to come up with ideas easier, like no writer's block or something. But they are essentially the same thing.

I don't know what subject I would have difficult writing about. Again, I haven't been writing very long or a lot, so I don't have much experience with it yet. Same with easy.

My lack of physical social life does not allow for me to easily lend books to people. But I can guarantee you I would know EXACTLY who had what book, but I probably wouldn't get them back because social anxiety.

Don't do it to my books and I will tolerate your book abuse. I would love to read in the bath, but I am scared of damaging the book.

The weirdest thing I've ever used as a bookmark would probably be a post it note, or gift card maybe, if I actually used a gift card for that. I am very boring with my bookmarks...

I cannot, to save my life, think of any details to tell you that won't make it into the text. I am sorry. I world build as I write and I'm still near the beginning of the story. My dnd campain tho? That would need a whole post of it's own. 👀

"Knowing how the Sangheili felt about their swords and other people using them, she hoped that given the circumstances they would understand her desperation. She picked two of them up while thanking the Sangheili, both for joining their cause and for the sacrifice they made. Then she left the battlefield, but not before paying respects to all the fallen soldiers, human and Sangheili alike. Some simple words of gratitude spoken over the battlefield was all she had time for." This is a passage from a Halo fanfiction I am writing. The story came about because I wanted to emphasize the Sangheili's focus on Honor and Respect and how their views of humans changed during their allyship with us. The MC's name is Emira (subject to change) and respect is also a core value in her morals. She has not gotten to respectfully return the swords to the Sangheili yet, but that will happen soon. If I can figure out how she is rescued or escapes from danger. The battlefield spoken about in that passage has already been left by the conflict and is inactive when she finds it. The Sangheili she thanks are fallen soldiers, and she took the swords from beside their dead bodies. The passage did not change much during its creation.

I started writing because I love making stories up in my head, but I wanted to share them. The bumps are I always picture them as movies in my head, so turning them into words and having it come out as a well-written story is difficult. I am currently writing fanfiction and short stories, but I would like to turn one of my stories into a novel. I just haven't figured out how and I don't know if I will try to get them officially published or not.

The one true love. Life gets lonely, and they can give me emotional support while I struggle with my writing skills.

I wish I could start. 💀 I have 3 WIPs, all my first stories that I actually started writing. (I consider my dnd campaign a WIP because I am considering turning it into its own fic and it is a joy to work on) I haven't published anything and am getting very annoyed by my lack of progress on all of them.

Another reason why I haven't touched my stories for awhile is because I liked Google Docs' organization abilities better than Word's. With Docs they have tabs inside the document so you can actually have your stories separated with in the same document. Whereas with Word, at least to my knowledge, the only thing separates them is the headings. I should go back to Docs...

My couch? And an ungodly amount of clutter? I watch tv in the evenings and sometimes I decide to write while I do so. I get my computer out and have it on my lap, while I sit on the couch and watch tv, ignoring the clutter caused by my undiagnosed ADHD and complete lack of motivation to do anything related to chores...

People put prep work into their stories? Like, they get prepared to write the story? I just sit down and write whatever I can come up with if it fits my current story. Sometimes I have to tweak things so it all fits together.

I haven't come up with any irrelevant details yet. Everything must be part of the story somehow.

Given that most of my characters are based on me, yes I very much regret going into their heads and I haven't come up with a way to get back out yet. Please send help. I think I took a wrong turn back at Imagination Avenue?

I can't think of a specific character that was stressful. The most stressful situation to write though, has been the wedding reception for my (healthy) romance story. I have no idea what to do with it.

My MC for the romance story has probably been the most delightful. Either her, or Nialith Madgarb, (pronounced nye-uh-lith Mad-garb) from my DND campaign.

My brain is a cesspool for the craziest ideas. I pull inspiration from everywhere. Sometimes I wish the inspiration well WOULD run dry so I could have a moment of peace and quiet, but nay, I am doomed to an eternity of infinite ideas that I simply must run with. I am exhausted.

I have not yet written my dreams, nor dreamed my writings.

"Thank you for reading my stories. It means a lot to have people who enjoy my writing. Or are open to civil discussion about why they don't like it. I truly appreciate y'all"

Do deepfakes count? There is a series called "Master Chief teaches" and it's a bunch of videos of an ai recreation of Master Chief's voice and a script where "Master Chief" teaches you how to do stuff. In the video titled "Master Chief teaches you what to do when things go sideways" he says "adopting a solution-oriented mind helps you stay focused on what is most important during any crisis and that is taking action. Without action there is no movement, and without movement problems remain what they are" "Without movement problems remain what they are" is something I return to regularly when I start feeling overwhelmed by school, chores, etc. I could sit there and avoid the problem until it's so bad I can't anymore, or I could take action and make a move to fix the problem when I encounter it instead of sitting there overwhelmed and frozen. I recommend giving the video a watch, even if you don't play or like Halo.

I like to draw and paint (with watercolor, acrylic, and/or ink), and I have dabbled in cross-stitch, embroidery, and diamond art. I plan to draw some of the characters from my stories. I really want to paint Nialith Madgarb in my inks, but I am still working on mentally designing her character.

"Let's eat grandma"... Use the Oxford comma, people. It saves lives.

I cannot remember a single writing rule to comment on right now. If it works for your story and style, go for it. If it doesn't, yeet it into the abyss. Idk

I know an entire alphabet's worth of star wars character's and then some. This has nothing to do with my ability to write. Also, Halo 5: Guardians and Star Wars: The Force Awakens came out the same year, one in October, the other in December. Again, not related to my writing.

They wouldn't even consider me lol. And if they did, they'd think I was insane. And had severe ADHD. And they wouldn't be wrong...

My writing process is too slow and barely existing. Nothing about it is super weird except for the fact that I bounce all over the story and fill in the missing parts once I come up with a way to do so. As for the cats, they like to think they don't care about us, but they 100% do. And they would die of embarrassment if they knew we know they care.

Nothing. If I feel like giving up, I take a break until I inevitably come up with an irresistible idea on how to continue the story. Rinse and repeat.

I don't know if you mean a poem someone else wrote, or one I wrote, so I shall do both. Robert Frost's Stopping by woods on a Snowy Evening: Whose woods these are I think I know His house in the village though He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year He gives is harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake The woods are lovely, dark and deep But I have promises to keep And miles to go before I sleep And miles to go before I sleep. My poem: Where’s my Neverland?: Where’s my Neverland? I’ve got so much in my hand Meetings and school I know you do too We want an adventure But life forces expenditure Paying the bills By wasting our skills Wish I could read until 2 a.m. But, alas, an adult I am And my days are made up Of working towards a paystub I wish we were kids Lying down in our beds Looking out at the sky Where the stars are not shy People today are depressed and dismayed All the time worrying about being betrayed Worried about being laid off from work And still somehow not giving a "fork" Where is our Neverland? Where is our wish? Of fun-filled times and Mom’s favorite dish? Where’s our adventure filled with imagination and beauty? Of digging in sand to find pirate booty? The answer is simple, and yet oh so sad Those days are gone by, the best days we’ve had Those memories are all that we have Of those days made whole by a laugh But, worry not, for there’s always tomorrow So, please don’t obsess over yesterday’s sorrow Look straight ahead While lying in bed Dreaming of heaven Those days will be back soon I reckon Where sorrows will be traded for unending joy And kids in sandboxes again shout “AHOY” And we can always smell the finest of food And all work turns to play and we know that it’s good

I hope this answers all your questions and confirms that writers are in fact weird. :) And I hope the poetry was satisfactory.

Weird Questions for Writers (because writers are weird)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you've always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

31. Write a short love letter to your readers.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice...what do you Know?

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

[mangionebabymama]

Red-Handed — Luigi Mangione

Summary: When Luigi, this super sweet and also really hot-looking computer science major guy that you’ve become friends with while attending UPenn, calls you before the upcoming homecoming game because he has a favor to ask. It’s kind of important.

Word Count: 5.9k (forgive me)

Warnings: Sexual tension through the roof!

A/N: As promised, my gift to you all for reaching 200 followers—and somehow, we’re now at 300-something and counting. My first ever official piece of writing on here, based on this little thought I had. Any feedback is appreciated! I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you for giving me the space to be here.

The phone vibrated in your hand, illuminating the screen with Luigi’s name. You paused for a moment, captivated by his contact photo—a candid, goofy selfie of him mid-laugh, dark curls playfully tumbling into his eyes. With a slight breath, you swiped across to answer, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“Hey,” you said, keeping your tone light.

“Hey, uh… I need a favor.” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, but beneath it lay an unmistakable urgency that sent a flutter of unease through your stomach. 

“What kind of favor?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

“Could you come by my dorm? Like… right now? It’s kinda important.” 

You glanced at the clock on your wall. It was late morning, not far from a quarter until noon, giving you just enough time to come back and get ready before the upcoming football homecoming game against Brown, which you planned to attend with Luigi, which was going to kick off at one. “Sure,” you replied, forcing a casualness into your voice despite the way your pulse quickened. “I’ll be there in five.”

Luigi. What a name that was, and what a young man you had recently become acquainted with and knew quite well these past two months while starting your first-ever semester of college at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. He was a first-year student like you, who you happened to meet on the first day of school, stuck in the midst of finding the room number of your first class that afternoon, as he was finding himself doing the same. Oddly enough, your scheduled classes began at the same time, but they were across the hall from each other, which led the two of you to help one another look for the right place for your class location. Of course, that one chance meeting turned into a conversation; you and him introduced yourselves. Without one another, you wouldn’t have arrived on time for the first official day of your classes—the most stereotypical, unforgivably cringeworthy, yet frightening rookie mistake that any freshman could make on the first day, no less, at an Ivy League—and since then, your beginning college career hasn’t been the same with this newfound friendship with him.

He majored in Computer and Information Science, with a concentration in Artificial Intelligence, and even admitted to you that he possibly thought about adding a minor in Math. Luigi was undeniably, unquestionably brilliant, without a doubt. By sharing conversations with him, you learned that he was born and raised in a suburb of Baltimore, attended an all-boys school where he was the valedictorian of his graduating class, and decided to learn how to code simply because he loved playing independent games and wanted to create his own. Jokingly considering, he seemed like any other nerd that you would come across at an Ivy League, one who was enthusiastic about computers and would remind you of that about themselves every five seconds.  

Luigi was different, though. Out of all of the acquaintances you come to know and friends you made and connected with so far, at Penn, he was just… unforgettably special. Luigi was one of the sweetest people you had ever met and, in all likelihood, would do anything for you at any given time of the day, whatever might bring him your way, because his compassion for people was like no other. He cared about you; he cared for you. It looked as though one could take a step further and imagine him as that dream guy you find by chance once or twice in your lifetime, that one that exclusively seems too good to be true, even if he only lives in the thick of your dreams. He was personable, relatable, and genuine—despite his larger-than-life personality, you never forced yourself to belittle or magnify your authenticity in front of him. He liked you, for you, and you liked him, one and the same. 

It also doesn’t help when he’s incredibly, extremely good-looking, in the face of it all and your friendship. He was beautiful, to say the least. 

When you knocked on his door, it swung open almost instantaneously, revealing him in all his boyish glory—shirtless, his short, thick brown curls disheveled and tousled as if he had just woken up, standing in an old pair of basketball shorts. He held a big plastic bottle of bright red paint in one hand, and for a split second, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Hi,” he said, a playful grin spreading across his face, his bent arm leaning against the doorway, that charmingly wicked trademark of a smile of his always managing to make your heart flutter.

“Hi,” you managed to reply, your gaze momentarily drifting down his torso before snapping back to meet his eyes. It wasn’t that you struggled to keep your eyes off of his V-line, you know, that visible, muscular line prominently at the base of his abdomen; it was that his V-line that couldn’t keep its eyes off of you—that is, if it was possible that the chiseled intersection of two of his abdominal muscles could have any. Why did he have to look so good? His chest was lean yet broad and sculpted, skin smooth and inviting, each contour begging for touch. And those arms—strong enough to embrace you tightly, yet soft enough, lithe and limber- make you wish you could linger in his warmth forever.

“So…” he said, lifting the paint bottle and giving it a gentle shake. The slosh of the liquid inside echoed in the small space. “I need some help.”

“With… painting yourself red?” you asked, half-teasing yet thoroughly intrigued. 

He chuckled, running a hand through his messy curls, adding to the casual charm he exuded. “Yeah. It’s for the game, and I’m part of the stunt in the student section where we’re supposed to be, like, human canvases or something. Some of the guys and I decided that we’re all gonna spell out Penn on our chests, and I’m the designated one with the letter P. Everyone else bailed last minute, so…” He trailed off, shrugging as if the situation were nothing to worry about.

You raised an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and disbelief crossing your face. “And you thought of me because…?” 

“Because you’re creative.” He paused, a flicker of something deeper flashing in his gaze as he locked onto yours. “And patient. And, uh…” The room seemed to shrink around you, his eyes holding a warmth that made your heart race. “I trust you.”

The way he said those words sent a shiver down your spine, leaving your throat dry and your chest tight, as if he was confessing something deeper, unspoken. 

“Okay,” you replied, stepping into the room, the soft click of the door echoing in the still air. “But if I get paint on my clothes, you’re buying me new ones and food at the next football game.” 

A slow grin spread across his face, illuminating his features. He handed you the paint bottle, its synthetic coolness contrasting with the warmth of his palm, and a brush that felt solid in your fingers. “Deal,” he said, his enthusiasm infectious.

For a moment, you found yourself transfixed, taking in the details of him standing there. Up close, the faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin beneath the soft light of the fluorescent ceiling, and you could see the subtle movements of his well-defined muscles as he shifted, not to mention a couple more beauty marks stippled across the portrait of his chest. The tension in the air was palpable, your fingers twitching lightly around the brush handle.

“So, uh… how do you want to do this?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest, the boggling in your mind, and the rushing in your veins.

“However you want,” he replied, leaning casually against the edge of his desk, his tone playful yet inviting. “Just… cover me. Slather it all over my body. Everywhere.” 

His words hung in the air, thick with unspoken promise, setting the stage for whatever came next.

Everywhere.

Your heart raced as you dipped the brush into the vibrant paint, swirling it around until the bristles were thoroughly saturated with color. Stepping closer, you could feel the air between you thrum with electricity, thick with unspoken tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

As the brush first glided across his chest, he inhaled sharply, the sound betraying a mixture of surprise and anticipation. You glanced up to catch his expression, noting how his jaw tightened with each smearing stroke.

“Cold?” you asked, attempting to lighten the charged atmosphere, your voice soft and teasing.

“A little,” he confessed, his tone rough and edged with breathlessness. “But… keep going.”

Encouraged, you continued, dragging the brush slowly across his collarbone as the bristles danced against his skin before trailing down the center of his chest. The paint spread in thick, expressive streaks, each line forming a vivid contrast against his skin as though it were a second layer of himself. With every deliberate stroke, you could see his body respond; his breathing deepened, his chest rising and falling rhythmically in sync with your movements.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmured, his eyes growing heavy-lidded, watching you intently as if you were creating a masterpiece just for him.

“Thanks,” you said, your own voice barely above a whisper. You circled the brush around one of his nipples, watching as it hardened under the chill of the paint. His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might say something—maybe about how you made his nipple so erect and taut—but he stayed silent, his gaze locked on yours.

Your hands trembled slightly as you moved lower, painting over his abs. His stomach tensed at the first touch, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Ticklish?”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning despite himself.

You kept going, alternating between broad strokes and careful detailing. By the time you reached his hips, the tension in the room was unbearable. He hadn’t moved an inch, but you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint citrus scent of his cologne and the male pheromones mixed with the sharp tang of paint.

“Turn around,” you said softly.

He obeyed without hesitation, presenting his back to you. The muscles rippled beneath his skin as he shifted, and you couldn’t resist tracing the curve of his spine with the tip of the brush. He shuddered, his shoulders stiffening.

“Sorry,” you murmured, though you weren’t entirely sure what you were apologizing for.

“Don’t be,” he said, his voice thick. “It feels… nice. It’s kinda relaxing.”

You painted his shoulders next, working your way down to the small of his back. When your brush grazed the waistband of his shorts, he inhaled sharply, his hands gripping the edge of the desk.

“Almost done,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Your free hand hovered over his hip, wanting to steady yourself but unsure if you should touch him. Before you could decide, he turned suddenly, catching your wrist, minor, in his rather large grasp.

“Wait,” he said, his grip firm but not unkind.

You froze, staring up at him. His eyes were dark, intense, searching yours for something.

“Is this… weird for you?” he asked, his thumb brushing over your pulse point.

“Weird?” you echoed, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“Yeah. Like… inappropriate or whatever.”

You swallowed hard. “No. It’s… fine.”

He didn’t let go of your wrist, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Good. Because I don’t want to stop.”

Neither did you.

His other hand came up to cup your cheek, his palm, big and warm, against your skin. The paintbrush slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor, but neither of you noticed.

“Luigi…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but he silenced you with a kiss that surprised you with its intensity. It was soft at first, a gentle brush of his lips against yours, tentative as if he were gauging your reaction, testing the waters of uncharted territory. But as you leaned into him, a rush of warmth blossomed in your chest, his restraint shattered like glass.

Luigi pulled you closer, his hands moving with confidence, sending shivers down your spine. One hand slipped around your waist, firm yet tender, while the other found its way into your hair, fingers weaving through the strands as though anchoring you to him. His mouth opened against yours, coaxing you deeper into the kiss and inviting you to explore the depths of this newfound passion. You couldn’t help but melt against him, surrendering to the moment, every nervous thought slipping away.

His taste was intoxicating, a perfect blend of mint and rich chocolate, with an underlying hint of something uniquely him—a flavor that would linger in your memory long after this moment. You craved more, an insatiable need building within you; you felt as if you could lose yourself in this kiss, in this connection, wanting to delve even deeper into the abyss of desire that had suddenly enveloped you both. The paint on his chest smeared against your shirt as he pressed you against the wall, his body pinning yours. His lips left yours to trail down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot.

You shook your head, your fingers tightening in his curls. “Don’t.”

​​The moment his lips left your neck, a rush of boldness surged through you. His chest was still slick with paint, red streaks sliding down his abdomen as he pulled back slightly, his dark curls damp with sweat, and his breath ragged. You didn’t hesitate.

With a sudden push, you reversed your position, guiding Luigi backward until the back of his knees hit the edge of his twin bed. He laughed, surprised, his lopsided grin spreading wide as he fell onto the mattress, the springs creaking softly beneath him. God, he looked good like this—sprawled out, his skin glistening with streaks of crimson, his eyes dark with desire and amusement, his body raging with excitement.

You climbed onto the bed, straddling him without breaking eye contact. His hands immediately went to your hips, fingers digging lightly into the fabric of your jeans, but you shook your head, placing your hands over his and guiding them up to rest on the pillow above his head. “Stay,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing. His grin softened into something more heated, his lips parting slightly as he obeyed.

Your fingers glided along his arms, leaving delicate trails of vivid red paint on his otherwise smooth skin. A shiver coursed through his body at your touch, and you could see him struggle to catch his breath as you leaned closer, your lips just a whisper away from his ear. “You’re such a mess,” you murmured, the warmth of your breath sending a thrill through him. “Let me fix that.”

You reached for the brush you had set aside earlier, dipping it into the glossy bottle of paint resting beside the bed. The soft bristles glided over his skin as you began to paint, tracing the contours of his collarbone and following the natural line down to the center of his chest. He inhaled sharply, muscles tightening under your careful strokes, the heat of your fingers igniting tension between you. “Are you trying to torture me?” he teased, though the strain in his voice betrayed the pleasure he was losing himself in.

“Maybe,” you said, swirling the brush in slow, sickening circles over his stomach. The paint caught the light, wet and vivid against his skin, and you couldn’t resist leaning down to blow gently on it, watching how his abdominal muscles tightened, just about seizing in response. His hands twitched as if they wanted to move, but he kept them where you’d placed them, his trust in you evident in how he stayed perfectly still.

You set the brush aside, opting instead to use your hands. The cool paint squelched between your fingers as you smoothed it over his shoulders and arms. His biceps flexed under your palms, and you could feel the tension coiled in his body, the way he held himself back. It only made you want to push him further and subdue him with your power.

Leaning down, you pressed your lips to the hollow of his throat, tasting the faint saltiness of his skin mingling with the sharp tang of the paint. His pulse raced beneath your mouth, and you smiled against him, dragging your lips lower, following the trail of red you’d applied paint to. Your hands slid up his chest, the paint making your movements slick and deliberate, and when your thumb brushed over one of his nipples, he let out a quiet groan.

“You’re killing me,” Luigi muttered, his voice rough.

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, your lips curving into a smirk. “Good.” Reaching for the bottle of paint again, you dipped two fingers into the thick liquid, letting it drip slowly down his sternum. He watched, spellbound and stunned, as you followed the droplets with your tongue. The taste was strange but not unpleasant, and the sensation was clearly driving him crazy.

His hips bucked slightly beneath you, and you felt the evidence of his arousal pressing against you through his shorts. A thrill shot through you at the realization, but you weren’t ready to give him what he wanted just yet. Instead, you sat back, admiring your work—his chest and torso now coated in red, the paint clinging to every ridge and dip of muscle. Your hands rested on his thighs, shifting closer so you could lean over him, your faces inches apart.

“How’s that for school spirit?” you asked, your tone teasing but your eyes serious as they searched his.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Perfect,” he said, his hands moving from the pillow to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, and you realized too late that the paint had transferred to your skin. “But I think you missed a spot.”

Before you could react, he flipped you onto your back, his body covering yours as he kissed you deeply. The paint on his chest pressed against your shirt, soaking through the fabric and cooling against your skin. His hands roamed over your body, leaving streaks of red wherever they touched, and when he pulled back, his eyes were wild with hunger.

“Now,” he said, his voice a low growl, “it’s my turn.” He reached for the brush, dipping it into the pot with deliberate slowness before trailing it down the side of your neck. The bristles tickled, the paint cool and wet, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through you.

“Lu,” you breathed, unable to let out the remaining syllables of his name, your hands gripping his shoulders as he continued to paint you, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he worked, his breath hot and uneven. “Trust me.”

And you did.

Luigi’s brush paused mid-stroke, hovering just above the dip of your collarbone. His eyes met yours, dark and searching, as if he was trying to read the unspoken words lingering between you. The air between you felt charged, heavy with something neither of you had dared name—until now.

“I think…” he started, his voice low and hesitant. The playful edge from before was replaced with something more profound, deeper, and more vulnerable. His fingers tightened slightly around the brush, the paint dripping onto his hand. “I think I’ve been waiting for this. For you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking into your skin like the red paint he’d been so carefully applying. You could feel the warmth of his body, the way his chest rose and fell in time with yours. His free hand reached up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips.

“Open your mouth,” he murmured, his tone soft but commanding. You hesitated for a split second, but the intensity in his eyes made it impossible to refuse. Slowly, you parted your lips, and he dipped the brush into the paint again, swirling it gently across the curve of your bottom lip.

The sensation was remarkable, both cool and electric. The bristles teasing your sensitive skin as he worked with precision made your stomach flutter. He leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours as he focused on the task, his face just inches from yours.

“Perfect,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he pulled the brush away, leaving your lips a deep, bold, vivid red. His eyes lingered on them for a moment, his gaze almost reverent, before he finally looked up at you again.

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw, desperate, and full of all the things he hadn’t said yet. His hand slid into your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue swept across your painted lips, the taste of the paint mixing with the heat of his kiss.

You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, the paint on your fingers smearing against his skin as you gripped him tightly. His other hand trailed down your side, leaving a streak of red in its wake, before settling on your hip, pulling you even closer.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless. Your lips were still tingling, red hot, and burning like fire from the intensity of the kiss. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, as he tried to steady his breathing.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “I just… I didn’t know how to tell you... how to ask for this. For you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, the vulnerability in his voice making something inside you ache. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

“Luigi…” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off.

“Don’t,” he said softly, his eyes opening to meet yours. “Don’t say anything. Just… let me have this. Let me have you. Even if it’s just for now.”

There was a plea in his voice, a fear of rejection that made your chest tighten. You could discern how he was holding his breath, waiting for your response; his body tensed so that he was ready to pull away if you hesitated.

But you didn’t hesitate.

Instead, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a soft, lingering kiss that spoke more than words ever could. His breath hitched, and then he was kissing you again, his hands roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

The paint between you became a blur, streaks of red mixing with the heat of your movements as you lost yourselves in each other. His fingers trailed down your back, leaving a trail of paint that felt like fire against your skin. You could feel his trembling, the intensity of his emotions spilling over with every touch, every kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips, his voice breaking with emotion. “I don’t think you even realize it.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you pulled him closer, your hands tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss. The room around you faded away, leaving nothing but the two of you, the sound of your breathing, and the feel of his body pressed against yours.

He broke the kiss again, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he looked at you, his eyes dark with need. “Tell me you want this,” he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me you want me.”

The vulnerability in his voice tore at something inside you, and you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I want you,” you longed for him, your voice steady despite the thunderstorm of emotions, a natural disaster of your own aches and needs gyrating inside you. “I’ve wanted you for longer than I care to admit.”

A slow, lopsided grin spread across his face, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both sweet and possessive. “Good,” he murmured against your lips. “Because I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”

His hands slid down to the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against your skin as he hesitated for the present. His eyes discovered yours in a silent question. You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as he slowly lifted the fabric of your top over your head. His eyes traveled over your figure with a hunger that made your heart race.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his hands trailing up your sides, leaving streaks of red paint in their wake. “So fucking perfect.”

You reached for him, your fingers brushing against the paint on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart racing beneath your touch. “So are you,” you murmured, your voice soft but full of emotion.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the button of your jeans, his eyes never leaving yours. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice rough with need. “I don’t want to rush you. I just… I need you.”

You nodded, your hands sliding into his hair as you pulled him in for another kiss, your lips moving against his in a way that left no room for doubt. “I need you too,” you whispered against his lips. “More than anything.”

His fingers fumbled with the button, and his movements were hurried but gentle as he pushed your pants down your hips, his hands shaking slightly as he touched you. You could feel how he was holding back and moving heaven and earth to keep himself in control, having the decently respectable audacity for a hot-blooded young man, but the look in his eyes told you he was close to losing it.

“Luigi,” you breathed, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pressed yourself against him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “Please.”

That was all it took. Luigi let out a low groan, his hands tightening around your hips as he pulled you closer, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was nothing short of desperate. The world around you disappeared, leaving nothing but the two of you, the panting of your inhales and exhales, and the feel of his body pressed against yours.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with need as he looked at you, his hands trembling slightly as he touched you. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “I don’t think I ever will.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you looked into his eyes. “I’m yours,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “All of me.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hands tightening around your hips as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both sweet and possessive. “And I’m yours,” he murmured against your lips. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

The room was a blur of red and heat, the air thick with the scent of paint and citrus, mingling with the sound of your racing hearts. Luigi’s hands were still on your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin as if he couldn’t bear to let go. His lips were still against yours, but the urgency had softened, replaced by a lingering need that neither of you seemed ready to break.

But reality was creeping in, insistent and unyielding—the game. The football game was starting soon, and you both knew it. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your breath mingling with his as you spoke, your voice trembling slightly. “Luigi… the game.”

He groaned, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if he could allow the universe and everything consisting of it to stop spinning for just a little longer. “I know,” he whispered, his voice strained. “I know, but…”

His hands glided up your sides, leaving vivid streaks of crimson paint in their wake. Each touch ignited a shiver that danced along your skin. The sensation was electric, a pulse of warmth contrasting against the coolness of the paint, flooding your senses with intensity. “Just a little longer,” he murmured, his lips grazing yours once more, soft and filled with yearning. “Please.”

You yearned to say yes, every fiber of your humane being just aching to submit to the moment. Yet the rational part of your mind screamed in protest, a reminder of the ticking clock, of the urgency for him to be ready and for you to be too. With a soft sigh, your fingers slid up his chest, the paint still slightly tacky under your touch, a reminder of the chaos of creativity that surrounded you both. “We have to finish painting you,” you whispered, your voice barely cutting through the charged air, hushed but firm. “And we have to clean up.”

He let out a low, frustrated growl, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped back slightly, his hands reluctantly leaving your body as he reached for the brush again. Though dark and intense, his eyes never left yours, filled with a hunger that made your stomach flip.

You took the brush from him, your fingers brushing against his in a way that sent a jolt of electricity through both of you. You could feel the tension between you, thick and unrelenting, but you forced yourself to focus. Get this done. Get him ready.

You dipped the brush into the paint, the bright red liquid glistening in the dim light of the room. You started on his chest, sweeping the brush over his skin in long, even strokes. His skin was warm under your touch, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. You tried to keep your movements brisk and efficient, but it was hard when he stood so close, his breath hitching every time the brush touched his skin.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. His hands were clenched at his sides, the muscles in his arms tensing as he fought the urge to reach for you.

“I’m trying to finish,” you replied, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound firm. You moved the brush lower, painting over his abs, the muscles twitching under your touch. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and it was intoxicating.

His breath hitched again, and you saw his eyes dark with need. “You’re not making this easy,” he said, his voice rough.

“Neither are you,” you shot back, your voice shaky. You struggled to focus, and your desire made it hard to think straight. You just wanted to drop the brush and kiss him again, to feel his hands on your body, to lose yourself in him completely.

But you couldn’t. You had to finish, and you still had to return home to get yourself ready. 

You moved the brush lower still, painting over his hips. The muscles in his thighs tensed as he fought to stay still. You could see the effort it was taking him: his jaw clenched, his hands trembling at his sides.

“Almost done,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You were both on edge, the tension between you so thick it was almost suffocating.

“Good,” he muttered, his voice strained. “Because I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

You could feel the heat of his gaze on you as you finished painting him, the brush moving slower than it should have as you tried to prolong the moment. But eventually, it was done. You stepped back slightly, your eyes scanning his body to ensure you hadn’t missed any spots.

“You’re all done,” you said, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound calm.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands finally moving, reaching for you. “Now you,” he said, his voice rough with need.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the brush from your hand, dipping it into the paint before turning it on you. He started on your chest, the brush gliding over your skin in slow, deliberate strokes. You gasped at the sensation, the paint's coolness contrasting with his touch's heat.

“Lui…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his eyes dark with desire as he continued painting you. His touch was gentle but firm, the brush moving over your skin in a way that made your whole body tremble.

You could feel your resolve crumbling. The need to touch and feel him against you overwhelmed you. You reached for him, your fingers brushing against his chest, the paint still slightly tacky under your touch.

He let out a low groan, his hands tightening on the brush as he fought to stay in control. “You’re making this really hard,” he muttered, his voice strained.

“Good,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a sweet, desperate kiss.

He let out a low growl, his hands dropping the brush as he pulled you closer, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was nothing short of primal. The world around you disappeared, leaving nothing but the two of you, the sound of your breathing, and the feel of his body pressed against yours.

“We’re going to be so late,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling despite your efforts to sound firm.

“I don’t care,” he replied, his voice rough with need. His hands were everywhere, touching you, caressing you, leaving streaks of red paint in their wake.

You could feel yourself giving in, your body responding to his touch in ways that made it hard to think and breathe. “Lu…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His lips brushed against yours again, soft and pleading. “Just a little longer,” he murmured, his voice filled with need. “Please.”

You hesitated, the rational part of your brain screaming at you to stop, pull away, and get ready for the game. But the look in his eyes, the way his hands were trembling as he touched you, the way his body was pressed against yours… it was too much.

“Just a little longer,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you gave in, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that was nothing short of desperate.

His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that sent sparks of heat through your body. You could feel the paint smearing between you, but you didn’t care. 

All you cared about was him, how he felt against you, and how he made you think.

If you were caught red-handed, at this instant, for what you and he brought about, so be it.

After all, it can’t be considered wrong if it feels right.

[melminli]

what would it be like to be in a romantic relationship with cho hyun-ju? l headcanons

short summery - a few scenarios about dating the one and only, cho hyun-ju! (w/ fem!reader)

a/n: i’m not a trans person so i obviously can't know what that feels like, but i also never want to ignore that part when writing smth w/ her since it's an integral part of her identity! lmk if there ever is something that i should fix!

dating hyun-ju would probably have to happen either before her transition or quite a while after because she just wouldn't be in the right headspace to meet someone new during the early stages of all that change. it just would be a period in her life where she needs a lot of space and time for herself, so romantic relationships would definitely not be one of her priorities.

however, dating hyun-ju before she starts her transition would give you both several options on how to manage this step in your relationship. firstly, you would have to think about your sexuality a bit, if you haven't already done so. especially, if you would still want to be with her! it would obviously be difficult for hyun-ju to finally decide to come out to you because she loved you and didn't want to risk losing you, but of course, she would still respect any decision you made! sometimes you just have to let go of the things you love, even though it would break her heart if you decided to stay friends. but, either way, she was glad that she could trust you with this!

dating hyun-ju after she came out to you would lead to you helping her as much as you could through the steps of feeling more comfortable in her body and standing by her side after losing family and friends. you were ready for her to share her mental problems and more with you, so that you could support her, but hyun-ju would try to burden you as little as possible with all that stuff. having you by her side was enough for her and she also just didn't like complaining to the one person who made her forget about all the negative things in her life. so, maybe after a while, you two would agree that she should try therapy! it would be something that could reinforce her in a way that she felt more comfortable with when it came to her problems, and it would help her tell you about some things in a way that wouldn't overwhelm you or her.

dating hyun-ju would generally mean that you would always feel safe by her side, not only because she was a very understanding person and a good listener - but also because she was well aware of her own physical strength! there was a time when she was very ashamed of it and it wasn't her fault that society didn't consider muscles and stuff to be 'feminine', but you didn't want her to dislike herself for something that you loved about her. so, you did some research and discovered some great female personal trainers, wrestlers, and the like to show them to her! self esteem wasn't something that could be built overnight, but seeing other women who were like her and confident should still help somehow, right? besides, you two eventually started being fans of these people!

dating hyun-ju would mean that she would unconsciously take care of you in different ways. whether that meant taking you out somewhere or cooking for the two of you. honestly, you would have a hard time returning the favor because hyun-ju would insist that she liked giving more than taking, but she also deserved to sit back and relax sometimes! so, there would be more moments over time when she would let you take the lead and let herself get spoiled a bit.

dating hyun-ju would involve, that you only had to mention something you liked in a conversation once for her to buy it for you. she's pretty observant when it comes to things like that!

dating hyun-ju would mean that when you went to bed at night, you would often have long pillow talks until one of you fell asleep. the length of the conversations always varied, of course, but you both especially cherished the time on days when you were recovering from a busy week. you would just lie close to each other for quite a while, whispering quiet things to each other while the nightlight was on, and find comfort in each other's presence.

[livelaughlou]

I wish you would write a fic where buck and tommy meet when they both choose to hide behind the couch at chimney's surprise birthday party ❤️

I LOVE this so much. The timeline's kind of iffy, maybe consider this a total canon divergence? lol. I hope you like it.

"You're late!" Maddie hisses at him when he slides in the door, rushing up with Jee in her arms.

"I'm sorry!" he says. "There was an accident and I got stuck in it. You sent me across the city for a birthday cake!"

She rolls her eyes. "It's not my fault the bakery screwed up the first one."

He supposes she's got him there. Begging off to skip the basketball game that Eddie, Chimney, and Bobby had all gone to so he could help with the party was a blessing actually, because he hates basketball anyway.

She sighs. "Sorry, I snapped. He should be home with Eddie and Bobby any moment now, so come on, let's get everyone gathered in the living room."

He follows her into the living room, looking around to see all the guests there, Ravi, Lucy, Hen and Karen, other people from the station that were free tonight. And then his eyes land on the hottest person he's ever seen.

He's tall, broad-shouldered, and from what Buck can see, he's got a light dusting of stubble around a mouth that looks amused as he talks to Lucy. He's got high cheekbones and a straight nose on a face that Buck suddenly wants to see even more of.

He nudges his sister. "Mads, who's that?"

She looks over, sets Jee down. "Oh, Tommy Kinard. He's an old friend. They've kept in touch over the years."

Buck blinks. "Oh, can you-"

Then Maddie's phone goes off and she pulls it out, her eyes widening. "Okay, everyone they're here. Hide!"

Everyone in the room scrambles to hide while Maddie hits the lights.

It doesn't take long for him to notice that he's not alone behind Maddie and Chimney's couch.

"Um," he says stupidly. "Hi."

The guy--Tommy--grins, and oh God, it makes his nose and eyes scrunch up a little. Did Buck know that was a thing before? He doesn't think so. He hasn't had this strong of a reaction to someone since Abby and he doesn't quite know what that means that Tommy is a man.

"Hi," Tommy says, clearly still amused. He holds out a hand. "Tommy Kinard."

Buck takes it. His grip is warm, strong, and firm and Buck can feel the butterflies in his stomach. "Evan. Buck. Buckley."

Tommy frowns a little. "Sorry?"

Buck sighs at himself. "Sorry. You can call me Evan."

The front door opens and Chimney walks in. "Hello?"

And as everyone stands up to yell surprise, Buck thinks he may have just discovered a surprise of his own.

[chrispersonalcorner]

I love this and it makes me want to say: the healthiest version of Tony Stark I can imagine is one who knows self-improvement is always possible, but has also learned to truly feel happy with who he is in the present. He just knows there is always a way to improve, to evolve, to grow.

I say "healthiest" because, depending how you view him or write him or the point in time, I do feel he might feel like he has to improve, that he is "never enough" or he is "never doing enough". Which isn't the same as simply going "I know improvement is possible".

And yeah, I love Tony because like the person say: he gives hope that, no matter what you've done, there is always a chance to make changes, that it's never too late. He also shows that some people might be unable to accept you've evolved from who you were before, but there will always be others who can see as you are now too.

this answer to “why do you like iron man” tho- 🥹

[vitaray]

You can disagree with me, but I fucking hate what hotd did to Aegon as a character and how fandom (and his fans too) treats him.

The show has not only made him a comedic figure, but it has also made fun of him (every time they had the chance), humiliating and diminishing him as a secondary character. It's only due to TGC's performance that Aegon has been saved to some extent.

At this point I don't agree with most people on how they view him. Even his own fans by making him pathetic, stupid, good for nothing, just a pretty face little mew mew. He can be that sometimes for fun, but no. You miss the whole point of Aegon's character if that's how you view him.

When I think of Aegon, strength is the first word that comes to mind. Internal strength to overcome everything of what happened to him. To stand up, to accept his fate, to do whatever is needed: marry his sister, take the throne, fight for the throne and take revenge. Many others would gave up, run away or die in his place, but he didn't.

Aegon didn't want any of this, but he accepted it out of a sense of duty. Despite not being perfectly suited for the role, he takes responsibility and listens to those who are more knowledgeable. He wants to end the war swiftly, desires to be loved and make an impact as a ruler.

And let's not forget that he surges to every battle without fearing for his life (it might not be the best decision for a monarch), but it's also admirable.

He loves his family. And trusts them completely.

Aegon is not a fool to laugh at or someone who simply craves violence. He is a complex character (I know people like to laught at that for some reason) and, instead of constantly fighting for sides on who's more right or wrong, or "who's pretty/who's not", I wish fans would rather analyze and understand the nuances of his character and what he could have become with better writing.

[femmeroll]

𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦

here is the sex tape w/abby ! ty for all the votes on the poll my loves >_<

abby anderson x fem reader

cw: sex tapes, soft dom top abby, sub bottom reader, strap referred to as dick/cock, masturbation mention, modern setting bc what else do i write

abby hates plenty of things. she hates when the machines she wants to use are taken at the gym. she hates when people watch videos in public without headphones. she hates when her hair won’t cooperate in the morning when she tries to braid it. but there’s one thing she hates more than all.

being away from you.

not being able to wake up with you, kiss you, touch you. it’s torture. so when she finds out she has to go on a work trip for a week, she’s crushed.

but you have a plan. a plan that involves her having something to hold her over for a week. if she can’t touch you, she can at least watch herself touch you.

and that’s how you end up here, in your bed, with abby’s phone propped up against some books on the bedside table.

abby’s strong hands are holding your legs open, her warm mouth gently suckling your clit. every moan and whimper that leaves your mouth has her grinding her hips against the plush duvet cover.

“oh baby,” she groans into you. “keep moaning for me, just like that. i love your noises so much.”

despite her rough exterior and intimidating personality, abby is so gentle with you. taking you apart with her tongue like you’re made of glass and will break at any moment.

“cum in my mouth, babygirl. cum for me and you can have my dick.”

you look over at the phone, a bit embarrassed at the idea of cumming on camera. sure, this was your idea. but in the moment it feels humiliating.

“abby…s’embarrassing,” you whine.

her tongue is unrelenting, and despite how uncomfortable it may feel to have it on camera, you can’t stop yourself from cumming as she laps at your sopping cunt.

abby kisses you gently, giving you a taste of yourself.

“there you go, sweetheart. came all over my face like a good girl.”

you moan at the praise, satisfied that you’re making her happy.

“and since you did what i asked, you can have my cock now.”

abby lines herself up, slowly stretching your aching pussy. her cock reaches parts of you that your fingers can’t even dream of. she knows exactly how to make you feel good.

her pace starts off slow and deep, making sure you can feel every inch of her cock inside of you.

“look how deep i am…i can’t wait to fuck myself while watching this in my hotel.”

you can’t help but whimper at that, imagining abby in her hotel room, three fingers deep in her cunt as she watches herself fuck you. horny, touch starved abby drooling at the sight of her own cock inside you.

“it’s so deep, abs…shit,” you groan, spreading your legs further. you need her deep, hard, and fast.

“need it faster. please abby.”

and she’ll do anything to make you feel good, so of course you get it faster. she’d go at the speed of light if it made your moans get louder and your legs shakier.

abby’s thrusts quicken, hips slapping against your thighs and ass as she fucks you.

“look at the camera, baby. watch yourself getting fucked on camera. shit…my little porn star, aren’t you?”

your face turns to the phone, and fuck, you could do this every day. knowing that abby is rearranging your guts, and she’ll have that all to herself. her own personal porno. just for her to get off.

“m’gonna cum, abby. please let me cum.”

abby fucking whines at your pleas, increasing the speed of her thrusts and gently circling your pulsing clit with her thumb.

“cum on my dick, sweet girl. cum all over it on camera. fuck.”

your jaw goes slack, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as you cum, making direct eye contact with phone. you want abby to see you cum whenever she wants to. whenever she needs to see it, she can see it.

abby slowly fucks you through your orgasm, decreasing her pace as you come down from your high. she pulls her cock out of you gently, groaning at the sight of it covered in your slick.

“you came so well for me, sweetheart,” she says to your panting, limp figure. she gets off the bed and turns the camera off, knowing that she’ll be satisfied for the whole work trip.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Always the bridesmaid never the bride

I'm not going to lie. I forgot if this was a prompt or a response to something I posted since I got it back before Thanksgiving. But if it's the former then:

Danny says this to Bruce at Clark and Lois' wedding. He is convinced Bruce is in love- or in lust, at the least- with Clark because the wealthy man constantly popped up at their office for important "business" and "private exclusive" interviews.

Now, Danny won't lie and say he's a better journalist than Clark or Lois- those two are the top two of the Daily Planet. There is a reason almost all Superman stories are covered by them- but he's darn good himself. After retiring from protecting his town from Ghosts, he's only ever used his powers scarcely, but they have helped him with a few articles here or there.

His career as a reporting journalist was mainly made by his ability to stumble across trouble alone! Danny had won awards for his articles. He has been included in a city time capsule project.

Danny got the scoop on Jason Todd being alive story way before everyone else. After realizing the boy was in witness protection, he hadn't even exposed it without speaking to Mr.Wayne first. The man was nothing like the tabloids had one believe. Danny found him a severely intelligent man with a deep love for his family and city. He just distracted people with his razzle and dazzle, hiding his beautiful soul in plain sight.

It had been an eye-opening conversation. The duo made a deal to wait until Jason was safe to be announced; Danny waited three whole months before he was greenlighted to release his story. Jason Todd had officially "returned" from the dead with an exclusive interview with Danny Fenton.

Danny honored and protected his dignity by writing a story that made the public love the returned young man. He hated reporters who only dragged people's names through the mud because that wasn't real investigation; that was just accepting the latest gossip on the streets.

Bruce was so grateful that Danny hadn't put his son in danger that he even gave Danny a business card that went to his home office!

And yeah, okay, Clark had Bruce's personal cellphone, but Danny just couldn't understand why the billionaire was so hung up on Clark Kent. It wasn't like the guy was Superman!

And maybe he was overly happy to find out Clark and Lois were an item. Sure that someone as good as Bruce, for all his facade of being a party boy who never grew up, would never chase a taken man. Danny had been right, too, because Bruce Wayne appeared less and less around the Daily Plant office.

It was.....sad not to see him, but Danny was a very busy journalist. He was grateful that the distraction had finally taken the hint and scurried off somewhere. What irked him in the following year and a half of Clark and Lois dating was how often Perry signed the two to cover Gotham News.

Mostly at one of Bruce Wayne's extravagant parties! Yeah, it was sort of cool that most of Bruce's parties were charity events. He had checked the numbers himself, finding that Bruce's efforts were honest and working to better his city. How many billionaires actually kept their word when wanting to be a philanthropist?

Of course, Danny had to write a piece on it. The people needed to see the positive change Bruce was making. Sometimes, it felt like people forgot how much he gave to the city. The article went viral, and people on the other side of the world were praising the good man Bruce.

Perry had given Danny a raise for it.

Clark had ruined that significant mark on his record by placing a wrap present on his desk with a wide grin. Apparently, the two had gone on a yacht trip together without Lois or Bruce's significant other. Whoever that was. "Bruce wanted me to give you this as a thanks."

Ugh, the smug asshole was just rubbing it in Danny's face that he was still friends with his ex. The present had been a shitty ship in a bottle that Danny had placed beside his writing awards in his living room. You know it would be a waste to just throw it out.

Or let it get dusty. Or not stare at and wonder if Bruce knew he liked pirate movies, so the fact he had a model replica of Captain Jack Sparrow's Black Pearl made for Danny was really no big deal.

Then Bruce came by the office after buying out the Daily Planet, giving Clark a month's vacation paid due to some "family emergency."

Danny had been worried about Ma Kent and Pa Kent- the pair had visited the Daily Planet and were the nicest people to ever walk the planet- so like the well-mannered man his mother raised, he had gone to the farm with some of his Dad's famous fudge. Only to find the Kents unaware there was an emergency in the family until Danny reminded them.

He had been a journalist long enough to call bull on their meaningful glances. Danny knew that neither Bruce nor Clark would dare cheat on Lois. They were both too good for something as sleazy as that- and honestly, Lois would kill them- but that didn't stop Bruce from obviously still carrying around a torch for Clark.

Which meant he gave him unfairly favorable treatment in the workplace. Ugh! Perry didn't even seem to care, stating that Bruce had signed their paychecks, and as long as he wasn't forcing Clark into anything harassment-worthy, Danny just had to deal with his coworkers having friends in high places.

That meant they got away with different things. He just had to suck it up and accept it.

But now, Clark and Lois tied the knot. Bruce had to back off. He would never overstep a friend's relationship like this. Danny might have seen him sneak a few glances at the dancing couple- not that he was staring at Bruce Wayne! But the man was one of the hottest topics to write about, and he never knew when a good story would pop up.

It was rather sad, really. How Bruce forced himself to come to a celebration of the man he loved marrying and choosing someone else. Danny had dedicated a drink to his heartbreak- from clear across the room.

He wasn't on a personal cellphone number basis with Bruce Wayne, let's allow a "Drink your broken heart sorrow away with me" basis. And maybe Danny had a few too many. Perhaps he lost count after realizing it was an open bar because, surprise surprise, Bruce was footing the drink bill for all guests.

Danny doesn't remember what made him think he could cross the room to Bruce or why he found the courage to point a finger in his face before slurring, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, eh Brucie?"

He does remember those piecing blue eyes locking him in place, brow folding in concern as Bruce replied. "Mr. Fenton, are you alright?"

"Me? Oh yeah! Just enjoying the party." He throws his arm up, spilling some of the alcohol out of the cup. He doesn't mind since the DJ starts to play one of his favorite songs, and he just has to sway to the beat. "This is a fun party. Are you having fun? I'm having fun!"

"I think you've had a little too much," Bruce says, helping Danny to his feet. When did he fall? Oh, right, when he was dancing. He laughs again, curling up on Bruce's chest. He feels it shift with the vibrations of the other man's voice. It's rather nice. "Did you come alone? Is there someone I can call for you?"

"Can I tell you a secret, Brucie?" Danny mutters, leaning forward to whisper into the man's ear before he can respond. "I live alone. I have no one to take care of me. I can't even drive."

"I see. I can have my driver take you home then. Can I see your wallet? I want to read the address-"

Danny has a second to think Oh no before his stomach lurches, and vomit falls out of his mouth all over Bruce Wayne's fancy suit that probably costs more than his house. Danny's eyes water. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't usually drink, and I feel terrible, and I-"

"It's alright. " Bruce says, smile still perfectly kind, understanding, and slightly dizzy. Danny knows he's lying, though- his reporter eyes can see right through that facade. He's pissed that Danny threw up on him. Understandably.

He starts sobbing, apologizing even more, and pointing out how he knows Bruce is actually upset.

Bruce looks mildly surprised before throwing one of his arms over his shoulder and helping him out of the hotel ballroom. The reception had started hours ago, and despite it not being anywhere near over, no one would bat an eye at them leaving early.

They were walking down the hallway. Danny found himself leaning on a counter, laughing into his hands about a potted plant, while Bruce chatted up the lady at a computer. He told the pair that Bruce should rebound with a man instead of a woman if he wanted to get over Clark but was ignored by them.

Rude.

Then suddenly, Danny was being pressed into a soft mattress on his back while someone was taking off his shoes and losing his tie. When did he get home? How had he moved that quickly?

This didn't feel like his pillow. Danny has a special one. He can't sleep with it. He packs his pillow when he travels, even if it's just one night he plans to stay. Danny has used the same pillow for years now.

"I'm sorry, I can't get your special pillow, but I can give you lots of water." A man says, making Danny blink and open his eyes. His eyelids feel so heavy that it takes him a moment to stay open.

Above him, Bruce is carefully unbuttoning his suit jacket. The billionaire had removed his own coat, but the vomit-covered white shirt remains. Danny feels ashamed at the sight even as Bruce pulls his arms out of the jacket sleeves.

"Sorry," He whimpers. "About the vomit."

"It's alright. You needed to throw up. Do you feel better?"

Danny nods, closing his eyes and feeling a warm towel run along his face. He sighed as the sticky, gross feeling around his mouth was gone, and he sank further into the Not Right But Comfty pillow.

"Sleep well, Mr. Fenton," Bruce says, tucking the blankets around Danny once he finishes cleaning him up. Danny hums, already half gone, when he whispers.

"You're a good man. No matter what you present to the world. No matter if you believe you're not, I know you're good."

There is a moment of silence before Bruce replies. "I paid for the hotel room. It comes with a free breakfast, so when you're feeling up to it, come down for food tomorrow. Have a good night, Mr. Fenton."

"Stay?"

"I'm sorry. I never intended to stay; I just wanted to get you somewhere safe. Going home in your state would have been a bad idea."

Danny's words are nearly too slurried to be understood as he slowly slips away: "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, Fenton. Bruce would never want you."

He wakes up with a killer hangover, confused about where the hell he is, and almost has a heart attack when he realizes he crumpled up the suit pants he rented. All that is so hard to process in thirty seconds that he nearly missed the written note on the nightstand.

Call me xxx-xxx-xxxx

XOXO

Bruce Wayne

What in the world happened at Clark's and Lois's wedding!?

[oyorama]

I've got a take on this, but you are definitely going to have to hear me out before you blast a hole through the table with your knee.

I use AI sometimes. I do not use it for any of my creative endeavors -- I make music, and I write poetry, and that shit will NEVER fucking touch any creational aspect of my art. I see fugue visions like the rest of em; I let the ghost of vice and agony haunt my body and channel its wretched energies into my stuff like the best of em.

No, instead, the reason I've had to use it is because of... well, mismanagement, I suppose.

Currently, I'm doing a course at a university for my degree, and I've had to switch to a long-distance institution for Reasons. My course is Advanced Programming (final year undergrad), and I'll keep it a buck with you: this institution is DOGSHIT in terms of offering any help or support. It's basically self-study, and the only people I ACTUALLY got help from were a Polish gent on discord (I love you bobini, I promise I haven't forgotten about learning how to turn my music into something BMS can read) and a relative, who is almost always busy doing cybersec stuff et al..

So when said relative recommended I try using AI to help me understand concepts and fill in gaps that documentation and stackexchange discussions weren't quite reaching, I tried to give it a shot.

And I'm happy to say that I STILL have to wrangle something readable out of whatever it spits out. But for once, it's actually close enough to what I'm looking for to get me to actually UNDERSTAND what I need to do. Because fuck knows I've spent two undergrads' worth of time trying to understand this shit to no avail.

I must reiterate: AI can stay the fuck out of generating creative ideas and whatnot. I've seen plenty of Suno slop on YouTube when I'm diving for new music, and as someone who actually LIKES making music, that shit is super disheartening to see.

I have used it because I am not getting any form of consistent or useful help from an institution I fucking pay to do so.

In summary: AI sucks. It has some use in my context, and in music I can MAYBE see it being used as a tool to replicate stuff like guitar tones or instruments in the case that the user does not have access to said instruments and a plugin may not exist, but FUCK people who use it in place of creativity. If I wanted AI to be creative, I'd give it a soul and they could make whatever their digital heart desired.

i literally dont care what your excuse for using AI is. if you didnt put your own effort into making it im not putting my own effort into interacting with it.

[trashytracktales]

Heyy girliee, first of all I want to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. I’ve been reading your Lando fics for the past couple of days and “endings, beginnings” had me feeling butterflies in my stomach 🫢 I wanted to ask you if you could write something about lando and reader being friends but constantly having sexual tension building up between them. Maybe they flirt with each other but never think of it as something so serious and one night after a party they completely destroy each other. I fully trust you with this and how you’ll develop the story haha and don’t hold back. Thank youuu :*

Think twice | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Thank you so much for the love on Endings, beginnings & I appreciate you for taking the time to share this. Hope you like it 🤍🎀

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── What starts as a chill party, where they sit in their old habits, ends with new boundaries crossed and a heavy tension they can no longer ignore.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, mentions of alcohol and drinking, friends to lovers, bit of jealous!Lando, smut, slight teasing, praising, fingering & oral (sit on it), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.8k

𐙚 date ──── Jan. 21, 2025

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THE TWO OF them are always standing next to each other, no matter the room they’re in. The context, just like the reason why this happens, is redundant. Plus, they don’t even do it on purpose; rather, they are unconsciously drawn to each other like two magnets.

The party has finally slowed to a lazy hum, the music just a tolerable background noise now. People linger in clusters around them, their voices a distant murmur blending with the faint bassline of a forgotten playlist. The living room is dim, lit mostly by the glow of a string of fairy lights drooping across the ceiling.

It was supposed to be a small gathering, but then a friend told a friend, and that friend told their friends. And now, it’s almost impossible to find a private spot to catch your breath without breathing someone else’s air.

Somehow, they did. They are tucked into the corner of a couch, their space a small bubble of comfort. Her legs are draped over his lap, bare skin warm against the fabric of his black jeans. He’s cradling her calf in one hand, his thumb absentmindedly stroking her skin.

Her fingers thread through his curls at the back of his head, twirling them lazily. It’s a casual gesture, but it sends a shiver through him every time she does it.

Their conversation shifted into easy gossiping about a mutual friend — someone they both think is trying a bit too hard with their Instagram posts.

“It’s fucking obvious he’s fishing for attention,” says Lando, sounding almost conspiratorial.

“I know, right? The cryptic ass captions, the mirror selfies. He thinks he’s smooth with it, too,” she replies, giggling at the thought.

Lando grins, his thumb still tracing circles on her leg. The banter feels safe, the kind of effortless connection they’ve always had. But underneath it, there’s a quiet tension that neither of them is ready to address. Because they are, maybe, a bit tipsy, or because none of them has ever had the courage to take it further, for some reason.

“Alright, I need to pee,” she announces suddenly, getting ready to stand.

But Lando tightens his grip on her legs, his lips twitching in a smirk. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” she insists, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “If I don’t go, I might pee on you.”

Lando shrugs, “Go ahead. Then I might discover a new kink,” he encourages her.

“New?” she laughs. “That implies you already have at least one.”

Lando winks at her without saying a word, the corners of his mouth curling into a mischievous smile.

She rolls her eyes, smiling back at his immature behavior. “My God. You’re actually the worst. Move.”

He doesn’t. Instead, Lando, just stares at her with an expression that’s visibly different. His usual playful gaze has shifted to something more intense, and she tells herself he’s just a little... intoxicated. Still, it makes her heart skip a beat, because he looks so adorable when his eyes focus on something so intently. And so hot, that it makes her almost forget why she wanted to get up in the first place.

“Lan, I’m not joking, I actually have to go,” she whispers, her voice softer now.

He exhales, loosening his grip but not before giving her leg a small, reluctant squeeze.

“Don’t get lost,” he says, the words carrying more weight than they should.

She shakes her head, slipping off the couch and disappearing into the hallway. Lando watches her go, his eyes trailing after her like he’s afraid she might actually not come back.

Which is ridiculous, because he should not care. There are lots of other girls that he can take home tonight if he wants to.

Want, being the keyword.

Leaning back against the couch, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s always known she was the embodiment of the perfect girl for him — funny, kind, and loyal. But tonight, there’s something else in the air that makes his mind wander. The way she carries herself, her laugh, the way she makes everything around her seem brighter.

Lando realized long ago that he wants to he in her presence. The truth hit him like a punch in the gut. And he still feels that punch sometimes, especially when he sees her interacting with other people. Especially men.

He’s had thoughts about her before. Many thoughts. Wild fantasies he brushed off as nothing more than fleeting curiosity. And they’ve joked about it, too, their drunken ‘if we’re single at 35’ pact a favorite running gag. But tonight, it doesn’t feel like a joke — he might actually marry her if she keeps letting him invade her personal space like that. Except she wouldn’t have let Lando do that if she didn’t want him there.

He finds himself smiling at his own thoughts. But then, an unwanted stiffness claws his body.

She’s on the way back when a guy leaning against the wall near the bathroom is blocking her path. He’s tall, too close for Lando’s liking, and he is gesturing animatedly. She’s always too polite, smiling as she talks, but Lando notices the way she shifts her weight, edging away slightly.

Something close to jealousy ignites in his chest, but he manages to tame the feeling by looking away, and forcing himself to take a slow sip of his drink. She can handle herself, he knows that. But he’s also ready to step in, just in case he needs to. Most men don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and he’s aware of how insistent some of them can be.

When she finally returns, Lando’s mood has shifted drastically, and she notices it the second she looks at him.

“Hey, you good?” she asks, plopping back down and swinging her legs over his lap again.

“Yeah,” he says shortly, his hand resuming its absent stroking on her shin.

Her brows knit together. “Not you lying to me. Come on, Landinho, what’s with you?”

“Nothing,” he insists, but his tone is clipped, and his eyes won’t quite meet hers.

She punches his arm lightly, trying to break through whatever wall he’s just put up. “You sure?”

He looks at her then, and the vulnerability in his gaze takes her breath away. “Sure,” he says. But his hand tightens slightly on her leg, like he’s holding onto her in more ways than one.

Her heart clenches. Lando is her friend, the one person she can always count on, but in this moment, she feels the air between them growing in different direction. It’s not the first time, and it doesn’t make her uncomfortable, but it’s not easy for her to sit in it, either.

“You’re being weird,” she states, trying to lighten the mood, but her voice wavers.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, forcing a small smile. “Just tired,” adds Lando, but there’s something he hides behind his eyes, something that makes her chest ache.

She studies his face, her teasing words dying on her lips. His eyes are heavy-lidded, the usual spark dulled by the late hour and maybe one drink too many. His movements are slow, lazy, his thumb still caressing her skin.

“I can see that,” she says gently, sliding her legs off his lap. “Up. Come with me?”

The sudden loss of contact pulls him out of his haze, “Where?” asks Lando, his voice faintly slurred with exhaustion.

“Do you trust me?” she replies with a knowing smile, standing up and extending a hand to him. “My god, Lando. My friend gave me keys to one of the rooms upstairs in case I wanted to crash.”

He hesitates, glancing at her outstretched hand before finally letting out a soft laugh and taking it.

They make their way upstairs, the faint thump of music growing quieter with each step. The room isn’t far, tucked at the end of a hallway. She unlocks the door, revealing a small but cozy space. The room is dimly lit, with a single bedside lamp casting a muted glow over the single bed that’s pressed against one wall, a small dresser, and an armchair in the corner.

Lando steps in behind her, the faint hum of the party fading as the door clicks shut. His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the space. She lingers by the door for a moment, turning the key with a soft click, locking them in; the sound feels final, and heavier than it should.

Lando notices the bed immediately, his eyes narrowing briefly before he rubs the back of his neck, a gesture that betrays his unease. His voice is low and uncertain as he says, “You know what, I can crash on the couch downstairs. It’s fine.”

She tilts her head, her lips curving into a small smile as she watches him fidget. “You can,” she agrees, knowing that Lando has the superpower to fall asleep anywhere, no matter the place or how loud the background noise is. “Unfortunately, I locked the door,” she adds with fake concern in her voice.

Lando glances at her, his expression caught somewhere between playful and wary. “Yeah. You can unlock it, though.”

“But I won’t,” she replies, her smile softening, her words carrying an unspoken challenge that Lando catches immediately.

His lips part, and for a moment, he says nothing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Then, quietly, his voice dipping lower, he says, “Then don’t.”

His words linger between them, and she feels the weight of his gaze as it shifts to her. There’s no teasing in his expression now, no trace of the lighthearted Lando she’s used to.

She lets her arms fall to her side, her pulse quickening.

Lando’s chest rises and falls steadily, though there’s a tautness to his posture. His gaze darts back to the bed, then to her, and she swears she sees a flicker of something in his eyes — fear? Desire? Anticipation?

His jaw tightens, his eyes searching hers, and she feels the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on them both. Every glance, every touch, every joke that lingered a second too long — it’s all there, bubbling to the surface.

The tension between them that has simmered for months, maybe even years, suddenly feels unbearable. Lando’s eyes meet hers once again, and the quiet resolve in her gaze breaks something inside him. And then, suddenly, a glance he catches from her it’s all it takes. The restraint he’s held onto for so long snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. Before he knows it, he’s closing the gap between them, his hands cupping her face as his lips crash against hers.

She responds instantly, her hands tangling in his curls as she pulls him closer. The kiss is all-consuming, months of buried feelings and unsaid words spilling out in a rush. It’s intoxicating, a heavy blend of alcohol and the faint sweetness of her cherry lip balm. His lips are soft, impossibly so, molding against hers like they were made to fit. The taste of him is dizzying, a perfect balance of warmth and want, and each movement of his mouth sends sparks of heat rippling through her.

It’s overwhelming, the way Lando kisses her — gentle, but with a growing intensity that leaves her breathless, her heart pounding as if it’s trying to match the rhythm of his. His fingers trail down to her neck, squeezing lightly and pulling her against him as they stumble backward toward the bed.

“Do you know how long—” he begins against her lips, his voice rough with need.

“Too long,” she cuts him off with another kiss while her fingers are rushing to tug at the hem of his shirt.

Lando groans as they tumble onto the bed. Their breaths are loud and uneven, filling the small space as their lips crash together again, need and desire fueling every movement. Her palm presses against the small of his back, coaxing him between her legs. He instinctively follows her guidance, his body lowering against hers until his forehead rests on hers. At that, Lando sighs, not with frustration but a soft exasperation that halts them both.

“Are we… okay?” he asks, half-amused and half-concerned. “We shouldn’t—we should not do this. Not like this.”

She doesn’t release him, her hands still on his sides, her legs loosely wrapped around him. “We are,” she assures him, her voice calm but insistent. “It’s just us, Lando.”

His brows furrow, his lips parting in disbelief. “I know. I just don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and—”

Her hands move to his face, cupping it firmly and forcing him to look directly at her. “Regret it?” the girl asks, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Don’t be silly. You know this isn’t about tonight. I’ve wanted you for a while now. I know you do, too.”

His eyes flicker with something raw, and he swallows hard. “I do,” he agrees. “But. It’d be such a waste to mess it up.”

The weight of his confession settles over them, and he falls onto the mattress beside her. For a moment, they both stare up at the ceiling, their fingers brushing tentatively before intertwining. It’s quiet, save for the hum of the party faintly bleeding through the walls.

And then, “You’re such a good kisser, by the way,” she finally breaks the silence.

He lets out a chuckle, visibly affected. “You’re not making it any easier.”

“I’m already messed up because of you, Lan,” she confesses, turning onto her side, her fingers finding his arm and tracing slow patterns along its length. “I trust us. No matter the outcome.”

Her hand travels to his chest, her fingers brushing lightly over his collarbone before moving to his jaw. She traces the line of it, her touch light but electrifying. Finally, her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her gaze following her movements so closely, as if she wants to devour him.

Their thoughts run wild, revisiting every stolen glance, the tension, the want — it’s always been there. Every moment brought them here.

And now?

“Do you, really?” asks Lando, his voice laced with curiosity.

She nods, her hands sliding down to rest over his, her fingers curling around his. “Completely. I trust us to figure it out as we go. Don’t you?”

He lets her words settle, a warmth spreading through his body. He does. But he still has to think twice before agreeing to something so drastic, especially when he is faced with something he wants so badly that it makes him burn with impatience.

Finally, Lando sighs, looking at her.

“It’s not a big deal, right?” she says with a quiet laugh, her voice tinged with both affection and relief. “We’ve always been good at just... being us.”

He smiles at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “That’s true. We’re pretty fucking great at that.”

Lando’s breathing hitches as she guides his hand to her ass, pressing it against her curves with an undeniable confidence. His grip tightens instinctively, and she drapes a leg over his waist, pulling herself closer. Their eyes lock, her fingers tracing his features, as if committing every contour to memory. They’ve never been so close to each other, and the intimacy of the moment makes his heart race, while hers almost melts under the warmth of his body.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he admits matter-of-factly.

Her lips curl into a faint smile. “Hopefully,” she whispers, her hand traveling south, to work on unbuttoning his jeans.

Lando swallows hard, his gaze darkening as he grips her tighter. “If I fuck you tonight…” his voice drops, laced with a possessiveness that makes her shiver. “I won’t be able to let another guy come anywhere near you again.”

Her eyebrows arch in surprise, finally able to put the pieces together, understanding why Lando was acting so strange earlier.

“Are you jealous, Lando?” she teases, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in her tone.

Lando’s response is silent; instead, he leans in, his lips finding the soft curve of her neck. He sucks lightly, then harder, leaving a blooming hickey that makes her gasp.

When he pulls back, his voice is firm, “No, I just want people to stay away from what’s mine.”

Her breath catches, and before she can stop herself, the word escapes her lips in a near-whisper. “Yours.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, but he doesn’t say anything, letting the intensity in his gaze speak for him. She pushes at his chest, making him fall back against the mattress with a soft laugh, and crawls on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips.

Impatiently, her hands work on his shirt, pushing it up his chest. “Off,” she demands, tugging until he lifts his arms and lets her pull it over his head.

His hands waste no time, slipping under her skirt and pulling at the lace of her panties. “These,” he says quickly, his breath warm against her collarbone, “are in my way.”

With a sharp pull, he slides them down her thighs, and she shivers as the cool air kisses her damp skin. She leans down, burying her face in the crook of his neck to hide her embarrassment as he guides her hips forward, her bare core pressing against the warmth of his abs. The firm ridges of muscle beneath her send a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she lets out a soft moan.

Lando’s hand tightens on her hip, his thumb brushing over her skin. “Look at that,” he breathes heavily, “What got you so excited, hm?”

She whimpers at his words, the heat pooling in her cheeks as much as between her thighs. “Don’t—” she mumbles into his neck, her voice muffled and shy.

He chuckles softly, the vibration of it against her skin making her shudder. “No, that’s so hot,” he teases, moving her hips just slightly so she drags against him. His own breath catches, and his hips shift upward, pressing the hardness of his length against her thigh. “You feel what you’re doing to me? It’s mutual.”

She lifts her head, her eyes meeting his as she lets her fingers trail down his chest. Next, she adjusts herself as her hand slides lower, brushing against the waistband of his pants before she pushes them down just enough to free him. His cock springs free, and she bites her lip at the sight of it, her own arousal growing as she reaches out to wrap her hand around him.

Lando groans, his head falling back against the pillow. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice rough and full of longing.

As she leans down to press her lips to his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipple, a sound escapes him that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan. She glances up again, amused. “Well,” she teases, her voice playful but sultry, “I think I just found your new kink.”

Lando lets out a weak chuckle, his hand tangling in her hair as he pulls her back up to kiss her. “Shut up,” he speaks over her lips, but the way his hips buck against her hand tells her she’s right. “Everything you do is my kink,” he whispers, the rawness in his voice making her heart race.

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade, and with a playful glint in her eye, her hand squeezes his cock lightly, eliciting a sharp inhale from him. “Sorry,” she giggles, feigning innocence, “I just wanted to make sure.”

He scoffs, shaking his head with a smirk before his hands cup her ass firmly, pressing her harder against him. His voice is rough and dripping with need as he almost begs, “Come sit on my face.”

The unexpected plea is leaving her breathless, painting her face in confusion. “What?” she stammers, her voice nearly swallowed by the thrum of arousal coursing through her.

“Yeah, you heard me,” Lando assures her, his tone insistent, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.

Without waiting for her to argue, he pushes her skirt up around her waist, revealing the soft skin of her thighs, and pulls her closer to his face. She hesitates for a moment, her nerves warring with her desire, but when his strong hands guide her gently and his lips press a teasing kiss against her inner thigh, she gives in. The first swipe of his tongue against her entrance makes her gasp, her hand flying to the wall to steady herself.

Lando groans as he tastes her, the sound vibrating against her core and sending shockwaves through her body. One arm wraps tightly around her thigh, anchoring her to him, while his free hand drifts down to his cock, stroking himself in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue. Her moans spill into the air, mixing with his as Lando’s mouth works her over like a man starved, warm and wet and utterly relentless.

“Lan,” she breathes, her voice shaky as the intensity builds. Her hips jerk against his mouth instinctively, and he responds by pulling her even closer, burying his face deeper between her legs.

His tongue flicks, swirls, and presses in all the right places, and she can barely keep herself upright. She has to press both of her palms on the wall, but even then it’s not enough to keep her grounded. Not when Lando laps at her clit, his fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still as her body begins to tremble.

“You taste so fucking good,” he informs her between strokes of his tongue, his words muffled but clear enough to make her toes curl.

As her breaths turn shallow and erratic, she feels the pressure coiling tightly in her abdomen. Lando senses it, too, and his grip tightens, his movements growing more fervent. “Wanna come for me?” he asks as impatient as she is.

Before she can even process his question, her climax crashes into her like a tidal wave, her thighs trembling around his head as her moans echo through the room. Lando doesn’t stop, his mouth and tongue coaxing her through every pulse and tremor until she’s gasping for air.

In one swift, effortless motion, he pulls her down onto the bed and flips her over, positioning himself above her. His lips are slick, his gaze heavy-lidded with lust as he pumps two fingers into her, the wet heat of her still clenching around him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his thumb brushing against her sensitive clit as his fingers curl inside. “Let me feel you.”

Her body arches off the bed as another wave of pleasure crests over her, Lando’s name spilling from her lips in breathless cries. The sheer intensity of his touch and the quickness of it all leave her spinning, her mind barely able to keep up as he drives her over the edge once more.

By the time her breathing begins to steady, Lando leans down, his lips brushing hers in a lingering kiss, tasting her satisfaction on his tongue. He grins against her mouth, utterly smug but entirely captivated.

“See how fucking delicious you are?” he whispers, and she can only nod, still lost in the aftermath of him unraveling her completely.

Seeing the pleasure etched across her face, Lando can barely hold it together. His hands tremble slightly as he shoves his jeans and boxers down for good, freeing himself at last. His cock, heavy and flushed, rests against her thigh, the warmth of her skin giving him goosebumps. He breathes heavily, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers as he pauses for just a moment, meeting her gaze with a mix of vulnerability and pure lust.

“Are we really gonna do this?” asks Lando, his voice hiding too much desire under its raspy tone.

His eyes search hers, looking for any hint of doubt. Luckily, there is none. She just nods frantically, her hands sliding down his back to cup the firm muscles of his ass.

Her touch sends electricity through him, and she guides him where she needs him most, her body arching in anticipation. “I want you. Please.”

Without breaking eye contact, he sinks into her, and the world stops for both of them. His head falls forward, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he feels her warmth envelop him, her slick heat drawing him in effortlessly. Her body opens for him so easily, so perfectly, that it steals his breath. The tension that had coiled tightly in her frame melts away as her legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer.

Her arms encircle his shoulders, holding him tightly while she gasps Lando’s name. Her voice is music to his ears, and he presses his forehead against hers, the connection between them both overwhelming, yet grounding. Her fingers slide into his curls, playing with the strands at the nape of his neck as her hips shift instinctively, adjusting to his size.

“God, you feel…” he trails off, unable to find the words. Instead, he lets his body speak for him, drawing back before thrusting forward again. His movements are purposeful and powerful, each one making the bed creak slightly beneath them and pushing her up and down the sheets.

Her lips part with soft cries, her fingers tightening in his hair as her body meets each of his thrusts. “Lando,” she moans, her voice full of need and adoration, spurring him on. “Yes, that feels so good. Don’t stop.”

He catches her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her sounds as his hands wander over her body. His fingers hook under the hem of her t-shirt, and he tugs it upward, breaking the kiss momentarily to pull it over her head. The sight of her bare skin, flushed and glistening, takes his breath away. Her breasts are adorned with black lace, and the contrast against her skin ignites something primal in him.

“Stunning,” says Lando just as his hand drifts to her chest, brushing over the delicate fabric.

The way she arches into his touch, her nails scraping lightly against his shoulders, drives him wild. His thrusts deepen, his hips moving with purpose as the room fills with the sounds of their bodies meeting, her moans, and his ragged breaths.

“Fucking hell,” he rasps. His jaw clenches as he feels her tightening around him. “You’re killing me. So tight and—”

Before he can finish, she pulls him into a kiss. It’s shallow, their lips barely meeting as they breathe each other’s air. Her nails dig into his back, her legs trembling as she holds him as close as humanly possible.

“You’re so good, Lando,” she murmurs, her voice quivering, her praise like gasoline on his fire. “My favorite boy.”

Her words send him over the edge of control, his hips stuttering as he thrusts deep inside her, feeling her walls begin to flutter and clench around his cock. Her back arches, her head burying into the pillow as her orgasm crashes over her like a tidal wave. Again.

Her moans are unfiltered, and she clutches him like he’s her lifeline, while Lando stills inside her, groaning low and long as her body grips him so tightly that knocks the air out of his lungs. He presses his forehead against her chest, their breaths hurried as her aftershocks pulse around him so sweetly. Her nails scrape lightly down his back, grounding them both, continuing to whisper his name like a prayer.

It’s enough for Lando to surrender to his own orgasm, his body trembling as wave after wave of release takes him over. He stays buried inside her, unwilling to part just yet. The warm tightness around him makes him shudder, his hand gripping her thigh to anchor himself.

When he finally pulls out, he hesitates before pressing his knee between her legs, feeling the slick warmth of their combined arousal smearing against his skin. She squirms against him, her overstimulated body trembling, her hips shifting involuntarily as aftershocks ripple through her.

Lando watches her, his eyes dark with satisfaction, his voice husky as he whispers, “Forget 35. Let’s get married tomorrow.”

She exhales sharply, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I’m down,” she teases, her tone light but affectionate. “Let’s book the venue now.”

He looks at her, gaze softening, filled with something deeper as he reaches behind her and, with one measured motion, unclasps her bra. The suddenness of it catches her off guard, her eyes widening as he tosses it aside like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Before she can say a word, Lando leans over the side of the bed, fishing for his shirt. He finds it, holding it up, then tugging it over her head, the oversized fabric swallowing her frame.

“Perfect fit,” he says softly, his fingers brushing against her arms as he helps her adjust it. The gesture makes her chest tighten, her heart swelling with an ache she doesn’t fully understand yet.

After that, Lando slides back into his boxers and pulls the covers over both of them. The bed is small, forcing their bodies to press together in a tangle of limbs. It doesn’t feel awkward, though. It feels like a new home, safe and peaceful.

He rests his head on her chest, his breath warm and steady against her, while his hand absently caresses her through the fabric of his shirt, his fingers brushing over her nipple. Everything about the moment feels somehow so normal, like they’ve been this way forever.

The silence stretches on, so comforting, until she suddenly breaks it with a soft groan. “I have to pee again.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

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© trashy track tales, 2025

[bvidzsoo]

Every time I see you... (masterlist) ↰

...my throbbing heart rate spikes up

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

☆ Genre: slice of life, established situationship, post university setting, angst, fluff, smut ☆ Rating: 18+ (mature) ☆ Status: first chapter will be posted on: 30.01.

Summary: You had no issues committing to a relationship, but you've had too much misfortune while dating, so, really, you didn't even want to hear the word relationship. What you had with Mingi, however, was special...it was never said out loud, but to any onlooker, it was obvious what you were: just two people in love. Is that something you can come to terms with? Are you willing to open yourself to the man you've always loved but didn't fully acknowledge until now?

☆ Visuals ☆ 

︵⭒Chapter 1

︵⭒Chapter 2

︵⭒Chapter 3

︵⭒Chapter 4

︵⭒Chapter 5

︵⭒Chapter 6

︵⭒Chapter 7

︵⭒Chapter 8

🎧Be my little secret, keep it, hush, hush, but I think I'm in love🎧 

A/N: Man, I miss writing for my Mingi. IOMT really snatched my wig when it comes to Yunho, can one be bias wrecked by their own bias? Apparently, yes, because that's what happened. I've got this idea not so randomly, for those who know Giselle's solo song Dopamine, it was heavily influenced by it. I adore the song and can relate a lot to it, so here's me word vomiting another story for you guys! I'll start a separate taglist for this mini-series, so let me know on this post if you'd like to be tagged! I hope to see you all soon! ^^ Get ready to read about me gushing about Song Mingi for another eight chapters, yay! divider I hope to update every week, but it might get slower if we catch up with the chapters I have written so far.

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