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magic-shop-stories · 2 months ago

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Arranged Marriage Headcanons (AU) (Angst/Fluff/Smut Mix)

Original Request: "Would you be able to write something ot7 based on how they would be in an arranged marriage (both consenting to the marriage but just maybe not super happy about it at first or maybe they are but are awkward or however you want to do it.) Maybe like a head cannon? I really love the ones that you’ve written. Maybe some angst, some fluff, cuteness, smut. It’s okay if you can’t. I look forward to reading your work in the future either way!"

NOTE:

IMPORTANT! Due to Tumblr’s persistent "processing error" (RIP my sanity), I couldn’t post the full OT7 arranged marriage headcanons in one go without the draft self-destructing, so I split it up not wanting to not post...

THIS POST = Maknae Line (Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook)

Hyung Line (Namjoon, Jin, Yoongi, Hobi) in extra post

Apologies for the hassle! Blame Tumblr’s coding demons, not your sleep depreeved girl that tried to get help from tumblr support for almsot three days (RIP)

LINK TO HYUNG LINE POST

Warnings: themes of arranged/forced unions, dark political intrigue, family manipulation, heavy emotional distress/internal conflict, explicit content (light smut), subtle violence/domestic tension, corporate and academic power plays

JIMIN = PERFECTIONIST’S IMPERFECT LOVE

“You want my heart? It’s a mess. But it’s yours.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

your family (owners of a global fashion empire) needed Jimin’s family

= South Korea’s “First Family of Performing Arts”

to revive your brand’s fading relevance

their theaters were crumbling

your designs deemed “out of touch”

amerger of spectacle and style

Your Reason

to save your mother’s life’s work from bankruptcy

Jimin’s Reason

to protect his parents’ legacy

“They sacrificed everything for my training,”

“I’ll be their masterpiece. Even if it kills me.”

WEDDING

= A MASQUERADE OF PERFECTION

Your Attire

black-and-gold gown with a corset so tight you can’t breathe

designed to look like “liquid shadow"

Jimin’s Attire

white silk suit with a blood-red cravat

a choker hiding a thin blade (a dancer’s superstition)

“You look… acceptable.”

his eyes are raking over you

“For a stranger.”

Location

Venetian-inspired masquerade ball in a crumbling opera house

BTS members play their roles:

Jin toasts with poisoned honey

“To the prettiest prison cell!”

Yoongi DJs a playlist titled “Songs for Doomed Lovers.”

Hobi forces Jimin into a waltz

“Stop glaring. She’s not the enemy.”

Taehyung gifts you a dagger

“For when he’s too perfect.”

Jungkook guards the exits, smirking

“In case you bolt.”

Namjoon accidentally knocks over a statue

“Art is… transient.”

Jimin sighs

Vows

You: “I vow not to strangle you with your own cravat. Yet.” Jimin: “I vow to make you… want to stay.”

his gaze burns

“Somehow."

Reception

drags you to the rooftop

tearing off his mask

“This is hell."

he's hissing

“But at least we’ll look good burning.”

you yank his cravat

lips inches apart

“Then let’s burn together.”

EARLY DAYS

= TANGO OF TEARS AND TEETH

Penthouse

glass-walled loft with a mirrored dance studio

your sketches litter the floor

his piano scores stab the walls like knives

First Fight

over his obsessive rehearsals

You: “You’ve practiced that move 100 times. It’s perfect.” Jimin: “Perfect isn’t enough!”

he slams the piano lid

Jimin: “You wouldn’t understand; you’ve never bled for anything!” You (shoving him against the mirror): “I bled for this. For you.”

the glass cracks

so does he

Members’ Meddling

Jimin gifts you ballet shoes:

“Learn to keep up.”

you set them on fire

Taehyung paints your portrait as Medusa

Jimin hangs it in the foyer

“Accurate”

he smirks at it

Hobi forces you into couples’ therapy

therapist quits after Jimin declares:

“Love is a performance. And I always win.”

Breaking Point

you catch him crying in the shower

bloodied feet staining the tiles

you rasp: “Why?” he chokes: “Because if I’m not flawless, I’m nothing.”

you bandage his feet, hands trembling

“Then let’s be nothing together.”

TURNING POINTS

= PAS DE DEUX OF PAIN

Accident

he fractures his ankle mid-performance

you carry him offstage

he snarls: “Let me go.” you snap: “Never.”

Sketchbook

finds your drawings of him

= raw, angry, alive

“You… see me.”

Duet

teaches you a tango

“Stop thinking.”

he growls, hand searing your spine

“Just feel.”

you stumble

he catches you

“Again.”

he breathes: “Always.”

INTIMACY

= VIOLENT GRACE

First Kiss

after he wins a dance competition

you throw champagne in his face

“Congratulations, star.”

he pins you to the wall

licking the alcohol off your neck

“You taste like victory.”

Smutty Moments

his touch is possessive

bites your shoulder

marks you like a claim

“Mine.”

growls, always growls

you dare: “Prove it.”

when you take control, he unravels

Jimin: “I… I don’t know how to… ” You (whispering): “Let go.”

he does, trembling

dawn finds him sketching you

= your scars his muse

“Beautiful. Because they’re real.”

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you launch a label for “flawed” artists

dancers with scars, designers who burn their own rules.

members thrive in the chaos:

Jin models “broken” couture

“Scratches add texture!”

Yoongi produces your runway tracks

Hobi choreographs limping models into poetry

Taehyung exhibits his “Ugly Truth” collection

Jimin dances center stage

ankle brace glinting

Jimin’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony)

“I spent my life chasing perfect. You taught me to… fall. Best stumble I ever took.”

You: “Still a drama queen.” Jimin (grinning through tears): “But I’m your drama queen.”

Final

he dances with your son in the studio

the boy’s laughter echoing off cracked mirrors

Jungkook films it:

“Appa Jimin teaching the next gen to slay.”

Jimin posts it

caption: “Perfection is boring. We’re legendary.”

TAEHYUNG = ECLECTIC DREAMER & HIS CONSTELLATION OF CHAOS

“You called me weird? Sweetheart, I’m the whole damn galaxy.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

your family (pioneers of AI-driven climate tech) needed Taehyung’s family

= custodians of Korea’s lost folk arts

to humanize your corporation’s icy reputation

their ancestral art vaults were crumbling

your tech needed soul

merger of algorithms and analog

Your Reason

to save your mother’s AI rainforest project from being axed by heartless investors

Taehyung’s Reason

to protect his grandmother’s centuries-old pansori scrolls

“They’re her heartbeat.”

signing the contract with a fountain pen dipped in blue ink

“I’ll be the madman they need. But I won’t be tamed.”

WEDDING

= A BOHEMIAN RUCKUS

Your Attire

gown stitched from recycled satellite fabrics

shimmering like a nebula

“Fitting.”

Taehyung smirks when he sees it

“You’re as cold as space.”

Taehyung’s Attire

patchwork blazer (his grandmother’s silk, his father’s military patches)

mismatched socks

a beret tilted just so

“Chaos in couture.”

he winks, snapping polaroids of guests uninvited

Location

abandoned planetarium turned art squat in Daegu

BTS members wreak havoc:

Jin wears a “Worldwide Best Man” sash

heckles Taehyung’s vows

Yoongi DJs vinyl records of thunderstorms and whale songs

Jimin choreographs a “first dance”

= devolves into Taehyung twirling you like a dandelion

Hobi hangs paper cranes from the ceiling

Jungkook swings from them

Namjoon gives a speech about “love as quantum entanglement”

Taehyung cuts in:

“Hyung, you’re ruining the vibes.”

Vows

You: “I vow to never delete your weird playlists. Even the one titled ‘Screaming into the Void’.” Taehyung: “I vow to… color outside your lines.”

he grins

he's pulling a paintbrush from his pocket

swiping a streak of cerulean down your cheek

“Now we match.”

Reception

he vanishes

you find him in the planetarium’s projection room

lying on the floor as star maps flicker overhead

You: “Regretting your chaos in couture already?” Taehyung: “Nah. Just thinking… stars die screaming. But we’re here. Isn’t that weird?”

he pats the floor

“Sit. Let’s be weird together.”

EARLY DAYS

= COLLISIONS OF COSMOS AND CODE

Mansion

retro-futuristic loft with a rooftop greenhouse (yours)

a basement darkroom (his)

his walls are plastered with film negatives

yours glow with holographic data trees

First Fight

over his midnight escapades

You: “You brought a literal stray cow upstairs?! ”Taehyung: “She’s a muse! Look at her eyes!”

the cow moos

Jin texts: “I’m charging you for my designer couch.”

Members’ Meddling

Jimin gifts a “Couples’ Bucket List”:

#1: “Get matching tattoos (preferably of the cow).”

Hobi paints your AI drones to look like fireflies

you retaliate by coding them to buzz “BORING”

Namjoon hosts a “Philosophy & Wine” night

Taehyung argues that “the moon is just space’s teardrop.”

Breaking Point

you find his hidden sketchbook

pages of you

you scowling at code, you laughing mid-sneeze, you asleep with holographs flickering on your face

You: “Why?” Taehyung (blushing): “You’re… my favorite paradox. Warm circuits, cold heart.” You (softly): “My heart isn’t cold. Just… buried.” Taehyung: “Let’s dig.”

TURNING POINTS

= LOVE AS A MIXED MEDIA MASTERPIECE

Observatory Date

drags you to a hilltop, telescope in tow

“See that star? It died 1,000 years ago. But we’re still watching its scream.”

you kiss him under the ghost light

Cow’s Legacy

the stray (named Galaxy) gives birth in your greenhouse

Taehyung sobs:

“Life! In the stupid lettuce!”

Panic Attack

freezes mid-gallery show

whispers trembling:

“What if I’m not enough?”

you step onstage

grip his hand

“This artist? He’s everything.”

INTIMACY

= UNTAMED AND UNSPOOLED

First Kiss

after he wins an art prize

you scoff: “Congrats, Van Gogh.”

he pins you against his mural

smearing paint across your lips

“Taste the rainbow, princess.”

Smutty Moments

his hands are artist’s hands

calloused, ink-stained

mapping your body like a canvas

“Here.”

murmurs, biting your hip

“This is where I’ll paint you gold.”

when you undress him, he’s shy

“I’m… not a sculpture.”

you trace his scars

“No. You’re better.”

dawn finds him sketching your naked form bathed in hologram light

“Stay still.”

he pouts, when you move

“Or don’t. Chaos is prettier.”

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

your mansion is a “Sanctuary for Lost Things”

stray animals, failed tech, orphaned art

members thrive:

Jin hosts “Ramen with Cows” nights

Galaxy becomes Instagram famous

Yoongi scores documentaries about your chaos

Jimin dances with feral kittens

Jungkooks’s “Scars & Stars” exhibit goes viral

his centerpiece?

a hologram of you and TAehyung mid-fight

titled “How Love Collides.”

Taehyung’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony)

“They said we’d crash. But baby, we’re a supernova.”

slips a ring made from Galaxy’s first bell

“My forever muse.”

You: “Still a weirdo.” Taehyung (grinning): “But you’re my weirdo.”

Final

teaches your daughter to paint

her tiny hands smearing cerulean on his nose

Jungkook films it

Taehyung captions it: “Masterpiece in progress.”

JUNGKOOK = WILD HEART & HIS UNLIKELY TAMER

“You think you can handle me? Good luck. I bite.”

WHY THE MARRIAGE HAPPENED

Political Context

your family (owners of a global security empire specializing in AI defense systems) needed Jungkook’s family

= legendary mercenaries turned private military contractors

to add brute force to your tech’s precision

their trigger fingers were losing contracts

your code needed muscle

merger of bullet and byte

Your Reason

to protect your sister from being sold into a rival alliance

Jungkook’s Reason

to free his brother from prison

“He took a fall for me.”

Jungkook mutters, signing the contract with a switchblade jammed into the table

“This is my penance. Don’t get in my way.”

WEDDING

= WAR ZONE IN WHITE

Your Attire

bulletproof ivory corset dress (your design)

hidden holsters strapped to your thighs

Jungkook’s Attire

black tactical suit

sleeves rolled to showcase his tattoos

crown on his hand, ARMY on his knuckles, and the tiger lily are what you recognise first

“Like what you see?”

he smirks, catching you staring

“Don’t get attached.”

Location

cliffside fortress in Jeju

waves crashing below

BTS members toe the line between guests and guards:

Jin wears a “Worldwide Best Man” kevlar vest

“Romance is dead, but I’m immortal!”

Yoongi snipes drones from a tower

he's grumbling

“I’m not your damn wedding planner.”

Jimin chokeslides into the ceremony

tossing confetti grenades

“Congrats, lovebirds!”

Taehyung paints a mural of you both as mythical warrior

= Jungkook as a wolf, you as a storm

Hobi DJs a mix of trap and Debussy

“Balance, people!”

Namjoon officiates, quoting Sun Tzu:

“Love is the ultimate warfare...”

Jungkook cuts him off:

“Skip the lecture. Let’s fight already.”

Vows

You: “I vow not to shoot you. Unless you deserve it.” Jungkook: “I vow to… stay. For now.”

flashes his ARMY knuckle tattoo

“But cross me, and I’ll vanish.”

Reception

he disappears

you find him on the cliff’s edge

shirtless, tattoos glowing in the moonlight

You: “Regretting this?” Jungkook: “Nah. Just wondering how fast you’d fall.”

nods to the drop

You (stepping closer): “Try me.”

he grins = feral, thrilling

then pulls you back

“Later, princess.”

EARLY DAYS

= CLASH OF CLAWS AND CODE

Compound

steel-and-glass bunker

with a shooting range (his)

a hacker’s den (yours)

his gym reeks of sweat and gun oil

yours hums with servers and paranoia

First Fight

over his reckless missions

You: “You nearly blew up my servers!” Jungkook: “Your servers were in the way.”

slams a knife into your desk

Jungkook: “Next time, move ’em.” You (yanking the knife out): “Next time, I’ll move you.”

Members’ Meddling

Jimin gifts matching daggers

“Stab each other gently!”

Taehyung paints your faces on grenades

Jungkook hangs them as “art.”

Hobi forces you into couples’ MMA classes

Jungkook pins you in 10 seconds

“Weak.”

you knee his ribs

“Better.”

Breaking Point

you hack his mission files

discovering his brother’s arrest was a setup

You: “You’re being played.”Jungkook (slamming you against the wall): “Stay out of my head!”You (cold): “Or what? You’ll kill me? Do it.”

his grip loosens

“…Fuck. You’re crazy.”

TURNING POINTS

= BLOODIED TRUST

Ambush

takes a bullet shielding you

you scream

“Why?!”

later stitching his wound

“You… owe me a rematch.”

he gasps, tracing your panic

Tattoo

lets you touch his tattoos for the first time

“It’s for my brother”

he admits it when you keep tracing the same spot

“He called me his beast.”

Code

you decrypt his brother’s files

“He’s innocent.”

Jungkook stares

tears mixing with blood

“…Thank you.”

INTIMACY

= FERAL AND FERVENT

First Kiss

after he wins a fight club match

you toss a towel at him

“You’re bleeding.”

grabs your wrist

licking the blood off his lip

“Your turn.”

Smutty Moments

his touch is raw

bites your neck

grips your hips hard enough to bruise

“Mine.”

ARMY knuckles whitening

you dare him to prove it

when you straddle him, he freezes

vulnerable under his ink

Jungkook: “I… don’t know how to be soft.” You (whispering): “Then don’t.”

dawn finds him sketching you asleep

crown tattoo brushing your cheek

“Pretty. When you’re quiet.”

HOW IT ENDS

Five Years Later

you dismantle the corrupt alliance

freeing his brother

the compound becomes a sanctuary for rogue agents and hackers

members thrive:

Jin hosts “Kevlar & Karaoke” nights

Yoongi trains recruits

Jimin teaches “Dance-Fu.”

Taehyung paints murals of your battles

Hobi turns them into NFT art

Jungkook and his brother open a gym

“No guns. Just fists.”

Jungkook’s Vows (Renewal Ceremony)

“I used to think love was a cage. You… you’re the key.”

slips a ring forged from his first bullet

“My forever fight.”

You: “Still a brute.” Jungkook (grinning): “But I’m your brute.”

Final

chases your son through the gym

the boy wearing mini tactical gear

Namjoon films and comments it:

“Baby Beast in training”

Jungkook posts it

caption: “Legacy secured.”

HYUNG LINE POST

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lrithill · 23 days ago

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Of Black and White (Art x gn! reader)

Hi everyone,

This is a fanfic I started writing after having a bad day at university and realizing I desperately needed Art to... comfort me.

And honestly, I just realized how incredibly therapeutic writing can be, because it genuinely made me feel so much better. I was actually laughing and having a good time while writing it.

Summary: After a day that shatters you more than you dare admit, you come home, unsure how Art will face your sorrow. What you find is terrifying and beautiful: a love too deep for words, and a future as fragile as a candle trembling in the rain.

Warnings: Extreme fluff, free pizza (for reasons), violence (but in a joyful context), the deepest kind of romance, crying (both from sadness and happiness), true love.

I wanted this to be a gender-neutral reader fanfic so that everyone could feel represented.

I tried not to mention anything that could hint at the reader's gender.

I hope I did it right—it's my first time trying!

It's hilarious how you can literally see the evolution of my mood throughout this fic—it starts off all sad and gloomy, and then slowly climbs its way back up into my usual style, full of humor, romance, violence... cozy violence (yes, I’m calling it that).

I started this as something silly and quick, but as always... it had to evolve into a nearly 5,000-word emotional one-shot. I was honestly moved by the ending—like, wow... feelings happened.

So I ended up crying agaaaaain…

The title "Of Black and White" is not merely about colors, but about the fierce contrasts that shape the story: happines and sadness, love and pain, light and shadow, life and death.

Also, this was possibly the hardest fanfic I've ever written so far, because it was really challenging to write this more "human" version of Art without making him too OOC (though at the beginning I totally took some liberties, because I needed the fluffiest fluff ever to exist).

PLUS, I spent like two weeks just thinking about ONE SINGLE PARAGRAPH that was absolutely RUINING MY LIFE.

And trust me—you'll know exactly which one it is when you read it. It was insanely difficult.

I mean, it's already hard enough to pull something like that off in my first language... now imagine trying to do it in a language that's not even mine. Holy Christ.

But honestly, with Art, it could never have been any other way.

Those lines had to be precise, razor-sharp...

They had to go deeper inside than Art’s dick ever could (and that says a lot).

(I don't want to spoil anything, but I'll just say that every gif I use is for a reason).

It was a strange day. One of those days that can’t quite decide whether it’s the last breath of winter or the first yawn of spring. A dry, howling wind—as dry as the desert—scratched at your eyes and filled your lungs with burning sand.

And yet, in the shade, the humidity soaked you to the bone, as if sadness itself were trying to bloom inside you in the form of mushrooms.

But you’d be lying if you said that was what was bothering you. Your irritated eyes, your tight chest, your uncomfortable body... they weren’t complaining about the outside world—but the inside one.

And you realized—with a kind of cruel irony—that this dissonant weather was the perfect mirror of your emotional wreckage: a chaotic storm hammering at your temples.

You were heading home in a rush, with the urgency of someone who doesn’t want to be seen. You didn’t want to run into anyone, and if you had… you probably wouldn’t have noticed—because you didn’t have it in you to lift your eyes from the ground, let alone meet someone’s gaze.

Well… maybe one gaze.

You’re not a serious person. You don’t usually get angry at anyone, much less hurt them—you don’t want to.

And that person… He isn’t used to seeing you sad, to feeling you distant, to the silence of a shadow without arms—you have no idea how he’s going to react to all this. Will he become your emotional support clown? Will he laugh at you? Will he vanish for days like you’re some sickly plant that needs to be left alone to recover?

You stormed into the building like a burglar. You opened the door with the kind of anxiety that wants to phase through matter. You climbed the stairs—those endless stairs. Everything was a gray blur—no edges, no contrast—a tasteless fog you swallowed without thinking. A grayness you longed to turn into something more legible: a balance of black and white.

And finally, your front door. You made a beeline for your room—craving your pajamas, your bed, a splash of fresh water to rinse away the tears, anything that would feel soft against your skin.

You greeted Art in passing, who was half-asleep on the couch—probably recharging before heading out to cause his usual nighttime chaos. He barely managed to let out a groggy “Honk!” before you vanished upstairs without looking back.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him…

It was that you didn’t want him to see you like this.

And that… that is what truly unsettles him.

Art is used to your greetings being full of kisses and laughter, with hugs and playful shoves. You, who speak to him like a well-tuned violin; you, who drown him in affection as naturally as breathing. And he—who is all flesh and expression, who loves through the body, who needs those gestures like a dancer needs music.

So, he slowly sits up, stretching and yawning in an exaggerated motion. He sniffs the air, trying to detect any traces of menstrual blood in your scent—just in case it might explain your behavior—but no. Nothing.

It’s another kind of scent that reaches him—familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

He rolls up his sleeve to check the time on his invisible watch and nods with confident flair.

“Cue the sad music… it’s time for the clown to step into the spotlight. ”

Art climbs the wooden stairs, careful not to make a sound, dodging every creaky board—he knows them by heart, like a spider that knows each thread of its web.

Upstairs, your bedroom door is slightly ajar. He peeks in cautiously—scouting the terrain before making his entrance. He sees you lying on the bed, turned away from him, silently sobbing into a pillow, your arms coiled tightly around it.

An invisible knife cuts through his heart at the sight.

He can’t help but collapse dramatically against the wall, gazing up at the ceiling, one hand clutching his chest. Not because he’s sorrowful—but because he’s offended.

Offense. Pure, undignified offense.

“What does that pillow have that I don’t? And why haven’t I turned it to ashes yet?”, he thinks, hurt.

But he collects himself. He’ll deal with that plush lover later—with all the fury a pillow fight can offer.

He slips through the door quietly—just wide enough to let his lean body in—and closes it back to exactly how it was, careful not to disturb the soft, shadowy cocoon you’d created.

He kneels by the edge of the bed, and—for one fleeting second—the thought of honking right into your ear crosses his mind. (Intrusive thoughts… are strong). But he resists—he’s clearly fighting for your affection against a dangerously cuddly rival.

Instead, he gently lets himself fall beside you, doing his best not to disturb you. His arms carefully wrap around your waist; you feel his chest against your back, his breath brushing softly across your shoulders. The sensation is warm, soothing, intimate… and it makes you blush, pulling an involuntary first smile from your lips.

His hands go searching for yours—as they always do—to interlace your fingers. Needing your warmth, your touch... connection.

When—

BAM!

To hell with the pillow.

Art runs into it before he finds your hands and hurls it against the wall at the speed of light—with all the jealousy and rage the world has ever known. Had there been a window, it would’ve landed in the neighbor’s house.

“I’ll pluck every feather from your body later,” he thinks, with the kind of anger he saves only for those foolish enough to touch you—already sentencing it to a slow, velvety death.

You look at him, stunned, blinking at the sudden, unprovoked assault.

His expression softens instantly when your eyes meet his.

Now his hands change course, reaching for your hair, gently brushing back a few strands from your face... just so he can really see you.

And he stays there, silent, watching you: Swollen lips, red eyes, tears still sliding down your chin...

It’s a face he’s seen a hundred times—on other people, in other moments, usually under flickering lights or right before a final scream—but somehow, seeing it on you... it’s like the first time. It doesn’t amuse him like it usually would, he doesn’t want to make it worse… in fact, he doesn’t even want to keep looking at it.

He leans in and kisses you—softly.

Sloppy kisses—silly, clumsy, innocent… One after another; like summer rain.

You feel his lips brushing yours gently—soft, playful. Kisses landing on your lower lip, at the corners of your mouth—like butterflies. His tongue peeks out timidly, just enough to graze you, never to intrude.

He’s not trying to seduce you.

He’s trying to comfort you… and somehow, he's doing a surprisingly good job.

His mouth finds the salty trail of a tear and follows it, drinks it, erases it. He cleans the droplets on your chin with trembling lips as if they were little stalactites—like he’s trying to absorb the pain directly from your skin.

You think about speaking. About telling him how grateful you are for this—how much his presence, his gestures, his way of loving you… actually calms you.

But you choose silence instead—letting your body say it all. Letting your fingers, your breath, the gentle movement of your mouth over his, speak for you. Letting your body language talk to him the way his talks to you—you speak the same language, the kind that doesn’t need translation.

Because in this moment—strange, warm, intimate—you both know there’s nothing more to say.

You bring your hands to his face—and gently—guide him, laying him down beside you. Never stopping the kisses… never breaking the spell.

Now you’re both fully lying down, on the same level. Eyes closed—though every now and then, Art sneaks one open to spy on your face (he still can’t quite believe how much you like kissing him).

Your bodies curl into a human nest, arms and legs tangled comfortably in a tight, warm embrace, full of tenderness—no urgency, no hunger, no desire. Just love.

You caress his face with one hand, and with the other, you gently guide his hand toward your lips—kissing his fingers, his knuckles, the back of his hand, his wrists… You feel the fine hairs on his arm rise, and how that wave travels upward, upward, like your kisses were a gentle electric current.

Art pulls back slightly and takes a deep breath—releasing it in a sigh that can only mean… peace.

There’s a soft, innocent smile on his lips now, and a light blush blooming on his cheeks—he can’t help it.

Then, he moves his hand away from your mouth.

Your brow furrows, just a little, puzzled.

But the confusion turns to wonder in an instant.

Because you see what Art is doing.

He lifts the pinky finger of his right hand. "I"

He crosses the index and middle fingers of both hands, then opens them wide. "love"

He points at you with his index finger. "you"

You don’t know much sign language—yet. But you had asked Art to teach you some important things.

And this—this one in particular—was one of the first you’d wanted to learn.

It’s the first time you see him doing it for real. No rehearsals. No jokes. No distractions...

And something in your chest melts sweetly.

Your eyes well up with tears—and this time, they’re tears of joy—and Art looks even more confused.

He watches you in silence, tilting his head with that trademark perplexed expression. His eyes scan your face with that curious look he gets when he doesn’t understand what’s going on—when he’s starting to suspect he might be the sane one in the room.

“Why do I always make people cry?” he wonders, proud of himself in the most frustrating way possible.

Then, as always, he decides the best way to handle discomfort… is to make it his own.

He throws himself at you with ridiculous theatrics and pulls you into a tight hug. So tight your face ends up smashed against his chest, barely able to breathe.

He starts repeating the “I love you” gesture again in sign language… but now in the most utterly chaotic, clumsy, exaggerated way possible—his hands flailing like a mute, stuttering ADHD octopus.

His movements are visual mayhem. Adorable mayhem.

And that—that pulls a laugh out of you, scattering the tears.

Art always seems like an emotional disaster, and yet he has this incredible ability to make you feel better—even when he has no idea what he’s doing. (A good clown, after all—if we ignore the whole “murder” thing—could probably brighten up a birthday or two.)

You try to mimic the gesture too, as best you can, but Art’s hugs aren’t bear hugs, they’re bear traps.

So all you can do is... shout.

“I LOVE YOU TOO! I LOVE YOU TOO!” you yell against his chest, hoping your ribs survive.

Your ribs will survive.

But your heart—most certainly—won’t.

That night, Art came back at a surprisingly reasonable hour—It was exactly 12:00 a.m. on the dot.

He rang your doorbell—as usual—covered in blood like a walking clot. He was in a great mood, even more than usual.

Art, unlike the rest of us mortals, always finishes work with renewed vitality—and, well… reduced vitality from others.

He kissed you carefully, trying not to get too much blood on you—though let’s be honest, nothing was going to save you from the butt slap.

He headed straight to the shower, no detours, which was… another sign that something was off.

Art’s just happy to see me happy again, and he doesn’t want to mess it up, you thought.

It had been a long day, and the only thing you truly needed now was something easy and comforting to eat.

So, in an act of pure wisdom, you decided to order pizza.

Art is sitting next to you on the couch when the doorbell rings:

DING DONG!

He doesn’t even need a second to think. His head snaps toward the door like a hunting dog that just sensed the delivery guy from miles away.

He throws you a knowing look, a mischievous little grin over his shoulder as he walks by. His eyebrows bounce playfully, his tongue shamelessly licking his lips.

I always have to be the one to order, but honestly? Worth it, you think to yourself, never taking your eyes off him.

"50 SECONDS IS YOUR RECORD!" you shout from the couch, stopwatch in hand.

Art strides toward the door with purpose, plants himself in front of it, and before opening it, does a few breathing exercises like an actor prepping for a major monologue.

And then...

CREEEAAAK...

He opens the door—slowly, dramatically. The hinge wails like a portal to hell. The door groans so loud, so cursed, it sounds like it’s haunted by its own misery.

On the other side, the delivery guy stands, smiling with the pizza in hand. But that smile lasts approximately 0.2 seconds.

Because facing him is not Art’s "few friends" face—it’s his "DEAD friends" face.

*In my language, there's an expression used to describe someone who looks unfriendly — we say they 'have a face of few. friends' That's where the joke comes from, because Art doesn't just have the face of someone with few friends; he looks like he killed them. I couldn't find a close way to translate it into English, so I'm explaining it here.*

“C-cash or… card, sir?” the poor guy whispers, holding the box out with visibly trembling hands.

Art looks up, feigns deep thought and then—

ZAS!

In an impossible quick motion, Art pulls his hands from behind his back and stabs the pizza from below, impaling it with something that is neither cash nor card.

“Big knife… or BIGGER knife?” his eyes say.

The delivery guy goes paler than Art’s face. He watches the tomato sauce drip and suddenly… empathise—sees himself in that pizza’s place.

He drops the box—now skewered—and bolts down the stairs like a bat out of hell.

Art wipes away a tear from laughing too hard, soaking in the chaos.

“HONK! HONK! HONK!”

He curses out his mother through the horn, watching him run down the stairs, watching him completely lose it on the way down, watching more than one open fracture stick out, watching with absolute certainty that he won’t be making it to the hospital.

Finally, with the pizza in hand, he shuts the door and lifts the lid. The smell of melted cheese fills the room, blending with the lingering aura of natural terror and fresh trauma, setting the perfect mood for a romantic dinner.

Art sets it down on the table and plops beside you, sliding an arm around your shoulders—radiating the pride of an elite psychopath who plays competitively "Bring food, or become food.”

He looks at you like he just pulled off the stunt of a lifetime.

Which, to you, he absolutely did.

You’ll never have to pay for delivery again (though yes, you do need to rotate food places every two weeks to avoid investigations—but hey, free food is free food).

“48 SECONDS, BABY!!!!” you announce, stopping the timer, and clap your hands. “Gold medal for the champion,” you say, pretending to place an imaginary medal around his neck.

Art gives you a high five, already munching on a slice—still impaled, of course, because using hands is way too basic for him.

But now comes the interesting part—the reason Art was so cheerful when he arrived.

The movie you were watching suddenly gets interrupted by breaking news.

You glance at Art—who’s wearing a picture-perfect expression of surprise, his mouth forming a flawless "O." He turns to look at you, keeping that same face, as if he had absolutely no idea what’s about to be said.

📢 BREAKING NEWS — MILES COUNTY DIARY📢

"At 10:38 p.m., two bodies were found on the outskirts of Miles County, next to a video camera. The investigation team has confirmed that the footage shows the presence of Art, the infamous homicidal clown. Authorities are urging residents to stay indoors, lock all doors and windows. The following images contain graphic violence. Viewer discretion is advised. This material may be disturbing for some audiences. Watch at your own risk."

"What is this, Art?" you ask, genuinely confused.

Art simply points at the screen, smiling wide, eyes sparkling with excitement—he’s only missing a tub of popcorn, though the pizza works just as well.

"I love how they say ‘stay indoors, lock all doors and windows,’" you say, chuckling. "Because obviously I’m going to do all that… with my homicidal clown already inside."

You both burst out laughing at the irony.

The footage begins—Art raises a finger to his lips, signaling a “shhh”.

The recording starts with a jarring camera shake, as if someone had hit “record” by accident… or abruptly. The image wobbles for a few seconds before stabilizing, revealing a deeply unsettling scene:

A man tied to a chair, duct tape wrapped tightly around his torso, wrists, and ankles. He’s in a dark room, lit only by a single harsh, yellowish spotlight hanging above his head, casting a long, trembling shadow on the wall behind him.

“Please… I don’t want to diiiie,” he pleads through clenched teeth, looking straight into the camera.

Art swings the camera side to side, shaking it as if to say “no”—so even the audience gets the message… though he hasn’t shown himself yet.

He walks up to the man and gently strokes his hair—as if to comfort him—bringing the camera in close to capture his bruised face and glassy eyes—with dilated pupils. It looks like Art injected him with something to keep him awake.

It seems there are wires at the base of his neck—subtle, almost hidden—, as they trail behind his head.

“Wh-what do you want from me…?” the man whispers, trembling.

Art then pulls out a knife and shows it to him—the man freezes, eyes locked on the blade.

Art passes the knife slowly near his Adam’s apple, not quite touching it.

“I have a wife… she’s pregnant…” the man blurts out, trying to appeal to some flicker of mercy.

Art finally turns the camera toward himself for the first time. He makes an exaggerated pout, clearly heartbroken by the situation, clearly full of sympathy, clearly… performing.

“You’ll never know what love is!” the man spits at him, desperate and furious.

Art pauses.

He points to himself with a skeptical face…then points to the man’s face… then back to himself again—like a sarcastic seesaw, a pantomime of disbelief.

As if to say:

“Are you sure about that?”

Then, he lifts his hat and—

TADA!

He pulls out a photo of you. He doesn’t show it to the camera, but he holds it up to the man with a reverent gesture. So proud and happy.

He turns the camera back to his own face, now wearing a smug, satisfied smile. He kisses the photo with a dainty little “mwah”, presses it to his chest where his heart is, and tucks it safely away again.

Without warning, he points a gun at the man.

The man freezes in pure, bone-deep terror.

Art hands him a piece of paper, neatly folded.

But the guy’s wrists are still tied, so Art very helpfully proceeds to stab one of his hands repeatedly, destroying it completely before leaving it free enough to hold the paper.

The man screams in agony—his hand now practically useless, bones poking through like shattered twigs.

Art just laughs—though you don’t hear it. But you see it: shoulders shaking, chest bouncing, tongue poking out playfully from the corner of his mouth.

He steps back a few paces, angling the camera to get a perfect wide shot, making sure to capture every second of the show.

The man is trembling. Crying. Begging. Bleeding.

Art makes a very clear gesture with the gun.

Read.

The man swallows hard, sobbing, and begins to read out loud the handwritten message from the killer himself:

“You are the sky stretched over my hell, the bloom that rose where my body fell, the nightmare I long for, night after night, the fall I crave, more than the flight. I no longer know if this is a curse— for every drop of blood forgets its path, and every stream, no matter how dire, leads back to you through pain and desire. It must be a curse—this aching delight, that makes me weak and steals my fight. It makes me fear what I never did: not monsters or death—but feelings I hid. I fear to die—drenched in endless black. I fear your death—I'd bleed the heavens to bring you back. Treachery’s the sin most deeply damned— a sin I never knew, until today. And now I’d drown, with pride and grace, in Cocytus’ cold, in death’s embrace— for you have made me turn on me, and crowned me my worst enemy. You were my first delicious mistake, and you’ll be the final breath I’ll take. So I ask you now—divine, unholy— Will you marry me, my one and only?”

*In Dante's Divine Comedy, the lake Cocytus is the ninth and final circle of Hell, an immense frozen wasteland where traitors are punished. This icy region is marked by the extreme cold caused by Lucifer's wings, meant to punish betrayal.*

You're completely absorbed in the recording.

And that last line—that line—snaps you back to reality like a bucket of cold water… or cold blood.

Your soul slams back into your body, and for the umpteenth time today, your eyes well up with tears.

Because when you turn your head…

Art is no longer sitting on the couch.

He’s not there.

He’s no longer beside you.

He’s kneeling on the floor… with a small black box in his hand, holding a beautiful ring that looks like it was forged in the most intimate corner of hell.

In his other hand, he holds a bouquet of ghost flowers—pale Monotropa uniflora.

Their waxy, translucent stems trembling like glass on the verge of breaking—white, ethereal, eerie, spectral… yet real.

Just like him.

Rootless things that bloom in the dark, feeding on decay, and yet… so full of beauty. He offers them with care, as if they were precious, impossible things.

The recording is still playing, but nothing’s happening—As if even past Art is holding his breath, waiting for your answer.

“Oh… Art…”

You can’t find the words. Your throat tightens, but an undeniable smile blooms across your face.

“Yes. Of course yes! I’ve never wanted anything more in my life… I LOVE YOU.”

You kneel down to hug him, not even looking at the perfect ring waiting for your finger… honestly, nothing seems more perfect right now than your… husband.

Art sets the box and the bouquet gently on the table and lifts you up in a hug that sweeps your feet off the ground.

And he kisses you like it’s the first time—which, in a way, it is.

The first time—as spouses.

The recording flickers back to life: romantic music begins to play, a soft waltz worthy of an enchanted, bizarre wedding.

Of course Art planned this. Of course it went flawlessly.

You start dancing without thinking, without speaking… just floating.

The moment couldn’t be more dreamlike—you never imagined, as a child, that your proposal would look anything like this—but honestly… it’s unbeatable.

On screen, the other Art appears again—he’s applauding, blowing kisses at the camera, wiping away an invisible tear.

He signals to the man beside him, gesturing for him to clap as well—as if he knows—as if he can somehow see what’s happening right now on the other side of the screen.

While you and Art keep dancing, video-Art—visibly satisfied—, takes a step back.

With a final bow, he steps away from the man and pulls out a small detonator.

He smiles wide, eyes darkening with a slow, delicious malice.

Your Art points to the screen, urging you to watch.

Video-Art presses the button and—

For a moment, nothing happens.

And then—

BAAAAM

The man’s head explodes in a monstrous fireball, accompanied by homemade fireworks—a burst of color, violence and celebration.

His brains go flying, scattered through the air like confetti. Blood gushes out like a fountain, a crimson rain of eternal love.

Video-Art jumps with joy, twirling under the blood shower—it turned out exactly as he’d planned.

He holds up a finger in a 'wait a minute' gesture, then casually walks off, as if he's gone to get something

The music keeps playing.

Then he reappears, now dancing with… another headless body?

(Maybe the first take wasn’t good enough).

And the scene continues.

Music and blood.

Dance and delirium.

Death and the corpse entering and exiting frame with hypnotic steps.

And you, without thinking, keep dancing too—dancing with your own sweet death.

As you kiss him, as you caress his face, your hearts beat in sync—chest to chest, as if trying to merge into one.

Art reaches for the box again from the table. His eyes are glowing, eager to see how beautifully the ring fits your hand.

The ring he made himself.

He shows it to you, and this time, you finally take in every detail that the rush of emotion had blurred before.

It’s elegant—it’s perfect. Exactly the right proportions for your finger.

Tiny jewels are embedded in the ring: obsidian and pearls, mirroring his own colors—as if his essence had crystallized inside the ring.

His, on the other hand, is not nearly as ornate—you could say he poured all his effort into yours.

Or perhaps, for him, it was enough to have something that simply matched you.

And then you see the inside.

And on the inner band, there’s a detail so deliberate it actually frightens you—frightens you with how carefully Art prepared this moment.

Etched with almost reverent precision, something leaves you breathless:

Your names.

Together.

Engraved like a prayer—or maybe an eternal curse.

There’s no way to tell which.

It’s beautiful. And it’s yours.

You start to slide the ring onto your finger… but Art stops you.

He takes your hand gently, and he’s the one to slip the ring on, watching with deep satisfaction as it fits perfectly.

Of course it does.

He made it for you—maybe that’s why he was always staring at your hands with such devotion.

"I love you, Art. Forever," you whisper, admiring your hand—now complete.

Art kisses your hand in response, his eyes glowing with emotion.

"Your turn," you say with a soft smile, holding his ring now.

He offers his hand a little shyly, and you kiss it gently, reassuringly. You feel his whole body relax beneath your touch.

You slide the ring onto his finger, and yes—it fits perfectly too.

And then your hands find each other—fingers lacing together like puzzle pieces finally reunited after a long, winding search.

You look at each other, you smile and… for a moment, you see someone else. Or rather, you see something in him you’d never seen before.

There’s the faintest gloss in Art’s eyes, like something unspoken stirred him.

You’ve never seen him cry—and he certainly can’t remember the last time he did… if he ever did at all.

But you didn't get the chance to read it, to piece it together—to make sense of it.

Because, suddenly, the light fades—

The video ends at that exact moment—as if past Art had sensed a tear slipping out, and decided to protect himself in the future by cutting away just in time.

The music fades.

The tv-screen goes black.

And the room is left in total darkness.

There’s nothing left now… but this:

The kisses.

The embraces.

The darkness.

The silence dance.

The presence.

The warmth.

One for the other, forever.

The next morning, you couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened.

You��re not even sure Art fully understands what marriage means (besides owning a perpetual hostage)—and maybe, yes; it was impulsive.

But then you remember… Art lives every day on the edge of death.

That thought always brings a quiet, heavy sadness that settles in your chest, and you can’t shake it.

Because deep down, you know your relationship won’t last forever.

Not because the love will fade—but because he will.

Quite literally, any day could be his last.

And he knows it.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to lose the chance to marry you—before he ran out of time to do it.

Before the day comes when you no longer have to worry about blood-soaked clown shoe prints to clean.

Before the day comes when he stops showing up at your door.

Before the day comes when there's nothing left of him but the quiet.

Before the day you realize he's already gone.

Thank you for reading all the way to the end.

You could say you just read a little piece of my soul—I truly poured my feelings into this, especially into Art’s poem.

I adore writing poetry, and even if it’s not exactly perfect, I believe I managed to express everything I wanted to in the best way I could.

While I was writing the ending, I couldn’t help but shed a few tears, because at that point, it wasn’t the reader speaking anymore—it was me, thinking about everything I had written and why.

I think I hadn't fully realized that someday, I’ll have to say goodbye to Art for real—that I’ll never see him on the big screen again.

But that’s necessary, and it can't be any other way.

This character truly is so special, and even though I want him to have the most brutal, torturous death in the whole franchise—because he absolutely deserves it...

I’m not ready to watch him die.

Also, this is what the bouquet of ghost flowers kind of looked like:

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m3tr0n0m333 · 20 days ago

Note

Here you are, my birthday gift to you! I don't know much about your au or fic or whatever Smoke & Mirrors is I've mostly just seen your art of it. but this is the general vibe I get, and I just felt like drawing it for some reason. it's a little rushed cause I wanted to get it out today and I tried to sorta emulate your style in terms of shapes but I don't think I really nailed it down.

IH MY GOD THIS IS ACTUALLY INSANE /POS THANK YOU IM BAWLING

I don't have many posts abt Smoke & Mirrors and I tried writing it but gave up halfway because I had no plot ideas <//3 It was going no where but I'LL TRY AGAIN. SOON!!

Mostly all I've had of it is just art and silly doodles of it...

ANYWAYS I LOVE THIS SM SMOKE & MIRRORS MY BELOVED

#arts for me :3 #smoke & mirrors #cool moots #papagabu #birthday special #asks

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gb-doodles · 1 month ago

Note

I would like to hear more of your criticisms of the webtoon please 🙏

!!!

Okay. Okay. So. In no particular order:

1. The Art Style

Aside from the fact that, quite frankly, half the cast barely looks like themselves, a lot of the art just… Looks cheap to me.

First of all, it’s pretty obvious that they’re using a lot of assets in their background. While this isn’t inherently a bad thing… The execution here leaves quite a bit to be desired.

This mirror(???) is truly the bane of my existence. I think I may be getting closer to experiencing what it is like to go into a rage every single time I see it. Why is it LIKE THAT.

On top of that, a lot of the time characters look a lot more like they’re on top of the environment rather than in them.

(Additional, why are everyone’s feet… so pointy. I understand that it’s probably meant to be perspective but it just ends up looking silly)

And on the topic of The Backgrounds, what’s going on with the background characters?

Aside from the fact that I personally do not think Elmville is not this diverse… What are these?

While the Dog People could maybe be passed off as werewolves if we ignored everything behind Jawbone and Tracker… What’s with the large population of Singularly Eyed, Oddly Colorful, (one) Horned, (and) Tentacled creatures?

These are… Not even generic fantasy creatures? They look like the artists took a random trait generator and just ran with it. Not to mention, even if you tried to pass them off as some really out there cyclopses, those are Huge creatures. Truly, a logistics nightmare.

2. The Writing:

While, of course, I understand changing up the story to better fit the Webtoon Format, I feel like we’ve lost so much characterization from the way everyone was introduced. Considering we’ve only gotten four chapters so far, I’ll give them some time to play catch-up but I really do not think they could weave in those crucial characters points in as smoothly as their original introductions did.

While I feel like they might be able to course correct to some degree with most of the bad kids, I especially dislike how they’ve introduced Gorgug.

Gorgugs rage is an important part of him but he’s so much more than that. The fact that we’re introduced to this awkward, nervous kid who doesn’t fit in his house before we’re introduced to his raging is so important to his character. The fact his rage often comes from a place of fear and protectiveness is so important to his character.

We don’t get to see that. We’re introduced to a half-orc who rages after being attacked, who turns out to be awkward afterwards. Which, while sure, it could work, does not feel like Gorgug to me.

Similarly, in the way we’re introduced to Sklonda, the only parent we’ve met so far, we miss so much of who she is as a person. The cornflakes scene and her helping Riz only to question why she’s encouraging him are so important to her as a person and I’m so sad we did not get that. Sklonda Gukgak is an amazing woman and mother. The lady we were introduced to does not feel like Sklonda.

I’m really worried about the entire story being sanitized and scrubbed of what made Fantasy High the piece of media that I fell in love with.

I’m worried about how they’re going to handle everyone’s variously queer identities. I’m worried they’ll make Kristen less of an unapologetically horny lesbian. I’m worried that they’re going to obliterate any hint of Riz being ace in favor of making him an awkward nerd who keeps coming off as some sort of sex pervert.

I’m worried that they’ll water down all the serious moments because Fantasy High is just a Comedy now.

I’m worried peoples mental illnesses and neurodiversity will either be ignored or played for jokes. I’m worried about how Adaine seems nervous maybe, but not like someone with anxiety. I’m so worried about how they’ll handle Ayda’s autism.

I’m worried for a lot of things.

But I’m also trying to be hopeful.

There have been brief moments that I did like. I like how they’ve shown as using her illusions to trick people. I like some of the little details that have been added in to add more character, usually in brief, one panel glimpses.

I would have hoped that we would have gotten more from Fantasy High being put in Comic Form. Unfortunately, this is a Webtoon, so we’ll most likely end up with something less.

#I STILL have more to say but. One this is getting rambly. two. it has just passed midnight for me. so. More to come probably 👍#also. i’ve been writing this post for like. hours. at least it feels like hours #fantasy high webtoon #fantasy high

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xomakara · 2 years ago

Text

Inked By You

SUMMARY | You're best friends with Johnny and have had feelings for him for awhile. You think he's only attracted to you because of your tattoos but it's so much more. PAIRINGS | Johnny/Fem!Reader GENRE | non-idol au, college au, friends to lovers, smut, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, fluff towards the end RATING | Mature LENGTH | 10,114 words AUTHOR’S NOTE | This turned out longer than I expected LOL. So in this one, all the members I mentioned are the same age lolol. I hope it makes sense. Does it make sense?? I feel like my writing style has been wonky lately.

NCT Main Masterlist

“Those are real, aren’t they?” Johnny asked you as he leaned against your bedroom wall. Taeyong and Yuta were lounging on your bed before joining the party that was going on in your living room. Johnny was looking at the various tattoos that were on your left arm.

You and Johnny have been best friends since your freshman year of college. Although you both have very different personalities and interests, there was one thing that kept you close together: partying. It's your last year of college and despite all the stress from studying and taking exams, you still got together every now and again to do what you all did best.

Drink, dance, and make memories.

Johnny is wearing a silk button-down shirt and black slacks. And then there was you in a tight mini skirt and a one-shouldered top that accentuated your figure and showed off your tattoo sleeve.

You looked good.

Even though it wasn’t what most people would consider a typical Friday night out, you, Johnny and other mutual friends seemed happy enough as you stood in front of the mirror checking out each other.

That was until you caught Johnny staring at your body with an expression that suggested he wanted more than just a quick look. The silence between you both grew awkward and uncomfortable until you finally broke it by saying, “What? Are my tits distracting you or something?”

He snapped out of his trance with a surprised look on his face, causing you to smile. He quickly apologized for staring, but said that he was genuinely interested in your ink. You nodded in response, knowing exactly what he meant by that. There was no denying the amount of attention you always got when wearing a low-cut top or a revealing dress. Your tattoo sleeve was another story though. People either loved them or hated them.

Despite the interest from many men, you never really considered getting any more tattoos after you finished your sleeves because, frankly, your current ones turned heads even if you wore a burlap sack. It wasn't uncommon for you to get double takes from people you knew as well as complete strangers when walking around town. On top of that, you didn't want to mess up the awesome artwork that had already been drawn onto your skin. Your current sleeves represented some of your favorite memories, which you didn't ever want to lose. So while others spent thousands of dollars on inked bodies, you got yourself beautiful pieces of art that couldn't be taken away.

Still, you couldn't help but notice how excited Johnny appeared whenever he saw you in your sexy outfits. As far as you could tell, he never missed an opportunity to stare at your tattoos, or check you out whenever you walked by him. Sometimes you would catch him ogling you in such a way that you felt like he wanted to rip off your clothes right there in public. Of course, there was no way he'd actually do anything like that. He wasn't that kind of guy.

Besides, you knew for a fact that he had a girlfriend who also attended the same college as you. They had been dating for about a few months, so she was obviously important to him. Still, whenever he caught you wearing something tight or sexy, he couldn't help but show off those sinful eyes of his.

With everyone gathered in yours and Ten's living room, you tried to ignore the eye candy standing across from you as you and your friends continued to talk about meaningless things, like where you should go for dinner later tonight. You weren't even sure why you brought it up. Maybe you were bored, maybe you were drunk, or maybe you just needed something to keep your mind occupied. But whatever the reason, somehow the conversation ended up on the topic of sexual partners. When it comes to sexual encounters, your friends tend to live by the motto: if you haven't had sex with anyone, then you're not having fun.

You hadn't given much thought to that phrase until Jaehyun wiggled his eyebrows at you. "We all know that Y/N has fun doesn't she?"

You rolled your eyes, a smirk on your lips. "I've been told I have a knack for keeping people entertained."

"She can entertain me anytime!" Ten shouted. "Have you seen her ass in that red dress she wears?"

You couldn't help but laugh. That comment got everybody else laughing too.

"Anyways," You muttered before clearing your throat and turning towards Taeyong, "How many women have you slept with?"

Taeyong glanced over at Yuta and grinned, "Four, but it's probably more. Do you need me to give you a count?"

Ten let out a small laugh before replying, "Four isn't bad. Don't think I'll ever get that high, although the number would probably increase if Yuta would stop trying to fuck everything that moves. Especially anything that moves."

You burst out laughing, followed by Yuta who laughed even harder. Eventually Ten joined in, as did Jaehyun, and everyone else that was listening.

“But back to the question at hand,” Taeyong spoke up once he was able to calm down. He looked over at you, “how many men have you slept with?”

Johnny grabbed a bottle of beer from the kitchen counter and took a swig of it. He looked at you curiously.

"Well...if we include Jaehyun, Doyoung, Mark, Hendery and Renjun..." You counted, the men you called out looking at you for a brief moment before going back to whatever they were doing. "Five. But hey, who's counting? Sex is sex."

That answer seemed to satisfy Johnny, although he continued to watch you carefully. You noticed that he was taking an interest in your tattoos again. You shrugged it off as you and your friends continued talking, however your heart began to beat faster when you realized that he was no longer looking at your tattoos. His eyes were locked on yours.

"Hey guys,” Jungwoo called out to the rest of your group, waving a hand in front of their faces. “Who wants to get more beer and food with me?"

Thank you Jungwoo, for your timely interruption. You weren't sure how long you could last with Johnny staring at you. In fact, your knees started to feel a little weak when he cleared his throat to gain your attention. It was almost like he was daring you to say something. Something inappropriate, to be exact. But you had to be strong. After all, he was with his girlfriend.

"Uh, yeah," You replied, forcing a smile onto your face. “Let's go get some food and drinks."

You turned around, ready to follow Jungwoo into the kitchen. You paused for a second to take one last look at Johnny, and saw him watching you intently. You smiled sheepishly before stepping inside the kitchen to join your friends.

You turned around to see Johnny coming towards you. He didn't speak for a minute, so you waited patiently. "So, have you had fun yet?"

Your brows furrowed. You expected him to ask you if you were enjoying yourself. Instead he was asking you a completely different question. You wondered what this was all about, so you replied, "Of course I'm having fun! Why wouldn't I be?"

Before he could respond, Xiaojun called out. "Yo, Johnny! Jieun is here."

Fuck. Johnny's girlfriend.

You sighed inwardly as you watched him walk away with Xiaojun to greet her. If only he wasn't dating someone you actually knew. Then maybe he'd pay you the proper amount of attention.

Oh well. No use thinking about it.

You shook your head and focused on your friends. You hadn't seen them in awhile, so you welcomed the chance to hang out with them again. Plus, the alcohol helped to loosen your tongue, which allowed you to ask some of the questions you had been wondering about for quite some time.

"So, guys," you said, pouring some vodka into a glass. "Is it true that Renjun hooked up with someone last week?"

Renjun choked on his beer. You covered your mouth to hide your laughter. Kun let out a loud groan. Haechan let out a loud chuckle. Even Taeyong chuckled quietly.

You couldn't believe that they were being so open with you. It was like you were part of the group, and you liked it. You weren't sure if they realized that, but you were grateful nonetheless.

As soon as you saw Renjun regaining his composure, you spoke up again. "So, how many girls have you banged so far?"

Mark snorted. "Including you? Like eight or nine."

Kun guffawed. "More like twenty."

A shocked expression formed on your face. It was funny to hear their numbers compared to yours, but even funnier was hearing their reactions. Their reactions made you realize just how ridiculous their answers were. For example, Kun's claim that he had fucked more than twenty women in his lifetime was preposterous. However, you didn't dare bring it up.

Renjun shrugged. "I dunno. A lot."

Mark nodded. "At least ten."

Jungwoo scoffed. "No fucking way. Five tops."

"Bet none of those girls were as good as Y/N." Jaehyun reminded them, giving you a look. You rolled your eyes as he continued to talk. "And to everyone at this party that had sex with her, admit that she was good."

"I admit, I'm a good fuck." You shrugged, a small smirk on your lips. You nudged Jaehyun's shoulder. "Now shut up."

You all stared at each other for a minute before bursting out laughing. The alcohol was definitely starting to hit you hard, making you forget all about Johnny and his girlfriend. All that mattered was that you were surrounded by friends, having a good time, and drinking.

It wasn't long before Ten, Mark, Kun, Haechan, Taeyong and you were sitting on the floor, passing around beers and shots as you waited for Jungwoo and Yuta to return with the food. And even though you were tipsy, you managed to hold your liquor fairly well. Until you drank the tequila shot you took right before going to get more drinks.

“So, Y/N.” Haechan drawled out, looking at you intently. You glanced at the tequila in your hands, your vision getting hazy. How much have you actually drunk so far?

“What?” you asked, shrugging. “What are you talking about?”

Haechan frowned. "You okay? You look wasted."

"Yeah, you look wasted Y/N." Taeyong said, as he put his drink down.

Your vision was getting worse. You felt dizzy. Your body was hot, then cold, then hot again. Fuck, you were going to pass out if you kept this up. You reached for the bottle of water next to you, holding it tightly against your chest. You closed your eyes for a second, concentrating on slowing your breathing. You managed to slow it down a bit, but you still felt lightheaded. Before you knew it, your vision blurred again. When you opened your eyes, you found everyone staring at you. Except for Taeyong. He was standing in front of you, looking very concerned.

"Taeyong." You whispered, unable to form any words. He held out his arms, inviting you to step into them.

"Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed." He said gently.

"Y/N." Johnny stepped forward, his face showing concern. His girlfriend laid a hand on his arm, suggesting that he stay put. "Are you okay?"

You nodded and stumbled, reaching for the couch, only to find it further away than you remembered. Without thinking, you leaned against Haechan instead. As you dozed off, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer.

"Johnny, what's wrong?" The pretty girl next to him muttered. "Is everything alright?"

Johnny watched from the corner of his eyes as his friends helped Y/N up from her drunken stupor. Was she okay? "It's nothing, Jieun."

"I hope she's alright." Jieun muttered, arms still clinging to him. "She seems so drunk."

"Don't worry about her, babe." Johnny assured her. "Just relax and enjoy yourself."

"Why are you always protecting her?" Jieun released a soft sigh.

"Because she's special to me." Johnny answered simply.

He gave her a small smile before turning his attention back to his friends. He really missed the opportunity to spend time with his friends and Y/N.

He sighed. Of course he missed her. Even though he hadn't been able to spend much time with her lately, whenever they were together, they always had fun. She was kind and caring. Whenever they hung out, he felt a sense of comfort wash over him. It wasn't until tonight that he realized how lucky he was to have her in his life.

In the beginning, it was all easy. They met at a party thrown by their classmates. Since Johnny had recently moved to Seoul, most of his friends struggled to communicate with him. So when his friend Jaehyun told him about the event being held by another foreign exchange student, he figured that it would be a good chance to meet new people. Little did he know that meeting Y/N would change his life forever.

They hit it off instantly, flirting shamelessly. They had no problem joking around and teasing each other. At first, it had been innocent, simple conversations, whether it was about the weather or their favorite movies. They stayed as friends since Y/N was currently in a relationship, but every once in a while, they still got together to hang out. On those occasions, they spent their time watching movies, going to karaoke bars, eating out, and shopping. They had mutual friends who always seemed to drag them along to the hottest clubs and parties.

Those times together were always memorable. He remembered the time when he helped Ten and Y/N find an apartment together since they were going to be roommates. There were nights where Y/N had gotten sick from drinking too much, falling asleep on Johnny's chest. Or times when he found himself helplessly straddling Y/N as they snuck into his apartment. He never questioned the level of their intimacy; after all, Y/N was a beautiful, smart, and sweet girl. In return, Johnny was respectful of her relationships with other men.

But the thought of Y/N with anyone else made him physically ill.

For several months, things continued this way. Eventually, they both became more serious with their respective partners. When that happened, they had trouble finding time to see each other. The good news was that they'd grown closer, becoming each other's best friends. During those moments when they saw each other, they'd always make sure to give the other person plenty of affection. It was obvious that neither one of them wanted to lose their friendship. Still, it was difficult not to get hurt every now and again.

Johnny would often ask himself why he didn't act sooner.

What stopped him from telling Y/N how he truly felt? He knew that he was attracted to her, especially after seeing how they interacted together. She made him laugh, genuinely enjoying his humor. It was impossible not to notice how sexy she looked when she was laughing at his jokes. Plus, she smelled amazing. When he breathed in her scent, it reminded him of chocolate. Or strawberry ice cream. Something sweet and fruity that melted his heart every time he inhaled it. But still, he kept his feelings bottled up inside.

Today was no exception.

Seeing Y/N dress in that mini skirt and that top that accentuated her figure, he had to try hard to stop himself from kissing her senseless. Heck, he knew she had tattoos but at the time, there were only a few. Now she had a whole sleeve of them. All over her left arm. Most of them seemed quite intricate and detailed, depicting nature scenes, symbols, even people. She had an incredible eye for detail and, based on her art, Johnny guessed that she had a lot of patience. It was one of the many reasons why he loved hanging out with her. They could talk for hours, even if they had absolutely nothing in common. There was always an instant connection between them, almost as if they were two halves of a whole.

Johnny glanced over at Jieun, his current girlfriend.

No.

Just the girl that he’s currently just sleeping with.

Jieun was pretty, don't get him wrong. She had short hair and bright brown eyes, delicate features and a slender frame. But when compared to Y/N, she didn't stand a chance. Compared to her, Y/N seemed like a goddess. Y/N was tall, slender, toned in all the right places. She was tan, and had long, black hair that she often ran her fingers through. Not only did she possess all of the qualities that Johnny desired, but she also had a personality that stole his heart. For years, he had been silently pining for her. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't deny the fact that she was perfect for him.

But no matter how much he liked Jieun, he could never forget Y/N. The truth was that Y/N was just so different from everyone else. She never hesitated to show her true self, whatever that meant. Whether she was crying over a sad movie or dancing ecstatically at a club, he knew that she wouldn't lie to him or hold anything back. Her honesty made her extremely endearing. She was funny and carefree, and unlike some girls, she had a positive outlook on life. If it wasn't for Y/N, Johnny doubted that he would've made it through all the crap he went through during college.

No doubt, Johnny had fallen for her. But he refused to act on those feelings. To do so would be unfair to Jieun, despite them not really dating. More importantly, Y/N deserved someone better than him. Someone who actually appreciated her beauty and unique traits. She deserved someone who loved her unconditionally and showed it in every aspect of their relationship.

Johnny watched as Jieun struck up a conversation with the other party-goers. His attention went back to Y/N and how drunk she looked earlier. He wished that he could've done something to prevent her from embarrassing herself. Y/N was the last person he wanted to hurt.

The next thing you remember was waking up on the couch, your head resting on someone’s lap. Haechan was still sleeping soundly, and so were all of your friends except for Yuta. He was leaning against the wall, eyes closed. Everyone looked so peaceful.

"Ugh, my head." You moaned as you sat up. "This hangover is going to kill me."

"Can I get you anything?" Ten asked, coming out of his bedroom. He looked around the living room, noticing that the people who didn't make it home last night, were all passed out on the floor or on the couch.

You rubbed your forehead, getting up and padding towards the kitchen. “Coffee, please.”

He handed you the mug and a pack of Advil. "Are you feeling better?"

"Just peachy." You replied sarcastically. "Not at all.”

Ten laughed. "Don't worry, you'll feel better tomorrow."

As soon as he walked back into the living room to wake everyone up, you finished your mug of coffee and padded into your bedroom to freshen up. You went through your closet, trying to figure out what to wear. You needed to dress casual, since you planned on spending most of the day lounging around the house, drinking coffee and playing games. Unfortunately, you couldn't decide between wearing sweatpants or shorts. Finally, after much deliberation, you chose to pair leggings with a gray tank top. Once you were done, you wandered back into the living room to wait for everyone else to wake up.

You didn't need to wait too long. Before you knew it, Taeyong and Renjun joined you at the kitchen table with cups of coffee. Mark rubbed at his eyes, sitting up from the couch, Haechan stirred next to him.

“Where did you two sleep?” You asked Taeyong and Renjun, curious.

Taeyong gave you a pointed look. “Like on the floor. At least Yuta was against the wall.”

You grinned. "I'm surprised no one took over my bed."

"I'm surprised no one put you to bed," Yuta muttered as he joined the group.

"Haechan was hogging her on the couch." Mark sleepily muttered.

"I was going to help her to her room but then I got sleepy and she was sleepy," Haechan yawned. "So we both passed out on the couch."

"Who didn't go home last night?" You asked Ten .

"Mark, Haechan, Renjun, Taeyong, and Yuta." Taeil replied. "Oh. Kun passed out on my bedroom floor."

“Haha. Let's go get breakfast once they wake up. What should we do today?” You asked the group of hungover men.

“Eat breakfast. Drink more coffee. Play video games. Whatever you want.” Kun shrugged, coming from Ten's bedroom. He stretched and yawned loudly. “Today is a free day. We can do whatever you want."

“Okay, sounds good. Can I shower first?” You asked, rubbing your eyes.

“Of course. Don't take too long. We're waiting.” Taeyong smirked.

“Whatever.” You replied. You slowly trudged upstairs to your bedroom. Once you were inside, you stripped off your clothes, letting them fall to the floor. You slid under the warm spray of water and scrubbed your hair vigorously. Soon, you stepped out of the shower, toweling off your hair and wrapping the towel around your body. Then you pulled on a pair of black yoga pants and an old, faded red t-shirt. Once you were ready, you padded downstairs to grab your purse and keys.

Once you returned to the living room, you found everyone waiting for you. They all sat around the living room, sipping on their morning coffees.

"Alright, let's go get breakfast." You declared happily.

"Good idea." Yuta agreed, getting up from the couch. "Let's not waste another minute here."

"We don't need another minute." Mark commented, looking around the room.

When you arrived at your favorite restaurant, everyone piled out of the car, stretching and yawning. The restaurant was fairly empty, save for the employees. So, when the owner came up to greet you all, you smiled.

"Morning! Glad to see my favorite group of hungover college kids." She beamed, her arms wide opened.

You stepped into her arms. "Morning mom. Can you feed us now?"

"Anything for my favorite daughter." Your mom kissed your cheek, ignoring your comment that you were her only child. Your mom looked at the rest of the group. “Now what can I get for you hungover kids?”

“Your egg sandwiches, auntie.” Ten muttered.

“Coffee.” Mark yawned. “Lots and lots of coffee.”

“Can I get toast, bacon, and fries, auntie?” Renjun asked.

"Oh, god, come on." Taeyong groaned, sitting down at a nearby table. "Just give me some coffee and bacon, I'll be fine. Please auntie."

After you placed your order, you settled down at the table, joining your friends.

"Why are we meeting here every morning?" Yuta yawned, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Because it's close to campus, you get free food and you know my mom loves you all." You shook your head, helping the staff pour everyone coffee or orange juice into their mugs and cups. You made your thanks, the staff smiling.

"One of the perks of being Y/N's friends," Kun laughed. "Free food from her mom's restaurant. Lucky us."

"True that." Ten nodded, finishing off his egg sandwich. "Man, I love her mom's sandwiches."

"She makes the best ones." You agreed, stealing a fry from Renjun's plate.

A few minutes later, the rest of the food was delivered.

"Can I have your bacon and eggs?" Ten asked, pointing at your plate.

You raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think you deserve to eat someone else's bacon?"

"Doesn't hurt to ask." He grinned, grabbing your plate. "But you can always share."

Everyone chuckled as you shoved a fry into Ten's mouth.

"So where did Johnny end up going last night?" You asked suddenly. “I really didn’t see him last night. I mean I saw him before I passed out.”

"He didn't stay long." Mark answered. "Around midnight, he left with Jieun."

"Ah." You frowned. "Makes sense. They never stay long whenever I'm around."

"They probably just wanted to spend time together." Kun explained. "Jieun and Johnny were really cute together. She followed him everywhere he went."

"Did you ever tell him that you liked him?" Yuta asked you suddenly.

"What?" You blinked. How did Yuta know about that?

"You did flirt with him a little." Renjun reminded you. "At least, that's what I saw."

"Whatever." You rolled your eyes. "It was barely any flirting."

"Come on Y/N," Mark shook his head. "Johnny was staring at you the whole night before Jieun came."

"It's the tatts, Mark." You replied. "He was asking me about them earlier."

"Seriously though." Yuta continued. "If you like him, why didn't you ever say anything?"

"I thought he'd never notice me." You sighed, knowing that there was no way to escape the converstation. "I'm not the type of girl that guys usually like."

"Really?" Mark raised an eyebrow. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"It's the tatts, huh?" Taeyong muttered, looking at your tattooed arm. "I mean, I love a girl that has tatts."

"Guys will always find something to complain about." You nodded your head. “But thanks for that Taeyong.”

"Well," Renjun interrupted, chuckling slightly. "There's nothing wrong with your tattoos."

"Yeah." Haechan agreed. "They're pretty cool."

"I agree." Ten smiled. "And sexy as hell."

You blushed, ignoring everyone's laughter. But it wasn't long before you were in a conversation about your tattoos again. About how pretty you thought they were and about how unique each tattoo was. It felt good, having such amazing friends that were willing to talk about your ink. You knew it would probably never happen with other groups of guys you hung out with. Not because they didn't care, but because they were afraid to offend you. Which is why you weren't surprised when the subject turned to sex.

It was always sex with these guys.

Why were you friends with these sex-crazed guys?

"So..." Taeyong started, shooting a pointed glance at you. "Are there any guys here you want to bang?"

"Hear me out. I know he has a girl and I know someone's going to beat me up for saying it or even thinking of it," You decided to just tell the truth. You looked around biting your lip, making sure your mom didn’t hear you. "Johnny. He seems like a good fuck."

"Damn," Haechan raised his eyebrows. "Y/N and Johnny would be hot, to be honest."

"No shit." Renjun nodded. "They'd be the hottest couple on campus."

You rolled your eyes and laughed with the others. You and Johnny? If only that was possible.

He still has a girlfriend after all.

The days passed quickly. After hanging out with the group for breakfast, you usually went off on your own, doing homework or just spending time alone in your room. But one day, after lunch, you decided to join your friends again. This time you met up with Taeyong, Doyoung, Winwin, Xiaojun, and Jaemin.

You sat at the table, eating as everyone told you stories about who they hooked up with last night. You rolled your eyes when Taeyong started telling you about his drunken hookup with a girl named Minah.

"Drunk sex?" You scoffed, giving him a look. "Really?"

"Don't act like you haven't done that." Taeyong narrowed his eyes. "With as many times as you had drunken sex with Doyoung."

"Please don't bring that up. Every time you guys mention it, I feel bad." You groaned as Doyoung sputtered on his food. You reached out and patted his back. “But admit it Doyoung, the sex was good.”

"We don't mention it!" Taeyong responded to you, rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s reaction. "It's not our fault you're always horny!"

"Shut up. Just shut up." You threw your napkin at him, the others laughing.

You were surprised when the next person you noticed looking at you wasn't Xiaojun or Doyoung or Jaemin or even Winwin. Instead, it was your very handsome friend, Johnny. You didn't even know he would be here. He was out with others that were in his classes.

His dark brown eyes met yours across the room. There was something about the way he stared at you that made you blush. Your cheeks were hot. Even your ears felt hot. Why was this guy looking at you so intensely? And so much?

“Is there a reason why you’re staring at Johnny so much?” Xiaojun asked, leaning back in his chair.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “Um…”

"She wants to fuck him." Jaemin muttered. "Renjun told me the other day."

"But then again, what girl doesn't want to fuck, Johnny?" You asked, shrugging your shoulders. "Jieun is one lucky bitch."

You tried not to look at him anymore. Because whenever you looked at him, your stomach would flip. He was just too beautiful. Too sexy. Too perfect. It didn't help that he was already famous for dating the popular girl. Not that you weren't popular.

No wonder every single girl kept trying to hit on him. You included. You've been fighting the urge to kiss him since you met him at that event you hosted with Mark for the foreign exchange students. But he still had a girlfriend. A serious girlfriend.

Yet, here you were, constantly looking at Johnny like he was a piece of candy that you desperately wanted. Or maybe like you were salivating at the sight of him. Yes, that sounded more appropriate.

Like you wanted to eat him alive.

You wanted to suck on his lips. Suck on his tongue. Slap his hard cock against your naked pussy.

God, you wish you could touch him. Touch his face. His arms. His chest. Hell, just touch his skin. To see if it was as soft as it looked.

Or if it was rough.

Maybe Johnny likes rougher sex than the girls he normally slept with. What do you know about him, huh? Nothing. And yet, you keep imagining yourself with him. Imagining how it would feel to lay beneath him, letting him fuck you from behind. Thinking about how incredible it would feel to take his load all over your face. Or maybe deep inside you. The possibilities were endless. You just couldn't seem to stop thinking about him.

Your friends didn't know about the way you fantasized about him.

At least, they hadn't said anything. Yet.

"Ah, fuck." You let out a sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Doyoung gave you a concerned look. “You okay, Y/N?”

You nodded in reply.

You were seriously losing control. That was a first. For as long as you could remember, you had been able to hold yourself back from acting on your urges. The fact that you had no self-control around him should've made you realize you shouldn't be with him. It should make you run away. But instead, your heart yearned to feel his body pressed against yours.

Why? You wondered. Why did you keep wanting him?

You took another bite of your salad, listening to your friends talking amongst themselves. And once again, Johnny’s name was brought up.

“Yeah, I heard he spent most of the weekend with Jieun.” Xiaojun said casually.

You sighed softly, hoping that he wouldn’t ask any questions about it.

The next week was rather uneventful. Since it was your last year of college, you have stayed late almost every night studying or doing homework. Sometimes, if your apartment was occupied, you would go to Hendery’s, Jeno’s or Yangyang’s rooms and study there since they often partied, playing sports or going to the gym. So you were surprised when Wednesday afternoon found you walking back to your apartment alone.

As you approached your building, you noticed Johnny standing near the front doors. Of course he was there. No doubt he had been waiting for you.

His posture screamed 'alpha male'. All six feet one inch of him stood rigidly, like he was prepared to strike at any moment. And the muscles in his arms and chest were clearly defined under his tight black shirt. Damn. You wanted to get closer to him, to see if those bulging biceps were real.

You swallowed nervously. How does a girl like you even get a chance to meet the guy that every other girl wants? What makes you different from all the rest? You were one of his best friends that's for sure.

You watched as he began talking to someone. A girl. And she seemed to respond well to his attention. She smiled as he leaned down to speak to her. She giggled. She touched his arm lightly. She probably thinks she's special. Probably thinks that he's interested in her. As if.

But he looks happy. Smiling. Even talking to her. Ah, this must be Jieun, the girlfriend. She was actually really cute. Much prettier than you expected her to be. Short hair cut in a layered style. Brown eyes. And a small nose.

The way his gaze lingered on her for a few moments longer than necessary, she seemed to be flattered. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing him tightly. Her head resting on his shoulder as she gazed at him with longing. It was then that you realized that he was completely oblivious to your presence.

What was wrong with you? Why are you watching them like that? Why can't you turn away? God damn it! Stop acting like some sort of pervert.

You cleared your throat. Maybe he won't notice you if you ignore him. It worked the last time. Didn't it?

But to your dismay, he did.

"Hi Y/N!" He said cheerfully, looking up and meeting your gaze. "I've been waiting for you."

Oh god.

"Hey Johnny," You forced yourself to say. Your voice came out low and shaky. You struggled to find your words. Suddenly, you felt like an awkward teenager again. Like your face was on fire.

Johnny nodded towards Jieun, causing her to frown slightly. Then he shot you a mischievous smile. "Let's go up."

It took everything you had to push past him and enter your building. Thankfully, Jieun left before you reached your apartment door. You were grateful. You didn't need her prying questions right now.

Inside your home, you stood in the living room, suddenly feeling extremely nervous. Ten wasn’t home yet, so you felt a bit nervous that you were left alone with Johnny. This had never before. Why all of a sudden were you feeling nervous in front of your best friend?

"Do you want a drink?" You offered nervously. "A soda or water? Wine?"

"A glass of red wine sounds nice." He replied without hesitation.

Relief flooded you as you hurried to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Thankfully, you had stocked the fridge earlier that day.

When you returned to the living room, Johnny was sitting on the couch, sipping his wine and watching TV.

He's so gorgeous. Why does he have to be so goddamn beautiful?

"So..." You started awkwardly. "How have you been?"

"Same old, same old." He shrugged. "What about you?"

You frowned. "Nothing new. Apart from hanging with the guys.”

He glanced at you quickly. Something passed between the two of you. Something strange. Something exciting. You squirmed in your seat, trying to focus on anything else besides the way his eyes smoldered at you. You felt like your whole world was going crazy. Everything around you became fuzzy. The way his voice sounded. The way his muscles flexed underneath his clothes. The way he gazed at you. Oh god.

Fuck.

Stop it. You chided yourself. This isn’t happening. Don’t give in to him. This is bad. Really bad.

“I’m glad we finally got to hang out tonight.” He said after a few moments of silence.

“Me too.” You replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “I mean, I guess I haven’t seen you since you’ve been busy with Jieun.”

Johnny nodded thoughtfully. “True.”

"You never talked about her." You pointed out quietly.

He grimaced. "We don't really talk about her that often."

"Do you like her?"

"Who?"

You exhaled sharply. "Jieun. Do you like her?"

Johnny furrowed his brows. "Why do you ask?"

You hesitated, wishing you hadn't brought it up. "Well...you look pretty happy when you're with her."

He smiled briefly. "It's complicated."

"Are you two together?" You questioned. "Is that why you always sit with her during class?"

"Well, we're definitely close." He said simply.

And then, he was silent.

“Isn’t she your girlfriend?” You blurted out. “Shouldn’t you spend time with her instead of me?”

He cocked his head to the side. “No, we’re not together.”

“Really?” You felt relieved. Thank god.

Johnny laughed. “Of course. We aren’t dating. We’ve slept together a few times but we’re not dating.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Good. At least he was being honest. You tried not to think about what kind of relationship they had. What kind of relationship they had had. But you couldn’t help but notice how they interacted with each other. The way they looked at each other. How they held hands.

“Was my best friend jealous?” Johnny peered at your face, a smile on his lips. “Because I could swear that you were staring at us.”

“I was not!” You denied. “There was nothing to stare at.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t try and deny it.”

“No, I’m telling the truth. There was nothing to stare at.” You insisted.

“Sure there was.” He grinned, taking another sip of his wine.

“Trust me. There was nothing.” You responded forcefully. “There was no reason for me to watch you and Jieun together. You weren’t kissing or anything.”

“Really?” His expression grew serious. “What if I asked you to kiss me right now? Would you?”

“Fuck, Suh.” You burst out. “That’s impossible. You know that, right?”

“But would you want to?” He persisted. “Would you kiss me right now if I asked you?”

“I…” You stopped.

How the hell was you supposed to answer that question?

This conversation was turning into something you never expected it to be. Was it really just a friendly request or something more?

And what would your friends say if they saw you two making out in the middle of the living room? If they saw you grinding against him on the couch?

“God dammit.” You groaned, slumping back onto the couch. “Johnny, what the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Hmmm?” He peered at you curiously.

“Why does this have to happen?” You groaned, trying hard not to panic. “What are you trying to do to me?”

He gave you a playful smile. “I'm not doing anything to you.”

Your shoulders slumped in defeat. “Then why am I feeling this way?”

“Because you want me.” He replied simply. “Because you’re attracted to me. Because you can’t resist me. Because you feel something when I look at you.”

His confession sent shockwaves through your body. You sat motionless on the couch. Unable to comprehend what he just told you. Unable to believe him.

“Are you attracted to me too?” You whispered. “Is that why you keep looking at me?”

Johnny stared at you silently for several seconds. Then he grabbed your hand and squeezed it gently.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” He confirmed.

You gaped at him.

“Really?” You repeated hesitantly.

“I'm not lying to you.” He assured you. “I want you. I want you so badly that I can barely breathe sometimes. But if I tell you that, will you run away? Will you break our friendship because of this?”

“No.” You answered instantly. “No. I’d never do that. I wouldn’t even be able to think straight. Not to mention the fact that the guys would kill me.”

He chuckled. “Why’s that?”

“They know that I have a thing for you.” You admitted. “They see the way I look at you. They tease me about it all the time. I guess it’s easier for them to accept it if they knew that I’m attracted to someone who likes me back. Someone who I can be myself around. That’s why they won’t mind if we date. As long as I’m with someone who accepts me.”

He grinned. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“So…what should we do?” You asked tentatively.

He raised his eyebrows. “About what?”

“Um…this.” You gestured towards yourself. “This attraction between us. It seems like we both want it. So…is it possible that maybe we could…I don’t know…do something about it? Maybe meet up somewhere private? Or at least have sex. In my bed? On your couch?”

Johnny’s eyes lit up. “You want to have sex with me?”

“Fuck, Johnny.” You ran your hand through your hair, noticing his eyes on your tatted arm. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” He murmured huskily. “Like I'm going to take you upstairs and rip your clothes off? Like I'm going to shove my cock inside you and fuck you until you scream?”

You moaned. Fuck yes. That's exactly what you want.

“Don’t you want to?” He pressed. “Don’t you want me to make love to you? To touch every inch of your skin? To lick your nipples and suck on your breasts?”

You bit your lip.

“Fuck. Please stop talking. Just fucking fuck me already.” You moaned, unable to contain your arousal any longer.

He smirked. “All right. All right. But just to warn you. I plan on treating you like the goddess that you are. Every part of your body is going to feel good to me. I’ll make sure you come over and over again.”

A fire ignited within you. This is exactly what you needed. Exactly what you wanted. The idea of getting fucked by him sent a thrill throughout your body. You loved hearing him say those words to you. Words that only a man like him could utter. And knowing that you wanted to have sex with him didn’t hurt either. It made you feel incredibly desirable.

“Tell me. Tell me what you want me to do.” Johnny said softly.

“Do whatever you want.” You replied breathlessly. “Just please. Make me cum.”

He chuckled. “If that’s what you want.”

You nodded eagerly. A devilish grin formed on his lips.

He stood up from the couch. Grabbing your hand, he pulled you up from the sofa. With one swift move, he tossed you over his shoulder.

He strode quickly towards the staircase. You shrieked, clutching at his shirt tightly. You kicked your legs wildly, desperately trying to escape from his grip.

Johnny was much stronger than you realized. Within seconds, he had thrown you down onto your bed. With one quick movement, he jumped on top of you. Your heart thundered against your chest.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours. Kissing you fiercely.

Your body responded instinctively. Your pussy throbbed, begging for attention. Your nipples hardened beneath your shirt, yearning for a hard squeeze.

As his tongue probed into your mouth, his hands slid underneath your shirt. Pushing it up and off your shoulders.

His warm fingers trailed over your skin. Sending chills throughout your entire body. His lips trailed down your neck, licking and sucking at your sensitive flesh. Every single movement was driving you wild.

Every stroke of his tongue and caress of his fingertips set you on fire. You were soaking wet, longing for him to take you. For him to fill you with his cock. To give you the pleasure you deserve.

The moment his fingers brushed against your nipple, you let out a moan.

You arched your back, thrusting your breast towards him.

He chuckled. “God, Y/N. Are you trying to kill me?”

He grasped your bra, tearing it apart with ease. Your nipples sprang free. He rubbed his thumb over them, sending shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Oooohhhh, Johnny.” You moaned.

He grinned wickedly. “Does that feel good, baby? Do you like it when I play with your tits? When I suck on your nipples?”

“Yessss.” You gasped. “More. More. Fuck.”

“Oh god.” He groaned, biting down gently on your nipple.

He continued to flick his tongue across your other nipple, flicking harder each time. Your cries became louder. You felt like you were going to explode. It took everything in you not to reach down and unzip his pants.

Instead, you threw your head back and wrapped your arms around his neck. Tugging at his hair as he teased your nipples. Moaning loudly whenever he touched your skin.

Johnny smiled. He licked his lips hungrily, giving your breasts one last slow suck before letting go.

Leaving you panting for air.

“I've got to be honest with you, baby.” He breathed, pushing himself up onto his knees. “You taste amazing. Better than anything I've ever tasted before. And there's nothing else I'd rather do right now than to spend hours tasting every inch of your gorgeous body. Touching you. Kissing you. Licking you. And slowly entering you. Until I fill you with my cum.”

“Mmmmm. Fuck yes.” You whimpered, your voice sounding like an echo in the empty bedroom.

“Now where were we?” He asked slyly. “Ahh yes, your tits. Did you want me to suck on them some more? Maybe eat you out while I played with your tits?”

“Yes.” You breathed. “Please. Oh god, yes. Please.”

He chuckled. “Anything for you, baby. Anything.”

Slowly standing up, he began to strip off his shirt. Each piece of clothing was removed with great care. His tattoos were displayed prominently. They looked beautiful as always. The sight of them caused you to sigh in appreciation.

Once his shirt was completely gone, he leaned forward, placing a tender kiss on your stomach.

“That's better.” He whispered. “Now you're ready for me.”

His hands sliding your pants off. His lips kissing the insides of your thighs. Caressing your inner thigh with every kiss. Leaving you quivering with desire.

“Fuck!” You cried out. “Stop teasing me. Please. Just fuck me. Now!”

“Shhh.” He whispered. “Not yet. Not yet. There's still so much left to do first. Don't worry. You'll get what you need soon enough.”

Your hands dug into his hair, pulling his face closer to your pussy. You moaned loudly. The sounds of your pleasuring filling the room. His hot breath tickling your inner thighs. Your panties drenched with your juices.

Johnny looked up at you, his dark eyes darkened with lust.

“Look at me. Look how beautiful you are.” He said huskily. “Watch me taste you. Watch as I rub my tongue over your clit. See how good it feels. Know that I'm doing it to you. That I want to eat you out so badly.”

He gripped your hips, tugging you upwards. Opening his mouth wide. Licking your entire pussy, slowly spreading your juices.

Lapping at you slowly, teasingly. Going lower and lower until his tongue found your swollen clit. Pressing hard against it, rubbing his tongue in circles.

“Fuuuck.” You cried out. “Johnny! Johnny!”

“Such dirty talk, baby.” He said with a laugh. “Let me hear it. Let me hear you beg for me to make you cum. I want to hear you screaming for me.”

You clawed at his back, trying to pull his face deeper into your pussy. Screaming obscenities. Making animalistic sounds. Biting down on your pillow as he gave you all the pleasure you deserved.

Finally, his tongue plunged deep inside your pussy. Flicking over your clit in rapid succession. Sucking on it and flicking it. Pulling away occasionally to tease you. Tasting your juices. Giving you an extra burst of pleasure every time.

His pace increased rapidly. Pulling away for brief moments only to return immediately. Giving you even more pleasure than you expected. Soon you were trembling, nearing the point of no return.

It took everything you had not to lose control. Your entire body was consumed by ecstasy. Your pussy contracting rhythmically around his mouth. Pumping his tongue inside you, trying to keep yourself from coming. From exploding with orgasmic bliss.

But you couldn't hold it anymore. You began to cry out. Your body shuddered.

Sensing your impending climax, Johnny stopped sucking on your clit. He withdrew his tongue, but kept his lips firmly pressed against it. Keeping your orgasm contained.

His hands remained firmly on your hips. Tugging at your hips, forcing your body further upwards. You cried out as you tried to pull his face back into your pussy. Trying to force yourself to cum.

You came with a loud scream, your entire body tensing. Johnny followed your lead, groaning loudly as you pushed your pussy back into his face. Your thighs squeezing tight around his head, pulling him tighter against your clit. Your entire body trembling violently. Spasms racking your body. Bringing forth the most intense sensation you had ever experienced.

Suddenly, he stopped. Letting go of your hips. Sliding off your sweaty body. Standing up from the bed. Looking down at you.

“Baby, I know you came, but I'm not done yet.” He said quietly.

Looking down at your spread thighs, he smirked. He began to undo his pants.

You panted, waiting impatiently for him to reveal his erection. You knew what was coming next. You knew this would be the moment of truth. Would he be able to satisfy you? Would he actually be able to give you the satisfaction you were craving?

With one swift motion, his erect cock sprung free. Your eyes widened, almost as if you were surprised to see it. You hadn't been expecting it to be that big.

And you weren't wrong. His cock was absolutely enormous. Longer than any penis you had ever seen. Bulging with potential. You wondered if he could possibly fit inside you.

If he would hurt you.

But you know he wouldn't.

You stared at his cock hungrily, staring at it in disbelief. In awe. You reached out tentatively, touching it lightly. Fingers shaking slightly. Shaking as they traced their way along its length.

You felt the weight of it in your hand. Thicker than any cock you had ever felt. Fuller than any dick you had ever seen.

Before you could fully appreciate his massive erection, he grabbed hold of your wrist. Moving your hand to the tip of his cock.

“Just think about it.” He said quietly. “Imagine how amazing it will feel. Just imagine the sensations running through your body. Imagine how incredible it will feel to have this inside of you. How much more powerful it will be than any dick you've ever had before.”

Thinking about how large his dick would feel stretching your pussy open. Knowing that once he penetrated you, he would never leave. He would be inside you forever. Bringing you so much pleasure.

Giving you such pleasure. Satisfying you so deeply. Giving you what you needed. Allowing you to finally release all your pent up sexual tension. Giving you the ultimate sexual experience.

Feeling overwhelmed with emotion, you placed your lips against the head of his cock. Your tongue darting out. Drawing the warm liquid from his shaft. Overwhelmingly delicious.

Moving down, your lips parted. Your tongue sliding out of your mouth. Stretching out towards his cock. Swirling around it like a tiny tornado. Slickly coating his member with saliva. Getting him nice and wet. Allowing you to slide it further inside your mouth. Gently sucking on it, making sure to take it all in.

“Fuck.” He growled. “Oh fuck. You are so fucking sexy. So beautiful.”

Smiling brightly, you returned his compliment. Leaning forward, your tongue moved further into his crotch. Taking him even deeper inside your mouth. Tongue twirling around his thick base. Up and down the full length of his shaft. Playing with his balls. Feeling the resistance of his perineum.

Slowly moving back up to his tip. Taking him deeper inside your mouth again. Working your way down, taking him all the way to the bottom. Running your tongue along the underside of his shaft. As you slid back up to the tip, you sucked on it gently.

He groaned loudly, reaching out to grab hold of your head. Pushing you downwards so he could sink even deeper into your throat. Your nose pressed against his pubes, inhaling the musky scent. Sucking on his cock like it was a popsicle. Gagging a little bit. His thick length hitting the back of your throat with each movement.

Panting heavily, he held your head firmly in place. Gasping for air as he let out another moan. His dick pulsating wildly inside your mouth. Fluid seeping out of the end of his cock. Massaging your throat. Causing it to tingle pleasantly.

As he released his grip, you released his cock from your mouth. Pausing for a moment to catch your breath. Smiling happily at him. Proud of yourself for being able to handle his huge cock.

He smiled back at you. Reaching down, his fingers wrapping around your chin. Pulling you close to him. He kissed you passionately. Wrapping his arms around you. Holding you tightly. He tasted wonderful. His scent intoxicating. His warmth reassuring.

Gripping your ass tightly, he pulled you onto his lap. Sitting you down onto his hard cock. Watching as it filled your pussy. Slowly slipping inside of you.

Stopping halfway inside you, he gently lifted you up. Removing his erection from your pussy. Grinning as he laid you down on the bed. Positioning himself between your legs. His hard cock positioned at your entrance.

Pulling back slightly, he looked down at you. Seeing the desire in your eyes. Waiting for him to thrust his thick cock inside of you.

Taking a deep breath, he gripped your waist tightly. Slowly pushing forward. Delving inside of you. Feeling you wrap your legs around him. Tightening them around his body. Moaning loudly as he filled you completely.

Releasing his grip on your waist, he grabbed hold of your wrists. Placing them above your head. Hanging limply as he slowly fucked you. Gently pumping his cock into you.

Grinding your hips against him. Panting as you struggled to breathe properly. Wanting desperately to touch his cock, to stroke it. To watch it twitch in your hand. But he didn't allow you to do anything. He continued to thrust into you. Stroking his dick as fast as he could.

“Please.” You begged. “I need you to come inside of me. Please.”

Chuckling, he responded. “Not yet, sweetheart. Not just yet.”

His words spurred you on. Suddenly wanting nothing more than to feel his load splatter inside of you. Needing to feel his seed filling your pussy. Pouring into your body. And you would love every minute of it. Every single second.

He suddenly pulled out of you. Rolling over onto his back. “Climb on top of me. Put your tits in my face. I want to suck on them while you ride me.”

Lifting your ass, you quickly straddled his naked body. Hooking your fingers behind his neck. Settling yourself down onto his hard cock. You moaned loudly as you impaled yourself on him. Your hips bucking back and forth.

Johnny gripped your breasts, tugging on your nipples as you rode him. Squeezing your nipples hard. Twisting them as you slammed your pussy down on his dick. Slowly increasing the speed. Riding him faster and harder until he felt the familiar pressure building up inside of him.

“Hang on baby. Hang on. I'm going to come. Oh god.”

Moaning loudly, you brought yourself closer to climax. Johnny's dick pounding your walls relentlessly. Your whole body shuddering uncontrollably.

Feeling his climax building, Johnny wrapped his arms around you. Holding you tightly. Ensuring that you remain steady. Bringing you closer to release. Kneading your breasts, milking them roughly. Pleasuring them until you were completely overcome by pleasure.

Your orgasm ripping through your body. Crashing down upon you with relentless force. Sweeping you away into an ocean of pure bliss.

He moaned loudly, holding you tight. Panting heavily as he came inside of you. Your pussy gripping him tightly. Keep his semen within you. Silencing his lustful thoughts. Pushing them away, allowing him to rest peacefully.

Holding you closely, he watched as your climax slowly faded away. You lay on his chest, your breathing still erratic.

“So good.” You breathed softly.

“So fucking good.” He agreed. “That was the best. The absolute best."

"The best sex I've had in a long time." You let out a small laugh. You heard the front door of your apartment opening and closing, hearing voices talking about Johnny's coat and shoes. Someone, sounded like Taeyong, laughing at how you and Johnny finally fucked.

"I can hear you guys!" You yelled.

Johnny chuckled. "So I guess the guys are right outside, and they know exactly what happened."

Groaning, you buried your face into Johnny's shoulder. "I can hear Renjun and Haechan asking me all sorts of questions."

Smirking, Johnny spoke. "We can just tell them that the hot tattooed people are finally a couple."

"A couple?" You asked, lifting your head up. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Well, I originally came to see you tonight because I was on a mission." He laughed. "Will you be my girlfriend, Y/N?"

Laughing loudly, you hugged him tightly. "I'd love to be your girlfriend, Johnny."

Letting out a sigh of relief, he relaxed against you. "Thank god."

He mumbled, resting his head against yours. Breathing in your lovely scent, he listened to the sound of your heart beating. "This is the first time I've been with someone I really care about. So I don't want to mess it up. It has to work."

Snuggling against him, you smiled. "Don't worry. We'll figure it out together."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Yes." You answered, curious to hear what he was going to say.

"I love you." He told you. "And you need to know that."

"I love you too." You mumbled, running your fingers through his messy hair. "Forever."

He closed his eyes, biting his lower lip. A mischievous smirk appeared on his lips. He looked down at your tattooed sleeve, running his finger over a sunflower one. "I really love this design. What does it mean?"

You chuckled. "Sunflowers remind me of you."

Johnny froze, looking down at your tattoo.

You were shocked to see tears forming in his eyes. But you didn't have time to worry about it because he immediately placed a tender kiss on your lips.

Your heart fluttered wildly at his actions. Never had you felt so alive.

So happy.

So loved.

You hugged him tightly.

"Remember when you used to tease me about getting tattoos?" He asked you, giving you a sheepish smile. He caressed your cheek. "Remember when I told you I wouldn't get another one unless you joined me?"

"Yup." You nodded. "What happened to getting one with me?"

"I eventually got it with Taeyong and Yuta since I wasn't sure whether you wanted one with me or not." Johnny explained. "I'm still waiting to get one with you."

"What if I gave you the tattoo?" You offered, tracing his shoulder tattoo. "One of my designs so it's like you're taking me with you anywhere you go."

"I would love to be inked by you." Johnny whispered, turning his gaze towards you. "Anywhere you want."

Your breath hitched. This is exactly what you wanted.

You could only imagine the gorgeous tattoos you would create together. They would be so incredibly beautiful. A masterpiece. You would cherish them forever.

It would also make you feel special. Knowing that no matter where you went, Johnny would always carry part of you with him. Always be thinking of you. Remembering you. Cherishing your creations.

You didn't know how you could express how grateful you were for his words. Or for him choosing you. Loving you. Being with you.

All you knew was that you were going to treasure these feelings for as long as possible.

#nct #nct stories #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct 127 #nct smut #nct johnny #johnny #johnny suh #johnny seo

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bakerstreethound · 10 months ago

Text

Once a Dream, Twice the Nightmare

Relationship: Hobrintheus x afab!reader

Warnings: 18+ Smut, praising, fingering (afab receiving), forceful OC male character who is a creep, mentions of workplace harassment, implied stalking, gentle Morpheus, loving Hob, mentions of killing, blood, knives, and dismemberment, lowkey knife play discovery kink appears, everyone is enraptured by Corinthian, makeout sessions, and consensual polyamory

Summary: Going on a date proves to be difficult, especially when it is from a guy at your office who cannot take a hint that you do not like him nor that you don't want to go out with him. Morpheus convinces you not to go and instead enjoy time with him and the two other people who care about you more than anything in the world. Needless to say, you lose yourself to them and indulge in their ministrations.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 2.7k+

A/N: Hello lovelies, this came about from a request by my lovely wife @roguelov for my 5-year Tumblr anniversary. My six-year anniversary has passed, but better late than never. I had a lot of fun writing this request and Hob has become one of my favorites. I cannot resist writing for Hob, Corinthian, and Morpheus with a reader. I hope you enjoy it (I am so proud of this one!!). Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Dating was not your strong suit, so why you bothered adding mascara and eyeliner to your face for a final flare was beyond you. One last check you admired your flowy dress that sat just above your knees and was perfectly stretchy and comfortable.

You offered a half smile to the reflection in the mirror, sticking your hand in the pockets and giving a twirl. Pockets in dresses are rare, so when you first put the dress on you had doubts, not wanting to get too hopeful. They are different from your usual style, but this dress was made for you.

Carefully you smooth out the loose strands of your hair that fell from their bobby pin prison, dabbed on one more drop of lipstick on your lips, giving yourself a satisfactory nod. It wasn’t every day you put yourself together in such a manner, preferring comfortable clothes devoid of flowy dresses and skirts. There is a first time for everything, you think.

Your phone pinged, breaking you from your thoughts. You know it is likely from Jordan, your co-worker who insisted on taking you to a sushi place. You tried to drop countless hints you had no desire to go or eat sushi and every time it was brought up in conversation it was redirected. You wanted to tear out your hair in frustration, so why wouldn’t he take the hint?

“Darling, you shouldn’t go on that date. He does not respect you and is a fool. No one, no mortal deserves the likes of you,” a silky smooth voice drifts from the shadows. Goosebumps form along your arms at his appearance, as usual.

Out of the three of your roommates, Morpheus was the most elusive, dropping by at inconvenient times. Being friends with Hob, forever the immortal mortal, and Corinthian, one of Morpheus’s art projects was the least of your worries.

You definitely could not turn down the rent either, as you desperately needed a place to live while pilfering through job applications. So far, a year or two had passed and you got a steady one, where you had the misfortune to meet Jordan, the nuisance and bane of your existence.

You felt so foolish now accepting his offer, not knowing he was asking you on a date until it was too late and his texts became suggestive and eerie. Men and their twisted words. You wished you could be rid of him and that stupid sushi place.

You turn towards Morpheus, acknowledging his presence as you fiddle with the necklace you added to your ensemble. “Well, I wish I could but Jordan is a pain in the ass and he won’t relent unless I join. If I appear and go on this date, then he’ll leave me alone for good.”

“Oh, darling, that is not the case. He’s using you and harassing you both at work and during your off hours. No person acts in such a manner. Best leave us to handle it.”

“Handle what?” a warm voice you’d come to cherish many a night inquired. Hob leaned against your doorframe, a small smile gracing his features. You have lost count of the times you lost yourself in those warm brown eyes.

Turning from your thoughts you sighed as your phone pined five more times on your nightstand. “It’s nothing, an annoying co-worker who asked me on a date that I did not know was a date, and he never specified it was.

He twisted his words and I eventually caved since he was so insistent and I thought accepting it would make me get rid of him. Hell, I am such a fool and Jordan is a creep.” You take a breath, noting the concerned raised brow Hob gave to Morpheus who stood in the shadows, ever stoic. “You were right, Morpheus. I can’t go. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“You could block him,” Hob offered, coming to you to wrap you in a hug. His embrace strengthened your resolve and you looked to Morpheus.

You sighed, leaning into Hob’s warmth. “I will do that, but I work with him at least three times a week and once he drops by my cubicle he will not take the hint no matter how insistent I get.”

“We could send Corinthian after him. That is an idea.”

Morpheus came closer, standing before you at his full height, his hair a rumpled mess that you did not notice when he was cloaked in shadows. “I would call for him if you wish.” He stroked your cheek gently and you leaned into him, the coldness of his touch a wonderful contrast to Hob’s warm embrace from behind.

“I don’t want to go,” you whispered, hating how you melted, hating how much your heart raced at the thought, hating how you’d face Jordan at work in three days.

“Don’t go on the date,” Morpheus commanded.

Your phone pinged again and your heart seized, but Hob held you tighter determined to keep you steady. “Morpheus, why?” Your eyes widened at the set of his jaw, pure determination in his eyes, not willing to let you run from him.

“Say it.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” Morpheus’s voice was soft, yet dangerously low, a silken melody in the space between and you want to lose yourself to his coldness, to Hob’s warmth. How did you not realize sooner they were who you wanted all along? No one else could or would ever compare.

“Because I want you. I want Hob. I want so much more in this life than to be harassed and taken advantage of by that creep Jordan. I have never felt so safe, so cared for than with you, even Corinthian.” Your heart ached at your confession, realizing the truth in your words, the pure honesty, the desire behind it all.

Before you could utter another word, Morpheus’ lips meet yours in a soft, determined kiss and you lose yourself to the cold, the fire inside your heart burning free. Hob grunted from behind you, soft warm lips pressed upon your neck, making you melt all the more.

You wouldn’t question how you got here, but you are thankful for them both, saving you from what could have been a precarious situation. You lose yourself then, with Hob biting your neck, passion, and desire brimming between the three of you, nothing could have been more perfect in that moment.

They continue in their conquest, determined to turn your mind from the disastrous date that could have been and you’re grateful for them, the distraction, the new feelings between you all surfacing. You would not have imagined this happening to you with one, let alone two people you’ve come to admire throughout the years you spent together.

A soft moan passed from your lips as Morpheus slid his hands over your sides, a shower of goosebumps cascading down your arms in the wake of his touch. Hob groaned, pulling you tighter against him, feeling the weight of his desire along your lower back, sending heat to your core in anticipation.

Never had you expected to feel desire or passion for anyone in this lifetime or the next, and you wanted none but them.

You sighed again as Morpheus’s hands wandered to your breasts, cupping them gently through the fabric of your dress. Hob followed in kind, sweeping his hands under your dress to tease the fabric of your undergarment with his index finger and tracing the apex of your thighs, a delicious agony. To no avail you squirmed against them both, nowhere to go but remain in this moment in time with them.

The buzzing of your phone faded into the background, drowned out by your panting and moans the men coaxed from your lips. Soon enough they had you a writhing mess for them on the bed, sandwiched between them in the throes of bliss and you kissed them in turn, determined to savor every moment, not wanting to let go.

“So pretty for us to undress, yeah?” Hob cooed, working you with his fingers, coaxing your release from you as Morpheus toyed with your breasts, nipping and suckling, adding to your pleasure.

“My darling, you’re a sight to behold, so lovely for us,” Morpheus’s voice drank you in, enveloping you in your soul and mind.

You could do nothing but whimper at the feeling, everything too much yet not enough, body ignited, yet somehow wanting, no, craving more of them and their touches. “Please, Morpheus, yes. Hell, H-hob right there,” you groan, coaxing your lovers on. “I swear I’m going to fuck the next person that walks through that door.”

“You have us, my love,” Hob whispered huskily, pressing his length against you, evidence of his want and desire.

Your hand grasped onto him with ease, relishing his head tossing back in bliss, the broken moan falling from his lips. Morpheus looked up in awe, his black eyes narrowing, admiring the display before kissing you on the lips gently.

“I know, Hob but-” you shuddered, as a flash of white passed by your door.

A deep chuckle resounded in your room followed by a southern drawl. “Well well, what am I missing out on? What did I hear my dear say, Morpheus? Surely they did not mean that. You and Hob are pleasuring them into oblivion already from the looks of it.” Corinthian smirked, his pristine white suit covered in blood.

He wiped the corner of his mouth, smirking as he pushed his signature sunglasses up on his nose before stalking around the bed to get a better view. You let out a soft moan at the sight.

“Awe darlin’ look at you so pretty for them. So pretty for us.” Corinthian smirked, tilting your chin up with the tip of his knife. “Such pretty eyes. And Jordan will never look at you again or that sushi place.”

You shuddered at his words, another wave of desire coursing through you. This other being, the creation of Morpheus had killed for you, showering you with such an act of devotion you’re not sure you could ever repay.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for us,” Hob murmured, dragging a finger along your thighs up to your slit, teasing you just so.

“Looks like they have a penchant for my knives, is that it?” Corinthian’s smirk widened as he added a hint of pressure to the blade he pressed along your neck.

You choked back another groan, overstimulated by the touches of your lovers, paired with the sound of Corinthian’s seductive voice, cold metal at your throat.

The bed creaked as Hob and Morpheus shifted slightly pulling you to the middle of the bed, keeping you between them, Hob on the left, Morpheus to your right. All of your eyes were focused on the Corinthian after he gently kissed you on the neck where he teased you with his knife.

You continued to admire the new addition to your party.

The full-length mirror next adjacent to the dresser offered more of a view as Corinthian reverently took off his coat, placing it on your vanity chair, taking off his knife shoulder holsters, and setting the red stained knives on a pristine white towel. You would complain about the towel later, but you and your lovers are too enraptured by the creation of Morpheus to care.

You cannot deny Morpheus’s tastes, or Corinthian’s eye for fashion, the white button-down shirt accentuating his skin, carved of marble, honed and fashioned in the sands of the shoreline.

Carefully rolling up the sleeves up to his forearms, he took another white towel from your vanity, dipped it into the basin of water, and slowly, reverently, cleaned off his knives.

The precision and the intention are all practiced methods, a ritual, even.

A ritual that enraptured you and your lovers.

Corinthian set the clean knives on another plush white towel, placing a kiss on each of their hilts, before turning to meet your gaze through his dark signature glasses.

“Well well, you three have been patient. Is this all for me?” He drawled.

Hob smirked, kissing your neck, continuing in his prior conquest of teasing your clit to which you immediately squirmed, holding back a groan.

“Such pretty sounds, my sweet,” Morpheus murmured as Corinthian walked over to the bed, nestling into his creator’s embrace. You were grateful Morpheus had insisted on a large bed, one that he could adjust in any manner he chose.

For a moment you were sure the four of you would break the bed or struggle for room, but now that all of you are on it, it is comfortable, safe, and warm.

Warm like Hob’s insistent fingers to which you spread your legs further, welcoming him in, arching into his chest as he smiled at you, murmuring encouragement.

It did not take long for Morpheus and Corinthian to partake as well, them rotating between using their tongues and fingers upon you, driving you made and over the edge. Soon enough you pulled each of them in for a kiss, groaning your thanks to them for a wonderful evening, one you are sure not to forget.

Hob cast a gentle smile your way, kissing your hand, before dragging his tongue along it, his ministrations continuing to your fingers. You raised a questioning brow, as did you other two lovers who were quickly enraptured once more with each other and their tongues.

Hob shrugged nonchalantly as his tongue threaded nimbly between your fingers, sending surges of heat along your spine and you hope and pray that it is not obvious the vice he already had you in for the second, maybe even third, time that evening.

Taking his sweet time, he does not break contact as he takes your index finger in his mouth, tongue dancing with confidence before he adds in another finger. You are almost lost at the feeling paired with his eye contact.

The act alone was erotic, sparking your mind but watching him riled you further. You had to look away, you had to. Until Morpheus wrapped around behind you, grasping you, pressing his chest up against you.

He strokes his hands down your arms, sending goosebumps in their wake. “Let Hob work, love. You can be good for us, right?”

Corinthian grumbled as he shuffled closer, slumping behind Morpheus, ever the clinger and in want of a hug. He compromises by resting his head on Morpheus’s shoulder.

You sighed in the agony of Hob’s ministrations, ashamed that something so small could rile you up, having you in a chokehold. “I can be good sometimes. If and only if it happens only for you three.” You smirk, noting Morpheus’ excitement pressing against your lower back.

So this is riling him up, too.

“What if I said I wanted to watch you and Corinthian makeout?” You mutter in your throes of it all, your brain becoming mush, spewing your desires, the darker impulses.

Corinthian raises a brow and Morpheus bridges the gap between them lips and bodies colliding as one. You lose them in a flurry of black and white entranced by them, by Hob, pressing his lips to yours, swallowing your moans. You fall into Hob, into the cacophony of affection and desire, enjoying the whispers, groans, and moans that befell the four of you.

Slowly, and oh so lovingly they tend to you and each other, your body trembling once you’re completely spent, your heart thrumming in your chest as Hob sinks into you, moaning low all while Corinthian and Morpheus watch, utterly enthralled as you come apart for Hob.

Once you’re all spent, Hob licked the remaining remnants of the combined mess of their desire on your stomach, groaning all the while.

“You’re all devastatingly pretty. How lucky am I to have you,” you whisper to the now empty room, lit by a single black candle and yellow flame.

You heard them all shuffle in the darkness, heading to clean themselves up and Morpheus nuzzled up next to you and you felt a coolness between your thighs, registering the cloth he used to gently clean you off.

You smiled in the dark at the gesture. All three of them were so good to you and completely yours. All of you they could not imagine for more and they adored you and would continue to all until the hours of the night, where dreams and nightmares collided.

They would meet you there time and time again, always there, holding you and never letting go.

******

#hobrintheus x reader #morpheus x reader #the corinthian x reader #hob gadling x reader #the sandman imagine #the sandman smut #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman fanfic #polyamory #my writing #my alleyway

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da-janela-lateral · 9 months ago

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MP100 S2E01 under a writer's perspective

The Emi Fukami episode in Mob Psycho 100 was a beautiful display of Mob's character development in relation to his individuality and a earnest vision of emotional vulnerability, but I want to call attention to a single detail: Emi being a writer.

Out of all the secret truths that the cast masks during the narrative, Emi's must be one of the most mundane. She is writing a book. She doesn't want people to know about it, much less read it, as Emi was led to believe this hobby of hers was embarassing.

I find it very interesting that Emi, character whose focus episode revolves around vulnerability, has writing has her main passion. In a way, writing is one of the most revealing art forms that there is. Literary choices are a reflection of the author's context, beliefs, likes and dislikes, fears and dreams, even though many of these choices cannot be perceived in a sensible level. Even if I suddenly decided to write a tale about a random theme - you say, a blue-footed booby who becomes an architect while wearing ballet shoes - it would say something about me. It could be a preferred text type, my sense of humor or even my idea of what is "random". Word choices, rhythm, figures of speech, themes, narrative structures, spins on a literary genre's expectations - all of these and more consist of conscious or unconscious decisions made by the writer. Writing as an art form serves as a mirror to the artist's very mind.

As a result, a piece of text can be a very delicate thing. Many people would only reveal their works to a exemplarily trusted someone, or to no one at all. That's the origin and end of uncountable masterpieces. It is also associated to passion. Few are the writers who characterize themselves as such and don't feel a duty to write. Yes, duty. Not all pieces are a labor of love, but it's almost universal that they're one of resolve, as little as it might be. One can unlock a fundamental will to write something in spite of it being weary work. At this point, for many writers, it's not a simple hobby. It's a need. It's a compulsory manner of expression hardwired onto our brains; thus, it's an inseparable part of who we are.

So what does any of this have to do with Emi's arc?

S2E01 is all about being vulnerable. Even though Emi had only asked out Mob because of a bet and hanged out with him for a week, she felt safe enough to show him her book. Her own friend group didn't have an idea that she was working on one, and once they discovered this, they ridiculed Emi's effort and teared it to shreds. Emi tried to alleviate this rejection by affirming she didn't care for her work, while everything shown previously on the episode proved this was wrong. In turn, Mob uses his psychic powers to put back her text together - his first public demonstration of them since he was a child. Mob was honest about himself by revealing he was an esper. Emi was honest by wanting his opinion on her book.

Emi is a fourteen year old girl going through a confusing and ever changing phase of her life. After doubting on Mob's emotions, she tells him that she too doesn't know well who she is, and her actions around her friends prove how she was prone to peer pressure. Her mind and identity were on an uncertain state, and this would also reflect on her writing. Emi uses complicated words, perhaps to make her writing sound more serious. Based on a translation of her work "Adventure", she uses more of a stream of consciousness prose and ambiguous descriptions. She immediately decides to write something different after her experiences with Mob. Emi has a personal style! She has techniques and topics she enjoys and active choices about how she will employ them! Emi has a bit of her on her story and this was why she hid it so much: a mockery of it would be synonym of a mockery of herself.

This is what makes the plotline with her book so important to express the episode's themes. Emi felt insecure to reveal such an integral part of herself to the world until someone came and not only took it seriously, but appreciated it enough to make an effort to understand it better. It tells a lot how Mob's demonstration of caring made her leave the people who destroyed her work.

As a writer, this detail gave a whole another layer of significance for the episode. I've felt Emi's struggle in a very intense level on the past. Storytelling is something so dear to me I can't see myself without the adjective of "writer", but the acknowledgement of my work would be the same as exposing myself to the world. It can be scary at times, to divulge something so sincere to others. However, such is the writer's role: divulging. For reasons long unknown a magical excess of words was born to me, and this coincidence can't be supressed and abandoned on the dark. There is something I can offer copiously hand in hand and its words. Words. Words. Words... And the reflection of me resonates on others.

#I unfortunately don't remember much about Adventure's translation and I would enjoy it very much if someone linked the textpost #Emi's writing style seemed so nice though. she could be the next Clarice Lispector if she wanted to!!#mp100 #mob psycho 100 #mp100 analysis #mp100 meta #emi fukami #lalá rambling...

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draculasfavoritewife · 2 months ago

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Azúcar (Capítulo 7)

Summary: There's so much you wish you could just say to him, but for him to accept any of it, you have to let your bodies do the talking instead.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!Spider!Reader

Warnings: This miniseries covers a wide range of potential triggers, including heavy sexual tension, bad/nonexistent communication, depression, implied smut, using said smut as coping mechanism, mentions of child death, guilt complex, a tiny bit of emotional manipulation, avoidant attachment style (lookin' at you, Señor O'Hara), and one shameless display of my bite kink, whoops.

Note: I use the shortened version of his name "Mique" in my own writing just because I personally prefer it. Swap it with whatever nickname you prefer in your head :) For my intents and purposes, Reader understands and speaks Spanish.

Lyrics from "Sugar" by Sleep Token

*Spanish translations at the end! (I am fairly bilingual, but if I made a lil mistake here or there do forgive me)

...Show me what you do

It’s after three in the morning when the two of you finally collapse into the tangled sheets, the sudden silence stark enough that your panting breaths practically echo in the confines of the small room, deep and ragged.

The room is a disaster zone — pillows strewn across the floor and the framed art on your walls hanging at odd angles. You’re pretty sure Miguel’s claws have left deep gouges in the headboard again; you’ve talked to him about it several times, and when he does remember, he tries to keep himself under control. But it doesn’t always work.

And, on the nights when this bed is too empty without him, there’s a strange comfort that comes from reaching up in the dark and running your fingers over the scars he left behind, to physically remind yourself that he was there, and he will come back the next time he needs you, if he stays alive another day.

Not that you’d ever tell him so.

He certainly doesn’t need the encouragement.

Miguel lets out a long exhale, flipping the two of you so that he is now underneath you, your body draped across his muscular torso, cheek resting against his chest. One of his hands drifts across your back light as a whisper, the pads of his fingers now smooth and warm, talons sheathed. You smile as those fingers start to trace arcing shapes over the surface of your skin; you can’t tell if he’s transcribing all his secret thoughts there in Spanish, or if they are simply mindless designs.

Either way, you know that it means his tumultuous mind is at rest for now, temporarily clear of everything he constantly tortures himself with, and that knowledge is enough for you.

“What are you thinking about?” His breath ruffles your hair as he looks down at your face.

You pull yourself up slightly so that you two are eye-to-eye again.

“You.”

He almost chuckles at that. “¿Por qué?”

There’s something about that simple little question that unexpectedly stings, so you busy yourself for a bit with running your fingers through his hair, reorganizing the unruly strands that are stuck to his forehead and temples and watching the way his beautiful eyes move to follow your hand’s path.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you finally counter. “What else would I be thinking about right now?”

Something dark passes over his face, like an iron gate abruptly rolling shut over whatever openness had been there only a second ago. “Ay coño, Ángel. Not now.”

It's an old conversation that needs to be had at some point. There are words that have waited far too long to be said and questions that need to be asked, things that you need to hear from his mouth before you can finally confront yourself in the mirror and ask if you’re really, truly okay with how all of this works.

But he’s not ready for that.

And you know you can’t ask him when, if ever, he will be.

So instead, you nod reluctantly, promising him without words that you won’t go any further down that train of thought for now.

Miguel O’Hara needs to know that you’re here, in this moment with him right now, and that you’ll be there, standing distant and coolly composed at arm’s length again tomorrow, just like always.

Not quite his, but nobody else’s.

And that’s why you keep playing his game, as you force your smile to look teasing instead of vulnerable and lean down to kiss him.

Damn him.

He’s always been such a soft kisser once the fire burns down, and it makes your heart ache.

Te amo, Miguel, you tell him silently, since you know he doesn’t want to hear it.

Not from you.

“I need a shower,” you announce instead, finally rolling off of him. “Join me?”

¿Por qué? = Why?

Te amo = I love you

(6)

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wonder-farm-hc · 6 months ago

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Elliott headcanons!!

Just some general headcanons, cw for mentions of homophobia

The post was a bit long, so I ended up putting a "read more" banner, but nothing explicit is mentioned!

Requests are open!

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

❤️ He struggled many years with a speech stutter, but eventually was determined enough to overcome it (he practiced, a lot, in his mirror)

❤️He’s an only child, and up until middle school he was homeschooled. For this reason, he was always a bit more awkward than other kids, never made friends easily

❤️ Although part of why he didn’t make friends easily was because he was always true to himself: he had a fancier style than most, he liked to play piano and write, stuff that many of his peers didn’t find interesting or fascinating. That said, he never tried to fit into the mold, preferring to remain true to himself rather than dulling his lifestyle

❤️ As he lives on the beach, he observes the small creatures such as crabs, starfish and others. He often ends up chatting with Willy over the local sea population, and they’ve become somewhat good friends

❤️ When he arrived in the valley, the first person he bonded with was Leah: they bonded over being artists (although very different ones) and living alone in nature

❤️ They often have debates on art, philosophy, music: they prefer different things, with Elliott being less chaotic than Leah in his art, and tastes as well

❤️ He sometimes stays up until very very late. One time Willy (who was coming back from a night time fishing trip) spotted him awake at night. As Willy noticed the tension in Elliott’s speech and manners, he tried to be there for him, and the best way he could do that was to show him how to light the fireplace, in case he wanted some warth

❤️ He suffers from insomnia, that’s why he was up

❤️ Now, from time to time, Elliott lights it up when he can’t sleep. Not that it helps him sleep, but he find the crackling of the fire to be relaxing

❤️ Elliott and Shane, strangely enough, sometimes do get along. Elliott is one who, ideally, likes to provide for his loved ones and such, and that’s something that Shane understands very well (as he is protective towards Jas).

❤️ Plus, Elliott often spends time in the library, and therefore watches many lessons that Penny gives to Jas and Vincent (sometimes, he even helps Penny, or accompanies home the kids). Getting to know Jas automatically means to hear a lot about Shane, as he’s important to her

❤️ Elliott has refined tastes, that’s for sure, but he’s not squeamish as one may assume: quite the opposite

❤️ He realized he was queer later in life, when he got a crush for a friend of his. To this day, he’s not 100% confident in his queerness

❤️ He came out to Leah, one day while they were in her cabin. He simply whispered “I don’t think I’m straight” during a quiet moment, and she sensed his tension immediately

❤️ She helped him overcome a lot of the internalized homophobia he had (turns out kids joking about your interests being gay does leave a mark, even if you don’t notice it) and, ultimately, he decided to not put a label on himself

❤️ He likes the Hamilton musical, a lot (but it’s a secret)

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

This was fun to write! Although Elliott isn't one of my favorites, he's very cool to write about, and explore as a character in general!

I hope you enjoyed my silly little writing thing :)

#sdv elliott #stardew elliott #sdv #stardew valley #sdv headcanons #sdv hc #sdv hcs

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n7punk · 1 month ago

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Literally all I listen to while driving (still) is TSWGUIW delover (that was a deluxe typo but I'm right anyway) edition, and so I think about Unhinged Instagram Lives Era every time, so I've gotta finally SAY the shit's that in my head:

Catra writes crying after sex (cw: blood on the album cover art) after chapter 8, when she tries having sex with someone else and it's a disaster because they can't give her what she needs but she doesn't know how to change

Adora writes Confidential (mostly, there are some changes, "It felt like you knew me, in a past life or a movie" becomes "We both know you knew me, in a past life like a movie") in between practices for the Mirrors tour, like literally running between a take in the middle of the room to her phone to write something down as they reset

Shortly before the tour starts, Catra does her first live performance since writing crying after sex and she performs it stream of consciousness style, like it's a possession she just has to get it out (i mean, that's what the song is). When it ended up on the deluxe of the next album there were very few changes from that first performance where it was fresh and raw, because fresh and raw were all that song was meant to be

Adora hears crying after sex and immediately goes. Right okay I need to get in the studio. So she works with her collaborators however she can around the tour prep that just got a wrench thrown in its final act, and they get the fully produced version of Confidential made, alongside working on the tracks for the deluxe version of the Mirrors album ("Mirrors [Polished]") that was already in progress

First night of the world tour, she has a way more involved outfit for her final outfit change, so she walks up to the mic and asks "Are you ready to get deluxe?" as a dancer runs over her for her guitar. Deluxe album hasn't been announced yet but everybody who hears her understands and starts screaming. She puts on the guitar strap and tells the crowd "Don't tell North America about this. Let's keep it... Confidential" and then runs into the song (because the entire North American tour missed out on the deluxe's performance). At the sax solo, she gives up the stage to the saxophonist and goes backstage to scramble for her last outfit change. The long solo and reverting to just the backing track during it ends up being perfect for the outfit change, which lets them finish off with something a little flashier.

That first performance she knows Catra is going to see, even if it's just via TikTok, so she is possessed for it and to this day some people prefer that phone fancam over the official music video because of how much she is putting into it.

Throughout the course of the tour the other deluxe songs get released and then the album, yada yada, Catra is fucking dying that Adora just did that when she wasn't even on the same continent as her. She barely manages to last two weeks past when she knows Adora is back in town - and she actively has a girlfriend at the time, too, they kind of break up on day 15 because. Duh. Catra is not putting anything into the relationship. On day 16 she texts Adora and neither of them mentions at all how they terrorized each other via live performance but Catra does not, in fact, cry after sex

this got so long I should have just made it a chapter. whatever

ANYWAY

Save The Bullets, Baby! is Catra's first song after their relationship goes public, and it's ft. Adora Grayskull (backing & playing). The promo leading up to it is her spraypainting the song's name on the side of a building overlooking a really busy major road in the city (sanctioned promo but with a rebel vibe), and then her posting a lot of imagery of being shot with pink "blood" (aka paintball. like the cover of the single is a real gun held to the side of her head and pink bleeding out from her hair like she's already been shot. The promo image she posts to announce the song is her lying "dead" on the floor with a puddle of pink paint pouring out from her head and the song's name written on the floor in the 'blood' using her finger). Day of the song's premier the final promo is her posting a TikTok of her "vandalizing" her own mural by shooting it up with an automatic paintball rifle with all pink paint.

With the name and all the promo, people are expecting a pretty aggressive song and she knows that. Her pinned comment locked in the second it posts is "ive always crossed genre & this is just one song on the album chill. take it from me, a little pop on your tongue hits sometimes 👅". People of course still complain about her selling out/going pop but it is honestly just that one song, which is the final song on the album, but it's one she wrote for Adora, so she wrote it in Adora's preferred style, and they also wrote the music together quite a bit.

All the pink was a real commentary no one realized until afterwards, about "bubblegum" pop, about how watering herself down like that would feel like dying but sometimes it's what feels right, about how her music is intense and things "light" like pop feel like being killed for how they cage her, about how things associated with femininity (pink, love, nurturing, care) felt like they were killing her while the song is about realizing they weren't.

The deluxe of the album has Crying After Sex (Reprise) on the same track number that it was before and this time it's about crying positively, tears slipping out and being noticed, being held and nurtured, worshiped and loved. It's still in the same style of the original, but instead of raw and jagged, there's a breathiness to it like it's being recorded in the middle of being fucked I mean what,

One day I'll tell y'all about THOSE GIRLS. One day. As if I haven't come back to this fic enough LOL

#uile #fic rambling #fic extra #because it's a full blown at this point LOL

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sincerely-sofie · 8 months ago

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What are some ideas you've wanted to draw/write but haven't?

Oh man. I've got so many. A handful of ideas include:

A semi-animated series titled "My Pal the Paladin" about a kidnapped princess and the final boss who join forces to track down the legendary hero who's failed to slay even a single mook months after the plot kicking off and yell at him for taking so long. It's based on my oldest original characters and has a lot of sentimental worth to me as a result. Idris, Pal, and Katherine are my babies. I've considered making it similar in production to Dingo Doodle's Fool's Gold series, but I haven't actually made it because I'm really nervous about it turning out poorly ^^; I'd love to post a pitch bible for it someday!

A gothic picture book tentatively titled "Cover the Mirrors" about a woman killing a monster that has haunted her since girlhood, and inheriting the curse that turned the monster from a normal man into his current twisted looks. It would end with the monster's appearance going from being seen as a Boogeyman figure that stalks kids who play outside after sundown while the original monster was around, to a vengeful beast that hunts people who prey on children once the woman inherits the curse. It would play with the idea of trauma giving you unique abilities to help those who have gone through similar terrors, while also warping you into something you can't recognize and find inherently repulsive. I haven't made it because I don't know how to render the painterly style I envision for it.

A mixed media visual novel titled "Cradlehead" about a woman who finds herself serving as the unwilling vessel for an eldritch entity that will destroy her mind when it finishes germinating within and exits her body. She has to escape the pocket dimension it trapped her in to develop within the optimal conditions in order to save herself. The visuals would incorporate clay, digital art, traditional art, 3D models, pixel art, and photography. The game would center around the woman's desperation as she tries to escape while her ability to perceive the new world around her decays more and more over time. I haven't made it because I doubt my artistic abilities to make something like I have in my head come to life.

An untitled magical girl webcomic about an unwilling magical girl with a giant bee familiar named Queenie and issues controlling her powers because of her insecurities. She feels bad about being a not very girly individual while surrounded by hyper-feminine young women who have a handle on their powers she could never dream of. It revolves around her character arc where she eventually stops worrying about meeting the arbitrary standards she imposes on herself to be "girly enough" and decides to just be herself, whoever that is, unlocking her true powers and entering her ultimate form during a climactic battle— taking on a design less like a queen holding a scepter like she'd been dreading, and more like a princely knight holding a stinger-like spear. Her rejection of others' expectations as well as her own helps the world-ending threat, a shapeshifting eldritch being that absorbs people into itself so it can become someone other than itself but is never satisfied with the new faces it obtains, to accept itself and stop trying to steal people's souls in order to find one that would make it love itself. I haven't made it because I worry if it would come across weirdly to the average viewer, as it deals with gender dysphoria as a subject in a very atypical manner.

#my two sides: unspeakable eldritch horror and cutesy goofy cartoons :>#sofie answers asks #stuff by sofie #(kinda. I'm talking about things I want to make at least!)

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marimayscarlett · 5 months ago

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German medias dislike for Rammstein needs to be studied. At this point, it's scientific.

Hi 👋🏻

You could probably write a thesis on this topic, but as much as I enjoy researching, I won’t dive too deeply into it here. I neither have the mental strength nor the heart to wade through 30 years of German media slandering Rammstein - I’ve already seen enough and always get upset when I come across it.

That said, I’ve put together a short list of reasons why the German press has disapproved of the band since the very beginning. This is meant as a quick overview, but of course, it got longer than expected:

- The name 'Rammstein': Many associated it with the Ramstein air show disaster, considering it disrespectful and tasteless.

- The band's East German roots: After reunification, East Germans were often ridiculed as backward or ignorant.

- Their sound and imagery: Journalists labeled their music as crude and compared it to military marches, quickly linking it to Nazism - something the band could never fully shake, despite repeatedly distancing themselves from it. Till’s vocal style also fed into this perception.

- Uncomfortable themes in their songs: Tracks like Spiel mit mir, Weißes Fleisch, and Du riechst so gut were accused of glorifying or reflecting personal fantasies rather than being understood as mirrors held up to society/pure work of art and fiction.

- Provocative political songs: Tracks like Deutschland (brilliant song with an incredible video), Mein Land, and Ausländer were often misinterpreted or judged hastily, as it seems that a lot of journalists didn't took their time to listen to the lyrics in-depth. Many nuances and level of criticism and satire were overlooked here in favour of the possibility of quick slander in the fashion of "See what this band does once again? Unbelievable."

- Resistance to conform: The band never set out to charm the press or bend to their expectations. They stood firm, unapologetically themselves, and pushed boundaries even further (e.g., Pussy), simply because they wanted to and enjoyed it. This defiance clearly rubbed the press the wrong way, as they constantly tried and failed to get the upper hand. This interview with Richard serves as a little example of just how fed up he is with the endless attacks.

- Over the years, Rammstein has been accused of everything from Nazism (due to their masculine image or the Stripped video) to glorifying violence, fostering misogyny, or promoting an ideology of supremacy (like their debut album cover which caused people to accuse them of fostering a 'Herrenmenschen' aesthetic). Yet they never changed or bent to these accusations, and I think that terrified the press. Unyielding, wildly successful, and unapologetically themselves.

- Of course, last year’s scandal stirred up a lot, and rightfully so - it sparked important discussions. But, as so often happens, it spiraled out of control. The internet is flooded with German media articles that are either sensationalized, incomplete, or downright incorrect. I have a separate post on that topic:

Ultimately, the reasons why Rammstein is so poorly received in German media are many and complex. This won’t change. But neither will Rammstein. I don’t see any reconciliation happening anytime soon.

#rammstein #ask #ok now i need a drink and a hug. this topic is exhausting #research & rammsplaining

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taehyunsloves · 22 days ago

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╰┈➤ ❝ Omega for hire - Part 2 ❞

Pairing: Choi Soobin x Choi Yeonjun

Rating: nsfw 🔞

Wc: 4.2k

Contains/tags: alpha/beta/omega, abo, omega Choi Yeonjun, alpha Choi soobin, age gap, boypussy Choi yeonjun, soobin is daddy, pregnancy

Summary: Soobin’s gaze flickers back and forth between them, his anger escalating as he notices the pregnancy test lying between them. Something inside him snaps. “You little fucker!” Soobin shouts, punching Taehyun against the table. “It’s not what it looks like. We’re just friends. JUST FRIENDS, okay?” Taehyun tries to calm him down, but it’s clear that Soobin isn’t listening. “So, you’re fucking him, huh? He’s MINE.”

Note: This is part 2 of „Omega for hire“ which was originally planned as one shot. I decided to write another part because many of you requested one. This time I tried something different in style. Hope you like it.

Song: You belong to me - Ari Abdul

- - - - - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - - - - -

It’s Wednesday evening. Yeonjun’s shift has just ended after a long day of — finally — doing some real barista work. Not just cleaning and all that shit. His colleagues had taught him different ways to make coffee and even showed him how to create latte art. Overall, it had been a great shift.

The evening, however, would have been even better if Soobin had shown up after work, just like he’d promised. It’s a lie when Yeonjun says he isn’t disappointed.

Something had changed in him since that night in Soobin’s apartment — an encounter that had been… intense, to say the least. It hadn’t felt like it was just about sex; there was something deeper there, something that stirred inside him. His inner wolf definitely felt it.

But it wasn’t just the wolf. Yeonjun felt it in his heart, too — without the primal urge telling him he needed an alpha to feel complete. It wasn’t about just any alpha. That was the point. His wolf and his heart agreed: it had to be Soobin. Only Soobin.

Yeonjun’s mind was full of that tall man — who, by the way, happened to be his boss. Even in his sleep, Soobin appeared to him as his savior, the one who cared for him in every possible way — quite literally.

Today, Soobin had promised to take care of him again.

Yeonjun had made sure to look extra pretty before heading to work. He put on a bit of makeup and blush, choosing to wear white jeans and his favorite pinkish-white knit sweater. He knew he looked cute. Usually, he wasn’t the type to take many pictures of himself, but today he felt so pretty he couldn’t resist. He snapped a few mirror selfies — and maybe… pouted a little too much. I look like a duck, he thought, amused, as he slid his phone back into his pocket and left the apartment.

The wind is blowing as Yeonjun makes his way to the café. He hears the soft clinking sound of Easter decorations on every house he passes. Easter is next weekend, and his neighbors have gone all out, decorating their yards with colorful Easter eggs and bunny figurines. They look cute, but the wind is making the eggs fly away. It feels almost like he’s in a dodging simulator, but instead of obstacles, he’s avoiding Easter eggs. A blue one nearly hits his left butt cheek.

Arriving at Eclipse, Beomgyu — his friend and colleague — greets him with a grin.

“I’ve got something for you, Yeonjunnie!” Beomgyu reveals what’s been hidden behind his back, smiling mischievously.

White bunny ears and a matching tail.

“You’re joking, right?” Yeonjun asks, disbelief written all over his face.

Beomgyu shakes his head with a laugh. “It’s mandatory for Easter. Trust me, you’ll look cute. The girls will love it!”

Yeonjun sighs, feeling like he’s stuck in some bizarre dream.

Beomgyu takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “…or more like… our boss.” He winks, hands the ears and tail to a stunned Yeonjun, then walks off, giggling.

There’s no way he just said that.

Throughout the day, Yeonjun gets plenty of compliments for his cute look. A sweet old lady gives him a generous tip, and someone even slips him their KakaoTalk ID. Of course, he’s not about to text that guy! He was just playing along for the tip — which, by the way, was pretty damn good.

But despite these small moments, his mind keeps drifting back to Soobin. Just Soobin, Soobin, Soobin. What will tonight bring? The anticipation is thrilling.

His thoughts are interrupted when someone tugs at the tail on his jeans. Ready for Beomgyu’s teasing grin, Yeonjun turns around.

“Taehyunnie?!” Yeonjun exclaims, surprised, and pulls his old friend into a hug.

Taehyun is someone Yeonjun has known since elementary school. They did their bachelor’s degrees in music together, but while Taehyun pursued a career as a musician, Yeonjun decided to go in a different direction. That’s why he ended up in Busan. Just floating through life, no clear plan in sight.

“What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Seoul, holed up in your little cabin, recording songs?”

“I’m on Easter break and thought I’d surprise an old friend,” Taehyun says, eyes sparkling as he takes a seat at the counter. “Happy to see you.”

“So, Hyung… how’s life treating you?”

Yeonjun walks over to prepare a drink for his friend, trying to keep the conversation light. “Same old, same old. I’m still the same, still Choi Yeonjun. What about you? Has it really been over a year already?” He sets Taehyun’s drink down. The café is nearly empty, so they’ve got time to catch up.

“Work’s going great. The company loves my songs and my writing. I’m ghostwriting a lot for other artists right now. Feels like I’m exactly where I should be,” Taehyun says with a genuine smile. Yeonjun can feel the happiness radiating off him. “Also… there’s someone.” Taehyun adds, suddenly shy.

“Huh? No way, cute Taehyunie is getting laid more than me?” Yeonjun jokes, but then sees the look on his friend’s face — this is clearly a more serious topic. “Oh… you didn’t — uh — whoops.” The younger man laughs awkwardly.

“We’re not that close yet, but she’s really pretty. I feel good around her. She spilled her water all over me at the gym, and it was kind of adorable,” Taehyun says, a dreamy expression on his face. “What about you?”

“Ah, nothing. Still alone.” He replies fast.

“Liar. Who’s he?” Taehyun asks, raising an eyebrow.

“There’s nobody,” Yeonjun says quickly.

Taehyun doesn’t quite buy it but doesn’t push the topic further.

“Fine. So, wanna hang out later?” Taehyun asks, grinning.

“I’m busy after work, but I’ll call you when I’m free,” Yeonjun replies with a warm smile. “I’ve gotta check on the other guests. See you later, Tyunie!” He waves and heads to the guests.

Yeonjun’s shift has ended, and he leaves the café, waiting for Soobin. The wind blows, and the cold air bites at him. Soobin is still nowhere to be seen. He’s already waited for 15 minutes. After another 15 minutes, he decides to walk home in the freezing cold.

As he walks, he feels his eyes slowly start to sting. A tear rolls down his cheek. He feels hurt, disappointed — but most of all, disappointed in himself. He had trusted a literal stranger too quickly, all because he was fucking him so well and, worse yet, had probably even impregnated him. Yeonjun didn’t take the Plan B pill Soobin left for him as a “gift” after that one night, when Yeonjun had lost control of his heat and Soobin had just shown up, pinning him against the wall. How could he have resisted? It was stupid. So stupid. He didn’t even know this man, and not only that, but Soobin was almost double his age. Fuck. He had gotten too comfortable too quickly. But it felt right. It felt so damn right. When their eyes met, it felt like lightning had struck — like they could see straight through each other’s soul.

Another tear falls.

In the end, Mr. Choi is just his boss. Maybe that’s all it should be.

Just his boss.

His boss.

When he enters his apartment, his makeup is ruined by all the tears. His hair is a mess. He’s cold, his body trembling from head to toe — a literal ice block.

After hopping into the shower, he pulls on a pair of black sweatpants, a tank top, and an olive-green cardigan. He sits down on the couch, wrapping himself in a blanket. The scent of Soobin still lingers on the cushions. Burying his nose in one of them, he inhales deeply. Soobin smells so damn good. It comforts him, and slowly, he drifts off to sleep.

Something is ringing like the devil himself. Yeonjun flickers his eyes open, searching for the source of the noise.

“Who the fuck…” he mutters, reaching for his phone. He sighs when he sees the screen.

Incoming call: Taehyun

He picks up the phone. “Tyunie, why the hell are you calling at 1 AM? Jeez. What’s wrong?” Yeonjun is a little worried; Taehyun has never called him this late before.

“Hyung! Sorry for calling so late, but I thought you might still be awake… I’m in your neighborhood right now, and I was thinking you might want to grab a late-night snack at the store down the street?” Just the thought of food makes Yeonjun’s stomach rumble. Honestly, he’s always down for some ramen. He pushes himself off the couch, leaving the scented cushions behind, grabs his keys, and slips on some white sneakers. Before leaving, he checks that the scent blocker is still in place.

Taehyun is already waiting outside the apartment complex, eyes sparkling and his usual cute smile greeting Yeonjun. They start walking toward the store.

“How was your date?” Taehyun asks, glancing at Yeonjun.

Yeonjun gives him a sidelong look. “There was no date. What do you mean?”

“Come on, you said you were busy. I’m not blind. I can see how you dress up and how you act.”

“He… didn’t show up,” Yeonjun sighs, avoiding eye contact with his friend.

Taehyun stops walking, turning to face him. He places a hand on Yeonjun’s shoulder and pats it softly. “Oh… I’m sorry, man. Then he doesn’t deserve your attention. Don’t waste your tears on such a jerk.” Yeonjun laughs, but it sounds more hopeless than anything.

“I wish… somehow, he got to me. It felt so good with him, I don’t know. We don’t even know each other, so how could someone get this invested so quickly?” Yeonjun buries his face in his hands. “I made a huge mistake, Taehyun… fuck.” He steps aside, leaning against the wall beside the sidewalk, slowly sliding down to sit, his face still buried in his hands.

Taehyun kneels down beside him. “What happened, Jjunie?” He pats Yeonjun’s shoulder again, his voice soft.

Yeonjun’s voice trembles as he tries to stay calm. “I… I had an early heat because of this man. He — I don’t know what happened, but I met him at the café. We just locked eyes, and less than 10 minutes later, it hit me. I felt this… bond, or tension, or something like that. On my way home, some random alpha came at me aggressively. Somehow, he was there and saved me from the other alpha. After that, he brought me home — not my best decision, to be honest, but I couldn’t think clearly. After a few minutes at home, someone knocked on my door. I thought it was my friend, but… guess what? It was him. And then everything else happened.” Yeonjun pauses, taking a shaky breath. “Taehyun… I — I might be pregnant. And… he’s my boss.”

Yeonjun looks up, meeting Taehyun’s eyes. The younger man is staring at him, wide-eyed in surprise, clearly struggling to find the right words. A few seconds later, Yeonjun finds himself in Taehyun’s arms, pulled into a comforting hug.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyun whispers, his voice gentle as he tries to comfort his friend. “I’ll stay with you. If you want to take a test or anything, just let me know. You’ll be fine, okay?”

Yeonjun nods, tears rolling down his cheeks, soaking Taehyun’s sweater. He doesn’t say anything, just lets himself be held, feeling the warmth of his friend as the weight of everything crashes down on him.

After a few minutes of silence, Yeonjun finally calms down, and they get up, making their way to the store.

The bell rings as they enter. Yeonjun grabs his favorite ramen and some add-ons, while Taehyun picks his. The older guy walks over to the pharmacy section and tosses a pregnancy test into his basket. He’ll probably need it soon.

After paying, they settle into a corner of the store to prep their food.

Engrossed in their conversation, they don’t notice the door open. Suddenly, they hear loud, aggressive shouts.

“You don’t have anything left?! Nothing?” Silence. “FUCK!” The sound of something crashing against wood follows.

Taehyun looks confused—Yeonjun freezes, eyes wide. “What’s happening over there?” Taehyun whispers, glancing toward the agitated man.

Then, the man turns around slowly, glaring at Taehyun. His eyes narrow as they lock onto Taehyun’s side. For a moment, his expression shifts to one of surprise, but it quickly hardens into something more menacing.

Before Taehyun can react, the man rushes toward them. Yeonjun’s face goes pale as the alpha’s angry steps approach.

Taehyun realizes in an instant what’s happening. This must be the man Yeonjun was talking about—the one he’s been so conflicted over. And now, he’s in rut.

A few steps later, Soobin grabs Taehyun by the collar, slamming him against the table behind them. Taehyun struggles to remain calm.

“Who do you think you are, huh?” Soobin snarls, his teeth bared.

Taehyun stays silent, trying to assess the situation. Soobin’s eyes flick to Yeonjun. The omega looks completely shocked.

Soobin’s gaze flickers back and forth between them, his anger escalating as he notices the pregnancy test lying between them. Something inside him snaps.

“You little fucker!” Soobin shouts, punching Taehyun against the table. “It’s not what it looks like. We’re just friends. JUST FRIENDS, okay?” Taehyun tries to calm him down, but it’s clear that Soobin isn’t listening.

“So, you’re fucking him, huh? He’s MINE.” Soobin’s voice cracks with barely controlled rage. He raises his fist, but Yeonjun steps forward, positioning himself between them and touching Soobin’s chest.

“Soobin, stop! You’ll hurt him! He’s my friend,” Yeonjun pleads, his voice trembling.

Soobin looks at him, his eyes narrowing. He takes in the sight before him. His voice drops dangerously low as he addresses Yeonjun.

“This looks pretty obvious to me. An alpha and an omega… a pregnancy test. I don’t know, Yeonjun…” His eyes flick to Taehyun, his suspicion mounting. “How long have you two been fucking? And don’t lie to me.”

“We don’t,” Taehyun insists, his voice rising with frustration. “I have my own omega, and it’s not Yeonjun. It‘s not me who probably impregnated him.”

Yeonjun feels a knot in his stomach. This is escalating too quickly. Two alphas shouldn’t fight, especially when one of them is in rut.

“Soobin…” Yeonjun murmurs.

Soobin’s eyes snap back to him. “You’re what?”

“I didn’t take the pill, so… I don’t know, maybe,” Yeonjun says quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

Soobin’s grip on Taehyun’s collar loosens, and he steps back, his face frozen in disbelief. The silence lingers for a moment before Taehyun takes the opportunity to escape. He glances at Yeonjun, nodding once, then bolts out of the store.

Soobin is just about to turn and follow, but Yeonjun grabs his wrist, holding him back. To his surprise, Soobin doesn’t pull away.

Something has shifted in his gaze. His eyes are wide, but there’s something else there now—surprise, confusion… maybe something darker.

“Soobin…” Yeonjun starts again, but before he can finish, Soobin pulls him close, pushing him against the nearest shelf. Yeonjun is trapped between the solid wood and Soobin’s strong arms, the heat radiating against him. Soobin’s eyes darken as he looks down at him with desire.

“Now I know why you didn’t come,” Yeonjun says quietly, his eyes welling up with tears from the overwhelming situation. He’s not sure if it’s the right moment to show his disappointment, but he can’t help it.

Soobin doesn’t seem to hear him. Instead, he inhales deeply, his eyes flicking down to Yeonjun.

“You smell so good…” Soobin whispers, his voice low, full of desire. “Imagine the little you with my puppy. Wouldn’t that be great?”

Yeonjun shudders as Soobin’s words cut through him like a razor. “You shouldn’t be out here like this,” Yeonjun says. “Let’s go home. I’ll give you what you need if you come with me now. Please.”

The second part of Yeonjun’s plea catches Soobin off guard. His ears flicker, a slight hesitation in his eyes. He nods and, without a word, releases Yeonjun from his grip.

Yeonjun grabs the things he bought, and Soobin pulls him along by the wrist, offering a quick apology to the cashier as they leave the store together.

Soobin leads him back to his place, which, fortunately, is just around the corner. Before Yeonjun can even step inside the apartment, his boss has him in his arms again, tossing him over his shoulder.

Yeonjun is carried into a room with a massive bed covered in black and red sheets. Soobin sets him down gently, crawling on top of him. The younger lies back on the mattress, his body tense beneath Soobin’s weight.

“Pull my blocker off,” Yeonjun whispers, knowing full well the risk he’s taking. But at this point, he feels like he has nothing to lose.

Soobin does as instructed, pulling the blocker off with a hungry look in his eyes. The moment it’s gone, his lips find Yeonjun’s in an urgent, desperate kiss.

His hands grip Yeonjun’s body harshly, pulling him in like he wants to consume him. Yeonjun gasps into the kiss but doesn’t pull away. His fingers claw at Soobin’s shirt, nose inhaling the alphas scent. Rough hands slip under Yeonjun’s cardigan, pushing it up and off his body. Clothes hit the floor. Every inch of skin burns like fire, each touch leaving trails of heat across Yeonjun’s body. All the thoughts of before forgotten. Right now Yeonjun feels complete.

Soobin pushes him deep into the mattress, a low, dangerous growl rumbling in his chest.

One hand roams down on Yeonjun’s hip, keeping him pinned firmly beneath him. The other hand trails slowly between Yeonjun’s thighs, teasing him through the thin fabric. Yeonjun whimpers, bucking his hips.

“So pretty,” Soobin growls as he leans down, his nose brushing against Yeonjun’s pulse. He inhales deeply, savoring the omega‘s scent. He can’t hold back. His teeth graze Yeonjun’s neck — not hard enough to mark, but close enough to make Yeonjun shiver. His whole body arches.

Soobin’s patience snaps. He tugs the younger‘s pants down, tossing them aside, leaving him bare beneath his gaze.

“Say it,” Soobin murmurs, voice so low. “Say you want me.” Yeonjun’s voice trembles, but there’s no hesitation. “I want you.”

He flips Yeonjun onto his stomach in one swift movement, one large hand firm on the back of his neck. Holding him down. Keeping him exactly where he wants him.

“Good boy,” Soobin rasps.

Then he feels Soobin’s hands spreading his thighs apart. Yeonjun whimpers into the pillow, feeling the air hit his skin. The alpha growls low in his throat, his chest pressed against Yeonjun’s back, his breath hot against the omega’s ear.

Without warning, Soobin’s hand lands on Yeonjun’s ass with a sharp smack — not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make Yeonjun gasp. Another growl.

He leans down, leaving hot kisses. His other hand roams between Yeonjun’s legs, fingers finally slipping where he is already dripping for Soobin, warm and desperate.

“So fucking wet already,” Soobin whispers against his skin. “You’re ready to take me, aren’t you?”

Yeonjun moans helplessly, his hips grinding back. It’s filthy.

“Beg for it,” Soobin orders, voice tight. “Tell me you want it.” Yeonjun moans.

“Please,” he gasps out. “Please, alpha. I need you. Need you inside me.”

He lines himself up, not teasing anymore — he presses in hard, a low growl vibrating through his chest as he feels Yeonjun stretch around him. Yeonjun cries out, the stretch is painful, but it’s exactly what he needs.

Soobin doesn’t stop. He thrusts in deeper, each rock of his hips punching small sounds out of Yeonjun’s mouth. The hand on Yeonjun’s neck tightens just a little, showing him who he belongs to.

“You’re mine,” Soobin snarls into his ear.

“Yours,” Yeonjun breathes.

Soobin slams into him harder, the wet, filthy sounds of their bodies crashing together filling the room, mixing with Yeonjun’s broken moans and Soobin’s breathing. He needs the whole world to know that Yeonjun belongs to him.

His body is burning — every nerve lit up. Soobin pounds into him mercilessly, one hand fisted in Yeonjun’s hair, pulling his head back, exposing the curve of his neck.

The omega growls low in his throat — a sound Soobin isn’t expecting — and suddenly, Yeonjun pushes back harder, grinding against Soobin’s hips. Soobin falters for a second, thrown off by the sudden shift.

Yeonjun uses it.

He twists beneath the alpha, until Soobin’s back hits the mattress. „Stay,” Yeonjun says, voice soft. “Let me.”

For a second, Soobin looks like he might protest — but the weight of Yeonjun’s body on him — it breaks something deeper inside him. He nods.

Yeonjun doesn’t waste a second. He sinks down onto Soobin’s cock again, hands placed on the alphas chest.

“So big,” Yeonjun whimpers, riding him in hard, messy rolls of his hips, literally using Soobin. “Made for me…Only for me.”

Soobin groans — loudly — the sound ripping out of his throat as he bucks up into Yeonjun’s tight cunt. But he lets Yeonjun have it. Lets him take control. The way Yeonjun moves above him is hypnotic, dirty, beautiful. Tears shine in the corners of the omega’s eyes, mixing pleasure and overstimulation.

“You drive me insane,” Soobin growls, barely able to hold still. “Fucking perfect.”

With a low growl, Soobin finally grabs Yeonjun’s hips and slamming up into him, taking back control as Yeonjun cries out in a high, broken moan. His head drops onto Soobin’s shoulder, body shuddering.

“So greedy,” Soobin whispers into Yeonjun’s hair, fucking up into him without mercy. “Can’t get enough of me, huh? My greedy little omega.“ Yeonjun sobs his agreement, clinging to Soobin’s broad shoulders.

Both of them are close. And when Soobin’s knot starts to swell Yeonjun gasps, clinging at Soobin’s back. „Please,” he begs.

With a final, deep thrust, he locks inside Yeonjun, his knot swelling wide, anchoring them together. Yeonjun screams out, a sound of pleasure and pain. Soobin wraps his arms around Yeonjun’s back, holding him against his chest as they ride out the orgasm crashing through them.

“You’re mine,” Soobin growls into his ear again, but this time it’s not a threat — it‘s more like a promise.

Yeonjun, completely wrecked and trembling in his arms, manages a broken whisper: “Yours.”

Only Soobin’s. Always.

***

Yeonjun’s eyes flicker open, bright sunshine flooding the room. Next to him, the regular breathing of someone sleeping. He turns around, facing the resting Soobin, watching his chest rise and fall. The alpha looks peaceful — nothing like the dominant alpha he had been yesterday in the store.

A situation that could have gone wrong in so many ways — for him, for his friend, maybe even for Soobin.

“Hmpf…” A sound escapes the elder’s throat as he opens his eyes, blinking against the sunlight.

“Hey…” Soobin says, his voice rough with sleep.

“Hey,” the omega replies softly.

“We—”

“…should talk,” Soobin finishes the sentence for him.

Yeonjun nods in agreement, his expression growing sad again. He looks down, avoiding eye contact.

“Soobin… I thought you left me. I was waiting for you. My day was great because I kept thinking about us meeting in the evening. But then you didn’t show up as promised. Not even a message?” Yeonjun speaks quietly.

“I regretted everything, you know? But then you showed up in that store and almost punched one of my closest friends. After I saw you, I knew…”

Soobin nods, inhaling deeply.

“I wasn’t myself yesterday… I ran out of suppressors, so I decided to leave the house at night, hoping I wouldn’t meet anyone on the streets. Unfortunately, you and your — even worse — alpha friend were in that store as well.

My rut took over, Yeonjunie — I’m sorry. I didn’t text you earlier because… I don’t even know why, to be honest.”

Yeonjun nods, his fingers nervously twisting the blanket between them.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “Everything changed the moment I saw you… like that. I understand now. But still… I have one wish.”

Soobin watches him closely, head tilted, his expression soft, waiting for Yeonjun to continue.

“Take me on a date,” the omega whispers, almost shyly, but with a glimmer of hope in his voice.

For a second, there’s only silence between them — then Soobin’s lips curl into a warm smile, his eyes sparkling.

“Whatever my pretty boy wants,” he says.

1,5 Years later

It’s late morning. Yeonjun sits on the couch, his son on his lap, trying to pull at the strings of the little birthday crown they made for him. “No, no, little one, that stays on,” Yeonjun says, laughing while adjusting it again.

Soobin comes in from the kitchen, two mugs of coffee in his hands. He places the mugs on the table and sits down next to them. Their son immediately reaches for him with both arms.

“Appa,” he babbles, Soobin’s face lights up as he lifts him into his arms.

“One year,” Yeonjun says, smiling as he leans against Soobin’s shoulder. “Can you believe it?”

“Nope,” the elder replies, kissing the top of Yeonjun’s head. “And I still have no clue what I’m doing.”

The omega laughs. “Same.”

Their son claps his hands, proud for no reason.

“Best worst decision we ever made,” Soobin mumbles against his son’s skin, and Yeonjun nods quietly while watching.

The birthday cake is waiting on the kitchen counter. It’s small, messy, and perfect. Just like them.

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