#I wanted to do a kind of reflection in the eye that showed that they were staring at each other

[sturnsblogs]

BACK TO US (KIND OF)

Loser!Matt X Popular!Reader

—

You and Noah had been talking for a few weeks now—friends or… whatever it was. You weren’t really sure what to call it. All you knew was that it felt easy. Safe. He didn’t make your stomach twist with confusion or your mind spiral in overthinking like Matt did.

Noah walked you to class every morning, even when he was running late. He waited outside your English room, leaned against the lockers with that soft smile and said things like, “Took you long enough, slowpoke.” And you’d roll your eyes and shove his shoulder, but you’d be smiling too. He listened when you talked. Not the fake kind of listening—he remembered the little things. Like how you hated pickles or how you loved rainy weather and how you always twisted your ring when you were anxious. He picked up on it all.

And he was consistent. When he was with his friends, he didn’t act different. He still waved you over, introduced you with a proud little grin, kept his arm slung lazily over your shoulder even when people looked. It was comforting—refreshing. Like for once, someone wasn’t embarrassed to be around you when it mattered.

Matt, on the other hand…

Matt went the exact opposite route.

Maybe it was the jealousy. Maybe it was him being stubborn or scared or just… Matt. But instead of talking to you like he wanted to fix things, he threw himself straight into the arms of the one person he knew you couldn’t stand—Madison.

It started subtle.

He posted a story of her at the skatepark, laughing.

Then a blurry mirror selfie where she was clearly behind him on his bed.

Then more obvious things—videos of her laughing at his dumb jokes, her voice in the background of his late-night FaceTime rants.

You pretended not to care.

You told yourself you didn’t care.

But it was hard to ignore the sting when Nick randomly said, “Yo, Matt and Madison have been hanging out a lot, huh?” like it was nothing.

Chris just looked at you with that knowing glance. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

You saw them together at lunch once. She had her legs draped over his lap and her fake laugh echoing through the courtyard. Matt didn’t even look at you. Not once.

And it hurt.

It hurt in that quiet, pathetic way.

Because you weren’t even his girlfriend, but it still felt like cheating.

And maybe that’s what made Noah feel even safer. Because he didn’t make you guess.

He didn’t make you feel like you had to compete.

He just liked you. And he wasn’t scared to show it.

It was late. The sky outside your window was that deep blue just before full darkness, and your phone buzzed quietly in your lap.

Matt:

can i come over?

You stared at the screen for a moment, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Your chest tightened—not with excitement, not with anger… just that familiar ache he always managed to stir up.

You typed slow.

You:

why don’t you ask madison?

seems like you guys are close now.

It took him two minutes to reply, but it felt like hours.

Matt:

oh so that’s what we’re doing?

you’re with noah every day but i hang out with someone once and suddenly it’s war?

don’t act like we’re not even.

You blinked. The message sank in a little deeper than you expected. You thought about the way Noah made you feel, about the soft smiles and kind words… and then you thought about how you still left your window unlocked sometimes—just in case Matt showed up.

Your thumbs hovered over your keyboard.

You:

…you can come over.

Three dots popped up right away.

Matt:

be there in 10.

And even though you told yourself not to get caught in his mess again…

You found yourself fixing your hair in your reflection.

Just in case.

You heard the knock a few minutes later—three short raps on your window. Classic Matt.

You rolled your eyes, walking over and unlocking it. He climbed in like it was nothing, like this wasn’t the most confusing thing in the world. You didn’t even say anything, just turned and sat back on your bed.

He sat beside you a second later, quiet. His hoodie smelled like his cologne. His leg bounced slightly, fingers fidgeting with the ring on his hand.

You didn’t look at him.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” he mumbled, voice low.

You let out a soft scoff, arms crossing over your chest.

“Didn’t think you’d make time for me with Madison keeping you busy.”

He glanced at you—head tilted slightly.

“Seriously?” he said, tone already dropping.

“What?” you shot back, eyes flicking to his.

Matt’s jaw tensed. “You’ve been walking around with Noah like you’re already dating.”

“Okay and? At least he doesn’t act different when we’re in public. At least he doesn’t pretend I’m invisible the second someone else is around—”

Matt suddenly turned toward you, voice firmer now. “Alright, quit your fucking attitude.”

You blinked, caught off guard, mouth falling open a bit.

He leaned in closer, eyes sharp. “You don’t get to act like this is one-sided. You’ve been doing your own thing too, don’t forget that.”

You stayed quiet for a second, chest rising and falling faster.

Matt sighed, fingers dragging through his hair before he softened—just a little. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

You swallowed, the silence sitting heavy between you.

“I missed you,” he added quietly, voice losing its edge. “That’s all.”

He scooted closer, his hand reaching for yours gently, like he wasn’t sure you’d take it. You let him. And just like always, he leaned in, laying his head on your shoulder like it was the only place it ever belonged.

“You drive me crazy,” he mumbled into your skin. “But I swear… nobody makes me feel the way you do.”

You didn’t say anything right away—but your fingers curled around his just a little tighter.

You leaned into him without even thinking about it, the warmth of his body calming your nerves more than you wanted to admit. His hand settled over yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he let out a quiet breath.

“I don’t even like Madison,” he muttered.

You turned your head slightly, looking down at him. He was staring at the wall, almost embarrassed to admit it. “Seriously.”

You smiled a little. “I know.”

That pulled a small chuckle from him, one of those low, breathy ones he only let out when he was really comfortable. His eyes finally met yours, softer than they had been all night.

“I just… I didn’t know what else to do. Seeing you with Noah—he’s all smiley and perfect and shit—I just wanted to make you jealous, I guess.” He shook his head, like he was annoyed at himself. “It was stupid.”

You nudged him lightly with your shoulder. “It was very stupid.”

He cracked a smile. “Thanks.”

You let a moment of silence pass before speaking again. “Noah’s a good guy though. He’s sweet.”

Matt shifted beside you, his fingers pausing over yours. “I don’t like him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I figured that part out.”

“No, I mean… I’ve got a bad feeling about him,” he said, more serious now. “Something about him just rubs me the wrong way. I don’t trust that dude.”

You gave him a look, a small amused smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t trust anyone.”

He looked back at you, eyes a little harder now. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” you said, quieter this time. “But he hasn’t done anything. He’s been good to me.”

Matt didn’t respond to that. He just looked at you for a while longer—like he wanted to say something else, but bit his tongue instead. His hand didn’t leave yours, though, and you didn’t let go either.

Matt was quiet for a while after that, fingers still tracing over yours. You could feel the way his thumb nervously tapped against your skin, like he was working something out in his head. He shifted a little, pulling you closer until his face was tucked into the crook of your neck—warm breath fanning across your skin. It made you shiver.

Then, muffled and low, he mumbled, “Can we start hanging out again?”

Your heart stopped for a second.

He hesitated, then added, “Like… friends again. I miss it.” His voice was softer now, almost shy. “I miss you.”

You felt his grip tighten a little as he buried his face further in your neck, clearly trying to hide how embarrassed he was. But it was the most vulnerable you’d seen him in a while. No attitude. No jokes. Just Matt.

You didn’t answer right away. You just let him stay there—soaking in the quiet, feeling how real the moment was. And after a second, you slowly nodded, the side of your face brushing against his hair.

His arms tightened around you like that was all he needed.

—

A/N- YAYA

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo o @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho o @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo

[woozinhos]

sex in the practice room with either hoshi or dino???

Be careful || Kwon Soonyoung

Notes: okay I moved onto Disney now I’m a child I fear

You enter the practice room, watching Hoshi dance with mesmerizing grace. His movements are fluid and powerful, making your heart race with excitement.

When he notices you, he breaks into a playful smile and beckons you over. "Hey beautiful," he says, catching his breath as he turns off the music. "Came to watch me dance again?" You nod, feeling your cheeks flush as he approaches you. His sweat-drenched body is pressed against yours as he wraps his arms around your waist.

"You're so hot when you dance," you whisper, tracing a finger down his chest. "Makes me want to do naughty things to you." Hoshi grins at your words, his eyes darkening with desire. "Oh yeah? What kind of naughty things?" he asks, his hands sliding lower to grab your hips.

Before you can answer, he's already pushing you against the wall, his body pinning you in place. "I have a better idea," he says huskily, grinding his hips against yours. "Let me show you how much I've missed having an audience." Hoshi kisses you hungrily, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roam your body. He lifts one of your legs up, wrapping it around his waist while grinding against you.

"You're already so wet for me," he groans, feeling how your panties are soaked through. "You like watching me dance that much?" You moan against his lips, clutching onto his shoulders as he continues to tease you. The practice room's mirrors reflect the scene back to you, making it even more erotic.

"Turn around," he commands, spinning you so you're facing the mirror. "I want you to watch yourself getting fucked." He quickly removes your clothes, leaving you naked and exposed before him. His hands grip your hips tightly as he lines himself up with your entrance. You hesitate, looking around the practice room with concern. "Hoshi, someone could walk in," you whisper, biting your lip nervously.

Hoshi chuckles, noticing your worry but seemingly unconcerned. "That's part of the thrill, baby," he says, nipping at your ear. He presses his body against yours, his hands moving up to cup your breasts as he speaks in a low voice. "Besides, I don't care if anyone sees how good I make you feel."

His fingers play with your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through your body despite your lingering anxiety. "Just relax and let me take care of you," he murmurs. Hoshi's words help ease your anxiety, and you lean back against him, giving in to the pleasure. His hands continue to tease your sensitive areas as he slowly enters you from behind.

"Look at yourself," he commands, watching your reflection in the mirror. "See how beautiful you look taking my cock?" You watch as his cock slides in and out of you, the sight making you moan and clench around him. The way he fills you up so perfectly is addictive.

Hoshi begins to thrust harder, one hand moving down to circle your clit while the other holds your hip in place. "You feel so good," he groans, his breath hot against your neck. Hoshi's hips move with the same fluid grace as when he was dancing, making you moan louder with each thrust. His body rolls against yours in perfect rhythm, driving you wild.

"Your body is so responsive," he pants, feeling your walls tighten around him. "You're going to cum for me again, aren't you?" You can only nod in response, completely lost in the pleasure. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo in the practice room, making you blush with how lewd it sounds.

Hoshi speeds up his pace, his fingers working your clit more aggressively as he chases his own release. "Cum with me, baby," he commands, his voice hoarse with need. "Let's make a mess together." Hoshi bites his lower lip, trying to hold back his own orgasm as he feels you getting closer. Sweat drips down his face, mixing with yours as he continues to pound into you.

"I'm almost there," he grunts, his hips stuttering slightly. "But I need you to cum first." His eyes meet yours in the mirror, dark and intense with desire. "Cum for me, please," he begs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to feel you squeezing around my cock."

The combination of his words and the overwhelming sensations pushes you over the edge, making you cry out his name as you cum hard around him. Hoshi lets out a deep moan as he feels you cum, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he follows you into bliss. His hot seed spills deep inside you, filling you up completely.

He collapses against your back, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath. "Fuck," he whispers, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder. Your legs tremble beneath you, barely able to hold your weight after such an intense orgasm. Hoshi carefully turns you around to face him, still buried inside you.

"You're amazing," he says, gently brushing your hair away from your face. "But now we need to clean up before anyone finds us." You and Hoshi quickly pull on your clothes, just in time to see Mingyu and Seungkwan entering the practice room. Their eyes widen at the sight of you both looking flushed and disheveled.

"Oh, hey guys," Hoshi says casually, as if nothing happened. "Just finishing up some dance practice." Mingyu raises an eyebrow, not buying the excuse for a second. "Really? Because it looks like you were doing something else," he teases.

Seungkwan smirks, eyeing the mirror suspiciously. "The room is all steamy. You two were definitely up to something."

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Extra Credit

Pairing:  Professor!Steve Rogers x Female Reader 

Word Count: 1715

Summary: You try to beg your professor for a better grade on your paper. He’s come up with extra credit instead.

Warnings: Oral Male, Smut, P in V. 

A/N: For @avengers-assemble-bingo AA-Kinky Bingo with squares Professor AU + “Kneel for Me.”  Card (KB010)

A/N 2: Thank you to my beta readers @late-to-the-party-81 & @lfnr-blog-blog-blog. Thank you to @late-to-the-party-81 for my wonderful header. I absolutely love it.

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

You’re heading to college today to speak with Professor Rogers about the grade he’s given you on your latest History paper -  it’s far lower than you thought you deserved. You worked on that paper so hard, holed up in the library for almost a month perfecting it. You’ve even sacrificed seeing your fiancé for all that time. No sex, no sleepovers, nothing. This means that not only are you mad, you’re sexually frustrated, especially as your fiancé is refusing to talk to you currently as some kind of payback. 

Walking to Professor Roger’s office, you double checked your appearance in the reflection from the windows. You’d made sure you were dressed seductively in the hope it would help you get your way with some extra credit. You’re wearing a pink sundress and sandals that show off your legs to perfection. You know that Professor Rogers has liked your dresses all semester long by the way he’s stared at you and cleared his throat. It was clear that he’s been wanting to get his hands on you but you’ve shyly blown him off. Maybe grading your paper is his way to stick it to you?

Finally arriving at his office, you knock twice and hear him call out, ‘Come in.’ Opening the door, you see Professor Rogers sitting behind his desk. He’s a handsome, muscular man, built with wide shoulders and a trim waist. He wears his dark blonde hair a little longer than would be expected for someone in his position and sports a matching beard that had touches of grey in it.  To top it off, his azure blue eyes are framed by the glasses that sit perfectly on his handsome face. Safe to say, Professor Rogers is legit sex on a stick.

When he says your name it gets your attention right away. “Please have a seat.”

You close the door behind you and walk in, taking the seat opposite him. As you cross your legs you notice his eyes following your movement. He licks his lips before a smile settles on his face.

“What can I do for you today?” He asks as he sits straighter in his chair.

“Well, Professor Rogers, I’m here because of my grade I got on my final paper. See, I don’t understand why I got a ‘C’ grade for my paper. I worked very hard on it and spent the last month in the library researching the topic. I even stopped seeing my fiancé so I could focus on doing my best. I think I deserve better than the grade you gave me.”

Professor Rogers just stares at you for a moment. “So you think because you gave up on things in your life and stayed in the library, you deserve a better grade?”

“I mean, when you put it that way, yes, I do. I was in the library after my classes for hours on end. I went some nights with barely any sleep. So I feel…”

He interrupts you. “You feel like you deserve a better grade? Maybe I was too tough on you?”

“Yes, exactly. I’m so glad you understand.” 

“Wrong.” Professor Rogers leans forward on his desk, his sleeves rolled up and looking quite annoyed. “This is college. You’re supposed to be working hard for your grade. Just because you quit seeing your fiancé doesn’t mean you get extra points.”

“But Professor, you don’t understand, I need this grade to be better in order to keep my scholarship. Maybe extra credit or something to help me out.”

“So you want extra credit now to help your grade. Say I do this for you, what do I get out of it?”

“You would have a student who will be very appreciative of your help.” You offer a smile but you can see he is not amused.

Taking his glasses off he pushes back from his desk and walks around it to sit on the edge of it. “While that may be nice on your end, I’m talking about me. What do I get out of this? Hmmm. Let’s say I’m willing to give you extra credit for your assignment. What are you going to do for me?” He raises one eyebrow and pointedly looks you up and down.

Your thighs rub together on their own accord as your pussy grows wet. You can see where he’s going with this. “I would do anything for you.” You coyly professed.

“Anything? Just like that.” He gets up again and walks behind you. You hear the faint click of the lock being put into place before you feel his hands on your shoulders, lightly massages them.

“Yes. Anything.” You whisper out.

He appears back in front of you and smirks. “Kneel for me.”

You hesitate for a moment, but get out of your chair and do what he says.

“Good girl. Now your assignment is to let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours before I take your pussy. If you can behave, I’m sure your grade will get the boost you need.” 

You look up at him with doe eyes and nod your head. “Yes, Professor Rogers.”

“No, darling, call me Steve.”

“Yes, Steve.” You answer, seductively.

Steve undoes his top button on his pants and unzips them, pushing them and his underwear down just enough for his hard cock to spring free. You can’t believe how long and thick he is and let out a little whimper and then lick your lips. 

You gently take hold of him and lick up from his base. At the tip, you swirl your tongue and then take him in your mouth. You start to bob your head up and down, slowly working him down your throat, your right hand stroking what you can't fit in your mouth. Your eyes are locked with his the whole time you take him.

Steve groans above you as his hands fist your hair. You speed up and slow down over and over again, driving Steve wild. Until finally, he takes charge and starts thrusting into your throat. You gag at first from the intrusion, but finally relax your throat, allowing him to take what he wants from you. 

You hum around his cock and Steve lets out a low growl from the feeling. His light moans and groans fill his office. When his rhythm falters you know he’s close, so you reach up and cup his balls. That’s all he needs to cum down your throat with a shout of your name.

You swallow every drop of his cum and kiss the tip of his cock when he pulls it from your abused throat. It twitches at the sensation and Steve smiles down at you. “That was a great start. Plenty of effort from beginning to end. Now let's see how your pussy does.” 

He strokes his cock until it hardens again and you slowly stand up. Steve leans in and kisses you on your lips. You don’t hesitate to reciprocate and allow him to deepen the kiss. 

Suddenly, Steve spins you around toward the desk and pushes his things off it, including a picture frame.  He lifts you up onto its edge and parts your legs. His hands slide up your thighs to your pussy but he stops short when he realizes you have no panties on.

“You little minx. No panties?” He pushes your dress up around your hips. “You really were here to get my attention, huh? I have to say you fully have it.”

Steve thrusts into you hard, causing you to whimper. His pace iss anything but soft as he fucks you fast on the desk and you moan with every thrust as he takes you apart with his cock.

“Take it. Every. Fucking. Inch.” Steve growls in your ear.

You can’t help but breathily whimper his name. “Steve…” Your legs weakly wrap around his hips as you try to meet him thrust for thrust.

Steve slows his pace and gently lays you down on the desk, changing the angle taking you with an agonising slowness that makes you whine in frustration. 

“Don’t like it when I get you back for teasing me, do you? If I were you, I’d hold on for the ride of your life,” he grunts out.

You do your best to hold onto the desk as Steve stops torturing you and speeds up again. With the change in position, he’s now able to hit your sweet spot. Over and over he thrusts against it, making you cry out his name.

“St-Steve! More. Harder.” 

On a particularly hard thrust you finally let go and cum for him. Your walls tighten around his cock, triggering his orgasm and he cums with a shout. He continues to thrust as he spills deep inside you before slowing and then stopping.

You lie there on your back and feel absolutely satisfied. You hum your approval as Steve starts to chuckle. Slowly he pulls out of you and grabs tissues to clean both of you up. After you’re both as clean as possible he throws the tissues in the garbage and helps you sit up. Your breathing is only just returning to normal.

“That was incredible, Steve,” you murmur out.

“Your extra credit has been approved.” He states in reply as he pulls his pants and underwear back up. 

You slide off the desk and retrieve the picture frame from the floor, smiling as you put it back on his desk.  An engagement photo of the pair of you.

“So does this mean you forgive me for not sleeping with you for a month?” you enquire as you fix your dress and hair so you don’t look completely fucked out.

“Oh no, you still have more making-up to do, although I’ll admit that this little roleplaying of yours was hot as hell. We should do it again sometime.” Steve runs his fingers through his hair, picks his glasses up and puts them on.

“Well then, since you’re done for the semester, let me start making it up to you when we get home.”

“That sounds like a plan, future Mrs. Rogers.” Steve kisses the top of your head and throws an arm around your waist. Unlocking the door, you both head home for some more sexy times.

Tagging:

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[ichorai]

chiropterology — pinnochio.

drabble synopsis ; bruce wayne prepares to attend a gala alone. warnings ; sexually suggestive, some kisses :0

series masterlist.

You tossed Bruce’s silver cufflinks from one hand to another, watching him get dressed from the bed, lips curled into a coy grin. Bruce’s hair was slightly damp from the shower, but was quick to dry after a quick pass with a blow dryer and a swift comb through. His fingers deftly buttoned up the ironed dress shirt as his eyes met the reflection of your provocative, sultry gaze through the mirror. If there wasn’t a gala to attend in half an hour, Bruce would’ve been crawling over you again in an instant. Self restraint was, however, something he prided himself on.

Though, it was getting increasingly difficult to hold himself back when you slid out of the bed in all your naked glory, a light sheen of sweat still glossed over your skin from your prior… activities. You sidled up behind him, kissed his shoulder, and took one of his calloused hands to drop the cufflinks into them. 

“Close your mouth,” you whispered with a laugh. “This is your fault, you know. I would’ve been happy to join you for tonight’s gala.”

Bruce sighed. “I love you, but I’ll be avoiding bringing you to public events for the foreseeable future.”

“I don’t know what could possibly lead you to that decision,” you said, feigning innocence and batting your lashes at him in an exaggerated manner. Bruce scoffed at that.

“The people attending fundraising galas are not your lab rats to test your Pinocchio Serum.” Though Bruce was practically scolding you, his eyes were still soft and playful, despite his exasperated tone.

You held up a finger. “Mm, au contraire—everyone who attends galas are rich, and have plenty of disposable money to get reconstructive facial surgery—”

Bruce groaned out your name, face palming.

“—and their noses only grew if they lied! It’s not my fault every single one of them felt the need to lie about the sizes of their pools, or the number of companies they owned, or how badly they wanted to visit their estranged kids in Bulgaria, or—”

As you ranted about the groundbreaking outcomes of your experiment that he so clearly was not appreciating, he crossed the room to take a silken robe and drape it over your form, tying the soft sash over your hips with a faint blush. If he was going to listen to you talk about your science, he would prefer it if you didn’t do it naked. He had places to be in a few minutes after all.

“I can take you to the next gala. Just promise me—no serums.”

You thought about his offer for a second. “Fine.”

Bruce arched a brow. “No rays, no pills, no buzzers, none of your experiments.”

“Then what’s the point of going in the first place?” you lamented, tossing your hands up in the air. “It’s no wonder none of the kids want to go with you.”

“Hn. It’s more the opposite,” Bruce objected. “It’s best for everyone if the kids don’t attend galas with me anymore.”

Damian was very close to murdering an old woman with a butter knife for pinching his cheeks, and Jason wasn’t any better—he ended up in a screaming match with a high-profile politician. Tim was so sleep-deprived the last time he was forced to go to a gala that he passed out into a plate of mashed potatoes while a senator was speaking to him about some sort of tax law. Cassandra escaped onto the rooftop after two seconds of socializing, and Dick ended up swinging on a crystal chandelier the last time he attended one. You were so proud of all of them.

“You could ask Alfred?” you suggested.

With a sulky huff, Bruce said, “Alfred said I don’t pay him nearly enough for that.”

“Woe is you,” you snorted, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, have fun at the gala, hon. I’m taking a shower, then checking up on Duke and Damian, and then I promised Tim we’d start a new show together. Oh, and let me know if you need a quick escape! I’ve been testing out a new kind of smoke bomb that releases—”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Bruce reassured. Every day of his life he found himself grateful you weren’t a supervillain. With a hum, he swept you into his arms and caught your lips in a passionate kiss, effectively shutting you up before you could insist on him trying out the smoke bombs. It was near painful when he forced himself to pull away, relishing the way you chased after his lips just a little. “You’re too much for me, woman,” he grumbled, as if it were your fault that he had to leave.

“You’re the one who put a ring on it,” you retorted, before giving him a light shove towards the door. “Now go! Alfred’s probably been waiting to see you off for ages now!”

[simon-roy]

One of the funnest parts of doing a kickstarter (perhaps the only TRULY fun part) is asking online pen-pals if they'd like to contribute to the book. I was very keen on getting something from Tom Kilian - @tkilian on here - who I've followed for ages (and talked with about a couple story ideas, too) to do a piece, and lucky for me, he went WILD on it!

Above is the incredible final piece he cooked up. But below, here is his exhaustive process, in his own words:

When Simon approached me to do a pinup for A STAR CALLED THE SUN I was torn between impending deadlines for other work and the fact that I really wanted to do one. One of my all-time favorite Simon Roy stories, “The Oxpecker and The Elephant,” is appearing in this volume, and I’ve spent years wondering what happened to the two tiny human figures visible among the wreckage at the bottom of the last panel. That, I decided, would be my hook: imagining one of those possible futures where the events of the comic had become an oral history or creation myth for future generations of humans. 

I initially had this overly elaborate idea of showing the same story told three different times around three different fires: one of miserable survivors in the comic’s immediate aftermath, one in this world’s equivalent of the Neolithic era, and one involving the ritual dance of a rich and prosperous culture. 

First I dashed out a quick thumbnail for the Neolithic cave-painting scene. I figured that this idea was strong enough to stand on its own if I couldn’t make the more complicated idea work or started feeling pinched for time, which ultimately is what happened. I like the concept work that I did for the invented history though!

I started by feeling out some ideas for repeatable motifs that I could pull from the comic. Since I wasn’t drawing anything directly from the book, I still wanted readers to be able to make that visual connection. I also wanted there to be some visual link between the three time periods, and settled on four red dots (for the elephants’ eyes), paired braids (for their main feeler arms/trunks), the triangular “assemblage” symbol, and some kind of draping brood-skin shape that would be associated with motherhood in some way.

You can also see me working out some stuff like “how to abstract that weird spaceship from the opening into a 2-D symbol” and “how many points does a Simon-Roy-style star have?” (it actually varies, but I think the stories set on Altamira all use 4-pointed stars), as well as what materials would be available (leather, bone, something very like wood, probably pigment derived from the planet’s yellow soil). 

The local mammal-equivalents don’t seem to have hair, but the ticks at least have quills. The idea of quillwork suggested a Native American inspiration for clothing and decoration, and since the first human settlements would likely have gone up near the shores of the Great Lake that pointed me towards the First Nations people of the Pacific Northwest.

Since the world of the comic appears to be very hot, I tried to communicate the idea of an advancing material culture without leaning on the crutch of “more clothes = more advanced”. My main angle was that in the Later Period the clothing could be more embellished and less practical, to reflect increasing wealth and specialization. Going by the comic, the standard seems to be that you can be totally comfortable in a loincloth, but that my prospective Oxpecker Lake Culture would have inherited the crew’s taboo against women displaying their breasts (the dresses seen here evolved out of the undershirts worn by the female crewmembers in the comic). Dusting red ochre skin dye on the shoulders and hands to mimic the pattern of the crew’s spacesuits then became a way to decorate oneself while still wearing minimal clothing.

I went through several different iterations of a formal shawl or wrap that could symbolically mimic Elephant brood-skin, as well as what they would be used for. I eventually settled on the multi-purpose blanket. Highly detailed to be given as gifts or to form dowries, with the elders draping them about the shoulders of the young in symbolic mimicry of how Elephants nurture their offspring.

Here I started working on ritual masks and costumes for the Later Period ritual dance. The events of the comic are now re-told in ritual dance during yearly solstice festivals. The three Elephants are represented by large, heavy, and expensive costume/puppets, whose fringed shawls (again reminiscent of brood-skin) and tasseled trunks move with the dancer. Each of the three Elephants from the comic would by now have accumulated various symbolic associations, as seen in the masks’ crests (meant to resemble assemblages) and robe decorations.

Settler and Tick masks are less elaborate, allowing the dancers more freedom of movement for athletic displays as they act out the story around the Elephant dancers. The male and female Settler masks are based off of the first two humans to approach an Elephant in the comic, while the War-Maker is based on that one guy with an atlatl. I imagined that in the mythic version of the story the last Tick bargains for its life with the War-Maker, teaching him how to kill his brothers in order to take their possessions.

Really surpassing my brief now, I started thinking about wall art for an Oxpecker tribal leader's grand hall. In a hypothetical 4th Age, new god images are emerging: filling similar roles but less 1-1 in their symbolism, and more work is going into glorifying the accomplishments of the Lake Culture – by this time now only one of several extant human cultures in the region. Notably the ship of the original settlers has been conflated with the boats that the people of the Lake Culture use to traverse the Great Lake. Many people probably believe that the spaceship was a fanciful metaphor. The double triangle, which originally meant "Elephant's Assemblage" is now a generalized one for "Land/Home". Possibly the conflation has religious origins: the visible world is Greatest’s assemblage.

I imagined that by the later period the humans would have spread out from their original home on the lake. Some people would move into the forests as hunter-gatherers (the Elephants appear to eat entire trees in the comic, which would regularly open up large forest clearings that could be exploited for game and fast-growing shrubs), some might have crossed the great lake, and some might build huge towers along Elephant migratory paths where they could latch on, hunt for ticks, and then hop off at the next tower. I like the idea that the Elephants would appreciate these humans, like reef animals visiting a cleaner-fish station, but that other humans would consider them unclean due to their diet of blood (by way of the Ticks, which at this point have been demonized).

Each culture might interpret the "two trunks, four eyes, red shoulders and hands" elements that I'd settled on for the original culture in different ways. Their religion and culture has probably morphed too: does the Lake Culture consider themselves superior, as the original humans? Are the Far Shore traders a Lake Culture splinter group who sailed across the lake, or are they the descendants of a different group of survivors who floated across in the aftermath of the Eviction? Are their weird island castaway cultures descended from a handful of people who floated away on a log at the end of the comic? How long until somebody realizes that megafauna are made of very large quantities of meat and other useful materials? Can Elephant and Man ever learn to communicate, perhaps in some far future Age?

At this point I’d realized that my original idea was much too ambitious and I tried a few layouts to prove it. We can also see some me working out different bonfire building methods and trying to work out a few steps of the ritual dance – a big development here is the idea that the elephant costume heads would be more like a hat rather than a mask to give the dancer added height. I also attached marionette poles to the end of the trunk tassels so they could be used for big, stately gestures in the dance.

The last bits of development went into the dress and appearance of the Stone Age storyteller. I scaled the headdress back to a simpler four reddish stones and four tassels (two long manipulator arms and two short feeder ones). Her dress is a costly garment representing her respected position within the group. It’s made of the skins of several animals and decorated with their bones, quills, and teeth (the ticks have them, it’s gross!), as well as shells from the Great Lake. I hypothesized a Tapir animal – essentially a larger ground-dwelling relative of the Tick – to provide the settlers with meat and hides. This conveniently let me base all the colors and stuff off of the animals in the comic.

Lastly, here is the full set of cave paintings, since in the final image I prioritized atmosphere over legibility. Read from left to right they retell the story of the comic in simplified form. Due to the way I organize my color photoshop painting I wanted this linework on a separate layer from the final drawing, seen below. Huge thanks to the ancient artists of Lascaux Cave for the inspiration!

Huge thanks to Tom Kilian for this post, and all this marvelous world-building - I absolutely love it all! A whole new world, implied through a single piece...

[balrogballs]

I came across that silm nobel prize argument you mentioned in yr tag. I’m not asking about the ship war stuff, I know you don’t do ship stuff but only if you don’t mind, I was interested in hearing yr thoughts on the accessibility stuff they were talking abt, like what makes a fanfic acessible. I was thinking of your post on making your AU acessible for a fanfic reader, and it made me think that the nobel prize OP was using the word inacessible in a wrong way?

I assume this refers to that ‘Silm writers are inaccessible & elitist compared to TROP writers, nobody wants to write an essay about the fanfic they read, flower shop AUs have more ‘real human emotion’ than thematically dense fic, it’s AO3 not the Nobel Prize longlist’ nonsense unless there’s another one floating about in which case jesus fucking christ lol

It’s an interesting one lol… I don’t follow the page or post about the show so I didn’t see it, but a bunch of people have DMed it to me across the last couple weeks, since while the OP was speaking in general or collective terms, I tick a few of their shitlist boxes in a rather obvious way lol. I’ve said variations of this across said DMs and other writers may have a different opinion but essentially:

I personally don’t treat ‘accessibility’ as a concern when it comes to fanfic, unless we’re talking disability accommodations like alt-text or not using emojis, or tagging for triggers. ‘Must be enjoyable for people who like a certain style of writing’ is not an accessibility requirement, it’s your Goodreads wishlist. I do not care about what you want Santa to bring you. Perhaps it’s because I’ve not been in fandom long enough but I genuinely cannot think of a response aside from ‘get a fucking grip lol’.

And re your question about my AU, what I meant there by adapting the story for a fanfic audience was that I toploaded it with regional context and diaspora eyes before getting into the actual narrative in a way I wouldn’t have done if (god forbid) I wrote it as a novel. That isn’t a comment on style or theme, it’s literally just because I’d expect that someone walking into a bookshop, picking up, and paying for a book about a Marxist madhouse in North Kerala full of intertextual elements so thinly veiled as to be practically wrapped in clingfilm, would be at least vaguely familiar with the genre and context.

This is something I would not assume of people scrolling through AO3, because there’s no reason to expect that, hence providing extra info, being conscious as to what I can’t presume people already know, putting some extra elbow grease into “world building”, translating within the text itself, answering questions about regional/historical context etc… it’s not an accessibility measure, I’d say it’s closer to providing an appendix/glossary.

I don’t know, like imo it’s kind of ridiculous to sit around shitting on people for writing narratives more complex than what you personally like, but that’s your space, preference and prerogative… go ham and shit away, it is your toilet, not mine.

My irritation is mostly with the language of “accessibility” and “elitism” and trying to make it sound like a societal ill by using such buzzwords. Yes, there may well be elitism or lorebros or whatever in a general fandom sense, but I don’t know what fanfic has to do with that.

The Silmarillion probably does have a higher concentration of whatever they mean by Nobel Prize fics but that’s not exactly due to some oppressive feudal fandom hierarchy, it’s literally just because the fanbase skews older and the source text is conducive to a certain style of literary writing being relatively popular… it’s not some big injustice, it’s pretty normal, generally speaking, for fanworks to reflect the style and tone of the source text regardless of how transformative they are, simply because the one thing most people in any given fandom share is their enjoyment of said source text.

I like to think of myself as being well read but there are tons of books ‘inaccessible’ to me beyond reading preferences. When I was at university I worked on regional literature but I always specified Malayalam rather than ‘South India’ even though the college used the latter as a tag, because I can’t read Tamil or Kannada etc—that doesn’t mean those languages are inaccessible languages. One’s experience as an individual is not a benchmark for something already as subjective as accessibility. I’m not exactly going to call the Dance Mums fanbase elitist gatekeepers for writing fanfiction just because I’ve never seen an episode of the show.

Also not to be an insufferable pedant but like… if someone wants to use ‘publishable standard’ as a negative term, they should probably look up what it means. Publishable standard just means that a work is fit for publication, it’s not meant to be a comment on genre, style or content. The Cat in the Hat is of publishable quality but that doesn’t mean Dr. Seuss should win the Booker.

Finally, I know the OP was speaking in general and refers to a ‘group’ of writers but speaking for myself, l’m sorry I simply cannot see how on earth a style of writing can make someone elitist: I don’t deny I’ve spent years with the academic silver spoon up my ass, I have openly acknowledged it on multiple occasions both joking and otherwise, and also do not deny that comes across in the way I write.

However, my blog is 80% pure shitposting. My AO3 page isn’t required reading. You do not have to enjoy my writing style in order to interact with me, you are allowed to find it insufferable because it often is insufferable. Hell, you can even tell me you hate it, preferences are subjective. There is no gatekeeping here. Nobody is holding quiz nights about 1970s India and beating people if they get a question wrong.

TLDR: yes, yes, fanfiction doesn’t have to be of a publishable standard because it’s people writing for fun yes, yes, elitism is bad, yes, yes, but that doesn’t mean ‘not writing a flowershop AU’ is some kind of systemic oppression against the AO3 proletariat lol.

Hope this went some way to answer your question!

[silence-of-the-grahams]

I will be a Will Graham defender and apologist for the rest of my life. I find that people try to argue that Will always had a darkness inside of him, but we all do to some extent. Will wanted to be a good person, and actively choosing to be a good person is what makes someone a good person. Maybe I feel so strongly about this because Will Graham was the first character I had ever seen that reflected the parts of myself I choose to bury.

Raised below the Mason-Dixon, under the cracked belt of a blue-collar, God-fearing, whiskey-soaked father. The kind of upbringing that stains your bones with silence and leaves you trying to scrub the “wrong” off your skin for years. People knew. No matter how straight you stood, how polite you smiled, they knew. There’s something off about that one. Something unholy, they whispered, even when you were just trying to breathe right.

And to be born with it. That cursed knowing. Seeing people for what they were before they even opened their mouths. Felt every rotten splinter in their souls like it is carved into your own. And no matter how much it hollows you out, you try to use it for good. Tried to be the one who understood, the one who saw, in the chance that it could be useful.

When everybody's thoughts become your own, the line between you and others becomes blurred. So you avoid eye contact, give one-word answers, and try your best to hold onto anything that’s still yours. And the people around you? They pity you. They see you as weak, fragile, broken.

Then one day—they show up. Someone who sees you the way you see everyone else. Like they’ve read every page of you out loud and didn’t flinch at the ugly parts. But they’re the thing you were warned about every Sunday in your stiffest clothes. Not metaphor, not myth. The Devil in the flesh.

And they don’t just see you as broken; they see the brokenness others think they can read in you. They push you beyond your limits—not because they think you’re fragile, but because they refuse to let you settle for the box others try to squeeze you into. They see what’s buried underneath, the potential that even you don’t always recognize, and they won’t let you pretend it’s not there. And no matter how awful they are, no matter the insidious thoughts they nest in, the things they've done before you, to you, the things they'll do long after you're gone— you feel free. Because they see you. They know you. And for once, you feel whole.

And you know you’ve changed them too. You gave them what they gave you: the chance to be seen. To be known in the way that hollows you out and fills you up in the same breath. That type of gift doesn't come clean. It’s a heavy gift, especially from something like them. Not just cherished—feared in its own right. Revered like an altar you ain’t supposed to touch. You wanted that. God help you, you craved it. Even when every part of you whispered you shouldn’t. But still- you’d bear the whispers, the weight of every pulpit and every pair of judging eyes. You’d spit in the face of Heaven itself if it meant holding onto this thing that sees you.

Because separation? That’s worse than standing at the end of their wrath. Worse than hell. It’s bleak. It’s dull. It’s purgatory.

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 25

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: Reflection on the past, and the present, reminds both you and Bucky just where you are. And where you are together.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mentions of trauma and torture. Mention of pain and mental health. Angst. I really like this one

Song Rec: I miss you, I'm sorry by Gracie Abrams

Authors Note: Please comment, I love interacting with you guys! Be kind!ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

Sometimes you remembered those days in captivity. Sometimes, as you stared down at the hole in your leg, you remembered. 

You remembered the smell of the air.

Chemicals and dust.

You remembered the tastes.

Dry bread and the feeling of a gag on your tongue.

You remembered the look in Bucky’s eyes every time he saw you walk through those doors.

You remembered how defeated he was. How devoid of life. But never empty. 

No, never empty. 

Bucky was almost constantly bursting at the seams. He was throbbing and aching and bleeding.

He’d watch you with that look in his eye like he couldn’t understand you. Like he couldn’t understand your kindness, or your smile, or your soft touch. He’d look at you with longing for freedom. With a desperation to be where you were, to be allowed to stand and move and breathe.

He looked at you like he was a prisoner of his own flesh, and he was.

Because there was no freedom for Bucky.

There was no life where he could ever be free. He could see it, he could hear it, but he could never touch it. Never grasp it.

It would always slip through his fingers.

You heard a quote once, one that used to make your stomach twist over trivial romantic tragedies in your youth. But you think of it now, and think of Bucky.

“I will leave such an imprint on your heart that anyone you entertain after me will have to know me to understand you.”

A quote you once thought to be so beautiful, so melancholy, now drenched in blood.

Because who was Bucky now, without Hydra? 

Who were you without Hydra?

Who were you without each other?

There was a thread, a rope, a thin trail of barbed wire that tied you all together and knotted itself around your throats.

There was no escape from the tragedy that linked you.

And there was no wisp of freedom that Hydra couldn’t taint. There was no fresh air, no open road, no article of clothing, no gentle touch, that wasn’t overshadowed by who he once was. And what they’d done.

There was no world to him now that was free.

But he lied to himself, and he lied to you.

You’d look him in the eye and accept it, pleading with yourself to believe it. You wanted to believe it. You wanted him to believe it. 

You wanted to feel alive. You wanted to be free.

You wanted to look Bucky in the eye and smile and tell him you could go anywhere together, run wild and reach for the stars. But it was impossible. 

It was all a lie. 

And lies were all you had left now. All there was to push you forward.

You’re okay. You’re safe. We’re happy. We can make do. We’ll go somewhere nice, one day. We’ll be something to be proud of. 

We’ll be happy.

It was all some form of a lie. 

Your memories were now tied with who you were at your core. You could remember who you were before. You could remember the feeling of laughter. You could remember your friends' voices. Your old home. Your pets. Your roommate. Your bed. You could remember everything you ever were and ever wanted.

But it's changed. 

And those memories were all you had left. 

So you looked at Bucky, and tried to make it better.

You tried to lean on him, find safety in the cold brush of his fingers. You tried to show him what life could be. 

You’d take him to the shotty bakery down the street and spend your little bits of pocket money on an array of slices of cake. You’d show him what sugar and happiness could taste like.

You’d buy dvds and play them on a scratchy machine you picked apart in a thrift store. You’d introduce him to songs of the past, and those of the present. You’d ask him to dance- though he never would. Not like this. So you would dance around him. 

You’d walk the streets with him, feeling the sun on your skin- too afraid that one day you’d never feel it again. You’d pick flowers and bring them to your cold, haunted home. 

You’d window shop and tell Bucky about all the things you should plan for one day- like buying that dress on the corner. Or picking up that stray cat and bringing it home. Or buying paint and replacing that faded red star with something Bucky wanted. 

He’d listen, smiling at your attempts to distract yourself from the life you now lived.

And he’d stay there, in that place. Thinking of his past. His future. His doomed soul.

But it all felt just a little bit easier beside you, like he could lean on you and you’d bear just a bit of that weight.

And you always did. 

He could never understand it, but you did it. You were weak and broken and scared, but you did it. You took him at face value and welcomed him into the home that was your heart.

Even with all you’d suffered, for him. Even with every bit of pain caused by his presence.

He couldn’t forget the sounds of your screams. 

He’d heard them more times than he could ever bear. 

Down the halls from the basement level lab. Through the walls. At his feet, while he was chained and forced to witness as Rumlow’s fist connected with your face.

He’d felt your blood on his skin. He’d felt you slip away. 

He’d watched you say goodbye to him. 

He couldn’t take it.

And he realized, you were all he had left. 

You were it.

  You were home and freedom and safety and relief.

 You were it. 

You couldn’t see it. But together, you were twining together something unbreakable. Call it trauma, call it pain, call it understanding, call it whatever you want. It was there. It was there and it was all you two knew to be true.

You picked through the small collection of DVDs in the corner by the bed. Old music, scratched and faded. But beautiful. 

You clicked open one of the cases and pushed it into the little player you had. 

Gentle melancholy piano drifted through the air. 

Bucky looked up from his corner of the room, his journal in his lap. You caught his gaze with a wry smile. No words were shared. You moved the music box to the table and climbed to your feet. Shuffling forward, you held your hands out to Bucky.

He lifted a brow at you. “What?”

“C’mere,” you wiggled your fingers at him. He stiffened, glancing at the music box, then at you. You waited, patient as ever. He pushed off the floor to stand. 

You didn’t retract your hands. 

He stared down at your palms, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. You waited.

The music picked up, gentle guitar and violin twisting together to create something beautiful, yet painful. Something you two were familiar with.

Bucky slid his flesh hand in yours. 

You moved, grasping the cold steel of his prosthetic hand as well. His breath caught. You tugged him back into the center of the small apartment. He followed.

He’d always follow.

“What are you doing?” He whispered, his voice caught in his throat. 

You slowly began to sway, moving his hands with you. “I’m dancing. And I’m making you dance with me.”

He huffed, a wry smile on his lips. But words were lost on him. He couldn’t find them. Because what was there to say?

He hadn’t danced in decades. Since the night before his deployment. He used to love dancing. He used to find it fun and freeing.

But he didn’t have to say any of that. 

Because he never had to explain himself with you. 

So he stood there stiffly while you swayed, moving his arms with you. The music swelled, picking up into a beautiful symphony of instruments, melting together with an angelic voice. 

The lyrics were muffled by the poor speaker quality, but you felt it. You could hear the emotion. You looked up at Bucky, tugging on his arms. 

He fought himself as he stared down at you, his stomach twisting. He released your hand from his flesh one, his palm sliding around the small of your back.

You suppressed a shiver, stepping into his space as he pulled you just a bit closer. To your shock, he began leading you, adding more structure to your slow sway. 

Your fingers swept over the smooth metal of his other hand, his mechanical knuckles wrapped around yours. You smiled, closing your eyes as you strained to hear the music clearer. But Bucky never looked away from you.

He never could.

And he never understood it.

Whatever this was.

Whatever you two were.

He didn’t know friendship, kinship, relationships, like he once did. He didn’t know people like he once did.

But he knew you. 

He knew your voice. Your touch. Your heart. And that's all he needed.

A/N: I wrote this one just now and I really like how it came out. Sad, but beautiful, y'know?

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha @natalia42069 @nicolebarnes @fallen-w1ngs

[gaanarusupremacy]

People misunderstand why Gaara killed before he met Naruto

Gaara did not kill for funsies, I'm tired of people saying that when we have this scene explaining Gaara's motivations: self defense that was later taken to extremes, and wanting a purpose in life.

A lot of people don't notice how polite and level-headed Gaara was in his introduction scene. He stopped Kankuro from fighting Sasuke, then apologized to the Konoha genin. This is his true nature, and is also mentioned by Kankuro during the Lee fight, when his siblings and Baki were worrying about how Shukaku was awakening. This composure becomes more noticeable as Gaara redeems himself later on.

Unfortunately, most people only remember Gaara's psychopathic moments: attempting to kill Team Kurenai, moments in the Lee fight, and attempting to kill Sasuke. In each case he was shown to be heavily influenced by the bloodlust Shukaku imposed on him, with Sasuke's case also involving the need to prove himself worthy as a weapon and therefore had a right to exist (as explained in this hospital scene and fitting with Rasa's confession in the war arc).

If you look closely, all Gaara's actual kills were out of self defense: the three Ame genin, the two Kusa ninja in the hallway, and Dosu. All of them tried to kill Gaara first, so in his eyes, they were all threats to his existence, regardless of their strength. Sure, he's skilled so he could have avoided killing even when others were aiming for his life, but when killing is allowed in the chunin exams and Gaara was trained to be a killing machine, there was no reason he would respond differently than those assassination attempts. There is still a difference between merciless and evil/sadistic. Gaara did not enjoy doing that, he only deemed it a necessity.

Now for the special case, his attempted murder of Lee in the hospital: Still, Gaara didn't go there because he was given a tough fight or he "didn't get to finish off" Lee. He went because he saw how Guy protected Lee and couldn't comprehend what fighting for a "precious" student means. Gaara was connecting that with flashbacks of Yashamaru while hesitating, before Naruto and Shikamaru showed up. The motivation behind this, which he himself couldn't name, is basically jealousy. Gaara witnessed an act of love for others, and experienced this confusion and envy-fueled bitterness for the first time. This Guy moment and later Sakura's selfless act of protecting Sasuke were the cornerstone of Gaara's interest in Naruto, who demonstrated most explicitly how true strength comes from fighting for others.

So I've listed Gaara's complex reasons for each of those actions. He may have once been a villain, but he was never a simple-minded, killing just because, "demon" that even some fans like to call him albeit affectionately. (I often mentally correct them that Gaara wasn't a demon; he had a demon. In his tailed beast and in his father.) It is in fact because of Gaara's ability to reflect on his situation, on top of being a kind soul at heart, that he could find inspiration in Naruto and turn his life around. Naruto didn't use a whole speech pointing out how and why Gaara was wrong like he did with Nagato and Obito, he didn't even know Gaara's full story. All Naruto did was offer a single moment of empathy, but Gaara learned a new way of life from Naruto because he was wise, a quality that never changed in his character.

[pessimisticloather]

The Lies in our Truth

Pairing: Lee¡Know x fem¡reader, no-idol au

Sypnosis: you have a weird obsession of Lee Know and decide to make him yours through creative, not so creative means

Genre: fluff, mention of stalking, mild possessiveness

It all started on a rainy Monday in the middle of September. The kind of day where clouds hang heavy in the sky and the scent of wet asphalt clings to the air like a secret. The hallway buzzed with energy, but Y/N's eyes were fixed on only one person: Lee Know. Basketball star. Effortlessly charming. Point guard. Crowd favorite. Effortlessly charismatic. He had that lazy smile that made teachers go easy on him and made girls’ hearts flutter. But not Y/N’s. No. Her heart didn’t flutter.It clenched.The boy who had unknowingly made her world spin for the past year.

But this wasn't a silly crush. No, this was different. It wasn’t the kind of liking where you giggle with your friends and hope he looks your way. Not in the sweet, innocent way that people talked about in books. Y/N didn't want to be noticed by him. She wanted to own him. It was obsessive, calculated—an all-consuming hunger to be seen, to be chosen. She knew everything about him.

His schedule.

Where he sat in class.

What time he left for practice.

His favorite snacks—Strawberry milk and honey butter chips.

Who he talked to (mostly his teammates, rarely girls).

The way he tapped his pencil when he was bored. She followed him online with burner accounts, memorized his route to school, and even switched classes to end up in the same elective.

No one suspected a thing. Y/N was the quiet girl. Always polite. Always present, but never really noticed. That invisibility had become her superpower.

The day she staged their first meeting was crisp with late fall air. She timed it perfectly—slipping around the corner just as he turned into the library corridor. Their shoulders collided. Cliche

"Ah—sorry," she gasped, letting her books fall in a dramatic clatter.

"No, it's my bad," he said immediately, kneeling to help her. His voice was even better up close—low, smooth, with just the tiniest edge of sleep still clinging to it.

Y/N looked up from her scattered books and met his gaze. Her heart did a somersault, but her face remained calm. She had practiced this look: surprised but not too eager.

"You're Lee Know, right?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Already having said it to her reflection a hundred times.

He nodded with a smile. "Yeah. And you're... Y/N?"

Her heart skipped. He knew her name. That hadn’t been part of the plan.

From that day on, they started talking. Casual conversations in the library. Quick chats before homeroom. She made herself indispensable to his routine—suggesting books he might like, showing up at games under the pretense of cheering for the team. When he sprained his wrist during practice, she "happened" to have ice packs in her bag. When he forgot his pen in math, she always had an extra.

It was like a slow-burn dream she had orchestrated perfectly.

Then one Friday evening, under the golden haze of sunset and the roar of a school victory, he walked up to her in the parking lot.

"You always come to my games," he said, breathless from the win.

She blinked up at him. "You're good. Why wouldn't I?"

"Still. I notice things too."

And then he smiled. Not the charming basketball star grin he flashed in the hallways, but something softer. Warmer. Real.

She didn't dare breathe.

"Do you wanna get dinner? Like, with me?"

Just like that, it began.

They started dating, and it was soft and sugary and exactly how she planned imagined it. He would steal fries from her tray, wrap his hoodie around her shoulders, and wait for her after class. He took photos of them—candid ones, blurry ones, all saved in a secret album on his phone. He kissed her forehead like it was a promise. Held her hand like he’d never want to let go.

And Y/N let herself forget the madness it took to get there.

He made her laugh, made her forget to breathe. She tried to be normal. Tried to ignore the part of her that wanted to monitor every girl who smiled at him, every text that wasn’t hers. She didn’t act on it—not because she didn’t want to, but because he made her feel like she didn’t have to.

One night, they were sitting on the bleachers, watching the sunset after his practice. The sky was cotton candy pink and gold. He turned to her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You know," he said slowly, like choosing his words carefully, "I always wondered when you'd talk to me."

Y/N’s body went still. "What do you mean?"

He smiled at her, that same warm one from the first day. "You were always there. Before I knew your name, I noticed you. You think I didn’t see the way you watched me? The way you sat one table behind mine at lunch, changed classes right after I did?"

Her throat went dry. Panic bloomed in her chest.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"I knew."

She pulled back to look at him, wide-eyed.

"Why didn’t you say anything?"

He chuckled. "Because I liked it. You cared enough to notice. That’s rare."

Y/N stared at him, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.

"So you’re not... freaked out?"

"Nah," he said, tugging her closer. "Kinda nice, honestly. Everyone wants the spotlight, but you—" he kissed her again—"you were already there. Just... watching. Waiting."

Her heart swelled in a way she hadn’t anticipated. She didn’t need to hide anymore. He knew. He chose her anyway.

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves at their feet, but she felt nothing but the warmth of his hand in hers. Maybe she had manipulated fate a little. Maybe she hadn’t left anything to chance. But in the end, it didn’t matter.

Because he had seen her all along.

And he stayed.

---

The following week, he wore her favorite color to school and told everyone they were together. She sat next to him during lunch, and he fed her bites of his sandwich like they’d been doing this forever. Girls stared, but he only had eyes for her.

And when she caught someone looking too long, he whispered in her ear, "Only you, babe. Always."

She smiled. Sweet. Dangerous.

After all, she had spent so long making him hers.

But it turned out—he had wanted to be hers from the very beginning.

---

In the end, love didn’t come softly. It came like a storm she had summoned, crashing into her life and rearranging everything. And even though she had carefully planted every seed, every moment, the bloom was still a surprise.

It was him.

Because what bloomed wasn’t fear or exposure—it was trust.

It was real.

------------------------

@furioussheepluminary

[zarinasilshul]

Beginning / prev / next

This is supposed to be sonadow but like. Haven't gotten to that part yet

// Click for better resolution. Do Not repost. Reblogs are appreciated.

[divinedomainn]

Stream and Scream | reader x multiple men

play previous song? || ◁ PART 2 ▷ || play next song?

summary : Your inbox has turned into a horny battlefield—six familiar usernames, six neck-down thirst traps, all hard and very, very eager.

No faces. Just bodies. Dicks. Bold lighting choices. Questionable bedsheets.

You sit cross-legged in your underwear like you’re judging Olympic figure skating, except everyone’s naked and begging to be picked.

Time to start scoring.

contains : camgirl!reader x a whole ass roster, rotating cast, university AU, smut, porn with kinda a crack plot, casual sex, anonymous sex, exhibitionism, recording, oral sex, piv sex, rough kinky sex, everyone wants to fuck reader, horny simp men, sukuna being sukuna, reader being willfully ignorant for her own sanity.

A/N : time to make your first choice for the first week by voting in the poll at the end, i'll be doing this all in descending order based on who was the most voted to the least - so vote well >:) goodluck reader ! (i wonder who the mystery man could POSSIBLY be)

You sat back for a few hours, letting it really settle in for yourself and your viewers. You had hundreds of messages and you hadn’t even finished scrolling through the first wave of submissions when the familiar usernames started sliding into your inbox—like wolves answering the call. And it was obvious, immediately, which messages you were actually going to open.

These weren’t just horny randos with messy lighting and desperate angles.

These were your regulars.

The six you already knew by username. The six who tipped with the intensity of men bidding for real estate inside your body. And now they were showing themselves to you. You hoped to whatever deity was listening that these guys were hot with huge cocks. What? It was fun to be a little superficial sometimes. First up:

EmoWithaBoner.

His message was soft-spoken, despite the picture attached being the exact opposite of that, just like always. No emojis. No bravado.

“Didn’t know how to pose,” it read. “But I thought about how you’d look on top of me, and it kind of just happened.”

It was soft, unfiltered, and a little shaky. The photo was reflected from his mirror and showed him stretched out across gray sheets, pale skin dusted with faint freckles. He looked like he went to the gym often with how built he was. Narrow hips. His cock sat flushed against his stomach, long and lean—at least seven inches, maybe more—and wait.. was that? You looked closer towards the image, inspecting it like you were trying to solve a case. Yep. It was pierced at the frenulum with a delicate curved barbell. A glint of silver. Great heavens. Saved.

TempleOfSin.

His body was art. Broad chest, warm tan skin like satin, sculpted muscle that looked carved. His torso was tapered, lean and strong, with a small trail of black hair leading down to a thick, curved cock—seven inches minimum, hand loosely resting at the base like he was showing it off without trying too hard. He was neatly trimmed. It looked like there was a bunch of robes beside him haphazardly taken off for the photo. “Consider this a formal offering,” the message read. “You could worship every inch of me truly, my loyal little follower.” Odd as always, but hot. Saved. You could hear your prayers being answered, two down and so far all was good - in fact, perfect. You were surprised these were the guys paying you, and for a second or two you felt like you should be paying them for the photos.

SixEyesOnly’s submission hit next—and of course, it came with a $500 tip before you even clicked on the message. The sight that hit your eyes made you choke a little on your own spit. 

Of course he sent multiple angles—three, actually. You picked your favorite: a half-reclined shot on luxurious navy bedding, torso lit with just the right amount of golden light. He was toned, lean muscle over abnormally long limbs, subtle abs. A soft trail of white hair led down to a perfectly girthy cock, mid-stroke—maybe just under eight inches, thick enough to stretch you open. His other hand was holding a handwritten sign: “Good enough for you?” “Oh, SixEyesOnly, absolutely.” You spoke to yourself whilst your eyes remained glued to your laptop screen. Saved. Then—unsurprisingly unhinged—daddyissuez.

“i jerked off right before i took this and got hard again just thinking about fucking you.”

And the photo… Jesus. The photo was taken in low lighting, like a scene from a noir porno. He was sitting wide-legged on a leather couch that looked like it needed replacing, legs thick and powerful, thighs dusted with black hair. His chest was solid, scars faintly visible across his abs and ribs. You closed your eyes for a second and tilted your head up to your ceiling in a silent ‘thank you’ before looking back down at the image. His cock was huge, just like the rest of him. Probably just shy of nine inches, you couldn’t keep your eyes off it. Balls heavy. Tip already glossy with precum. One hand gripped the base. The other rested lazily on his thigh like he was used to being admired. With a cock like that you couldn’t blame him. Saved. OfficeAfterHours was, predictably, meticulous. His message read like an email you’d get from someone managing your retirement plan, if that person also wanted to bend you over a desk.

“Apologies for the delay. Here’s my formal submission. Discretion guaranteed. Let me know if you'd like a second angle.”

Shot in high-resolution against crisp black sheets, his body was a symphony of intention. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, abs that looked like they’d been sculpted from marble. Not huge, but built like someone who took care of himself for discipline, not vanity. A thin trail of blonde hair led down to a cock that was gorgeous—perfect shape, thick but not excessive, probably seven inches on the dot, with veins that begged for attention. Trimmed. Clean. You could almost imagine his voice saying something like, “Breathe through it, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.” A weird sound came out of your mouth in excitement from your own fantasy. Saved.

You were already overstimulated and halfway folded into your sheets when the final message hit.

KingOfRot.

You hovered over it for a second like it might bite. Which was ironic, considering he probably would. He was always the most feral in chat—filthy, relentless, tipping like his wallet had a death wish.

You clicked.

Instant regret. Instant need.

The photo looked like it had been taken during a crime.

Bathroom mirror. Harsh yellow light. Shirt pushed up to his collarbones, muscles tensed like he’d been fucking someone just before he snapped the photo. Chest broad. Arms thick. Veins roped down to his forearms. Stomach lined with clean muscle. Ink everywhere—heavy black bands around his biceps, tattoos sharp and ceremonial-looking across his chest and stomach like a ritual.

And then his cock.

You actually flinched at the offensive monster staring right back at you through the screen. Long. Thick. Too thick. Heavy. Veins running down the shaft like it had a pulse, flushed red like it had been hard for too long. The kind of cock you’d have to apologize to your body after taking. You didn’t even want to hazard a guess at the size.

He wasn’t even touching it. It was just there holding its own weight up like a pole rather than a piece of actual flesh. 

But what got you, what really made your stomach drop, was the tattoos.

They were familiar.

You’d seen them before.

There was a guy on campus—tall, smug, terrifyingly hot in the way that sent your libido into a frenzy—who had tattoos just like that. You’d seen him walking out of the athletics building once, sweatpants slung low and his shirt mysteriously missing, laughing like he knew every secret in the world. He had loudly shouted “What!?” at you when you had stared for a little longer than needed. Embarrassingly seared into your memory for that exact reason.

You squinted.

“Nope,” you muttered. “No. Not connecting the dots. That’s above my pay grade.” Surely it couldn’t be the same guy, right? The tattoos were probably, like, one of those trends that everyone was getting. That's what you were telling yourself at least.

You were about to save the photo when you finally looked at the caption.

“Pick me. I’ll fuck you so hard your ancestors will feel it. You’ll be a fucking shrine by the time I’m done.” Was that a death threat? Probably. Should you block him? Probably. “Ancestors. Okaaaaay.” You nodded your head slowly as if he was across from you saying it with a gun pointing at you. 

And then you saved it. Of course you did. Then flopped onto your back, one arm flung over your face, trying to mentally prepare for the chaos you had just invited into your life. All at the right price of course. “Thank you to whoever is listening for blessing me with viewers that are hotter than the guys I have wilfully hooked up with for free.” You spoke to your ceiling, a common theme nowadays. Seven men. Seven bodies. Seven chances to let your subscribers watch you get absolutely wrecked on camera.

Your legs were trembling from what you decided was mostly horniness.. and a little bit of fear for your own pussy by the time you shut your laptop fully. Friday couldn't come soon enough.

Now, the real question was - who would you choose first?

taglist : @syubseokie @frozenmallows @90s-belladonna @moncher-ire @kunareads @blublublubby @grignardsreagent @soozeu @mochiivqi @sweetsformysoul @killak9mi @celloccino @gurlhere4fluff @gorouenjoyer @linaaeatsfamilies @lov3-ly @des-todoroki @aiicpansion @lazylunarlover @kentoslvr @cherry-berry-21 @cure-alexandrite @yourname-exee @pinkyogoart @sillymortalblob @kyvyes @xxxieli @swoozleee @augustineyukimura @uniquecutie-puff @ayepitita @luna-v-roiya @kill-your-darling274 @babiestarrcandy @b3bybunny @midnightwriter21 @miizuzu

[jungwnies]

TIKTOK TREND WITH YOUR F1 BOYFRIEND

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : wiping off their kiss every time they kiss you

୨ৎ : genre : fluff, angsty only if you squint ୨ৎ : tws : light kissing, nothing heavy ୨ৎ : word count : 3379

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : so proud of charles getting podium, i am a happy girl 🥲 also i finally added george to the featuring >.<

ʚ・max verstappen

the living room was quiet, the soft glow of a lamp casting a warm light over the couch. you perched on the edge, setting your phone up on the coffee table, angling it perfectly toward where max would sit. the screen reflected your mischievous grin as you hit record.

the sound of the shower shutting off echoed down the hall, followed by max’s footsteps. he walked in, towel over his shoulder, hair damp and messy.

“what are you doing?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

you leaned back casually, fighting a smirk. “nothing. just waiting for you.”

max dropped onto the couch beside you, still toweling his damp hair. without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed your cheek softly. as soon as he pulled away, you casually wiped the spot, pretending to fix your hair.

his brows furrowed. “did you just wipe that off?”

you glanced at him, feigning confusion. “wipe what off?”

“my kiss,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“no, i was just fixing my hair,” you replied, your tone so casual it could’ve won an oscar.

he stared at you for a second but shrugged it off. leaning in again, he kissed your temple this time, holding it for a moment longer before pulling back. you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a laugh as you wiped it away, pretending to scratch your face.

“okay, now you’re definitely wiping them off,” he said, his tone sharper.

“max, you’re imagining things,” you said, giving him an innocent look.

“i’m not imagining anything!” he shot back, leaning forward with a slight pout. “why are you doing this? did i do something wrong?”

“you’re overthinking it,” you said, brushing off his concern.

he frowned, leaning in for a third kiss, this time planting it on the corner of your mouth. when you wiped that one off too, his mouth dropped open. “seriously? are you mad at me or something? just say it if you are.”

“i’m not mad!” you said, fighting to keep a straight face.

“then why are you being weird?” he snapped, now visibly salty. “do you not want me to kiss you anymore? should i stop?”

you burst out laughing, grabbing your phone off the table and showing him the recording. “baby, it’s a tik-tok trend! i was messing with you!”

his jaw clenched as he realized, then he groaned dramatically, flopping back into the couch. “you’re actually the worst,” he muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

“aww, don’t be mad,” you teased, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

he huffed, shaking his head. “you're an asshole,” then, with a smirk, he kissed you again and wrapped his arm around you, "but i guess i love you anyways." keeping you locked in place.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

the front door clicked open, and you glanced up from the couch to see lewis stepping inside, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. his face looked tired, but he still gave you a soft smile, the kind that made your heart melt every time.

“long day?” you asked, setting your book aside.

“you have no idea,” he said with a sigh, dropping the bag by the door. “flights, media, and a race weekend? i’m ready to collapse.”

“sounds like you need some love,” you teased, patting the seat beside you.

lewis chuckled, kicking off his sneakers before walking over. he plopped down, wrapping an arm around you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“missed you,” he murmured.

you smiled but casually brushed your hand over the spot where he’d kissed, pretending to fix your hair. lewis’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything, instead leaning in to kiss your cheek. when you wiped that off too, his lips parted in disbelief.

“did you just… wipe my kiss off?” he asked, his tone soft but genuinely confused.

“no, i was just adjusting my sweater,” you replied, keeping your face straight.

he tilted his head, watching you carefully now. “right… okay.”

a few moments passed, and lewis leaned in again, this time kissing your jawline. before he could even pull back fully, you wiped it off with a quick swipe of your hand.

“alright, what’s going on?” he asked, sitting up straighter. his voice was still calm, but there was a hint of frustration now. “did i do something wrong?”

you shrugged nonchalantly. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“babe, you’re wiping off my kisses!” he said, his brows knitting together. “if you’re mad, just say so.”

“i’m not mad,” you said, trying not to laugh at the utterly baffled look on his face.

lewis leaned back, crossing his arms. “so, what? you don’t like my kisses anymore? should i stop?”

you couldn’t hold it in anymore, grabbing your phone from the coffee table and bursting into laughter. “i was recording the whole thing,” you admit, "it's a tik-tok trend, a hilarious one i must admit, you should've seen your reaction."

he stared at you for a moment, processing, before shaking his head with an exasperated laugh. “you’re unbelievable. you had me thinking i did something wrong!”

“you’re too sweet,” you teased, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

he smirked, pulling you into his lap. “if this is your idea of fun, just wait. payback’s coming, and it’s gonna be good.”

ʚ・george russell

the room was dim, only the soft glow of the bedside lamp lighting the space as you slid into bed next to george. he was already lying on his side, scrolling through his phone, his hair still slightly damp from his shower. the sheets rustled as you snuggled under the covers, your head resting against the pillow.

“finally, you're here,” he said with a soft smile, turning off his phone and setting it on the nightstand. “i thought you’d be up all night organizing stuff again.”

“you know me too well,” you replied, adjusting the blanket and shifting closer to him.

george chuckled, brushing a lock of hair out of your face before leaning in to kiss your forehead. as soon as he pulled back, you absentmindedly wiped your forehead, pretending to smooth out a strand of hair.

george stopped, his gaze fixed on you, a slight furrow in his brow. “did you just… wipe off my kiss?”

you blinked innocently, tilting your head. “what? no, i didn’t.”

he leaned back, clearly unconvinced, his lips twisting into a half-smirk. “really? that’s how we’re doing this now?”

“doing what?” you asked, trying to keep a straight face.

he raised an eyebrow, glancing at you before brushing it off. “never mind,” he muttered, shaking his head, but he didn’t take his eyes off you as he repositioned himself to get more comfortable in bed.

a moment later, george leaned in again, this time kissing the top of your nose. before he could fully pull back, you reached up and wiped it away, pretending to rub your eyes.

he sat up slightly, blinking in disbelief. “are you serious? again?”

“serious about what?” you asked, turning toward him with a sweet smile.

he let out a slow exhale, clearly trying to process. “you’re wiping off my kisses like it’s nothing. are you trying to tell me something here?”

you shrugged, still maintaining the innocent act. “it’s not like that, george.”

his voice was a little quieter this time, a mix of confusion and playfulness. “okay, now i’m starting to wonder. do you actually not want my kisses or what?”

you quickly reached for your phone, clicking the screen and showing him the recording. “george, it's a tik-tok”

his eyes widened in realization, and he let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “seriously? you’ve been messing with me this whole time?”

“yep,” you said, grinning.

he raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. “you're lucky you're cute."

ʚ・carlos sainz

the kitchen was quiet, sunlight spilling through the windows as you sat at the counter, sipping your coffee. carlos was standing by the stove, flipping pancakes with the focus of a man on a mission, but his usual easygoing vibe was still present. he glanced over at you as he set the pan down, a lazy smile forming on his face.

“good morning, cariño,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep, though there was a sparkle in his eyes. “how did you sleep?”

“like a log,” you said, taking a long sip of coffee. “thanks to you keeping me up late last night.”

he laughed, his eyes twinkling as he moved to grab the syrup. “so you admit it? i’m just too irresistible.”

you rolled your eyes, setting your mug down. “not quite. you’re more like a human heater, honestly.”

“ah, a heater with a great smile,” he added, leaning in to kiss your forehead. before he could pull away, you quickly wiped the spot, pretending to adjust your hair.

he froze, standing there for a second with a confused look on his face. “eh? did you just wipe off my kiss?”

you looked up at him innocently, trying to hide your smile. “what? no, I didn’t.”

“no? okay…” he said, his voice now filled with playful suspicion. he raised an eyebrow. “that’s… interesting.”

he took a step back, eyeing you carefully. “so, you don’t want me to kiss you anymore, is that it? too much affection?”

“what are you talking about?” you asked, feigning confusion. “i just didn’t want syrup on my face.”

carlos chuckled, but he leaned in again, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. before he could even fully pull away, you wiped it off again, this time more exaggerated.

he raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping back dramatically. “okay, okay, you’re messing with me now, right?”

“no, I’m not,” you said, trying to stifle your laugh. “seriously.”

he narrowed his eyes at you, clearly starting to get annoyed. “are you doing this just to mess with me? i’m here, making pancakes, and you’re wiping off my kisses? do you want to break up or something?”

“what? no!” you exclaimed, trying not to crack a smile. “I swear, I’m not doing anything weird.”

he sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. “you’re making me feel like I’m doing something wrong. why are you wiping my kisses away?”

that was when you couldn’t hold it anymore. you grabbed your phone from the counter, showing him the recording of the whole thing. “carlos, it’s a prank!”

his eyes widened as he watched the footage, then he groaned, dramatically slouching against the counter. “you’re unbelievable. seriously, I’m making my famous fluffy pancakes and this is what I get?”

“you know you love me,” you said, laughing.

he shook his head, rolling his eyes. “fine, fine. but just wait, I’m going to get you back for this one.”

“we’ll see about that,” you teased, reaching for a pancake.

ʚ・charles leclerc

you were curled up on the couch, charles beside you with his arm draped over your shoulders as you both relaxed after a long day. the movie was on, but you weren’t really paying attention. instead, you were watching charles every now and then, his focused expression as he tried to get into the plot. a small, playful thought crossed your mind, and you couldn't help but act on it.

you nudged him lightly, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, but as soon as you pulled back, you wiped it off with exaggerated care, pretending to smooth a stray strand of hair.

charles paused, the film still playing in the background, but he was no longer paying attention to it. he turned to you, a brow raised and a mischievous glint in his eyes. “did you just wipe my kiss off?” he asked, voice a mix of amusement and genuine confusion.

you blinked, acting innocent. “what? no, i didn’t. you must be seeing things, babe.”

he leaned in closer, his smirk growing. “really? because i definitely saw that,” he said, his voice playfully suspicious. "you sure you’re not hiding something?"

“nope,” you replied quickly, your lips twitching with the effort to keep a straight face. “just... adjusting my hair. i have really messy hair, you know?”

“hmm,” he said, squinting at you. “well, i’ll just have to test that theory again, then.”

charles leaned in for another kiss, but this time, he took his time, making sure to press a little longer against your skin. as he pulled away, he looked at you with a smirk, waiting for your reaction.

without hesitation, you wiped your cheek again, this time a little more dramatically, as though he’d just kissed you with a mouthful of chocolate or something.

charles froze, his mouth parting as he tried to process what just happened. “okay, what the hell?” he laughed, his confusion turning into playful disbelief. “now you’re really wiping it off. i swear, if this is some kind of prank…”

“prank?” you asked, feigning innocence. “no, charles, no prank here. just making sure my skin stays clean.”

he let out a deep sigh, shifting so he was facing you fully, his expression a mixture of frustration and laughter. “you’ve got to be kidding me. you’re wiping off my kisses now? i’m feeling personally attacked, mon amour.”

you couldn’t hold back your grin any longer. “oh, charles,” you said, trying not to laugh, “it’s just a little tik-tok, okay? i swear, i love your kisses... just not on my face right now.”

he blinked at you, processing it for a second before it clicked. “wait a minute...” he said, his voice growing mock-serious. “you’ve been messing with me this whole time?”

you nodded, finally letting out a laugh as you grabbed your phone and showed him the video you’d been recording.

charles threw his head back, a laugh escaping as he groaned in exasperation. “you’re impossible,” he said, shaking his head. “here i was thinking i was doing something wrong, and you’re just messing with me for fun.”

“i’m sorry, babe,” you said, still laughing. “but look at that face you made every time i wiped it off! it was too good.”

he shook his head, trying to hide his grin. “i swear, i’m going to get you back for this. but, just so you know, i don’t think i’ll ever kiss you on the cheek again. i might have to kiss you on your hand next time—keep it classy.”

“that’s fine with me,” you teased, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek for real this time, savoring the moment. “as long as it’s real this time, i’ll take anything.”

charles wrapped his arm around you again, pressing his lips to the top of your head with a playful sigh. “you’re impossible.”

“i know,” you replied, grinning. “and you love it.”

ʚ・lando norris

you were getting ready to leave the room, heading for the door to grab something. lando, in the middle of streaming, noticed you getting up and paused his game.

“hey, where are you going?” he asked with a playful grin.

“just to grab my jacket,” you replied, already halfway to the door.

he leaned in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before you left, but as soon as his lips touched your skin, you wiped your cheek with your hand in one swift motion, acting like it was no big deal.

lando pulled back, his expression frozen for a moment. “wait... what?”

you turned to him with wide eyes, completely innocent. “what? i didn’t wipe anything off.”

“you definitely just wiped off my kiss,” he said, his voice laced with confusion.

you shrugged, still acting nonchalant. “nah, you’re imagining things.”

lando squinted at you, his head tilting in that way he does when he’s trying to figure out what’s going on. “seriously? i gave you a kiss, and you wiped it off like... like i’ve got bad breath or something?”

“i didn’t wipe it off,” you said, barely holding in your grin. “you’re being dramatic.”

“no, no,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “i’m pretty sure you just wiped it off. i know i kissed you, and i know it’s gone now.”

you pretended to look at the floor, trying to look innocent. “you must be tired, love. maybe you imagined it?”

he paused for a moment, trying to make sense of it, but after a beat, he shrugged it off and went back to his game. you turned to leave again, and he kissed you once more on the cheek, this time giving you a teasing smile.

before you even gave him a chance to pull away, you wiped the kiss off again—this time with even more dramatic flair, rubbing your hand over your cheek like it was covered in dirt.

“okay, that’s it!” he said, pausing his game once again. “you’re messing with me. why are you wiping off my kisses? what’s going on?”

you couldn’t help it anymore and pulled out your phone to show him the tiktok trend. “you’ve been pranked.”

his eyes went wide for a second, before bursting into laughter. “oh my god, i can’t believe i fell for that!”

you smiled smugly. “what can i say? i’m just that good.”

“next time, i’m getting you back for this one,” he said, still laughing.

meanwhile, his twitch chat was going wild. "lando, how did you not realize this was the tiktok trend?" one viewer typed.

“i swear, i thought i was being tricked by my own girlfriend!” lando chuckled, shaking his head at the screen. "chat's right though, i should've known better."

ʚ・oscar piastri

you and oscar were lounging on the couch, the tv flickering quietly in the background, but neither of you were really watching it. the evening had that lazy, easy vibe where you didn’t need to talk much, just enjoying each other's presence.

oscar was scrolling through his phone, chuckling at something he’d seen. you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, but at the last second, he turned his head, and your lips landed right on his.

“wait, what was that?” he grinned, pulling back slightly. “since when did you get so affectionate all of a sudden?”

you shrugged, playing it cool. “what can i say, love? just felt like it.”

he narrowed his eyes at you, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “hmm, you sure you’re not up to something?”

you raised an eyebrow, acting casual. “nope, just a kiss. no hidden agenda.”

“right,” he said, clearly unconvinced, before leaning in for another kiss. but this time, just before his lips met yours, you quickly wiped your cheek with your hand, like you were brushing something off.

oscar froze, staring at you like you’d just sprouted another head. “wait, did you just—? did you just wipe off my kiss?”

you turned to him with wide eyes, trying to look innocent. “huh? no, i didn’t. you’re imagining things.”

“no, i saw it,” he said, sitting up a little straighter, a grin now playing on his face. “you literally wiped it off like i’ve got something on my face.”

you shrugged nonchalantly. “maybe you do. you never know.”

oscar stared at you for a moment, his grin slipping into mock offense. “so, now i’ve got bad kisses, huh?”

“no, no,” you said, trying not to laugh. “just… you know. maybe a little extra today.”

“extra?” he repeated, leaning in with a suspicious look on his face. “alright, this is definitely a prank. i can tell.”

you bit your lip, fighting the smile that was threatening to break out. “who, me? never.”

“don’t lie,” he said, crossing his arms. “this is 100% a prank. i'm being pranked, aren't i?”

before you could answer, oscar leaned in again, and this time, when he kissed you, he pulled away slowly, rubbing his cheek like he was wiping something off, complete with an exaggerated motion. “is that better?” he asked, grinning ear to ear. “did i nail it?”

you burst into laughter, finally admitting defeat. “okay, okay! you caught me! it's the stupid tik-tok trend.”

oscar chuckled, shaking his head. “you can’t fool me. but, i’ll be getting you back for this one.”

“you can try." you teased.

“oh, we’ll see about that,” he said, leaning in for another kiss, this time making sure you didn’t wipe it off. “but this one stays, just so you know.”

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[sleepn0tfound]

Do I Look Like Him?

[Dc x Neglected!Batsis!Surgeon!Reader]

Word count: 2.0k

Standing at the corner of the gala, she was nursing a cup of wine. The light perfectly reflected against her purple sapphire earrings.

Her off shoulder black dress was long and sparkly, it was low cut which showed off her cleavage, with a slit that cut all the way to her upper thigh. She wore gloves that reached up to her elbows, matching her dress in colour. Over the gloves on her right arm, there was a singular white gold bracelet that stood out, clearly costing a fortune.

It was no wonder why they called her "The Untouchable Wayne." She was the spitting image of her father back when he was younger, just with long hair, she even has the same temper as his old self as well.

Whispers could be heard all around her, short glances aimed at her failed in being subtle. Her eyes looked up on for drink as she saw a man arrogantly walk up to her.

"So... You look very nice today, princess."

Her calcutative gaze turned into a disgusted one as she looked at the man in front of her but she gave no response.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

The man wouldn't give up despite his multiple following comments being met with silence, not even a glance from Y/n was given to him.

The man was visibly getting agitated at the lack of response to his flirtations, "You should say sometiming little girl. Do you know how many women would die to be in your spot—"

The man abruptly stopped his words as he felt his suit getting soaked. The rest of the gala fell silent as they watched the red wine fall from her cup.

"Y-You— Useless bitch!"

She held her cup in the air, the red wine still dripping from the cup, it looked almost like blood, her grin was foxlike as she looked down on the man. Before the sound of glass shattering echoed throughout the ballroom as the wine glass came into contact with the man after she threw it at him

Her heels clicked as she walked towards the man who had staggered back, his hand shakingly touched his cheek, feeling the blood that was leaking out from the cut made by the glass shards.

She walked through the glass elegantly, stepping on the glass and breaking it with her heel before picking him up by his collar, "If you want to be that arrogant, maybe make sure your height is taller than your ego."

The sickening sound of the punch that came afterwords left the gala pindrop silent, before it all erupted into whispers and mumurs.

"Hey don't you think.."

"She looks exactly like..."

"Well even her temper matches so..."

The crowd looked at the expression on the main character's face. No longer was there a foxy grin, no. What they saw was the face of anger, a face that looked exactly like a teen Bruce Wayne. Anguished and filled with rage after his parents' death. That's what it looked like, the spitting image even.

Despite what many think the elites of Gotham weren't that stupid. Most of the older elites knew that the whole Brucie Wayne thing was just a facade, they were just glad they no longer had to face a feral, angry teen Bruce Wayne, but just as he mellowed out she came along looking exactly like what they had remembered of teen Bruce.

It looked like she was ready to take another hit before her phone rang. She picked it up, not even a minute in the call she takes off running out of the ballroom, whispers following her as she went.

But everyone knew what it was. A call from her hospital. Yes hers.

Y/n Wayne had a lot of titles. No not 'The Princess of Gotham', that was given to Cassandra Wayne-Cain, who Bruce simply adored. No, she was known as 'The Queen of Gotham', 'The Untouchable Wayne', and many more. But the ones that held the most merit?

The Surgeon Who Defies Death, The Reaper's Rival.

It didn't matter what kind of surgery it was, she could do it all, a miracle worker, is what they called her.

She was so well known that she had her own hospital. The biggest and most adavanced hospital in the world.

Apollo’s garden.

The name was odd to many Gothamites at first, until they saw how children and teens alike would be less nervous in the hospital, the parents of said teens who saw the surgeon herself saw that their children would talk animatedly to her, even the more introverted ones. Saying something about "Percy Jackson", was it?

The word "Hospital" wasn't in the name either, making it seem less daunting to the children, that hospital became even busier than Gotham General Hospital, mandatory shots for children were scheduled to be done at Apollo's Garden instead, there was even a block dedicated for children that was designed like a zoo, each level having a different habitat, the Savanna, the Arctic, the Rainforest, etc.

She built that hospital from the ground up.

The elites saw her running out of the glamorous ballroom, she immediately got in her black and purple convertible , starting it up and speeding towards her hospital.

Once she parked she rushed into the hospital, hurriedly changing out of her dress into her surgical gown, taking off her heels and changing into rubber shoes. The call said that the patients were caught in a shooting, too many critical patients too little experienced surgeons to attend to them. 

Changing her gloves while rushing to the ER she saw one of the other experienced surgeon, “Solace, give me the run down.” 

“11 patients, 3 in critical, 8 injured badly.” Will was already in his scrubs, rushing to the other critical patient.

“Damnit. The 8 injured have enough doctors tending to them, right?"

"Yes but the only experienced surgeons who clocked in tonight are Zayne and me, so we need you."

"Well then, good thing I'm here then." She stopped as she reached the door of the operation room she had to be in.

"See you on the other side.” She said as she entered one of the three critical patients' room, nodding at Zayne who passed by her, the three separating as they went into different operation rooms.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

As she exited the operation room she sighed, that surgery was nothing new to her, but that doesn't mean it got any less tiring each time.

Taking off her bloody gloves, she plopped on the chair in the staff room, collecting herself when she heard the door click open, she saw Zayne entering the room, his usual stern face added with a bit of tiredness could be seen. He went to sit next to her, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"How did it go for you?" Y/n's usually teasing voice for him was now serious, a tone reserved for after important operations.

"As good as it can be. He's stable now." Zayne placed his glasses back on.

"Mine too." The woman nodded seriously.

"Tough night for all of us, eh?" Will had came in as well, reuniting the trio.

"More like the usual. It's Gotham, shootings are bound to happen." Y/n responded, leaning back into the couch.

"It shouldn't be the usual." Zayne's voice was stern, his expression hardened.

"Well there's nothing we can do but save lives." Y/n sighed as she finally got up from the couch, "I'll start with the paperwork—" Her words were interrupted by the ringing of her phone, her face darkened even more as she saw the name of the contact.

She looked reluctant as she picked up the call, "What do you want." It was more of a statement rather than a question.

Zayne and Will knew her long enough to know exactly who it was from the tone of her voice.

"No I can't go back now I still have to do the paperwork—" She looked more frustrated as the call went on, "No I can't just give them to employees, I'm not like you."

She ended the call with a scowl, tousling her hair as she looked at her two other surgeons in the room, "Sorry guys can I trouble ya'll to do the paperwork. Wayne won't stop pestering me to go back to the manor."

"Yeah no problem. We know how... he can be." Will gave a small smile at his friend.

"Thank you so much. Ugh I was planning on going back to my penthouse too. Whatever." She waved her hand as she walked towards the door, "Don't overwork yourselves."

"Says you." Zayne finally lightened up a little, a teasing undertone in his voice.

"Haha very funny." Y/n rolled her eyes playfully before leaving to go back to change. She put her dress back on, grabbing her purse and walked to her car, driving back to the manor in silence.

She drove into the massive garage with a lot of other cars, parking hers in the corner, exiting her car and walking to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it. She quietly snuck in, hoping that nobody would be in the manor this time and that they would all be on patrol by now.

Though it seemed like Tyche wasn't on her side that night because just as she thought she was safe, her hand on her room in the manor's handle she heard a voice she really didn't want to hear.

"You're back." That undeniable stern tone only belonged to one man, Bruce Wayne.

"Yeah. You kind of gave me no choice." Her hand slipped of the handle of her bedroom door, turning her body to face the man.

"The stunt you pulled at the gala was unacceptable and leaving with no warning right after—" The man was cut off.

"So what did you expect me to do? Just take those disgusting comments from that man?" Her voice was monotonous as she looked up at the man who was supposed to be her father.

"I expected that the second oldest of this family to at least have some decency and restraint!" He froze as he realised that he rose his voice, he sighed, collecting himself, ready to speak again but Y/n interrupted him with her chuckle. The chuckle that slowly turned into a full-blown laugh, she wiped the tears that formed at the side of her eyes.

"Family? Since when have any of you considered me as family?" This was the form of her true anger, not shouting, not hitting, just the calm way she said her words, though there was pure unbridled anger hidden underneath.

Bruce froze at her words, "What do you mean—"

"Don't you dare act fucking clueless. You don't deserve to do that after what you have all done." Her anger started to seep out a little more.

"The way I sat silently during family dinner. How I sit in the corner alone during family movie night. Did you even notice that I was gone for 5 years at a camp?"

Bruce was speechless, he had no words to say to that, had she really left this manor for 5 years without anyone noticing?

"Why so silent? Got nothing to say?" Her words held a mocking tone, before she took a deep breath and exhaled.

"Just... Just leave me alone Wayne. Just as you always have." Her anger faded, now her words just seemed... tired.

Wayne? Why was his daughter, his baby, calling him by his last name as if it wasn't hers as well?

She opened her door, closing it behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts in the hallway. She leaned against the door, an exhale leaving her lips, before she looked up.

'At least this night is over and I can just sleep—'

Just as she thought she was free for the night she saw a small figure, exactly three apples tall, standing in the middle of her room.

The girl looked down at him and sighed, “What is it this time, demon spawn? Going to make fun of me again?”

“Tch. I don’t have time for that.” The young boy scoffed, turning his head to the side, clearly having heard the entire argument from the other side of the door.

“Then what are you here for?”

Damian swallowed his pride for once as he spoke.

"I want to volunteer at your hospital."

.

.

.

"What."

As promised, here it is! Guys is it crazy if I say I already got the second part of this planned out. I think I should priortise Death of a Star chap. 1 tho hehe anyways I hope you guys enjoy this LOLS

Btw thank you all so much for 500 followers! Take this as my 500 follower special hehe Also if you guys can submit asks I would be rlly happy... My inbox is always so empty😭😭

📷: sleep._.n0tfound

[plethorawrites]

i think jason is perfect for the girl who thinks that's unlovable x guy who loves her like it's as easy as breathing

maybe I'm just projecting because that has never happened to me but i do think that jason is a loverboy, especially if his significant other has never been treated right

(I think he'd be self reflecting too, honestly. Trying to treat someone the way no one ever treated him either.) (P.S. I tried a different style with this, idk if it worked or not, but try to stick with it to lmk please!)

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

You were hard to love. You knew that. Every partner you ever had said so. And it made sense why.

You talked a lot. Droned on and on about interests that no else really seemed to care about. Couldn't even tell when they were getting bored because you were too focused on the way your hands moved to talk and tell stories.

You could never shut your brain off. You were always fidgeting in bed, trying to find something for your hands to do besides trace the sheets or pick at the threads on the blankets. You were always the last to fall asleep no matter when or where because some thought kept you up and you usually annoyed whoever was closest with it until they got so bored they fell asleep.

You were a terrible singer. Yet, you did it all the time. You couldn't carry a tune, couldn't hit any pitch, had no talent whatsoever and if an actual singer were to hear you when you were in the shower or the kitchen, they would surely ban you from ever listening to music again. You sang it under your breath, fighting it so you wouldn't annoy people, but always lost your own challenge and they ended up laughing.

You were clingy. You knew it was pathetic, always craving someone's attention to make you feel wanted. It was unattractive to need the kind of reassurance you wanted—to feel the warmest and most content when holding onto someone or sleeping in their arms. It was needy and sad. You were jealous. It was a bad habit, you knew. What everyone did with their own life didn't affect you in any serious way, but it was just so hard to share. Only child syndrome, maybe. Regardless, it was hard not to feel envious when someone else got attention from the person you loved most. You tried not to let it show. It did.

You were loud. You couldn't help it. You got overzealous about small things, like seeing a puppy in public or a cute baby in a onesie. You always made that high pitched screech that had people wincing in pain and telling you to lower your voice. No one wanted to see or hear about your happiness, they especially didn't like when you accidentally grabbed them without realizing you were doing it. It was annoying.

You were an awkward, bumbling, idiot. Your words got mixed up, you pulled doors that said push, you tripped. And you blushed and you covered your face with shame when it happened, but it never stopped people from giving you judgemental sideways glances in public.

...

But never to Jason.

...

You talked a lot. Spoke about interests that he sometimes knew and other times didn't. Never noticed him staring at you so intently, watching your eyes light up as you talk with your hands out of pure excitement that made him utterly enthralled.

You could never shut your brain off. You were always moving closer and closer to him in bed. You were restless, so your hands would fuss with his hair or trace the scars on his back. You always found something to mumble about— a recent book, a new recipe, something from a show, or drama from work. Your voice was so soft, so soothing as you dragged your hands up and down his back, he had no choice but to fall asleep to the comforting sound of it.

You were a terrible singer. But the sound still brought him joy. Because it was your own joy causing the horrendous screeching you couldn't seem to help. He'd laugh, yes, at the adorable attempt. He was always trying his best to disguise the grin by hiding behind his book as he read in the living room and you sang in the kitchen. He couldn't resist peeking up from his book every once in a while just to watch before ducking back down and pretending to have not noticed how happy singing off key seemed to make you.

You were clingy. It was adorable, especially with the height difference, how you'd hug him from behind when he was cooking or drape your arms around him the second he came home. He always feared touch, but yours seemed addictive. The only thing he feared worse was losing you, but thankfully, you held him tightly at night and never minded when he reciprocated. He found it peaceful, settling his thoughts when he felt his skin on yours—so soft compared to his own, which were covered in bruises and scars.

You were jealous. Some people might find the constant hovering when someone else even remotely attractive was nearby, but not him. He found it endearing how you'd hang off him, lean on him, wrap him arm around your waist or do any number of other things to make it perfectly clear he was yours. It made him feel wanted, reassured him that you weren't willing to share anymore than he wanted to watch you get attention from other people.

You were loud. You jumped when you got excited, your eyes lighting up and your nose crinkling. Your squeals of joy fell from your lips by accident and even when they were a little loud or piercing, the sound still conveyed your happiness. Your teeth would sink into your bottom lip to try to suppress your own content but it never worked and he wouldn't want it to. The little hops, the way your face would soften at the sight of something cute or grab and shake him when you saw something you thought he'd like.

You were an awkward, bumbling, idiot. You made little mistakes here and there, like everyone did. It was your reaction that had people staring. The way you'd laugh at yourself, your smile bearing widely and a faint blush spreading across your cheeks. Anyone with functioning eyes would look at you when you laughed. Hell, even a blind man with the displeasure of never getting to see your smile would still turn, just to hear your laughter a little bit better.

Maybe you talked a lot, were clingy, and jealous. But more than anything— you were his.

[skzophreniic]

Favorite Places to Have Sex

MDNI, 18+ content.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 when they wanna venture outside your bed

notes: this ended up longer than originally planned ngl. i find myself falling deeper and deeper into the void that is kim seungmin. pray for me ✊😔

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ CHAN

you already know what it is. chris practically lives at the studio, so why not fuck where he's most comfortable?

it always starts innocent enough. he's working late, you've invited yourself to the couch in the back, just scrolling through your phone. he calls you over to show you something he's working on and there just happens to only be one chair--the one he's currently settled on.

of course, he's not just going to let you stand, he's too much of a gentleman for that! he's kind enough to lend you his lap.

except now he can't focus. he's just trying to mix a track, but the way you shift on his lap whenever you point something out on the screen...yeah.

his fingers start tracing lazy circles on your thighs, voice dropping lower as he murmurs, "You’re distracting me, baby."

before you know it, his hands are gripping your hips, and you’re bouncing on his cock in the dim glow of his monitors, his low groans mixing with the bass from his unfinished song. The door is locked, but someone could still knock at any second—maybe a member, maybe a staff member and it's such a fucking vice, because on one hand, he doesn't give a shit. he wants them to hear, to know how good he makes you feel. it's the biggest thing that feeds his ego.

on the other hand, those sounds you make, the whimpers, the mewls, the lewd squelch your cunt makes when he's already made you cum twice but still can't stop rutting into you...yeah those are only for his ears.

he's pretty open to using his own moans though. have you listened closely to the backtrack of railway?

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ LEE KNOW

minho is obsessed with eye contact, so it’s no surprise that his favorite place is in front of a mirror. he wants you to see everything—the way your body moves, the way your face twists in pleasure, the way he controls every reaction you have.

you're insecure about your body? the sounds you make? yeah, no. every fucking thing about you is his biggest turn on, and he's just not okay with you not knowing that.

he’ll start slow, teasing you with featherlight touches, whispering in your ear, "look at yourself, baby. look how pretty you are for me." his hands will guide your movements, forcing you to watch the way he ruins you. and just when you think he’s going to let you close your eyes, he grips your jaw, turning your head toward the reflection. "I said, watch."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ CHANGBIN

gym. yeah i said it, i don't care how basic it is.

he will sweetly ask you to come work out with him, super super early in the morning or super late at night, when nobody's around. he'll tell you it's because he gets too shy to take off his shirt when other people are around but gets too hot and uncomfortable with it on.

you fall for it every time. sweet thing.

binnie loves seeing you all sweaty and out of breath. there’s something about watching you work out that drives changbin crazy—maybe it’s the way your body moves, the little whimpers when you push yourself too hard, the way you stretch in all the right ways.

one second, he’s spotting for you, the next, he’s pinning you against the weight bench, gripping your thighs, telling you to let him do all the work now. "you wanna stretch a little more, baby?"

next thing you know, he’s pinning you against the mirror, your fingers leaving smudged prints on the glass as he fucks into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips bruisingly tight. he groans against your ear, voice thick with need,

"you've worked so hard today, baby," he'll grunt into your ear. "let me take care of you now."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ HYUNJIN

hyunjin’s art studio is his sanctuary, the place where he’s most creative, where he loses himself in his work for hours at a time.

it always starts innocently enough. it's your birthday, and he wants to paint a portrait of you in that cute little sun dress he gifted you. that short, skimpy little sun dress he gifted you. and he needs you on his lap. for the creative process. spefically with your dress up, panties pushed aside, and his cock nestled deeply inside of you.

also for the creative process.

"you gotta sit still for me, pretty." he murmurs, leaned back against the couch, his gaze focused on his canvas. "or else this will take longer."

it's horrendously delicious, the way he makes you warm his cock while he works, refusing to let you move. he doesn't even fucking react, a hundred precent focused on making you the best portrait.

when he's done though, and only if you've been good and didn't move, he'll set his supplies aside to dry and let you fuck yourself on him. let you use him any way you want it.

and if you haven't been good, the only thing you're getting off on is his thigh. if you're lucky. tough luck.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ HAN

jisung has no patience. if he wants you, he wants you. which is why you end up fucking in the car so often—no waiting, no hesitations, just pure, impulsive desire.

it usually happens after late-night drives. the city lights blur past as he grips the wheel, one hand occasionally straying to your thigh, drumming against your skin. it's so fucking soft against his fingers, he's already hard. and you just had to wear that little skirt that gives him easy access.

"you're driving me crazy," he mutters, trying to keep his eyes on the road, shifting in his seat. he's only just got his fucking license, he could hardly drive with the music on yet, much less with you sitting there like that.

he’s aching for you.

so when he pulls into some dark, empty parking lot, hands clenched around the steering wheel like he’s trying to keep himself in check, you decide to put him out of his misery.

you lean over, fingers already working at his belt.

he whimpers. actually fucking whimpers.

his cock is already hard, leaking, twitching against the cool air, and when you wrap your fingers around him, he bucks into your hand with a choked gasp.

"f-fuck, baby, please—"

yeah...you're not going home any time soon.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ FELIX

felix is dangerously charming, and he knows exactly how to turn an innocent moment into something sinful. it usually starts with something as simple as baking together, fingers covered in flour, soft laughter filling the space.

but then, his hands start lingering—a light touch on your lower back, a casual squeeze of your thigh, his voice dropping an octave as he murmurs, "You're making a mess, baby."

the moment he sees you licking something off your finger, tilting your head like you’re teasing him? yep, you're fucked. not quite literally yet tho.

before you know it, he’s lifting you onto the counter, lips trailing down your neck as he spreads your thighs, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat building between you both. the half-mixed batter is forgotten, the kitchen filled with breathless moans instead, his hands spreading your thighs apart, eating you out like a man starved.

which he is. he's always fucking starved for you.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ SEUNGMIN

the library is the last place you’d expect seungmin to be this filthy.

It always starts so subtly. he's supposed to be helping you study for your finals, flipping through textbooks in the quietest corner of the library. but then his hand finds your thigh under the table, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles.

"focus," he says, when he look at him sharply, voice perfectly neutral.

like he isn’t the one distracting you.

you try. poor thing, you really do. but his touch is persistent, featherlight strokes just beneath the hem of your skirt, moving higher, higher—so painfully slow that it’s infuriating.

"seungmin," you whisper, an urgent warning.

He doesn’t even glance up from his book. "what?"

you shoot him a glare, shifting in your seat to escape his touch, but his grip tightens just slightly—a silent command. Stay still.

"you should really be paying attention," he murmurs. "or do you need some extra motivation?"

oh he'll tell you that if you make it through the chapter like this that he'll reward you, give you what you really want. he'll keep you on the edge, till you're finally right there, so close--

he pulls away completely, returning to his textbook like nothing happened.

"you should finish your work first," he says, flipping a page. "i’ll think about rewarding you later."

the audacity.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ JEONGIN

his childhood bedroom.

you heard me.

the posters on the walls, the old books cluttering his desk, the twin-sized bed that barely fits both of you—it’s all so him. It should be innocent, just a short visit to his parents’ house, just a normal night.

or so you thought.

it starts with you lying next to him under the covers, whispering and giggling, trying not to wake anyone. he’s got one arm lazily draped over your waist, thumb rubbing slow circles against your hip. but then his hand slips lower—too low for something so casual—and suddenly, that mischievous smirk is on his lips.

"you’re being quiet," he teases, voice barely above a whisper. "something wrong?"

um yeah, something’s wrong. his parents are asleep down the hall. the walls are thin.

that’s the thrill—how you stiffen when he presses against you, how you grip his wrist when his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your shorts.

"aw, baby, that's just too bad" he coos, smirking against your skin. "You’re gonna have to be quiet for me."

the bed creaks when he shifts, pressing his weight against you, and he pauses—just for a second—listening for any signs of movement outside the door. when all remains quiet, he grins, his hand slipping beneath your pajama shorts, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning.

"shh," he breathes, pressing a finger to your lips. "if you wake them up, you’ll have to explain how their sweet, innocent jeongin has you like this."