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thewriteadviceforwriters · 7 months ago

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The Telling Truth: When 'Show, Don't Tell' Doesn't Apply (You Don't Always Have To Show, Don't Tell.)

Hey there, fellow writers and beloved members of the writeblr community! 📝✨

Today, I want to talk about something that's been on my mind lately, and I have a feeling it might resonate with many of you too. It's about that age-old writing advice we've all heard a million times: "Show, don't tell." Now, don't get me wrong – it's great advice, and it has its place in our writing toolbox. But here's the thing: it's not the be-all and end-all of good writing. In fact, I'd argue that sometimes, it's perfectly okay – even necessary – to tell rather than show.

First things first, let's address the elephant in the room. The "show, don't tell" rule has been drilled into our heads since we first picked up a pen (or opened a Word document) with the intention of writing creatively. It's been repeated in writing workshops, creative writing classes, and countless craft books. And for good reason! Showing can create vivid, immersive experiences for readers, allowing them to feel like they're right there in the story.

But here's where things get a bit tricky: like any rule in writing (or in life, for that matter), it's not absolute. There are times when telling is not just acceptable, but actually preferable. And that's what you all will explore today in this hopefully understandable blog post.

Let's start by breaking down why "show, don't tell" is so popular. When we show instead of tell, we're engaging the reader's senses and emotions. We're painting a picture with words, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions based on the details we provide. It's a powerful technique that can make our writing more engaging and memorable.

For example, instead of saying "Sarah was angry," we might write, "Sarah's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight as she glared at the broken vase." This gives the reader a clearer image and allows them to infer Sarah's emotional state.

But here's the thing: sometimes, we don't need or want that level of detail. Sometimes, efficiency in storytelling is more important than painting an elaborate picture. And that's where telling comes in handy.

Imagine if every single emotion, action, or piece of information in your story was shown rather than told. Your novel would probably be thousands of pages long, and your readers might get lost in the sea of details, losing sight of the main plot or character arcs.

So, when might telling be more appropriate? Let's explore some scenarios:

Summarizing less important events: If you're writing a story that spans a long period, you don't need to show every single day or event. Telling can help you summarize periods of time or less crucial events quickly, allowing you to focus on the more important parts of your story.

For instance: "The next few weeks passed in a blur of exams and late-night study sessions." This sentence tells us what happened without going into unnecessary detail about each day.

Providing necessary background information: Sometimes, you need to give your readers some context or backstory. While you can certainly weave this information into scenes, there are times when a straightforward telling of facts is more efficient.

Example: "The war had been raging for three years before Sarah's village was attacked." This quickly gives us important context without needing to show the entire history of the war.

Establishing pace and rhythm: Alternating between showing and telling can help you control the pace of your story. Showing tends to slow things down, allowing readers to immerse themselves in a moment. Telling can speed things up, moving the story along more quickly when needed.

Clarifying complex ideas or emotions: Some concepts or feelings are abstract or complex enough that showing alone might not suffice. In these cases, a bit of telling can help ensure your readers understand what's happening.

For example: "The quantum entanglement theory had always fascinated John, but explaining it to others often left him feeling frustrated and misunderstood." Here, we're telling the reader about John's relationship with this complex scientific concept, which might be difficult to show effectively.

Maintaining your narrative voice: Sometimes, telling is simply more in line with your narrative voice or the tone of your story. This is especially true if you're writing in a more direct or conversational style.

Now, I can almost hear some of you saying, "But wait! I've always been told that showing is always better!" And I completely get it. I'm a writer myself and prioritize "Show, Don't tell." in my writing all the time. We've been conditioned to believe that showing is superior in all cases. But we can take a moment to challenge that notion.

Think about some of your favorite books. Chances are, they use a mix of showing and telling. Even the most critically acclaimed authors don't adhere strictly to "show, don't tell" all the time. They understand that good writing is about balance and knowing when to use each technique effectively.

Take, for instance, the opening line of George Orwell's "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." This is a perfect blend of showing and telling. Orwell shows us it's a bright, cold day (we can imagine the crisp air and clear sky), but he tells us about the clocks striking thirteen. This immediate telling gives us crucial information about the world we're entering – it's not quite like our own.

Or consider this passage from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice": "Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character." Here, Austen is clearly telling us about Mr. Bennet's character rather than showing it through his actions. And yet, it works beautifully, giving us a quick, clear insight into both Mr. Bennet and his wife.

The key is to use both techniques strategically. So, how can you decide when to show and when to tell? Here are some tips:

Consider the importance of the information: Is this a crucial moment in your story, a pivotal emotion, or a key piece of character development? If so, it might be worth showing. If it's more of a transitional moment or background information, telling might be more appropriate.

Think about pacing: If you want to slow down and really immerse your reader in a moment, show it. If you need to move things along more quickly, tell it.

Evaluate the complexity: If you're dealing with a complex emotion or concept, consider whether showing alone will be enough to convey it clearly. Sometimes, a combination of showing and telling works best for complex ideas.

Consider your word count: If you're working with strict word count limitations (like in short stories or flash fiction), telling can help you convey necessary information more concisely.

Trust your instincts (Important): As you write more, you'll develop a feel for when showing or telling works better. Trust your gut, and don't be afraid to experiment.

Now, let's talk about how to tell effectively when you do choose to use it. Because here's the thing: telling doesn't have to be boring or flat. It can be just as engaging and stylish as showing when done well. Here are some tips for effective telling:

Use strong, specific language: Instead of using vague or generic words, opt for more specific, evocative language. For example, instead of "She was sad," you might write, "A profound melancholy settled over her."

Incorporate sensory details: Even when telling, you can include sensory information to make it more vivid. "The room was cold" becomes more engaging as "A bone-chilling cold permeated the room."

Use metaphors and similes: These can help make your telling more colorful and memorable. "His anger was like a volcano ready to erupt" paints a vivid picture without showing the anger in action.

Keep it concise: One of the advantages of telling is its efficiency. Don't negate that by being overly wordy. Get to the point, but do it with style.

Vary your sentence structure: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more flowing ones to create rhythm and maintain interest.

Remember, the goal is to create a seamless narrative that engages your reader. Sometimes that means showing, sometimes it means telling, and often it means a artful blend of both.

It's also worth noting that different genres and styles of writing may lean more heavily on one technique or the other. Literary fiction often employs more showing, delving deep into characters' psyches and painting elaborate scenes. Genre fiction, on the other hand, might use more telling to keep the plot moving at a brisker pace. Neither approach is inherently better – it all depends on what works best for your story and your style.

Now, I want to address something that I think many of us struggle with: the guilt or anxiety we might feel when we catch ourselves telling instead of showing. It's easy to fall into the trap of second-guessing every sentence, wondering if we should be showing more. But here's the truth: that kind of constant self-doubt can be paralyzing and ultimately detrimental to your writing process.

So, I want you to understand and think: It's okay to tell sometimes. You're not a bad writer for using telling in your work. In fact, knowing when and how to use telling effectively is a sign of a skilled writer.

Here's some practical ways to incorporate this mindset into your writing process:

First Draft Freedom: When you're writing your first draft, give yourself permission to write however it comes out. If that means more telling than showing, that's absolutely fine. The important thing is to get the story down. You can always revise and add more "showing" elements later if needed.

Revision with Purpose: When you're revising, don't automatically change every instance of telling to showing. Instead, ask yourself: Does this serve the story better as telling or showing? Consider the pacing, the importance of the information, and how it fits into the overall narrative.

Beta Readers and Feedback: When you're getting feedback on your work, pay attention to how readers respond to different sections. If they're engaged and understanding the story, then your balance of showing and telling is probably working well, regardless of which technique you're using more.

Study Your Favorite Authors: Take some time to analyze how your favorite writers use showing and telling. You might be surprised to find more instances of effective telling than you expected.

Practice Both Techniques (Important): Set aside some time to practice both showing and telling. Write the same scene twice, once focusing on showing and once on telling. This can help you develop a feel for when each technique is most effective.

Now, let's address another important point: the evolution of writing styles and reader preferences. The "show, don't tell" rule gained popularity in the early 20th century with the rise of modernist literature. But writing styles and reader tastes have continued to evolve since then.

In our current fast-paced world, where people are often reading on devices and in shorter bursts, there's sometimes a preference for more direct, efficient storytelling. This doesn't mean that showing is out of style, but it does mean that there's often room for more telling than strict adherence to "show, don't tell" would allow.

Moreover, diverse voices in literature are challenging traditional Western writing norms, including the emphasis on showing over telling. Some cultures have strong storytelling traditions that lean more heavily on telling, and as the literary world becomes more inclusive, we're seeing a beautiful variety of styles that blend showing and telling in new and exciting ways.

This brings me to an important point: your voice matters. Your unique way of telling stories is valuable. Don't let rigid adherence to any writing rule, including "show, don't tell," stifle your natural voice or the story you want to tell.

Remember, rules in writing are more like guidelines. They're tools to help us improve our craft, not unbreakable laws. The most important rule is to engage your reader and tell your story effectively. If that means more telling than the conventional wisdom suggests, then so be it.

As I wrap up this discussion, I want to leave you with a challenge: In your next writing session, consciously use both showing and telling. Pay attention to how each technique feels, how it serves your story, and how it affects the rhythm of your writing. You might discover new ways to blend these techniques that work perfectly for your unique style.

Writing is an art, not a science. There's no perfect formula, no one-size-fits-all approach. It's about finding what works for you, your story, and your readers. So embrace both showing and telling. Use them as the powerful tools they are, and don't be afraid to break the "rules" when your instincts tell you to.

Remember, every great writer started where you are now, learning the rules and then figuring out when and how to break them effectively. You're part of a long, proud tradition of storytellers, each finding their own path through the winding forest of words.

Keep writing, keep growing, and keep believing in yourself. You've got this!

Happy writing! 💖✍️ - Rin T.

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lovscb97 · 1 month ago

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railway (b.cc.) ༉‧₊˚.

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ TRACK 001: part of the step out series

synopsis: you didn’t mean to get tied up with your best friend’s ex-boyfriend, but sometimes all you can do is hold on tight for the rough ride ahead of you, even if it means going against all the pre-written rules of friendship.

tags: best friend's ex!bangchan x fem!reader, angst, forbidden romance, mutually toxic relationship, morally grey characters, chan and reader are both kind of awful, mention of other idols (rest of stray kids, stayc, enhypen, etc), oc as chan's ex-girlfriend (aeri), mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, use of nicknames (baby, darling, etc), very brief pussy slapping, possessiveness, mild dacryphilia, car sex, fingering, sir kink, squirting, jealousy, slight exhibitionism, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation (bitch, slut, etc), dirty talk, very brief mention of strength kink, mirror sex, breeding kink, creampie, brief choking, slight overstimulation, etc

theme board: www.pin.1003 / song link: prod:b.cc

wc: 7.85k

add. notes: welcome 2 the first course >:] i've offered my insights n analysis on railway alr but delving into the meaning of the song n creating a whole fic based off of it was very intriguing for me esp cus i don't usually write based off of music i listen to. i knew i wanted smth wrong to put out but i don't like infidelity n the usual story on toxic situations is tough to pull of so i decided to go down the more 'scandalous' route of sorts n make chan ur best friend's ex instead :3 there's a pinterest board i made for all these fics which for this one u can find linked above to grasp the aesthetics of it n i'd recommend reading this while listening to railway ofc. as always plz make sure u watch out for the tags n dni if ur a minor. also sidenote but aeri (the oc) is not meant to be seen as giselle from aespa but rather i just used that name bcs it's pretty lol just thought i'd lyk that. either way i hope u all enjoy!

. . .

19:23 PM from: dni!!! Wyd?

you swallow thickly at the sight of the text which lights up your screen, eyes zeroed in on the simple three letters which still hold thousands of words worth of meaning in themselves when combined. if it weren’t for the rubber case at the back, you reckon you would’ve dropped your phone with how instantly sweaty your palms become upon having received the message. the way you’re staring at your app, maybe even enough to bore holes into the words displayed back at you, doesn't go unnoticed either, and you barely manage to pocket the device as quick as you'd pulled it out just in time as your best friend approaches you.

“everything okay? you look kinda pale.” aeri frowns once she’s in front of you, voice laced with concern so sweet that it almost makes bile rise up your throat as you attempt to lean back against jake’s kitchen counter to stabilise yourself. she doesn’t seem to buy the eventual shaky nodding of your head that you offer after realising she’d just asked you something that required an answer, but even if she wants to probe you further, she doesn’t, deciding to immerse you in conversation about something your other friends had told her; another one of her gossip sessions with yoon and jungwon, you presume.

her storytelling fades into background noise at some point, for you can’t ignore the heavy weight of the object tucked away in the back of your skirt pocket, still incessantly burning and buzzing with notifications you know you shouldn’t pay half a mind to. you’re well aware that they’re all most likely from the same person; the one individual you shouldn’t and have no right to indulge and mix with to this day; whose bedsheets you’ve found yourself tangled up in late at night alongside dirty noises slipping past both your lips; the very man who remains as sin personified in the storyline of your current life, and honestly might stay that way for as long as you live.

or in other words, aeri’s ex-boyfriend, chan.

your best friend met chan in her final year of university, bumping into him on chance encounter outside her lecture hall and exchanging textbooks by accident. chan had been all smiles when she’d invited him to lunch as an apology for the mix up, often tagging along with her after that until soon enough, they grew close enough and began seeing each other romantically. he seemed to treat her well for the most part, and you were happy for aeri that she’d found a good man worth her time and effort in the world. she’d drag you with her on their outings one too many times, and you’d gotten to know him from those instances, finding him to be a decent match for her.

unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and the spark between them started dwindling. you’re not sure what exactly happened, only able to recall bits and pieces from what aeri had told you mid-sob on your calls about her previous lover slowly becoming distant nearing the final stages of their relationship, so you’ve always just thought it was a mutual decision to cut ties for the betterment of each other. according to her vividly detailed breakdowns though, chan had been the one to suggest calling it off first, and everything came to a screeching halt three years down the line with much screaming and tears from her side. to an extent, their split did shake up things a little between all your mutual friends, but it also didn’t fully stop everybody from engaging with each other. all this brings you to your current situation— waiting in jake’s apartment for the rest of your friends to arrive for a random party he’d decided to plan on a whim.

“yo, guys!” speak of the devil, you think, tugging yourself out of your thoughts as you turn your body to let jake’s figure come into view. he beams at you like a big puppy, his hair flopping in a way that loosely resembles dog ears, and you remember after a split second that that’s just how your friend is referred to as in your group; the resident golden retriever. he parades up to you and aeri as one too, his vibrant smile lighting up the atmosphere in a way that you can’t stop relief from flooding your system at his presence.

“how are my favourite girls doing this fine evening?” he smirks, his usual flirting the same as always, causing aeri to roll her eyes as you chuckle. “har har up yours, sim.” she sticks her tongue out, prompting jake to do the same as he ruffles her hair, to which she shrieks. “oh, by the way,” jake perks up as if he’s just thought of something, completely ignoring your best friend smacking him on the arm lightly over his actions. “y/n, would you be so kind as to get the pack of beer from my car?” he pleads, doe eyes twinkling under the light of the room.

you’re about to groan in protest, not wanting to go back out in the cold and freeze your ass off for a measly few cans of alcohol, but the front door swinging open accompanied by the all too familiar voice you’ve grown acquainted to fills the air, making your stomach drop— chan. chan is here. suddenly, you’re not too opposed to getting far away, and you quickly nod your head rapidly in agreement, not bothering to wait for the way jake lights up at you accepting his proposal before snatching the keys from his hold and darting towards the lift.

chan’s jaw tightens at this. he barely manages to catch a glimpse of you from how you rush out past him, not even able to take in your outfit or face in the dashing haze you leave in. he points his thumb to where you had exited, bluffing something about helping you when jake responds how you’d gone out to grab the load of drinks he’d been too lazy to heave upstairs himself. nobody makes any work to question him when he turns on his heel to catch the elevator himself, thinking nothing of his usual gentleman-like behaviour.

nobody except for a pair of eyes lingering on his disappearing frame that neither one of the visitors in the house manages to grasp onto.

meanwhile, you quickly find yourself in the outdoor parking lot of jake’s building, hugging your shivering body tightly in an effort to warm yourself up against the chilling wind that blows past the trees. the sky has basically turned dark by now, but the streetlamps hanging overhead on the sides of the pavement serve as enough illumination to carry out your task. your breath comes out in heavy smoke to the point you can see it, and you try your best to spot your friend’s car as soon as possible, cheering internally when you manage to do so. after having jogged on over to it, you enter the key into the trunk lock with trembling fingers, twisting it until that same latch you’ve grown used to feeling with your own vehicle opens and makes way for you to push up the boot lid.

you’re about to hook underneath to manoeuvre it open, that is, until a sudden cold hand tugs on the bare skin of your arm, making you jump out of your own flesh. you open your mouth to yell out loud, ready to alert your friends a few floors upstairs that someone is trying to kidnap you potentially when that same hand clamps over it. only when your vision stabilises in your dimly lit surroundings do you recognise chan in front of you, and you feel your shoulders physically drop as you put down your defences, glaring at him when he removes himself.

“why the hell would you sneak up on me like that? i—“

“are you avoiding me?”

his question comes out gruff and annoyed, causing you to blink at the way he’s glowering at you in suspicion. his arms are crossed against his chest, hiding the black button-up you’ve seen him wearing and committed to memory one too many times from how it clings perfectly onto his chiselled shoulders and biceps. it makes you gulp, but you attempt to hide your affected reaction anyways, delivering a scoff in his direction which only makes chan grit his teeth at your attitude. “so what if i am? you know damn well either way without needing me to spell it out for you.” you bite back, moving to turn around when he catches you by the elbow, leaving you to scowl at him.

“what’s gotten into you? just a few days ago, we were fine, yet now you’re ignoring my texts?” he narrows his eyes, holding you in place so you can’t budge away from him. you let out a faint tch at his words, more so at your own susceptibility to succumb to his advances, but chan tongues the side of his cheek after assuming you’re just being blatantly disrespectful towards him. his voice drops to a lower, seductive tone as he speaks up again. “need me to remind you again? you came over last saturday and humped my thigh before squirting on my tong— hmph!“

“god, yes, i fucking remember, okay?” you exclaim in a whisper after having slapped a hand over his mouth this time, eyes darting around frantically to make sure no one heard that. “could you be any more louder? jesus christ.” chan peels you off of him shortly afterwards, his expression souring at the way you address him. something about the anger in his features makes your own rise, and you feel any or all remorse you'd experienced prior to seeing him in person today vanish, replaced with a bubbling hatred of sorts.

you and chan began your weird affiliation with one another around two months ago, exactly a few days after he and your best friend broke up. to this day, you don’t know why he made a move on you, much less why you yourself reciprocated it. sure, you’d always found him objectively attractive when he and aeri were together, and while he may be your exact match of an ideal type to a tee, you would never think to act on the growing tension you experienced for him, especially when he was in a long term commitment with the closest person in the world to you.

it all happened in the most random of occurrences too. you still remember meeting him the night you were out at the convenience store to run errands, catching him hunched over a table in a hoodie and messy hair with two bottles of soju in front. he’d flashed you a polite smile and offered to drink together, which realistically, you should’ve declined. you should’ve turned the other way in disgust and walked out on him to tell your best friend what he’d attempted to do, regardless of whether that would’ve led to something or not. instead, you found yourself in his bed that day, moaning his name as he ravished you under the moonlight streaming through his curtains in your combined drunken craze.

the next morning had been full of hiccuped cries, chan cradling you in his arms despite the scalding touch of his hold gnashing against you and leaving metaphorical imprints that you would never be able to scrub off. each time he soothed you, rubbing your back and kissing your hair, you felt the waves of guilt wash over harsher than the last. he continued to reassure you throughout anyways, telling you it’d be okay and that no one would have to know. blindly, you’d believed him, promising yourself and him to never act on either of your arbitrary lust by not letting go of your inhibitions.

that was the first lie you told yourself.

“y’know, i’m really not a fan of this whole backtalk towards me.” chan criticises, and you laugh bitterly after picking up on his audible disappointment as it hits your ears. “see? there it is again. maybe i’ve gotta teach you some manners, hm?” his tone is sultry once more, leaving you fighting the urge to flush under his gaze. you ultimately lose though, wanting nothing more than to punch him in the face with the way he snickers at your cheeks reddening crimson. instead, you try retain the little dignity you have left as you push against his chest, scanning your parameters with paranoia when he steps closer to you.

“we can’t.” you mumble, clearly slipping. chan’s only response to that is a breathless huff, warm against your face as you peer up at him through your lashes, finally getting a good look at him. he’s wearing his signature hoop earrings today, hair brushed down so his bangs fall over his forehead. the collar of that same dress shirt he’s got on is popped despite a few buttons being undone, leaving the styling choice to highlight his collarbone. that same milky skin you’ve ghosted your nails over multiple times hides underneath the black fabric, leaving you to shiver at the memories of it. it also doesn’t help that the way he towers you is sending your mind reeling into submission way too easily, and you only manage to shake out of it when his fingers trail down to wrap around your wrist, allowing you to feel the cold metal of a ring you recognise all too well press into your joint—

the same half of a promise ring you’d helped him pick out for aeri a year ago.

the realisation that he’s still wearing it hits, and combined with the once again forming shame in the back of your head, it all makes you want to shove him away in favour of storming out of here to tell your best friend everything once and for all. a part of you can sense undue jealousy simmering inside at the fact that he’s still got a piece of her with him too, something you know you have no right to feel, but you try ignore it to your best ability. “chan, we can’t.” you repeat with a hitch in your breath, more so for yourself than him. and yet, you don’t even believe your own words, finding the less rational and weak side of you surrendering to the temptation chan tantalises in you; it overshadows whatever morality you have left.

“d’you really want me to stop?” he breathes out, body sagging far too close into yours for it to be friendly, although you suppose none of your interactions since starting this scandalous relationship have ever been that. his fingers, the very same ones bearing the ring on them, move to wrap around your throat, forcing you to tilt your head up and lock eyes with him. goosebumps prick your skin when you catch sight of the way his gaze is hooded, orbs swirling with black desire he’s begun to reserve only for you in these coming weeks. “because, if you want me to stop, i will.” chan points out. “say the word and i’ll turn around. out of sight, out of mind.” he makes a statement out of it by retracting his hand from you, but the very distinct whine you let out is all the confirmation he needs to press his mouth to yours.

kissing chan always feels like playing with fire. it scorches, and singes, and sears, reducing you to a burnt crisp, yet you can’t help but yearn for the flame he ignites in you. even the way he’s clutching onto you now, pressing forward with a fervour only you bring out in him, has his lips moulding against your cherry stained ones despite not fitting as perfectly as you’d want them to. the two of you are by no means a compatible match for each other; neither of you has made a single good decision ever since you began indulging in whatever you’ve got going on, but you also can’t help but crave the scandalous nature of everything. you’re truly a despicable pair, you think.

“get in the car.” chan’s voice cuts through your thoughts when he pulls away. he doesn’t even give you time to think when he walks over and opens the door, gesturing inside to the warm confines of the backseat. ideally, you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but alas, you’ve never been one to listen to yourself, instead finding your legs scrambling and following suit to shuffle into jake’s vehicle before the weight of your actions even sinks in. chan’s hot on your trail too, and before you can even get comfortable in the cramped space, he’s returning to making out with you, fingers roaming greedily around the expanse of your skin.

“t-they’ll know we’re gone.” you stutter, moving your face out of his reach to try and stop chan’s movements when it finally dawns on you that your friends had sent you out on an errand you’d taken far too long to complete by now. chan’s only response is to grunt though, tugging you back in for another smouldering kiss that knocks the wind out of your lungs. his hands grasp, pinch, and squeeze whatever part of you they can, until he’s finally decided that he’s had enough foreplay, opting to cage you underneath him and hike up the tight, red dress that’s adorning your body for today’s occasion. “i’ll be quick. i always am.” he winks, and you’re too far gone now to understand that he’s responding to your previous comment, a fact that only makes him chuckle.

“wore this to tease me, yeah?” chan clicks his tongue at the way he has to practically peel off the bottom half of your clothing, the snug fit of the fabric around your curves leaving nothing to the imagination as he bites his lip. he debates whether he’s glad you chose this outfit to show off for him, or if that pisses him off because it means everybody gets an eyeful of your figure; he decides on the latter. “wanted to slut yourself out for my attention? all you had to do was ask, baby.” you shake your head with a whimper, and he raises an eyebrow at your reaction. “d-didn’t.. didn’t wear it for you.” you manage to breathe out, which proves to be the wrong answer because next thing you know, his hand is coming down to smack your clothed core.

you yelp at the sting of his actions, teary eyes blinking up at him in a way that makes chan’s boxers tighten. he’s so close to losing his composure, but he holds back for your sake, not wanting to let you see his cool slip. “is that so? i guess you’re just a dirty girl then.” he sneers, yanking down your soaked panties in one swift motion, leaving you to gasp as the cool air hits your sticky folds.

chan wastes not even one second, knobby digits dragging through the wetness he’s not surprised to find whatsoever. he spreads it over your clit, getting you messier than you already are, especially from the way you appear to leak even more arousal from his movements. he touches you until you’re twitching under his hold, biting back the sounds that threaten to escape you, which seems to be a fact he doesn’t approve of from the way he pinches your nub between his fingers; you cry out softly from the rush of stimulation it shoots through you. “eyes on me.” chan growls, sliding his hand down to circle your oozing hole before he’s abruptly shoving two fingers inside.

“fuck.” you moan this time, loud and clear. this seems to satisfy him, seeing as he rewards you with a steady pump of his digits thrusting into your heat. his speed in fingering you increases quickly, and it isn’t long before he’s scissoring you open, the sloppy sounds of your juices slicking up his fingers and echoing in the stuffy space of jake’s car. you’re probably staining the leather of the seats, but neither you nor chan seem to care about that right now, not when he’s knuckle deep inside your wet cunt and you’re making such pretty noises all for him.

“just filthy, aren’t ya? getting finger fucked in the back of your friends car. i bet your dumb little brain can’t even understand what i’m saying right now.” chan mocks, his tone laced with a level of condescension that only makes you buck your hips up to chase his movements. you know he’s completely right too, because the way he’s thrusting his digits inside you, stroking your warm walls with the tips of them has you seeing stars to the point you can’t even respond back something snarky in return. “all you’re good for is being a nasty toy for sir’s use, hm?” you barely even register his question, only remembering you need to answer him when he pulls his wet hand away to smack you once more, this time over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“y-yes, sir. only a toy for you. jus’ you.” you mindlessly slur out, and chan groans at that. not even a moment passes before he’s sinking his fingers back inside you, curling them up to massage that rough spot which always has you clenching down on him. his expression twists to a smug one when you jerk forward instantly. bingo, he thinks. “that’s that spot there, yeah? the one that has you losing yourself on me?” he coos, but his voice drips with a smidge of venom you can’t quite fixate on just yet. instead, you nod dumbly, spasming around him as you try grind upwards to chase the rising sensation of your climax.

chan leans into your frame, one hand splayed flat onto jake’s backseat above your head to maintain his balance whilst his body hovers over you. by now, your eyes are clenched shut, but he can’t even find it in him to get mad at you over that, not when you’re dribbling down his wrist and mewling so pretty under the glow of the night as he works you towards your orgasm. “c’mon, baby. cum f’me. wanna see you cum so pretty for sir.” he encourages, jaw locked with concentration.

it only takes about one or two flicks of his expertly trained thumb pressing on your puffy clit, combined with the pads of his fingers hitting your g-spot with terrifying accuracy, before you’re shuddering through your climax. a small, clear stream of liquid sprays out the sides of where he’s got you plugged up, and he pulls his hand away in favour of rubbing you over to coax out the last remnants of your high. your quivering body thrashes when he tries to draw out the remaining few droplets again, weakly bringing your arm up to push him away gently when the shocks of overstimulation begin to take over. chan dips down to place one, final kiss on your lips, smooching down to your chin as a way to say you did well. his actions make you heart beat out of your chest, but you don’t say anything about the domesticity of them.

you wonder if he ever treated aeri like this after having been intimate with her.

“go in first. i’ll clean up the car.” chan clears his throat after a short while, not daring to make eye contact with you as he quietly pulls your underwear back up your legs. you watch in silence while he sits up, looking for a rag to fix the mess you two made when that same awkward air you’ve gotten used to facing with him enters the atmosphere, leaving you to try and ignore how it tugs at the strings of your soul as you give a curt nod. “don’t forget the beer.” you remind him before swinging the door open to step outside, finding yourself back in the nipping cold of the winter night.

you try and stand on your wobbly legs to straighten out the creases of your dress, paying no mind to the way your skin echoes with the ghost of chan’s previous touch. behind you, you can hear him rolling down the windows to let the musky smell of sex out of jake’s backseat, and you almost dare to sneak a glance back until deciding against it, knowing it’ll just hurt more. instead, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, opening them to land on the small balcony of your friend’s apartment where the rest of your group seems to have already gathered from the silhouettes you can see through the foggy glass. your conscience feels heavy with the weight of the knowledge that aeri is up there too, but you brush it off, just like all the other times you have.

i didn’t do anything wrong, you tell yourself, i’m still in the clear. that’s the second lie you’ve tried to believe in these last two months. a long sigh escapes your lips at that realisation, but you bite it down when making your way back inside the building, choosing to rack your brain on what shitty excuse you’ll have to provide this time for being gone so long.

. . .

to your surprise, nobody bothers to question why either you or chan disappeared, simply whisking you back in conversation about unrelated topics when you walk in through the door a few minutes before him. as per usual, your heart still feels heavy when you watch aeri laugh at something heeseung and sieun are arguing over, but you cover it up by letting out a noise of amusement yourself, hoping it throws off any suspicion that might be directed your way. you don’t bother turning your head upon hearing jake’s delight at the sight of chan entering his apartment with the very much requested pack of beer too, deciding to force a smile at whatever point heeseung is busy making over looking back no matter how much your body itches to do so.

it’s even worse how from the corner of your eye, you can see aeri shifting uncomfortably on her feet at her ex-boyfriend’s second arrival, her expression dropping in the slightest so as to not draw attention to herself, but it’s still enough for you to notice. it only makes the weight of your actions dawn on you further, and you can’t help but let your mind wander as to what she’d say if she knew what truly went on behind closed doors. despite your best efforts to bury those thoughts beneath you though, you know there’s nothing you can do to make amends to the problems you’ve created yourself. after all, you’ve got to reap what you sow.

the party continues to kick in on full swing after that, with you and aeri both doing your best to keep your distances from chan for all too different reasons. it doesn’t help that you can feel someone’s stare raking across your figure throughout the duration of the evening, and when you finally do decide to sneak a glance in that direction with expectations of finding chan ogling you over, you’re met with a different answer—

for it isn’t you he’s busy looking at, but rather your best friend that’s been glued to your side since the beginning of the night.

he averts his gaze as quick as he’d cast it when you catch him, seamlessly blending back in discussion with whatever nonsense changbin is rambling about this time, acting like he hadn’t just been getting an eyeful of his ex-girlfriend moments prior. you also don’t miss how he fiddles with the old ring that adorns his right hand, long fingers twisting it around the middle digit in a way that’s reminiscent of his past behaviour, or at least based on what you’d often find him doing back then.

his actions spark a memory deep from the confines of your brain, one you wish you hadn’t remembered as the vision of chan asking you to help pick out promise rings for him and aeri crosses your mind. it was raining heavily that day, but he’d insisted that the two of you go out in secret anyways so he could buy his then girlfriend a token of his love and appreciation. he’d claimed you knew her taste the best and could therefore help in selecting a better possible gift for their upcoming anniversary than he ever could.

you’d hesitantly agreed, and although you weren’t sure how it would all play out, you later found yourself sharing an umbrella and visiting various jewellery stores to point out all the designs you knew your closest friend would adore. chan had settled soon on a matching pair for the two of them, beaming in your direction with a bright smile that left you weak in the knees despite however much you tried to hide it. a few days later, aeri excitedly showed off her own silver band to you, buzzing about how he’d chosen the perfect present that she couldn’t wait to replace with a real one in their future; you couldn’t help then but think if he ever told her it was all your idea instead of his.

“hey, can you hold my phone?” your best friend’s voice cuts through your inner replay, and you blink in a daze to find her facing you, expression innocent. “hyunjin asked to play beer pong, and i don’t have any pockets to put it away in safely.” she explains at your confused face, but all you can do is nod as you robotically outstretch your arm to take it off of her. unfortunately or fortunately, that’s when you notice it—

the same matching ring on her hand.

aeri doesn’t pay you any attention when she drops off her device into your awaiting palm, not even realising you’re zeroed in on the jewellery that decorates her left hand with a fire burning in your eyes that you’re both ignorant of. you don’t stop gaping even when felix shakes your shoulder, asking you what you’re so fixated on before leaving you be under the impression that you’re probably just drunk out of your head. meanwhile, you’re still frozen in place, everything around you seeming to slow down.

why is chan wearing a ring he bought for his ex-girlfriend two years ago to a party he knows she’s going to be at? no, why does said ex-girlfriend also have her matching pair of the ring on her hand at a party she too is aware he’s going to be present for? much less, why are either of them hung up on each other to the point they’re carrying around reminders of their past relationship with one another? you know the answer to all these questions, but you don’t wish to sit and delve into them in fear you might throw up at the conclusion they’ll give you. instead, all you can do is squeeze the can of seltzer you’d spiked in your hand dangerously tight out of unwanted emotion, enough for some of the liquid inside to spill out. you can’t be bothered to care about it though, just like how you can’t be bothered to care about how anybody in their right mind could probably see you gawking at chan right now.

you watch as he cracks up at a joke seungmin makes, his head falling back in a fit of laughter you’ve been a happy witness or recipient of multiple times, yet this time it fills you with emotion that you don’t wish to identify in fear it’d mean something more than what you’re capable of confronting right now. even so, you can’t stop the train of questions invading your thoughts at the view in front of you. did he laugh like that with aeri? smile so wide with her? couldn’t help the joy that spread across due to her presence? maybe that’s why he came today, because he couldn’t take his mind off of her, especially seeing as he was wearing a symbol of their time spent before right now.

but, what does that say about you in this picture? were you just a scapegoat to escape all those feelings for him? had you been one this entire time, only deluding yourself into thinking what you both had translated into a situation deeper and could potentially progress into one even more had things happened under different circumstances? the more you think, the more you feel nauseous, and you can’t stop yourself from diverting your gaze to where your best friend is, observing her concentrated face as she attempts to aim a ping pong ball into one of the lined up solo cups. your eyes involuntarily flicker to the ring on her finger once more, its evident shimmer reflecting in the light causing you to clutch your drink tighter.

you’re not a jealous person by any means. you know your boundaries, hence you know chan isn’t yours. he isn’t an object you can own, and neither are you to him. that was the unspoken agreement you both nodded on when you got into this entire ordeal— you’re both free to see other people openly in front of aeri as long as it’s not each other, because the latter you manage in secret despite the shame that surges in you two upon doing so. it doesn’t matter if you wish to stake your claim on him, to see the marks you leave on him evident on his skin the next morning for him to show off other girls who think they stand a chance at him taking them to bed. it doesn’t matter how much your heart aches when you wake up to the blanket strewn aside from his absence, the sheets long gone cold to indicate that he’d left hours ago. it doesn’t matter how much you wish to cling onto his arm in public and profess your.. feelings for him in front of everyone else.

it simply doesn’t matter, it never did. chan’s never been yours, and he never will be anytime soon.

20:51 PM from: Myself meet me at the upstairs bathroom in five

you punch in the message before you can even think, watching it turn from delivered to read in a matter of seconds. the three dots next to chan’s side of texts appear, indicating that he’s typing, but you choose to lock your device rather than waiting like a dog to see him reply. instead, your feet lead you to your designated location, taking one step at a time leisurely as opposed to in a rush so as to not draw unwanted attention to yourself. right as you reach the door handle, your phone pings with a familiar ringtone.

20:52 PM from: dni!!! Reacted with “👍🏻” to your message

you sigh. tonight was going to be a long night.

. . .

skin slapping. heavy panting. low grunting.

that’s all you can hear from where you’re splayed across the sink in the small confines of jake’s bathroom, aside from the occasional thumping of music booming from downstairs. if you strain your ear enough, you’ll be able to make out the lyrics to the cliche song that’s come up on shuffle, but you honestly lack the mentality to care about that right now, especially considering the way chan has your legs pushed apart in favour of drilling his length into you. each thrust is rapid and fervent in nature, seeming to knock the wind out of your lungs to the point you don’t even realise how loud you’re being until his hand comes up to shove two fingers in your mouth. “be fucking quiet.” he sneers, leaving you to drool everywhere. the only reaction he spares when you try muffle out an apology is a sickening smirk at that too.

“needed this, didn’t you, slut? always need to be filled with some cock like a bitch in heat.” chan chuckles, but there’s a dark edge to his voice that sends shivers crawling up your spine. he presses down on your tongue with the pads of his fingers, and you can’t stop the garbling of spit choking past your lips from the way his thickness nestles deep inside you. each heavy drag of his dick against your rough walls leaves you clenching and attempting to buck your hips forward, but you can’t even manage that with the grip he has on your waist. the mere idea that all chan really needs to restrain you is the simple strength of his one hand sends your mind reeling, so much so that you don’t even realise he’s speaking to you until the hand that was previously in your mouth pulls out to slap light and wet against your cheek.

“i asked you a question, whore.” chan growls, the sound resonating warm within your stomach despite the mean undertone to it as his movements still. you blink up at him in confusion at this point, doe eyes brimming with tears that threaten to spill from the loss of pleasure in a way that has chan damn near finishing. it doesn’t help that he’s buried to the hilt currently, hissing painfully at how you squeeze down on him in involuntary instinct. for a split second, you swear you see the ridges on his face soften, and the manner in which he looms over you feels filled with more comfort than intimidation, but that smidge of emotion vanishes as soon as it arrives. “i said,” chan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “do you wanna get caught?” you rapidly shake your head no at that, and chan cocks his head to the side.

“oh, really?” he muses, nails sliding over to dig into the supple flesh of your thigh, making you whine out loud. “‘cause with the way you’re making so much noise like that, i’d have assumed the opposite.” with a click of his tongue, his actions resume. luckily, all that escapes you is a loud gasp this time, an anxious clamp of your palm over your mouth barely covering up the rest of your lewdity. you wish so desperately to refute, to plead him in favour of slowing down and having some mercy, but the sensation of his bulbous cockhead slamming roughly into that one spot only sends stars in your vision and prevents your previous desires.

your body jerks in chan’s hold even more when his same hand still lubed with your saliva finds it way between where you’re connected, leaving you to suppress a pathetic whimper that longs to bubble out of your throat as he presses the tips of his fingers to your swollen clit. his touch is harsh, filled with an overwhelming need to make you burst at the seams, but the fear that lingers in the back of your head refuses to let you fall apart so easily, not when aeri is barely a flight of stairs from your vicinity. chan decides he isn’t fond of the silence you’re giving him though, pulling out with a quiet mumble for you to get down and face the mirror. he sheaths himself back in just as quickly, setting an unforgiving pace from the seemingly more accessible position, and this time, you really can’t stop the long drawn out moan that escapes you.

“j-just like that, yeah, baby? all those filthy noises are just for me, aren’t they?” he sounds more delirious this time, presumably drunk off the essence of this situation from the possessive gibberish he’s spouting, just like he always does in the heat of the moment. unfortunately for you, you’re no better than him, nodding furiously in agreement as you babble high-pitched and breathy. “so good, sir! s-so, so fucking good, feels so good! wan’ cum f’you, p-please. ‘m a good girl, please lemme cum, please, please, please.” small stutters spew out of you mid-sentence, but neither of you can be bothered by them, too wrapped up in the throes of all-consuming passion and contempt even to register what’s being said.

“such a nasty, nasty girl.. getting fucked by your best friend’s ex. don’t you feel a-any shame?” chan groans almost wearily in midst of his lust-filled haze, eyes catching yours from the reflection of the mirror that’s displaying you getting absolutely wrecked right now. the sight of you so fucked up and in bliss, no coherent thought visible by the looks of your dazed expression and tongue halfway lolling out— it all has him burning with hot, rampant hunger. hunger for you, hunger to claim you. “look at yourself.” he rasps, fingers clutching at your chin to force you into meeting where he is. “look how dirty you are, fuck. what would she say about you wrapped so warm and snug around my cock? hm? think we should— ah. think we should call her in and find out?”

the tears that were brewing in your waterline are streaming down your face by now, horrifically mimicking the disgusting manner in your wetness seeping and dripping down chan’s balls. you feel awful. downright terrible and tainted, forever branded by the searing touch of chan’s skin grazing against yours because that’s what you are, that’s what you have been for the past two months. down from the night you let him lead you into his sheets, following the countless occasions you found yourself returning there, and finally falling to now, your underwear strewn across the tiles of jake’s bathroom as you spread your legs for the same man who broke your best friend’s heart; the same man who you’ve let into yours after very consciously disregarding the repercussions of your actions.��

you’re truly a loathsome piece of work.

“think she’d like to watch me fill this pussy up? watch me shoot my load deep inside you over and over again until i’m sure it’s taken?” chan mutters, hot breath fanning against your sweaty neck. “maybe i should breed this stupid cunt full of my seed and send you back out there with it spilling past your legs. that way, every time you sit down, you’ll feel it inside you.” the mental image of his release lodged in your walls as you’re surrounded by all your friends, surrounded by the one person you’ve both been hiding from, all of them oblivious to the way he’s staked his claim on you except for the shared knowledge between you two and you two only— it has you quivering to the point you physically keen in his hold. chan, however, just laughs sadistically at your reaction.

“you’ll feel it as a reminder of me, yeah? a reminder that you’re just as terrible as me. coming to me to get this slutty cunt stuffed even though you know you shouldn’t.” he continues to whisper. “after all, it takes two to tango, darling.” chan makes it a point to tilt his hips up in an effort to ensure his mushroom tip hits your g-spot with precise force, all the while breathlessly uttering more sickening words in your ear in hopes of fulfilling your need for relief.

surely enough, the combination of his cock shoving itself past your opening and his guilt-inducing remarks that only make you sob harder work you up to the point of no return. all it really takes after that is one touch of his thumb to your pulsating nub to eventually have you seizing up in no time, your pussy messily tightening and gushing as your high crashes over you in large waves of ecstasy. it seems to trigger him too, because by the time you even realise you’re there, chan’s twitching and leaking spurts of thick cum inside you. there’s so much of it that it trickles past where he’s got you plugged up, and you barely comprehend yourself pushing a hand near your oozing hole to catch it on your fingertips.

you both come to slowly, ragged breathing that fills the air growing quieter to pair with the musk of the room. chan’s gaze is still trained on you through the mirror, unreadable just like always whenever you’ve made the same mistake again, but you take the opportunity in this instance specifically to raise the hand that’s collected his seed in it to your mouth, proceeding to lick up the droplets of his excess release. even though you don’t catch his stare in the reflection, you can still feel it burning holes through your head, a fact that only leaves goosebumps rising over your skin. it’s only when you pull your hand away once more to catch the last of his remaining cum that he decides to finally interject, grabbing your palm in his coarse one with hooded eyes. they’re blown out when he tugs your back flush into his chest, the impact leaving his length pushing deeper inside, and they’re blown out when his fingers wrap around your neck to give it a slight squeeze, the little loss of oxygen making your mind spin.

“you think that’s funny? teasing me even after i just fucked you? after i left my mark on you and made sure you know that you’re mine?” chan murmurs, lips sultrily ghosting the shell of your ear. you want to fixate on what he’d addressed you as, let it marinate in your thoughts and brood over it for the next weeks to come even if it was just an absentminded slip of the mouth, but your focus is interrupted by the moving of his hips against yours picking up once more. the previously repeated actions send his dick driving into you again, breaching your cervix and pressing deliciously into every nook and cranny in a way that has you nearly losing your footing, but chan is quicker to hold you up with his free hand. “w-wait, ‘m still sensitive.” you manage to tremble out at a particularly well-placed graze of his cock, but chan doesn’t seem to care, grinding into you even more eagerly at your admission to the point you struggle to keep the sounds spilling out you at bay.

there’s a resounding knock on the door all of a sudden, one that makes your breath hitch and your chest twist in uneasiness. some part of you feels wary and on edge, and you would assume chan’s movements would halt at that, but he doesn’t show any signs of stopping, ignoring your frantic attempts to make him do so by holding you in place instead as he begins to pick up the pace. “s-stop, we’ll get caught.” you heave out upon the noise of skin slapping rising in volume. you do your best to stand your ground, to avoid the gradual closing of your eyes and the mushy fog of your brain clouding over in euphoria, but it’s to no avail. you’re about to let go of your inhibitions completely, to forget about what had just happened and throw caution into the wind in order to lose yourself in the moment, until—

“y/n, i know you’re in there with chris.”

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

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k-hippie · 15 days ago

Text

BRAND NEW K-MOD -> THE K-808 RELEASE -> FIRST WAVE

Its complete name ? k-808 ( Vista Mod )

its function ? The Vista Mod transforms every matte painting and distant background into something more natural, rich, and immersive. Now, the faraway horizons of your Sims’ worlds feel alive and textured—just as they should ... from our perspective ;)

How was it made ? We extracted the maxis matte backgrounds and we replaced with more realistic matte. All "simply" ... The complicated part is to find good materials and adjust the whole stuff

Why don't you release all worlds at the same time ? Because we didn't find yet all the materials needed and as we already working on the k-707, as there are only 24 hours in a day :D well, you see the point ;)

How to install ? Easy. The same way you install the other k-mods ( except the k-707 which is a bit more tricky ) We added pictures below ...

Will you release the stuff for all expansions worlds ? Yes for sure !

Today we release :

Basegame ( Willow Creek only, not Oasis Spring )

Seasons ( Newcrest )

Get to Work ( Magnolia Promenade )

Outdoor Retreat ( Granite Falls )

Discover University ( Britechester )

Life and Death ( Ravenwood )

Here an example of how we install our own mods and cc inside the Mods folder :

The files with -bg- into their names are related to vista view matte backgrounds and files with -gr- into their names are for all trees and plants matte paintings :)

Are you ready for a MUCH BOLDER PERSPECTIVE ?

THESE FILES OVERRIDE THE GAME FILES AND WORK FINE IN-GAME …

Made with S4Studio Date of Release : February 15, 2025 BaseGame : compatible Category : none Price : none

IF YOU THINK IT GOOD ENOUGH : KO-FI // PAYPAL

Download HERE

xoxo - blackgryffin

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lqfiles · 3 months ago

Text

PAY THE PRICE — 47. no one but us

(wc: 2.589)

"you could've just knocked." you closed the door behind you, turning around to face donghyuck who was stood a few steps away, hands hidden in the pockets of his jacket. "or you could've just come out without questioning me." he rebutted, pursing his lips before scoffing out a laugh. the two of you made your way towards the lift, pressing the button to call it back up. "we're taking my car, by the way." donghyuck mentioned casually, entering the lift upon its arrival.

"i was gonna take public transport, but this is more convenient." you chuckled, leaning against the railing attached to the wall behind you. donghyuck was stood across you, both his hands holding onto the railing behind him. "i haven't taken public transport in ages, i'll pass on that." donghyuck grimaced and this time you scoffed out a laugh. "you're too grown to be picky about what transport you wanna take." you shook your head in disbelief, stepping out the lift and exiting the apartment complex, though your steps faltered some time later, letting donghyuck guide you to his car instead.

before you could reach the passenger seat, donghyuck reached ahead, opening the door for you in a swift motion. you looked up at him, taken aback by the kind gesture but sent him a grateful smile nonetheless. "thank you" you muttered, entering the passenger seat before donghyuck closed it behind you. after a few seconds, the driver's side opened and donghyuck slid in, starting up his car.

the first thing that caught your attention was the pleasant scent within the car. it felt fresh, yet warm at the same time. a strong hint of sweetness that had you wondering whether he had recently sprayed the inside or if his aroma was that strong. it reminded you of donghyuck, and you couldn't help but want to savour the smell for the time being.

you tried to ignore the way he placed his arm behind your headrest while reversing his car, his body slightly leaning into yours for a moment. you wanted to turn your head so badly, but a part of you was still too scared to be so bold with him. after all, you couldn't even admit to him that this was supposed to be a date, you just hoped he took his own suggestion serious the way you did.

the drive was comfortably silent, aside from the soft music donghyuck let you choose as background noise to entertain yourself with while his attention remained on the navigations to the restaurant. you arrived quickly, and the both of you stepped out the car, stepping towards the entrance of the restaurant instead.

donghyuck once again opened the door for you, letting you walk in before him and following this gesture up by pulling your chair out for you too. you couldn't contain the shy smile on your face at his continuous acts of kindness. he settled opposite you, taking off his jacket to reveal a plain black button up. it was nothing out of the ordinary, yet you couldn't help but think he put some effort into his appearance today. he seemed way more attractive than he usually did right now, or maybe you were just biased because of the occasion.

donghyuck thought the same thing, taking small glances at you, glances that you had yet to notice. you looked outstandingly beautiful tonight, and the thought of it being solely for a night with him made a wave of pride wash over him. "this food better be good." he joked, trying to divert his thoughts to something else.

you lightly rolled your eyes, already knowing what you wanted to get. "it will be. quit complaining." you assured him, waiting for him to finish choosing his order before calling the waiter over. "and if it's not, i want a refund. seriously."

"in your dreams." you replied back, and the both of you laughed. you knew the waiting time wasn't gonna be the quickest, yet it felt like time was nonexistent as you and donghyuck immersed in a conversation, one that you wish never ended. one that carried on as your food had arrived, not leaving any chance for an awkward silence to overtake the moment.

"why did mark bail on you anyways?" donghyuck asked, pausing his bite mid air. you stilled for a moment, not expecting him to even bring mark up in the first place, let alone wanting a reason behind mark's absence. "well.. he had family business to take care of." you quickly fabricated, stuffing your mouth with food to avoid having to elaborate any further.

luckily for you, donghyuck didn't question it much further, though the soft scoff leaving his nostrils didn't go unheard. "this meal is amazing." you changed topics, letting out a hum of satisfaction to emphasise your point. without any words, donghyuck slid his spoon onto your board, scooping out food from your plate before bringing it up to his mouth. "hello?" you asked, both bewildered and amused by his casual action.

donghyuck shrugged. "you said it was amazing, i wanted to taste it myself." he explained, returning to his own plate shortly after. it took you a moment to come up with a response, but you quickly decided to dig your own spoon into his plate too, reciprocating the action by taking some of his.

conversations continued between you two, even when both your plates were already finished. you just didn't want to put an end to the moment. donghyuck seemed into the conversation just as much as you were, and when you looked up for a split second to see him staring at you with a slight smile on his face, his full attention on nothing but you, you swore you felt your knees weaken.

your words came to a stop, and donghyuck hummed in confusion. "hm? why did you stop?" he asked, as if he wasn't aware of what he was doing. he most likely wasn't, but still. "stop staring." you mumbled out. donghyuck, seeing you try your hardest to avoid eye contact, chuckled in return. "what, can't handle it?"

"i can't, actually." you admitted, rolling your head. he laughed in response, and if you had access to donghyuck's inner thoughts, you'd be able to fully grasp how cute he found you at that moment.

"i will pay." donghyuck firmly stated. "well i don't want you to." you stated back, swiping your card over the machine held by the employee, finalising the payment transaction. after a short back and forth between the two of you with donghyuck insisting on paying for the both of you, you left the restaurant paying for your own meal like you intended. donghyuck however seemed very against your decision, it was evident from the way he held you back from entering into the passenger seat, the both of you standing beside the door instead.

"next time, i'm paying." donghyuck waited for an affirmation from you, one he wasn't going to get, unfortunately. "why would i when i can pay for myself?" you reasoned, deliberately ignoring the mention of a next time, though the thought of future plans fid stir a reaction from within you. "it's a gentleman thing to do, you know, paying for the ladies." donghyuck finally stepped aside, letting you enter the car.

you laughed, already settled into your seat as you watched donghyuck enter his seat. "do you pay for every girl you go out to eat with?" you humoured once he started the car. the same process of him placing his hand behind your headrest to reverse proceeded, except this time he halted for a moment, craning his head to look at you instead. "i haven't taken a girl out in years, actually. you're the first a while."

there was something about the casualty at which donghyuck delivered his words that made a cheesy grin form on your face that you hid by looking the other way, feeling overjoyed. a feeling that wouldn’t subdue for the rest of the ride.

it was 9pm when you and donghyuck found yourself at an ice scream shop, eyeing the multiple flavours on display for you to choose from.

"you like chocolate?" he asked, already having his order ready. you shook your head, still gazing down at the options. "no." you verbalised as donghyuck repeated his question, not having caught onto the small action. "i can't believe you do." you added on, deciding to go for a sweet mix of watermelon and strawberry flavours.

"don't hate until you tried it." he defended himself, placing his order and stepping aside to let you place yours. your order went through and the two workers started on each of the orders you placed. you thought of sitting down, but decided against it as you're sure it wouldn't take longer than a minute.

"there is a photo booth there." donghyuck pointed towards the corner of the shop, your head following the direction in which he gestured. "we should take pictures." he proposed, leaving your side for a moment to pick his order up. yours followed shortly after, and you paid for it before returning to your previous spot in the middle of the shop, contemplating his suggestion.

"you don't have to, but it would be fun." he convinced you, picking up on your silent hesitance. "no one but us will see this anyways." donghyuck added on, and it was the last push you needed to nod in agreement, following donghyuck towards the booth. no one but us, were you crazy, or was it strangely intimate?

it was cramped, your body practically on top of donghyuck's and you could feel your heart start to beat at an abnormal pace when your arm was basically squashed into his side. this was definitely growing intimate, and donghyuck subtly shuffled aside, attempting to create more space to calm both your nerves down. "lets do fun poses." he placed his ice cream away and leaned forward, fixing the mess his hair had become from the ongoing wind outside.

you decided to take your jacket off, something donghyuck copied upon seeing. fixing the lines in your clothes, you were ready, taking a quick bite from your ice cream before placing the cup away. "ready?" donghyuck asked, glancing at you to wait for your confirmation. you nodded, and donghyuck pressed the button, starting the shots.

the fun poses donghyuck had prepared were indeed fun, and you couldn't hold back your giggles upon seeing his weird antics. "pose!" he urged you with a nudge, and you complied, you complied with each shot taken, a blissful smile present on your face from the pure joy you felt.

there was something about being confined in a photo booth with donghyuck that caused a surge of emotions to burst within you. you felt happy. watching donghyuck scold you for not posing made you feel warm. observing the wide smile on his own face with each click the machine took made you awe. you were overwhelmed with a sudden affection for him at that moment, your body slowly heating up and feeling weak, because just being next to him made you feel the happiest you've been in a while.

you didn't even realise that you had been staring at him as the last shot got taken, not until donghyuck snapped you out of it. "you barely did any poses." he whined, handing you two copies of the polaroid pictures that were taken. he was right, aside from the smile on your face in each of them, you barely contributed to the fun poses.

"you didn't even look at the camera in the last one." he scolded you further, and he was right once again. your attention had solely been on donghyuck who wore a smug look in the shot, your own expression being one of delight.

matter of fact, your expression hadn't changed for the rest of the time you spent in the shop, finishing the ice cream each of you bought. you were so overcome with affection, show in the pictures each of you owned now, that you just couldn't help but be happy at this instance.

you liked donghyuck, a lot, you couldn't get over how much you had started to like him. you couldn't get over the fact that you were allowed to like him, openly at that. you're sure anyone passing by could point out the love you held for him.

"why are you staring like that... do you want my ice cream?" everyone, but donghyuck.

"its already eleven." you noted, having finally reached your apartment floor after your night out. donghyuck followed closely behind you, nodding his head in agreement. "it wasn't meant to take this long." donghyuck apologised and you two arrived at your front doors.

"for the record, the food was decent, so i won't ask for a refund this time." once again, the mention of another time didn't go unnoticed to you. and this time, you openly smiled at him. "you weren't getting it anyways." you scoffed in response.

"whatever. you should go inside, it's getting cold." his hands left the pockets of his jackets, pushing you by your shoulders to your front door. "and next time, don't ask mark to go because clearly-"

you've never wanted someone the way you wanted donghyuck. you couldn't imagine wanting someone the way you wanted donghyuck. you already realised this, yet every word and sign of care he displayed confirmed the realisation even more, and it was starting to hurt. you truly don't think you could've held this love you had for donghyuck in any longer, not when he was currently scolding your friend for ditching you.

"i like you." the words left your mouth before you could rethink your decision. donghyuck's rant stopped, leaving him paused mid sentence. "i really like you donghyuck, like, a lot. and i think today made me sure about it, and i just couldn't hold it in any longer because it's been bothering me for the longest now.” you rambled out without a breath.

your adrenaline was at an all time high, being able to feel your pulse in your throat and the realisation of your words dawned on you. you swore you could hear your heartbeat at that instance.

donghyuck, to your horror, remained frozen, his eyes widened in shock and you couldn’t tell if it was a look of horror or surprise. so you panicked. “sorry, i don’t know why i said this right now. just- goodnight.” you hastily muttered out, opening the door to your apartment before closing it just as quick. you didn’t even let him speak, too scared of what his response might have been.

there was no way he didn’t reciprocate the same feelings, right? or had you perhaps been overanalysing every action and words he has told you up until this point? you don’t think donghyuck didn’t like you, so why were you so scared?

“she likes me.” donghyuck repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. he was still stood in the halls of the apartment, his back leaning against the wall. despite saying it repeatedly, the words just didn’t seem to register within his mind. up until now, the thought of you liking him back was a mere hunch, something he didn’t want to dwell too much on, too scared of how it would potentially mess with his own feelings.

“she likes me..” donghyuck repeated one last time before entering his place, the words leaving an uneasy sinking feeling within his guts.

previous — master list — next

notes : bet you didn’t expect this… or maybe you did but trust the process guys mama lqfiles got this ❤️ also i only proofread this once sozzz if there are grammer errors

TAGLIST ; @90s-belladonna @pnkified @2jisungs @swee7dream @sinisxtea @en-dream @h-aecat @lostinneocity @sunflowerbebe07 @pookime @aerivrs @alethea-moon @hcvenue @prettyrenjunn @manooffline @bath1lda @hyejooistic @emvrd @dojaejunging @odxrilove @hyuckluvr-com @jaeims @ihyucksol @tddyhyck @dalsosapple @https-yeonjun @luvlyrenwoo @yoursyuno @lilacsxjoon @heymsperfectlyfine @mystverse @ne0c0r3 @casperbutnot-theghost @hyuckies18 @w3bqrl @ckline35 @nosungluv @luvvsnae @chcnlcs @cryingforgyu @thatgirlkay @222brainrot @junviadinho @n0hyuck @sinsgaybutthatsokay @choerubies @goldustupmysea @cyber-innie @hyunjungjae @blamemef0rit @lowkeychenle @lecheugo

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edenspoem · 1 year ago

Text

stuff you up ౨ৎ

aestras thanksgiving smut special

' so who's getting stuffed, you or the turkey? '

HELP PALESTINE . DO NOT BUY TLOU2

♡. summary; fuck the festivities, who actually cares about all that sappy shit. instead, embark a newly founded festivity– fucking your girlfriend up in the dusty memory of your old bedroom~ ♡. a\n; late af as fuck but just a fun little smut, nothing too serious, a bit rushed but here y'all go ♡. CW; groping under the table, fingering (r), clit stim (r), strapping (r), horndog!ellie, dom!ellie, tipsy!ellie, risky sex (joel almost catches u), cock referred as 'her' + referred as ellies, cocktip teasing, ass grabbing, some ass smacking, some plot, jokey bickering, readers a bit bratty, a slight brat-taming moment if you squint, mouth muffling, squirting, petnames; babe, baby, babygirl, princess, good girl, (lmk if i missed anything)

♡ WC; 5.5k ♡ masterlist ♡ thanks 2 @fleshunger 4 proofreading the intro ♡

Paired minds savor the embellishing glow of lit stick candles settled before them in a ritzy manner– shedding light over plates of arraying colors. Marination that glistens, crispness that scrapes, and mushy mesas' of garlic herb potatoes that delicately slump in the cradle of a spoon. Consume with your eyes first, then your cameras– and conclusively, your rumbling tummy.

Rather to consume what's meant to be, than to gorb the scruffy haired girl next to you– at least for now, yes?

It's your first Thanksgiving with Ellie, being that you two only linked heartstrings this year.

You, the possibly innocent angel that you are– right now, serve clement smiles to whomever talks to you, be it Joel or some random relative who’s name only just surfed your ears this night, it doesn't matter. De rigueur, wear it well.

A baser mind– I mimic regret while telling you this– tumbles far from the garden of Eden and slips away into a daunting realm, the underworld. By under, I mean downstairs, below the button, the internals. Ellie straight up, served hot, was just bursting with hormones. The tender meat oozing with buttery slick melt fell short in maintaining the contact of those chartreuse eyes, instead, suffering the envy of them rooted to your thighs beneath the oak.

Noses immerse themselves in salty goodness, eyes feast before gobs could, rolling molars gnaw turkey off the tines of forks, but her, her cunts' the only organ thinking right now.

Especially while seated adjacent to you, her clit was throbbing past the hard material of her jeans.

"You both settlin' in your new apartment?" Joel's bellowed drawl carries over the other muted chatter, low in the background.

"Mhm," your hum slopes and rises behind lips sealed to a glass rim, then part with a smack, "Ellie’s definitely settled more than me." ending with a giggle.

Her ear pivots from you, dirt–dappled nose at the fore, "Oh? What's that 'spose to mean babe?"

"Can't keep your hands off that shiny new Playstation, hmm?"

"Tchh– you bought it for me." replied her with a skosh of sass.

"That I did."

"Uh–" Joel bumbles.

Els drones out, "Andd all my video games–"

"Where's my thank you?" you pout in frolick, forwarding your face for her view.

Hmph.

Her miffy eyes bounce around her skull hence to piloting back on yours, her own pout puffing, "Okayy, here," she sighs lowly, nosing her lips down to pucker a peck– smacking together.

A shared hum in approval vibrates between the bond of skin, half–approval, a kiss was meager in your book of play, and you felt particularly playful this eve.

With a finished kiss, leaves your mouth to mouth a sneaky little quip, fruitful in a whisper, "Didn't hear a thank you~"

"Hmm?"

"Els.."

Faces still bathing in transferring warmth, her breath hitches on your mid–face, a sigh to end all worries, "You'll see, just wait." Her voice cracks a bit, silken on your ears.

Waiting wasn't even on the table.

Not when a brawny hand suddenly gropes your inner–thigh, squeezing the fat in little wags.

Give thanks to whomever, thank fuck for being at the tables edge, where nobody else could witness this.

"Anywho–" Ellie grogs her throat clear of those debaucheries, returning to her normal seated poise, "yeah, like, we're settled– thanks for helpin' us find that place." her pitch heightens, flowing into a nosy chuckle.

"Course, kiddo." softly spoken off Joel’s sentiments, but minding less attention and returning his mouth to something more, toothsome. Foodsome.

Goddess, her grip is mighty.

Devious fingers– they found their way, quick. Fingers such as hers, waxy and pale, rigid and calloused, stamping up your hip and giving firm pressure to the bone. Knuckles flushed of pigment, they dig around the crest wanton, nudging you slightly.

"Seriously?" you spit through grit teeth, wiggling your hips in reaction.

Ellie harks your mutter, tugging those smug corners into a cocky smile as her nervy nature would plant her in, naughty–toothed smile, "Huuh?" that bastard coos, "what's wrong babe?"

"You dickhead."

"Me, dickhead?"

"Yes, you, dickhead."

"That's a lot of dicks n' heads, what is it with you and dicks n' heads?" she creeps her face closer, squinting dumbly– which only made her onslaught of 'heads and dicks' more peeving now that you really loured at her.

Grimacing at her dense brows queller than a storm, blushy nostrils taunting in a wiggle, it subtly made sense– impish coquetry. The kind of shit you toss like a game of ball, prior to the main event. An event, to be seen.

"Why you givin' me that look, huh?" she squints lower in return, flaring her nose, "Do I have a dick for a head?"

"I would not kiss you if that were the case," you claim advantage of her closeness and peck her goofish scowl, forcing a crescent to spry on that mouth, "Dork."

Hooks on your hip palpate harsher on the jut, her thumb swiping where the cushion and your butt cleft. Pressure given, when words pique her interest.

"Babe," Els murmured with fry in her chords, "d'ya want it?"

"It?" you gulp.

"Mhm.." thrummed she, eluding, "c'mon, you know.." said with that chilling husk, whew.

Okay, maybe it's clearer–than–a–midsummers–noon clear, that Ellie was a tad tipsy. Pink worm of hers just couldn't resist the samplage of some bourbon, sweet oakey notes that evoke memories of bourbon skies hence, quite the beautifying thought. Skies where you play a shrouded silhouette to her line of sight, tapping thumb to chin in ponder. Ponder, pondering.. for what were you pondering those sunsets?

Yet now you lacked a ponder on whatever the hell she was hinting to, only for it to ferment suddenly.

"Ellie, what are you on–"

"My fingers," a blurt wets her whistle, cocking her head dear to your poor ear, "do you want.. my fingers– in.." you feel her dual digits dive in the crevice of your thigh and groin, curling snugly.

"Ellie.." you hiss, pinching your brows in honest bewilderment.

Her pinkie roves over the bulge of your crotch and punctures the inseam right above your clit, stinging the little bud– which throbbed at her press.

"Do you?" her breath wanes, speech sedated with the aim of persuading you.

Contemplation was considered– maybe too carefully, maybe not. Problem one, legitimately most if not all of your family was within spitting distance of you, but on the other hand, the gutsy hand, weighed her offer slacker than a greedy businessman. In precis, her puppy eyes of coveted sanction, rears triumph. Dickhead.

A caught gulp squeezes down your gullet, puffing your chest out, "Mhm.."

"Okay.. mhh–" she giggles with husk, creasing up as her lithe fingers trace and wrest your fly open, skulking her hand beneath the hood, "Just focus on dinner baby, I got this.." wisped soft, kindred to cashmere.

The unyielding stretch of your denim fastens around your hips in the act of her palm ramming inside, yanking you forward. Pursing your lips in elated exhales, you try, try to winch meat to mouth and void the tamping of your clit, try as you might– the pleasure is dire.

Ellie’s prints depress a lewd discovery, the stub of her smaller knuckle thickens itself in leaky panty, secreting from your eager hole. A discovery, worth a hushed gasp, "Ooh? Wet already babe? God damn.."

"Shut.. up.." choked you, only reaping a laugh from her.

"Fuck, I do all this?"

"Duh."

"Hehe– fuck that's hot.."

She withdraws her fingers half–way, to slither them under your panties. And without a foraged bit of foreplay, dilates your labia with her furled digits loading inside of you.

A squishy nub brushes your sweet spot.

Your pipes in turn swell with sharp intake, wall of your throat cooling instantly. Fuck, bona fide fuck. Enormously fucked when her pumps wreak gentle squelches from your dewy core.

"Jesus, mhphh.." a gruff of air susurrus from her, starkening her torso in an 'appeasingly normal' angle so she may, blend in, bemusing your mother with small–talk, "So, d'you always have a gathering this big on Thanksgiving?"

Out of all people, really, Els?

She indulges with a smile, purely answering, "Oh yeah, every year– whole family, too many relative I suppose." fading erratically into a giggle.

"Heh– ‘least you got a big house, shitt– I mean," In spite of sounding casual, slips into a grit curse when your wet walls clench her in, "–dang, what I wouldn't give to live here, right babe?"

A mere butt of her elbow nearly dips you into the waters of appearing– deviant of natural, those slender digits, twisting a tender knot inside. She pumps at a canter, lesser than brisk, swifter than a slug. Beat, beat, beat to your g–spot, akin to the pitter, pitter, pat of your whizzing heart.

"Y–yeah, soo jealous, even though I did as a kid.." laughing it off awkwardly, a bask of 'Please let that be the only time I talk.' relief uplifts your sunk gut, momentarily.

"You still eating well livin' on your own?" your mother queries, tuning that time–old maternal charm.

"I mean, d–decent, enough–"

Ellie thrusts her fingers faster, fashioning a trickle of ooze to froth out onto your underwear. Pacified by the sensations, you clamp tighter, knocking a winded hitch to your staggering speech. Fucking inconvenient. Olives of her eyes binge a glint so bawdy, yet inlaid in a bad case of puppy–face, bullshit purity on her glossy lips. She knew the consequences, and consumed them like nothing.

"Pshh– decent? Babe, please, I'm like the microwave master!" exclaimed she, feigning a biggety tone atop her rasp.

You scoff, "Ah–" shuffling your thighs in light see–saw motions, "again, decent."

The knot squeezes as she finger–fucks the tranquility of mind from your pussy, staring knives at you when her supple thumb drags your clit in flicks.

"Sure it's not good?"

"Mh–mh.."

"Like, really good?"

No way she was referring to the microwave meals anymore.

Your mother intrudes softly, "Honey I can start bringin' you my homemade food if it's not–"

"It's okay, she's just playin' around–" Ellie replies before a vowel can flutter your lips, proceeding to eye–fuck you with a smug visage, "she loves my cooking." she rasped, eyes slimly showing.

All you can spotlight on is her gropey hands, jerking you like some toy, it felt too fucking good. Too pleasant to snuff, too divine to scold, exhilarating to your veins sore with salaciousness. Then, you route back to a ponder, what more could she stipulate?

"M' gonna go to the bathroom," you swat her hand out and jostle your fly up, netting a coo of amusement from Ellie– secretly.

"You good babe?" she vocalizes after, keeping her pussy–prune digits free of smear.

"Come with me." purred you, hoisting from the oaken chair.

Ellie's lids arise with tangible hots– an aphrodisia densely potent of kindiling her eyes. No anointing of sanctity will ripen her intentions, nor anchor the even throb of her cunt. For a throb is a hymn, to you. She wants you, and she's going to have you. Moments and minutes hence, falter to compare in energy.

Cue her cheek pleating smile.

"Okay–" a light snort prances off her open lips, whirling her lap aside to skim through the tight wedge and stumbling to you, "which bathroom we doin'–"

"Just follow me," your voice aspires over, cusping your hand and snagging her calloused ones in the curve of it, "gonna' show you somethin'."

"Heh–" she chuckles dryly, tailgating with a gentle pull of your forearm.

You two whip around a door nook, glide through the foyer and advance upon a staircase. Your cotton–clad heels stroke wood planks beat by beat, soft wallops that carom off skyscraping maroon wine walls. Ribbons of lunar light dangle on and off your heads, crafting gauzy shrouds that mix and mingle off the corners with a bobbing ascent. Every wall laid reminiscent of a ritzy manor, a lacquer of lavish.

The flight of stairs then ingress into a much thinner hall, in a much quainter space, and fitted to each doors awaiting enigma. Duller light spills through, glossing the path you took towards a fawny brown door– your bedroom.

Ellie espies the cleave of an abutting door, aiming a bead on with her index, "Wait– isn't that the–"

"Shh," you gingerly rustle air on locked teeth, shifting your arm towards the gilded rotund knob and twining with metal clicks and clacks, "bathroom was just a cover up."

"Oh~"

"Hmm hm~" you kittenly croon.

The barrier pendulates sideward from your stride, only to be elbowed soundly back to a wisping shut. You pinch the little knob's notch and, click, lock the door. An amused flit of breath pours from her agape lips, catching your wordless gist bereft of another second.

Ellie thrums that same old rasp, sweetening you up, "Real smooth babe, takin' us up here.." her feet coast her closer to you, kitty–cornering you to a rearwards stumble.

Plaster bumps, a welting sharp ridge– they trench in your ankle and up as your calves butt the wall, inevitably backed up. Trapped, positively trapped.

"Well–" a scoff enlightens your latter words, "couldn't just stay there with you two fingers deep, hm?" and your 'hm' asks for her agreement, pitch yawing.

"Was 'gonna make it three, but.."

"But?"

Her head shrouds yours in a gray penumbra, orangey–tint nose a scant whisker from brushing yours, and sends you into a conundrum with a mere utter, a tepid utter, "got uhh', something better for you." tying off with a willed lip bite.

"Oh really?" you moon with pep, hooking a calf around hers.

She smokily coaxes, "Fuck yeah– look." her knotty digits then cruise around her hips, meeting at her denim zipper and tugging that metal tab down. Fleeting as starlight, she thumbs the belt–band and chucks her jeans just beneath the ruck of her asscheek, chafing fabric to fabric with her lax boxers.

A lone brow quirks, expressing the fact that with the way she juts hers hips forward and palms her crotch weirdly– it reared too obvious, "Ellie, don't tell me–"

A springy mass wiggles against the front inseam, held in her teasy tauty grip– veins popping of course, "Tell youu whaat?" her words muff in hoarse laughter.

"Baby.." you exhale, adjoining a whiny moan. Ellie's such a goofy tease.

That simple mass in her crotch, was a sign– a clear, lucid, taintless and foretelling, that you were getting stuffed like a turkey tonight.

In counter, her exhale fuses with yours in dancing particles, so gentle, finer than purity made flesh, "Babe.." and such gentleness caresses your ears, a pureness forgotten in those divinity forsaken puppy eyes– pout moist.

You can't rend your pupils elsewhere, trapped like mice, you gape with encroaching arousal dowsing out your nerves– and drenching down below. Markedly, where you gaze now– her fingers tug the waistband down, exposing the bulbous green head of her cock in her boxers tight band, barely, literal orb of luster dabbled on the tip.

Now your eyes truly cannot escape.

Cotton tenderizes in lines around the bulge, her hand stroking above the shape. And the way you stare, fucks her mind good, speaking throatily, "God," a gulp bubbles, "can't stop starin' hmm?"

"Hehe– couldn't help but wear it?" you snap back.

"Yes ma'am," said off a grunt, pushing said bulge to your curious hand, pleading for a rub, "you gonna' suck her?" soothing is her tone, a breathless moan.

You coo, "Want me to?" and weasel your palm in circles, watching her pelvis follow.

"Uh'huh babe– mhh, need it.." she rolls the hem of her shirt up to her ribs, flaunting that strapping waist– perfectly toned.

Appetent with sure appetite, you nod, a nod that tows her lids down, down.. down, till the green born of her eyes rely on a thin horizon hawkeyeing you. A sliver of sparkle, eager in you. It only takes you dual bends of the knees, stamping chiffony flesh to cold oak and your fingers tucking in her underwear– to excite Ellie.

"Yeah, m'gonna suck her, suck that cock." you mouth in broken vowels, steeping breath on her firm navel pouch.

"Fuck.." she nimbly grunts and tosses her head back, tightening skin on the jounce of her adams apple, swallowing.

Giving tender pressure on her boxers, you slither them netherward until they sojourn atop her bunching jeans fixed above the knee. You swear, those quads of hers clench at your brushing touch, causing your sights to skip up on that dangling cock. Wow. The fat head pokes your nose–tip, curbing up as she cradles its silicone girth to palm.

"Hold uh'," what you expected to be 'up' erupts as a tiny grunt snuffing, eyeing her other hand concealing her lips with a muffled 'puh' to top, "there we go." that hand draws down to smear her spit along the length, squelching mildly.

"Mhh–" you hum shorn of audible sound, batting keen breath on her strap, "–so big.."

You tell her that, everytime. And everytime, she revels in that negligible fact, shutting her eyes in skin–sheathed darkness– pinpointing on how too–too hot that seems. And the way you say it? Oof.

Ellie tacks five fingerprints on your head's crown and coaxes in flits of force, easing you on, "My god, babygirl– oooh.." she relishes an oval–mouthed moan, watching your lips wrap her cockhead.

And it's warmer than anything you've gobbled so far this eve.

Balming a heat like that, tucked in her boxers so neatly and snug– it tickles your gums. Soft and pliant, your lips are, they crease and roll under as you swallow her in, impressing a pit on your tongue when they meet.

"Hhmmm.." you moan a mouthful on the frothed up silicone, dragging your lips back over to motion a bounce of your head.

"I know~" she coos to your bumble, pucking her hips with an equal piston to her pelvis, "them' lips feel goood– fuuckkk.." as if you can feel them, dork.

You clasp her thickness in hooks of your tongue, sending splotches and globs of spit to pool around your oval–ringed mouth, courtesy of her tip bumping your throat in, "Guh- guh, guh, guhh–" prods.

Ohh, that birdsong. The quaffing of your vocal bands subject to her humps, producing a rhythmic beat to alight her hormones. Your song worthy of hearing. You wimp the swelling sink that her nails wreak, a flicker between cuspate tapering and a meek love– a calling for more.

Enlighten me a morsel of those twisted, dirty thoughts, auburnhead devil.

Leathery wads of her free digits roam hot on your pulping cheeks, chiseling out as you suck. Her fingers then find themselves arcing a tuck behind your ear, thumb printed to your temple. A dash of encourage, she presses, a truer than blue visage, she contorts ran by pleasure. Squelch, suckle, drag spit, and repeat.

Due to your stretching spread of lips taking her well, likeness of a blockade in your mouth, you couldn't speak. Obviously. So over the wish–wash of saliva, Ellie tunes you in with her filthy comments.

"Suckin' my filthy cock.. fuck–" she pauses with a gruff moan, baking in your brain deep, "gonna' make me cum so goood–" her vowel strains, clenching her pussy lips around nothing except the cool, cruel air, "yes.."

A reed of cold nips your chin, seconds hence realization settles; you're getting sloppy. A manifestation of Els actually fucking your noggin to slosh, wouldn't spark surprise if liquid poured from your cranium at this point.

Her own arousal rots you further down, too.

With the feeling of her cock climbing near hellward down your throat, smacking on the gummy walls, and the husk her moans endure, crucifies your pussy with an ache of want. Fabric of your jeans suffers a beat, your clit, throbbing. It hurts so good and it stings so right, so tight, you need her now.

A faster bob you give, the more Ellie can't take it either.

"Babe–" she hawks out, but fails to halt your bopping movements, "babe, fuck–" the digits parked behind the conch of your ear skip and push your jaw up, staking her cock out with a spring.

"Ghh– schhlp, huh?" a chuck of spit muddled your words, unfurled tongue lapping up every web left by your messy, messy mouth.

Nook of her hand like a cusp to your jaw, she beckons you with a nudge, and rasps, "Up– c'mon, n'turn that ass around."

Ass. Something about that word reverberated in you, bothered you hotly, made a tepidness leak from your cheeks. The rasp she rung it with, eyeing you with twin fern flames for irises– an approaching engulfment to marry your skin with ashen blessing, more consuming. Ass, Ash, haha.

A flutter in your hips spreads like fire across your legs. It weakens the muscle you bend, standing upright challenged resemblant of a feat, especially when Ellie's grabby gropes found purchase in the crevice of your hips, spindling you on a quick axis. It wanes the composure you hold like a goblet, dwindling to shattered shards across the floor, primarily as those bedeviled claws slot under rough woven denim and remove them false of trouble and trick– ruching to nothing at the root of your ankles.

Where happy hubbub clamors downstairs, pleased pandemonium moans upstairs.

A jut of two knobby hip bones thump into each asscheek, denting the skin into a gully. Warmth, a ligature of it rides through your backside, making you shake. Not like her hands would let you tremble, one being so immovably returned to your hip.

"Fuuck that pussy 'been waitin' for me, huh? Can just tell.." mumbles her with vocal fry, pupils ogling bare of shame at your cinched folds, clasping nothing.

"Your fault."

"Oh really?"

"Mhm.." you hum timidly.

"Gonna call me dickhead again, or–" a fat ball teases the dripping lips of your pussy, spreading them slightly and sloshing the skin around, "Is this enough?"

To give way, was a mistake, buckling your pelvis deeper on her cock which faces a grip ardent to shaft– teasing with rolls of her wrist. The cockhead, or literal dickhead, warps and smooshes against your clit as she toys with it. A whiny, "Huuh– Els.." mangles in your larynx, pitching.

"Yeah, you like that? Know you do." that damned smirk lives in her curving tone, sweet with a dash of tang. Her cock dilates your delicate folds further, exposing the velvet flesh to cold air and an intrusive visit.

Your fiendish pussy kisses her cocktip and ceases its movement, clamping her in place, whimpering, "Mhh, ahh– ah.."

"Hey, 'lemme go– was just getting started babe," she laughs crisply, landing a fine plume touch to your ass, "c'mon.. loosen up.."

A flux of slacken tires the muscles that clamp her in, hugging your entrance more softly around her tip.

Ellie winches weight on her knees, crouching her groin into you with a slow swerve, "There we go.." she purrs with tension in her tune, relieving a sigh when her cock pops in silkenly.

You seize up, gasping sharply, hips begging to break brittle in her grasp of iron– but iron does not deform easily. Pressure stays pressured, and digits knurl over the hill of your hip bone to prop it upright. With walls expanded on her cock like your pussy was made for her, it humbles you, belittling you to sludge in her metal caress.

"Fuuckk yeah–" she broadens her sigh of bliss, abrading on the 'K', like a crackle. Pleasure kills neutrality in the smoothest way, gathering grooves in her forehead, "y'feel so warm baby.. mhmm–"

"That's not even your dick.." you half–way give a giggle, suppressing the moans you choke up.

A tense whistle of air sounds from Ellie's nose, a reaction of vague irritation, "Swear to god.." her tongue smacks after and a sudden thrusting of her fat cock catches your mind astray, winding those choked moans out.

"Uhn– uh fuck, huhh–" you babble.

"Not my dick huh? Who's fucking you? Tell me, fuck– yeah?" Her words warble where skin smacks, wetness palping in obscene squelches.

Does she really expect you to answer when her cock continually swells your cunt and abuses your g–spot? Yeah. Ellie will fuck the answer from one hole to the other, if she so feels compelled to.

But of course, you don't answer.

"Baaabeee," she taunts, "baabyyyy," and tortures, "who she getting fucked by right now, tell mee.." and fucks, cooing purer than vernal spring washed in the rain, mushing globs of pre–cum all over your cervix.

"Y-you.."

"That's right."

This feels almost violating to your vagina, to be stuffed like this. Did she size up? Get a new strap? Whatever the case presents itself as, it felt fucking good. Made you woozy, each bop she played like a drum on your sore ass, summoning a white ring of creamy sap to veil around her cock's girth. White droplets failed to envelop her cock, though, each jiggle of your muck bodies lashing beads of it onto the oak boards, your thighs, her pretty auburn bush, etcetera. Attempting to grab the wall, duh– that fails, then you scramble jittery digits across said wall, awkwardly finding a rigid door trim to grasp at long last– speak of the devil, Ellie laughs at that.

"Haha– aww, too big for you princess?" she utters to you like a dumbass, ego brimmed with the pumps her cock skids on your gummy walls, smirking with thinned lips.

Vulnerability loathes humility, "Fuck y–you."

"Sure."

Her perception of sight, harboring verdancy, drops low to your bulging hole that swallows her good– as you should, tender milk that pools inwards as she slides out, and froths a flood of slick when she humps it back to the same hole it spilled from.

Might she indulge more sampling?

Ellie's hell–sworn index traces your swelling folds mellowly, togging a cap of pearly cum on her finger pad. Scrutinize, then she licks. Her peach lips kiss her finger softly, puckering wrinkles as she sucks the sleek off, "Sssmhpt–" her lips zip, "yeah–ha, that's what 'm taking about–" delighted, she is.

The knot in your womb begins to coil and fill, a rapturous sting impaling inside. Your folds, springing on her friction, sends a ripple to fluctuate in your ass cheek. Enticing. So enticing, Ellie grabs a handful, bloating fat strokes of your buttcheek between the webs of her delirious fingers.

"Ghh– yes.. yes–" she growls, deep in her lungs. The harness in return rubbed her clit in all the right ways, electrocuting her legs with a twitch, "arch that bsck f'me baby, c'mon– arch on my fuckin' cock–"

Harking her, you heed. Heed with a convex draw of your back, protruding your ass out for her messy usage. That– that was the last straw, her only straw. You being so keen. Something less than a mutter of, "Good girl." was the last audible voice you could pick up, her game swapping to a faster ramming into your sloppy pussy.

"Ellie!" you wince, praying on a star, "So g–good.." you gape and fall forward, smearing slobber on the drywall.

Her cock was too much.

A tear soaked upon that very wall, gifting it a taste of your salty heaven.

"Mhmm– god, fuck fuck fuck! You're so good, s'good t'me.." a breath shuddered, she limps forward onto you. Her pale hips still punishing with a litany of humps, now scores deeper on your gushy cervix, her drenched chest marking hot on your clothed back.

"Needa' cum– Els, babe.." why you were even asking, might flummox a future specter of yourself– purling on her thickness, feeling the endless tension pull from you in strings of cum, kissing the head of her cock, you were on the train track to cumming already. Dumbified questions really egged Ellie on, luckily.

"Yeah baby, want'chu to– all over her, she needs it, mhm–" she assures you, two foam–spit lips stamping your lobe, "feel that baby?" her elbow mounts like a belt to your hip crest, ducking under and tamping your womb, palm to pudge, and intones, "She's so fucking deep– shit.."

Spade of her cock punching your walls, over and over, you finally snap. The added hand to your belly, sought it done. Done well, pronto.

You convulse in tight vices to squeeze her dick, orgasm shaking you to the literal core, "Huunhh– Ellie, Els! Ssuhh– Ell–" a clammy paw wedges your mouth from splitting the walls with your uproar, fingers tender on your lips cushion.

"Shh– shh.. not so loud babe, take it easy–" snuffing you, she talks clemently, little grunts detailing you on how close she was, too, "that's it.. don't hold back baby– uh, fuck."

Her cock fucks you just right, blows you fried so easily, with every heavy lunge– you weep.

A pang twisting inside averts a sightly gaze to the beautiful coastline of darkness, pure oblivion. Fuzzy dollops of faded splotches prance your vision like a sick joke, mocking your high. You can't even croak, not even a peep, just sit back and let cum dribble from your hole, plashing her filthy cock in a sick mess.

Right on a dream–like cue, a snarled groan mauls from the deepest depth of her diaphragm, fresh on your ear, "Ghhodd– fhmm, good fuckin' pussh– mhh!"

Splash.

Her lids squinted tight, nose flared wide, she came. In waterfalls you couldn't observe, but swore you heard. A geyser to the floor, hyaline ribbons of her precious flavor taint the floor so disgustingly, so vividly, it shines.

Guess the wine loosened both of her lips.

She usually does not cum like that.

Damn.

Muggy exasperation fans your neck in ghostly hands that wrap, a recalescent mist baying for some kind of relief in dramatic swells and shrinks her chest pushes into you. Then, something moreso flobbed, a chuckle.

"Heheh–" her fingers slip from your lax lips, tapping kittenly on your chin.

"That's was, mhh– um–" you huff, dead of air just like her.

"Good?"

"Yup, just– couldn't.. oof.."

Her lips purse and plant a kiss to your scruff, grinning against the flesh, "Did good for me," moist smacks besmirch further, rasping, "felt so good t–"

A beating of hardy steps peals through the door's underside, sending a wash of shock over both of you abruptly.

"Fuck." Ellie's voice muffles sotto voce, darting grips to your folded hips, thumbs tacking on the streched knoll your ass provided.

You perk your ears in tune of this noise, gut instinct curls and kicks your body to move, bucking back on Els– who mind you, was still sheathed inside you.

That knocked another grunt from her, "Hmmph– don't do that– god, babyy.." she whines, runting back into you.

Hole stuffed back up, you clench your fists into a ball. This idiot.

"Ellie? You in there?" A familiar, dense, Texan drawl aptly known as Joel's, beacons from beyond the door.

That's bad.

"Shit what do I–"

"Get off, for onee–" a tense on your chords, you huff, bucking her muck sweat thighs off your hind and skidding out her cock pronto. The sudden emptiness was jarring, but, no time to waste.

"Fuck! Again–" she hisses.

You crouch your bare bum inches from the floor and swoop up the pooling pile of denim and cotton panties, rearing them up and fiddling with the metal button. Ellie followed suit, the best of her abilities– sex really fogs up her faculties, and pressed her cock plumb to her stomach as to tuck it properly her boxers, letting the band snap in place on waist– gently.

Triple knocks erupt, and then his bellow, "Kiddo?"

"We're good, we'll be down!" she calls back, eyes far from not studying your scurrying silhouette, just has to comment, "–fuck that ass." like she wanted more.

A grumbled 'Hmm' vibrates on the oak, trailed by fleeting footsteps that trudge away, thump, thump– you get it.

"Oh?" you kink your whisper, foxily, "second rounds?" and pivot around to face her.

"Mphht– not what I meant, dickhead." her voice deepens weirdly at the brink her sentence plonked upon, cocking her head with a smirk.

"Whatever." your eyes roll, capering off the room's corners.

"Hmph–" gruffed in amusement, "Cutie." gingerly steps huddle you right against that wall again, two biceps meeting warmth–to–warmth with your soaken shirts waistline.

Scoff, just scoff, "I think this is how second rounds start, liar."

She goes all bumbly, furrowing those bushy orange brows and frisking her eyes in a roll, copycat, "Don't get me started, pleasee." she begged fakely, cadence dense.

"Too late."

"You're right." her lips, wisp to yours so perfectly timed, interlocking one pink bud under your top lip and butting noses, plushing together in tide. Even plopped a little smack to the clad meat of your ass, how sweet.

A scant hint of dinner lingered on her breath, passed to you like a spill. Makes you want to slink those stairs in one go for a different palate of seconds. But, alas, you two bet smooches on the hope of no further interruptions, scarfing up kisses like hungry dogs.

(pls lmk if u wanna be added to the perm list, some mentions didnt work!)

@whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss

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esote-rika · 2 months ago

Text

not a mask, but a reflection | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader Category: idk hurt/comfort?? flangst? something like that, I'm sorry I truly don't know how to categorize this Summary: The BAU ladies insist on a makeover for Spencer, so you decide to indulge them by promising to take him shopping. It doesn't go as either of you expected, but it allows a chance for the two of you to form a deeper bond. Content: reader’s outfit is described, reader is based on Blair Waldorf in background, and personality– so you're rich!! and fashionable!! And snarky, but in a ride or die sunshine x sunshine protector kind of way, early season 2 glasses!Spencer crushing on reader, implied autistic Spencer, brief mention of his bullying, lots of dialogue!!! especially about fashion advice (PSA to wear whatever you want!!) Word count: 2.8k A/N: I'm back on my Blair Waldorf-reader agenda. I'm mainly writing these because of my own crackship, but I tried very hard not to describe any specific appearance stuff for the reader (aside from what ur wearing) so it’s as immersive and universal as possible! Styling in film and TV fascinates me and I wanted to explore Spencer’s character through clothes. ALSO! I incorporate a Blair Waldorf quote into the conversation that goes “Fashion is the most powerful art there is. It’s movement, design, and architecture all in one. It shows the world who we are and who we’d like to be.” pls know I didn't come up with it, the Gossip Girl writers did. It's from S4E13 specifically.

Saturdays are usually meant for curling up on his couch to read his favorite books, or marathon obscure foreign films. Alone, always alone, Spencer Reid has grown used to the feeling; accepted it, enjoyed it, even. He wouldn’t have survived all these years if he didn't appreciate his own company, after all.

However, today is different. He’s expecting company, which is unusual enough, but he’s expecting you of all people. And it’s for such a silly thing too— a makeover. Something straight out of a cliche high school movie. It had started at work, during a case, a passing comment made by one of the people being interviewed. Something about looking like he’s playing dress up, spoken so softly he’d been willing to pretend to ignore it.

But you heard it, had snapped at the man in annoyance about respect and propriety. At the jet, you had snapped at him about wearing clothes that fit better, and of course Morgan and JJ had to get involved, and Garcia squealed about a makeover over the phone. He hadn’t expected you to accept; when you did, he considered several ways to get out of it: pretend to have a date (implausible), pretend to get sick, just don’t show up. But then you said you’ll meet him at his apartment and his world seemed to come crashing down.

“I need to see what I'm working with before I dive headfirst into this,” was your reply when he protested. It makes sense, of course, but he's not happy about accepting you into his space. It's curated for him and his comfort, and he dreads the idea of casting your shrewd, critical gaze over his design choices. If he's less of a coward, he would admit that a small part of him desires your approval. Craves it, needs it, so much it makes his skin crawl.

So that’s why his Saturday morning is spent cleaning; straightening books, hiding the case files strewn about. He doesn’t want to give you any ammunition to tease him with. Having to undergo a makeover is embarrassing enough.

It reeks of bleach when he opens the door for you. The wrinkle of your nose has no business being so cute when it's obviously done to express disgust.

“What is that smell?”

“Hello to you too,” he can't keep the sarcasm from his tone as he steps aside.

You saunter in heels even though this is meant to be a casual get together. They click against his hardwood floors until you reach his rug, the thick fabric dulling out the noise. “Did you bleach your entire place?”

His expression is sheepish as he closes the door, “I figured I'd clean.”

“You sure you're not hiding a murdered body in here?” you walk straight into the middle of his apartment and look around. He winces as he waits for your verdict.

“I’m not, I just - you’re so -”

“I’m so?”

“Particular.” I don’t want to disappoint you, but he clamps his mouth shut before the words escape. Having you come in for a makeover already isn’t doing anything for his confidence. In fact, it just confirms his suspicions. Something is wrong with him, despite all the attempts at propriety and flattery otherwise. The BAU sees it, you see it, and you’re here to fix it. He swallows the lump in his throat, and with it, his pride and the tiny hint of resentment.

You are trying to help, he reminds himself.

Maybe it’s his hopeless optimism, maybe it’s desperation to seem normal for once, but it’s enough to surrender to your knowledgeable hands.

He lets his eyes take you in, allows himself a moment to linger on the details of your ensemble. The picture of coordination, as usual; shoes and bag the same shade of rich brown, the barrettes in your hair matching the pale blue trimming along the edges of the sundress you’re wearing. This is you dressed down, he knows, but somehow you manage to outdress him.

“I’m not even going to ask what you mean by that,” your eyes roll, before landing to one of the doors in his apartment, “Where’s your bedroom?”

He sputters, “My - uh, why?”

“I’m assuming that’s where you keep your clothes?” You look at him like he’s dumb, and he turns bright pink. “I told you, I can’t take you shopping before I see what you already own.”

He can’t believe he fully didn’t realize it meant letting you into his bedroom. But then again, his brain has the tendency to turn to mush when he’s speaking with you. “Right,” he nods, scrambling to his bedroom. All of his anxieties about his living room and the overwhelming amount of books seem distant now; you hadn’t even commented on them. Instead, this new one arises, bubbles in his stomach. Showing you his bedroom is so much more intimate. The space he sleeps in, where he’s most vulnerable.

A space no other woman has ever even seen.

He feels your presence behind him, smells the distinct loveliness of the perfume you like to call your signature scent. Of course you don’t ask for permission. He’s found quickly that you’re used to taking and having what you want, used to the world yielding to you instead of the other way around.

Your heels make sharp taps against the floor. Combined with your perfume, it’s already obvious that you’re making your mark in his room, his haven. He imagines the fragrance will linger when you leave, and it makes his ears burn with a longing that knocks the wind from his chest. The door remains open, and he’s thankful that he isn’t completely caged in his bedroom with you.

“Here’s my, uh, where I keep my clothes.” he hastily opens his closet, relief flooding his body as he sees it’s not that messy. Everything is ironed and pressed, although some of his sweaters are haphazardly piled together. He hopes he won’t have to show you the mess that is his sock drawer.

You step up beside him, bare arm brushing against his. Brows furrowed in concentration as you rifle through his clothes. He steps back to give you more room to work with, although it’s more for his sake than yours. Your proximity is making him a little dizzy. He finds himself slumping on his bed, watching your movements. You’re approaching the task at hand with the same meticulous acuity as you would in a crime scene. Focused. Detail oriented, even when doing something so insignificant.

He’s not sure what to expect. He’s bought his clothes based on what he sees other men wear, relying on his observation skills, and the clothing guidelines given by HR to deduce what is considered appropriate. His father wore dress shirts a lot, back when his family was still intact. Hotch and Morgan wear suits, but those have always felt too formal to use on a daily basis. He opts for cardigans and sweater vests to keep him warm instead, because they’re softer, less restrictive. They remind him of Diana, the things she would wear back when she could still teach. He hopes you don’t make him get rid of them.

“You wear a lot of light browns,” your voice lifts him out of his anxious stupor, “You have to give that up.”

He frowns in confusion, “What’s wrong with wearing light brown?”

“You’re too pale, they make you look even more sickly. But if you must wear brown, lean into this shade instead,” you hold up a dark brown blazer that he actually really likes. He smiles, happy that it got your seal of approval. You turn to him, eyes narrowed, “And your dress shirts are too big, look at where the shoulder seam falls.”

He blinks in surprise as your hand comes to touch an inch past the edge of his shoulder, pinching the fabric, “It should be up here. You’re too slim for an oversized look, it just swamps your frame. If you’re going to be wearing them, they have to fit you better.”

He nods, feeling a little out of his depth, “How do you know all of this?”

“Years of consuming Cosmopolitan and Vogue.” You turn back to the closet, he frowns slightly. The words mean nothing to him, and he flinches when he hears you sigh.

“Fashion magazines?” you prompt, glancing back over your shoulder.

“Ah,” He nods, lips pursed, “I can't say those are on my reading lists.”

“Obviously not, otherwise you'd know not to wear,” You gesture at his entire ensemble, nose wrinkling once again, “This.”

It doesn’t really occur to him what the problem is as he looks down at his checked button down. “It’s a nice shirt.” he says, although he can see your point now; it’s too big.

“Reid, you look like you’re about to start proselytizing about our lord and saviour Jesus Christ.” you say, stepping away from his wardrobe and stopping in front of him.

Your teasing makes his cheeks burn. Or maybe it’s your sudden closeness, your hands at his buttons, “Um, what–” he’s stiff, memories rushing of being held down, clothes forcibly ripped—

“Relax,” you step back after undoing the top button. The annoyed scoff surprisingly gives him some comfort, reminds him it’s you, he’s here with you, “There, that’s better. Don’t button it up all the way.”

“Why not?”

“I told you, it makes you look like you’re cosplaying a minister.” He shifts under your gaze, feeling exposed, even though he’s fully dressed. But that’s exactly what you’re judging, after all, his clothes. There’s nowhere to hide. “Why are you so tense, Reid? It’s not going to make you look like a fool, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Why? Where does he even begin? The fact that he’s never had a woman in his room before, and it’s making him feel like he’s about to implode? His memories of being stripped naked for all the school to see, humiliated, fueling the irrational fear of letting go of his clothes, the things he’s comfortable wearing. And for what? In order to be fashionable? To seem normal, to be fixed?

He settles for a half truth, the words mumbled and embarrassed, “I like my clothes.”

To his surprise, your eyes soften, “Okay. And?”

“I like how I dress.”

“You don’t want to change your style?”

He looks down and shakes his head, feeling a little silly. How can he explain it to someone like you, who probably would have been one of his tormentors when he was back in school? It’s sick, this desire to be close to you, to be accepted by you as though being in your orbit would lessen his eccentricity. He thought he’d left it behind in high school, had grown out of it, but it’s there, recognizable and refusing to let him rest.

“You know you didn’t have to say yes to this,” the bed dips as you sit beside him, “It was a silly thing the girls and I thought would be fun, but if it’s making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop and we could just, I dunno, go for ice cream instead.”

“No, I - I do, I just… don’t want to change completely.” It's almost pathetic how something as simple as clothes is making him spiral, “I like how I dress, even if you guys make fun of it. It’s comfortable. I get really cold hands, and the sweaters help, and - and the satchel is convenient even if you say it clashes with my outfits or whatever.”

Your hand rests on his forearm, and his rambling halts immediately.

“Then I won’t stop you from wearing grandpa-chic,” the lightness in your voice makes him smile, “This is why I wanted to see what you had. I wasn’t about to start from scratch, and there’s obviously a reason you gravitated towards these pieces. I wouldn’t force you into something you hate, that sort of defeats my fashion philosophy.”

“Your fashion philosophy?” He's smiling now as he listens to you.

“I believe that the whole point of fashion and clothing is to help reflect what you are on the inside, not mask it.” You reply, hand finding his own. He allows it, finding something warm and soothing in the touch of your hand, silencing the usual urge to pull away in fear of germs. “And, anyway, I think your clothes make you look really intellectual, so if you like them, you have the pieces in your closet already, it’s just a matter of styling them better.”

You squeeze his hand, but he could have sworn you did it to his actual heart.

He watches as you return to his closet again, rummaging through the clothes. You hold up a white button down and a navy blue cardigan, head tilted to the side, teeth worrying the plushness of your lower lip, “Like this; this is a nice combination, and it’ll work better with your complexion. Try it on.” they’re tossed over to him, landing on his lap.

You’re turning away from him, still going through his clothes—allowing him privacy. He appreciates that. He scrambles out of his current clothes, his skin prickling as he thinks about the fact that he’s in a room with a woman alone, getting undressed. No. You’re a friend and a coworker doing him a favor, he should get his head out of the gutter. Hurriedly, he puts the suggested ensemble on.

“Uh, it’s — you can turn around.”

He holds his breath as your eyes rove over his figure, still with the same sharpness he’s used to, but blunted by the small smile playing across your lips. “Yeah, that’s better. Navy’s a great color for you.” you have a stack of his shirts in your hand, all of them patterned and printed, “I’m sorry, but these… have to go. Or at least don’t wear them to work. The prints are ugly, no offense.”

He chuckles, taking the shirts from you, “Not wearing ugly prints to work anymore, got it.”

“Yeah, keep the funky patterns on your ties.” you reach up, brushing lint and dust off the cardigan, “Your shirts should remain plain, solid colors; you have a lot of nice sweater vests and cardigans, it’ll be easier to match them together if your shirts are in more basic colors.”

Committing your words to memory is easy enough. Rules. He likes rules, but they need to make sense to him, otherwise their arbitrariness will simply frustrate him. “Why?”

“Why what?”

So far, you’re being so receptive to his questions, it might actually make him cry. It’s a new feeling, being the one who’s floundering. Not being the smartest, most knowledgeable person. How exciting, he decides, getting to learn in an area he’s never been able to fully understand on his own. He clarifies, “Why can’t I match the cardigans and sweaters to, uh, colorful shirts?”

It’s a while before you answer, moving around to wind a tie across his neck. Your words are thoughtful when you speak, “It’s a visual balance. Too many colors and patterns can look heavy and distracting— which is okay, you know, but time and place is always something to consider when you’re dressing up. And you’re going to work, so it’s better to err on the side of caution and wear things that are more… sleek.” Your hands are deft as they tighten the tie, tucking it into the cardigan. “So now that I know what sorts of clothes you like to wear, it’s a matter of finding the right color combinations and cuts that fit your body. Here, see for yourself.”

You push him forward until he’s in front of his mirror, and indeed he does look… better. Still himself, still familiar, but the contrast of the navy cardigan against his pale skin somehow brings out more warmth from his cheeks and makes his hair seem less dull. Visual balance, you said. “Like art,” he murmurs.

“Exactly,” your smile is proud, peeking from behind his shoulder, “Fashion is the most powerful art there is. It’s movement, design, and architecture all in one. It shows the world who we are and who we’d like to be… and this is showing the world that you’re one attractive nerd.”

He laughs at that. There’s a lightness in his chest as he realizes he doesn’t have to change everything. “I think I get it.” he replies, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“Of course you do, you’re a genius.” A slap on the back, one filled with warm intimacy, “Now, I did promise the team a makeover, so now that I know what sort of stuff you need, we can finally go shopping… and we need to do something with your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” he asks, but he’s smiling and so are you.

THERE WILL BE A PART TWO! Also, tagging everyone who expressed interest in Waldorf!Reader @mggslover @libraprincessfairy @lillaberry @lokisswiftie

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fan fiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you fluff #dr spencer reid #mgg #criminal minds fic #autistic!spencer

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alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r · 7 months ago

Note

Definitely nothing gross cause I hate stuff like that too. Im absolutely obsessed with his hands, and so I was kinda imagining an early seasons Spencer who doesn't understand why reader always stares at his hands so she shows him 🤭

If no thats okay 😅👍🏻

Oooo

I love Spencer's hands.

HAVE YOU SEEN HIS HANDS FOR THE NON BELIEVERS LIKE BROOO

CW: Lwk size difference. consent?

A/N: Mistakes? Comment. Compliments? Comment. Problems? cOmmENT!!!!

______________________________________________________________

Spencer was sat beneath you immersed in a book he bought a few days ago. You tried to follow the words but you kept getting distracted. You let put a shaky breath as your eyes followed Spencer Reid's fingers, how the flexed before flipping the page. You were so focus on his fingers you didn't hear Spencer.

NSFW BENEATH BE VERY WARNED

Spencer Reid was a damn good profiler so when he noticed your irregular breathing, dilated eyes and unresponsiveness he wondered if it was your thoughts till he noticed what you were looking at.

Rolling up his sleeved he moved closer to you.

"Angel?" he asked for the 4th time before you jerked back finally coming to.

"Huh? did you say something?" You asked as you peeled your eyes off his fingers.

"Bingle-bongle, dingle-dangle, yickety-do yickitey-dah, ping-pong, lippy-tappy, too-tah."

You blinked twice before coming to your sense, what were you doing?

His gaze on you made your cheeks feel hotter than usual.

"Why are you quoting Doctor Who?"

"My girl's not here, figured the Doctor could bring her back." You scratched the back of your neck as you looked away.

"I'm here."

"A survey conducted by the Journal of Sex Research in 2007 found that about 30% of participants reported some form of partialism."

"Partialism?"

"A type of paraphilia involving sexual interest in, or fixation with, a certain part of the body."

"I-?"

"My hands. that's your current sexual interest."

"Sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"I don't know for maybe sexualising your hands."

"I'm your boyfriend, I don't mind...in fact, I'm interested in how you see my hands" his words made you gulped. Spencer smiled so innocently but his actions were anything but.

One of his hands disembarked from the arm of the chair and began to trail up your neck, a trail of shivers in it's wake. You froze, your breath caught in your lungs.

"Spencer..."

"Mhmm...?"

He knew what he was doing to you. How it affected you. His index finger traced your jaw before landing on your lips.

"Open." it was a simple order. You opened your mouth before your nerve disappeared like your reasoning. His finger trailed the inside of your mouth before landing on your tongue.

"Suck." your lips like clockwork clamped down on his knuckle and like someone with their favorite candy. You sucked. Your tongue wrapping around his finger.

His eyes were locked on your face. Only the whites of your eyes were visible as you all but sucked the skin of his fingers. He was losing his control by the day and it was you he wanted to take care of.

He chuckled at your eagerness. "You like how bigger my hands are huh? dirty little thing aren't you."

The sound that came from the back of your throat was primal. You didn't say anything but no words were needed.

Spencer pulled you down to the floor, his finger still in your mouth like a leash. HIs other hand moved to your bottoms and they were gone. He removed his finger from your mouth and you felt empty.

That was before you felt his fingers in you. Throwing your head back you realised the background noise wasn't just background noise. It was you moaning the entire time. Your thighs clenched around his arm as you wriggled and writhed under him.

“Such a slut you are, hm?” his tone changed slightly causing you to rock your hips even more. Teasing your entrance with his finger you wondered if he would give you his cock. "You’re so wet.” He chuckled breathlessly, you noticed just how much he was restraining himself.

His hair falling over his eyes , slightly hiding his lust filled gaze. Before He lowered his head towards his fingers.

The next few moments were heaven. Spencer ate puss like a starving man. Your starving mam

Spencer brought you down from your high, your breasts having joined the game, you briefly wondered when you lost your shirt.

"No nerd facts?" you finally spoke your throat slightly dry.

"You want, fuck, you want a fact?" his voice was breathless and windy.

"Yes."

"You drive me crazy."

You laughed as you laid on him.

"I'm glad, but i mean an actual fact."

"Alright but stop moving your hands." You tilted your head.

"It's my turn now."

You traced the buldge in his pants. Unzipping his pants.

"People who-who..." you palmed him.

"Who what?" you asked mimicking him. Tracing the tip you watch Spencer fight to stay together.

" A-Are hand fetish-fetishist usually admire the nails-" You pressed slightly along the sides.

"Long nails? short nails?nail-polished? clear?"

"Angel..." his voice was horse.

"Alright, no questions."

"And enjoy licking or sucking one's hand or fingers and the acts made with the hand (handjobs, fingering, slapping, scratching and so on)" You moved your hair as you began to do just that.

Licking

Sucking

Nibbling

Spencer came apart minutes later all over the floor, his head falling into the chair. His chest rising slowly again. He raised his arms and brought you closer, his face disappearing slightly in your hair.

"Angel, I love you so much." he mumbled.

"I love you too Spence."

"We should get cleaned up..." he began making no motion to get up.

"We should..." slumping into him further.

"Are we getting up now?"

"Oh no, you turned me into Spaghetti legs!" you exclaimed.

__________________________________________________________

Spencer Reid smut has been served. I don't know if I like this or not but what matters is that i overcame my writers block at 2am

493 notes · View notes

bitchimasnake-sss · 8 months ago

Note

YOUR YUJI FIC WAS SO YUMMY 😳 I would love a part 2 if you’re ever up for writing it! 🥹

GUESS WHO'S BACK FROM THE FUCKING DEAD. ME. ME. I AM BACK AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH (im sorry i just missed writing). well, anyways, with me comes the power of horny <3

ps: this took me fucking four days to write and i don't even think it's good 😭😭 writers block is a bitch

🧸learning some lessons ft. yuuji itadori!

continuation of my previous fic "teaching some lessons", so, i suggest read that first to ensure you're fully immersed into the horny storyline. set-up: yuuji itadori. the quarterback, the guy you're giving "sex ed" lessons, and ofcourse, the brother of your childhood best friend sukuna. what could ever go wrong with this combination? nothing, i hope? warnings: contains nsfw concepts such as yuuji's first time, overstimulation, penetration, a bit of porn logic. and as always, sukuna, nobara and megumi are fucking menaces. stay blessed y'all, and minors DO NOT INTERACT I WILL FIND YOU AND HUNT YOUR ASSES. [ALSO A LITTLE BIT OF TOJI AND GOJO SLANDER IM SORRY] wc: 6.4k porn with A LOT of plot [like 70% plot im sorry]

"dude." megumi's usual nonchalant demeanor had faded in a matter of seconds. now, each of his drawled out words had a certain twinge of dread, "this is actually fucking insane."

"hm?" the pink-haired quarterback didn't even bother to dignify his best friend's statement with a proper answer. he was too busy rapidly pressing the controls, trying to get the shots right.

but megumi's hand had gone slack, the controller barely held limply in his palm. he turned to stare down the forementioned pink-headed idiot. he repeated himself, "yuuji."

"gumi—" yuuji hissed back, "we're losing, fucking focus."

"you just told me that you're fucking sukuna's best friend. her." megumi deadpanned, "the only thing i need to focus on is arranging your funeral."

yuuji hissed through his teeth as his player got shot right in the head and a definitive 'GAME OVER' flashed all across the tv screen. he sunk backwards into the comfortable couch at the fushiguro household. megumi shifted backwards too, slumping next to his best friend with a resigned sigh.

the house was eerily quiet, save for the sounds of the background score of the game playing in the background. yuuji knew tsumiki was out shopping with her friends, and gojo was out annoying the hell out of someone or the other (possibly, coach nanamin). who else was to be considered in the fushiguro household? toji fushiguro? he was an enigma. he came when he felt like and left just as soon. a model poster boy for giving people daddy issues, yuuji presumed.

"have i told you your couch is super nice?" yuuji asked as he stared at the overhead lighting before sweeping his gaze over the modern living room.

"multiple times."

the quarterback snorted, "you remember the time i got drunk—"

"—and tried to take the couch home. yes, i do. i also remember the time sukuna chased you with a knife cause you took his last pack of cheetos. imagine what he would do when you take his best friend."

yuuji pouted, giving megumi a side-eye he couldn't miss, "you're no fun."

"be for fucking real." the raved head sat up, turning towards yuuji at lightning speed. his eyes squinted in scrutiny, "you're the one making idle chit-chat as if sukuna isn't gonna kill you the moment he finds out what you and her have been up to."

"yeah but—" yuuji sighed, rubbing his palms against his face slowly, "is it really that big of a deal? i mean, it's just a few lessons here and there. it's not like she likes me or something—"

"—yeah, she probably won't. ever. considering she called you her little brother."

"oh, fuck off, gumi. that was when we were five."

"just pointing down the obvious."

"i knew i should have told nobara about the situation. she would have given much better advice."

"kugisaki would have laughed at you so hard, she would have cried." megumi got up, probably to get some more chips. as he left, he quipped over his shoulder, "you're catching feelings for someone who doesn't have that kind of interest in you, itadori. you will end up looking like an idiot at the end. and possibly dead."

well, maybe megumi fushiguro had a point. but that point was so goddamn hard to see with your thighs pressed on either sides of his face.

🧸lesson 04: maybe making girls cry is okay sometimes

"mhm- ngh oh my god. yuu." yuuji placed his tongue flat against your pulsating clit. you bucked into his face, pressing his mouth messily to your hot core as you showered him in breathless praises.

nobody was home. kuna was probably gonna be home later at night and so, you both had decided his room as the venue for your next 'lesson'.

you weren't even sure which numbered orgasm it was at this point. and you weren't sure if you even existed anymore outside of yuuji and his face and his tongue and yuuji.

red, hot need ran it's course through your body as the jock manhandled you. his calloused palms pulled your jerking hips downwards to steady them and then, pulled you hastily towards himself. yur jaw fell open, going slack at the torturous stimulation yuuji had the audacity to hum in approval when you momentarily went slack under him.

"yuuji, yuuji. yuu. pl-please please- stop. st-" tears pricked at your eyes as you called out his name in a futile attempt to get him to stop. your hands bunched at his sweaty locks, pushing and pulling to get his wicked tongue on your sensitive cunt to ease up.

but the jock was unforgiving.

his tongue dipped within you, your muscles contracting and spasming against his pretty face as his nose dug deeper against your clit. his tongue was fast, delving in and out of you methodically as you bucked and keened under his touches. the salty tears fell down your cheeks.

"yuu—" you mumbled in a weak voice and he finally looked up so as to assess the damage.

"hm?" his mouth finally parted from yours, messy and sticky.

and when yuuji looked up at you, he was sure this is the last sight he would see before he was condemned to hell for the rest of eternity. your eyes were watery, lips swollen and quivering. you could barely keep your vision straight before you clenched your eyes shut and tried to pry him off of yourself.

so fucking pretty that it made him ache. and that only pushed him to kiss inner thigh and lick a soft stripe up your gushing cunt, getting back to what he was previously doing.

"fuck fuck fuc— yuu, no. no more. p-plea— fuck." you stomach was full of something hot and molten, something jittery and unstable. something that sounded and tasted a lot like yuuji itadori.

the quarterback stayed on his knees, bringing his forefinger and thumb to pinch and rub your wet clit as your thighs shook, your eyes rolled backwards and your back arched. he grinned — a feral sight — as you finally came undone on his tongue again.

he finally pulled himself upwards, using his discarded tshirt to clean off his face. as he stood before you, all he could do was watch you awestruck.

you were heavenly.

your spent figure was slumped on his bed; t-shirt pushed up to expose your bruised tits and your legs pressed together as you tried to come back on mother earth. your eyes were still closed, cheeks wet from tears and yuuji had to stop himself from begging you to let him fuck you tonight.

but he abstained. of course not. that was insane. you would never let him go that far, would you? so, instead he chose to lie down next to you and pull you into his chest.

you nudged your cheek against his pecs, finding refuge in his warmth and he gladly let you, allowing a small smile on his face. his fingers came up to push back strands of hair from your sweaty forehead and then wipe away the salty tears that had made home against the plane of you cheeks. once he was sure you had caught your breath, he pressed a sweet kiss to your skin. finally, he mumbled, "sorry, did i go too far?"

you shook your head no, curling further into him with ease. and he let you. he shifted his position so as to allow your skin on his, so as to press his nose to your hair and smell that strawberry shampoo, so as to almost pretend for a second that you were his.

but you didn't let the show run for long. a few minutes later, as you felt the energy returning to your body, you attempted to get up.

the jock's eyebrows furrowed, he sat up with you, "something wrong? do you want something? water or—"

"—no, no." you turned to give him a weak smile, "i think i'm just gonna go shower before kuna is home and he finds me like this."

oh. ofcourse. how could he forget the ever-looming threat that was sukuna?

"can you walk?" he asked earnestly, offering you his tshirt so you could put it on, "i can walk you to the shower, if you want."

"i'll be okay, yuu." you poked your head through his shirt, trying to stand up. but your legs immediately wobbled and you lost balance, "—fuck. okay. i guess not."

yuuji offered you a smile, picking you up bridal style as you squealed at his action. a blush crept up your neck and face, "what are you doing?!"

"what? i think i should be responsible for the mess i create, shouldn't i?" he gave you a cheeky smile, the kind where the cut under his eye came alive and he grinned ear to ear. a boyish grin, perhaps. and you were fortunate enough to be on the recipient end of it.

you weren't sure what it was that you felt for yuuji, or what you didn't. all you knew that right now — as he carried you out of his room clad in a t-shirt that smelt like him — it was as if he was aware of the sudden jump your heart and wanted nothing more than to be the cause of your untimely death.

"you don't have to do this." you mumbled.

what did 'this' refer to, exactly? you weren't quite sure. was it the fact that he had entertained your drunken idea for such a long amount of time? or was if the fact that in the moments even when you weren't offering him something physical, he still looked at you as if you hung up stars in the night sky for him? maybe it was as simple as the fact that he was carrying you to run you a bath.

he stayed quiet and you repeated yourself louder, "really, yuuji, you don't have to."

"i want to." and that was all he said.

you felt his biceps tense under you as he shifted your weight on one arm and attempted to open the door with the other. he gave you a reassuring smile, and you nudged your face against his chest to hide your embarrassment at his simple answer.

once he finally was through, he walked into the lliving room, attempting to make his way to the bathroom down the hallway whe—

"YUUJI?!" a voice boomed from the door and both of you whipped your head to look at the man that stood there.

ever heard of divine intervention? yeah, this was whatever the fuck is the opposite to that. satanic intervention. cursed intervention, perhaps.

"ON—ONICHAN?!"

"CHOSO?!" you scrambled off of yuuji, hitting the ground with a muffled thud.

choso immediately looked away from his half-naked brother and the girl in his brother's t-shirt*.

(*yeah, okay, just try to understand the family dynamics for a second. choso [24] is the oldest and he has graduated uni and has a job now. sukuna and (yn) [21] are in their third year, and yuuji [20] is in his second. choso knows who (yn) is since you and kuna are childhood besties or whatever. so... yeah okay, back to the shitshow 👍🏻)

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" choso asked loudly, his eyes still averted from you both so as to not accidentally see your exposed form.

"WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" yuuji retorted as you hid behind his broad figure instinctively, trying to recover whatever ounce of modesty you had.

"I OBVIOUSLY HAD THE KEY TO MY OWN HOME?!"

"WELL, DON'T WALK IN UNANNOUNCED? DO YOU HAVE NO MANNERS?"

"yuuji."

"IM SORRY 'NICHAN!!"

and that is how choso found out about your little arrangement. and that is how you both decided to never have another rendezvous session at the itadori's.

🧸lesson 05: you got this, itadori!

"what the fuck?" megumi asked slowly, eyeing yuuji as the jock shoved some french fries down his mouth.

"YEAH, WHAT THE FUCK?!" nobara repeated, louder. to which, megumi gave her a side-eye, "we're in public, kugisaki."

yuuji took his time, sipping his coke before shrugging, "yeah, so, 'nichan found out."

nobara shook her head, "no. no. turn around 360—"

"—180. 360 makes a circle."

"die, megs. anyways, turn around and tell me that part of the story where you started—" the red-head shuddered, "—doing stuff with senpai. why?! how?! why?! how??"

yuuji took a bite from his burger before saying, "well, she offered."

"fuck that all. it's old news."

"for you. cause, apparently, i was left out of the loop—"

"—much sad. anyways, is choso okay with you and her? or is he gonna snitch you out to sukuna?"

"i mean, no. i don't think so, no." yuuji tried to steal a fry off of nobara's plate and she smacked his hand off, "ow kugisaki! whatever. he gave me a long lecture about how i should actually pursue her and officially ask her out if we wanna keep doing this. after that, for whatever unrelated reason, he cried about how quickly we grew up."

"virgin behavior." nobara stuck out a tongue, quickly reeling out of her disbelief over the fact that yuuji was getting some, "i mean, that's old-fashioned. you don't have to date her, you know?"

"but your brother's not wrong, is he?" megumi offered. "don't keep doing this just cause you want a way to get your dick wet."

"megs, it's not 1920. they are consensual adults and they can just fool around if they're on the same page."

"yeah but about that—" yuuji tried to sneak in a fry from megumi's plate now, "—i think i'm in love with her. and i am pretty sure the feelings are one-sided."

"huH?!"

"what?" the jock looked at the two dumbfounded, "i like her. she's pretty and smart and i think— i like her."

he didn't think he liked you. he knew that he was whole-heartedly, as stupidly as humanly possible, in love with you.

but he didn't bother mentioning the fact.

he didn't bother mentioning a plethora of things, in fact. first, that his heart had been offered to you at the ripe age of four when he first realized that sunlight got caught against your hair strands somewhat magically, and when you smiled, he smiled; and that when he cried, you kissed his imaginary wounds better even when sukuna made fun of him.

he didn't bother mentioning that when he asked you to marry him, there was only such a small part of him that was 'joking', the larger chunk of him would have exchanged his soul for some sort of forbidden alchemy to be with you.

he didn't bother mentioning that when he was thirteen, a slew of girls had asked to be his girlfriend, and he had turned down each one of them to sneak in his first kiss with you.

but all those years of pining just turned into a small ball of anxiety, ever-growing in his stomach. he knew you didn't feel the same. so, he didn't bother saying any of that. because, well, frankly, his situation seems just a tiny-teensy bit pathetic.

"i guess i just like her... just a bit." he repeated, more to himself than others.

"we heard the first time. and the second."

"DUDE" nobara's eyes widened, "she's sukuna's best friend."

"hey, what happened to the fact that we are consensual adults fooling around?"

"oh no, fuck that. i was humoring you." nobara shook her head, "sukuna's gonna murder you."

"yeah, i know." yuuji sighed, his playfulness replaced by something more mature, "i am not gonna ask her out. i think i'm gonna call this— whatever this is— off. i don't want her to lose her friendship with 'kuna, and she... well, she probably doesn't like me anyways."

megumi and nobara exchanged a sorry expression among themselves before looking back to yuuji. but the jock put on a smile, "ah it's fine, it was fun while it lasted." he leaned back in his seat, "wanna catch a movie after this? human earthworm is out."

so the quarterback had gone back home that day with a certain resolve. he would call this off.

he put on his lucky red sweatshirt, put on the cologne you had complimented once when he had gone for one of his lessons, and he put on his best fake smile. as he passed by sukuna in the living room, he guiltily looked away from him and walked out of the door as soon as possible.

"where ya going?" the tatted man asked, not looking up from his phone.

"nowhe—" he sighed, running a hand through his hair before he bent downwards to put on his shoes, "with gumi and nobara. we're going to the arcade."

"you've been hanging out with the fushiguro kid quite a lot nowadays. a lot of sleepovers."

yuuji's fingers halted, slowly fidgeting with the shoelaces before he threw sukuna a casual look, "he's my friend. and his dad is out of town so i go over. got an issue?"

"nah, do whatever." kuna met his eyes but then went back to his phone without saying much. a beat later, he continued, "well, let me know if you'd be home in time for dinner."

yuuji stood up, dusting off his clothes, "you're cooking today?"

"yeah, thought i'd invite her over. she likes that pasta i make."

at the mention of you, yuuji looked over sukuna once. a sharp sting suddenly erupted in his chest like someone had hit him. hard. and, so, without saying anything more, the younger itadori immediately left through the main door.

things must end.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

his fingers skimmed over the ringing bell in front of your apartment as his feet nervously shuffled around at the door. he knew you were on the other side, waiting for him. as the door swung open, he was face to face with your housemate.

"hey?" maki raised an eyebrow, a smug smile on her lips. she was dressed as if she was leaving to go somewhere, "she's in her room."

yuuji simply pursed his lips, nodded and moved past his senior. before walking into your room, he stalled in front of the door, threw his head back to catch maki about to leave, "kugisaki says hi, by the way."

and if yuuji didn't know any better, he would have assumed the glare maki gave was one well-intended to kill him.

he wasn't sure if the room was chilly or if the reason for goosebumps was something else, but nonetheless, he shut the door behind him and stepped into the room. as he came in view with the bed, he found you casually on your back, scrolling your phone.

"yuuji!" you smiled as you sat up, a familiar warmth spreading over your face at his presence. but he merely nodded, his lips drawn into a thin line.

"um," you fidgeted, standing up hastily and laughing to ease the awkwardness, "so, uh— did maki let you in?"

"yeah, she did."

"oh, well, she's going out, so we don't need to worry about her." you paused for a second before your expression fell and you tried again, "hey?"

but a same monotone expression fell across his face, "hey."

"um... is something wrong? in a bad mood or something?"

"not quite." yuuji rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the cold, wooden floors, "i wanted to talk. to you, i mean."

you nodded, although he didn't look up at you to register your expression. he continued softly, "we should stop this."

"what?"

"i—" he looked up at you, quickly sneaking in a steadying breath, "i wanted to thank you for the 'lessons'. it's been fun and i learnt so much, really. but you don't have to do it anymo—"

"why?" you interrupted, "did someone find out?"

"what? no."

"then?" you stepped towards him, your unyielding gaze trained on his face, "do you not... want to do it with me anymore?"

"no, ofcourse not." his eyes widened and he stepped forward in a desperate attempt to comfort you. his palms found purchase against your cheek, "no. that's not what i meant."

"what do you mean then?" you looked up at him, confused.

"i-" he looked at you softly, "i really can't ruin your friendship with sukuna anymore. we need to stop. it has gone for... for way too long, now, hasn't it?"

"—it's just been a few months."

"come on. we both know we need to stop." he confessed, and as his words left you hollow, so did his touch. he pulled away from you and stepped back a teensy bit to allow you some space. "it will be for the best."

you looked at him for a beat. and then one more. finally, "kiss me."

and the jock obliged without any hesitation. his lips were familiar against yours, his hands on your cheek, and his body weight pressing onto you and pushing you backwards into the bed.

the back of your knees hit the wooden frame and you stumbled backwards, falling onto the bed with a muffled thud. but yuuji didn't bother following you and caging you underneath him. instead, he stood at the edge, waiting.

"yuu?" you asked softly.

"are you sure about this?"

and you weren't sure if he was asking that question to you or himself. you weren't sure if his fingers were shaking from the betrayal or the need to hold you against him. but you nodded your head anyways, "yeah. if this is it. if this is the last time then indulge in my stupid ideas one last time." you paused, "please?"

he nodded before swiftly throwing off his hoodie off of his torso an onto the floor. bruises from a few days before laid tattered across his tan skin and his biceps flexed and moved as he slowly caged you under him.

"fuck," he breathed in slowly, taking in your low-lidded gaze, "you're so fuckin' pretty."

your fingers found solace in his pinkish locks and you pulled him closer — till your skin smelt like his perfume and his stuttered breath hit your lips, "yuuji."

"hm?" his eyes ran over your face, and the adoration in his eyes made you feel like he would set the world aflame if you so as even asked him to.

"fuck me."

his pupils widened, cheeks flushed and a breathless gasp got stuck in his throat. at his reaction, you pulled him downwards, kissing him softly before the tendrils of passing seemed to nip down on both of you. soon after, you were nothing more than messy kisses, clashing teeth and wrong decisions.

"fuuck— ha-harder." he moaned as your fingernails sunk into his scalp, pulling him harder against yourself.

your hands travelled downwards to his chest and you pushed him away only to turn him around and straddle his hips. your pelvis rolled over his, the delicious friction driving you delirious as you peered down at the man under you — kiss-bitten lips, tousled hair, flushed cheeks.

yuuji itadori looked at you as if you were his god.

and you played along. rolling your hips, tracing a finger from his jaw down to his pecs as your lips traced the path with soft kisses soon after.

his hips stuttered, trying to meet your shallow teases before he mumbled out a soft, "take off your clothes."

you smiled, putting on a show for him as you slipped out of your tshirt. leaving yourself exposed to his preying eyes, you slowly took off the bra.

"shit, look at you." he raised himself on his elbows, coming upwards to softly kiss your warm skin before slowly licking over your nipple as another hand fondled the other. your head was thrown back at the feeling of his warm mouth on you while his fingers softly tugged at the other.

soon after that, you found yourself rocking yourself on his long fingers as he sunk his teeth in your neck, getting off on the pretty sounds you made as you rut against him almost as desperately as he was. when he caught you sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to stay quiet, he pulled your face towards his and kissed you senseless. when he pulled away, his hot breath fanned over your lips, "don't. let me hear, please."

and so senseless moans tumbled down your lips as you you came, still rutting against his hand.

when your breath stilled and you finally met his gaze, all you could was breath out an airy, "fuck me, please."

flushed face, hazy eyes, your mouth parted so prettily at the end of the sentence. who was itadori yuuji to deny you of anything?

"say that again."

🧸lesson 06: fuck it up, itadori!

"n-no protection? are you... sure?"

god, he was adorable.

you held back a laugh as you re-assured him a millionth time, "i'm on birth control, so, no. trust me."

"hm. hm." his breath was caught in his throat as if it were a jagged rock. your hands on his torso felt warm — too warm — as if they would char him and you blinked up at him so prettily as you laid atop those pillows.

"i- one second. i-" his voice was thick, hands slightly shaking as he tried to guide his erection into your slick cunt.

"yuu," you cooed and he looked at you in part hope, part confusion. a laugh escaped you at his expression, "you look like a kicked puppy."

"so-sorry, imjustnervous—" he mumbled, his eyes avoiding yours.

"yuu," you repeated, "this is your first time, right?"

he nodded so softly that it was entirely too easy to miss it. you held back an amused grin, "let me help, okay?"

shockwaves ran through his body as your soft hand slowly took ahold of his dick and ran the tip over your clit, gathering your wetness on the mushroom tip. you both held back a choked sigh as your hand continued the same up and down, up and down, up and down motion till you felt as if yuuji was going to cry just from the teasing.

"h-hey—"

"sorry, sorry. no more teasin', i promise." you replied cheekily, fingers finally guiding him to your sloppy hole. and as the tip finally pushed past the first ring of feeble resistance, a shuddering gasp left the man above you.

pushing in inch by inch, you gasped at the sinful stretch of him filling you. your walls spasmed slightly against him, hugging him so sinfully tight that he wondered if he would pass out just right now. but he couldn't. so he commanded himself to keep moving forward till he was all but buried within you.

"s-shit." his breath was heavy against the dip of your neck and you ran a soft hand through his hair, "you okay, yuu?"

"ye-yeah." he shook his head slowly, descending down on you to sink his teeth into your skin again as he started moving slowly.

"jus like that— yeah."

at first his thrusts were slow and shallow, as if he was just testing the waters. but as you found you keening into his touches and moaning as his tip rubbed against a certain spot, he grew sure of his actions.

his thrusts were now harder, a bit more precise and his tempo increased as you dug your heels on his back and tugged on his hair to keep him going.

"jesus" you gasped, back arching off slowly as his lower abs caught friction against your clit and his dick started ramming into your with a periodic rhythm. "fu-fuck is it your fuckin first time? for fucks sake, yuuji ngh—"

his breath was laboured, a thin layer of sweat adorning his forehead and nose, "im a quick learner, fuck— you're shi-shit, you're so fucking perfect."

lifting himself up slightly, his hand snaked in between your bodies and he found himself thumbing at your clit with ease.

"yuuji—" your voice pitched up as his circles grew in pressure. already overstimulated from his administrations on your poor cunt, you felt the pressure building inch by inch till it grabbed ahold of your body and shook you to your very core.

under him, you grabbed hastily at the sheets, at the pillow, at his hair, at anything to keep yourself on this plane of consciousness as he kept drawing messy figures on your clit and fucked into your cervix with reckless abandon.

and that unsteady, familiar feeling grew and grew and grew till it turned your body to jello and burst inwards, "f-fuck shit, ohmygod im cummin im cummin im cumm— FUCK YUUJI—"

his fingers pressed hastily against your lips but the cockiness in his voice practically dripped off of him and onto you, "shh, someone might hear, pretty."

his thrusts grew erratic, nudging him more and more towards a certain, familiar kind of high. his face found solace against your shuddering body as he cursed and spilled inside you.

"fuck." he cursed one last time as he breathed you in, just laying atop you having spent himself.

he slowly pulled himself upwards, pressing a chaste kiss to your nose, and you gave him a spent smile, the kind that had quickly became his favorite. he slowly pulled himself out, and caught the milky white gushing out of your cunt.

and with that, itadori yuuji lost all sanity.

next you knew, your face was being pressed into the mattress, your cunt being ravaged by his unforgiving dick ramming in and out easily.

"fuc-fuck, sogood so fuckin' good—"

his chest was against your back, his weight pressing down on your so deliciously and trapping you under him. you pressed your face harder into the mattress, screaming out muffled renditions of his name as he softly pinched your clit.

"i'm sorry, baby, im so fuckin' sorry" but he sounded anything but sorry as he whispered hotly in your ear, both his fingers and his dick doing everything in their power to turn you into nothing more than a woman maddened with his touch.

your fingers sunk into the sheets underneath, your death-grip growing even more deadlier as he fucked into you as a man depraved.

"this 'sthe last time," his words slurred as he left sloppy kisses down your neck, "promise, i promise."

but those promises were nothing more than candied words on his pretty lips, because now he had you on top of him, your back against his chest, his heels digging into your mattress dangerously as he fucked up into you.

"yuu— yuuJI pleaseplease ple— fucking fuc—" your voice grew in pitch, unresolved tears falling down your face as his hands fondled your tits, tugging and tweaking the nipples to his liking, and your own familiar fingers toyed with your clit.

how could he go on for so fucking long? jesus fucking christ.

"i play varsi- fuck varsity," he answered softly, "this is nothin' for me."

he pressed a soft kiss to your neck as his cock split you apart for the nth time and you fell apart on top of the man who claimed to love you more than he loved life and reason itself.

"don't." his voice grew desperate, a hand coming to hold yours over your overstimulated, abused clit, "i didn- say you could stop, did i? keep going. please. one more. fuck. please."

"yuuji stop—"

"—give me one more, please."

"pleasepleaseplease—" you sobbed, your body arching off of him as he brought you to another one orgasm. you eyes rolled back into your skull, a bit of drool dangerously on your bottom lip, and your body went slack so as to let him do as he pleased.

your cunt gushed on his dick, spraying you both in your juices he thrusted into one last time, spilling into your overfilled pussy all over again with a breathless string of pants and moans.

the quarterback collapsed backwards onto your bed with you on top of him. he reluctantly pushed the weight of your sweaty body off of him, and instinctively pressed another kiss to your head.

his hand came up to push back the sweaty hair strands that stuck to you like second skin, and to thumb at the furious blush on your cheeks. your eyes fluttered upwards at him, you barely managing a smile, "thankyou."

"for what?" he turned to his side, taking every feature of you in with a small smile. a beat passed him by in the serene room before he found his heart weighing heavily and lodging itself between his lungs.

"you're so pretty" he found himself mumbling, "i wish i- i wish i could..." but he caught himself before he could make a fool of himself and confess to a passed out girl. he bit the inside of his cheek. maybe it was better if he just left wordlessly. "nothing."

you were asleep. he knew that. but then why did you snuggle closer and whispered a soft, "i love you."

"—huH?!" any and all sanity left the jock at this point. his eyes as wide as saucers as he stared down your softly snoring form, "what did you just say?"

but you said nothing, still softly snoring in your goddamn sleep and yuuji felt like he was going insane. did you say it??? did he imagine it??? is this a punishment from the devil (sukuna) itself??? what was real anymore? was he real???

and hey what does a panicked twenty year old does when faced with the possible conundrum of his crush of fifteen years having feelings for him?? he runs.

yuuji itadori never had put on his clothes faster than he did right this moment. hastily putting one leg into the sweats and then another, he dashed to make his way to the door. before stepping out, he looked back at you one last time.

fuck itadori, are you dumb?! she doesn't love you like that. it's the post-sex hormones. his consciousness begged in the voice of megumi fushiguro, which was a bit concerning cause was the voice of reason in his head megumi fushiguro?!

but that was not the issue at hand right now. his voice of reason could be questioned another time. right now? running. yes, that was the plan.

the lock softly clicked and he stepped out into the living room before closing the door ever so slowly behind him.

"done fucking?"

and yuuji's blood ran cold.

he whipped around to peer at a certain, tatted delinquent who was sat on the couch in the living room, "brother?"

"brother? huh?" sukuna laughed, the sound so chilling that yuuji felt his blood freeze ad turn into cement, "bringing out the formalities?"

yuuji's tongue got stuck in his throat and sukuna stood up slowly, holding up his hands in mock surrender, "she wouldn't pick up my calls, and i had a spare key. sorry if i'm fuckin imposing."

"'kuna," yuuji's voice was quiet, "it's not what he looks like."

"hm, it is not?" he flashed the younger itadori an amused smile, "ofcourse it is not. what do you think i think you both did?"

"fu-fucked?" the jock swallowed hard.

"bingo."

"i didn't." yuuji didn't know if he was begging for forgiveness, and if yes, then what for? for betraying sukuna's trust or for feeling satisfied that his brother knew of his conquests?

"you didn't? from what i heard, she seemed a little too happy in there." and now sukuna stood mere inches apart, his hand balled into a neat fist.

"kun—" but yuuji's right cheek bore the fate of getting punched by sukuna.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? MY BEST FUCKING FRIEND, YUUJI?"

the jock nursed his cheek, still reeling from the attack. but a certain flame came alive. he wasn't a fucking child. "YEAH, YOUR FUCKING BEST FRIEND."

sukuna looked at him in disbelief, "how fucking could you? she meaNS SHIT TO ME, YOU FUCKFACE."

"—SO DOES SHE TO ME."

the man stepped insanely closer, grabbing ahold of yuuji's hoodie's collar, "THEN WHY THE FUCK WERE YOU RUNNING AWAY FROM HER RIGHT NOW? HUH?"

the two boys heaved heavily, anger boiling hot through their veins. finally yuuji spat up, "she told me she loved me."

sukuna's grasp loosened, "what?"

"she fucking told me she loved me."

"and you're running?" sukuna looked at his brother with a strange look. disappointment, perhaps?

"i- it's a mistake. she doesn't." yuuji looked downwards, trying not to show his pain in his soft words, "and... i didn't want to fucking hurt you, asshole."

"so you're a coward?" the tatted man scoffed.

and yuuji pushed his brother back, "fuck you."

"no." sukuna's gaze hardened, "you fuck off, you stupid fucking dipshit. she told you she loves you, and you ran?"

"for fucks sake, sukuna" yuuji breathed in slowly, "i thought you'd be elated she probably doesn't."

"you fucked around with her for god knows how long, pretending i didn't know." sukuna stepped back, his words quieter.

"you knew?"

"i'm not dumb, of course i fucking knew." he paused, "and 'nichan told me."

"jesus fucking christ, 'nichan." yuuji looked down at the floors, "what now?"

"grow a pair, and actually ask her out."

"what?" the jock looked up, confused, "you- wait, you are saying i should ask her out?"

sukuna shrugged, "you've compromised her. you must follow through with the consequences."

"did you watch too much bridgerton? what the fuck is compromised??"

"i did, 'nichan made me watch it. pleasantly surprising, actually." and yuuji was immediately mentally slapped with the image of sukuna enjoying bridgerton.

"huh?" yuuji softly shook his head, "so... what? i like have your blessing or whatever to ask her out?"

the delinquent made a face of disgust, "i'm not a priest, what the fuck do you mean by blessing? yeah, just fucking ask her out."

"and what if she says no?"

"then i will remind you of your failure everyday in life."

yuuji looked at his brother awestruck, "thanks, kuna."

"don't. when you come back home, im gonna beat you to a pulp for fucking my best friend."

"i deserve it."

"fuck yeah, you do." the older itadori made his way to the main entrance, "go fix shit."

and as sukuna left through the door, itadori yuuji slipped back into your room, crawled back into bed with you, and held you close to his chest. softly, as a giddy smile overtook his features, he mumbled, "i love you too."

next morning you woke up next to a fully-clothed yuuji with a swollen right cheek.

"yuu?! why are you dressed?! and what the fuck happened to your cheek?!"

"i fell off your bed."

"what the actual fuck?!"

a/n: IM GENUINELY SO SORRY IF THIS SUCKS ASS, I GOT TOO MUCH INTO CHARACTER WRITING HELPPP!! i really hope it was atleast a fun read, and as i said it took me 4 days just to make it a bit coherent since i'm writing after so long. please forgive me and enjoy the meal. [sorry for any typos and such babes] tagging: @9rvm @jellibean2018 @peekawoocc @kingofthe-egirls @hugmevz [thankyou sm for sending in the request, i was already writing it here so i tagged you <3] misc.: divider by @plutism and header format by @si-eunnis plagiarism not authorized bitch.

#yuuji smut #yuuji itadori #yuuji x reader #yuji smut #itadori smut #jjk smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk yuuji #itadori yuuji #itadori yuji smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #teaching a lesson series

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bokutoko · 7 months ago

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apricity

character: kiyoomi sakusa (timeskip!sakusa)

wc: 865

content/warning(s): soft!omi; when sakusa's own mind is his worst enemy, you are his deliverance.

a/n: this idea has been in my head for WEEKS.

The mixture of winter air and pure exhaustion crept into Sakusa’s bones, chilling him to the core. He let out a weary sigh, grateful for his mask providing a little warmth for his face.

Despite being known as one of the best and most powerful players in the volleyball world, there were rare moments where his mind was his most formidable opponent; where the small monsters of insecurity and fatigue ate away at his psyche until there was nothing left. His usual stamina that he’d always been praised for was gone—his body now in autopilot mode and running low on fumes. Weighing him down like one-ton bricks, lethargy flooded his being and caused all his thoughts to flatline, devoid of energy.

As he opened the door to his apartment, nothing seemed more appealing to him than a shower and twelve hours of sleep. However, his body barely even had the strength to walk himself through the doorway and set his bag down, let alone stay awake long enough to shower, force himself to eat, and walk to his room for bed.

“‘Omi?” your sweet voice called from the kitchen. His half-lidded eyes fluttered closed with a sigh of relief, his body feeling slightly recharged just from knowing you were there.

He trudged into the kitchen and leaned his head against the doorway as he watched you cook with your back to him. He observed how your hips casually swayed in time with the soft music playing in the background, listened to how you hummed along to your favorite parts. Focusing on you breathed some life back into his body, especially after such long and arduous days apart from you.

You eventually looked back, sensing Sakusa’s presence in the kitchen. “Long week?”

All he did was nod with drooping eyes, barely registering that you removed his mask. “You’re freezing, ‘Omi,” you gently chided, slipping your hands into his to warm them up. Looking into his onyx eyes, you saw something foreign swirling within them, and you reached up to his face, running a gentle thumb over his cheek.

“What’s going on?” you asked with a voice barely above a whisper, as if you’d scare him away if you spoke any louder, “You look so troubled.”

He quietly nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, his hands moving around your body to bring you close. The sudden physical affection was unlike Sakusa, but you welcomed it all the same. He reveled in your embrace; your arms were his sanctuary, always open to rescue him from himself.

“I’m so tired,” Sakusa’s words slurred into your skin, unfamiliar with feeling so raw, so vulnerable, “of everything.”

And that was what led him to now: him, standing undressed as you drew a bath.

The hot water slowly brought relief to his aching muscles and frigid bones as he slowly immersed himself in the bathtub. He let out a sigh, his head dropping back as he allowed himself to finally let go of the week’s stresses. You sat beside him, squeezing out a generous amount of his shampoo. He opened one eye, silently asking what you were doing.

“Please, let me take care of you,” you requested, moving to kneel behind him, and he gave a small nod.

With the scent of lavender flooding his senses and the feeling of your hands in his curls, Sakusa’s mind went silent once again, but now for a much different reason. The serenity of your touch, the comfort of your presence, was his salvation. His body was no longer cold, like a corpse, but felt warm, thawing from the rays of sunshine that beamed from your soul.

Your fingers slowly massaged his scalp, making sure to do your best to knead his troubles away. You leaned in to the shell of his ear, whispering, “Is this okay?” He gave another small nod in response, his eyes now fully closed.

With a small smile, you continued washing his hair for several minutes longer, hoping your actions were at least a little relaxing.

But you didn’t see how you practically revived Sakusa’s frozen heart, how you brought color back into his face. You made him feel at peace, leading him to believe that true love was real—that love was meant for him too.

What on earth did he do to deserve you?

“Thank you,” he whispered, slowly surrendering to sleep, “I love you.” His eyelids were so heavy, his words barely coherent. He didn’t even realize he said it: those three powerful words.

As you rinsed out his hair, you couldn’t fight off the smile that made your face hurt or the blush that made your cheeks burn scarlet. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

While snuggling in your shared bed, Sakusa relished the heat of your body against his. With a soft gaze, you looked up and took his face in your hands. You leaned in, your lips grazing his forehead: one kiss on each freckle. Breathing in his lavender scent, you contentedly sighed, “I love you too, ‘Omi. Goodnight.”

Sakusa knew that no matter what freezing darkness tried to overwhelm him, you—his dayspring—would always be there to shine his way back home.

masterlist | navigation

please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2024.

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mywitchyblog · 8 months ago

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Reality Shifting and Race Changing Explained: A Deep and Comprehensive Analysis of the Practice through the Perspective of a Person of Color.

Introduction :

Reality shifting, a practice where individuals consciously move their awareness to alternate realities or dimensions, has gained significant popularity and attention. Within this phenomenon, race changing—where shifters assume a different racial identity in their Desired Reality (DR)—has become a particularly contentious topic. Proponents of race changing see it as a way to explore different perspectives, foster empathy, and experience personal growth. However, critics raise concerns about cultural appropriation, identity integrity, and ethical implications. This essay will delve into the shifter's perspective and debunk arguments against race changing in reality shifting, examining the diverse viewpoints and underlying controversies.

Disclaimer : before interacting pls read the entire post carefully if you do not understand a part of it do not hesistate to tell me and i would gladly explain you in more details.

And as the title says im a person of color (POC) so i will give my opinion on the matter. I am lowkey (more high key lol) pissed that i see white people telling and talking about it as if they opinion is law its time you let people directly concerned by the matter speak on a subject that concerns them.

Taglist of people who might be interested in this post that i will update progressively i will also at the end provide a pdf version of the document if this post reaches 100 reactions if it reaches 150 to 200 i will also provide the one against age changing) :

@shiftinghoe @shiftersroom @leydenkilgore @jolynesmom @shiftinginferno @norumis @angelscatastrophe @thanossnap

My Age changing Post for those interested

Masterlist

Part I: The Shifter's Perspective

A-Immersive Nature of Reality Shifting

Reality shifting goes beyond elaborate daydreaming or role-playing. It's a full-fledged immersive experience where individuals become their "Desired Reality" (DR) selves entirely. This deep embodiment isn't just physical; it encompasses cultural, emotional, and even historical elements.

Shifters often perceive themselves with entirely different physical characteristics in their DR. This goes beyond appearance – they feel comfortable and familiar in their new bodies, experiencing unique sensations and abilities tied to their DR race. Imagine an East Asian shifter feeling their epicanthic folds affecting their vision or an Afro-Caribbean shifter experiencing the textures of their hair and the specific needs of their skin.

But it's not just physical. Shifters become integrated members of their DR culture. They might find themselves fluent in the language, complete with cultural nuances and dialects. They possess an intrinsic understanding of traditions and social norms, not just intellectually, but on a lived level. Family histories, community connections, and social networks become as real and meaningful as those in their original reality.

Perhaps the most profound aspect is the emotional and psychological alignment. Shifters report feeling emotions differently based on their DR cultural background. Their worldview, values, and beliefs shift to reflect their new identity, offering unique perspectives. Many even have a full set of memories associated with their DR life, from childhood experiences to major events.

Shifters don't just inhabit a new identity; they become part of a complex historical and societal narrative. They understand the weight of historical events that shaped their DR community and experience firsthand the societal advantages or disadvantages of their DR race. They feel a deep sense of cultural pride alongside the challenges and discrimination that may come with it.

For example, a Japanese shifter might not only speak the language fluently but also understand the intricacies of keigo and feel the emotional weight of concepts like "gaman" or "uchi-soto." They could have memories of local festivals, the excitement of catching goldfish, or the solemnity of a New Year's visit.

Similarly, a Latinx shifter might effortlessly switch between languages, understand the cultural significance of quinceañeras, and feel a deep connection to their abuela's traditions. They could have vivid memories of family gatherings filled with traditional foods, laughter-filled conversations, and the warmth of close family bonds.

This immersive experience allows shifters to see the world through a completely different lens, gaining insights otherwise impossible. In their DR, their new identity isn't a costume – it's as authentic and valid as their original self. This creates a profound sense of belonging and allows them to explore different aspects of identity in a meaningful way. This depth of experience is what proponents of race changing in reality shifting often highlight as a potential benefit.

B-Personal Growth and Empathy Development

Reality shifting, particularly when it involves changing race, offers a powerful pathway for personal growth and empathy development. Proponents believe this to be one of its most valuable benefits. Here's a breakdown of its potential:

Expanded Perspective: Shifters inhabit a different racial identity, gaining visceral, firsthand experiences. Imagine a Black shifter feeling the sting of racism, or an Asian shifter navigating the pressures of the "model minority" stereotype. This fosters a deeper understanding of racial dynamics beyond textbook knowledge.

Cultural Competence: Shifters become immersed in a new cultural context, enhancing their cultural competence. They gain insights into cultural nuances, values, communication styles, and nonverbal cues. For instance, a shifter embodying a Middle Eastern identity might understand the significance of hospitality, appreciating the cultural roots of seemingly excessive generosity.

Challenging Biases: The immersive nature of shifting exposes personal biases. Shifters confront and work through unconscious biases and stereotypes that may seem harmless from the outside, but feel hurtful or limiting from a different perspective. This uncomfortable process can be ultimately transformative.

Emotional Intelligence: Experiencing life through a different racial lens boosts emotional intelligence. Shifters develop empathy for the struggles and joys specific to different races, better understand emotional cues across cultures, and gain enhanced self-awareness through reflecting on their reactions in their new identity.

Social Justice Awareness: Shifters often report a heightened commitment to social justice and equity. Experiencing discrimination firsthand motivates them to become allies in their original reality. Understanding privilege (or lack thereof) associated with different races fosters nuanced discussions about systemic inequality.

Personal Identity Exploration: Race changing in shifting can prompt deep reflection on personal identity. Shifters might question aspects of their original identity, explore their cultural heritage and family history, and gain a greater appreciation for the fluidity and constructed nature of racial categories.

Linguistic and Cognitive Benefits: Shifters who become fluent in new languages experience cognitive benefits like enhanced cognitive flexibility from thinking in different linguistic frameworks and improved problem-solving skills as they navigate cultural and linguistic differences.

Artistic and Creative Inspiration: The rich experiences gained through race changing can serve as a wellspring of artistic and creative inspiration. Writers might create more authentic characters, while visual artists gain new perspectives on color, form, and cultural symbolism.

Professional Development: Insights gained through race changing can translate into professional growth. Shifters develop a stronger ability to work in diverse teams, enhance their cross-cultural communication and negotiation skills, and gain a deeper understanding that can be valuable in multicultural environments.

Healing and Trauma Processing: In some cases, embodying different racial identities has helped shifters process personal or intergenerational trauma. For instance, a shifter with a family history of racial oppression might find healing in embodying an identity free from that specific trauma. Conversely, embodying an identity that has experienced historical trauma might help shifters connect with and process their own unrelated traumatic experiences.

Part II: Debunking Arguments Against Race Changing

A-Cultural Appropriation

One of the primary arguments against race changing in reality shifting is that it constitutes cultural appropriation. This issue is complex and sensitive, requiring careful consideration.

Cultural appropriation involves adopting elements from one culture by members of another, often without a full understanding or respect for the original culture. This practice is typically characterized by a power imbalance, where the appropriating group holds more social, political, or economic power than the culture being appropriated. It also involves a lack of attribution, where the source of cultural elements is not acknowledged, leading to stereotyping and commodification of cultural symbols, often out of context and for profit.

Applying this argument to reality shifting, critics assert that when individuals assume a different racial identity in their desired reality (DR), they may trivialize the lived experiences of that racial group. They argue that such individuals might cherry-pick enjoyable aspects of the culture while avoiding its challenges and potentially reinforcing stereotypes or misconceptions about the culture.

However, several counterarguments challenge this perspective. Many shifters approach race changing with the intention of understanding and empathizing with different racial identities, rather than exploiting them. The immersive nature of shifting often involves a deep engagement with the culture, as opposed to the superficial adoption of isolated elements.

Moreover, cultural appropriation typically involves a dominant culture taking from a marginalized one, but in shifting, this power dynamic isn’t present. Shifters embody the new identity fully, integrating their experiences into the fabric of the DR, which can make their engagement more authentic.

Unlike typical cases of cultural appropriation, shifters often report experiencing both the positive and negative aspects of their new racial identity, including potential discrimination and societal challenges. This level of immersion extends far beyond wearing traditional clothing or using cultural symbols, as it involves a comprehensive engagement with the culture's values, traditions, and worldview.

Reality shifting is a personal and introspective practice, usually conducted privately or in small groups, rather than as a public display that might perpetuate stereotypes or commercialize the culture. This personal and nuanced approach differentiates it from more harmful forms of cultural appropriation seen in popular culture or commercial contexts.

Despite these counterarguments, there are still ethical concerns to consider. The ability to "opt out" of a racial identity at will is a privilege not available to those who live that identity full-time. There is also a risk of oversimplification or misrepresentation, even with the best intentions. The personal nature of shifting does not negate the potential for internalized stereotypes or biases to influence the experience.

Instead of viewing race changing in shifting as clear-cut cultural appropriation, it might be more accurate to see it as a complex form of cultural engagement. This practice has the potential for both positive outcomes, such as increased empathy and understanding, and negative outcomes, like reinforcing stereotypes or trivializing experiences. It requires careful reflection and ethical consideration from practitioners and might be evaluated on a case-by-case basis, considering the shifter's intent, approach, and outcomes.

The argument that race changing in reality shifting constitutes cultural appropriation could be seen as a false analogy fallacy, inaccurately equating the personal, immersive, and often respectful experience of shifting with the exploitative and superficial nature of cultural appropriation as traditionally understood. Some proponents suggest that, when conducted respectfully and thoughtfully, race changing in shifting could be seen as a form of cultural exchange rather than appropriation. This perspective posits that the immersive nature of shifting fosters genuine understanding and appreciation, with shifters often feeling a responsibility to respect and honor the cultures they embody. The insights gained can contribute to more meaningful cross-cultural dialogue and understanding in the shifter's original reality.

In conclusion, while the argument against race changing in reality shifting raises important ethical considerations, the issue is more nuanced than it might initially appear. The deeply personal and immersive nature of shifting, coupled with the often sincere intent of practitioners to gain understanding and empathy, sets it apart from more straightforward cases of cultural appropriation. Nevertheless, it remains crucial for shifters to approach the practice with respect, self-reflection, and a willingness to grapple with its complex ethical implications.

B-Fetishization

Another significant criticism of race changing in reality shifting is that it may lead to or represent a form of racial fetishization. This concern is both sensitive and complex, and warrants a thorough examination.

Racial fetishization involves reducing individuals to stereotypical racial characteristics, objectifying people based on their race or ethnicity, and exoticizing racial features or cultural elements. Often, though not always, it includes a sexual component. Critics argue that race changing in shifting might encourage shifters to focus on stereotypical or exoticized aspects of a race, leading to a superficial engagement with racial identity that is more fantasy than reality. This practice could potentially reinforce harmful stereotypes or racial preferences.

However, several counterarguments challenge this perspective. Many shifters who engage in race changing are not primarily motivated by sexual desire or attraction to stereotypical racial attributes. Their goal is often to understand and embody the full spectrum of experiences associated with a different racial identity, rather than to indulge in fantasy or stereotypes. The immersive nature of reality shifting encourages shifters to deeply engage with and appreciate the culture they are exploring. This process frequently fosters empathy and understanding, rather than objectification, as shifters report experiencing both positive and negative aspects of their new racial identity, extending beyond surface-level engagement.

Additionally, many shifters approach race changing as a means of personal growth, aiming to challenge their own biases and expand their worldview. This experience often leads to increased cultural sensitivity and awareness, rather than reinforcing stereotypes. In their desired reality (DR), shifters often experience a fully realized and complex identity that includes family histories, cultural practices, societal challenges, and individual personality traits, going far beyond mere racial characteristics.

Despite these counterarguments, it is important to acknowledge potential risks. Shifters might unknowingly bring racial stereotypes or biases into their DR experiences. There is also a risk of focusing on more "appealing" aspects of a racial identity while downplaying its challenges or complexities. The ability to "try on" different racial identities at will is a privilege that could lead to a form of racial tourism if not approached thoughtfully.

From a psychological standpoint, the experience of race changing in shifting could be seen as a form of identity exploration rather than fetishization. It serves as an exercise in perspective-taking and empathy development and provides an opportunity to confront and work through internalized racial biases.

Culturally, it is worth considering whether race changing practices in shifting might lead to more nuanced representations of diverse racial identities in media and art, foster more open dialogue about race and identity in society, or risk oversimplifying complex racial issues.

Ethically, shifters should be encouraged to reflect critically on their motivations and experiences, seek diverse perspectives and real-world knowledge about the races they embody in their DR, and be mindful of the line between appreciation and fetishization. The argument that race changing in reality shifting constitutes fetishization could be seen as a straw man fallacy, as it misrepresents the shifters' intentions and the nature of their experiences, reducing a complex and often empathetic practice to a simplistic and objectifying one.

Some proponents argue that race changing in shifting could help deconstruct harmful racial categories by highlighting the constructed nature of race, encouraging people to see beyond racial stereotypes, and fostering a more fluid understanding of identity. Comparing this practice to other activities, such as actors portraying characters of different races, virtual reality experiences designed to foster racial empathy, or imagining oneself in someone else’s shoes through literature or film, reveals that race changing in shifting may differ fundamentally from these practices in its approach and intent.

In conclusion, while the criticism of fetishization raises important concerns about the potential risks of race changing in reality shifting, a closer examination reveals a more nuanced picture. The deeply personal and often transformative nature of these experiences, combined with the typical intent of fostering understanding and empathy, sets it apart from more straightforward cases of racial fetishization. Nevertheless, it is essential for shifters to approach the practice with self-awareness, respect, and a commitment to genuine cultural engagement rather than superficial or stereotypical representations.

C-Race Changing is Racist

The argument that race changing in reality shifting is fundamentally racist is a serious allegation that requires careful examination. This perspective is based on several concerns: it may trivialize the real struggles and discrimination faced by racial minorities, allow individuals to "play" at being another race without encountering the associated societal challenges, perpetuate the idea that race is something that can be donned or discarded at will, and reinforce the notion that race is merely about physical characteristics or stereotypical behaviors. This criticism often stems from worries about cultural insensitivity, fears of minimizing systemic racism, and the historical context of racist practices such as blackface and yellowface.

However, this argument can be contested on multiple grounds. Firstly, many shifters engage in race changing not to mock or belittle other races but to gain a deeper understanding and empathy for those experiences. The immersive nature of shifting often results in increased awareness of racial issues and a stronger commitment to anti-racism in the shifter's original reality. Furthermore, shifters in their desired reality (DR) often experience life as an integrated part of the culture they embody, including facing discrimination and navigating societal challenges associated with that racial identity. This depth of experience goes beyond superficial engagement.

Additionally, race changing can lead to significant personal transformation. Many shifters report profound growth, challenging their own biases and increasing their cultural competence. These experiences foster a deep sense of connection and solidarity with different racial groups. Race changing could also be viewed as an immersive form of education about racial experiences, potentially offering more impactful learning than traditional methods.

Despite these counterarguments, it is crucial to acknowledge potential issues. Shifters have the privilege of opting out of their new racial identity and returning to their original reality, a luxury not available to those who face racism daily. There is also a risk of oversimplifying complex racial experiences into simplified narratives. Without proper reflection, shifters might misuse or misrepresent aspects of the racial identities they embody.

To address these concerns, shifters engaging in race changing should approach the practice with humility and a willingness to learn. Complementing their shifting experiences with real-world education about racial issues and using insights gained to actively combat racism in their original reality can help mitigate potential problems. Critical reflection on their experiences and motivations is also essential.

From a psychological perspective, race changing in shifting can be seen as a form of perspective-taking, which has been shown to reduce prejudice, an exercise in empathy development, and a way to confront and work through unconscious racial biases. Sociologically, it is worth considering whether widespread engagement in race changing might lead to increased racial empathy, contribute to a more nuanced understanding of race as a social construct, or challenge existing racial categories.

A comparative analysis with other practices such as diversity training programs, role-playing exercises in anti-racism workshops, and the concept of "passing" in racial identity reveals that race changing in shifting might differ fundamentally in its approach and intent. The argument that race changing is inherently racist may be seen as a hasty generalization fallacy, drawing broad conclusions based on limited understandings of shifters' experiences and motivations.

Some proponents argue that, when approached thoughtfully, race changing in shifting could be an antiracist practice by fostering a deeper understanding of diverse racial experiences, motivating action against racism in the shifter’s original reality, and challenging fixed racial categories. Considering how race changing intersects with other aspects of identity, such as gender, class, or sexuality, further complicates the discussion and could lead to a more nuanced understanding of intersectional identities.

In conclusion, while the argument that race changing in reality shifting is inherently racist raises important ethical concerns, a closer examination suggests a more complex picture. The potential for increased empathy, understanding, and antiracist action indicates that, when approached thoughtfully and ethically, race changing in shifting might contribute to combating racism rather than perpetuating it.

Part III: Community Dynamics :

A. Shiftok Culture and Hypocrisy

The community of shifters on platforms like Shiftok has become a significant space for discussing and sharing experiences related to reality shifting. However, this community is often marked by striking inconsistencies in its attitudes and practices, particularly when it comes to race changing. These inconsistencies reveal underlying biases and a selective application of ethical standards within the community.

One of the most glaring examples of this hypocrisy is the community's disparate treatment of shifts involving fictional races versus real-world racial identities. Users enthusiastically support and celebrate shifts into races from popular fiction, such as elves from "Lord of the Rings" or Veela from "Harry Potter." These shifts often involve adopting stereotypical characteristics of these races, such as ethereal beauty or magical abilities, without any criticism. Similarly, shifts into anime characters, even when these characters are explicitly Japanese or of other Asian ethnicities, are widely accepted and applauded.

In stark contrast, when a user mentions shifting to experience life as a different real-world race - for example, a white person shifting to be Black, or an Asian person shifting to be Latino - they often face harsh criticism and accusations of racism or cultural appropriation. This double standard extends to cultural practices as well. Users might criticize someone for shifting to experience a traditional Japanese tea ceremony as a Japanese person, calling it appropriation. However, they remain silent when shifters adopt fantastical versions of cultural practices, such as magical rituals in The Vampire Diaries Universe, which are often based on real-world cultural elements such as Hoodoo and Voodoo.

The inconsistency becomes even more apparent when considering shifts into races that face oppression or discrimination in their fictional universes. Shifting to be a Na'vi from "Avatar," who face colonization and violence from humans, or becoming a vampire who must hide from hunters and deal with societal prejudice, are widely accepted and even romanticized. These shifts often involve experiencing fictional forms of racism or oppression, yet they don't receive the same scrutiny as shifts involving real-world racial experiences.

This romanticization of struggle is particularly problematic. Users might enthusiastically describe the thrill of being a hunted vampire or the nobility of fighting against oppression as a Na'vi, while simultaneously criticizing those who wish to explore real-world experiences of discrimination through shifting. This glamorization of fictional oppression trivializes real-world struggles and reveals a lack of critical thinking about the implications of different types of identity shifts.

The community's acceptance of shifts into historical periods further highlights this hypocrisy. Shifting to experience life in different historical eras, which inevitably involves a change in cultural context, is generally supported. For instance, shifting to be a noble in Victorian England is rarely questioned, while shifting to be a person of color in modern-day America might be condemned. This inconsistency reveals a troubling bias in how the community views and values different cultural and racial experiences.

Perhaps the most striking example of this double standard is the widespread acceptance of shifting to become a Na'vi from the movie "Avatar." This shift involves taking on a completely different racial identity, often with spiritual and cultural elements inspired by real-world Indigenous cultures. Yet, this is rarely criticized, while shifting to be an actual Indigenous person would likely face significant backlash.

These inconsistencies in the Shiftok community undermine the credibility of criticisms against race changing and point to a need for more consistent and reflective ethical standards within the shifting community. They reveal that many users are more comfortable with the idea of exploring different identities and experiences of oppression when they're framed as "fictional," even though the immersive nature of shifting means these experiences are just as real to the shifter as any "real-world" shift would be.

This hypocrisy not only stifles meaningful dialogue about race and identity within the context of shifting but also reflects broader societal discomfort with addressing real-world racial issues. It highlights the need for the shifting community to engage in more nuanced, thoughtful discussions about the ethics of identity exploration, the nature of reality in shifting, and the responsibilities that come with experiencing different racial and cultural perspectives.

B. Judgmental Attitudes and Ignorance

The shifting community, particularly on platforms like Shiftok, often displays a complex web of judgmental attitudes and ignorance about the nuances of shifting practices. This creates a challenging environment for shifters exploring different identities, especially when it comes to race changing. (in this part and all the other parts of this essay, “real world”=CR aka this reality ik they are no such thing as the “real world” but for the sake of the argument i employed that term).

Many users within the community are quick to condemn those who shift into different racial identities, particularly when these involve real-world races. This rush to judgment often stems from a superficial understanding of shifting practices and a lack of empathy for the motivations behind such explorations. Harsh comments, gatekeeping behaviors, and in extreme cases, online harassment, have become unfortunately common responses to shifters who engage in race changing.

However, this judgmental attitude is starkly contrasted by the community's acceptance and even celebration of shifts into fictional races or non-human identities. This inconsistency reveals a deep-seated ignorance about the nature of shifting and its implications. Users often justify their acceptance of shifts into fictional races like Elves or vampires from various mythologies by arguing that since these races are fictional, they're somehow "safer" or less problematic to explore. This reasoning, however, fundamentally misunderstands the core principle of shifting: that all realities, whether based on fiction or the "real world," are equally real and valid from the perspective of the shifter.

This ignorance leads to a troubling double standard. Shifters who explore the experiences of fictional races facing discrimination - like the Na'vi battling colonization or werewolves hiding from hunters - are often met with enthusiasm. The community readily engages with these narratives of struggle and oppression when framed in a fictional context. Yet, when shifters attempt to explore real-world experiences of racial discrimination, they face harsh criticism and accusations of appropriation or fetishization.

This attitude demonstrates a lack of critical thinking about the ethical implications of different types of shifts. The community fails to recognize that from the perspective of shifting theory, the distinction between "fictional" and "real-world" races becomes arbitrary. The experiences of discrimination, cultural immersion, and identity exploration are just as real and impactful for a shifter whether they're embodying a Na'vi or shifting into a different human race.

Moreover, this ignorance extends to a misunderstanding of the depth and complexity of shifting experiences. Many critics within the community underestimate how fully shifters can embody and experience a different identity, regardless of whether it's fictional or based on a real-world race. They often fail to grasp the profound impact these experiences can have on a shifter's perspective, empathy, and personal growth.

The judgmental attitudes and ignorance prevalent in the community have serious consequences. They stifle open and honest discussions about race and identity within the shifting context. Shifters who feel judged may withdraw from the community or hide their experiences, limiting opportunities for collective learning and growth. The hostile environment can discourage exploration of different identities, potentially limiting the personal growth and empathy development that shifting can facilitate.

Furthermore, this environment of judgment and ignorance often leads to the mischaracterization of shifting experiences. Complex and nuanced explorations of identity are frequently oversimplified or dismissed. The potential benefits of respectful identity exploration through shifting are overlooked, while stereotypes about shifting and shifters are reinforced.

To address these issues, there's a clear need for more education within the community about the nuances and complexities of shifting experiences. Promoting a deeper understanding of the psychological and experiential aspects of shifting could foster more empathy and less judgment. Creating spaces for open, non-judgmental discussions about controversial shifting practices could help combat ignorance and promote a more nuanced understanding of the ethical implications of different types of shifts.

By confronting these judgmental attitudes and areas of ignorance, the shifting community has the opportunity to create a more inclusive, understanding, and supportive environment. This could not only improve the experiences of individual shifters but also contribute to more nuanced and productive discussions about identity, race, and the ethics of shifting practices. Ultimately, addressing these issues is crucial for the growth and maturation of the shifting community as a whole.

C-Understanding Morality and Multiracial Identity in Shifting

The concept of infinite realities in shifting brings about profound implications for our understanding of morality and identity, particularly when it comes to race. Each Desired Reality (DR) has its own unique set of morals and cultural norms, presenting a challenge when applying Original Reality (OR) ethics to these varied experiences. This moral relativism in shifting creates a complex landscape where what is considered ethically acceptable in one reality may not hold the same value in another.

The shifting community's approach to fictional races inadvertently highlights this moral complexity. Many shifters enthusiastically embrace identities like Na'vi from "Avatar" or vampires from various mythologies, often without the same level of ethical scrutiny applied to shifts involving CR races. This discrepancy reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of shifting itself. If we accept the core principle that all realities are equally real and valid, then the distinction between "fictional" and "real-world" races becomes very blurry to a point where said distinction vanishes since what is fictional in this reality is 100% real in that DR.

This paradox becomes even more apparent when we consider that many of these fictional races face discrimination, oppression, or complex social challenges within their realities. Shifters who take on these identities are, in essence, experiencing forms of racism or societal prejudice, yet these experiences are often romanticized or seen as less problematic than explorations of real-world racial discrimination. The Na'vi fighting against human colonization or Mutants from the X-men hiding from societal persecution are, within the context of shifting, as real and significant as any historical or contemporary struggle against oppression.

The romanticization of these fictional races raises its own set of moral questions. For instance, the glorification/romanticisation of vampire culture in shifting could be seen as problematic on multiple levels. It potentially trivializes issues of consent and power imbalances, and could even be construed as a form of necrophilia, given the undead nature of vampires (vampires are dead not alive ergo necrophilia in a way. This argument that I use is to further emphasize the hypocrisy of the shifting community since yall wanna talk about fetishization and romanticisation). This level of ethical scrutiny is rarely applied to fictional race shifts, despite the community's readiness to criticize CR race changing on similar grounds.

For multiracial shifters, this moral landscape becomes even more complex. A multiracial individual might choose to shift to embody only one aspect of their racial heritage in their DR, reflecting their sense of connection and belonging to that part of their identity. This choice doesn't negate their other racial identities but rather reflects the fluid and personal nature of racial identity itself. However, the community's inconsistent approach to race in shifting can create additional challenges for these individuals. They may find themselves navigating not only their own complex identities but also the arbitrary distinctions and judgments imposed by the community.

The multiracial shifting experience underscores the limitations of rigid racial categorizations and highlights the need for a more nuanced understanding of race and identity within the shifting community. It challenges shifters to consider how their experiences across different realities might inform and expand their understanding of racial identity in their OR.

Moreover, the moral relativism inherent in shifting raises questions about the nature of ethical growth through these experiences. If a shifter encounters and adapts to vastly different moral frameworks across their DRs, how does this impact their core ethical beliefs? This moral fluidity could lead to a more nuanced and empathetic worldview, but it also risks ethical inconsistency or moral relativism taken to an extreme.

In conclusion, the intersection of morality and racial identity in shifting presents a rich area for exploration and discussion. It challenges our understanding of ethics, identity, and the nature of reality itself. By engaging with these complex ideas, the shifting community has the opportunity to foster more nuanced, empathetic, and inclusive approaches to race and identity. However, this requires a willingness to apply consistent ethical standards across all forms of shifting, whether they involve "real" or "fictional" races, and a commitment to deeper reflection on the moral implications of these profound experiences.

Conclusion :

Ultimately, we can argue that race changing in reality shifting isn't inherently problematic and can, in fact, be a powerful tool for personal and societal growth. The ability to experience life from diverse racial perspectives has the potential to challenge deeply ingrained biases, foster genuine empathy, and contribute to more nuanced discussions about race and identity in our society.

However, we must tread carefully to ensure that these practices do not veer into appropriation or fetishization. This requires:

Approaching race changing with respect, humility, and a genuine desire to learn.

Engaging in thorough self-reflection before, during, and after shifting experiences.

Complementing shifting experiences with real-world education about racial issues and histories.

Being mindful of the privilege inherent in being able to "opt out" of a racial identity.

Using insights gained from shifting to actively combat racism and promote understanding in one's original reality.

Fostering open, honest dialogues within the shifting community about ethics and best practices.

Developing clear community guidelines that address the complexities of race changing.

By maintaining this careful balance, race changing in reality shifting can serve as a unique and valuable tool for promoting intercultural understanding, challenging racial prejudices, and fostering a more empathetic and inclusive society. As with any powerful tool, its value lies not in the practice itself, but in how we choose to use it. With thoughtful consideration and ethical guidance, race changing in shifting has the potential to contribute positively to our ongoing dialogues about race, identity, and human experience.

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #desired reality #shifting community #shifting realities #shifters #reality shift #reality shifter

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ghouldtime · 5 months ago

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Neighbor! König Part 2

Part One

Part Three

After you expressed interest in his miniature collection, he actually actively OFFICIALLY invited you over one evening (and inside!)

It may not sound like much to most to be invited into someone's house but for him, it's the ultimate trust. His house is his private space, his sanctuary, where he goes to be without other people

He doesn't ever invite anyone inside unless necessary or they've truly gained his trust and being invited INTO his house, and actually into a shared space of one of the hobbies that matter the most to him?? Yeah, that's how he says he likes you

He's been working on his models and dioramas for so so long he's incredibly proud and can't help but to want to actually show them off to someone who wants to see

Usually most people don't care :( or think it's weird

But you've embraced it! You're so excited and he's over the moon, he's having the best day ever, if you do research and bring him gifts or show him some new ideas

He has exquisite attention to detail and INSISTS on everything being exactly the way he envisions it. And you notice! You actually notice. Which means you care about his hobbies, the work he puts in, and therefore him

It might be a bit early to say the L word but he's feeling certain ways

He may be a big dude but that doesn't mean he lacks fine motor skills. He's laying those tiny pieces of moss onto the cobble stones like a PRO

Miniatures allow him control over the environment, even if it's on a smaller scale, and offer a way to keep his hands and mind busy so he often throws himself into it

It also helps him relive happier memories. He's afraid of forgetting them and when he's stressing, it's his happy place because he can look at them and simply remember the things in life that matter

He'll ask you about a story you like or a favorite show or book or movie. That's his next miniature planned (in secret. Can't ruin the surprise, he needs to have it all perfect. He will either read the book, watch the movie, will study EVERY detail)

He will start to invite you over when he's having a painting night or is working on them. You don't have to follow his rules or do what he wants! He's just happy you're there and appreciating it

He will always have your favorite snacks and drinks in stock too. Need to make it fun and can't have you going hungry

If you want, he'll put on background noise! He's happy to make it immersive and to light a candle or put something in a diffuser to really set the scene you're going for. But he's perfectly happy to hangout with you as is

You'll finally get to hear him laugh and hear his really, really bad jokes. He has a dry sense of humor and most of what he says isn't even close to funny, he's awkward like that

But if you laugh? That's it, he's sold.

Time flies so fast when you're over, you don't even realize it's 3am

You don't need to go home! I know it's right across the street but he has a guest room and it saves you the trip in the morning. You have a whole nother round of characters to paint :)

Okay maybe it was an excuse so you could see the curtains he'd made and the pillows and he decorated the guest room with! Like actually tried decorating. They're made with love, that's what counts right?

Did he spray the pillows with his cologne before you came over? Maybe, but he won't ever admit to it

You can't complain. Not when he insists it's no trouble at all, you should stay over, and he does everything he can to make you comfortable.

And you're certainly not complaining when you wake up to breakfast in bed

He's so happy to finally have someone to share his life with, even if it's nothing official. He might not say it because words are hard, but he'll always show it in every way that he can 💚

If you look closely at the replica he made of his childhood home, you'll notice two figures in the kitchen who just so happen to look like you and him

Proud believer of König being just a guy! A guy with hobbies! A guy with a calm domestic life! Just because he's a private military contractor doesn't mean he's a constantly violent dude or a guy who lacks an immense amount of respect for boundaries. Sure, he gets really into his job when he does it, but that's his realm! That's his zone. That's why he's confident and having fun, he knows he's good

Outside of work, he's just a guy with a troubled childhood making the best of life and trying to find his own sense of belonging, happiness, and peace

Justice for König, he's not an insane perv or some freakytron or some stalker :(

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hancorys · 15 days ago

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k.lh — language of quiet hearts

genre: slowburn, fluff, sort of crack, comfort, strangers to lovers pairing: leehan x afab!reader wc: 9.5k warning: long-ass narrative and romance pace (bcs i’m a sucker for slowburn), aespa, belle and bonedo mentioned. FISHES mentioned!! lots of them, eternal sunshine of the spotless mind mentioned, my never ending “to be loved is to be known” mantra listen: ligaw — moonstar88 ft. chito miranda, love. — wte, bad — wte, sa bawat sandali — amiel sol, romcom — rob daniel, balisong — rivermaya, valentine — laufey

“welcome to the broadcasting club! we are pleased to have you here!”

a guy with a bright, almost too enthusiastic smile greets you the moment you step into the journalism headquarters. his voice carries an undeniable warmth, as if he’s been waiting all day just for your arrival. jaehyun—that’s his name. at least, that's what you remember from the posters.

the room hums with a quiet energy, papers rustling, low voices exchanging thoughts, the soft clicking of keyboards filling the spaces in between. the air smells faintly of old books, freshly brewed coffee, and the unmistakable scent of ink from the scattered printouts on the desks.

this is your first day at the broadcasting club. you had been enticed by one of their posters pinned outside your classroom, the words practically calling out to you—

“want a peaceful environment? join the broadcasting club now!”

peaceful, huh? looking at the head president in front of you, you're beginning to think otherwise. jaehyun radiates energy, the kind that makes you wonder if he’s ever known a moment of stillness in his life.

“uh… where do i sign?” you ask, shifting slightly on your feet.

jaehyun tilts his head. “sign what?”

“for the membership,” you clarify, fingers fidgeting at the hem of your sleeve, as if grounding yourself will somehow make the nerves dissipate.

“oh! right!” his sudden exclamation startles you slightly, making you stiffen for a brief second before you let out a soft chuckle, trying to mask your embarrassment.

he grins, unfazed, before motioning for you to follow. as he guides you further into the headquarters, your gaze flits around, taking in the space, committing the details to memory.

the room is a blend of organized chaos—papers stacked in precarious piles, sticky notes clinging desperately to the edges of computer screens, bookshelves lined with past publications and reference materials. a group of students huddle over a laptop in one corner, their quiet murmurs blending into the background noise. across the room, another group chats animatedly, their laughter breaking through the otherwise mellow atmosphere.

but then, your eyes land on him.

a guy stands near the farthest desk, his posture relaxed yet focused. his fingers move effortlessly over the buttons of a sleek camera, adjusting the settings with practiced ease. strands of dark hair fall slightly over his forehead, catching the soft glow of the overhead lights. he doesn’t seem aware of the world around him, completely immersed in whatever he's doing.

his brows knit together as he checks the camera screen, lips slightly parted in concentration. you wonder what he sees through the lens—what kind of stories he captures, what moments he finds worthy enough to frame.

your gaze lingers for a second longer before you shake yourself out of it. you’ve barely been here for five minutes, and you're already getting distracted.

straightening your posture, you let out a quiet breath before returning your attention to jaehyun, who’s still talking about the club’s activities. but even as you listen, your thoughts briefly wander back to the boy with the camera.

for the whole day, you barely did anything related to broadcasting. no writing, no editing—just a long, hellish day of socializing.

it’s not that you hate people. they’re not necessarily annoying, and you don’t think you’re above conversation. but being around too many of them at once? exhausting. overwhelming. you’ve always preferred the quiet that comes with staying in your own bubble, away from the small talk and forced interactions.

but today, jaehyun had other plans for you. he made sure to drag you from one conversation to another, introducing you to every single person in the club, making sure you weren’t left standing in a corner by yourself. you were drowning in introductions, nodding and smiling so much your cheeks started to hurt. you had exchanged pleasantries, laughed at jokes you barely understood, and answered the same questions over and over—“what made you join the club?” “how do you like it so far?” “do you write news or more on the features side?”

by the time the day was coming to an end, all you wanted was to sink into the nearest chair and disappear.

“before we end today’s agenda, please gather up here,” jaehyun calls out, motioning everyone to the giant couch in the middle of the room.

the members shuffle around, some grabbing last-minute snacks, others dragging chairs closer. you, on the other hand, are just about ready to bolt out the door, but before you can even think about it, jaehyun’s eyes land on you.

“y/n, come up front.”

you freeze.

slowly, hesitantly, you step forward, hands clasped together in an attempt to steady yourself. socializing was one thing, but standing in front of a room full of strangers, being introduced like some kind of special guest? you weren’t prepared for this.

jaehyun, ever the extrovert, beams as he gestures toward you. “everyone, meet y/n! she’s our new writer, so be nice.”

a small round of polite applause follows, along with a few smiles and waves from the group. you manage a shy bow, offering a soft “hello” as your eyes flicker from face to face.

jaehyun, ever the diligent host, takes it upon himself to introduce you to the people you hadn't formally met yet. he points first to a pair sitting close together—

“this is belle and taesan, our main radio announcers. they basically run the shows.”

belle gives you a friendly nod, while taesan grins and throws up a peace sign.

“woonhak and sungho—our sports feature writers. they’re also on the soccer team, so expect a lot of game recaps from them.”

the two boys flash matching smiles, exuding the kind of effortless confidence that only athletes seem to have.

“riwoo, our editorial writer. he basically keeps us from writing complete garbage.”

riwoo snorts at that, shaking his head as he offers you a knowing smile.

more names are thrown your way—ningning, winter, yuna, daehwi—all of them waving, all of them welcoming. the list seems never-ending, and you nod along, trying your best to commit at least a few of them to memory.

and then, finally, jaehyun points toward the last member.

your gaze follows his gesture until it lands on him.

“that’s leehan, our official photographer.”

he’s still where you last saw him, camera hanging around his neck, fingers lightly tapping against its frame. unlike the others, he doesn’t offer a wave or a smile. instead, he lifts his head just enough to glance at you. it’s brief—so brief you almost miss it—before he gives a small, polite bow and returns his attention to his camera.

“in this room full of extroverts, he’s an alien,” jaehyun murmurs, leaning toward you with a smirk.

you blink, tilting your head slightly. “why?”

jaehyun hums, crossing his arms. “he’s actually an extrovert by nature, but let’s just say… communication isn’t his strong suit.”

you glance back at leehan. he’s adjusting the settings on his camera now, looking through the viewfinder with a quiet kind of focus.

he doesn’t seem unfriendly. just… distant.

reserved.

like he exists just a little outside of the circle, never quite stepping in.

jaehyun chuckles, shaking his head. “he’s not as intimidating as he looks. he just sucks at talking to people.”

you nod slowly, gaze lingering on leehan for a moment longer. there’s something about him that piques your curiosity. maybe it’s the way he carries himself, the way he seems so immersed in his own world, separate from the lively chaos of the club.

or maybe it’s just the fact that, out of everyone you’ve met today, he’s the only one who hasn’t said a single word to you.

---

after the long and exhausting day of forced socializing, all you wanted was to go home, collapse onto your bed, and let the silence wash over you.

but, as luck would have it, the universe had other plans.

as soon as you step out into the parking lot, a sharp plop lands on your cheek. then another on your shoulder. before you can even register what’s happening, the sky opens up, and the rain comes down in heavy sheets, soaking the pavement in seconds.

shit.

you mutter a curse under your breath and break into a sprint, making a beeline for the nearest waiting shed. the cold raindrops cling to your skin, drenching your sleeves, your hair, the hem of your jeans. by the time you reach cover, you’re damp and shivering, rubbing your arms as you let out a tired sigh.

you shake the excess water from your hands, watching the rain crash against the asphalt. it’s relentless, the kind of downpour that could last for hours.

you exhale sharply. great. guess i’m stuck here.

as you wring out the sleeve of your jacket, you feel it—a light tap on your shoulder.

at first, you think it’s just a stray raindrop. you ignore it.

but then it happens again.

tap, tap, tap.

three soft, deliberate taps.

you turn around, eyebrows furrowing.

leehan.

he stands just behind you, his posture relaxed, a large blue umbrella held out in his hand.

you tilt your head, confused.

his expression remains unreadable, eyes flickering to yours before he nudges the umbrella toward you, silently insisting.

you blink.

he nudges it again.

hesitantly, you reach out, your fingers brushing against the smooth handle as you take it from him. the weight of it feels oddly significant, like an unspoken gesture heavier than words.

before you can even thank him, leehan has already moved.

he tugs his black marshall iv headphones back over his ears, slipping them into place as if retreating into his own world. then, in one swift motion, he pulls the hood of his jacket up and steps out into the rain.

you watch, stunned, as he takes off in a light jog, hands shoved into his pockets, head slightly ducked. he doesn’t even bother running properly—just moves at a leisurely pace, as if the rain isn’t drenching him head to toe. his free hand lifts above his head, fingers spread as if shielding himself from the downpour.

as if that’s going to make a difference.

you scoff, shaking your head.

so, he’s leehan.

quiet. distant. unreadable. but unexpectedly thoughtful.

you look down at the umbrella in your hands, running your fingers over the fabric. it’s slightly worn, the handle warm from where he held it.

a small, almost amused smile tugs at your lips.

maybe today wasn’t all bad.

---

when everyone in the club loved to chat or do anything that a typical extrovert would do, you’d find yourself slumped on the worn-out sofa in the farthest corner of the journalism office, tucked away from the noise. the room was always bustling with energy—voices overlapping, laughter echoing off the walls, the faint hum of computers in the background. yet, in your little corner, it felt like the world was muted, and you found comfort in that.

it’s been a week since you joined the broadcasting club, and you were surprised at how much you were enjoying it. their slogan promised a peaceful atmosphere, and while that wasn’t entirely accurate—there was always some level of chaos—it was still the perfect place to escape without affecting your class schedule. the best part? you could stay inside the broadcasting headquarters as long as you liked, surrounded by shelves crammed with old tapes, stacks of forgotten scripts, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. it felt like a secret sanctuary, and you were slowly getting attached to it.

you were curled up on the sofa, legs folded beneath you as you held a haruki murakami book, fingers lightly gripping a pen that danced along the pages as you scribbled little notes in the margins. the words on the paper seemed to blur at times as your mind wandered, losing focus just to drift back with a renewed curiosity. occasionally, you’d lift your gaze, letting your imagination fill the room, painting scenes inspired by the story in your head.

your eyes drifted to the water dispenser, the hum of the cooling unit blending into the background noise. and that’s when you saw him—leehan, standing by the dispenser, his hair slightly tousled, fingers tapping impatiently against his cup as he waited for the water to fill.

the blue umbrella.

shit. you forgot his umbrella, and it’s been a week since that rainy day when you borrowed it. you pressed your palm to your forehead, feeling the embarrassment flood in. you promised yourself right then—you’d definitely bring it tomorrow. no more excuses.

the next morning, you arrived at the broadcasting headquarters earlier than usual, the blue umbrella clutched tightly in your hand. the sky outside was still a soft gray, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. inside, the familiar hum of equipment and faint chatter greeted you. a few early birds were already scattered around, their sleepy good mornings exchanged as you made your way through the room. your eyes instinctively searched for him, and you didn’t have to look far.

leehan was at the coffee table, a book in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other, his posture relaxed as his eyes skimmed over the pages. the soft glow from the window cast a golden hue on his face, and for a moment, you stood frozen, unsure of what to say—or if you should say anything at all.

you approached him quietly, your footsteps light against the worn floorboards. when you were standing in front of him, you didn’t bother with words. instead, you gently tapped his shoulder, just like he did that day when he handed you the umbrella without a single word. his eyes flicked up, widening in surprise as they met yours.

before he could say anything, you held out the umbrella, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment before you quickly pulled away. his lips parted, as if to say something, but you were already turning on your heels, leaving the room before he could respond. you didn’t even know why you were rushing, heart pounding as you disappeared down the hallway.

and yet, no matter how far you tried to run, you couldn’t escape the fact that leehan was everywhere. it started to feel like he was haunting you, always showing up in the same places, always close but never speaking. like now, for example.

you were curled up in your favorite corner, the ancient sofa sagging beneath your weight as you tapped your pen against the pages of your notebook. you’d been staring at the same sentence for what felt like an eternity, words tangled in your mind, refusing to form coherent thoughts. but your distraction wasn’t just because of writer’s block.

across the room, leehan was there, again. his camera rested in his hands, fingers absentmindedly adjusting the lens. he wasn’t taking any pictures, just fiddling with the settings, eyes occasionally flicking up before quickly looking away. you wondered if he knew you noticed. if he realized how obvious he was.

this wasn’t the first time.

last week, you were in the library, wedged between two dusty shelves, lost in an old poetry book. the rhythmic patter of rain against the windows created a soothing melody, and you were fully immersed in the words until a faint presence disrupted your peace. you looked up, and there he was—one aisle over, his eyes skimming book titles, fingers trailing along the spines without actually pulling any out. you turned a page. he turned a page. you sighed and scribbled a note. he shifted his weight, adjusting the strap of his camera bag. it was almost like you were synced, even though neither of you said a word.

then there was that time at the coffee station, a cramped little corner of the student center where people squeezed past each other with hurried apologies. you were pouring cream into your cup, watching the swirling white cloud mix with the coffee’s dark brown. you felt him before you saw him—standing just behind you, close enough for you to feel his presence, but not close enough to touch.

you didn’t turn around. you didn’t have to. you moved aside, and he stepped forward, reaching for a sugar packet. his movements were slow, deliberate, the crinkle of the packet tearing breaking the silence between you. you knew he liked exactly one sugar in his coffee because you had seen him do this before, every time you ran into him here. he stirred his cup slowly, his eyes never meeting yours, but his presence was heavy, lingering in the air long after you walked away.

and now, once again, he was here, in the broadcasting headquarters, across from you with his camera in hand. neither of you spoke. the silence felt heavy, charged with something unspoken, the distance between you feeling smaller than it actually was. you wondered if he knew how many times you noticed him. if he realized that he was becoming a constant in your day, an unspoken presence that you were starting to expect.

leehan’s gaze shifted, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before he looked back at his camera, his fingers continuing to fiddle with the lens. you quickly looked away, pretending to be lost in your notebook again, the pen tapping against the paper as your heart raced.

---

the quietness with the both you started shifting when he saw you at the couch, sitting during one break, reading one of the books he was into—fishes.

slowly, leehan approached, standing near the arm of the couch, his fingers tightening slightly around the strap of his camera bag.

“t-that’s a cool book.” he said just enough for you to hear.

“yes, i love reading this every now and then,” you blinked.

“you… like fishes?” he looked just as surprised as you felt, like he hadn’t really planned on speaking.

for a second, you only stared at each other. then, you nodded and smiled.

“i have some,” you murmured, voice quieter than the bustling room around you.

his eyebrows lifted slightly. “some?”

you hesitated, then closed the book halfway, your fingers still keeping your place. “i have six. a small tank in my apartment.”

leehan blinked, and then, before he could stop himself, he sat down on the opposite end of the couch.

“what kind?”

there was something about the way he asked, like he actually cared about the answer. you shifted slightly, feeling the couch dip with his added weight.

“a mix… two bettas, a couple of neon tetras, and some corydoras.”

leehan exhaled, a soft, amused sound that almost resembled a laugh. “you really know your fish.”

you shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “i just think they’re interesting.”

“you have fish, too?”

leehan leaned back slightly, nodding. “yeah… a planted tank. mostly rasboras and shrimp.”

for the first time, the quiet between you wasn’t just comfortable—it was expectant, like something unspoken had shifted.

“how do you keep shrimp alive?” you asked after a moment, genuinely curious. “mine never last longer than a few weeks.”

he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s all about the water parameters. i can show you sometime if you want.”

it was a simple offer, but it felt bigger than that.

you nodded, tucking your legs under you. “i’d like that.”

and just like that, the conversation flowed.

for hours, you talked. about fish, about aquariums, about the best water conditions and tank setups.

leehan was in awe.

he had never talked this much before. never felt this comfortable.

since that day, something quietly shifted between you and leehan.

it wasn’t sudden, nothing dramatic. just subtle changes—small, unspoken gestures that gradually became routine.

like how he’d now linger near the couch during breaks, pretending to scroll through his camera or fiddle with his lenses, when you both knew he was waiting for you to sit down and talk.

and you did. you always did.

at first, it was just about fish. he’d bring books with colorful covers, filled with illustrations of vibrant aquatic life, and you’d pour over the pages together, sharing your thoughts, comparing notes.

once, he showed up with a tiny container. fish food.

“try it,” he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

you crinkled your nose. “are you crazy?”

“it’s not that bad,” he argued, leaning back against the couch with a casual shrug. “just a little salty.”

you stared at the container, hesitating. “you’ve tried it before?”

his lips curved into a small, almost playful smile. “curiosity got the best of me.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “i’ll pass.”

he just grinned, tucking the container back into his bag. “suit yourself. give some for your fishes though.”

it wasn’t always about fish, though. sometimes, it was about journalism.

he’d ask about your writing—your ideas, your process, what you wanted to bring to the broadcasting club. you’d stumble over your words at first, unused to someone showing such genuine interest. but leehan was patient, his quiet encouragement coaxing you out of your shell.

one afternoon, he found you struggling with an article, your laptop open and your fingers frozen above the keyboard.

“stuck?” he asked, his voice low and soft.

you exhaled, leaning back with a groan. “i don’t know how to start this.”

leehan glanced at the screen, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned in closer. “just write the first thing that comes to mind. you can always edit it later.”

“easy for you to say,” you muttered. “you’re just clicking a button. i have to actually make sense.”

he rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched with amusement. “you think photography is that easy?”

you shrugged, teasing. “pretty much.”

he shot you a mock glare, then grabbed his camera, holding it out to you. “here. let’s see you take a decent shot then.”

you hesitated, fingers brushing against the cold metal. “i don’t know how to use this.”

“i’ll teach you.”

and he did.

he showed you how to adjust the settings, how to find the right angle, how to capture light and shadow. his voice was patient, his hands occasionally guiding yours, his touch warm and careful.

you ended up taking a picture of a half-empty cup of coffee, the light from the window hitting it just right. it was a terrible shot, the focus all wrong, the composition awkward.

but leehan looked at it like it was something special.

“not bad,” he said softly. “you’ve got an eye for this.”

you tried to ignore the way his words made your heart flutter.

then there was the day he showed you his portfolio.

“it’s nothing special,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed, as he handed you his tablet.

you started scrolling, taking in shot after shot—landscapes drenched in golden light, candid moments of laughter, the vibrant energy of city streets. his photos were alive, bursting with emotion and movement.

“leehan,” you breathed, eyes wide with awe. “these are... incredible.”

he ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “thanks.”

then you saw it.

you almost scrolled past it, but something made you stop. it was a shot of the broadcasting club room, sunlight filtering through the window, the warm glow wrapping around a familiar figure.

you.

your profile turned to the side, a small, thoughtful smile playing on your lips as you scribbled something in your notebook. your hair fell gently over your shoulder, your expression soft and serene.

your heart skipped a beat. “w-when did you take this?”

leehan froze. his eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “oh... uh... that... i was just testing the lighting, and you were there, and...” he trailed off, clearly flustered. his cheeks turned a light shade of pink, and he looked away, suddenly very interested in his shoes.

you tried to keep your voice steady, tried to ignore the heat creeping up your own cheeks. “it’s... a good shot.”

he glanced at you, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge your reaction. “really?”

you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “yeah. you’re really good at this.”

for a second, he just stared at you, his expression softening, his shoulders relaxing. then he looked away, his ears tinged red. “thanks...”

after that, things changed—just a little.

he started showing you more of his photos, and sometimes, you’d catch glimpses of yourself in them. blurry, candid shots. nothing posed, nothing intentional. just stolen moments.

you never asked why. and he never explained.

but slowly, leehan’s presence became a constant in your life.

he’d seek you out during breaks, sitting across from you at the couch, sometimes talking, sometimes just existing quietly beside you.

other times, you’d find him standing outside the broadcasting club room, his hands tucked in his pockets, waiting for you without saying a word. you’d walk out together, your footsteps falling in sync, a comfortable silence wrapping around you both.

and then there were the little things.

like the way he’d slide over an extra bottle of water when he noticed yours was empty. or how he’d subtly adjust the window blinds so the sunlight wouldn’t glare on your laptop screen.

or how he’d hold out his hand when you were struggling with carrying too many things at once, his fingers brushing against yours just for a second before he took the burden off your hands.

you never talked about these moments. never addressed the way his gaze would linger a little too long, or how your heart would race whenever he was close.

it was slow, a delicate dance of stolen glances and soft smiles, of shared silences and unspoken words.

but somewhere along the way, without even realizing it, you and leehan were getting closer.

---

what you had with leehan wasn’t loud. it didn’t demand attention, didn’t clamor to be seen or heard. it was quiet, gentle, almost delicate in its existence. but it was yours.

it started as something small. something almost insignificant.

maybe it was the way your eyes flickered to the door more often than they should, a subtle glance that betrayed the anticipation curling in your stomach. you weren’t waiting for him, not really. but some part of you hoped. hoped that, maybe, leehan would show up, like he always did.

and then, like clockwork, the door creaked open.

your head lifted before you could stop yourself, heart skipping just a little when you saw him step inside. he was balancing a cup of fruit in one hand, a fork in the other, a piece of pineapple poised between his lips. his hair was slightly tousled, like he had run his fingers through it on his way over, and his eyes crinkled as they met yours.

he waved, the motion casual, easy. “hey,” he mumbled around the fruit before quickly chewing and swallowing.

you tried to fight the smile threatening to break free but failed miserably. “hey.”

he walked over, dropping his camera bag onto the chair with a soft thud, the familiar scent of his perfume trailing behind him. it was subtle, a delicate blend of something fresh and slightly woody, tinged with a sweetness that lingered in the air long after he had settled into his seat.

you tried not to notice. you really did.

but it was getting harder.

especially when you started noticing... everything.

like how he always had that cup of fruit with him. pineapple, melon, sometimes apple slices. you weren’t sure why it stood out to you, but it did. maybe it was because of the way he ate, with a sort of quiet focus, his eyes fixed on the cup, his brows drawing together just slightly. or maybe it was the way his lips would curve upwards every time he tasted something particularly sweet.

you’d never paid much attention to it before, but now it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world.

you filed the thought away, only for it to be replaced by something else.

like the way his voice dipped lower when he spoke in hushed tones, the words wrapping around you softly, lingering in the air long after he’d finished speaking. it was calming, a gentle rhythm that soothed even the most restless parts of you.

or the way he tilted his head when he listened, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that made you feel like the most important person in the room. he didn’t just hear you; he listened. truly listened. and somehow, that meant everything.

and then there were the little things, the ones that shouldn’t have mattered but did.

the mole in his neck, peeking out from the collar of his shirt. you weren’t even sure why your eyes kept drifting there, but they did, tracing the shape absently, memorizing the way it stood out against his skin.

or the way he laughed. soft and breathy, like he was trying to hold it back. but when something was really funny, his laugh would break free, louder, more genuine, and he’d immediately cover his face with his hand, his shoulders shaking with embarrassment. you found yourself wanting to hear that laugh more often, wanting to be the reason for it.

you didn’t realize you were staring until he looked up, his eyes meeting yours.

“what?” he asked, a curious smile playing at his lips.

you blinked, heat flooding your cheeks. “nothing,” you mumbled, quickly looking down at your notebook, pretending to be engrossed in whatever you were scribbling.

out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shrug, going back to his fruit, his foot lightly tapping against the leg of your chair.

and just like that, the world felt a little more grounded.

you didn’t know when it happened—when the quiet presence of leehan became something you looked forward to, something you anticipated without even realizing it. but it did.

because it wasn’t just the moments filled with conversation or laughter that you found yourself craving. it was the silences, too. the ones that stretched comfortably between you, where no words were needed because his presence was enough.

sometimes, you’d both be working on different things, the only sound in the room the soft clicking of keys or the scratch of a pen against paper. yet, you felt more at ease in those moments than you ever did surrounded by noise.

and it was strange—how easily he had slipped into your life, into your routine. how his presence felt natural, like he belonged there, across from you, his fruit cup balanced precariously on his knee as he scrolled through photos on his camera.

you didn’t question it. you were too afraid of what the answer might be.

so you let it be. let yourself notice the way his hair fell messily over his forehead, or the way his fingers drummed absently against the table when he was lost in thought.

let yourself memorize the subtle curve of his smile, the warmth in his gaze whenever he looked at you.

---

leehan had always been observant.

it was something his friends teased him about constantly, claiming he paid too much attention to things that didn’t matter. but to him, the small things did matter. they were what made up the fabric of his world, the tiny details that others overlooked but he found himself lingering on, almost obsessively.

like how the jaehyun, the club president always spun a pen between his fingers when he was deep in thought, his brows knitting together as he tried to piece together the next news segment.

or how the lights in the broadcast room flickered ever so slightly every few minutes, a barely noticeable glitch that seemed to go unnoticed by everyone but him. or how taesan would doodle absentmindedly in the margins of his notebook, his sketches chaotic but oddly charming. or how woonhak had this habit of humming under his breath whenever he was editing videos, the soft tune weaving through the air like a whisper.

leehan noticed all of it. every little thing.

but most of all, he noticed you.

he noticed how you always sat in the same spot on the worn-out couch, legs tucked under you, your body curled in a way that made you look smaller, softer. how you’d have a cup of coffee within reach, the steam curling upwards, and a piece of bread in your hand, nibbling on it absentmindedly as you reviewed scripts or edited recordings.

he noticed how your brows would furrow when you were focused, your nose scrunching just a little, and how your lips would part ever so slightly when you were deep in thought. he noticed how you’d occasionally hum under your breath, a quiet melody that you probably didn’t even realize you were singing.

he noticed the way your hair would fall messily over your face, how you’d push it back absentmindedly, fingers brushing against your cheek with a sort of careless grace that made his chest tighten. he noticed how your eyes would light up when you laughed, the way your shoulders would relax, your entire body leaning into the joy as if nothing else in the world mattered in that moment.

and he noticed the way his heart would stutter every single time.

leehan wanted to talk to you from the very first time he saw you.

it was the first day of the semester, and you had walked into the broadcast room, shoulders slightly hunched as if you were trying to make yourself smaller. you were wearing a faded sweatshirt, the sleeves too long and frayed at the edges, your hair a little messy, like you had rushed out the door without bothering to fix it. you had looked around the room, your gaze flickering nervously before settling on the couch, where you had sat down, curling into yourself like you were trying to disappear.

and that was when it happened.

his heart did this strange, stupid little flip, a fluttering that made him feel lightheaded and dizzy. he didn’t understand it, didn’t know why his chest suddenly felt tight or why his palms were getting clammy. all he knew was that he couldn’t look away.

he wanted to say something, anything, but his throat closed up, the words dying on his tongue. he wasn’t good with people—never had been. talking to someone new was hard enough, but talking to you felt impossible. because you were beautiful. painfully so. and that terrified him.

so he did nothing.

instead, he watched. quietly, carefully, from the corner of the room, his eyes drifting back to you every few seconds, his heart beating a little faster each time.

“dude, you’re staring again,” taesan muttered beside him, his voice low enough that no one else would hear. “it’s getting creepy.”

leehan tore his gaze away, heat rushing to his cheeks. “i’m not staring.”

taesan rolled his eyes. “right. and i’m practically your best friend, dude.” he nudged leehan’s shoulder, a teasing grin on his face. “just go talk to her already.”

“i can’t,” leehan mumbled, his eyes unconsciously drifting back to you. “i... i wouldn’t know what to say.”

“just say hi,” woonhak chimed in, leaning back in his chair. “it’s not rocket science.”

leehan’s stomach twisted at the thought. just the idea of walking up to you, of saying something and potentially making a fool of himself... it was enough to make his palms sweat.

“i’ll just... i’ll just wait,” he muttered, sinking lower in his seat. “for the right moment.”

taesan sighed. “you’ve been waiting for the right moment for months, dude. at this rate, you’ll graduate before you even say hi.”

leehan didn’t respond. because taesan was right. he had been waiting.

and waiting.

but the moment never came.

so he watched instead. and he noticed.

he noticed how you always showed up early, at least fifteen minutes before the rest of the team. how you’d settle into your spot on the couch, sipping your coffee slowly, your shoulders visibly relaxing as the room remained quiet and empty.

he noticed how you always brought a piece of bread, usually something simple—plain toast, a croissant, sometimes a muffin. you’d nibble on it absentmindedly, your eyes fixed on the papers in front of you, occasionally brushing crumbs off your lap.

he noticed how your handwriting was neat but slanted, the letters curving gracefully across the page. how you always underlined your titles twice, the lines perfectly straight, no ruler needed.

he noticed the way you laughed—soft, melodic, the kind of laugh that made his chest feel warm and tight all at once. how you’d cover your mouth when you laughed too hard, your shoulders shaking, eyes crinkling at the corners.

and he noticed how his heart would ache every single time.

“you’re hopeless,” taesan said one day, watching as leehan’s gaze followed you across the room.

leehan sighed, his shoulders slumping. “i know.”

“just talk to her, man,” taesan pressed. “what’s the worst that could happen?”

“everything,” leehan muttered.

at this point, his friends had stopped listening.

but he couldn’t stop. he couldn’t stop noticing you, couldn’t stop wanting to be near you, to talk to you, to make you laugh. he couldn’t stop his heart from racing every time you looked his way, even if it was just for a second.

he couldn’t stop the way his chest tightened when he saw you smile, or the way his mind would go blank whenever you were close enough for him to catch the faint scent of your shampoo.

he couldn’t stop falling for you, even if you didn’t have a clue.

but then one day, everything changed.

it was break time, and leehan was heading toward the coffee station when he saw you.

sitting on the couch.

with his book.

well, not his book, but the book. the national geographic book about fishes. the one he had practically lived in as a kid, flipping through the pages until he had every fish species memorized.

his breath hitched. his hands clenched. his mind went into overdrive.

she likes that book? does that mean she likes fishes? what if it’s just random? what if—

he caught himself before spiraling. no. he needed to act normal. he needed to breathe.

step. step. breathe.

before he could fully comprehend it, he was standing right in front of you. close enough to see the delicate curve of your eyelashes, the way your fingers gently held the pages.

his lips parted, his voice coming out shakier than he wanted. “t-that’s a cool book.” just loud enough for you to hear.

you looked up.

oh. oh god.

leehan swore his heart stopped. just for a moment, he saw the gates of heaven when your eyes met. there was a pause, long enough for the world to blur around the edges, leaving only you in perfect focus.

“yes, i love reading this every now and then,” you blinked, looking up at him through those impossibly pretty eyes.

his mind went blank. completely, utterly blank. then, somehow, words tumbled out. “you… like fishes?” he sounded as stunned as he felt, like his mouth was moving before his brain could catch up.

you stared at him, and he could feel his pulse racing, each beat echoing in his chest. then, you nodded, a small smile forming on your lips.

“i have some,” you said softly, your voice delicate, almost shy.

leehan’s heart did a weird little flip. “some?”

you hesitated, closing the book halfway but keeping your fingers in place. “i have six. a small tank in my apartment.”

leehan’s eyes widened, and before he could stop himself, he sat down on the other end of the couch. he needed to be closer, needed to hear more.

“what kind?”

his voice was soft, almost reverent, like he was asking about something sacred. because to him, it was. you were.

you shifted, and leehan felt the slight dip of the couch, felt the warmth of your presence. “a mix… two bettas, a couple of neon tetras, and some corydoras.”

he let out a breath, a sound that was almost a laugh, his heart feeling light in a way he didn’t know it could. “you really know your fish.”

you shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. “i just think they’re interesting.”

god, he wanted to bottle that smile and keep it forever.

“you have fish, too?”

leehan leaned back just enough to look at you fully, his eyes taking in every detail. “yeah… a planted tank. mostly rasboras and shrimp.”

your eyes sparkled with curiosity. “how do you keep shrimp alive? mine never last longer than a few weeks.”

he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s all about the water parameters. i can show you sometime if you want.”

the words were out before he could think, hanging in the air between you. he held his breath, waiting, hoping.

your eyes softened, your lips curving into that gentle smile again. “i’d like that.”

leehan felt his heart swell, warmth spreading through his chest. he could’ve floated right off that couch.

and then, as if some invisible barrier had shattered, the conversation flowed. effortlessly, beautifully.

you talked about fish, about aquariums, about water conditions and tank setups. your voice was like music, your laughter light and airy, filling every corner of his heart.

he was completely, utterly captivated.

leehan couldn’t believe how easy it was, how natural it felt. he had never talked this much before, never felt this comfortable. but with you, words just came.

he was falling. hard. and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

not that he wanted to.

---

“hey, are you listening?” you snapped him back to reality. stopping him from literally reliving the past mid-conversation.

he stared at you, and blinked, heat rushing to his cheeks. had he been staring? he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “y-yeah, of course. i still think the joel and clementine deserved a second or third chance...”

you have been talking about movies for the past hours and it's just so that you got to talking about eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

you laughed, and the sound was so soft, so genuine, that it made his heart skip. “we moved past that like five minutes ago.”

“oh,” he mumbled, feeling utterly stupid. “right… yeah, i knew that.” you shook your head, amused.

“you’re kind of weird, you know that?”

“yeah,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck, a sheepish smile forming. “i get that a lot.” he expected you to laugh again, to make another teasing remark, but instead, your expression softened.

“it’s… kind of cute.”

leehan’s heart stopped.

did you just call him cute?

he replayed the words in his head, over and over, trying to convince himself he hadn’t imagined it. the way you looked at him, eyes warm and gentle, the smallest smile on your lips—he was sure he was dreaming.

“w-what?” he stammered, his voice embarrassingly high-pitched. he cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “i mean… really?”

you shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the slight pink on your cheeks didn’t go unnoticed. “yeah, in a weird, clueless kind of way.”

“oh.” his heart was racing, pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. “well… thanks, i guess?”

you smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through clouds, warm and dazzling. “you’re welcome.”

leehan swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the tiny space between you on the couch. he could feel the warmth radiating from you, could smell the faint scent of your perfume. it was intoxicating.

“so… um,” he started, desperately searching for a topic to break the tension that had settled between you, but his mind was blank. “you, uh… you never told me who your favorite character was.”

you looked at him, surprised. “from eternal sunshine?”

he nodded, grateful his voice didn’t crack. “yeah. you said you liked the movie, but you never said why.”

you tilted your head, your eyes drifting to the ceiling as you thought. “i think… i think it’s joel. he’s awkward and complicated, and he overthinks everything. but he feels everything so deeply, even when he tries not to.”

leehan’s breath caught. it was like you were describing him.

he wanted to say something, to tell you how much he understood, how he also overthought everything, how he was feeling everything so intensely right now it almost hurt. but the words wouldn’t come.

“what about you?” you asked, your voice gentle. “who’s your favorite?”

he looked at you, his chest tightening. “joel,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “definitely joel.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke. the air was thick with something unspoken, something electric. leehan could feel his heart racing, his palms growing sweaty.

then you looked away, breaking the spell. “yeah… he’s great.”

leehan swallowed, realizing he had been holding his breath. he let it out slowly, trying to calm the storm inside him.

you leaned back against the couch, eyes drifting to the book he let you borrow, resting on your lap. “you really know a lot about fish,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the spine absentmindedly. “i never would’ve guessed.”

leehan smiled, his heart fluttering at the way you said it, like you were genuinely curious. “yeah… it was kind of my whole life growing up. i used to spend hours reading about them, watching documentaries… i even had this imaginary aquarium business when i was a kid.”

you laughed, the sound bright and warm, and leehan felt his chest tighten. “really?”

he nodded, his cheeks flushing. “yeah… i’d make these little paper tanks and pretend to sell them to my stuffed animals.”

you laughed even harder, your eyes crinkling at the corners. “that’s… that’s adorable.”

adorable.

his heart skipped. he wanted to hear you say it again, wanted to make you laugh like that a thousand more times.

he looked away, his face burning. “yeah, well… i was a weird kid.”

“i think that’s sweet,” you said softly, your voice gentle. “you were passionate, even then.”

leehan’s heart thudded in his chest. how were you doing this to him? how were you turning his most embarrassing childhood stories into something beautiful?

“i… i guess so,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

you smiled, your eyes lingering on him a moment longer before you looked down at the book. “you know, i’ve had this book for years, but i never really understood half of what’s in here. maybe… maybe you could teach me sometime?”

leehan’s eyes widened, his heart leaping. “r-really? i mean, yeah! yeah, i’d love to.”

“cool,” you said, your smile soft, almost shy. “i’d like that.”

leehan felt his heart swell, warmth flooding his chest. he wanted to memorize this moment, to etch every detail into his mind. the way your hair fell softly over your shoulder, the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him, the way you said you wanted to spend more time with him.

he fell. hard. he fell so bad he swore that you could hear his heart beating maniacally because of you.

---

it was a saturday morning, lazy morning for the whole broadcasting club, and you? you have other plans to spend this lazy saturday.

you found him in the broadcasting room, hunched over the soundboard with his brows furrowed, headphones around his neck. his fingers moved expertly over the controls, adjusting levels with a focused determination that made your heart skip.

you hesitated at the door, gripping the edges of your notebook, your palms clammy. asking him to watch a documentary shouldn’t be this hard, right? it was just… a documentary. about fishes. something you figured he’d like. nothing weird about that.

so why were your hands shaking?

“you gonna stand there all day?”

you jumped, heat rushing to your cheeks as you looked up to see taesan leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a lazy grin on his lips. his eyes sparkled with mischief, like he knew exactly why you were hesitating.

“i-i was just…” you stammered, struggling to come up with an excuse, but taesan only raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“leehan’s in there, you know.” he jerked his head towards the room. “and he’s been staring at that soundboard for the past hour. pretty sure he could use a distraction.”

your heart fluttered at the thought, and before you could second-guess yourself, you took a deep breath and walked inside.

leehan looked up at the sound of the door, his eyes widening slightly when he saw you. “oh… hey.”

“h-hi.” you cursed yourself for stuttering. get it together. “i… um… i wanted to ask you something.”

his eyebrows lifted, curiosity flashing in his eyes. “yeah?”

you opened your mouth, the words on the tip of your tongue, but they refused to come out. your mind went blank, and all you could do was stand there, staring at him like an idiot.

leehan shifted, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks. “is… is something wrong?”

“no! no, nothing’s wrong,” you blurted, heat flooding your face. “i just… um…” you looked down, your fingers twisting nervously. “i found this documentary. about fishes. and… and i thought… maybe… you’d want to watch it… with me?”

there. you did it. you actually did it.

the silence that followed was deafening. you forced yourself to look up, panic bubbling in your chest when you saw the way his eyes widened, his lips parted in shock.

oh god. this was a mistake. this was a huge mistake. you shouldn’t have asked. you should’ve just watched it by yourself—

“i-i mean, you don’t have to,” you rushed to add, waving your hands frantically. “it’s totally fine if you’re busy or not interested or—”

“no!” his voice came out louder than intended, his eyes widening in horror at his own outburst. he cleared his throat, his shoulders hunching as he looked down, his fingers fidgeting. “i… i mean… i’d like to. watch it. with you. i… i’d like that a lot.”

your heart skipped, hope flaring in your chest. “really?”

he looked up, his eyes softening as he nodded. “yeah. it sounds… fun.”

a smile spread across your lips before you could stop it, relief washing over you. “o-okay. great. um… during break time, then?”

“yeah.” his lips curved into a small, shy smile, his fingers fiddling with the headphone cord. “during break.”

you nodded, your heart pounding. “okay. cool. um… see you then.”

“y-yeah.” his eyes lingered on you as you turned to leave, and you swore you could feel his gaze on your back long after you walked out.

the moment you were out of sight, you leaned against the wall, your knees weak. did that… did that just happen? did he really say yes?

“well, that was cute.”

you jumped, whipping around to see jaehyun leaning against the lockers, arms crossed and an infuriatingly smug grin on his face.

taesan stood next to him, his own smirk firmly in place. “didn’t know watching fish could be so romantic,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

your face burned. “shut up,” you muttered, hugging your notebook to your chest as you tried to walk past them, but they blocked your path, their grins widening.

“honestly, it was painful to watch,” jaehyun drawled, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. “i almost went in there myself just to ask him for you.”

“good thing you didn’t,” taesan added, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “i was enjoying the show.”

you glared at them, but they only laughed, clearly amused by your embarrassment. “you guys are the worst.”

“maybe,” taesan admitted, shrugging, “but at least we’re not the ones hopelessly crushing on leehan.”

your jaw dropped, heat rushing to your face. “i-i’m not—”

“sure, you’re not,” jaehyun said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “and leehan totally wasn’t staring at you like a lovesick puppy the entire time you were in there.”

you froze, your heart lurching. “h-he was…?”

jaehyun’s grin widened. “yep. absolutely whipped.”

taesan chuckled, crossing his arms. “you two are so obvious, it’s painful.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but no words came out. because deep down, a part of you hoped they were right.

---

the room was quiet, save for the hum of the old tv and the soft narration of the documentary. the dim light from the screen cast a gentle glow on your face, illuminating the spark of excitement in your eyes.

leehan couldn’t look away. he was supposed to be watching the documentary—supposed to be fascinated by the vibrant corals and the graceful dance of the fishes—but all he could see was you.

you leaned forward, eyes wide with wonder as the camera followed a school of angelfish gliding through the water. “look at that,” you whispered, your voice tinged with awe. “they’re so beautiful.”

leehan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “yeah… beautiful.”

he wasn’t talking about the fish.

your shoulder brushed against his as you shifted closer, and his breath hitched. the contact was barely there, just the slightest touch, but it sent electricity down his spine. he fought the urge to lean in, to close the distance between you, to feel your warmth against him.

his fingers twitched, ghosting over yours. he wondered what would happen if he took your hand, if he dared to intertwine his fingers with yours. would you pull away? would you look at him with that soft, curious smile? would you let him hold on, just for a little while?

his heart raced at the thought, his chest tightening painfully.

he didn’t dare.

“you’re quiet today,” you murmured, turning to look at him. your face was so close, your eyes searching his. “are you… are you okay?”

leehan blinked, realizing he had been staring. heat rushed to his cheeks, and he quickly looked away, eyes glued to the screen. “y-yeah. just… just focused on the documentary.”

you tilted your head, studying him. “you must really like this, huh?”

“yeah,” he said, his voice softer than he intended. “i… i like watching it with you.”

the words slipped out before he could stop them. his eyes widened, his heart freezing in his chest. he dared a glance at you, panicking when he saw the way your eyes widened.

but then, slowly, a smile spread across your lips. “me too,” you whispered, your voice so soft he almost didn’t hear it. “i like watching this with you, too.”

his heart skipped, his breath catching in his throat. was this real? were you really looking at him like that, your eyes warm and gentle, your lips curved into that beautiful smile?

he was dreaming. he had to be dreaming.

the documentary continued, the narrator’s voice droning on about coral reefs and marine ecosystems, but leehan couldn’t focus. not when you were this close, not when he could feel your shoulder brushing against his, your warmth seeping into him.

you shifted, your head tilting to rest against his shoulder, your hair brushing his neck. he froze, his entire body going rigid.

you were leaning on him. your head was on his shoulder.

he didn’t dare move. he barely dared to breathe.

he could feel his heart pounding, his pulse racing as he slowly turned his head, eyes wide as he looked down at you. your eyes were still fixed on the screen, a peaceful smile on your lips, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside him.

he wanted to stay like this forever.

“you know,” you murmured, your voice soft, “i think this is my favorite documentary.”

he smiled, his heart swelling with warmth. “yeah… me too.”

he had watched this documentary a hundred times, knew every line by heart, but this was the first time it felt so special. because he was watching it with you.

your fingers twitched, brushing against his. it was barely a touch, just the lightest graze, but it sent his heart spiraling.

he looked down, his breath catching as he watched your fingers, so close to his own. his heart raced, his mind screaming at him to just reach out, to take your hand, to hold on.

his fingers moved, slowly, hesitantly, until they were resting against yours, his pinky brushing against your own.

you didn’t pull away.

leehan’s heart stopped.

your fingers curled, just the slightest bit, brushing against his. it was so subtle, so delicate, but it was enough.

he looked at you, his eyes wide, his heart in his throat. you didn’t look at him, your gaze still fixed on the screen, but there was a soft smile on your lips, so small he almost missed it.

his heart pounded, his chest tightening painfully. he wanted to say something, to tell you how much this meant to him, how much you meant to him, but the words wouldn’t come.

so he stayed silent, his fingers brushing against yours, his heart racing.

and as the documentary continued, as the narrator’s voice filled the room, leehan knew he was completely, hopelessly, undeniably in love.

and for now, this was enough.

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