#You might not like it but I’m going to say it
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solxamber · 2 days ago
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Choose Us!
In which you have to decide on a dorm to become part of.
Part 2: You choose the dorm
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"You're serious?" you blink at Crowley, half-expecting Grim to wake you up from this fever dream. "I can move into any dorm?"
Crowley clasps his hands together with a benevolent smile that doesn't quite match his usual dramatic flair. "Indeed, my dear prefect! It's the least I can do to ensure your safety and comfort!"
Grim looks up from where he’s gnawing on a suspiciously burnt sofa leg. "Wait, what about me?!"
"You’ll go where the prefect goes, naturally," Crowley waves off Grim’s protests. "Now, chop-chop! Let me know your decision by the end of the day."
And just like that, he floats out of Ramshackle, leaving you standing in the middle of the chaos.
Heartslabyul
The second you hit send in the group chat, you regret everything. Ace and Deuce don’t even wait for you to explain. Within minutes, they’re barging into Ramshackle like the Kool-Aid Man.
“Heartslabyul!” Ace yells, grabbing one of your arms.
“Obviously Heartslabyul!” Deuce hollers, seizing the other.
“I haven’t even decided—”
“Blasphemy!” Ace gasps, as if you’d just insulted his mother. “We’re your best friends, how could you even think about choosing another dorm?”
Deuce nods fervently, dragging you toward the door. “Heartslabyul’s clean! Organized! You’d thrive there!”
"And the desserts!" Ace adds. "Think of the desserts!"
Before you know it, you're shoved into Heartslabyul’s rose garden, where Riddle is waiting with the most extravagant tea party setup you’ve ever seen. There’s a towering cake, delicate pastries, and enough tea to drown Grim.
“I thought you might need proper refreshments while considering your options,” Riddle says, adjusting his posture like he isn’t secretly trying to sway you. “Of course, I have no preference where you go. I’m merely concerned for your well-being.”
Trey hands you a plate with the biggest, most immaculate slice of cake you’ve ever seen. “You’d fit right in here, you know,” he says kindly. “We’re all about structure and care… and good desserts.”
"Plus," Cater slides in with a grin, “imagine all the cool pics we could take together! #DormGoals, am I right? You and me chilling in Heartslabyul, like, all the time?”
Riddle clears his throat loudly. “This isn’t about favoritism, mind you. But if you were to choose Heartslabyul, you’d be part of a dorm that values discipline and respect for the rules.”
Ace nudges you with a smirk. “Ignore him. Just think of all the times I’ll sneak you extra tarts.”
You glance around at the hopeful stares. Grim’s already halfway into a tart he snatched off the table. “I feel like I’m being ambushed.”
“Oh, you are,” Ace says shamelessly.
Savanaclaw
You stumble out of the Heartslabyul tea party, feeling like you’ve consumed enough sugar to fuel a small country. Before you can even catch your breath, a shadow looms over you, and suddenly, you're hoisted into the air like a sack of potatoes.
“What the—JACK?!” you squawk, flailing as he throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.
“You’re coming with me,” Jack grunts, completely unfazed by your protests. “You need to see why Savanaclaw is the best dorm for you.”
“I can walk, you know!” you huff, punching his back.
He ignores you. “Not fast enough.”
By the time he sets you down, you’re in the middle of Savanaclaw’s common area, where Ruggie is lounging on one of the couches, counting a suspiciously thick wad of cash. Leona’s sprawled out nearby, pretending to nap, though his ears twitch at the sound of your arrival.
Ruggie grins as soon as he spots you. “Ah, perfect timing! I was just telling Leona how we could totally use someone like you here. Right, boss?”
Leona cracks one eye open and yawns, his tone dripping with disinterest. “Tch. Don’t care. They can do whatever they want.”
“That’s funny,” Ruggie says, nudging Leona hard enough to make him growl, “’cause I distinctly remember you saying—and I quote—‘If they don’t pick Savanaclaw, everyone else can rot.’”
Leona sits up, glaring daggers at Ruggie. “I said no such thing.”
“Sure you didn’t,” Ruggie snickers before turning back to you, his grin as wide as a hyena’s. “Anyway, check this out. Leona generously donated some funds to help you... you know, see the light.”
He shoves the wad of cash into your hands. You blink at it. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Whatever you want! Snacks, clothes, bribes for your annoying friends in Heartslabyul…”
Leona groans and drags a hand down his face. “You’re making us look desperate.”
“We? Speak for yourself, Your Highness.” Ruggie winks at you. “He’s just mad ‘cause he doesn’t know how to be subtle.”
Leona slouches further into his seat, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “Look, Herbivore, if you wanna be around people who won’t coddle you, Savanaclaw’s where it’s at. We don’t do tea parties here—”
“Obviously,” you mutter, thinking about the claw marks on the furniture.
“—but we’ll actually challenge you to grow stronger. You can’t get that in the other dorms.”
Jack nods. “He’s right. And we’ve got the best training facilities on campus.”
Ruggie waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, training’s cool and all, but let’s focus on what really matters. Free snacks. Awesome vibes. Me.”
Leona rolls his eyes. “You’re going to scare them off.”
You cross your arms, trying to ignore the way Leona’s ears flick every time you shift your weight. “So… are you guys going to bribe me with anything besides money and vibes?”
Leona smirks. “What, isn’t my dazzling personality enough?”
Ruggie snorts. “Oh, sure. That’s totally why people flock to you.”
You can’t help but laugh, and Leona’s eyes soften just a little, though he quickly turns his head like he doesn’t care.
“I’ll think about it,” you say, handing the wad of cash back to Ruggie, who immediately starts recounting it like you’ve stolen some.
“Better think fast,” Leona mutters, though there’s the faintest curve of a smile on his lips.
Octavinelle
As you trudge back to Ramshackle, your brain still processing Savanaclaw’s “recruitment tactics,” a pair of arms suddenly wrap around you, lifting you clean off the ground.
“Shrimpy!” Floyd crows, spinning you around like you’re a prize he just won at a carnival.
“FLOYD! Put me down!” you shout, flailing uselessly in his grip.
“Nah, I got orders,” he says, grinning ear to ear as he hauls you off toward the Mostro Lounge.
By the time you’re unceremoniously deposited (read: still stuck in Floyd’s arms like a glorified teddy bear), you’re face-to-face with Azul and Jade, both of whom look way too pleased with themselves.
“Ah, perfect timing!” Azul says, standing up from his chair with his signature business smile. “We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Have a seat!”
“I would if Floyd let me down,” you deadpan, glaring at the tall eel holding you like a sack of seaweed.
“Nah, you’re comfy,” Floyd chirps, tightening his grip as if daring you to try escaping.
Azul clears his throat, pulling out a scroll of parchment that looks suspiciously like a contract. “Ahem. Now, as I was saying—let’s discuss the many benefits of joining Octavinelle. For starters, we pride ourselves on being a dorm of intellect and resourcefulness. Here, you’ll have access to unmatched networking opportunities, a plethora of unique beverages crafted by Jade himself, and—should you agree—my personal mentorship in matters of… negotiation.”
He flashes you a grin that screams, This is totally not suspicious at all.
Jade slides a glass of something shimmering and iridescent across the table toward you. “I would be delighted to name you our official taste tester. Imagine the prestige of being the first to try all my… experimental creations.”
You eye the drink like it might explode. “Define ‘experimental.’”
Jade smiles serenely. “You’ll find out.”
“Don’t be shy, Shrimpy!” Floyd chimes in, shifting you in his arms so you’re now sitting sideways like some sort of royal guest. “You’d have so much fun here. We’ve got good food, good drinks, and me.”
Azul adjusts his glasses, sliding the contract closer to you. “And, of course, we’ve prepared a special position for you. All you have to do is sign right here, and Octavinelle will officially welcome you as our newest member.”
You glance at the contract, then at the three of them—Azul’s scheming smile, Jade’s unsettling calmness, and Floyd’s unnervingly enthusiastic grin.
“I feel like this is a trap,” you say.
“It’s not a trap,” Floyd says immediately, which makes you even more suspicious.
Azul leans forward, steepling his fingers. “I assure you, everything is perfectly legitimate. Now, shall we seal the deal?”
“Or,” you say, leaning back as far as Floyd’s grip will allow, “I could not.”
Jade hums thoughtfully, handing you another drink. “At least try the beverages before you decide.”
Azul smirks. “I’m sure a sip or two will convince you.”
You glance at the drink, then back at Azul. “Is this bribery?”
“It’s persuasion,” he corrects smoothly.
“Same thing.”
Floyd suddenly squeezes you tight, grinning down at you. “C’mon, Shrimpy. Just say yes already! I’ll carry you everywhere. Betcha Heartslabyul and Savanaclaw didn’t offer that.”
You sigh, resting your head in your hands. This was going to be a long night.
Scarabia
You barely make it out of Octavinelle alive (or at least with your dignity and soul intact) when you’re immediately ambushed again.
“Prefect!” Kalim’s voice rings out, and before you can even process the sound, you’re being yanked into a whirlwind of color, music, and… is that confetti?
You blink as Scarabia's lounge comes into view, transformed into what can only be described as a full-blown festival. Tables are piled high with food, lanterns glow in warm hues, and cheerful music fills the air.
“Surprise!” Kalim grins, throwing his arms wide like he just gifted you the world. “Welcome to Scarabia! We threw a party just for you!”
“A… party?” you repeat, still trying to figure out how you got here so fast.
“Yep!” Kalim grabs your hands, his golden eyes shining with pure, unfiltered excitement. “I thought, ‘What’s the best way to convince you to join us?’ And then I thought, ‘A party! Everyone loves parties!’”
Before you can respond, a plate stacked with delicious-looking food appears in front of you, courtesy of none other than Jamil.
“Eat,” he says simply, pushing the plate closer.
“Oh, uh, thanks?” you mumble, picking up a fork.
Jamil nods, then leans in slightly, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. “This is just a taste of what Scarabia has to offer. Stick around, and I’ll make sure you’re well-fed every day. Properly fed.”
You pause mid-bite, noticing the way he emphasizes the word “properly,” like he knows exactly how many instant noodles you’ve been living off of.
Kalim, meanwhile, is still giving you the most devastating puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen. “You’ll join, right? We’d have so much fun together! And think of all the parties we could throw! Oh, and I can get you anything you want! Name it, and it’s yours!”
You glance between Kalim’s hopeful grin and Jamil’s subtle but persuasive bribes.
Jamil catches your hesitation and sighs, placing yet another dish in front of you. “Look, I’ll even help you stay on top of your work. You’re clearly the type who needs someone dependable around.”
“Hey!” you protest, only for him to raise an eyebrow as if to say, Am I wrong?
“Please?” Kalim chimes in, practically bouncing in place. “It’ll be so much fun! And I really, really want you to join. Scarabia would be perfect for you!”
You groan internally, stuffing another bite of food into your mouth just to avoid answering. Between Kalim’s overwhelming enthusiasm and Jamil’s quiet determination, you’re starting to think Scarabia might actually succeed in breaking your will.
You’re doomed. Aren’t you?
Pomefiore
You stumble out of Scarabia, clutching your overstuffed stomach and wondering how you’ve made it this far without officially losing your sanity. Taking the long way around campus to avoid any more ambushes seems like the best idea—you’ve had enough dorm propaganda for one day.
Or so you thought.
You’re halfway through the forest, breathing a sigh of relief at the quiet, when—
“Bonjour, mon cher trésor!”
You shriek as Rook appears out of thin air. Where did he even come from? Why is there sparkly lighting behind him? Is this even allowed?
“Rook! What—what are you doing here?!”
“Ah, I see you were clever enough to evade the others,” he says, ignoring your question entirely. “But you cannot escape me, the hunter of beauty! Pomefiore awaits, mon ami!”
Before you can protest, he’s scooped you up bridal style and is sprinting through the forest with unnatural speed, his laughter echoing ominously.
“This isn’t fair! You’re cheating!” you yell, flailing helplessly.
“All’s fair in love, war, and dorm recruitment, non?”
You soon find yourself unceremoniously plopped down in the middle of Pomefiore’s lounge. Vil is waiting with his arms crossed and an unreadable expression, though the way his foot taps against the floor suggests he’s less than pleased.
“Honestly,” Vil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Was the theatrics really necessary, Rook?”
“Always,” Rook replies with a wink.
Epel is off to the side, clearly trying not to laugh at your predicament while casually carving an apple.
“Well,” Vil says, straightening his posture and fixing you with a regal gaze. “I’ve heard about this… situation of yours. Joining Pomefiore would be the obvious choice. After all, we are the epitome of elegance and refinement. It would be a privilege for you to stay here, and I might even be able to do something about your… appearance.”
You blink. "What's wrong with my appearance?”
Vil waves a hand dismissively. “Nothing I can’t fix. Consider it a favor.”
Epel, meanwhile, sidles up next to you, whispering conspiratorially “Don’t listen to him. He’s just tryna butter you up. But, uh… you should totally join Pomefiore anyway. Look, I brought you some fresh juice from Harveston. And this apple.”
You glance at the carved apple he’s offering. It’s shaped like a little heart.
“Epel,” Vil scolds, glaring at him. “Stop bribing them. That’s hardly dignified.”
“Well, it’s working, isn’t it?” Epel shoots back, crossing his arms. “I just think we need someone who’ll actually get how hard it is to survive your routines. And they seem cool. So there.”
You feel your brain short-circuiting as Vil and Epel start bickering in front of you. Rook stands off to the side, watching with sparkling eyes like he’s witnessing a masterpiece.
Somehow, you feel like this is still less stressful than Scarabia. But only barely.
Ignihyde
You somehow manage to escape Pomefiore in one piece, though your mind feels like it’s been through a blender. You’re determined to finally make it back to Ramshackle without incident when—
“Prefect!”
You freeze mid-step as Ortho zooms into view, his boosters glowing bright blue. Before you can even blink, he grabs your arm with surprising strength.
“Ignihyde is next!” he announces cheerfully, starting to lift you off the ground.
“Wait, wait!” you shout, flailing. “I can walk! Please, I’ve been carried around like a stolen handbag all day!”
Ortho tilts his head, his LED eyes flickering. “Oh… okay! As long as you promise to come willingly!”
You nod frantically. “I promise! Just no more flying, please.”
Satisfied, Ortho takes your hand and leads you to Ignihyde. The journey is mercifully uneventful, though you can feel your soul leaving your body as you realize what’s waiting for you inside.
Sure enough, Idia is hunched over in the corner of the lounge, a laptop balanced precariously on a stack of game boxes. The moment you enter, the screen lights up with a title slide: “Top 10 Reasons Why You Should Join Ignihyde” in bold, glowing text.
“Oh, you’re here,” Idia mutters, adjusting his hoodie nervously. His hair flickers faintly pink at the tips. “Uh, okay, so—yeah, uh—welcome? Or whatever. Let’s, um, get this over with.”
He clicks to the first slide, which is an overwhelming wall of text filled with bullet points, charts, and what looks like a meme of a cat wearing glasses.
“Reason number one,” Idia starts, stumbling over his words. “Um, we’re quiet? Like, no loud parties or annoying socializing. Uh… unless you count Ortho, but, uh, he’s not that bad. And you can play games as much as you want. Or watch anime. Or—uh—just chill. Yeah.”
Ortho, standing nearby, nods enthusiastically. “Ignihyde is perfect for you! And Brother worked really hard on this presentation!”
You glance at Idia, who’s clearly fighting for his life to make eye contact with you. He clicks to the next slide, which is just a stock photo of a cozy room.
“Reason number two,” he continues. “We, uh, have good Wi-Fi? Like, really good. You could stream in 4K if you wanted to. Not that you’d want to. Or maybe you would? Uh… I dunno. Anyway.”
His hair flickers a deeper pink, and he clicks to the next slide. It’s a crudely edited photo of you and him standing next to each other in front of a glowing Ignihyde logo. You’re not sure whether to be impressed or deeply concerned.
He glances at you, his expression oddly hopeful. “So, uh… what do you think?”
You can feel Ortho practically vibrating next to you, his bright smile threatening to blind you. Meanwhile, Idia is trying (and failing) to look indifferent, but the way his fingers tap anxiously on the laptop betrays him.
“I’ll… think about it,” you say carefully, not having the heart to crush Idia’s dreams outright.
His hair sparks bright pink for a split second before he slams the laptop shut, muttering something about “overheating processors” and “input overload.”
Ortho cheers. “Yay! I knew you’d see how great we are!”
You manage a weak smile, already planning your escape route.
Diasomnia
You’re so close—so, so close—to finally making it back to Ramshackle when the universe decides to remind you that peace is but a fleeting dream.
“Ah, there you are!”
You barely have time to scream before Lilia literally materializes out of thin air, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into a swirling vortex of green light.
“Wait, NO—”
Too late. You’re already standing in the middle of Diasomnia’s lounge, disoriented and ready to file a restraining order against anyone with teleportation magic.
Malleus looks up from where he’s seated, eyebrows raising slightly. “Child of man? What brings you here?”
“Great news, Malleus!” Lilia chirps, dropping you onto the couch like a sack of potatoes. “They’re choosing a dorm to transfer to, and we couldn’t possibly let them pick anywhere but Diasomnia!”
Malleus freezes, his eyes wide with surprise, before his expression shifts into one of regal determination. He rises from his seat, his imposing height making you feel like a pebble in the presence of a mountain.
“Is this true?” he asks, his voice deep and serious. “You’re choosing a new dorm?”
“Uh, yeah, but—”
“Then it must be Diasomnia.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Here, you will be protected. No harm shall come to you under my watch. And…” He pauses, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “I have a gargoyle in my room. A fine specimen. You would enjoy its company.”
You blink. “...A gargoyle?”
“Yes,” Malleus says with absolute sincerity, as though that’s the most convincing argument in the world.
Before you can process that, Sebek practically throws himself to the floor in front of you, bowing with the intensity of a knight swearing fealty.
“Human!” he bellows. “You must choose Diasomnia! To live anywhere else would be an insult to the Young Master’s unparalleled grace and power! Surely, you can see this is the only logical choice!”
“Sebek,” Silver mumbles from his spot on the couch, not even bothering to open his eyes. “Maybe let them decide for themselves.”
“But, Silver!” Sebek protests, his voice trembling with the sheer force of his conviction. “The honor! The prestige!”
Meanwhile, Lilia floats into view, holding a plate of… something. “Don’t worry about dinner, dear. I’ve prepared a feast for you! Go on, take a bite.”
You stare at the plate. It looks like it might be alive. “I’m… good, thanks.”
“Nonsense! You need to keep your strength up!” Lilia insists, thrusting the plate closer to your face.
Silver sighs, finally sitting up. “You should just do what feels right,” he says, offering you a calm, reassuring smile. “Don’t let them pressure you.”
You glance between Malleus’s earnest expression, Sebek’s passionate pleas, and Lilia’s… questionable cooking. Your stomach growls, but you’re not sure if it’s hunger or the beginnings of a panic attack.
One thing’s for sure: if you survive this day, you’re going to need therapy.
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The sun is setting by the time you finally drag your aching body back to Ramshackle. The dorm looms ahead, creaky and crumbling, but for once, it feels like a safe haven compared to the dorm-hopping marathon you just survived.
As you step inside, you’re greeted by the unmistakable voice of your ever-demanding feline companion. “There you are! What took ya so long? I’ve been waitin’ forever!”
Grim is sprawled on the couch, a can of tuna already half-empty beside him. He squints at you suspiciously. “So? Which dorm are we movin’ to?”
You groan, flopping face-first onto the nearest piece of semi-clean furniture. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“What?!” Grim squawks, leaping onto the armrest beside you. “What do ya mean you haven’t decided? This is important! We gotta pick one where I can get the most tuna, y’know?”
You tilt your head just enough to glare at him. “Oh, sure. Let me just base my entire living situation on your snack preferences.”
Grim puffs up, indignant. “Hey! I’ve been puttin’ up with this dump longer than anyone! I deserve to have a say!”
You sigh, the weight of the day finally catching up to you. Somehow, Grim being his usual self is oddly comforting after everything. No bribes, no PowerPoints, no gargoyle sales pitches—just Grim being Grim.
“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” you mumble, your voice muffled by the cushion. “I’m too tired to think.”
Grim eyes you for a moment before huffing. “Fine. But don’t take too long, got it? I’m not stickin’ around this dump forever!”
With that, he hops off to raid the kitchen, leaving you alone to sink further into the furniture. You stare at the ceiling, your brain too fried to process anything else.
Tomorrow. You’ll deal with it tomorrow. For now, all you want is to sleep in your creaky, drafty old dorm. At least here, no one’s trying to kidnap you.
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Masterlist
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lizziesangel · 3 days ago
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heyyy, could you do a one shot of rafe x high maintenance!kook!reader, about her expensive skinncare routine and rafe is just so in love of how well she takes cares of herself but at the same time like "90 dollars of this shit????" and reader is just "yeah😁 it has collagen, you should try it"
absolutely love this!!
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the night had been perfect—rafe made sure of it. dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town, with white tablecloths and a wine list so long it came in a leather-bound book. he didn’t even blink at the check, sliding his card over with the confidence of someone who did this all the time. the drive home was just as good, you sitting in the passenger seat, admiring your new nails under the streetlights, the soft hum of the radio in the background.
“seriously, rafe, aren’t they gorgeous?” you asked, holding your hand up to catch the faint glow of the dashboard lights. “look at the shine. and the shape? absolutely perfect. they even feel sturdier this time, like they’re not going to chip in two weeks.”
he glanced over briefly, his lips tugging into a lazy smile. “yeah, they look good. but you’ve said that, like, twenty times already.”
“and i’ll say it twenty times more, you’re the one who paid for them,” you pointed out, inspecting them again. “you should be happy i’m obsessed with them.”
“oh, i’m happy,” he said, turning into the driveway. “just wondering if i’m gonna hear about them all week.”
“probably,” you teased, stepping out of the car.
the conversation didn’t stop there. even as you followed him upstairs, you were still gushing.
“seriously, though, rafe. i think this might be my favorite set ever. they’re just so clean and classy.”
“yeah, they’re nice,” he said, pulling his shirt off as he walked into the bedroom. “good thing you didn’t go with that neon pink idea you showed me.”
“it was bubblegum pink, and it was cute!” you argued, crossing your arms.
“sure, babe,” he said with a smirk, falling onto the bed. “bubblegum pink’s cute.”
rolling your eyes, you walked over to the mirror, sighing at your reflection. “ugh, i have to take my makeup off first.”
rafe propped himself up on one elbow, watching you. “can’t you just… skip it?”
you turned to him, horrified. “skip it? baby, do you know what that would do to my skin?”
“no, but i’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” he teased, flopping onto the bed and pulling the blanket up.
you ignored him, grabbing your skincare bag and heading to the bathroom. after what felt like forever, you finally emerged, your face clean of makeup, wearing your silk robe.
rafe was lying in bed, one arm behind his head, watching you with a mixture of impatience and amusement.
“you know what we should get?” you asked, your tone casual.
he raised an eyebrow. “what?”
“a vanity.”
rafe blinked at you. “a what?”
“a vanity,” you repeated, walking over to sit cross-legged on the bed.
“why would we need a vanity?”
“so i can do my makeup and skincare in the bedroom instead of going to the bathroom every time,” you explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
rafe gestured vaguely toward the open bathroom door. “the bathroom’s literally right there.”
you rolled your eyes, scooting closer to him. “yeah, but i’d rather be in here with you.”
he groaned, but there was no missing the fondness in his voice when he said, “you’re unbelievable.”
“and you love me for it,” you said with a grin.
he chuckled softly, pulling you closer for a quick kiss before turning back to his phone. shaking your head with a smile, you stood and padded back to the bathroom, ready to start your skincare routine.
as you began massaging a cleanser onto your face, you heard footsteps behind you. glancing in the mirror, you saw rafe leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you.
“what are you doing?” you asked, surprised but pleased.
“figured i’d see what all the hype’s about,” he said, smirking.
you laughed, turning back to the sink. “all right, pay attention.”
he stayed quiet, watching as you worked.
“first step,” you began, holding up the bottle. “oil-based cleanser. this gets rid of all the makeup and sunscreen.”
“so that’s why your face looks all shiny now?”
“exactly,” you said, rinsing it off. “next step: water-based cleanser. it makes sure everything’s actually gone.”
“seems like overkill,” he muttered, but his eyes stayed on you as you lathered up the second cleanser.
“it’s not,” you insisted, rinsing and patting your face dry with a towel. “now, toner. it balances your skin’s pH and preps it for the rest of the products.”
“you’re making this up,” he said, shaking his head.
“i’m not,” you said with a laugh, grabbing a small bottle. “next is serum. this one’s hydrating—it has hyaluronic acid.”
“whatever that is,” he said, leaning in a little closer.
“it’s amazing,” you said, patting the serum into your skin. “then comes eye cream. dab it under your eyes to keep them hydrated.”
“you have young skin,” he pointed out. “why do you need all this anti-aging stuff?”
“prevention is key,” you said simply, dabbing the cream under your eyes. “next, lip mask. it keeps your lips soft overnight.”
“lip mask?”
“yes, rafe. just trust me.”
he chuckled, watching as you smoothed the mask over your lips. “what’s next?”
“retinol,” you said, holding up a small tube. “but i only use it once a month.”
“why bother, then?”
“because it’s good to start early!” you said, smoothing a tiny amount over your skin.
rafe stayed quiet for a moment, watching as you worked through your routine. his curiosity got the better of him again when you reached for a fancy-looking gold jar.
“how much was that one?” he asked casually.
you hesitated. “uh… ninety, i think?”
“ninety dollars?” his voice shot up an octave as he grabbed the jar to inspect it.
“yes, rafe,” you said, snatching it back. “it’s a luxury brand. it has collagen.”
he gestured at the counter, which was full of bottles and jars from estée lauder, clinique, and clarins. “so how much is all of this combined?”
you shrugged, applying the last of your products. “a couple hundred, maybe?”
“holy shit,” rafe muttered, running a hand through his hair.
you grinned, turning to face him. “what? you like how soft my skin is, don’t you?”
rafe gestured at the counter, which was covered in products from estée lauder, clinique, and clarins. “so… who pays for all this?”
“i do,” you said, capping the jar of moisturizer.
rafe stared at you, incredulous. “no, you’re lying.”
“i swear!”
“no,” he said firmly, crossing his arms. “i’ll pay for it.”
“rafe, you can’t pay for everything,” you argued, rolling your eyes.
he shook his head. “i can, and i will. no way you’re spending this much on—” he gestured vaguely at the counter—“this… whole collection.”
you raised an eyebrow at him. “i budget for it.”
rafe stared at you for a moment, then leaned against the counter with a smirk. “okay, new plan. i’m paying for it from now on.”
“rafe, you can’t just—”
“i can, and i will,” he interrupted, his tone firm but playful.
“you’re not paying for everything,” you argued, narrowing your eyes at him.
he leaned in, his smirk softening into something gentler. “you’re right. i’m not paying for everything. just the stuff that makes you happy. and this”—he waved his hand at your collection of bottles and jars—“obviously does.”
you felt your cheeks heat up, but you rolled your eyes to cover it. “fine, but i’m not letting you pay for all of it. maybe just the retinol.”
“deal,” he said, pulling you into his arms. “but i’m serious. next time, just send me the bill.”
you laughed, resting your head against his chest. “you’re ridiculous.”
“yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “but you love me for it.”
“unfortunately,” you teased, earning a chuckle as he pulled you back toward the bedroom.
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MASTERLIST
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CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚。⋆
@maybankslover ⟢ @honeyluvsatj ⟢ @zazidot ⟢ @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 ⟢ @lunaleah ⟢ @maybanksangel ⟢ @wtfdudesblog. ⟢ @niktwazny303. ⟢ @outerbanksloverp4l ⟢ @slut4you ⟢ @maybanksgirl69
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804 notes · View notes
enhard · 3 days ago
Text
⋆˚𝜗𝜚 steambound — park sunghoon
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: showering with your boyfriend didn’t seem like such a bad idea, but he wanted it to take a different path.
pairing: bf!p.sh x fem!reader
cw: smut, fluff, praise kink, pet names, shower sex, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, sunghoon is so slick but he’s a sweetheart ahh, creampie, the littlest bit of degrading (calling you slut once), aftercare, starts off as a normal shower together but..
ENJOY! (MDNI)
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You’re lying with your boyfriend, Sunghoon, in his dorm room bed, lights dim and some quiet ambiental music playing.
“I love you” you hear him whisper, while you’re straddled on top of him resting your head on his chest. “I love you too, baby.” You softly kiss his collarbone.
You sit there in silence cuddling for a few minutes before you groan, lifting your head to look at him. He opens his eyes feeling that you moved. “What’s wrong angel?” You run your hands through his hair. “I need to go shower… but I might fall asleep first…”
“If you shower now, you can sleep even better.” he smiles a bit. “You’re right.” You slowly sit up, stretching a bit before getting out of bed.
You grab your towels and everything needed, and finally head to Sunghoon’s personal bathroom. As you get in the shower, you close the glass door and turn on the water. The hot spritz hits your skin, causing you to get warm again. The whole bathroom starts steaming, the gentle sound of the water circulating throughout the room.
After grabbing your shampoo bottle, you hear the bathroom door open, quickly turning your head towards it… as if you could see through the glass. “Princess it’s just me” you hear your boyfriend say, followed by the sound of the door closing behind him. You get back to your shampoo. “Oh hey, need anything?” you ask. He walks towards the glass door, sliding it open to look straight at you. It surprises you a bit but you just smile. “Could I join you?” he looks straight into your eyes. you look a bit stunned but ultimately nod. “Of.. course.. come on.” You both have seen each other naked before but you never showered together, there’s a first time for anything right?
He takes his clothes off one by one, placing them on the sink before getting in as fast as he can to close the door. The air was chilly outside the shower cabin, especially with how he opened the door so you got chills from it. He stands right in front of you, giving you a small kiss as the water hits his back. he leans his head back to wet his hair, running his hand through it multiple times. You just can’t stop smiling seeing your boyfriend in the shower with you.. something you never thought would happen today.
You stare at him a little bit more, especially his body as he gets it all wet, but after you just mind your own business, turning around and lathering your hair, scrubbing your scalp with your fingertips. “Wait, my love.” he says softly, making you take your hand away. He begins massaging your head, really taking his time scrubbing your hair to the best extent. You just close your eyes, leaning your head back to let him have better access.
“Why couldn’t we do this earlier… feels so good.” you say, smiling. He laughs a bit, insisting on scrubbing the back of your head. “Good thing we are doing it now, you like it?” he leans in to give your shoulder a kiss. “It’s so relaxing, I should try it on you as well..” you say. He moves you to the shower head, letting all that soap rinse off your head, protecting your face by putting his palm on your forehead like an umbrella. “Your hair’s gotten longer. So pretty.” he praises, and you smile. “Isn’t it a pain to wash?” he shakes his head. “Not when i’m washing yours.”
After he rinses well, you turn back around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I love you, let me wash your hair now.” he does a small nod. “I love you more. Let me get you my shampoo.” He says, leaning forward to grab his own bottle, handing it to you. You take it, spurting a small amount of shampoo into your palm. You emulsify before applying it to his soaking wet hair. You struggle a little to massage it real well into his hair, raising yourself up on your toes. “You’re too tall, I can’t reach that well.” you sigh, and he resolves it by sitting down on the small shower bench incorporated in the shower cabin. You easily have access to his hair now, so you continue scrubbing with your fingers. You get all in behind his ears, the back of his head and his favourite spot, close to his forehead. He lets out a few groans, the sound of the water blending into the background.
You continue smiling while insisting harder on it, circling around and moving back and forth. He closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling too much. “Never thought you would love this so much, baby.” you tease, and he bends his neck in all ways to get you to massage everywhere. “Why do you think I always fall asleep to your head massages?” he asks. “Oh that’s right. You’re so cute.” you smile.
You continue your massage for a few more minutes, and when you stop he whines. “Mm.. is it already over?” he pouts. “You can always get more, just ask. Now let’s wash up before someone scolds us.” you tilt your head.
He suddenly grabs your waist, pulling you towards him. He gives your tummy multiple kisses, getting closer and closer to your navel.
“You’re tickling me.” you giggle, grabbing onto his shoulders. He looks up at you, giving your abdomen one last kiss before standing up. He towers over you again, grabbing the soap you’re gonna use for your bodies. He lathers the soap in his hands, before rubbing them on your abdomen. He soaps up your stomach real good before moving up to your chest. “Can I?” he looks up at you. “Of course, can touch me anywhere.” you both smile. He brushes his hands over your nipples, gently cupping your tits. He plays with them a bit, not even being able to wash you like he swore he would. You look up at him as he’s absorbed in your tits. “Got a little distracted?” you laugh. He shakes his head, massaging them a bit before moving up to your collarbone. “My bad… it’s hard to stay focused when you look so attractive.” he bites his lip. “You’re so hot when you say that. You can continue.” and he nods. He moves his hand down your arms, immediately jumping to your legs. He kneels down, giving you a smile before tracing his palms along your hips. You smile back at him, grabbing his forearm. He leaves bubbles all over your thighs, making risky circles around your inner thighs. He moves down your legs to your feet. After he’s done, he makes you turn around. “Let me wash your back too.” he says.
He continues by lathering your back with more soap, scratching it for you. He moves down your lower back to your ass, where he grabs it without any warning. He squeezes it a few times, before moving his hand down your pussy, rubbing his fingers on your core making you jump. “Hoon… what are you doing..” you say, barely resisting his movements. “Let me make you feel good.” he says, rubbing them forward, reaching your clit. Your legs slightly part, letting him circle your clit the best he can. You let out a small moan, leaning your head back. He rubs his fingers back and forth again, stopping at your core to insert both his fingers inside you. You really moan now, grabbing onto the wall. He pumps his fingers inside you while squeezing your ass with his other hand. “You’re doing so well for me, princess.”
You shut your eyes, beginning to struggle on his fingers. “Sunghoon that feels.. so good. Faster… please.” he nods before picking up his pace, curling his fingers right onto your g-spot. You let out a screech, leaning your head forward now. “Right there… oh my… i’m—” you get cut off by another moan. He smiles hearing it, reaching to rub your clit again with his other hand. You’re shaking under his touch and he can’t help but get hornier as time goes on. It doesn’t take long before you reach the edge, trying so hard not to finish before warning him. “I’m..gonna.. cum.. please..” you cry out. He keeps his pace constant, allowing you to finish. “Doing so well for me, my love. You’re so perfect.” he praises. You bottom out on his fingers, grasping the cold tiles as hard as you can. Your shaking orgasm washes over you as he pulls his fingers out. “There we go, pretty girl.”
You pant against the wall, before slowly turning around to face him. You grab onto his built arms, squeezing his skin. “Let me wash your body now, that’s what we were doing, right?” you give him a slight smile while looking into his eyes. He stares at your lips, nodding.
You grab the soap again, lathering it in your hands before running your palms all over his pecs, down to his abdomen. You move your hands up and down, feeling every inch of his body. You move up to his shoulders, going down his arms, grabbing his biceps with every occasion. “You’ve gotten so built, no?” you say. “You like it? I’ve been going to the gym with Jay lately.” you raise your eyebrows. “Oh really? I should see you work out soon, then.” you move your hands to his forearms, then intertwine your fingers with his. “Would you be able to resist?” he teases. “Can’t promise anything.” You shrug your shoulders and he smiles.
You jump dangerously close to his v-line, tracing your fingers on the dented lines in his skin. “Are you gonna let me go lower?” you look up at him. “Maybe, if I hear you say please.” he caresses your cheek. You roll your eyes.
“Please let me give you a handjob.”
He stares into your eyes for a moment, then he just gives you a slight nod. You smile, already grabbing his half-hard cock. Stroking it, you can feel it getting more erect with each stroke. By the time he’s fully hard, you’re already picking up your pace, squeezing his tip every time you reach it. He stands there, juggling between looking at you and looking at your hand. The water hits his back once again, washing away all the soap you distributed on his abdomen. “Keep going.” he says in a cool tone, making sure you keep that pace he loves so much. You nod, smiling down at his swollen cock. You place your hand in his abdomen, feeling the strings of water running down his skin, now making contact with your fingers. You feel every muscle under his skin, squeezing at his pecs as usual. He lets out low grunts, licking his lips a few times. “How is it, baby?” you ask. He closes his eyes. “Feels good. Do think.. your pussy would feel better.. though..” he slightly whispers, his words getting interrupted by the sound of the water anyway.
“Oh yeah? wanna test that theory out?” you say, grabbing at his tip again and he flinches. “Fuck— yeah… let’s do it..” You both smile at each other. You take your hands completely off him, letting him do the work now. However, you see him just standing there.. actually waiting for you to do something. “…Well? aren’t you gonna throw me around, mr. strong man?” you say sarcastically, and he immediately pulls you into his embrace. He grabs your waist tightly as he gives you a small kiss. “Let me take care of you.” You smile at him, not expecting such an answer at this moment but.. your boyfriend has always been nice to you. “I don’t mind that either..” you say, giving him another kiss.
He uses his hands to slowly turn you around, tilting his head to pepper kisses all over your neck, wet sounds escaping his mouth with each kiss. He pushes you against the cold shower tiles, glueing your chest and cheek to it. He continues kissing your neck, to your back until you start whining for more. “Hoon.. please…. I need you so bad.” you say. He smiles before replying. “You’re so impatient.” He grabs your ass, fondling it before grabbing his cock to grind against you.
He teases your wet pussy multiple times with his tip. He stops right at the entrance, slapping your ass with his other hand while doing so. “Inside… please.. please.” you beg. He kisses your shoulder, slowly shoving it inside you as you go. Once he gets his whole length in, he stops for a few seconds to let you adjust, beginning to thrust only when he knows you’re ready. “You’re doing so well my love. You always take it so good.” he praises. You leave out little noises, really letting him feel your insides, spreading your legs more and more with each thrust of his.
He’s going slow, but deep. It feels way more intimate this way, with his nose so close to your ear, you can hear his interrupted breathing mixed with the sound of water. You enjoy it quite a bit, sneaking your hand down to your clit just to circle it multiple times. Your moans pick up their intensity, the sound getting overbearing even for the water. “You’re lucky we’re doing this in the shower, you’re louder than usual, baby.” he says. You nod against the tiles, arching your back even more against him. “Go faster..” you plead, and he does. He significantly changes his rhythm, making your thighs shake already. The sound of your skin slapping is getting enhanced by the wet environment, however you’ve both grown to love that sound. You start bouncing yourself on him, and he stops thrusting to let you do just that. You push your ass back and forth on him, wrapping around him so well.
He slaps your ass again, making you flinch. “Such a good girl for me, didn’t know you were this desperate.” he smiles. “I need you so bad.” you say, almost drooling on your own words. You speed up even more, grabbing the tiles with both hands now, putting all your force into swinging yourself. Sunghoon leaves out a moan, grabbing your waist with one hand. That sudden change caught him off guard, making him bottom out again. “Fuck, that feels so good. You’re gonna make me cum soon.” he says. You smile widely hearing that wishing for that as bad as ever. He moves his hand from your waist to your clit, his slender fingers exploring your upper folds, going forward to your clit again, rubbing, slapping and abusing it until you become a moaning mess as you fuck yourself onto him.
He leans forward, really pushing your body downwards into a somewhat doggy position. He grabs one of your tits with one hand, keeping his other fixated on your clit. “Already tired? Come on, keep going.” he speaks when he feels you slow down. “I can’t d..do it anymore..” you cry. “Oh really? my poor girl can’t whore herself out on me cause she’s tired?” he teases and you cannot stop moaning and shaking your head. “Let me lend you a hand.” he says, before successfully keeping you in place, before thrusting into you like never before.
He has a speed that he didn’t think he could reach, he’s fucking you so fast you barely have time to react. The slaps are so frequent you’re both surprised how nobody came to see what was going on. Must be better that way anyway, cause Sunghoon’s busy making both of you feel good. You finally clench around his dick, leaving out moans so hot its driving him insane. “Hoon… I need.. to ..cum..” you gulp. He keeps his pace consistent, breathing through his mouth already. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Be a good girl and cum all over like I want you to.” he leads you on. With a few more rapid thrusts, you finish, legs shaking under him. You thought you were gonna slip and fall, but he’s holding you firmly.
“Oh..God..” you whisper out. He smiles at you, getting closer to his release as well due to your constant movement. He pounds into you like an animal, barely caring about anything that’s happening around him. He always does this when he’s about to cum, making sure that you feel the most satisfied beforehand. He leaves out moans more frequently, his pace definitely getting more inconsistent. “Baby.. please..” he begs out not being able to finish his sentence. “Cum inside me… come on..” you say breathlessly. He follows your orders with no objections of course, coming undone with a few more thrusts. He grabs your hips tightly while leaving slow thrusts as he cums inside. He jerks his head back, closing his eyes in pleasure. After his high calms down, he pulls out, giving his cock a few more strokes.
You both breathe heavily, part of his cum oozing out of you rapidly. You don’t worry about it too much, knowing you’ll wash yourselves up anyway. The night followed with yet another round of a shower, a normal one this time, where Sunghoon really took his time making sure you know you’re loved, hugging you, kissing you, washing you up real well.
“I love you so much.” You look at him with admiration.
“I love you more princess. Now let me wash those breasts.” He says, focused.
“Hoon, you already lathered them in soap 2 times.” You giggle.
The night ended with lots of cuddles in bed, feeling so tired after two things that make you sleepy at the same time, showers and sex.
870 notes · View notes
jupiterpilgrim · 2 days ago
Text
Drown With Me
Pt.2: Interpolation
Ningning x Minji x Male Reader
word count: 7K
part 1 | part 3
A/n: Pt.2 and pt.3 were supposed to be a single chapter, but it was split in two because of the block limit.
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I wish I could be everything you wanted.
Oh, here we are again. But this time we're going back in time. We journeyed into the past because some things must be witnessed. And I say 'witnessed,' not 'understood.' For understanding confines the subtleties of human connections to a singular perspective, and that restricts the strange language of the heart.
We're at a bar now, where a lot of stories start. This is one of those:
The lights are dim and amber, casting warm shadows over the polished countertops and the scratched wooden floor. It’s a quiet Tuesday night, a lull between the weekend rush and midweek regulars. You’ve been working here long enough to know the rhythm of it—the predictable ebb and flow of people looking for drinks to drown whatever piece of life was gnawing at them. But then, just as you’re stacking a row of freshly washed glasses, the door swings open, and in walks her again.
She hesitates in the doorway, framed by the cool, blue glow of the streetlights outside. The first thing that grabs you, as it did last night, are her eyes—huge, almond-shaped, and impossibly feline. The kind of eyes that make you forget what you were supposed to be doing. They dart nervously around the room before finally landing on you, and for a moment, she freezes.
“You again,” you say, a smile tugging at your lips. You lean casually against the bar, arms crossed, trying not to seem too eager.
She’s wearing a cropped, black leather jacket that clings to her slender frame, sharp and a little out of place against the pale softness of her features. Beneath it, a white tank top hints at the curve of her collarbone and the toned lines of her stomach. Her high-waisted jeans, faded and torn at the knees, hug her slim legs like they were stitched onto her body. The scuffed Doc Martens on her feet somehow make her look even more striking—an accidental runway model lost in a world of beer stains and neon signs.
Her broad shoulders, almost too strong for her petite height, square up as if she's trying to summon some hidden reserve of confidence. But it’s her shyness, that hint of hesitation in every movement, that makes her feel like a puzzle you want to solve. She brushes a lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, her eyes darting away from yours as though the floor might swallow her whole if she stares for too long.
You tilt your head toward the bar, beckoning her closer. “Second night in a row, huh? You sure you’re not stalking me?”
Her lips part in a soft laugh, so quiet you almost miss it. “Hardly. My friend dragged me here yesterday. Tonight… I just needed some air.”
Her voice is as soft as her laugh, tinged with a slight huskiness that adds depth to her otherwise delicate demeanor. She approaches the bar slowly, her movements careful, like someone who’s always aware of the space she takes up.
“Well,” you say, pulling a coaster from under the counter and setting it down in front of her, “welcome back to the quietest bar in town. What can I get you?”
She perches on the stool, her knees pressed close together, hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket. “Um…just a Coke, actually.”
“Coke?”
She nods, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, only to dart away again. “I don’t drink much.”
“Second night in a row at a bar and no drinks? You’re full of surprises.” You grab a glass and pour the soda, sliding it toward her. “Not that I’m complaining. Makes my job easier.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear again, a nervous habit, you realize, but it only adds to the quiet allure of her presence. “You work here often?”
“Most nights.” You lean against the bar again, giving her your best casual smile. “And you? What’s your excuse for gracing us with your presence twice in a row?”
“I’m…” She hesitates, then shrugs. “I guess I just liked the vibe. It’s not like other places.”
“It’s not like most places because most places actually get customers,” you joke, gesturing to the mostly empty room. “But hey, if the vibe brought you back, I’m not going to argue.”
She smiles, faint but genuine. “It’s nice. Quiet. Less… intimidating.”
“Intimidating?” You raise an eyebrow, genuinely curious.
She fidgets with the straw in her glass, swirling the Coke absently. “Bars aren’t really my thing. Too loud, too crowded. I usually avoid them.” She glances up at you, almost shyly. “This one feels… different.”
You don’t miss the slight blush that creeps up her neck as she speaks, and something about it tugs at you. “Different’s good,” you say softly. “I like different.”
For a moment, neither of you speaks. The faint hum of the jukebox in the corner fills the silence, playing some slow, melancholic track that perfectly matches the mood. You watch as she takes a small sip of her drink, her lashes casting long shadows over her cheeks.
“So,” you finally ask, breaking the quiet, “what’s your name? Or should I just keep calling you ‘Coke Girl’?”
Her lips twitch into a smile again, a little more confident this time. “Ning Yìzhuo. And you?”
“Coke Boy,” you deadpan, earning a small laugh from her. “Kidding. It’s—”
The door swings open again, cutting you off as a group of rowdy patrons stumbles in, disrupting the peaceful bubble you’d been sharing. Ningning’s shoulders tense immediately, her fingers tightening around her glass. You can tell she’s debating whether to stay or bolt.
You lean closer, your voice low. “Don’t worry. They’re harmless. Plus, I’ve got your back.”
She looks at you, her eyes searching your face for something—reassurance, maybe. And whatever she finds there seems to calm her, if only a little. She nods, taking another sip of her Coke.
You don’t know why, but you can already tell she’s going to stay with you longer than just tonight. Something about her feels significant, like a spark of lightning caught in a jar. Quiet, shy, and utterly captivating.
The weeks bleed into one another, and before you know it, Ning is a fixture at the bar. Not officially, of course. She doesn’t work here, doesn’t drink much, and always leaves by midnight like Cinderella with a self-imposed curfew. But she’s here. Three nights a week, like clockwork, perching on her usual stool and ordering her usual Coke, sometimes daring to live dangerously with a Sprite.
At first, you thought she came because it was quiet, because she needed a place to escape whatever stresses her life held. But it’s become increasingly clear that the bar’s charm isn’t the only thing pulling her back. It’s you. And you’re not mad about it.
Tonight, she’s dressed like she always is—effortlessly cool in her slightly oversized sweater, rolled-up jeans, and her beat-up Doc Martens. Her leather jacket is slung over the back of the stool, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders like ink. She’s got her sketchbook with her tonight, the same one she’s been carrying for weeks. You’ve seen glimpses of the drawings—sketches of people, abstract swirls, the occasional cat—but she guards it like it contains state secrets, never letting you get a proper look.
“What are you working on this time?” you ask, leaning on the counter with the practiced nonchalance of a bartender-slash-business-student who definitely isn’t secretly invested in whatever she’s drawing.
She glances up from her page, cat-like eyes sparkling under the warm glow of the bar’s lights. “Nothing special. Just doodling.”
“That’s what you said last time,” you point out, reaching for a clean glass to wipe down. “And then you showed me that sketch of that old guy in the corner, and it looked like something out of a museum. You can admit it, Ning—you’re talented.”
She ducks her head, a faint blush creeping up her neck. “It’s not that good.”
“Sure,” you deadpan, “and I’m not the best bartender in this city.”
She laughs—a soft, melodic sound that you’ve started to look forward to more than you’d like to admit. “You’re not even the best bartender in this bar.”
You feign offense, clutching your chest. “Ouch. And here I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends,” she says, smiling up at you. “Which is why I’m honest with you.”
“Brutally honest,” you correct, smirking. “Fine. Tell me this: do all fine arts students have this much sass, or are you just special?”
“Special,” she says, sticking her tongue out. “And for the record, it’s not fine arts. It’s animation and visual effects. Totally different.”
You nod sagely, as if you know the first thing about animation or visual effects. “Ah, of course. Animation. You’re going to make the next Toy Story, right?”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “Something like that. What about you, Mr. Future CEO? Made any spreadsheets cry lately?”
“Every day,” you reply solemnly. “It’s part of the curriculum in business administration. They don’t let you graduate until you’ve traumatized at least three Excel files.”
Her laugh comes easily, her shoulders relaxing as she sips her Coke. She looks comfortable here now, like this place—and you—have become a safe haven for her.
It’s nice.
She’s nice.
“You know,” you say, setting the glass down and leaning closer, “when you first started coming here, I thought you were just using the bar as a library with worse lighting.”
She raises an eyebrow. “And now?”
“Now I think you’re here because you can’t resist my charm.”
She snorts into her drink, nearly choking. “Your charm? Please.”
“Hey, admit it. I make this place bearable for you.”
She tilts her head, pretending to consider. “You do make pretty good jokes.”
“High praise from the queen of sarcasm.”
Her smile softens slightly, the teasing edge in her voice fading. “I just like talking to you. You make things… lighter. Easier to deal with.”
You don’t know what to say to that. It’s rare for her to let her guard down like this, and you feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to keep it safe, to make sure she never regrets being vulnerable.
“Well,” you say, keeping your tone light, “as long as you keep coming back, I’ll keep telling terrible jokes. Deal?”
“Deal,” she says, holding out her hand like you’re signing a legally binding contract.
You shake her hand, her skin warm and soft against yours. There’s a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—where the noise of the bar fades away, and it’s just the two of you. Friends. Companions in this odd little corner of the world.
“By the way,” you add, breaking the moment, “if you ever need a businessperson in one of your animations, I know a guy.”
“Let me guess,” she says, smirking. “He’s incredibly charming and makes terrible jokes?”
“Exactly.”
She laughs again, and for the rest of the night, the bar feels a little brighter.
Ning sits cross-legged on her bed, a pencil tucked behind her ear and her sketchbook balanced on her knees. The room is bathed in soft, golden light from the desk lamp Minji insisted on buying, claiming it was better for productivity. Across the room, Minji herself sits at her desk, perfectly upright, fingers flying across the keyboard of her sleek laptop. She looks like a Vogue spread come to life, even in her oversized knit sweater and black leggings, her shiny, straight hair falling effortlessly over her shoulder.
Minji’s skin practically glows, the kind of flawless complexion that makes you wonder if she’s secretly Photoshopped in real life. Her glasses—a stylish, rectangular pair with gold rims—rest perfectly on the bridge of her pointy nose, framing dark, intelligent eyes that seem to miss nothing. Her lips, soft and plump, are painted a subtle pink, just enough to look effortlessly put together. She’s everything Ning isn’t: confident, composed, intimidatingly perfect.
Ning chews on her pencil, staring at her friend’s back. “Hey, Minji?”
“Hm?” Minji doesn’t look up from her screen. She’s probably working on some group project for her international business course. Even in her downtime, Minji is an efficiency machine.
“How do you, like…” Ning hesitates, fiddling with the corner of her sketchbook. “How do you get guys to notice you?”
That gets Minji’s attention. She swivels her chair around, fixing Ning with a look that’s equal parts amused and curious. “What kind of question is that?”
“You know what I mean,” Ning mumbles, heat rising to her cheeks. “You always have a line of guys chasing after you. It’s like… you just exist, and they’re obsessed with you.”
Minji raises an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not like I’m trying to get their attention.”
“That’s exactly my point!” Ning groans, flopping backward onto her bed. “You don’t even try, and they’re all over you. Meanwhile, I could walk into a room naked, and no one would notice.”
“First of all, don’t do that,” Minji says dryly, folding her arms. “Second, you’re exaggerating.”
“I’m really not,” Ning mutters, staring at the ceiling. “You’re like this goddess of elegance or whatever, and I’m just… me. How do you make people like you?”
Minji sighs, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose in that annoyingly perfect way she does. “It’s not about making people like you, Ning. You just have to be yourself.”
Ning sits up, frowning. “That’s so easy for you to say. You’re perfect. People like you without you even trying.”
“I’m not perfect,” Minji says, though the way she says it makes it clear she knows she’s pretty close.
Ning snorts. “Please. You’re gorgeous, you’re smart, you’re the only person I know who actually looks good in those glasses. And don’t get me started on your ‘I just woke up like this’ hair.”
Minji chuckles softly, a sound that somehow feels condescending and comforting at the same time. “Okay, fine. Maybe I have some good qualities. But seriously, Ning, if you want people to notice you, just… put yourself out there.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not shy,” Ning mutters, pulling her knees to her chest.
Minji leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Shy people are fine, but if you never let anyone see who you really are, how are they supposed to notice you?”
“What if who I really am is… shy?” Ning asks, her voice small.
“Then be the best version of shy,” Minji says simply. “Confidence doesn’t mean being loud or outgoing. It just means being comfortable with who you are. People are drawn to that.”
Ning stares at her, skeptical. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not,” Minji admits, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “But if you don’t at least try, nothing’s going to change. And trust me, you don’t need to change who you are. You just need to stop hiding it.”
Ning chews on her lip, mulling that over. Minji makes it sound logical, like a formula to be solved. But Ning isn’t sure she can simply flip a switch and become “the best version” of herself.
“And if it doesn’t work?” she asks.
Minji shrugs, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Then it’s their loss.”
Ning laughs despite herself, the tension in her chest loosening just a bit. “You’re annoyingly good at this, you know that?”
Minji smirks, turning back to her laptop. “I know. Now stop overthinking and start being fabulous. You’ve got this, Ning.”
Ning watches her friend for a moment longer, a mixture of admiration and frustration swirling in her chest. If Minji says she can do it, maybe she can. But it still feels like an impossible climb.
“Hey, Minji?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Minji doesn’t turn around, but her voice is warm. “Anytime.”
The door to the bar swings open, and in walks Ning with a determined look in her cat-like eyes. She’s wearing a fitted white crop top that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, a plaid mini skirt, and her signature scuffed Doc Martens. Her hair is loose, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, and there’s a hint of pink gloss on her lips. Tonight, she’s decided, is the night.
No more shy, stammering Ning. Tonight, she’s confident, bold, maybe even flirty. She’s spent the past three days psyching herself up for this moment, replaying Minji’s advice in her head like a mantra. Put yourself out there. Be the best version of yourself. You’ve got this.
The bar is warm and dimly lit as always, the low hum of conversation filling the air. She spots you cleaning a table, laughing at something one of the regulars said, your easy charm on full display. You see Ning and wave to her with a smile. Her heart skips a beat, but she steels herself. You’ve got this, she repeats silently, striding toward the bar.
Or at least, she tries to.
What she doesn’t see, in her single-minded determination, is the bright yellow Wet Floor sign in the middle of the room. Her Doc Martens hit the slick patch of tiles, and suddenly, her confident stride turns into a cartoonish flail.
“Shit—!”
She feels herself going down, her arms pinwheeling as gravity takes over. But just before she hits the ground, a pair of strong hands catch her, one gripping her waist and the other cradling her back.
“You okay?” Your voice is close—too close—and when she blinks up at you, she realizes her face is just inches from yours.
Her heart is pounding, and not just from the near-death experience. Your eyes, warm and concerned, lock onto hers, and she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “I—yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.” Her voice comes out quieter than she’d like, all the confidence she’d mustered evaporating on the spot.
You grin, helping her stand upright but keeping a hand on her arm to steady her. “That was a close one. You almost went full slapstick there.”
“Yeah, well, I like to keep things entertaining,” she mumbles, avoiding your gaze. Her ankle twinges as she shifts her weight, and she winces.
“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, noticing the way she’s favoring one foot.
“It’s just my ankle,” she admits. “I think I twisted it a little.”
“Let’s get you off your feet,” you say, guiding her to a booth in the corner. “Come on, sit down.”
“I’m fine, really,” she protests, but you’re already pulling out a chair for her.
Once she’s seated, you crouch down in front of her, gently taking her foot in your hands. “Let me check it out. I can’t have my best customer suing the bar.”
She snorts softly, despite herself. “It’s my fault for not seeing the sign.”
“Well, next time, try looking where you’re going,” you tease, flashing her a grin that makes her heart skip again.
You slide off her boot carefully, your fingers brushing against her ankle. She tries not to shiver at the touch, but it’s impossible. Your hands are warm and firm, and when you start to massage the sore spot, she has to bite her lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.
“You’re really good at this,” she says, her voice coming out a little breathier than she intended.
“Comes with practice,” you reply, focused on her foot. “My ex used to come home from work with sore feet all the time, so I’d give her massages. Got pretty good at it after a while.”
Ning’s ears perk up at the mention of your ex. “Oh?” she says, trying to sound casual. “What happened there?”
“She was… complicated,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “Kind of jealous. Possessive. A little manic, honestly.” You pause, then chuckle, shaking your head. “I guess I have a type. Crazy girls seem to find me.”
She swallows hard, caught off guard. “Is that why you’re single now?”
“Pretty much,” you admit, still massaging her ankle. “Taking a break from relationships for a while. Thought I’d give myself some peace and quiet, you know?”
Ning’s heart sinks, though she forces a smile. “Makes sense. Less drama.”
“Exactly,” you say, glancing up at her with a grin. “And besides, who needs a girlfriend when I’ve got customers like you to keep me company?”
She laughs softly, but it feels hollow in her chest. She watches as you go back to massaging her foot, completely unaware of the tiny heartbreak you’ve just caused. But she doesn’t say anything.
Because Minji’s words echo in her head: Be the best version of yourself. And tonight, the best version of herself is just a good friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
The dorm bathroom is small, humid, and filled with the faint scent of citrus-scented body wash. The door is open, so the fragrance invades the whole bedroom. The overhead light flickers faintly, casting a soft glow over the scene. Minji stands by the sink in nothing but a pale lavender bra and matching underwear, her skin luminous under the harsh fluorescent light. She’s methodically applying lotion to her arms, her long, straight hair pushed over one shoulder to avoid smearing it. Every movement she makes is precise, deliberate, like everything else about her.
Ning is by the closet, half-dressed, rifling through her limited wardrobe with a furrowed brow. She’s wearing an oversized graphic tee that hangs off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her collarbone and the straps of her bralette. Her plaid pajama shorts are crumpled, a stark contrast to Minji’s immaculate appearance.
“Can I ask you something?” Minji’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the room, soft but with that unmistakable edge of curiosity.
Ning freezes, her fingers lingering on the hem of a black skirt she’s debating on. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”
Minji finishes with her arms and moves on to her legs, bending one knee and propping her foot up on the closed toilet lid. Her movements are unhurried, as if the question isn’t a big deal. “Where do you go every week? At night, I mean.”
She glances over her shoulder, her face warming under Minji’s unreadable gaze. “Nowhere. Just… out.”
“Nowhere?” Minji’s lips curve in a faint smile as she straightens up, tilting her head slightly. Her sharp, dark eyes scan Ning, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers fidget with the fabric of her skirt. “That doesn’t sound like nowhere.”
“I mean it’s not anywhere in particular,” Ning mumbles, turning back to the closet. She grabs a random top to busy her hands, hoping Minji will let it go.
But Minji doesn’t let things go. “Ning,” she says, her voice calm but insistent. “You’ve been going out at least twice a week for the past month. You get dressed up, come back late, and you never say where you’ve been. It’s weird, because it's not something you used to do.”
Ning turns around, clutching the top against her chest like a shield. “It’s not weird.”
Minji quirks an eyebrow, her lips twitching as if she’s holding back a laugh. “You don’t think so? Because to me, it looks like you’re sneaking off to see someone.”
“I’m not!” Ning’s voice rises slightly in protest, her face turning a deeper shade of pink. She tosses the top onto the bed and grabs her sketchbook from the desk. “Look, I take this with me, okay? How could I be seeing a boy if I’m bringing this?”
Minji’s eyes drop to the sketchbook, then lift back to Ning’s face, skeptical but intrigued. “I don’t know. Art students have strange habits. Maybe you’re sketching him while you’re there.”
Ning groans, plopping onto the bed and flipping the sketchbook open to a random page. “It’s not like that. There’s a bar I go to. It’s… quiet, and it helps with creativity.”
“Creativity,” Minji repeats, crossing her arms as she leans against the sink. Her hair falls perfectly over one shoulder, her glasses catching the light just enough to make her look like a chic librarian. “That’s your story?”
“Yes!” Ning huffs, holding up the sketchbook like it’s evidence in a trial. “See? Just sketches. No boys, no dates, nothing like that.”
Minji steps closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies Ning’s face. “So you’re telling me you sit at a bar all night, alone, with your sketchbook? That’s it?”
“Well…” Ning hesitates, her fingers gripping the edges of the book. “There’s this bartender I talk to sometimes. But he’s just a friend.”
“A friend.” Minji’s voice is flat, but there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes. “What’s his name?”
“Does it matter?” Ning mutters, ducking her head.
“Probably not,” Minji replies, her tone maddeningly casual. “But now everything is even more suspicious.”
Ning sighs, flipping the sketchbook closed. “Oh, whatever! He’s the bartender. We talk. That’s it.”
“And you’re just friends?”
“Yes.” Ning’s voice is firm, but her cheeks betray her with their telltale blush.
Minji watches her for a moment longer, then does something that catches Ning completely off guard. She smiles. Not her usual poised, mysterious smile, but something softer.
“Can I go too?”
Ning blinks, sure she’s misheard. “What?”
“To the bar,” Minji says, stepping closer until she’s standing right in front of Ning. “If it’s so great for creativity, I want to see it.”
“You want to go to the bar?” Ning asks, her voice incredulous. “The one I go to?”
“Why not?” Minji shrugs, grabbing her towel and tossing it into the laundry basket. “It’s not a date, right? If you’re just hanging out with a friend, I don’t see why I can’t come along.”
Ning stares at her, unsure whether to laugh or panic. “Are you serious?”
Minji leans down slightly, her glasses sliding down her nose as she meets Ning’s wide-eyed gaze. “Dead serious.”
“But…” Ning struggles to find a reason, any reason, why this is a terrible idea. “What about your coursework? You’re always busy.”
Minji straightens up, brushing her hair over her shoulder with practiced ease. “I can spare a night. Besides,” she adds, smirking, “I want to meet this ‘just a friend’ of yours.”
Minji’s calm confidence is both reassuring and terrifying. She knows Minji means well, but she also knows her friend. Minji doesn’t just show up. She observes.
Still, it’s hard to say no when Minji looks at her like that, her dark eyes steady and full of quiet determination.
“Okay,” Ning says finally. “You can come.”
Minji smiles, a triumphant glint in her eye. “Great. I’ll get ready.”
As Minji walks away, Ning flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. This was supposed to be simple. Just her, the bar, and a chance to take things slow with you.
Now?
She has no idea what’s about to happen.
The bar’s hum is steady but quiet tonight, soft music playing from the jukebox, mingling with the low murmur of scattered conversations. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and vaguely thinking about the economics lecture you skipped today when the door swings open.
You look up instinctively, and there she is—Ning. Except she’s not alone.
Ning walks in first, a bundle of energy in her casual but cool outfit: a cropped black sweater that shows just a hint of her toned stomach, paired with loose cargo pants that sit snug on her hips, and her ever-present Doc Martens. She looks great—like she always does—but it’s the girl walking in behind her that makes your breath catch.
Minji.
She’s dressed simply—an elegant cream blouse tucked into high-waisted, dark-wash jeans that make her legs look impossibly long. Her black hair falls in a sleek curtain down her back, and she’s wearing the kind of gold-rimmed glasses that make other people look like try-hards but somehow make her look even more stunning. There’s something about her presence—poised but approachable, with a quiet confidence that fills the room—that makes it hard to look away.
“Hey!” Ning’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts as she practically bounces over to the counter. She gestures enthusiastically toward her companion. “This is my best friend, Minji. You’ll love her.”
You recover quickly, setting the glass down and offering a smile. “Hey, Minji. Nice to meet you.”
Minji steps forward, her smile polite but warm. “Nice to meet you too. Ning comes here every week, I got curious and realized I needed to see it myself.”
You nod, trying not to seem too obvious as you take her in. “Well, welcome. Hope it lives up to the hype.”
Ning slides onto her usual stool, pulling out her sketchbook like it’s just another normal night. “He’s being modest. It’s the coolest place ever. And the bartender’s alright, I guess.”
You smirk at her teasing but find yourself glancing back at Minji. “What can I get you two?”
“The usual for me,” Ning says, flipping through the pages of her sketchbook.
“And for you?” you ask Minji.
She tilts her head slightly, considering. “Something light. I don’t drink much—health reasons.”
“Got it.” You start preparing the drinks, glancing at her again. “If you don’t mind me asking, health reasons?”
Ning's Coke is ready in moments, she takes a sip absentmindedly as she looks at her sketchbook.
“I have a heart condition,” she says casually, like she’s used to explaining it. “Nothing too serious, but I can’t really handle strong drinks.”
“Fair enough,” you say, sliding the glass across the counter toward her. “This should be light enough.”
She takes a sip, her lips curving into a small smile. “Perfect. Thanks.”
Ning, who’s been scribbling something in her sketchbook, looks up suddenly. “Minji has been really nosy lately, she wouldn't leave me alone until I brought her here, she's never done this before.”
“Oh yeah?” you say, raising an eyebrow at Minji. “Was she really that mysterious about it?”
Minji laughs softly, setting her drink down. “You have no idea. She’d leave without saying much, come back late, and when I’d ask where she was, she’d just shrug and say ‘out.’” She glances at Ning, her tone amused. “It was suspicious.”
Ning groans dramatically. “It wasn’t suspicious! I just didn’t feel like explaining.”
“Well, I’m glad you brought her along tonight,” you say, smiling at Minji. “It’s nice to meet one of Ning’s friends.”
“Best friend,” Ning corrects, nudging Minji with her elbow. “We’ve known each other forever.”
Minji chuckles. “She’s exaggerating. It’s only been a few years. But yeah, we’ve been through a lot together.”
You lean against the counter, genuinely curious. “How’d you two meet?”
“Orientation,” Minji says, glancing at Ning.
“At first I thought she was snobbish for being so serious."
“And I thought you looked like a troublemaker,” Minji counters, her eyes sparkling with humor.
You can’t help but laugh at their banter. “So, Minji, what are you studying?”
“International business,” she says, adjusting her glasses slightly. “What about you?”
“Business administration,” you reply, and her face lights up with interest.
“Oh, really? That’s great. What year are you in?”
“Third,” you say. “It’s not as glamorous as international business, but it keeps me busy.”
“It’s not glamorous,” Minji says with a small smile. “But it’s practical. And honestly, that’s more important.”
You nod, impressed by her straightforwardness. “So what made you choose international business?”
She takes another sip of her drink, her expression thoughtful. “I guess I like the idea of understanding how things work on a global scale. It’s a challenge, but I enjoy it.”
Ning, who’s been quiet for a moment, suddenly speaks up. “She’s being humble. She’s the smartest person I know. She even helps me figure out my art projects sometimes.”
Minji shrugs, clearly a little embarrassed. “I just give her feedback. She’s the real talent.”
You glance at Ning, your curiosity piqued. “What kind of feedback?”
“She helps me refine ideas,” Ning says, twirling her pencil. “Like, if I’m stuck on a concept, she’ll point out things I didn’t think of. It’s annoying how good she is at it.”
Minji rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of affection in her expression. “It’s not that hard. I just have an outside perspective.”
“Well, it sounds like you two make a good team,” you say, genuinely impressed by their dynamic.
Minji smiles, her gaze lingering on you for a second longer than you expect. “We do. But I think I understand why Ning likes coming here now. It’s… nice.”
“Yeah,” Ning chimes in, her voice a little softer. “It is.”
The three of you fall into an easy rhythm after that, talking and laughing like old friends. But every now and then, you catch yourself glancing at Minji, wondering what it is about her that feels so… magnetic.
The bar has never been livelier for you, not because of an influx of customers but because Ning and Minji have made it their unofficial hangout spot. At first, it was a bit surreal—Ning showing up with her best friend in tow, bright-eyed and eager to introduce her to her favorite bartender. But over the next few weeks, it becomes routine.
Monday Night
Ning and Minji arrive together, as they always do. Ning’s dressed in her usual casual style—cropped sweatshirt, ripped jeans, and her trusty Doc Martens—while Minji looks effortlessly polished in a tailored blazer over a white camisole and straight-leg pants.
“Usual?” you ask Ning, already reaching for the soda gun.
“Of course,” she says, hopping onto her usual stool.
“And for you?” you ask Minji.
“I’ll take the same thing as last time,” she says, her smile easy. “That drink was great.”
You get to work, sliding the Coke over to Ning and preparing Minji’s light cocktail. “So, how’s the week been treating you two?”
“Terrible,” Ning groans dramatically, opening her sketchbook. “I’m behind on like, three projects.”
Minji snorts, glancing at Ning over the rim of her glass. “That’s because you spent the entire weekend rewatching Spirited Away instead of working.”
“It was research!” Ning protests, flipping through her sketches. “It’s a masterpiece!”
You chuckle, leaning on the bar. “She’s got a point. Spirited Away is definitely worth rewatching.”
Minji raises an eyebrow. “I don’t disagree. But maybe she could balance her research with her deadlines.”
The two of you share a laugh, and Ning pouts.
“You’re both nerds,” she mutters, earning a grin from you.
“Guilty as charged,” you say, raising a random glass in a mock toast.
Wednesday Night
Tonight, Minji’s in a soft blue sweater that matches her dark-rimmed glasses, her hair swept back in a loose braid. Ning looks a little tired, probably from pulling an all-nighter.
“You look like death,” Minji observes bluntly as they sit down.
“Gee, thanks,” Ning says, dropping onto the stool and slumping over the counter.
“You okay?” you ask, sliding her a Coke without waiting for her order.
“Just tired,” Ning mumbles, sipping her drink.
Minji tilts her head at you. “So, did you finish that econ paper you mentioned last time?”
You perk up, surprised she remembered. “Yeah, just barely. Turns out writing about financial markets at two in the morning isn’t fun.”
“I could’ve told you that,” Minji says, her lips curving into a small smile. “But I bet you still nailed it.”
Ning watches the exchange, feeling a pang of something she can’t quite name. She clears her throat. “Hey, can we talk about something not boring?”
“Sure,” you say, turning to her. “What’s on your mind?”
“Aliens,” Ning declares, grinning. “Do you think they exist?”
Minji sighs. “Oh god, not this again.”
You laugh, genuinely amused. “Honestly? I hope so. Would make the universe a lot more interesting.”
Ning beams, satisfied, while Minji shakes her head. “This is why she likes coming here,” Minji says dryly. “You encourage her nonsense.”
“Hey,” you protest, “it’s not nonsense. It’s curiosity.”
Minji chuckles, and Ning feels a little less out of place.
Friday Night
The bar is slightly busier, but the two of them still manage to snag their usual seats. Minji looks radiant in a sleek black blouse and gold hoop earrings, her makeup subtle but flawless. Ning, in her oversized hoodie and her Doc Martens looks comfortable but feels distinctly underdressed next to her friend.
“You look nice tonight,” you say to Minji as you hand her drink over.
“Thanks,” she replies, her voice calm and self-assured. “Ning practically dragged me out of the dorm, so I figured I’d make an effort.”
“You’re welcome,” Ning says with mock pride.
“So,” Minji says, turning to you, “tell me more about your business classes. Do you focus on entrepreneurship or management?”
“A little of both,” you reply, leaning on the counter. “Right now, we’re working on case studies about startups.”
“Oh, I love those,” Minji says, her eyes lighting up. “Which case studies are you doing?”
As you dive into the topic, Ning finds herself zoning out. The conversation is engaging—Minji is clearly knowledgeable, and you seem genuinely interested in what she has to say—but it’s not her world. She fiddles with her straw, feeling invisible as the two of you talk animatedly about market trends and business strategies.
Eventually, she clears her throat. “Hey, do you think they’d let me draw on the walls here?”
Both of you turn to her, surprised.
“I mean, this place could use some art,” she says, grinning.
“Go for it,” you say, laughing. “Just don’t tell my boss I approved it.”
Minji chuckles softly, shaking her head. “You’re hopeless.”
“Hopelessly creative,” Ning corrects, feeling a little more grounded again.
Sunday Night
The bar is nearly empty, the quiet hum of the jukebox filling the space. Ning is doodling absently in her sketchbook, while Minji sips her drink and chats with you.
“So, what do you do for fun?” Minji asks, her tone light but genuinely curious.
“Work, mostly,” you admit. “But when I have time, I like hiking. Clears my head.”
“I didn’t peg you as the outdoorsy type,” she says, a hint of teasing in her voice.
You shrug. “Gotta balance all the business talk with something peaceful.”
Ning glances up from her sketchbook, watching the two of you. There’s something about the way Minji leans slightly forward when she talks to you, the way her smile lingers a little longer.
“Do you hike?” you ask Minji.
“Sometimes,” she says. “But only when Ning drags me along.”
“Hey, I make hiking fun,” Ning protests, jumping back into the conversation.
“You complain the whole time,” Minji points out, smirking.
“Because you always pick the hardest trails!”
You laugh, the sound warm and genuine. “I’d pay to see that.”
“Next time, you’re coming with us,” Minji says.
Ning blinks, caught off guard by the suggestion. She glances between you and Minji, unsure how to feel about the way this strange triangle is starting to form.
As the night winds down, the three of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, but Ning can’t shake the feeling that something is shifting—slowly, subtly, but undeniably.
The three of you have fallen into a strange, unspoken routine—meeting up not just at the bar but beyond it, like some evolving trio of mismatched energy. It feels natural, at least on the surface, even if Ning occasionally finds herself analyzing every interaction, dissecting every glance and laugh.
Tonight, you’re at the movies, sitting in a darkened theater. Ning insisted on watching the latest animated film, claiming it was "research" for her art, though the truth is she just really loves animated movies. You and Minji went along with it, no complaints. Ning sits between you and Minji, a giant bucket of popcorn balanced precariously on her lap.
Halfway through the movie, she notices how Minji leans slightly toward you, sharing whispered comments about the plot. Ning can’t quite hear what you’re saying, but the low rumble of your laugh makes her feel strangely uncomfortable.
“Pass the popcorn,” you murmur, your hand brushing Ning’s as you reach for the bucket.
She stiffens slightly, then relaxes. “Here. Don’t eat all the good pieces.”
“You’re weirdly protective of popcorn,” you tease, taking a handful.
“Popcorn hierarchy is a real thing,” she replies, smirking. But her voice sounds hollow to her own ears.
Minji chuckles, leaning closer. “She’s serious about it. She once bit my hand when I took the last caramel piece.”
“I did not bite you!” Ning protests, her cheeks flushing.
Minji glances at you, her smile lingering. “She absolutely did.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “I believe it.”
The sound of your laugh sends a pang through Ning’s chest. She knows it’s stupid, knows she’s overthinking. But the way you and Minji interact—effortless, like equals—feels different.
Later That Week
The three of you are at a college basketball game, seated in the bleachers. It was your idea this time, a way to do something “normal and fun” after a week of classes. Ning, determined to feel confident, showed up in a cropped tank top and tight jeans, her makeup more pronounced than usual.
But as the game goes on, she notices the subtle ways you treat her. When she trips on the bleachers, you catch her arm, laughing softly. “Careful, kid. Don’t want you breaking something.”
“Kid?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I’m literally an adult.”
“Barely,” you tease, ruffling her hair in a way that makes her want to scream.
Meanwhile, when Minji leans over to ask you something, your tone shifts. It’s subtle, but Ning catches it. You’re attentive, leaning slightly closer, your voice quieter. When Minji laughs at something you say, it’s like the whole world fades out for a second, leaving just the two of you.
Ning fiddles with her phone, pretending not to notice.
At one point, Minji turns to her. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really quiet.”
“I’m fine,” Ning says quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… not a huge basketball fan.”
Minji studies her for a moment but doesn’t press. She turns back to you, asking something about the game. Ning doesn’t bother listening.
The Bar, One Week Later
It’s a typical slow night, the kind you’ve come to expect when it’s not the weekend. You’re behind the counter, wiping down glasses and occasionally glancing at the door out of habit. When it swings open, you look up, expecting to see Ning and Minji together as usual.
But it’s just Minji.
She steps inside, her presence as poised as ever. She’s wearing a fitted black turtleneck and a sleek gray coat, her hair tucked neatly behind her ears. There’s a calm confidence in the way she walks, like she owns the space without even trying.
“Hey,” you say, smiling as she approaches the bar. “Where’s Ning?”
“She’s sick,” Minji replies, sliding onto one of the stools. “It’s just me tonight.”
There's a hint of excitement in her voice, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The absence of Ning—her usual energy, her playful remarks—feels strange. But Minji’s presence is undeniable, grounding.
“Just you,” you repeat, setting a glass on the counter. “Alright. What can I get you?”
Minji smiles, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “Surprise me.”
part 3
478 notes · View notes
stalkedandblocked · 3 days ago
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camgirl!reader x sevika
tw. reader and sevika are live, regular au (?? i have no idea how to word it 😭) masturbation (reader), strap on, fingering, cunnilingus (giving and receiving), sevika puts you in a headlock, squirting, overstim, sucking the strap
while in college you get a little bored of your mundane life, and with some free time during the night and also in need of some more money you start an only fans account. after growing quite a following you decide to do a raffle to stream with one of your fans to make things more interesting.
a/n: this took so long holy moly. i hope y’all liked this because this is one of my first times writing a full fic <3 like and reblog if ur a real sevika truther :D
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with your tripod and camera on your bed infront of you, you moan, “mmmf… im so close,” you arch your back off the bed as you press the vibrator harder onto your clit. you spread your legs wider, giving a show to the camera. “fuck- oh my god,” your hips start bucking and you throw your head back, you moan and cry as your orgasm hits you, the painful feeling of overstimulation comes quickly but you keep the vibrator on your pussy and your whole body trembles through your orgasm. panting like a dog, you finally turn off the vibrator and place it to the side.
you lift your shaky body and sit on your knees in front of the camera, putting your hands in your lap to squeeze your breast together. you start to announce the little idea you had. messages are spammed in the chat, asking for you to chose them, that they’ll even send money for you to choose them, and asking about what you mean by this. you only giggle and say, “it’s just a thought you pervs, i thought it might be fun to chose one of you randomly and see if you’d be interested in streaming with me.”
the chat dies down on the questions and you say a few more words to say goodbye, before ending the stream by blowing them a kiss.
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after hopping in the shower and getting yourself clean, you change into some comfy pajamas before making a post on your page.
‘hi to all my fans! i’m so glad you guys were interested in my proposal, if your in the area dm me for a chance to stream with me ;), i can’t wait!’ after pressing send you turn your phone off and head to bed, hoping that hopefully this won’t be a mistake, and that whoever you chose isn’t entirely horrendous looking.
the next day you check your phone, a couple hundred dm’s are in your inbox. most being people from far away asking if they can fly out but you stick to your word, you find one from an account who sent their address. “let’s see what this person has to offer” you think to yourself. you text back and forth before ultimately asking for a photo of them holding some id next to them so you know they’re not lying about their identity.
a while passed before the account responds, there was no indication about who this person might be so your surprised to see a woman, another notifications sends and it’s a photo of her id attached. you look closer at it, her names sevika, she’s quite a bit older than you, but that didn’t bother you. you ponder for a bit, you’ve never had sex with a woman, but was not opposed to the idea. but yes, even thought the photo of herself is a bit awkward, even reminding you of a parents facebook photo which makes you laugh to yourself a bit, she is very attractive. and from what you can see she seems quite muscular.
“alright”, and you send her an address of a restaurant near both of your homes and tell her to meet you there tomorrow and 4pm.
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the next day, you put on a simple going out outfit, nothing to make it obvious your meeting a stranger to fuck her, then head out the door. as you walk to the restaurant you feel butterflies, obviously you had only even been with men, but she was, well, very sexy you thought. the idea excited you but also made you nervous.
as you sat at a table and tell the waitress your waiting for somone, another walks into the restaurant. you miss her face but her hair is tied half up and it’s short, a few inches above her shoulder. she’s also is very tall. you gulp, from what you remember that looks like her. she scans the restaurant before you make eye contact. she walks over to you and sits across from you.
“you must be sevika,” you smile, feeling more nervous than you expected to be. when she responds her voice is deep and smooth, her words are almost seductive. compared to your messages and how she talks to you she seems much more ready and nonchalant about this whole situation in real life. everything about her attracts you, “so did you have any ideas of when you’d like to.. ahem” you try to keep your voice down so no one hears and gets any ideas, “..stream”.
sevika is lazily leaning back in her char, legs nudged open a bit. she leans over the table, resting her arms on it, “i’m ready whenever you are.” you have no idea if she meant to make you flustered, or tried to make it sound sexy but her words melt you brain almost. you stand quickly and grab her arm, “let’s do it today, let’s do it now!” you squeal out before your dragging her out of the restaurant.
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sevika had driven so she directs you to her car, you drive to your house and you walk up the stair together after she grabs a bag out of the back of her car. your whole body is warm and fuzzy with excitement. “i usually wear some lingerie when i start, as you probably know. would you like some or do you want to start naked?” you ask, grabbing a matching to set to change into.
“naked.” she responds, she watches as you walk to the bathroom to change. you throw a robe out of the bathroom so she can cover herself before you start. you come out in your set, wearing a robe as well. she sits on your bed watching, “let me set up the camera and then we can begin. did you have anything in mind on what we want to do, what we want to follow?”
“i have ideas for later, but let’s not worry about that now.”
you begin the stream, sevika sits naked on your bed, and you take the robe off infront of the camera. sevika places a hand on your hip guiding you to her lap before you crawl over her. each touch feels like sparks, your already soaked and anticipating what’s gonna happen. you grab eachother and start kissing, her tongue runs over your lip and your lips crash against each other. you sit down on her lap and slowly move your hips over her muscular thighs, you moan into her mouth. “that’s a good girl,” she praises, before continuing to kiss you.
she grabs your hips roughly, helping them move back and forth, you arch and moan for her. your chat is going crazy, some even shocked that it’s another woman. she stops your grinding and lifts your hips up a bit before dragging her thick finger up and down your slit. both of you seem like you forgot that your streaming and just enjoy each others bodies. she rubs your clit in circles, making your toes curl. she takes you from on top of her and flips you to face the camera, spreading your legs, the exposing position making you even wetter. she slides your panties to the side so the camera can see your wet cunny, she starts rubbing circles on your clit makes you throw your head back.
she chuckles at you, “don’t make me hold you head up. already so sensitive, huh?” her mocking words make you moan once more, she begins teasing your hole before nudging her index and middle finger into you. her fingers are so thick and long, your already seeing stars, “fuck! yes! right there sevika, oh my god-” you scream out as she adds her ring finger inside. your juices leak all over her lap and hand. your head leans against her and you mewl into her ear, begging to cum. as you finally start to reach your orgasm she pulls out her fingers and slaps your pussy.
“fuck!” you cry out as your body reacts to your ruined orgasm, sevika chuckles. you breathe heavily as sevika manhandles your basically limp body, laying it on the bed, she starts pulling down your panties and the slick dripping between your legs is more visible than ever. you arch your back slightly off the bed and she unclips your bra, she stops what she’s doing and stares at them. you giggle and can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or because of her expression, like she’s almost captivated. your breasts fall from the bra and lay prettily on display, which sevika quickly takes advantage of and begins to suck at on of your nipples and knead the other. you let at small moans while kisses litter your tits.
she lifts her head up and smirks “are you ready?” she asks, with having no idea what she’s talking about, you eagerly nod. she begins moving her body over yours and places her bare pussy on your face, letting down all her weight, then spreading your legs and burrying her face in your own cunt. your almost shocked by this, she starts teasing the tip of her tongue on your clit, before diving it into your hole, tongue fucking you and hitting all the good spots in your pussy. you moan against her cunt and try to copy her actions. you suck her clit and lap your tongue up and down her pussy, you squeeze around her tongue in response to her moaning. it’s low and vibrates through your whole body. it’s not long before you cum because of the previous teasing she had done earlier. you squeeze your legs around her head and buck up, trying to keep up the pace with how your lapping her pussy, but inevitably struggle from how your body is shaking against her face.
sevika places one last sloppy kiss to your clit then raises herself, and grinds against your face until she orgasms, gripping onto your hair. the moans she lets out makes your pussy ache.
while coming down form your high you lay next to each other panting, forgetting about the stream itself. “you okay, baby?” sevika asks, places kisses on your neck. “mhm,” you mumble, relaxing into the bed as she kisses you. “well, i think it’s time for what i had planned for earlier”, she gets up and disappears off camera. across the room she pulls something out of her bag that she had grabbed earlier. she begins to attach something to her hips, and before you know it she’s standing over you with a strap on.
it’s so thick and long, you gulp. not even with any men had you had to take something for big. “i know your wet enough but, i don’t think this is” sevika lets out a sly smile. her height already towers over you, so even standing and you sitting in the bed has you face to face with it. “suck it.” she orders and obediently you do. you place your hands around it, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes, and slowly thrust your mouth down onto it. she stares down at you and bites her lip. you bob your head up and down, slowly reaching down with each thrust, your throat adjusts around it and you gag against it and sevika laughs. she places one hand on your head to tug at your hair. once you finally reach down the base she holds your head down. the length makes your eyes tear up as you gag even more.
she pulls your hair back until your off of it and pushes you down to the bed. still grasping your hair she puts your face down into the pillows and keeps your ass up before crawling over you. she has your face infront of the camera and wraps her arm around you. her thick biceps flex as she grabs the strap to line it up at your cunt. she wastes no time pushing it in, when she bottoms out your eyes roll back and without even moving it feels almost heavenly. she starts thrusting slowly before they become almost rapid, her arm squeezes around your throat even more and you moan and gasp. “taking it like such a good little slut,” she purred. you let out a messy smile and your moans just couldn’t stop coming out. they way it felt against your g-spot and pounded into you made your toes curl.
“se-sevika!” you drooled, “i’m gonna cum, please! hah, keep going!” you screamed, sevika took no time and started pounding into you more, her free arm rubbing your clit, fast circles against the puffy aching bud. your body shook and your eyes rolled back into your head, sevika thought they might never go back. you cried out before you finally squirted all over yourself and the bed, the liquid covering your stomach, the sheets and sevikas hand. “holy shit” sevika gasped at the reaction to your orgasm. your whole body was stiff and shaking, your mouth tried to let out moans but nothing came out as your eyes rolled back as hard as they could. your body went limp onto the bed, sevika pulled out of you, a line of slick breaking as the contact broke. you whined at the sudden emptiness.
she grabs the camera and faces it towards you, she spreads your weak legs showing the amount of cum that had leaked from your hole and everything that had dripped onto the sheets and between your thighs. “took it like the good slut she is,” she grabbed a handful of your ass and let out a laugh before she abruptly ended the stream.
she threw the camera onto the bed carelessly, then asked, “so, want to meet again next week?”
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morganbritton132 · 1 day ago
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This little idea (or this one) hasn’t left me yet so suffer through more of my ramblings.
Look, Eddie was gonna stay away from Steve.
He watched Steve swipe Billy’s keys off a table at lunch and then chuck them into the woods behind the school last week, and decided that he wants no part of that.
If King Steve is testing out teen rebellion, that’s fine but Eddie is eighteen and he doesn’t have rich boy money to bail him out when shit hits the fan. So…
He keeps his distance. He goes to class. He misses three days of school because he’s got laryngitis again. Now he’s sitting in a booth at the diner, miserably eating ice cream and watching Steve Harrington stroll in.
Steve didn’t have to sit with him. The diner was practically empty because it was 10:30AM on a Tuesday when everybody else is at school. So, no. Steve didn’t have to slide in across from him.
“I’m not driving you anywhere.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” Steve says like Eddie was weird for thinking he might. “Got my car back. You sound awful, by the way.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything else because his throat is on fire, but Steve talks. He talks largely about nothing but in that way that you do when you haven’t talked to anybody in a long time which makes no sense. Steve is popular.
Eddie kinda spaces out because he doesn’t care about baseball, but his attention snaps back into focus ten minutes later when a hand clamps down on Steve’s shoulder. Steve is too casual, “Hey, Hop.”
“How’d the appointment go?” Hopper asks in a voice that sounds like it’s physically being restrained. “The MRI, right? Everything come back clear?”
“Clear as crystal, Chief,” Steve replies. “Got the uh, the A-Okay. Back to normal.”
“Uh-huh,” Hopper nods and then yanks Steve up by his shirt. “Then why’d Owens say you were a no show?”
Steve sputters. This is the first time Eddie’s ever seen him lost for words, but it doesn’t last as Steve scoffs, “That’s like a health code violation!”
He doesn’t get to say much else because Hopper pulls him out of the building. Eddie watches them argue in the parking lot and then pays his bill.
He’s leaving when Hopper marches back into the building but is luckily spared a glance from the chief. He’s not sure if Hopper even noticed him sitting there and he is fine with that.
What Eddie should do is get in his van and go home, but instead, he finds himself walking towards where Steve is waiting next to Hopper’s truck. As he gets closer, he sees that Steve is less waiting and more handcuffed to the side mirror so he can’t leave.
Steve rolls his eyes about the whole thing when he notices Eddie and then offers him a cig from the pack he stole out of the truck’s open window. Eddie shakes his head so Steve pockets the pack before asking, “You can pick a lock, right? I’ve seen you do it before.”
Eddie almost asks ‘when?’ but just sighs instead because…yes. He can.
Hopper returns to his truck five minutes later with coffee to an open handcuff dangling from his mirror. No kid in sight.
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smolbeanie1221 · 19 hours ago
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Age dreamer here! Also possibly probably regressor too but I never exactly know what age I feel like, soooo confusion
Now ima vent about that a bit. I grew up in an unconventional way, my dad was sick my entire childhood and he was the center of my world my everything. Anyways I had to grow up fast in some ways, like logically I guess, but in other ways, I stayed as young as I could. I played with toys and stuffed animals until 6-7th grade, so 11-12 years old. A lot longer than most of my peers. Then middle school and high school happened, and coming up with story ideas replaced my pretend games with stuffed animals. Then when Covid happened my freshman year of college, my mental health crashed super hard and I was dissociating on and off for a long freaking time. During that time, I discovered the Lion King fandom and I immediately hyperfixated on that. I started getting sucked into other fandoms too, but Lion King is always my default. The fandoms and universes I hyperfixate on are pretty much always the same books and movies and shows I loved from ages 8-18ish. Covid happened when I was 18, and then I started dissociating for so long that I feel as though I didn’t really “age” at all during the time I was dissociating. I escaped back into fantasy worlds, not with stuffed animals and toys this time, but with characters from Lion King and Spirit Stallion of the Cimarron and Twilight and Divergent and Tinker Bell and Supernatural and Percy Jackson and the Buddies puppies movies and so many others. When I was turning 20, it felt so unreal to me, and it still does feel so unreal to me that I’m 23 now, but turning 20 felt so wrong because, what do you mean I was no longer a teenager?? I didn’t necessarily want to relive my teenage years, but I couldn’t say I was technically a teenager anymore?? Turning 20 years old to me meant full fledged adult, and I hated that thought. And I still feel so weird when I think about the fact that I’m 23 years old now. I don’t feel like an adult at all, I mean I function and live well enough in the adult world, but I don’t feel like I’m actually an adult. And… shit as I’m typing this I’m realizing the term I recently started paying more attention to, permaregressor… huh I think that actually does describe me a lot more than I initially thought. So… I think it might be accurate to say that I’m permaregressed to 15–18ish, and I age dream to go into a younger headspace?? Huh that’s… actually sounding pretty freaking accurate. I’m still not sure but… I think it makes sense??
Please interact with this post if you're a trans or gender non-conforming age regressor/age dreamer so that we can all see we're valid members of our community who aren't alone!
🩵🩷🤍🩵🩷 💛🤍💜🖤 💜🤍💚
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lupinqs · 2 days ago
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CHAPTER TEN ━━ The Introduction
❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)
❀ ━ word count: 5.9K
❀ ━ warnings: allusions to sex, alcohol consumption
❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist
❀ ━ author’s note: hehe
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IT’S FRIDAY, December 2nd, and UConn just annihilated Providence. Jo played out of her mind, as she always does. Of course, Paige is proud. Of course she is. But both her performance and the team win can’t really make this might feel like a victory for Paige to bask in. 
Currently, she’s standing in Nika’s kitchen, staring down at the cup full of Everclear in her hand. The liquid inside is dangerous, too strong for her, and yet she’s already downed three or four shots. She doesn’t even like it. In fact, she usually avoids this shit like the plague. But tonight, it’s the only thing she can think of to numb her, the only thing that might be able to quiet the anxious, suffocating storm inside her chest.
It’s almost laughable, really, how predictable she is. How every time Jo does something—breathes, laughs, smiles—Paige feels like she’s suffocating just a little more. It’s insane. They’re best friends. They’ve been living together since May. She’s seen every side of Jo—the silly, the serious, the completely ridiculous.
Well, every side except the one she shares with Asher.
Because Paige still hasn’t met him.
She’s seen all the pictures, of course—the one’s on Jo’s Instagram, the one that Jo has as her lock screen, the one framed in Jo’s family’s house back in Boston, the one perched on Jo’s desk in their apartment. She hears about him a God awful lot, too. She’s seen Jo text him, call him. She’s listened to Jo gush about him and their future while Paige is just… there. Watching Listening. Seeing Jo get lost in that perfect, fairytale love that Paige will never be a part of.
The rest of the team, on the other hand, have already met the damn boy. Back in October, while Paige was in LA rehabbing, he’d come up to visit Jo, and they’d met him. And, of course, they all informed Paige of how kind and charming and absolutely perfect for Jo he was.
And, tonight, it seems that Paige has finally met her dues. Because he’s coming to Ted’s with Jo, to hang out with the team.
Okay, it’s not that Paige wants to hate Asher. He hasn’t done anything to her, not really. She just doesn’t want to see it. Doesn’t want to see the joy and adoration in Jo’s eyes when she’s with him. Doesn’t want to see her look at someone else the way she’ll never look at Paige.
That’s why she’s standing here in Nika’s kitchen, holding the cup of Everclear like it’s a lifeline. She’s downed drink after drink, trying to numb herself before the night really starts. She needs something to take the edge off. Anything to make the world feel a little less sharp, a little less raw.
So, Paige reaches for the bottle again, pouring herself another cup, her hand unsteady from the alcohol already coursing through her veins. She doesn’t even care that she’s probably about to get way too drunk to function. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Not when she’s about to experience first-hand the perfect, romcom, movie-like romance of Jo and Asher.
As Paige pours the drink, she doesn’t even hear Caroline approach. It’s not until the sophomore’s hand wraps around her wrist that Paige jerks back, spilling some of the alcohol across the counter. “Bro!” she exclaims, frustration creeping into her voice as she whips her head to glare at Caroline. “What the hell?”
Caroline narrows her eyes, and the look she gives Paige is one of irritation, not amusement. “What are you doing?” she demands, voice tight. “You’re gonna be wasted before we even get to Ted’s. Besides, you don’t even like this shit!” She gestures to the bottle of Everclear in Paige’s hand, her gaze pointed.
Paige rolls her eyes. “Nah, don’t do that with me, Carol,” she says, her voice flat and cold, the words rolling off her tongue like venom. “I’m older than you. If you wanna mother someone, go find the freshmen.”
Caroline doesn’t flinch at Paige’s outburst. Instead, she just rolls her eyes back, her expression practically dripping with exasperation. Then, with one swift motion, she gives Paige a quick shove on the shoulder, a mockery of affection that’s meant to get her attention but only serves to make Paige more frustrated. “No,” Caroline says, her tone laced with that same tired edge. “I’m gonna mother because clearly you need it!”
The words land like a slap, stinging more than Paige expects. Yes, she knows she’s not being entirely responsible, but also—when has she been? It’s sort of in her nature to be irresponsible, so she’s not sure how this is any different. But is is. And she doesn’t even know why.
There’s a long pause. Too long. It stretches between them like a chasm, and Paige can feel the moment hanging in the air like it’s about to swallow her whole. She thinks Caroline might be done. She thinks the conversation might be over.
But it’s not. Caroline is not finished.
“Look,” the brunette says, her voice gentler now, but still firm. “I know you’re, like, totally in love with Jo and all, but please, Paige, get yourself together.”
Almost instantly, Paige stills. It’s as if the entire world falls silent in an instant. The sound of her pulse fills her ears, louder than anything else. Her mind goes blank for a moment, and then the words slowly filter through. Caroline knows. Paige has been so careful recently to pretend, pretend, pretend. But Caroline’s still seen through it.
Fuck.
“Wha—? How did you know that?” Paige’s voice comes out high-pitched, more frantic than she wants it to be. She feels like she’s suffocating, like she’s about to drown in the truth that’s just been laid bare. “Did Azzi tell you? Aubrey?” The thought of anyone else but the two of them knowing, of anyone else seeing what she’s been trying to hide, is bad. It’s what Paige imagines standing in front of a crowded room, naked, while everyone stares at her would feel like.
Caroline gives her a look. “No, dumbass,” she deadpans. “I figured it out myself. You’re not very subtle.”
As if it were possible, Paige’s stomach seems to drop even more at the simplicity of it all. Because Caroline’s right, just as Aubrey and Azzi both had been. Paige isn’t subtle. She never has been. The way she looks at Jo, the way her face burns every time Jo smiles at her, the way she seems to track everything Jo doesn’t without even meaning to—none of it is subtle.
She groans, a frustrated sound that escapes her before she can stop it. She leans forward, her palms flat against the counter as she rests her forehead against the cool surface. She’s so tired. Tired of pretending, tired of fighting the feeling that never goes away. And now, with Caroline’s words hanging before her, she knows it’s probably only a matter of time before Jo figured it out, too. Before Jo realizes what Paige has been hiding, and everything goes to shit. Jesus Christ, she’s gonna have to transfer.
Caroline doesn’t let the silence linger for too long, though. “Okay, yeah,” she says, her voice softening a little. “I know it sucks. I get it.” She takes a deep breath, and Paige can hear the sympathy in her voice, the understanding. “And I’m sorry you have to see Jo with Asher while you like her. But, please, get yourself together. Because she’s so excited for you to meet him, and if you’re drunk off your mind when you do, you’re probably just gonna embarrass yourself and her. Do you wanna do that?”
Caroline’s right. Of course she is. Paige can imagine herself meeting Asher, entirely wasted, and saying some stupid shit that would have him grimacing at her and Jo flushing with embarrassment over the fact that this drunk girl before them is supposed to be her best friend. It would be wrong and selfish to do that. But it’s gonna be so hard to do it and act normal. She knows she swore she would take Jo in whatever way she’ll give her—and she still stands by that—but that doesn’t mean she has any desire to meet her boyfriend. Because she just doesn’t. She’s truly not sure she can. 
She doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she just stays there, head pressed against the counter, trying to will sway the stupid, hot tears that begin to form in her eyes. She can’t cry here. It’s fucking stupid.
Eventually, after blinking the tears away, Paige begrudgingly shakes her head. “No,” she mutters under her breath, the words barely audible. “I don’t wanna do that.”
Caroline pats her on the back. “That’s what I thought.”
PAIGE LISTENS. She’s being good. She’s only slightly tipsy, every so often taking sips of her Dirty Shirley. She’s doing her best to integrate herself into the team’s conversation around her, despite her uncharacteristic anxiousness. She tries to will her gaze to stop flicking toward the door. It doesn’t work; her mind is already rehearsing every possible scenario when Jo and Asher walk in.
“Aye, JoJo just said they should be here any minute!” Ice says loudly, reading a text off her phone. The rest of the team, half-fueled by the alcohol running through their bloodstream, lets out a few cheers.
Azzi, who’s across from Paige and who Paige can tell is almost entirely sober, meets her eyes. She title her head, giving her a look as if to say you good? The blonde gives her a tight nod. She will be good. She’s gonna keep it together, it’ll be fine. It’s just one night, one introduction. After that, she can pretend none of it matters. She doesn’t need to be anywhere near Asher.
But even as she tells herself that, her pulse begins to quicken, the seconds ticking by too slowly as she waits for the pair to walk through that door. And, when they finally do, it’s not the way she thought it would be. She expected her heart to sink, her breath to catch, but what happens instead is worse. Her skin tingles, and her chest feels too tight, like her ribs are being squeezed, her lungs struggling for air. Jo walks in first, her laugh ringing out across the bar like it’s some beautiful melody that Paige can’t stop hearing. And then there’s Asher, in the flesh, right behind her. His arm is casually draped over Jo’s shoulder, and the two of them look so natural, so right together that it makes Paige feel like she’s been hit with a sucker punch to the gut.
They’re happy. It’s blatantly obvious in the way they move together, the way Asher’s hand rests lightly on Jo’s shoulder, the way they share that easy, carefree smile, as if nothing in the world could ruin this moment for them. Paige’s vision sharpens, the edge of the bar blurring as the urge to shrink away into herself rises up like an overwhelming tide. She wants to leave, to disappear, to drink so much she blacks out and dies.
But she doesn’t. Obviously.
Jo and Asher head straight toward the team, where they stand in the back corner. Paige forces herself to appear nonchalant like always, her back pressed against the bar wall, her fingers gripping the edge of her drink. The others begin to greet the pair quickly, all laughing and chatting with him so easily and fast it almost gives Paige whiplash. Within a minute, he already fits in so seamlessly—and Paige hates if. She hates the way he’s making them all laugh, the way he’s charming without even trying, the way everyone seems to like him so easily. Things would be so much easier for Paige if he was just some shitty douchebag boy.
But then Jo’s eyes find hers, that smile spreading across her face, and all thoughts of the boy flee for a short moment. It’s that smile only for her, only for Paige. She’s reserved it.
Paige feels her heart leap, an automatic reaction that she can’t stop, especially with alcohol in her system. She doesn’t know if Jo can see it, the way her face softens at the sight of her, but Paige knows her smile is already in place, even if it feels a little strained, like her cheeks might crack under the pressure.
Paige watches as Jo grabs onto Asher’s wrist, pulling him so they’re both face to face with Paige. “Paige! This is Asher!” she exclaims excitedly, and it’s adorable, it really is, the way her doe eyes shine at Paige, twinkling.
With some effort, the blonde forces her gaze from Jo to the boy beside her. “Hey, bro,” Paige says, her voice coming out a little higher than she intended, but she doesn’t let it show. She forces the words out, the greeting she’s practiced a thousand times too many.
“Nice to meet you,” she adds. It’s a lie. Of course.
Asher nods, his hand extending to shake hers. It makes everything inside Paige write. He’s not just some asshole she can dismiss; he’s the guy who makes Jo happy. And in the face of that, what does Paige have to offer? Absolutely nothing.
“Yeah, you too,” Asher replies, his smile wide, genuine. Fuck, he really is likable. It makes everything worse. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Stupidly, Paige can feel her heart skip a beat. He’s heard about her. Jo’s talked about her. The thought of it makes her skin flush, and she glances at Jo, who’s standing just a little too close to Asher, her eyes sparkling. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks, just enough for Paige to notice.
Hm.
Jo’s talked about her. Jo’s talked about her. It’s an absurdly stupid thing to obsess over, because, yes, it would only make sense that Jo has talked about her. They’re roommates, for God’s sakes.
But then, just as quickly, it all comes rushing back—the overwhelming knowledge that it just doesn’t matter. Because Jo has Asher.
Paige’s hand in tightens slightly around her drink, and she forces her smile to stay in place. “I bet,” she says, before gesturing to Jo. “She’s a yapper.”
Asher’s grin widens, and he nods in agreement. He glances down at Jo for a moment, and Paige can see the faint sparkle in his own eyes. It makes her sick. “Yeah, she is,” he chuckles. Of course he would know that. He knows everything. Certainly more than Paige (except how to make a girl cum—though, at this point, she supposes it can’t even apply to the situation). But he’s been there. For everything. Since the fucking sandbox days. It’s not something Paige can even remotely compete with.
She needs another drink.
JO SITS awkwardly in the booth at Ted’s, wedged between Asher and Paige. It’s not even that the space is tight—there’s room enough for the three of them, probably room for one more—but the proximity feels off, almost claustrophobic. She shifts in her seat, feeling the edge of Asher’s knee against hers, and Paige’s shoulder brushing lightly against her own. All of it—the heat from their bodies, the weight of their presence—is somehow making her feel small, like there’s no space for her in this conversation.
Asher, ever the extrovert, is holding court with Paige, talking on and on about college football rankings and how Penn State (where he goes to school) is sure to win their bowl game. Jo tries to listen and engage, but the topic doesn’t interest her. Basketball is far superior to football. But she still follows along, because Asher’s so into it, so excited to share his thoughts, and Paige—who, as usual, is completely unfazed by the world around her—responds with that ease that always leaves Jo wanting more.
Jo feels herself sinking lower in the booth, staring at her drink. It’s a cranberry vodka, something that feels sweet on her tongue. She takes another sip—maybe too quickly—and feels the alcohol warm her from the inside out. It helps dull the growing discomfort, but it doesn’t erase it. The tightness in her chest persists, a strange, insistent thing that makes her shift again, trying to find a way to make herself comfortable.
She doesn’t know why she feels this way. She should be happy. She should be enjoying this. After all, she’s the one who was so eager to introduce Asher and Paige, so excited to see her favorite people meet and get along. So why does it feel… wrong now? Why does it feel like she doesn’t belong?
It’s not jealousy. No, not even close. She’s fine with Asher and Paige talking. She’s good with it. She wants them to like each other. She’s been waiting for this, hoping for it. But still… the weight of their conversation feels like it’s too much for her to hear, even if she can’t articulate why. It’s the way they’re so at ease with each other, like they’ve known each other for years, and Jo feels like she’s just a spectator, stuck in the middle. Paige is talking about football like she’s always been passionate about it, and Jo wonders if she even really cares or if she’s just being her usual, charismatic self, making everyone around her feel like they’re the most important person in the room.
She doesn’t know why this feels so weird, so odd. It’s almost as if the booth is too small for the three of them, like either Asher of Paige needs to move out of it so Jo can finally breathe again. She just doesn’t get it.
Asher keeps talking, oblivious to the tension knotting in Jo’s stomach. She can tell he’s enjoying himself, that he’s happy to be here, happy to be connecting with Paige. He’s wanted to ever since he’s realized how close she and Jo are, not to mention the fact that he’s a big fan of Paige’s game—which, valid. And Paige, of course, is just as nonchalant as always. She’s good at this—at making people feel seen and heard, like she’s the only person in the room that matters.
Jo tries to keep her smile in place, but she knows it’s not quite reaching her eyes. Every time Paige laughs, it hits something inside her she can’t explain, some quiet ache. Every time Asher leans in closer to Paige, every time they lock eyes, Jo feels a small, gnawing discomfort in the pit of her stomach. Not jealousy, just… something else. Something she doesn’t want to name.
Paige’s voice cuts through her thoughts, and Jo snaps back to the moment. “I’mma go get another Shirley,” the blonde says easily, pushing herself up from the booth. Jo watches her walk away, feeling a strange sense of relief mixed with the sudden urge to grab Paige’s hand and pull her right back. So weird.
Asher’s voice suddenly cuts through the murmur of chatter, causing Jo’s head to snap toward him. He’s looking at her now, his brow furrowed in that way he gets when he’s concerned. “Babe, you good? You been kinda, like… quiet?”
Jo forces a smile, the expression coming easy enough but feeling unnatural on her lips. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and she can feel it, can feel the way he’s watching her, sensing something is off. Why am I being like this? She doesn’t know.
“Yeah, let’s go dance,” she says, the words sounding too breezy. Asher doesn’t seem to notice, though, his smile brightening. He takes her hand in his, tugging her up from the booth.
They make their way to the dance floor, and Jo feels the heat of the crowd, the heavy bass that vibrates in her chest. She tries to lose herself in it, tries to let the rhythm take over. Asher’s hands find her waist, guiding her gently, pulling her closer as they fall into the music. She moves with him, tries to feel the warmth of his body, the comfort of being with him. It’s weird, though, because the steps feel a little too quick, like she’s trying to make her body fit the rhythm of something that feels off.
Her gaze drifts without meaning to. It’s not even something she consciously does, it just happens, as her eyes scan the room, taking in the crowd of people. And then, they land at the bar.
Paige is there, talking with someone Jo doesn’t recognize at first. But when she squints her eyes, trying to make sense of the redhead leaning over the counter, she realizes it’s Celeste. She watches, captivated for reasons she doesn’t understand, as Celeste leans in closer to Paige, her fingers brushing along Paige’s arm. Jo doesn’t really like that. She should stop watching.
But she doesn’t. And the longer she stares, the more that strange feelings gnaws at her. She can’t tear her gaze away, even though she tries. It’s weird and wrong, Jo knows, watching her best friend cook up her nightly fuck—because, surely, that’s what this is.
And then, just as if she’s been caught, Paige’s eyes meet here. Jo feels her heart skip a beat. Her cheeks instantly flush, her gaze jerking away from Paige’s with an awkwardness she doesn’t understand.
Bur when she dares to glance back, she finds Paige still looking at her, her gaze steady, unwavering. There’s something about the way Paige is staring, like she’s waiting for Jo to react, to do something, anything. Jo feels herself shift uneasily under that gaze, her skin heating as though she’s been caught in something she shouldn’t have been.
She looks away again, closing her eyes briefly as she tries to focus more intently on the movement of Asher’s hands on her hips, on the way he’s leading her in a slow circle. She tries to focus on the feel of his body close to hers, tries to drown out the memory of Paige’s eyes. But Jo’s thoughts are all scattered, her focus slipping like sand through her fingers.
The music changes, the beat shifting, becoming more sensual, slower. Asher leans in closer, his lips brushing against Jo’s ear, and he whispers in that low voice that always makes her shiver, “You wanna go back to yours?”
Jo nods automatically, because, yes, she really needs to leave this place.
As they move through the crowd, heading for the exit, Jo sneaks one last glance at the bar. She’s hoping for something—she doesn’t even know what—but Paige’s attention is elsewhere, focused on Celeste now. Jo feels a pang, but it’s fleeting, and she brushes it off with a shrug, tightening her grip on Asher’s hand.
“I’MMA GO get another Shirley,” Paige says, pushing herself out of the booth before either Jo or Asher can respond. She’s already halfway out by the time the words fully register with them, and she doesn’t wait to hear what they might say. For obvious reasons, talking to Asher has drained her. They’ve been going on and on about football, and it just got to a point. Not to mention the fact that Jo was between them, the whole right side of her body pressed against Asher, his arm casually slung over her shoulders.
Paige tries not to think too hard about it. She’s fine. She’s so fine, in fact, that she decides she needs another drink.
The bar is crowded, but Paige carves her way through the bodies easily. She leans against the counter, resting her forearms on the sticky surface as she flags down the bartender. She orders another Dirty Shirley, and then a shot of tequila because, well, it’s just one of those nights.
Paige exhales and lets herself sink into the moment—the crowd, the pounding bass of the music, the buzz of alcohol in her system. She tries to think about anything but the happy couple she’d been forced to hang out with for far longer than she’d planned.
Her drink arrives, the tequila shot placed next to it. She picks up the shot glass without hesitation, throwing it back quickly. The burn hits her immediately, sharp and biting, but she welcomes it. She needs it. The glass clinks against the bar as she sets it down, and she picks up her Shirley, sipping it to chase the tequila’s lingering heat.
“Hey, P,” a voice says from beside her, catching her off guard.
Paige turns, her brown furrowing for a split second before her expression smooths out. It’s Celeste. Of course.
“Hey,” Paige says casually, as if the sight of the redhead doesn’t throw her a little off balance for a moment. She’s not surprised Celeste is here—she’s always around. She’s also not surprised when Celeste slides closer, her lips curving into a smile that Paige knows all too well.
“You celebrating the win?” Celeste asks, her voice light, flirtatious. Paige has to give her credit, if she’s honest, because, really, this girl never gives up, no matter how hot and cold Paige is.
And, if Paige is even more honest, Celeste looks good. Better than good. She’s wearing some kind of black corset top that pushes her tits up in a way that’s impossible not to notice, her bright red hair perfectly blown out, and her makeup flawless even in the hazy lighting of Ted’s.
“Something like that,” Paige replies, her words accompanied by a small shrug. She takes another sip of her drink, letting the alcohol settle over her like a warm blanket.
Celeste doesn’t waste any time. She leans forward, her hand brushing against Paige’s arm in a way that’s calculated. “You looked good on the bench tonight. I posted a couple shots that the cameras got of you,” she says lowly.
Paige nearly snorts at the words—you looked good on the bench tonight. That’s what she’s been reduced to, a pretty bench-warmer, too injured and useless to be anywhere but on it. But she doesn’t laugh. Because she knows exactly what Celeste is doing. And under normal circumstances, she might be annoyed—Celeste has a habit of getting too attached, of acting like there’s more between them than there really is. But tonight, Paige is a little drunk, a little tired, and more than a little tempted to let herself fall into the distraction Celeste is offering. She was already planning on fucking someone tonight, and Celeste? Well, she’s right here, looking like that. Why not?
So, Paige smiles, tilting her head just slightly, enough to give the redhead the impression that she’s been hooked. “Yeah?” she says playfully, teasingly. “Didn’t know you were paying that much attention.”
Celeste laughs a little, leaning even closer, and Paige can feel the way her fingers linger on her arm. She plays along, letting herself fall into the conversation, the push and pull of flirtation. It’s easier to think about other things.
But, of course, somehow, her focus still seems to slip.
Over Celeste’s shoulder, Paige catches a glimpse of the dance floor. Her eyes find Jo and Asher almost instantly, like she was looking for them without even realizing it. They’re dancing, their bodies close, their smiles easy. They look happy. They look like they belong together. And it makes Paige want to puke.
She tries to look away, tries to focus on Celeste, on the warmth of her hand still on her arm, on the sharp curve of her smile. But she can’t. Her eyes keep drifting back to Jo, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
And then, suddenly, Jo looks over. Their eyes meet across the room, and Celeste blurs into the background beside Paige like she was never even there. Paige should look away, should stop staring. But she doesn’t. Her eyes stay locked on Jo’s, rooted there.
But then Jo breaks the connection, her gaze shifting away, and Paige is left staring at nothing. She feels an idiotic pang, and forced herself to take another sip of her drink.
Celeste seems to notice, her head turning to follow Paige’s line of sight. Her eyes land on Jo and Asher, and she tilts her head as she turns back to Paige. “Is that Jo’s boyfriend?” she asks.
Paige nods. “Yup. His name’s Asher.” She forces her voice to sound calm and unaffected, even though saying his name feels like she’s choking on something too sharp to swallow.
Celeste hums slowly in response. She pauses for a moment, and Paige can feel her gaze, sharp and curious, boring into her. “So… you and Jo are, like, best friends, right?” Her tone is casual, but there’s something suspicious laced beneath it, like she’s fishing for something Paige doesn’t want to give.
Paige nods again, slower this time, turning her head to glance at Celeste. “Yeah…” she says, the word dragging out of her like it takes effort to say. She wonders where this is going.
“Well,” Celeste begins, tipping her shot glass back and setting it down with a faint clink. “I ask her about you sometimes, and she never really gives me a clear answer. I can tell she tries to be nice to me, but it doesn’t really seem like she likes me much.”
Paige raises an eyebrow at that, her instinct to defend Jo kicking in automatically. “Nah, Jo likes everyone,” she says, waving Celeste off with a dismissive hand. And it’s true—Jo does like everyone.
But Celeste shakes her head, her red hair catching the light. “I don’t know,” she says thoughtfully. “For a while, I kinda thought you and her were a thing.”
The words hit Paige like a slap, and she chokes on the sip of her Shirley she just took, coughing as she sets her glass down hard on the bar. “What—?” she manages to get out, her voice rough and disbelieving. Her heart is pounding so loudly in her chest she’s sure Celeste can hear it.
Celeste shrugs, her expression almost too nonchalant, like she knows exactly what kind of chaos she’s causing. “Yeah. I mean, I guess I just kinda got that vibe. But if she’s got a boyfriend and we’ve fucked a couple times recently… I guess I was wrong.”
Paige blinks at her, wide-eyed. “You definitely were,” she says quickly, the words tumbling out too fast, too eager to set the record straight. Her face is flushed, and she can feel the heat crawling up her neck. “We’re just friends. Nothing more. At all.”
The words feel heavy in her mouth, bitter and thick. They’re not a lie, no matter how much Paige sometimes wishes it could be.
She doesn’t miss the way Celeste studies her, her green eyes narrowing slightly, like she’s trying to figure out if Paige is telling the truth. Paige hates how exposed she feels, like someone on the outside—someone as far removed as Celeste—can somehow sense the mess of feelings she’s been trying so hard to bury.
She forces herself to take a large gulp of her Shirley, the alcohol doing little to ease the tightness in her stomach. When she glanced back at the dance floor, her eyes automatically searched for Jo, she realizes that she’s—and Asher—are gone from their previous spot.
Her gaze flickers around the bar, scanning the corners, but they’re nowhere to be found. Probably went to go fuck, she thinks bitterly. Even though she has insight now that Asher is basically terrible at it, the idea still makes Paige want to die.
But she doesn’t. Obviously.
Instead, she finishes the last of her drink, turning her attention back to the girl next to her, forcing her signature smirk back onto her lips. Jo’s gone, busy with him, and Paige doesn’t owe anyone anything.
She leans into the conversation, matching Celeste’s flirtation with her own, their banter growing looser and bolder with each drink they down. The alcohol is certainly doing it’s job, blurring the edges of her thoughts, making everything feel distant and less painful.
Unexpectedly, Paige ends up in Celeste’s bed. And, also unexpectedly, she thinks about brown hair and doe eyes during the entirety of it.
JO LIES tangled in the sheets with Asher, her head resting on his bare chest, his arm wrapped around her back. It’s around four, she thinks, and the world outside feels impossibly quiet at this hour, the kind of stillness that comes only in the dead of night. Asher’s fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along her shoulder, his touch featherlight and soothing.
The haze of the night has mostly worn off now—the alcohol burned away by time, replaced by a comfortable clarity that feels almost foreign after hours of noise and chaos. It’s just the two of them now, alone in her room, their breaths in sync, the moment easy and weightless and familiar.
Jo closes her eyes, letting herself drift in the warmth of his presence, but her mind doesn’t quiet as easily as her body does. It’s almost like something beneath the surges won’t let her fully settle. It’s not unease, exactly. Not suspicion. Just… something. A restlessness she can’t name.
“Okay, I gotta piss,” Asher says suddenly, breaking the silence.
Jo snorts, her eyes fluttering open as she turns her head to look up at him. “Way to ruin the moment,” she teases, though her voice is laced with affection.
Asher grind down at her, unapologetic as he shifts, moving to sit up on the edge of the bed. “Nature calls,” he jokes. He starts to stand, but Jo catches his wrist, tugging him back down for just a second.
“Put some clothes on first,” she reminds him. “Paige got back a little bit ago.” She’d heard the door open, the quiet shuffle of footsteps as Paige made her way to her room. It was probably a half an hour ago, maybe less, and Jo had listened, wondering how Paige’s night had gone, whether she’d been alone or gone back with the team or left with Celeste.
Asher groans playfully, leaning down to peck Jo’s lips. “I will, I will,” he promises, his voice low and warm.
Jo rolls her eyes but can’t help the soft laugh truth escapes her. “You’d better,” she says, swatting lightly at his bare chest.
He smirks before gathering his clothes from the floor. Jo watches him for a moment, her head propped on her hand, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself. He looks good, his hair messy, his lips still swollen pink from all the kissing. And he’s here—he’s always been hers. She knows she should feel lucky.
When he leaves the bedroom to disappear into the bathroom, Jo sighs and sits up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. The cool air against her skin makes her shiver, so she grabs the first things she can find—a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from her drawer. She pulls them on quickly, then settles back on the bed, folding her legs beneath her as she waits for Asher to return.
The sharp buzz of a phone notification catches her attention, the sound loud in the quiet.
Instinctively, Jo reaches over to the nightstand, assuming it’s hers. She picks up the phone without thinking, the screen lighting up in her hand—and stops short.
The message isn’t hers.
Her heart stills in her chest, her breath halting for a moment as she stares at the screen. Without thinking, she presses on the contact, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling, unraveling everything she thought she knew in an instant.
She doesn’t notice the sound of the bathroom door opening, doesn’t register Asher’s footsteps until they’re right at her bedroom door.
And then she hears his voice, soft and unsuspecting. “What’s wrong?”
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multific · 3 days ago
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The Embrace of Immortality
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Count Orlok x Reader
Summary: You wake in Count Orlok’s arms, finding comfort in his cold embrace as night begins, bound by eternal love.
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The faint scent of aged wood and cool earth filled your senses as you slowly stirred from sleep. 
After the momentary disorientation, you let out a yawn.
The familiar chill of his presence, contrasted by the warmth of the thick woollen blanket wrapped around you, made you feel safe despite the dark. 
Resting against his chest, you could feel the faint, rhythmic rise and fall of it.
His breathing was deep and some would find it disturbing, but not you.
You have grown to love hearing the sounds he made. After all, every morning, you fell asleep to his breathing. 
You shifted slightly, your cheek brushing against the soft fabric of his shirt. Although he preferred to sleep naked, often he would wear clothing to shield you from the chill of his skin.
You buried your face into his chest as his arm draped over you tightened instinctively. 
He always held you close, even in sleep, as though afraid that if he loosened his grip for a moment, you might vanish.
The coffin beneath you wasn’t cold or confining as you’d once imagined it would be. 
It had become a place of comfort, where the world’s worries could not reach. It was more like a hidden sanctuary. 
A place where you found peace in the embrace of the one you loved most. 
Above you, the lid remained slightly ajar, letting in the last traces of twilight as the day surrendered to night.
You remember the first time you told him you wished to sleep next to him at all times. It worried him, but he had no desire to sleep without you or defy you of your request.
His suggestion to keep the lid slightly ajar was to keep fresh air coming in for you.
Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, and you turned your eyes upward to study his face. 
He looked peaceful, his pale skin glowing faintly in the fading light. 
“You’re awake early,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, carrying that accent you loved. 
His eyes opened to meet yours.
A soft smile played on your lips. “I can’t seem to sleep long when I’m with you. It’s as if something always draws me back to you even from sleep.”
His expression remained unemotional for a moment, but you knew him well enough to see the slight warmth behind his eyes. 
Slowly, his hand rose to cup your cheek, his cold fingers brushing against your skin in a gesture both familiar and tender. 
“Perhaps it’s because I cannot bear to let you go, even in sleep.”
You lifted your hand, tangling your fingers in his, holding his hand against your cheek. “And I wouldn’t want you to.”
A silence settled between you, comfortable and unbroken by anything beyond the distant wind that whistled through the high castle walls. 
You noticed the way you instinctively put your blanket around him. You smiled at the memory when he told you how silly and unnecessary it was.
After all, he was a creature of the cold. He didn't need a blanket.
But after a while, he gave up telling you about your strange habit. He found it rather endearing.
It was a way for you to show your love for him.
After a moment, you tilted your head slightly, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand. 
“Do you ever regret it?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Living in darkness, tied to someone like me?”
He regarded you in silence, eyes glowing faintly in the night. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, a gesture so simple yet so full of meaning. 
“I regret only the centuries I spent without you,” he replied at last. “You are the warmth I never knew I craved, the light I feared but now cannot live without.”
Despite the cold of the night, despite his unnaturally cool touch, you felt an undeniable warmth spreading through your chest.
“You always know what to say,” you whispered, your eyes closing as you leaned into him. “It’s not fair.”
“Fairness is not something the world ever gave me. But I suppose, for once, I have been given something greater.”
The last of the sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, and as night fully descended, the castle came alive with shadows and whispers of the past. 
The vampire who had once terrified you but now meant everything.
He lifted the lid of the coffin and with his powers moved both of you out of it.
He held your blanket on your shoulders, lighting all the candles with one simple movement, waking the castle fully.
With one last kiss to your lips, you began your night with your Count.
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~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
Wattpad
/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
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redisthenewblue · 2 days ago
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JESSICA RABBIT like YUU X DORMLEADERS
(This focuses more on Jessica’s personality than her looks!)
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So, he probably heard about you from Cater or Ace. When he first spotted you hanging out in the Monstro Lounge—singing and pouring drinks—poor guy didn’t even know how to handle himself! At first, he had his own thoughts about you, but eventually, he warmed up. I mean, when you hit him with that classic line, "I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way," he totally fumbled his words and turned a shade redder than his hair!
He starts to relax a bit with the rules when you’re around, but if you’re up for the challenge of learning all 810 of them (or at least a third of them, which I bet you are), that’s a wholeee different story! Anytime someone shows a little too much interest in you he’s like, “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!” Like he loves having an attractive , amazing, dare I say HOT partner but damn is there a lot of things that come as a consequence of such blessing.
And don’t even get me started on how he reacts when you entertain Deuce and Ace’s wild ideas. He loves you to bits, but honestly, you’re stressing him out! Someone save him from the shackles of love🥹‼️
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You remind him of the Lionesses back home, embodying their fierce spirit and strength. He never underestimates your capabilities, especially after witnessing someone get their arm caught in a bear trap while attempting to make advances toward you. If anyone crosses the line, he is always prepared to intervene, although he typically ensures that such situations never escalate to that point in the first place.
Your unwavering loyalty is undoubtedly one of his favorite qualities; you are always ready to defend him and are unafraid to remind him to get a grip when necessary. A significant turning point in your relationship came when you allowed him to rest his head on your lap, and this simple act gradually transformed into a cherished routine between the two of you.
Ruggie frequently reaches out to you, expressing his frustrations about Leona and pleading for your assistance in dragging him out of bed and into class.😭 Depending on Leona's mood, he might even pull you down into the bed with him, making it difficult to escape. During nap time, he wraps his tail around your leg like a makeshift sensor, ensuring you remain by his side and do not attempt to leave the bed. Unfortunately, this means you have to say goodbye to your perfect attendance.(RIP)🫡🪦
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You and Azul first crossed paths when Floyd and Jade hired you, unbeknownst to Azul, to perform at the Mostro Lounge. After witnessing your debut performance, Azul was so impressed that he promptly offered you a contract, recognizing the influx of new customers you attracted. However, he often feels a twinge of insecurity around you; after all, you are one of the most stunning individuals he has ever encountered (Don’t tell Vil he said that💀)
Adding to his struggles, Jade and Floyd constantly bully😭 tease him, making it nearly impossible for him to focus on his work whenever you're nearby. There was a particularly memorable moment when you accidentally walked in on him changing, prompting him to hide away in embarrassment. Your warm embrace brought him to tears, showcasing the depth of his feelings for you.
In a narrative reminiscent of a mafia boss and his devoted, sweet wife, Azul deeply appreciates your willingness to get your hands dirty in his defense. While he may occasionally take advantage of your fierce loyalty, the silver lining is that you are never entirely constrained by your contracts!🤫
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He would totally go above and beyond for you. Out of nowhere, gifts would just show up on your doorstep, which was sweet but also a bit much. You had to remind him that he didn’t need to shower you with presents, but he just couldn’t help himself—everything that reminded him of you ended up in his cart. It got so excessive that Jamil had to step in(per usual)
“Jamil! Do you think they’ll love this?!” Kalim would ask, all excited. And Jamil would just roll his eyes, “You know how they feel about you buying them stuff.” EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU JAMIL‼️‼️
You know you’re always going to be his go-to when he throws a party at the dorm. The whole time, he just clings to you like a koala, and honestly, it’s kind of adorable.
But things got a bit intense when you almost lost it on Jamil after he overblotted and tried to go after Kalim. Ever since then, you’ve kept your guard up around him. Kalim assured you that everything was cool and that there were no hard feelings. He was pretty happy when you said you’d try to move past it for his sake. But let’s be real, that grudge? Not going anywhere. 💀
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Absolutely DANGEROUS couple‼️Like the paparazzi just can’t get enough of you two! You’re probably being followed around everywhere with cameras in your face.
Let's be real, you two must be making music together because when you do, those tracks are hitting the TOP 10 on the BILLBOARD charts in no time! Honestly, you guys are just an absolute power couple, and I applaud you for it(I’m jealous)🫡
But seriously, he wouldn’t let you anywhere near Neige. You go to a ball as his plus one and Neige was there? He pulled out every excuse imaginable to get you away from the guy. Like, “I want to introduce you to a co-star of mine,” or dragging you away and saying“Here’s a good friend of mine!” Come on, buddy, you’re not slick😭
He’s just trying to protect himself from losing anything else to Neige. Please, give him a little reassurance (I’m begging you😞).
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So, imagine this: a total gamer who's kind of a loser, but somehow he snagged a super hot girl—like, how did he pull that off? I'm honestly a bit confused about how you guys even met since he rarely leaves his room. But if you two ever did bump into each other, you’d totally be the oddest yet cutest couple around! This relationship is probably the closest to Roger Rabbit and Jessica.
You always listen to him go off about his games, and I mean, these rants can get up to four hours. Trust me, he’s not going anywhere if it’s not with you. His hair definitely turns pink whenever you stand up for him or tell a waiter they messed up his order.
He totally fell harder for you when he saw how you interacted with Ortho. You two hit it off right away and became besties, teaming up to coax Idia out of his shell more. Honestly, it’s just one big happy family! 🥹
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So, he was super interested in you, right? Lilia had to really push him to make a move and talk to you, even though you might’ve had the reputation to be a bit unapproachable. But hey, that’s probably why you two clicked so well once you finally met! You both totally bond over the fact that no one really wants to come up to you, even if the reasons are different. It just works out perfectly!
When you joined his gargoyle club, he had to seriously hold back a giggle like a school girl. And let’s be real, even though you weren’t really into gargoyles (he could definitely tell🥸), you showed up to every single meeting, listening to him go on and on about those stone creatures. It’s like he’s convinced that you’re the one for him. So, when people start calling you Lady Draconia, just know that this was no mistake 😭
But here’s the thing about dragons: they get super protective over their mate. If anyone tries to mess with you, they're immediately struck down by lightning. He gets all confused when you shake your head and frown, telling him you could’ve handled it on your own.
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writingsbytee · 3 days ago
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GET BACK pt. 2
TERRY RICHMOND x BLACK FEM READER (AVA)
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Photo: @partiallyfuctional7
*Remember you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors please don’t interact!* THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION 
Song: Belong to you by Sabrina Claudio (feat. 6LACK)
WARNINGS / TRIGGERS: The reader has insecurities; Terry is a big, sexy, toxic, idiot here. SMUT; explicit sexual content; dirty talk; switch
PAIRING: Terry x Ava (reader)
SUMMARY: Tension develops between you and your baby’s father when he discovers you might be moving on. Terry’s unhinged ass is going to do whatever he can to get her back.
TROPES:  Second chance romance; MDOM or dominant themes
WORD COUNT: 5.8K
PREVIOUSLY ON: part 1.
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TAGLIST:
@blackgurlnhermoods @megamindsecretlair @dxddykenn @pinkkycherrish @episodes-ff @kimuzostar @uzumaki-rebellion @urfavblackbimbo @kianaleani @shallipii @greatpandagladiator @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @theereina @pocketsizedpanther @mymindisneverhere @onherereading @nayaesworld @earthchica @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @blyffe @melalsworld @mogul93 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @sweettea-and-honeybutter @diaries-of-me @notapradagurl7 @helloncrocs-deactivated20241222 @miyuhpapayuh @simplyzeeka @gg-trini @playgurlxoxo @megamindsecretlair @yassbishimvintage @dbaileyblog @jimmybutlrr @versaceslutz @kaylalb
*This hasn't been proofread so I apologize for any grammatical errors >.<*
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AVA
“ Look TJ, do you see all the lights?” I ask my son as his eyes dart around the beautifully decorated blocks of downtown Savannah. TJ has barely opened his mouth since we arrived. His hazel eyes, so similar to his father's, stare at the decorated buildings and storefronts in awe. 
“Lil man is so excited he speechless,” Lance said, adjusting his hat on my face.
“You know, you didn’t have to give me your hat Lance. I would’ve survived,” I say smiling up at him. Lance smirks down at me before saying, “I could get used to seeing you in my clothes.”
I can feel a blush creeping up my neck as I smile bashfully at him. Before I can reply I hear a scoff, “Oh, brother.”
I cut my eyes to my left, peeking at Terry. He looks like a sulking teenager, lips pouted, brows furrowed, and arms crossed.  We make eye contact and I narrow my eyes signaling him to get it together, but he just huffs and rolls his eyes. He needs to get a grip, I’m barely even on a date and Terry’s chaperoning like an overprotective dad. 
Coming to a stop in front of a storefront decorated like the North Pole, Lance passes his phone to me. 
“Can you take our picture?” Lance asks, picking up his son. I nod positioning the phone, giving Lance subtle directions. 
“All done,” I give Lance a small smile before grabbing his phone. 
“Thanks beautiful. I can get some of you and TJ if you want,” Lance said. 
I open my mouth to reply, but Terry beats me to it. “Actually, can you get pics of all three of us?” Terry passes his phone to Lance and tugs me in front of the store with him. He wraps his arms around my waist, igniting a spark deep in my belly. 
“TJ, come stand in front of your mama buddy,” Terry said, tightening his grip around my midsection, he takes Lance’s hat off my head, passing it to him. 
“Terry, chill out,” I whisper in his direction. 
Terry scoffs behind me, “Lance can’t handle a little friendly competition?” My mouth momentarily drops at Terry’s boldness. I can’t believe he said that in front of Lance. 
Lance, being the trooper he is, smirked before saying, “Show me the competition and I’ll be sure to let you know.”
A strangled gasp leaves my lips. I hear Terry’s breathing slow and he takes a deep heavy sigh, he’s pissed. Instinctively, I reach down and rub his thigh, “Behave guys, the children shouldn’t be acting better than the two of you,” I say. I watch as Lance and Terry exchange looks over my head. The two are completely ignoring me, looking at each other like they’re going to start throwing blows any minute. 
Lance grabs my phone, a condescending smirk on his face. He appears satisfied with himself for getting a rise out of Terry. And, I’m not sure why that doesn’t sit well with me. 
“Fix your face, Bunny” Terry said, rubbing soothing circles on my hand. 
I huff and mutter, “You know I don’t like conflict.”
I can feel Terry shift his weight behind me, “And you know I don’t like that mumbling shit. Speak up.” TJ comes to stand in front of us, tilting his head back to look at me. 
“Smile mommy, you’re so pretty,” TJ says, a goofy grin adorning his beautiful face. I pick up my little man, place him on my hip, and give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Anything for my favorite guy,” I say, smiling down at him. Soon we’re all positioned and Lance snaps a few photos of us three. Handing the phone back, Terry and I look at the pictures. A small smile forms on my lips as I stare at the three of us on his cell phone’s screen. I look up at Lance, my smile turning into a full blown grin. 
“Thank you so much! These are perfect!” an excited laugh bubbles out of my chest. Terry sends the pictures to me before sliding his phone into his pocket. 
“Ok, what’s next?”
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TERRY
She’s really going to ignore me? I watch Ava and Lance walk around downtown hand in hand with the boys. I’m stuck following closely behind sulking like a teen who was dragged out to be with their ‘lame’ family. I really thought holding her in my arms would have more of an effect on her. How she wasn’t able to hear my heart beating out of my chest is beyond me. 
We pass a vintage bookstore and I peek in the window. A familiar box set catches my eye and I glance toward Ava to see if she noticed. I duck in while she and Lance are figuring out what time they’re going to call it a night. 
The gentle ding indicates when I enter the store, “Hi! Welcome to ‘the book nook’ feel free to take a look around, and let us know if you have any questions,” one of the saleswomen says. I send a friendly smile her way, before making my way toward her. 
“Hi, I was hoping to buy that limited edition Twilight box set,” I say. 
“Aren’t you a little bit old for Twilight?”, the elderly saleswoman asks. 
A small chuckle leaves my lips, “It’s for my girlfriend, she’s been a huge Twilight fan since before we met.”
Her eyes soften as she clutches her chest, “Aren’t you sweet! I’m sure she’ll love it, it’s our last set.”
My smile widens as I picture her reaction, she’s definitely going to lose her shit. 
After purchasing Ava’s gift I leave the bookstore.
“There you are, TJ was looking for you,” Ava said, her eyes shone with relief. She turned and I spotted our son on her hip with tears streaming down his face. I immediately pick up my pace to catch up with them.
“Bubba what happened? Who did it?” I coo, as I grab my son from Ava’s arms. His small head immediately finds his home in the crook of my neck. His tiny arms wrapped around me. Ava lifts a hand rubbing his back in soothing circles. 
“I think he’s just tired. He missed his nap today and this is the longest he’s been up,” Ava said. God, she looks so pretty when she’s in “mom mode”. Brows furrowed in concern and she does her best to sooth TJ’s small cries. 
“How about I bring him back to the house, give him a bath, and tuck him in?” I suggest. I can see the wheels spinning in her head, but I know she’s too tired herself to deal with a sleepy cranky child. 
I see her shoulders sag with relief, “Thank you so much, Terry!” She quickly turns to Lance giving him an apology and setting up a date for a raincheck. Yeah, we’ll see about that. I grasp her hand in mine and lead us back toward where we parked. TJ’s mostly settled down when we make it to my truck, only small whimpers leaving him. I got him settled in his car seat placing a blanket in his lap with his scar stuffed animal. 
I turn to Ava and say, “You want to ride with me? Or I just follow you back home?” I can barely get my question out when Ava lets out a long, drawn out yawn, a small mewl finishing it off. 
“Get in the truck Ava, I’m not saying it again,” I say, moving toward the passenger door. She opens her mouth to protest and I shoot her a look that tells her to pick her battles. I hear her huff and mutter, “So fucking stubborn,” under her breath. A satisfied smirk makes its way onto my face as Ava makes her way to the passenger side. I hold out my hand signaling her to stop before opening the door for her.
“Thank you,” she huffs, with a roll of her eyes. 
A humorless chuckle leaves my mouth, “Watch those eyes Bunny, I can still put you over my knee.” I shut the door, leaving her in stunned silence.
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We finally make it back home, and TJ is passed out in the backseat with Ava not too far behind him. Ava turns to get a look at TJ and her eyes soften the way they always do when she looks at our son. Looking at her, I can’t help but wish her eyes softened like that when they land on me. 
“He’s so cute when he’s sleeping. I can’t get over it,” she sighs dreamily. I peek in my rearview mirror, taking in our sleeping son’s face.
“Yeah, he is pretty damn cute. He must get it from me,” I say, poppin my collar. A gasp and high pitched laugh leaves Ava’s lips at my comment. 
“Oh brother, here we go again. He looks like the both of us, Terry!” Ava finishes with a laugh. I pull in our driveway and park my truck. I hop out heading to the backseat to get TJ out of his carseat.
“I’ll go unlock the door while you get him settled,” Ava says heading toward the door. TJ fusses a little when I take him out of his carseat and during his bath but he’s so sleepy he can barely keep his eyes open. I change him into his PJs and head back downstairs to see Ava pouring herself a generous glass of wine. 
Her eyes meet mine when I enter the kitchen, “Want one?”she asks, holding up an empty glass. A small smile forms on my lips as I nod my head. Ava pours me a hefty serving before rounding the island and bringing the glass to me. 
“Thank you,” I say, raising my glass toward her before taking a large gulp. 
“What was that out there today Terry?”Ava asks, leaning against the island. I knew this was coming and I still don’t know how I’m supposed to answer her. A deep sigh leaves my lips and I shrug.
“Uh uh, I do enough dealing with little men who can’t express their emotions. Be a grown man and tell me why you were full on cock-blocking me today,” Ava’s got that deep frown that I find so cute.
“I don’t know. I just saw y’all together and you looked so happy. I just didn’t know how to deal with it, so I acted childishly and I’m sorry about that. But that’s all I’m apologizing for. You know we belong together, so if you gotta do you until you realize it then that’s fine, but just know I’m Daddy.”
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AVA
“..Just know I’m Daddy.”
I hear the words leave Terry’s mouth but I don’t really process them. I look from side to side, searching for the hidden cameras like they do on ‘the office’. 
“Who said that?!” a shrill laugh leaves my lips. I watch as Terry encroaches on my space. His eyes determined, oh boy, I’m in trouble. That’s the look that got me pregnant.
“Uh uh, take your Scar looking ass and go sit down somewhere,” I say putting my hand up to stop him. 
Terry’s eyes darken, further proving my point. He advanced more toward me, forcing my back against the island. “Say I’m not, Ava.”
A scoff leaves my lips, “You’re definitely somebody’s daddy, just not mine. Call Brandy and ask her,” I finish with a smirk. I walk around him to the fridge to grab the bottle of wine, because now, I need to finish it. Once I have my wine glass and the bottle, I cut the kitchen light off, and head upstairs. An angry huff leaves Terry’s lips as he follows behind me. I pause midway up the stairs, turning to face him. 
“Umm, wrong direction. The door you’re supposed to be going through is that way,” I say, pointing toward the front door. 
This really pisses Terry off and he closes the distance between us, when he towers over me like this I forget how much bigger he is than me. I also forgot how much his hugeness turns me on. My pussy’s already betraying me, I feel her start to weep in my panties. 
“I’m not going to take too much more disrespect, Bunny. You better find something safe to do,” Terry’s looking down his nose at me, and he knows what that does to me. I bring my wine glass up to my lips and take another sip. 
“Are you done?” I question looking up at him. When he doesn’t answer, I sigh and turn. Terry grabs my belt loop, holding me in place. 
“Ava come on, talk to me.” Terry said. Oh no this motherfucker didn’t.
“Terry, what do you want me to say? You know how I feel about you, and yet you still decided to parade woman after woman in front of my face. And, not to mention our son’s too, which I don’t appreciate. You’re a great father, I love the way you love our son. But, Terry, you’re toxic. You thought ‘good old’ Ava will always be there when I’m finally ready to settle down. So now that I’m finally trying to get over you and be happy for once you can’t handle it? Grow up. If you’re in then prove it. I’m nobody’s second choice,”  I bring my finger up to poke the center of his chest to emphasize my point. Terry’s eyes get impossibly darker, like the sky before a bad storm. He gently grabs the wine glass and bottle from my hands and sets them higher up on the stairs. 
I feel his hands slide up my back before making their home at the base of my neck. 
“Ava, you’re it for me. I was scared. We’d always been friends, even more than friends on a few occasions. When TJ came along, the way I saw you started to shift. The way you are with our son is the love every child needs. Our son is so lucky to have you as his mother. You’re so patient and understanding, even when I don’t deserve it. I was scared of how strong for you my feelings became,  so I ran from it and buried those feelings behind other women. It was a horrible thing to do and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for how that must’ve made you feel. Brandy was never anything serious, I knew that and so did she. I ended things with her right after Lance took our pictures. I’m not saying I deserve to have a shot, but I do want you to know that I’m in this Bunny, I want you, and I’m going to have you no matter how long it takes.”  Terry finishes, his eyes never leaving mine. 
Fuck. 
I lean up and press my lips softly against his, I try to retreat and Terry shakes his head pulling me in closer. Our lips meet again, there’s nothing soft about this kiss. His lips cover mine in a possessive embrace. He is tonguing me down, I can’t think about anything other than how good his lips feel on mine. I raise my tiptoes so I can wrap my arms around Terry’s neck. A needy moan leaves his lips as I press myself closer to him. 
I lean back, looking down at Terry, “You want to go finish this upstairs?”
Terry nods his head, his hands sliding slowly down my body to ease me onto the bottom of my feet.  “Go take your clothes off and get in the bed, I’m going to make sure everything is locked up down here,” Terry commands.  You’ve had lots of guys try to be commanding and dominant  while getting intimate. Unfortunately, they made you cringe so hard the thought of having actual sex with them made you drier than the sahara. None of them could do it quite like Terry. A sharp smack lands on your ass, pulling you out of your thoughts. 
“Bunny, upstairs, now,” Terry says. A small smirk forms on my face. I plant a kiss on his cheek, “Yes, Daddy. Don’t keep me waiting.” I head upstairs, making sure to check on TJ, turning on his white noise machine before closing the door.
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TERRY
I put the bottom lock on, jiggling the handle to double check. My heart is about to beat out of my chest. I’m so fucking nervous. Climbing the stairs two at a time, I open TJ’s door to check on him. Adjusting his blankets, so he’s more comfortable, then I turn on his nightlight, and leave the room. Making my way further down the hall, my feet stop behind our bedroom door. I knock twice and I hear Ava’s soft voice telling me to come in. 
Opening the door, I’m met with soft mood lighting and palo alto incense burning. My eyes scan the room and when they land on Ava my jaw nearly drops. She’s in a baby pink negligee, her hair’s down cascading down her shoulders stopping just above her breasts. She’s looking at me, vulnerability and apprehension clear on her features. I enter the room moving toward the edge of the bed, Ava’s eyes following my every movement. 
“Why are you looking at me like that pretty girl?”, I ask, sitting on the edge of the bed. 
“I’m scared Terry, what if this doesn’t work?” Ava says, her voice breaking at the end of her sentence.
“I don’t look like the other women you’ve been with,” Ava’s voice trails off as she wraps her arms around her midsection. I immediately kick my shoes off, crawling to meet Ava in the center of our bed. I’m on my knees, my height still towering over her a bit.  I reach out to palm her face, her head leaning into my touch. 
“Bunny, this is going to work. I didn’t realize what I had before, and if you think I’m going to risk anyone thinking they can come in and take my place in yours and TJ’s life they’ve got another thing coming. I’m in this and I’m not going anywhere. Ava, don’t EVER compare yourself to those women. The sole reason I went out with any of them is because they look nothing like you. You were what I needed all along, I was just too much of a scared chickenshit to realize it,” I say my eyes never leaving hers. 
A small smile forms on her lips, “Kiss me then, Terry”. A sigh of relief leaves my lips as I lean forward and plant my lips on hers. A cute little sigh leaves her lips when ours connect. Kissing Ava feels like coming home. I crawl further up the bed, needing to be closer to her. Her nails scrape against the nape of my neck pulling a moan from my lips. 
“So responsive,” Ava says with a smirk. I look down seeing her nipples pebbled through her negligee. 
“Me? Or you?” I ask, nodding toward them. A small giggle leaves her lips as she pulls me down, reconnecting our lips. 
“Fuck, you’re a good kisser,”I moan against her lips. 
She smiles against mine, “I know. You’re not so bad yourself.” Ava pulls back, causing a groan to leave my lips. She chuckles scooting further up the bed, causing me to chase after her. A pedicured foot stops me, planting itself in the center of my chest. 
“Why don’t you take that shirt off?” Ava asked. I could barely concentrate on her question with her foot against my chest and leg in the air, I had a direct line of sight to her pretty pussy. 
Ava’s eyes follow mine, unmoving from her glistening honeypot. 
“Cat got your tongue, Terry?” Ava asked, smirking at me. 
My gaze darkens when my eyes meet hers, “Not yet, Bunny.” I pull my shirt over my head and I watch as Ava’s eyes roam over my chest. When her eyes come in contact with my arms, she bites her lip. I grab her ankle using her leg to wrap around my waist so I can settle myself between her legs.
 Our eyes meet and I watch in awe as Ava’s eyes soften, “I want you papa, but I need you to be careful with me, it’s been a while,” she says, reaching her hand up and stroking my cheek.
“I’ve got you baby, I promise,” I say, bending down to plant kisses along her neck. She moans, and if my dick gets any harder it’ll punch a hole through my jeans. I press harder into her, so she can feel what she does to me, how much she turns me on, and how much I want her. 
“Can you feel that, Bunny? How much I want you?,” I’m trailing kisses all over her body. Her neck, collarbone, and the tops of her breast. She’s squirming, can’t keep still, her little moans music to my ears. 
“More papa, give me more,” she pleads, her chest heaving as she tries to contain her arousal. 
“I’m going to give you everything, pretty girl,” I say, sliding my hand down her negligee to reach her center. 
“Fuck, you’re this wet for me Baby? Your panties aren’t even off yet,” I could feel her wetness through her panties. I slide down the bed, coming face to face with her pussy. Pressing my nose in it, I take a deep inhale, groaning at the smell. 
“You smell so good, pretty girl. Are you going to give papa a taste?”, I ask, snapping her underwear against her skin. I almost feel bad for how much she’s squirming, aching for something, anything. 
“Please papa, I need you to do something!”, she whines, her back arching. I slide her panties down her leg, placing them in my back pocket. I spread her pussy lips, listening to the schlick as I spread her apart. Another groan leaves my chest taking in her hot, wet cunt. I lean forward and lick from her asshole to her clit. A drawn out whine leaves Ava’s lips as she grips the back of my head. 
“More papa, please,”she whines.
“You’re being so good for me Bunny, take the rest of your clothes off. I want to see you,” I say diving back in. She peels off her negligee and starts pinching and pulling at her nipples. I take her clit in between my lips and tease it, licking, sucking, anything that’ll drive my bunny wild. She starts grinding against my face, and it unlocks something feral in me. 
Flipping us over so Ava’s straddling my face, she’s looking down at me biting her lip, eyes half mast with desire. 
“Ride my face, Bunny. Take what you want from me baby, I’m yours,” I say, reaching my hands up to massage the voluptuous globes of her ass. I see the wheels spinning in her head, doubt and insecurity taking over. 
“And don’t you start with that ‘I’m heavy’ shit, I can bench press three of you. Sit that pussy on my face now mama,” I finish, with a smack on her ass. Ava lowers herself fully onto my face and I attack her pussy like a man starved. It sounds absolutely filthy in here with the slurping, and moaning. 
Ava starts to grind down on my face causing me to moan right on her clit. A high pitched squeal leaves her lips as she raises up and squirts on my chest. We both stare at each other in disbelief as we take in what just happened. A devious smirk forms on my lips as I pull Ava back down on my face, attacking her pussy with fervor. Determined to make her squirt again. 
“F-fuck papa keep going, pleaaaaaseeeeee,” she moans as she grinds harder. 
“You going to squirt again for me baby? Give me that cum, I need it,” I moan desperately. My own hips canting up in the air searching for friction. 
“Do you want me to take him out papa?” Ava asks, stroking my dick through my pants. 
A needy moan leaves my lips, I detach my lips from her clit and moan out, “Yes please.”
“Mmm, such a good boy using his manners,” Ava said before sliding down my body to free my aching dick from my pants. 
“Fuck, I forgot how big you were,” Ava moans grabbing the base of my dick, slapping her face with it. I lean up on my elbows watching her play with my dick. She does these little kitten licks, that drive me fucking nuts. She grabs my balls, my abs tensing up with the need to release.
“Ooh they’re so heavy, you need to cum don’t you papa?”, Ava’s looking down at me like she owns me. A goddess in complete control of my mind, body,and soul, and I’m loving every minute of it. 
“Yes mama, I need to cum. You don’t know how bad I need you to make me cum.” I sound pussy drunk and she hasn’t even given me any yet. 
“Tell me papa, that’s the only way I’ll let you cum, tell me how much you want it,” She whispers all that in my ear while jerking my dick. 
“Ava please I need that pussy bad baby. Haven’t been able to get it out of my head since the last time I had it. I need you, your lips on mine. Let me touch you bunny, please. She’s so wet for me, let me have that pussy baby, can’t you see how bad I want it? I’ve been dreaming about you, when’s the next time I’ll be able to have you. I need to hear your moans, to watch how dazed your eyes get when I hit that spot. I forgot how pretty you are when you come, you’ll have to keep reminding me,” I barely finished my rant the way she’s stroking me. 
“F- Fuck, I’m not going to last i- if you keep stroking me like that baby,” my head drops back between my shoulders as a loud moan leaves my lips. Next thing I know Ava’s gliding down my dick. 
AVA
“Ouu papa, you’re stretching meeeee!” I moan, my nails digging into Terry’s chest. Terry’s thick dick separating my folds as I impale myself on him. 
Back arched, face tilted toward the ceiling, “Mmm, yes papa,” I moan, when I’m fully seated on Terry’s dick. I bring my head up, eyes meeting Terry’s instantly. 
“Who’s pussy did you miss so much that you had to beg to get back inside papa?” I drag my hips up slowly, pulling Terry out to the tip and circling my hips. His eyes start to roll upward and a mumbled ‘shit’ leaves his lips. The grip on my hips turns bruising as Terry tries to control himself. 
“Huh? I can’t hear you T,” I smirk when using his nickname has the desired effect. Terry’s breathing heavier, his eyes are lower, and I can see every damn vein in his arm. The beast is about to come out. 
I take a deep breath, I know the next thing that comes out of my mouth is going to set Terry off. 
“Can’t even answer a simple question, maybe I should’ve taken Lance up on his offer,” I slide completely off Terry’s dick a smirk on my face as dodge his grip and grab my robe. Leaning against the dresser I throw it on leaving it open just to fuck with him. Something like a growl leaves Terry’s mouth as he sits up. He stands and makes his way toward me, dick still hard as a rock. 
“Repeat what you just said. I dare you,” Terry’s right where I want him. I just have to sweeten the deal. 
I sigh dramatically and tighten my robe around my waist, “Your ears work perfectly fine, now if you’ll excuse me.’’ I can barely take a step around him before Terry grabs my wrist guiding me to the center of  my our  room. He says nothing to me while I smirk up at him, a bratty glint in my eye that I know he notices. Terry smirks right back, a light chuckle following. Before I could blink he snatched my robe off and spun me around to face my full body mirror.
“Since you keep flapping those gums, the only words you get to speak are ‘yes papa’. Do you understand?” Terry asks, pressing into the center of my back forcing me down. 
“Who do you think..,”I start, but I hear the crack of his hand meeting my ass before the delicious warmth blooms across my backside. Terry grabs a condom out of his back pocket before taking his pants off. 
“Ava, I’ve been patient. I sat by while you flirted with Lance. Smiling up at him, laughing at his corny ass jokes, blushing at his fucking spot on compliments, and then you had to nerve to wear his hat. I’m a patient man sweetheart, but there’s only so much I can take. I planned on making sweet love to you all night, but I guess I’m saving that for tomorrow. Tonight I’m going to fuck the shit out of you,” Terry finishes his rant by sliding into me. One brutal thrust was all it took for my resolve to shatter at my feet. 
“Yes, papa!” I moan. Terry starts to thrust and he’s filling me just the way I remember. He’s so thick it stings with the stretch, but pressure of him hitting my g-spot time after time makes it worth it. 
“Missed this fucking, wet ass pussy! Yeah, ma! Give me that shit,” Terry moans, one hand in my hair, the other gripping where my thigh meets my ass. I sound dick drunk already, babbling ‘yes papa’ in between moans. The room sounds like a symphony of sex. The ‘phap, phap’ of my ass hitting Terry’s thighs, the slick sounds of his dick entering my pussy, and our moans.
“That’s my girl! You’re listening so well, you’re perfect. Keep those eyes on the mirror, watch us” Terry commands, with another smack on my ass.
“Yessss, papa” I moan, bringing my hazy eyes up to lock with his in the mirror. 
When our eyes meet, Terry’s hips falter, “So fucking, pretty when you’re taking Papa’s dick. I wish you could see how wet your pussy is right now, she soaked, creamin’ all over me.” Terry shifts his position, starting to tap my cervix. A high pitched moan is expelled from my chest  in response because it’s all I can’t really say anything else. Terry grabbed my hips steadying me before lowering us both on the floor with him kneeling and me on top.
My eyes refocus on Terry’s, a pleading look on my face. “Aww, Bunny do you want your words back?” His fingers start to rub teasing circles on my clit, pulling a needy whine from my throat. 
“Yes, Papa” I pant, starting to grind back on Terry’s dick. 
“Mmm, fuck you’re taking me so well sweetheart. I’ll give you your words back just answer some questions okay?,” Terry starts to quicken his thrusts. The fat mushroom head of his dick punching my G-spot. I don’t know why I asked for my words back, I can’t even think with the way Terry’s digging my shit out. 
My breath stutters when Terry’s hand grips my throat. He pulls me up,my back pressed against his chest. I feel my pussy clench around his dick, an answering moan Terry makes gets me even wetter. 
“Y-Yes papa.”
“This my pussy?”Terry whispers against my ear. He had me grasping his thighs for dear life. Another smack lands on my ass meat when I don’t respond fast enough. 
“Ungh! Yes! Papa!” I squeal, the tell-tale tightening of my belly starting.
“This still my house?” Terry punctuates each word with a thrust. It feels like he’s writing his name on my cervix. His fingers are strumming against my clit, stimulating me even more. 
“Ouu Y-Yes Pa-Papa!” I squeal. Terry’s asking questions he already knows the answers to. 
“Fuck, Babygirl. I -I’m not going to last. Use your words ma, tell me how it feels” Terry’s mouthing at my throat, everywhere he touches feels like a raw nerve. 
A moan of relief flies out of my mouth, “Ouu fuck papa that dick feel so good! Keeps hitting my  spot!”
Terry wraps both his arms around me for leverage as he starts pounding me. The sound of my ass meeting his hips thunderous. My lower belly feels like it’s on fire with how desperate 
I am to come. 
Terry’ss dick is stirring up my insides and I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. “I want you to come for papa okay sweetheart. I want you to take everything you’re feeling right now out on my dick. Let her cry for him, he needs it, I need it. I need to see you cum Ava, can you do that for me please Bunny? Can you cum for me?”
Having Terry talk me through it brought on an orgasm like no other. I came with the force of a thousand suns. I could feel my every single atom split apart and be put back together by Terry’s  grounding kisses. My eyes refocus on Terry briefly to watch as he falls apart. 
“Mmm, yessss T, come for me,” I moan, bringing my hand up to stroke the back of Terry’s neck. He fucks me straight through his orgasm and forces me into another one. This one forces Terry out of me as I squirt. Moans and squeals leave my lips as I succumb to the mind numbing pleasure that Terry keeps providing. My eyes roll into the back of my head as my world gets a little hazy.   
“Welcome back, thought I lost you there,”I hear after a few moments.  Terry chuckles, peppering kisses along my cheeks. He gently slides out of me before picking me up, and carrying me to the bed. He walks to the en suite and I blatantly check out his dump truck. Returning with a warm rag after discarding the condom, Terry bends down and begins to clean me up. A small hum of appreciation leaves my throat. He answers with a kiss on my right hip. Terry grabs his shirt off the floor, sliding it over my head before tossing on his boxers.
“I’m gonna go check on TJ and get us a snack, I’ll be right back,”Terry finishes with a kiss on my forehead before heading out of the room. 
I sigh wistfully as I launch myself backward into my pillows. Of course, I know that all of Terry and I’s problems can’t be fixed in a day, but I’m open to trying and I think he is too. Terry returns to the room with a pint of mint chocolate chip and a single spoon. I forgot, Terry loves to feed me after he cracks my back like a glowstick. 
“TJ asleep?” I ask, making room for him. 
Terry grins sliding into bed next to me, “Out like a light.”
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AUTHORS NOTE:  OMG I know it’s a little late, but life has been doing its thang. I really hope you guys enjoy this one as always I accept criticism but be gentle with me. I’m sensitive. I hope I tied this together well, I think this might be the longest fic I’ve written. Oh! And I want to start doing some requests, so y’all ask me stuff! I read and don’t judge lol. I love you guys and I hope the rest of January and February is kind to you
UNTIL NEXT TIME
TEE <3
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procrastiel · 1 day ago
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You just proved my point. I never once said I agree with the Republicans, or that Trump “isn’t that bad”. Listening to someone with an open mind doesn’t mean you accept or excuse their behaviors. You can still arrive at the conclusion that they’re full of shit. What I’m saying is this: I may not agree with what you have to say, but I will fight for your right to say it. And that goes for you as well as Trump, even if I don’t like it. It’s not about me, it’s about respect, and free speech.
You can’t expect a fascist to accept you if you aren’t willing to accept their right to say whatever the fuck they want to say. Does that mean you shouldn’t fight for your rights? Absolutely not, quite the opposite! You should stand for what you believe in! Just like I stand for what I believe in. But turning people from “the other side” into monsters is a horrible idea. All nazis were humans, and if you understand that all humans have the capacity to do evil, then it will be a lot easier for you to spot the red flags.
Also, it is possible for people to change. Someone can go from conservative to democrat. And someone can move from a liberal perspective to a radicalized mindset. People’s opinions aren’t set in stone.
Listening to someone who hates you is never easy. I have experienced that, I know. But you still live on a planet with Trump et al. at the end of the day. If you’re saying that being civil is the wrong approach, then what would you suggest instead? Kill Trump? Stop talking to someone as soon as they mention a conservative or uneducated opinion like “I don’t see how a man can become a woman”? I see that as an opportunity for dialogue.
If someone was to kill Trump now, don’t you think that another guy will take his place immediately, and spew the same crap, like a hydra?
It sounds like you’re at the point where you think violence is the only answer, because the Republican agenda is aggressive. I agree that you have to meet a force with the same force. But I disagree with closing yourself off to other people’s opinions, just because they go against yours. That is the one of the first steps of fascism, as others have pointed out above.
Reading the beginning of the thread again, if it’s true that “art should be wholesome” is a sign of fascism, then so would be statements like “anyone can be trans even without transitioning” if you put yourself into the shoes of a conservative thinking person. The question is: what do you want to focus on? Do you want to focus on hating x group of people for their x beliefs or do you want to dismantle the premise of hate in general?
Hate begets hate. They hate you. If you hate them back, do you think they’ll stop hating you, or do you think they will hate you even more? I assume you can see how easily this way of thinking can lead to a war.
Also, listening to someone’s concerns underneath the hate they spew is important if you really want to make a difference. I absolutely respect your opinion, even if you are being rude about it.
There’s a great video that might help illustrate my point a bit better, but it’s 2 1/2h long. If you don’t have the time, it’s about a black man, Daryl Davis, who befriended a KKK member. And in the end? The white man left the KKK. But Daryl had to endure some intensely disrespectful behavior to get to that point.
youtube
And I’m afraid not a lot of people have the strength of character it takes to do that, and thus affect real change.
Compromise means that no one will be entirely satisfied, but also no one will be entirely left out.
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it's true and you should say it.
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zephyrchama · 1 day ago
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(Based on that one scene from B99)
“Lucifer, your wrist looks kind of funny.”
All eyes turned to the Avatar of Pride when Leviathan pointed this out. They were supposed to be organizing the house library, but it was a long and boring task. One that everyone wanted to finish quickly, yet nobody could find the motivation to make any real progress.
“Oh no! What happened?” Asmodeus leaned over a table to try and steal a peek. Lucifer’s wrist was, indeed, bent in an odd manner. He used his non-dominant hand to shuffle some papers in order.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, Asmo!” Mammon jeered. “Back off, leave the guy alone.”
Lucifer ignored his brothers, icy gaze focused on the documents in hand. They were papers that had been misfiled and did not belong in the library. He reminded everyone in the room to “behave yourselves” before disappearing into his office.
Curious eyes followed him until he was truly out of sight. Then, the brothers exchanged fascinated looks. It’s not every day that Lucifer get injured.
“Alright, everybody bring it in. Huddle up.” Mammon ushered everyone to come close with a sweep of his hand. The boys reluctantly formed a loose circle.
“What are you up to now?” Belphegor asked with a sigh. “I want to finish this already.”
Mammon pretended not to hear as he whisper-shouted, “so, he wouldn’t say what happened, which can only mean one thing.”
”He’s in a fight club,” Beelzebub suggested.
“No. He did it doing something he’s embarrassed by.” Satan was quick to catch on to the truth.
Beelzebub followed up with, “oh. Could be a sports injury. I sprained my wrist playing fangol last year.”
“Really? I don’t remember that,” Belphegor said.
Leviathan asked, “you think Lucifer was playing fangol?”
A deep growl suddenly came from the doorway. There was no warning or indication that Lucifer would be back so quickly. Yet, the man in question had returned. His menacing quickly caused the group to shut up.
“I can hear you speculating about the nature and origin of my injury from my office, but I don’t think it’s relevant to your jobs. The jobs you should all be doing right now. Get to work.”
The brothers scattered like roaches back to their respective corners of the library. All except for Satan, who Lucifer beckoned over with his finger. Satan hesitated at first, but it was better to go along with Lucifer when his mood was sour. The two stepped out for a minute, far enough away that no one else would overhear.
“What?” Satan was fed up with this conversation and it hadn’t even started.
“Do you want to know how I actually hurt my wrist?
Satan’s eyebrows flew up and he took several seconds to think about the question. What an odd offer. There was nothing for Lucifer to gain by telling him this, was there? Though, if he spent too long thinking Lucifer might change his mind and leave his little brother wondering what happened forever. With an oddly docile tone of voice, Satan responded, “...Yes.”
While Satan was busy wondering how to respond, Lucifer had taken out his DDD. He was scrolling through a menu in search of something. “I was hula hooping. Diavolo and I attend a class for fitness and for fun.”
“No way.” Satan's true thoughts leaked out. It was so dumb, it couldn’t be true.
Lucifer raised his phone to Satan’s eye level. The proof was there. ”I’ve mastered all the moves. The pizza toss. The tornado. The scorpion, the oopsie doodle.”
With each and every silly name, Lucifer swiped to a new photo on his phone. There he was, doing the pizza toss. Showing Diavolo how to do the scorpion. Performing a flawless oopsie doodle. Satan was stupefied, his mouth ajar.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because no one…” Lucifer selected all of the images. He tapped on a trash can in the corner of the screen. The images, every last one, disappeared. “…will ever believe you.”
“No!” Satan lunged for the phone in vain. “You sick, twisted, son of a-”
“You got your answer," Lucifer told him. "Get back to work."
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zara-renata · 2 days ago
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Good Boy | masterlist | ao3
@wearysparrows and i were talking this morning about dogs and work was really slow, so i just... wrote dog!sylus all day today. @leaderincrows is bursting with ideas for dog!sylus, but I only managed to fit some of them in this time (i'm so sorry, i hope you like anyway!). Maybe there needs to be more dog!sylus, i don't know. So voilà, I present you my very stupid take on the trope -> After a stray dog gets injured helping you in a fight against Wanderers, you take it home with you. Then one day, you wake up and find a man in your bed instead of your beloved dog. sylus x gn reader, sylus x mc. sylus acts like a real dog for 2/3ds of the fic. nsfw, there's penetrative sex, not with dog!sylus but with human!sylus (sylus penetrating), oral for both you and sylus, as a treat. Minor doggy injury, but he's fine. fluff, banter, teasing.
The snow is falling. Fat flakes, thick. The world is still, all sounds muffled under the blanket of snow covering the ground. 
The blood is bright on the snow, against the white. 
Your chest heaves as you stare down at the huge, beautiful dog. Wolf? You’re not sure. You’ve never been able to have a pet, never spent much time with animals. Wolf hybrids are outlawed within Linkon City limits, so you think it’s most likely that the injured animal before you is some kind of large shepherd dog. An albino, going by its red eyes, its long, silky looking thick coat of white fur, blending in with the snow.
Except for the blood.
Your Hunter’s watch alerted you to metaflux fluctuations while you were out with friends, in a park near the restaurant where you were having dinner. They stared, wide-eyed, as you stood up right as the main course arrived. 
“Duty calls,” you said.
Tara looked worried. “Why don’t you call for backup?”
You shook your head. “It’s not that big of a fluctuation. Xav’s sleeping, I’m not gonna wake him up for this.”
She glanced around at the group, gaze lingering on the guy whom she was trying to set you up with. “Okay…” she said, grimacing.
You knew you were going to get an earful for interrupting the blind date that Tara had arranged but you didn’t know you were attending when you arrived, in order to fight Wanderers. It was your night off too, after all. 
The guy seemed nice. Handsome. You just… felt nothing when you looked at him, when you listened to his small talk. You’d rather be out in the snow, risking your life.
Yeah, Tara might be right. There might be something wrong with you.
You were just bored, otherwise.
Without the adrenaline. The rush. The sense of accomplishment.
Most men you met just didn’t get it.
None of the men you met ever made your heart race, the way doing your job made it race.
Now, here you are. In the hushed, falling snow, staring down at the dog that just saved your ass from a surprise second Wanderer, while you were busy putting down the first.
The dog received a nasty swipe to its belly as a reward for its efforts.
It’s lying in the snow, curled in on itself, licking, licking.
You tuck your Deepspace Hunter standard issue firearms into your holsters, barrels still smoking in the cold. Crouch down into the snow, your boots crunching.
“Hey, buddy,” you say softly. One of the dog’s pretty, huge, pointy ears flicks in your direction, but it remains focused on tending its wound, its long tongue pink, its breath puffing in the frigid air.
You inch closer, waiting for a sign of defensive aggression, but the dog seems content to let you approach.
Finally, you’re crouched next to it. You lift your hand, and it lifts its head. It stares at you with its strange, bright red eyes. Bright, like the blood on the snow.
It sniffs your hand, nostrils flaring, and then lowers its head. As if deigning to allow you to pet it.
You stroke your fingers along its long snout, along its cheek. It huffs, closes its eyes.
“Can I see your tummy?” you ask, running your hand from its snout, down its shoulder, to rest on its side.
It lets you. Watches your hand, and then licks it.
You lean further, letting your hand rest on its leg. “I’m going to lift your leg now, take a look at your belly,” you inform it. It doesn’t move, so you take a chance, and do as you promised. 
The dog lets you.
Lifting the dog’s leg, you see it’s a boy, unneutered. You’re surprised. Most pets, unless they’re registered for breeding or are show animals, are required to be neutered or spayed in Linkon City. You wonder if he’s a stray. 
But your attention is caught by the long, shallow gash along his lower belly, where his thick, luxurious fur is the most thin. It’s not deep, but it’s bleeding quite a bit.
“You need to see a vet, buddy,” you tell the dog.
He growls, low in his throat. You still your hand, thinking maybe he changed his mind about you touching him. You lift your hand, but then he nudges it, butting it with his nose, as if demanding that you continue caressing him.
You laugh. “Okay. Okay.” You resume petting him. 
He’s not wearing a collar. There’s no way for you to know if he’s a stray, or has an owner to call, who can help come and collect him, to care for him. Based on how beautiful and healthy he looks, you doubt he’s a stray. But you can’t just leave him here.
You stroke his fur, while slowly reaching into your coat pocket for your phone.
You make a call. The answer is swift. A bit exasperated. You can imagine the man on the other end pinching his nose, nudging his glasses aside as he does so, long-suffering from yet another strange request from you.
“You do realize that I’m a cardiac surgeon, and not a veterinarian.”
You humor him. “Yes, yes. I will make it up to you, I promise.”
There is silence on the line. Then his soft, soothing voice. “There is a new bakery that recently opened. They specialize in macha desserts.”
He knows you hate macha. This is his way of punishing you.
You smile. “I’ll treat you. Come quickly.”
“I will.”
The dog’s eyes never leave yours, the whole time you’re on the phone.
Zayne is as good as his word.
He arrives quickly, striding through the thick snowfall, at home in the frigid cold, seemingly unbothered with his handsome wool coat only partially buttoned, his scarf hanging loosely around his neck.
The dog watches him, with his strange, strange eyes, but doesn’t act defensive. As if he knows that this man is here to help.
Zayne couches down next to you. Sighs.
“What happened?”
“Wanderer claws. No poison, or venom. Just the nasty gash there.” You gesture at the bleeding wound, the white fur crimson now, matted.
“Has he shown any signs of aggression?” 
You shake your head.
“All right, but that’s no guarantee he won’t react when I start working. I’ll sedate him.”
The dog growls, narrows his eyes. You have the funny feeling again that he can understand everything that’s happening to him, what you’re saying.
“I’ll hold his snout,” you blurt. 
Zayne frowns, slightly. “He could bite you. He could have an infectious disease. Absolutely not.”
You turn to the dog. “Focus on me, okay buddy? Dr. Zayne is gonna fix you right up. It might hurt, but you can handle it, right? You’re such a good boy.” You speak low, soft, soothingly. The dog’s ears swivel, flick. He whines when you say Good boy. He inches forward, painfully, in the snow to get closer to you. You rest your hands on either side of his big jaws, stare into his eyes. “Do it,” you tell Zayne. “Please.
All you hear is his frosty silence, before a resigned sigh.
The dog whimpers, but doesn’t snap, or otherwise react, as Zayne cleans his wound, stitches him up. As he wraps the clean bandages around the wound, covering the bloody, matted fur. The dog just looks into your eyes, panting, shows no sign of reacting poorly to the pain.
When it’s over, the dog closes his eyes. You run your hands from his muzzle down his neck, back through his thick fur.
“Good boy,” you say, again, softly. His long, fuzzy tail thumps weakly in the snow in response.
“He’ll need antibiotics. You’ll need to arrange for an actual vet for that.”
You nod. “Thanks.” Then pause. Grimace. “I need one more favor.”
Zayne stares at you, lovely hazel eyes flashing behind his glasses. “Do I even want to know?”
“I came here on my motorcycle, and I want to take him home. Make sure he recovers okay. Find his owner, hopefully.”
Zayne immediately understands what you’re asking and frowns again, more deeply. “No.”
“Pretty, pretty please?” You’re not above begging, wheedling like when you were children.
“The upholstery in my car cannot handle all that—” he waves a scarred hand at the lustrous, incredibly thick fur of the dog, and his long, sharp looking nails.
“I’ll pay for any detailing or damage your car might need, along with the macha bakery!” you offer, desperate. You don’t think any cab in the city will accept your not-wolf as a passenger.
Zayne stares down at the dog. His shoulders sag a bit.
“On one condition.”
You perk up. “Anything.”
“Take my scarf. You’re not even wearing a proper winter coat,” he scolds, sounding infinitely exhausted with your inability to properly take care of yourself. He turns to you, lifting the scarf from his neck and wrapping it gently around yours. It’s warm around your neck, and smells good. “How you think you’ll care for a pet, as well as yourself, is beyond me,” he grumbles. He looks down at the dog. “Come.”
The dog just stares at him. Leans further back in the snow.
“Come, now,” Zayne tries again. Cold, imperious.
“I don’t know if he can walk,” you begin, but Zayne shakes his head.
“His side is injured, not his legs. He can walk.” 
You glance uncertainly at the dog, whose ears are now flattened back against his head. He’s panting heavily, where before he wasn’t. He looks miserable.
You steel your spine. “Okay, I’ll carry him to your car.”
Zayne pinches his nose again, knocking his glasses a little. “No, I’ll carry him.”
He kneels, lifts the dog with a grunt.
You swear the dog looks smug as he rests his head on Zayne’s shoulder, ears pricked up and swiveling again. He watches you as you trail behind them both in the snow to Zayne’s fancy car.
You’re going to have to add Zayne’s drycleaning to the bill of what you owe him.
You thank Zayne, return to the restaurant.
You offer your excuses to your disappointed-looking blind date. You don’t have the heart to refuse to give him your number.
Finally, you make your escape. Break the speed limit to get home before Zayne and your… not wolf.
Zayne carries the dog into your place, sets him down on your living room rug.
He looks down at his fur-covered coat when he’s done, expression unimpressed.
“Bill me,” you say, trying to sound cheerful, as if you’re not already deducting the accumulated costs from your bank account and wincing internally. 
Expensive fucking dog, and you’ve only had him for an hour.
“Do you want to stay? Have something to drink?” you ask, the least you can offer after your doctor’s excessive generosity tonight, even if you now owe him.
He shakes his head. “I have to return to the hospital. But thank you.” He stares down at the dog, who is now sitting on his haunches just fine, breathing normally. His ears are straight up, swiveling, swiveling. “Are you going to be okay?” he asks, absently.
You tilt your head. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He keeps staring at the dog. “There’s something…” his voice trails off. He shakes his head, seems to shake off his thoughts. “Nevermind. Call me, if you need anything.”
“Thank you, again. Let me know when you’re free soon, I’ll clear my schedule for macha,” you say, cheerfully, despite the fact that you hate it terribly. He nods, makes his way to your front door.
“Oh, do you want your scarf?” you ask, suddenly remembering that he insisted you wear it. You begin unwrapping it from your neck. 
He pauses at the door. “No. Keep it, for now. You can return it when we meet again,” he says, strangely. As if he’s actually saying something else. Like it’s insurance to see you again, when he’s your doctor. Of course you'll see him again.
You thank him quietly, and then he’s gone. You hang the scarf carefully on one of the pegs in the wall of your hallway.
You return to the living room and stare at your new friend, who still sits on his haunches, watching you attentively.
“Hey, Buddy. I don’t have anything for a dog. No food, no leash. I’m going to have to go to the supermarket and pick up some stuff for you.”
The dog just listens, watches. You frown. “Okay. I’m going to go now. Don’t eat my shoes.”
You turn, walk to the door. You put your boots back on, and as you do so, you feel a cold nose nudging the back of your bent neck. You shiver.
“Hey,” you say, turning. The dog has followed you to your hallway. You hate thinking of him as ‘the dog.’ 
“Do you have a name?” you wonder out loud.
The dog whines, a little, tilting his head. “I bet you have some regal name. You seem like a very expensive dog, with a rich owner.”
The dog just huffs.
“Maximus,” you say. Trying it out. He lowers his head, bumps your shoulder with his snout. You laugh. “Okay, not Maximus. Uum.” You think. “Charles?”
The dog growls. 
“Okay, okay.” You try again.“Sherman.” 
The dog actually takes a step back, growls more deeply. You laugh even louder. “I should call you Sherman as punishment for being so picky.” He looks unimpressed, bored. But his ears are pressed back against his head. His tail is thumping the floor in agitation.
You can’t bear to see him so put out, so you decide against calling him Sherman even as a joke.
You stare at him thoughtfully. He’s so beautiful, with his soft, long fur. It almost has a pearl sheen, in the subtle lighting of your hallway.
Finally, a name comes to you. You don’t know why, but you say, “Sylus.” A name that you’ve never known anyone to have before. Not anyone you’ve ever met, anywhere, anyway.
His ears flick forward. He approaches you again. Rests his head on your shoulder.
“Oh, we like Sylus?” you tease him, and he lets his tongue loll out, leaves a wet swipe on your ear. You laugh, pushing his head away. “Sylus it is.”
He watches as you finish tying your boots.
As you shrug back into your coat. As you walk out the door. 
He’s there when you return. Sitting patiently, in the same position. As if he was waiting for you to come home the entire time. His tail wags eagerly.
You dump all the shit you bought for him on the hallway floor.
“You’re already the most expensive thing I’ve acquired in a long, long time,” you grouse at him.
You unlace, kick off your boots. Hang up your coat.
You don’t notice that Zayne’s scarf is no longer hanging on the peg in the hall.
You take the huge bag of dog food to the kitchen. He follows you, head low, watching every move you make. You hum, taking a bowl from your cupboard, scoop out some of his food, set it and another bowl filled with water next to your kitchen island.
When you turn, you find him staring at you, ears swiveled toward you.
You stop humming.
He takes a step forward, nudges your thigh. He’s so big, he comes up to your waist. “What do you need, baby?” You run your hands through his fur. You don’t know where the term of endearment came from. It’s just, despite his size, the fact that he looks like an alpha predator, something about him screams ‘big baby’ to you. In the same way you knew that he wouldn’t bite you as Zayne tended to his wound.
You just know. 
Like you know his name should be Sylus.
This dog is making you insane.
He whines softly. Lets out a little ‘awooo.’
You stare at him. He does it again. A sad little, awooo. Then he nudges your hip with his nose.
You suddenly understand that he wants you to keep humming.
You start humming again, and he looks incredibly satisfied. He sits back on his butt, tail thumping on your floor.
From that day on, you hum, every time you’re home. You decide that the next time you have to leave him, you’ll leave music on for him to listen to you while you’re gone.
You have no idea what you’re going to do with such a big dog if you can’t figure out who owns him, but you’re going to keep him if no one else will. Already, the thought of parting from him hurts your heart in a way that shocks you.
Even as he turns his nose up at the dry food you bought him.
Even as he only eats meat leftovers from takeout from the night before.
Even as he lets you bathe him, docilely sitting in your small shower, but then once he’s out of the cabin, he stares you directly in the eyes even as you say No!!!! and he shakes his body, his soaking wet fur, so hard that the entire room and everything in it, including you, is soaked.
You stand, shellshocked, dripping onto your little, soaked bathroom rug.
“Sylus,” you say. Glaring at him. He sits back on his butt. He doesn’t avoid your gaze, like other dogs. He stares right back at you.
You strip out of your clothes, leave them in a sad little pile on the floor. Naked, you kneel down, take a towel and gently rub him down. He licks your arm, your hand. As if to say he’s sorry. You don’t believe it for a second.
When he’s towel dry, you take out your blow dryer.
His eyes close halfway in hypnotized pleasure as you slowly, diligently brush him with the new doggy brush you bought and dry him with the dryer set to low.
When you’re done, he’s so fluffy, his coat so shiny. You want to bury your face in him. You check his stitches. They look fine, even after the shower.
But you’re still naked, and soaked. You shoo him from the bathroom, step into the shower. Wait for the water to warm up again.
You wash your hair, let the water beat down on your sore shoulders. With your job, something is always sore.
However, after a few minutes, you notice that the water isn’t draining. You look down and see a massive amount of white fur blocking the drain.
You hang your head, exhausted at the prospect of cleaning the drain before you can be done for the evening. 
This fucking dog.
Finally, the shower is clean. You’re clean.
You step out of the bathroom, walk naked to your bedroom.
Sylus is lying on your bed. As if he owns the place. His big head rests on his big paws, and he watches you, his ears swiveling, flicking, as you stop and put your hands on your hips.
“Off.” You are not letting this monstrous, furry thing sleep on your bed. You’re already nuts about him, but this is a step too far. “I got you a dog bed. You can sleep on your doggy bed.”
You go to your closet, and you feel his glowing ruby eyes follow every movement you make. As you slip on underwear. Soft pyjama pants. A tank top.
You turn. He hasn’t moved. “Be a good boy, and get off the bed.”
He pretends not to hear you. Just looks away, as if fascinated by the view outside your bedroom window. He huffs, as if bored, tail swishing slowly.
“I spent way too much money on a glorified pillow of a dog bed for you to sleep on, Sylus. You can sleep on your doggy bed,” you insist, trying to infuse your voice with authority.
One ear twitches toward you, but otherwise he doesn’t move.
“I’m not afraid to shove you off, even if you are injured,” you threaten, lying. There’s no way you could do that to him.
He can obviously smell your lie. He just looks back at you. Thumps his tail.
You’re tired. You’ve got a long day again tomorrow, starting with a five in the morning run. You give up.
“Fine. Just for tonight,” you concede, crawling onto the bed. “But you stay on the end of the bed,” you grumble, snuggling under the covers. You switch off the light, and hear a satisfied sigh from your new companion.
You come awake slowly, not from your alarm, but from the warmth. You’re sweating. It’s a bit hard to breathe.
You blink open your eyes, slowly, to find a giant, soft, space heater of a dog curled up against your stomach and chest where you’re lying on your side, his big head resting on the pillow next to yours. He’s snoring softly. Every now and then, his legs move restlessly, as if he’s dreaming about running.
You roll over, peer at your clock on your nightstand. Ten minutes before you need to be up for your run. You groan. Every minute of sleep is precious, and your new dog deprived you of ten whole minutes. 
Well. You’re awake now. You sit up, and the culprit who woke you up early startles, jumps to his feet. You stare at him. He’s a little taller than eye-level with you, as you sit on the edge of the bed.
“Good morning, naughty boy,” you say, dryly. His ears flatten against the back of his head. He takes a step forward, nuzzles into your neck with his wet nose, sniffing. You laugh, pet him. He seems mollified after being jerked awake. As if he has any room to be upset about being woken up early.
You stand, stretch. He jumps off the bed, follows you to the closet. You strip out of your pyjamas, pull on your running things. He tries to follow you in the bathroom when you go to pee, but you shoo him away, shut the door in his face.
When you emerge, he follows you to the kitchen. You shovel down a piece of toast, a sip of water. You dump the last of the leftover meat in his bowl, which he greedily eats. You make a note to get him wet food the next time you go to the store, since apparently your new (probably temporary) dog is a fancy boy.
“I”m going for a run. You stay here and be a good boy, okay?”
You walk to the hallway, and he follows. “No, you’re injured. I’ll take you out to pee and poopoo when I’m done with my run.”
His ears flatten on his head again. He squeezes past you, blocking the door with his bulk.
“Sylus,” you sigh. “You’re hurt. You can’t come on a run with me yet.”
He huffs. Shakes himself, like he shook himself last night in your bathroom. Then, like a king deigning to kneel for a peasant, he lies down and bares his belly to you.
You gasp. The stitches. The angry wound from yesterday. 
Gone. As if they were never there. Just the soft, unmarred skin of his tummy where his fur thins.
You check your Hunter’s watch. No metaflux. You don’t sense any, either. He’s not a Wanderer. He’s just a miracle. You remember Zayne’s strange expression, staring at him yesterday.
You wonder if he’s some escaped medical experiment. 
You resolve to take him to the vet, see if he’s chipped, with his owners on record. If he’s not, you’ll put up posters where you found him.
You don’t want to.
You want to keep him.
But you should do the right thing, and at least make a reasonable effort to find his true owner before allowing yourself to hope that you can keep him. This giant dog, whom you do not have time or space for, to keep properly.
But your heart hurts, when you think about taking him to a shelter. Saying goodbye to him.
“Okay. Okay,” you say. He rolls over, sits up. “I still have to go for my run. I’ll be back to take you out, after.”
He huffs, moves forward, nudges your hip with his nose. He then lopes to the bag of things you got him the day before, and he brings you his collar and leash, clutched in his big jaws, still with the tags on.
You laugh.
“Okay. Okay, you win. Again.” You roll your eyes, surrendering. You kneel, and he lowers his big head, pretty, glowing eyes never leaving yours, as you thread the black and scarlet, gem-studded leather collar around his neck with the empty tag shaped like a heart, clasp it tight. You clip the leash on the collar.
He does a little dance at the door, as if excited, tail wagging. 
He runs with you through the gray, quiet, early morning. The snow hushes your footsteps. He doesn’t falter once, the entire run. 
At the end of your run, as you’re walking to cool down, about to head back to your place, he suddenly dashes forward, jerks the leash out of your hand.
“Sylus!” you cry, trying to run after him. He disappears into an area full of shrubbery and dense vegetation, heavy with snow along the bare branches, the pine needles. You have no idea what got into him. Just as you’re about to get on your knees and try to crawl in after him, he re-emerges. He brings you his leash in his teeth.
“What the fuck, Sylus?” You stare at him.
He huffs. Runs a circle around you, kicking up snow. As if to say, Take the leash, take the leash.
You think back over the run. About how he didn’t stop, once. To sniff. Or to pee.
“Did you need to peepee? Or poopoo?” He just growls, bobs his head with his leash in his mouth. “Oooh, baby’s shy!” You laugh. “You better remember this, when you try to follow me into the bathroom again.” You take his leash from between his sharp, sharp teeth.
He leads the way back to your apartment building. You admire his big paw prints in the snow.
Before you leave him to go to work, you snap a photo of him, staring at you solemnly. As if he’s posing. You leave him with music playing and the curtains open, the door to your indoor balcony open for a view.
At work, you make a vet’s appointment. You print off a bunch of “Found” posters for Sylus for if he’s not chipped, with his cute picture front and center. You do paperwork, patrol the city, laugh and joke with Xavier and Tara.
She gives you the earful you expected, about ditching your blind date. She’s only slightly mollified when you show her the picture of Sylus, who looks like such a big handsome boy in the photo.
You’d rather hang out with your dog, than see that guy again.
But you don’t say that out loud.
This dog is making you insane.
You stop by the store on your way home, pick up an absurd amount of meat to cook, as a backup, you tell yourself. For if Sylus refuses to eat the wet food you’re also buying. Not because you have the bizarre urge to feed him food meant for a king. Meant for a king, and not your stray dog who is the least obedient creature you’ve ever encountered.
You let yourself into your apartment, and are a bit surprised, maybe a little disappointed that your new friend isn’t there to greet you already. You know it’s absurd, to wish he had missed you as much as you found yourself missing him throughout your day.
You kick your boots off, carry your groceries to the kitchen island. You glance around. No Sylus.
You peek on the balcony. No Sylus.
So that leaves the bedroom.
You pad quietly through the living room, and then pause in the doorway to your bedroom, shocked at the chaos before you.
Your dirty laundry basket, knocked over.
All of your laundry spread in a little nest, surrounding your dog.
Your big, beautiful, regal dog, who is lying on his belly the floor in the midst of your dirty clothes, like a sphinx, diligently licking a pair of your underwear meant for the wash that he has trapped between his paws. He’s so absorbed in his current activity that he doesn’t seem to notice you at all.
“Sylus!” you yell. Bellow. Air raid siren level of volume.
The noise seems to rip him out of his meditative licking. He blinks, looks up, pauses. Then he stares you right in the eye and takes another lick.
“No! Naughty! Naughty boy!” You stride forward, intending to yank your underwear from his mouth, but he just… chomps down on the slip of fabric, pulling it into his mouth with his tongue and teeth. Then he tries to swallow. “SYLUS!” 
You drop to your knees next to him and grab his snout. You place one hand on his snout and the other under his lower jaw, and then you try to pry his jaws apart, as he continues to clamp down. “Drop! It!” you order, through clenched teeth. He ignores you, resisting your efforts, but not growling, not snapping at you. Simply...ignoring your insistence.  “Drop it!!!”
He swallows, instead. 
You stare at him, huffing from the effort, as you realize that he has just successfully eaten a pair of your underwear.
You’re really, really glad you made that vet appointment already.
It’s only after he has retreated to your bed, completely unashamed, unapologetic, and you’ve started putting your laundry back in the basket, that you notice Zayne’s scarf amidst the pile of clothes. It’s now completely covered in fluffy, white fur, and it stinks like dog.
You hang your head in defeat.
This dog is making you insane.
You take him to the vet. He’s not chipped. 
“If you’re going to keep him, you’ll have to neuter him.”
Sylus’s ears twitch, and he growls menacingly, deep in his throat. The vet stares at him, a strange look on his face. You say something vague, about making an appointment once you’ve exhausted your options in finding his true owner.
The vet has no idea what breed he is. Suspects he might indeed be part wolf. But without a genetic test, he can’t say for sure. He looks at your dog in contemplation. “A fine animal. It would be a shame if he’s a hybrid, and you couldn't keep him.” His eyes flick to yours. “You’re a Hunter, right?”
You nod, wondering why he’s asking.
“One of your lot saved my daughter from a Wanderer attack, a few years ago. Handsome guy. Bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
You stare at him. “Was his name Xavier, by any chance?” you tentatively ask.
The vet nods. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
You look down at Sylus, who is leaning against your leg, eyes closed. “He’s my partner,” you say quietly.
“Hmm,” the vet says. He puts his tablet down. Seems to come to a decision. “Well, it looks like we’ve already got the genetic test results back about your dog. He’s just a mutt. Mainly shepherd, husky.”
You jerk your head up, stare wide eyed at him.
“Agreed?” he asks.
You could cry. 
“Are you sure?” you ask, not believing that you’re one step closer to keeping your incredibly disobedient, lovely good boy.
The vet shrugs. “Test results are test results. Just take him to obedience training. Make sure he gets plenty of exercise. This type of dog needs a firm hand, and an outlet for excess energy. They can be really destructive if they get bored. Like a bomb going off in your house.”
You snort. Think about your laundry. Your poor underwear, which the vet says was small enough not to present a problem for your giant dog. He’ll just shit it out, later.
“Thank you,” you say, quietly, sincerely. You’re breaking so many regulations—ethics rules, accepting gifts for your work as a Hunter, violating city ordinances, because your dog is clearly not just a dog. But you’re realizing you’d do a lot of shady shit, if it means keeping your good boy.
“No, thank you,” he responds, shooing you and your good boy out the door.
You take Sylus home. He curls up on the couch with you, rests his head in your lap, as you watch tv. 
And so it goes.
Morning runs.
Taking him for walks.
To keep him from going after your underwear again, you take big doggy toys that frankly look like butt plugs and fill them with peanut butter. You freeze them. It keeps Sylus busy all day, licking the peanut butter out of the toy.
You try to take him to a dog park, to interact with other dogs. He ignores them, looking bored out of his doggy mind.
You try to throw a ball for him, play fetch. He refuses to chase it. He just runs around you in circles, nips at your heels. Herds you into running with him. Then he’ll refuse to go faster than a walk, once you get tired. As if he knows.
You try to throw a frisbee for him. That, he likes. He catches it in the air, almost as if he’s showing off. Then he’ll bring it back, but refuses to release it from his jaws. You learn that you have to kiss him on his pretty white head in order for him to give it up. His tail wags furiously, every time you do.
This dog is making you insane.
When you come home, exhausted from a particularly tough battle, or an even more grueling day of paperwork, he waits for you at the door, his beautiful, blood-bright eyes big and excited to see you, his tail wagging so furiously the whole lower half of his body shakes.
You suddenly don’t feel so tired, as you kneel down, press your face into the scruff of his neck. His soft fur smells so good to you, even though he’s just a dog. You no longer feel lonely, or dread coming home to your empty, quiet apartment.
After a while, you resign yourself to hanging up the posters once you get home from work. The last hurdle, before you dare hope that you can keep him.
When you arrive at your place after work, you find Sylus on the balcony. Somehow, the window is open, just wide enough for two crows to perch there. They chatter at your dog. He just huffs in response, but makes no effort to bark at them, or chase them away. 
The entire floor of the balcony is covered with the torn-apart paper strips of what used to be the posters advertising the dog you found, with your phone number on it in case someone is missing their beloved pet.
Your beloved pet.
You wonder if it’s so terrible, to just… accept that you’ll never know who had him before. And that he’s yours now. They should have chipped him, collared him, branded him as theirs if they care about him. You decide to get his tag engraved. 
You put the hanging of posters on the backburner in your mind.
You eat with him. You, sitting at your kitchen island. Him, out of his bowl next to your stool. You snuggle with him while watching movies, TV. You take him for walks, for runs. He’s your constant companion, when you’re not at work.
When Xavier comes over to hang out, to cook and read, Sylus basically crawls into your lap despite your protests and his size, and won’t move unless you promise to make him meat along with the ramen you make for yourself and Xav. Once you’re done and back to reading, he’s back, impersonating a chihuahua instead of the wolf he probably is as he wiggles into your lap.
One evening, you’re dumping more meat into your picky-as-fuck dog’s bowl when you receive a call from an unknown number.
You answer.
“Hey. Um. Hi.” A tentative voice.
You wait. The other end is quiet. “May I ask who is calling?” you prompt, hoping you can just hang up. You hate talking on the phone. It’s never good, when someone is calling you out of the blue. Warn a person with a text, damn!
You’re about to hang up when the other person says. “Hi, yeah, sorry. I’m your blind date. The one from when you had to leave to fight Wanderers?”
You shake your head, shocked. You had completely forgotten that you had given this guy your number. “Oh, hey. What’s up?” you ask, dreading his answer.
“Yeah, hi.” He chuckles nervously. “Thanks for picking up. I was, uh, actually calling to see if you’d like a… if you’d like a re-do. With just the two of us?”
You blink. Try to think of an excuse. 
You think of Tara, her badgering you to live for more than just work. To build new relationships. How much effort she puts into trying to introduce you to people she thinks you might like.
Even though you don’t like anyone. 
Except your friends.
You glance at Sylus, who has lifted his head from his paws, his ears pointed at you, like he’s listening intently.
Except your dog.
Your mind is blank. “Uh, okay,” you blurt, wincing. “When is a good time for you?”
He rattles off some dates. You check your Hunter’s watch, settle on a date, a time, a place to meet.
He sounds excited, like he can’t quite believe you agreed to go out with him again, before you end the call.
You shake your head. How bad can it be? It’s just dinner. You get to eat, and then you’ll let him down gently. Or maybe, who knows? You might feel a spark, a spark that’s been missing for you, for so long. You try to be positive. Maybe this guy will be the one to make your heart race, when no one else has been able to.
You get ready for bed.
Sylus is already curled up next to your pillow, no longer even pretending to initially sleep at the end of the bed like the first night you ordered him to do.
You crawl into bed, lift the duvet for him to slide under, and he curls up against your chest and stomach. You fall asleep easily, as you’ve been able to do, ever since he came home with you.
You come awake slowly. 
Like the first morning you brought Sylus home, something wakes you, but it’s not your alarm.
You’re warm. Really warm.
But instead of the soft fur that you’ve come to expect, waking up every morning with your dog taking up more than his fair share of the bed, you feel smooth, warm… skin?
You turn your head. Look over your shoulder, to the source of the warmth at your back.
You think you might be dreaming.
You must be dreaming.
What else could explain the gorgeous, very human, white-haired, red-eyed man looking back at you from your own pillow, where your dog used to be?
This dog is making you insane.
Are you so desperate for companionship that you can stand, that will make your heart race, that you’re dreaming that your beloved dog is the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life?
What the fuck would a therapist have to say about this dream?
You’re so, so glad that you don’t have a therapist, and will never, ever have to tell anyone about this fucking dream.
You slowly turn your head again. Close your eyes. Your alarm hasn’t gone off, after all. Maybe you can just go to sleep in your dream, wake up, and pretend this never happened.
You hear a low laugh rumbling behind you, rumbling through you. 
A muscular arm snakes over your side, pulls you back against a warm, pillowy chest. “Is this how you greet your good boy?” A deep voice, rough with sleep but still soaked in amusement, murmurs in your ear.
“My good boy is a big fluffy dog,” you bite out, squeezing your eyes shut harder against the warmth, the muscles, the voice. “I don’t know what the fuck you are, other than a really weird dream.”
A big hand—alarmingly big—lifts from your stomach, where it was holding you tight, and tenderly brushes your hair away from your neck, your ear. The … dream behind you noses into the back of your neck, inhales. “I have fluffy hair. And I think you can feel what I am, without even needing to look.” The dream adjusts his hips. Your eyes open, despite your best efforts, widen as you feel a big—alarmingly big—dick against your ass.
“I am not having a sex dream about my dog,” you declare.
The dream laughs, low, a rich fucker’s laugh. “No, you’re not having a sex dream about your dog,” he says. “Unless you’re into that. And then I can oblige, but it’s still my mind inside your dog, I’m afraid.”
Okay, that’s enough. You whip around in the dream’s arms, stare into familiar ruby-glow eyes, so close to you, sharing the same pillow. “Who the fuck are you?”
One corner of his full mouth lifts. He’s so beautiful, it hurts. Your heart is racing.
“You should know,” he says, eyes drifting from your eyes, to your mouth. He lifts a hand again, runs it along your hair, so, so gently. “You named me, after all.”
You don’t dare hope. Just as you haven’t dared hope that you could keep him, from the moment you saw him launch himself at the Wanderer slinking up behind you, preparing to attack you. As you saw him rip out its throat, and watched, heart in your throat, as he was flung into the soft snow as a consequence.
You’re afraid to say it. To name your insane hope.
This dog is making you insane.
“Why so quiet? You couldn’t stop talking to me, telling me about your day, about your dreams, your fears—telling me what a wonderful boy I am, when I was your dog. Does this form not please you?” he asks, letting his hand fall from your hair. He takes your hand instead, places it on his own hair.
It’s so, so soft. Even softer than his fur. You can’t help yourself. You pet him, brushing your fingers through its shimmering strands.
You finally manage to speak. You don’t want him to ever think that you don’t delight in him. “I didn’t say it doesn’t please me.”
“Then say that it pleases you.”
You think of all the moments you’ve shared with him. All of the things you’ve said to him, as he’s lived at your side, in your house. You wince. Then you think of how he made Zayne carry him to his car.
“You could walk, that first day. Zayne didn’t have to carry you.”
He looks pleased, smug. It’s jarring, seeing the expression on his human face that you felt like you saw on his doggy face. “I was injured,” he sniffs. “Any doctor with an ounce of compassion would have offered to carry your injured pet.”
You scowl at him, ignoring his jab at Zayne. “You intentionally soaked me, in the bathroom, that first night.”
He smiles wider, just a little, a canine tooth peeking out between his lips. “But I didn’t make you strip off all your clothes and groom me while gloriously nude. That was all you, sweetheart.”
You lean forward, bury your face in his warm, strong neck. “You ate my fucking underwear.”
He coughs, the first time sounding a little abashed. “When I’m shapeshifted, certain urges… are amplified. Keep that in mind, if you want me to fuck you as a—”
You jerk back, cover his mouth with your hands. “I do not want to fuck you as a dog, Sylus.”
“Excellent, I’ll fuck you as a human then,” he says, voice muffled from behind your hand, but his subtle smile loud and clear under your palms. 
“Sylus!”
“Yes, owner?” he asks, eyes wide, falsely innocent.
You drop your hands. “Don’t call me owner,” you whisper. “You’re my companion, not my possession. You have been from the day you came home with me.”
“Then say that this form pleases you,” he says, sounding uncertain for the first time.
“How can it not?” you ask. “You’re beautiful.”
He shrugs. “Not everyone sees what you see.”
“You’re beautiful. But you’re a naughty boy,” you say, slipping your fingers under the collar he’s still wearing. It’s loose on his human neck. You pull, gently. He whimpers.
“A very naughty boy,” he agrees, breathless. “How will you punish me?”
“First, by making you wash Zayne’s scarf. It wasn’t nice what you did to it.” You punctuate each word, by pulling his collar a little for emphasis. He grumbles, but looks slightly drunk. Eyes half lidded in pleasure. You continue. “And by interrogating you. Who are you, really?” You have so many questions, even as you feel him, hard and warm, against your stomach. 
He huffs. “Would you believe me if I said that I’m the head of the largest criminal organization on the planet, and I’m the most wanted criminal on not one, but two planets?”
You stare at him. Laugh a little. “You were my dog, and now you’re the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my bed. I’d believe you if you said you’ve loved me for lifetimes, and have been waiting for me to be reincarnated in order to make me fall in love with you all over again.”
“How convenient,” he says. “Because that’s the other answer to your question.”
You laugh, loudly. 
This dog is making you insane.
“Wanted criminal, soulmate. Irrelevant. You ate my fucking underwear, Sylus.”
He leans forward, nudges your nose with his long, regal snout. He presses a soft kiss to your lips, and your heart races, races. “Is it a crime to want to savor something so delicious?”
“It’s a crime in some jurisdictions to pilfer underwear, yes,” you say, laughing, breathless in turn. You return his kiss. His lips are so, so soft. He makes a little sound of pleasure in his throat.
“Then arrest your naughty boy,” he murmurs. “And teach him what the real thing tastes like, instead of the leftovers.”
“You like leftovers,” you tease, thinking of all the takeout meat you’ve been setting out in his doggy bowl in between the fresh stuff.
“With you, I’ll take what I can get,” he admits. “But maybe if you tell me how to be a good boy for you, you can reward me with a fresh taste.”
Your heart is going berserk in your chest, as you look into his earnest, big, wet, crimson puppy eyes. It doesn’t matter, that he has been lying to you this whole time. That he’s tricked you into revealing so many of your secrets to him, as he wagged his tail for you, kept you warm in bed, as he ran by your side, kilometer after kilometer. Your heart is racing, and you think it recognized him, the moment you looked into his beautiful eyes in the snow.
You tell him how he can be a good boy. He uses his mouth, his big pink tongue, to soften you, make you wet. He licks you, like he licked your underwear. With single-minded, hypnotized focus. You tell him to mind his teeth, when he gets bitey, gently flick his ear to get his attention. His eyes drift between being closed as he savors your taste, and open, eagerly watching your face as he pleasures you, as your body begins to shake, as you gush into his mouth.
You lie there panting for a few minutes, watching him as he licks his lips, his fingers, his palms. Like a dog, licking its paws after making a mess in its bowl.
You suddenly desperately need to return the favor. You roll to your side, sit up. “I want to taste you, too.” He looks surprised, but pleased. He gets up on his knees, takes the back of your head tenderly in his big palm, petting your hair with his other hand. You open your mouth, and he guides his big cock to your lips, smears his own wetness across your lower lip, before gently feeding you his dick.
You have to open your mouth all the way, to allow him in. He moves his hips, little jerks, watching your reaction before sliding deeper, silken along your tongue, ember-eyes glowing under half-lidded lashes. You can’t take all of him, he’s just too big. You suck, use your tongue. Offer your hand, wet and sloppy for your dripping mouth, for him to tunnel through. He helps you adjust your grip. He grunts, with each little thrust. Helpless noises in his big, big throat. He smells so, so good. Skin, and sweat. A bitter tang from his leaking dick.
Finally, he loses patience. “I don’t want to come in your mouth. I want to come between your legs.” He’s panting, hair messy, sweeping over his forehead. “I want you to feel good too. May I? Please? I’ll make it so good for you.” His deep voice has a whiny edge.
You nod, looking up at him, mouth still stuffed with him. 
He slowly pulls out of your mouth, uses his hand on the back of your head to urge you up to meet him, so that you’re kneeling on the bed too. He wraps his big arms around you, hugs you, tightly. Kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye. “Are you sure? How do you want me?”
You lift your hands to his cheeks, kiss him too. His cheek. The corner of his eye. His lips. “You’ve been such a good boy, making me feel good with your mouth. You can have me however you’d like me.”
He doesn’t have a tail to wag right now, but if he did, you think he’d wag himself off the bed. He kisses you, hard, tongue licking into your mouth. He eagerly urges you down, onto your back. He lifts your legs over his shoulders, and you’re grateful for all the mobility, the stretching you do as part of your job, as he splits you wide open, holds you by your ankles, and fucks into you slowly, so slowly at first, before leaning down, bending you in half, filling you hard and fast, over and over again. Sounds come out of you that you’ve never heard before, because you’ve never felt so good, so full before. He fucks into you at an angle that makes you moan loudly, surprised, and he ruts into you there again, and again. “Am I your good boy?” he pants, desperate, in your ear.
“You’re such a good boy, Sylus,” you assure him, turning your head, biting down on his earlobe. “My good boy.” He suddenly comes, hips jerking messily, with a loud whine, a deep grunt. 
After, when your sheets are filthy and you’re both sweaty, cum drenched messes, you rest your head on his big chest, let your fingers circle one pink nipple, sift through the human fur swirling around it.
“Why didn’t you just introduce yourself like a normal person, ask me on a date?”
He snorts. “Oh, hello, my name is Sylus Qin, I’m the leader of Onychinus and your employer’s public enemy number one. May I buy you a drink? Perhaps, fuck you stupid afterwards? Love you for the rest of our lives?” His voice is wry.
You laugh, delight ballooning in your chest at his sense of humor. “Okay, maybe that would have been a little much, and I would have been suspicious. But infiltrating my life as a dog?”
He touches his finger to his lip, tilts his head. “I thought about kidnapping you. Violently trying to jog your memory by re-enacting our contentious first meeting.”
You swat his chest with your hand. “That’s a terrible fucking idea.”
“In retrospect, you are correct. Fortunately for me, the twins talked me out of it. They convinced me that being a cute, cuddly dog would be more… effective.”
You look up at him, curious. “The twins?”
He hums, low in his throat. “You’ve met them. Crows on the balcony.”
You think back, remembering the mysteriously opened window. The “Found” posters, ripped to confetti on your balcony. “The ones who destroyed my posters.”
Sylus nods, strokes his knuckles down your cheek, your neck. “The unnecessary posters containing your personal information, like your phone number, for any random fool to use to call and bother you.”
You sigh. Drift for a while, wondering how you’re going to explain your new dog and your new man in your life to your friends. To your family. “Caleb is going to hate you.”
He smirks. “I’m not worried about your brother.”
You look at him curiously. “You know who he is?”
He leans down, inhales your sweaty hair. Makes a happy noise. “I like to stay informed when I’m interested in a new acquisition. And you’re the most valuable thing I’ll ever acquire.”
You roll your eyes. “Why are you not worried about him? He’s been so weird, since he’s been back. Possessive.”
Sylus gestures at his arm, as if to indicate Caleb’s new augmentation. “I’m good with weapons. I’ll tinker in his arm, give him a little upgrade. Maybe give him sensation back. He’ll love me.”
You stare at him. No one else is supposed to know about Caleb’s arm. It’s like, a state secret. “How do you know so much about upgrading weapons?” you ask, instead of asking how he knows about Caleb.
“Do you really want to know?” He lifts a lovely silver eyebrow. “It has to do with my business. I’ll tell you, but you have to keep it a secret.”
You rest your cheek back on his chest. “Another time, maybe. I’m too tired to process all the shady shit you must do in order to be on the Association’s most wanted list. You definitely fucked me stupid.”
You feel him preen underneath you at your compliment. His invisible tail wags, wags. “Not just on the list, sweetheart. At the top of the list,” he says, smug. “And shady shit… You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, beloved? Like accepting the equivalent of a retroactive bribe from your vet, and breaking all sorts of Linkon City laws to keep your ‘dog?’”
You groan. “I can’t believe you witnessed that.”
“I feel privileged to have witnessed your fall from grace, and all because of me,” he teases you, hugging you tightly.
You just shake your head, close your eyes. Fret about your brother again. “You think you can handle him?”
He scoffs again. “Once he sees how sincere I am, he’ll have no choice but to accept me as your other half.”
You hold your breath. Ask him what you’re dying to know, what you haven’t dared hope, even as you gave in to your racing heart, your affection for him, and loved him with your body, as well as your heart. “So you’re sincere?”
He gently flicks your forehead. “You’re the only person, in any lifetime, that I’d eat out of a bowl on the ground for, beloved.”
You laugh, kiss his chest, right over where his strong, big heart is beating.
In the end, you get to keep him. You let your blind date down gently, but decisively.
You come home one day, and he is eagerly waiting for you, in his human form. You had promised him a treat, after all.
“You’ll have to bend down a little,” you say.
Without hesitation, Sylus drops to his knees, and then places his hands on the floor.
You stare down at him, as he looks up at you, soft white hair, soft red eyes, gleaming in the light.
Your heart is racing again, just from his eyes on you, his scent filling your apartment.
You bend down, thread a new, subtle leather collar around his neck. It will hang on the wall, when he’s using his doggy collar, in his big wolf form. But when he’s a man, out in the world, away from you on business, getting up to no good and causing trouble—as he still occasionally does in your bedroom as he manages to tear the stuffing out of the plushies you’ve caught with other people when you’re away for too long—he’ll wear this one for you.
The one that says good boy on the heart-shaped tag on one side, and your name on the other.
You never do make that neutering appointment with the vet.
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grimmweepers · 1 day ago
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— ☆ contents: dealing with dragon!form zhongli who possesses cat-like behaviours. human reader. dragon husband. sfw. fluff. established relationship. might be a little ooc. this is very unserious. 0.6k. | masterlist (i’m a dark content blog so mdni).
Dragon!Zhongli who acts much like an affectionate housecat despite his towering size and the magnitude of his status.
He, who is so comfortable around his human partner that he isn't afraid to bear his dragon form day-to-day, lest his cat-like behaviours (endearing as they are) go unnoticed.
Every time you run your fingers through the silk of his dark locks or scratch at the base of his horns, that's when it starts. A deep, soothing vibration beneath his scaled chest. The low rumble is almost hypnotic as his amber eyes drift closed, lulling him (and yourself) into a state of ease. If you remain watchful, you'll catch the corners of his lips curl ever-so-slightly upwards.
You can’t help but giggle because you know it’s not quite purring, but it might as well be.
Dragon!Zhongli whose tail is as much part of his personality as his deep voice and eloquent spiels. First and foremost, that thing is unapologetically heavy. When he’s in a good mood, it swishes around lazily, thumping against the furniture or brushing against your legs as he walks by.
Once it knocked over an entire stack of books and while you were busy laughing, he just sighed and said, “An unfortunate accident.” But if he’s feeling especially affectionate? Even worse. That's when you really have to watch out. It possessively curls around you and suddenly you’re dealing with the weight of a solid tail pulling you closer to him. You’ve almost toppled over a few times because of it.
“Careful, Zhongli,” you’ll tell him. “You might end up sweeping me off my feet.” Then he chuckles at you, tail tightening around your waist just a smidge.
That’s the idea, of course.
Dragon!Zhongli who feigns annoyance every time you act on your favourite habit: lifting his lips to inspect his fangs.
They’re a far cry from the tiny, delicate teeth of a cat, which is the only other creature you’ve subjected to this odd little inspection but that makes them even more fascinating.
"Must you do this every time?" he asks, lips pulling back just enough for you to admire them. They were sharp, pristine, and unsettlingly perfect. Enough to crack a bone with a single snap of his jaw but it was the same mouth he kissed you with. You never got used it.
"I'm lucky you’ve never nicked me with these," you’ll tease, brushing your finger along the largest fang.
Zhongli's responses are always the same: a long exhale as if you've just asked him to recite every contract he's ever known (which he could btw), followed by, “You’re enamoured with the oddest things.” But he lets you do it anyway. His words begin lose a bit of their weight when his tail slowly starts swaying behind him, exposing that he’s enjoying it more than he lets on.
And no one will ever believe you when you tell them how he is when he's feeling playful. It's a rarity but he'll nudge you gently with his horns as a display of affection and if you don't respond right away, he'll flick his tail at you. Not hard but enough for you to look his way.
Pay attention to me, it seems to say.
It’s mischievous, even if for a moment. Then you’ll catch a glint in his eye while he pretends to be all composed, but truly, he finds it amusing how he easily this form could be used as a weapon against you when he warrants his own needs.
The mighty dragon, who can command the earth itself, is stripped of his grandeur when you're around, replaced by a creature who wants nothing more than to be with you in the simplest way. And if you mention it, he’ll give you that look of half exasperation and half fondness before pulling you closer and acting like it’s purely your fault he’s such a softie with you.
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a/n: if it wasn’t obvious already, i am a cat person (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)
© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform
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8-evil-annoying-catboys · 10 hours ago
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also let’s be fucking real. blaming it on his autism is infantilising. autistic people can have tact. in fact, many of us learn to have tact by force. if he truly lacks it that badly, that’s a separate issue from autism. but we all know that that is not the case. as an autistic person, i am PISSED that people are excusing this behavior bc elon musk is autistic. he may be autistic, but autism doesn’t make you a fucking neonazi.
look at his politics that he’s been open about in the past and tell me sincerely that you’re surprised (not appalled, not disgusted, but SURPRISED) to see him doing nazi salutes back to back on live TV. i sure as fuck am not surprised, he’s been on this road for a long, long time. it’s not excusable because he’s autistic. being autistic doesn’t mean you can’t recognise well-known symbols like this, unless maybe if you are much more severely disabled than elon fucking musk is.
he may be a total dumbass who doesn’t know shit about anything he pretends to know about, but it’s not like he has an intellectual disability or something where this might have some more nuance (and i’m not the authority on that btw since i also don’t have an ID, so if anyone has an ID or a loved one with one and wants to chime in that that wouldn’t bring more nuance, please feel free to correct me).
he functions well enough to arrange for his own attendance at all these political events, and influence politicians directly, and oh yeah, he’s the wealthiest man in the world and manages his finances well enough to retain that status. he was born with a silver spoon but he can handle ADLs and iirc he’s college educated so he MUST have learned about this salute in a history class at SOME POINT. shit, i learned about it in like middle school, you don’t have to go to college to fucking recognise it!!
you can’t pretend his autism makes him blameless, and insisting that it does is an insult not only to jewish people but to autistic people as well. we are not fucking affiliated with his disgusting behavior. i hate when other autistic people—usually autistic white men, specifically—get a pass to be bigots because of their autism. being autistic doesn’t make bigotry ok or inherent. that’s not how ASD fucking works, ok?!
autistic people don’t get to just say and do whatever we want, and we shouldn’t! but for SOME REASON, when a WHITE CIS MAN is autistic, he’s allowed to do whatever and nobody can get mad at him bc “he’s autistic, he doesn’t know better!” even other autistic people aren’t allowed to get upset at an autistic white man! i’m tired of that! autistic people also need consequences, just like everyone else! this fucking worm of a man has gotten away with so much in his life, because of being white and rich and cishet, don’t let him get away with this, too
“Elon didn’t mean to sieg heil, he’s just autistic”
Do you guys remember when Kanye said he was gonna go “death con” on all the Jews? Do you remember how his apologists said he was just off his bipolar meds? Do you remember that he doubled down, said he didn’t actually have bipolar, and he had been misdiagnosed by a Jew doctor? Do you remember he proceeded to meet with prominent white supremacists and told infowars he was a Nazi who loved Hitler?
Nobody ever believes the Jews the first time, even though our culture has spent literally thousands of years learning the warning signs. We know what we’re looking at. It’s two consecutive Nazi salutes on a white supremacist’s inauguration day. You can downplay it all you want, but this coal mine’s canary isn’t coming back to life.
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