#and he was like is he me. is that why i dont like him. and i was like LOL

[sinlizards]

(insane guy voice) i think i might like Lee Gyu-Hyuk just a little bit

[godspeedpietro]

i see your "walker cooks for everyone and keeps track of everyones food preferences, including bob's favorite food brands", and i raise you:

bob wanting john to teach him how to cook. its not that he was previously incapable, its just never something he really dedicated himself to learning. his comfort foods never really required much cooking, and he never had a family to provide for, but now he's on this team, living with these people who contribute so much, and he just needs to feel like he's doing *something* more.

so one day, when john is cooking dinner, bob silently walks into the kitchen and just watches him working from the other side of the room. he keeps himself out of the way, but he carefully examines everything john does, trying to commit it to memory so that he can replicate the actions on his own.

and of course john notices that he's there. despite how absorbed into cooking he can get, he also immediately notices when people enter the kitchen so that he can prepare to bark at them to get out. that isnt normally necessary with bob, due to how he tends to keep himself out of the way, but he can feel that bob is staring at him, and it freaks him out. so, after a couple mintutes go by, john just turns to him and goes, "do you need something? why the hell are you just looking at me?"

bob, more shy now that john has actually spoken to him, stutters out; "i just- um, i wanted to watch you cook, because.. i want to learn. but i didnt want to ask you, because i know you dont like people in the kitchen, so im just trying to watch... im sorry."

and as bob turns to leave, john sighs - not out of annoyance, but resign. he stops bob from leaving and invites him in, offering to teach him about everything he's doing. it starts with bob just hovering around while john verbally explains everything, then eventually evolves into bob handing him ingredients and measuring things, up until they eventually start cooking side by side. as the days pass, they get into a good rhythm, and cooking together becomes the norm. it helps bob feel like he's contributing, and it makes john feel like maybe he hasnt completely fucked up his chances at having a decent relationship with bob after all.

[daechwitatamic]

You Think You Might - Chapter 5 || csc

(banner by @itaeewon)

You Think You Might (masterpost)

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 8k

Status: complete; this is the final chapter

Warnings: language, excessive drinking and drunkenness, i did make seungcheol cry just once and i'm not sorry, reader continuing to go thru it, angst, kissing, oral (f. receiving), piv sex, the teeeensiest tiniest bit of barely there ass play do not even LOOK at me i dont know who wrote that, reader says if you demand to be on my island then i am getting OFF the island and we all should have seen it coming

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me

October

When your phone rings at 1:20 in the morning, it feels like a stone sinks through your stomach. Some instinct knows what this is before you even read his name on the screen. Like part of you has been waiting since early summer for him to break, afraid of your own reaction, afraid you’ll do the wrong thing and let him.

“What’s up?” you answer, which strikes you as funny, because it’s the middle of the night and you’re half-asleep. Nothing about this is casual - this isn’t going to be a call about grabbing extra beer for Soonyoung’s house. 

“Come drink with me.”

Four words, and you know everything you need to know. The background noise is deafening - thumping, shattering club music and the cacophony of dozens of conversations being carried at a volume meant to rise above the music. 

The words are also slurred nearly past recognizability. 

He’s fucked up. 

Going to him would be a mistake.

But you want to. You want to. 

You’re already moving towards your closet in the dark.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” you ask sarcastically, even as you reach the lamp on your dresser and switch it on, casting your room in a low yellow light. You pick out a pair of jeans and a sweater - you won’t be staying at the club with him, you don’t need to dress up. You’ll tell security you’re just getting someone home - they’ll let you through.

“Wish I knew,” he says darkly. “Actually, no I don’t. If I did, I’d go there. Promised my mom no more fights.”

He sounds so gone. Your heart wrings itself out like laundry fresh from the wash, water and blood pouring from it. You ache for him, want to pull him close, want to soothe the hurts. You pull the sweater on quickly. 

“Did you argue again?” you ask, mostly to keep him talking while you get ready. You poke around your room for a wayward sneaker.

He laughs, once, no humor in it. “Worst we’ve ever had. She took her shit this time.”

“Seungcheol,” you say, all pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Come drink with me,” he answers, more firmly this time. He sounds a bit more lucid, like answering your questions tethered him back to now. “I hate being alone.”

You tuck in your laces and grab your keys. “I know you do,” you say softly. “Send me your location.”

As expected, you tell the bouncer you’re just here to get your friend out of there and he lets you inside, even asks if you think you’ll need help.

“Nah,” you say easily. “He’ll come with me.”

It takes some effort to move through the crowd until you reach the bar, but Seungcheol is there, an empty glass in front of him, and his chin propped up on his hand, his eyes unfocused.

You slide in the seat next to him - miraculously empty - and order yourself a beer and a water for him. You don’t talk to him until they’ve arrived, until you’ve watched him down a third of the water.

“Why am I here, Seungcheol?” you ask him, finally, quiet. You’re not sure how much of him is present right now, not sure what kind of answer you’ll get.

But he seems to have come back around since he first called you, because his answer is, “Aren’t we supposed to be friends?”

“Is that why you called me? Because you needed a friend?” you ask. It’s a dangerous question; it’s a dare. It’s a challenge, it’s a first expression of this fucked-up limbo the two of you have tried to maintain. It’s a mistake that you can’t stop yourself from making, the inertia carrying you even when you know you should swerve. 

You’re lucky - he’s not too far gone to know exactly what game you’re playing, and to remember he’s not supposed to play. 

“I called you,” he says, dark eyes flashing up to yours, “because I didn’t want to sit here alone. I wanted to be… with someone good. Good to me.”

The words are unsteady, wobbly, but you think they might still be a version of the truth.

There are a lot of things you could say back to that, and they all jump into your mouth at once. But you’re supposed to be staying off the boat, right?

“Drink your water,” you tell him, and something in your tone must tell him not to fuck with you, because he listens. When you’ve both finished - you, your single beer, and him, the entire glass of water - you tell him, “Let’s go home.”

He rises without a fuss, and you lead him by the hand through the noisy throngs of people and out inside the silent, chilly night. His hand in yours is warm, clinging to you so tightly it almost hurts.

You drive him back to his place in near silence. He only speaks to mutter two-word directions at you - turn left and next exit and this one.

You take his keys from his hand and lead him across the parking lot to his building’s door, realizing halfway there that he’s stopped following you. You turn, finding him standing in the middle of the parking lot, unmoving.

Hesitantly, you make your way back toward him. 

“Cheol?” you venture, and when he turns to you, his face is twisted, a storm in his eyes. 

His voice doesn’t even sound like him - choked and raspy and loud - when he asks you, “Why does she do this to me?” He swipes a closed fist across his eyes, the picture of misery.

You close the space between you and gather him in your arms; drunk and broken, he lets you. You hold him steady as he cries into your shoulder, his own hands coming to clutch desperately at your back, like you’re the only thing holding him down in the face of a hurricane.

You hold him as long as he needs, the two of you alone in the middle of the pavement, the night expanding silent and blue around you. 

When he gives a final shaky exhale and loosens his hold on your back, you let him step away, your hands falling to your sides. You watch his face carefully as he roughly scrubs at his cheeks with the heels of his hands. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed. 

You shake your head, don’t be, but don’t speak. You don’t know the right thing to say; you don’t know if he’s in the right place to hear you.

You’ve never been to his place before, so he leads you inside, taking an unnaturally long time to get his key in the lock. You don’t offer to help, knowing he doesn’t need you to baby him right now, doesn’t need you to make him feel like he can’t do it.

Inside, he clicks on the lights and stumbles through a dark doorway that you assume must lead to his bedroom. You look around for a second - it’s neater than you expected, but looks lived in. There’s a hoodie thrown over the back of a kitchen chair, and a lone mug in the kitchen sink waiting to be washed. You open a few cabinets until you find glasses, and you fill one with water. Then you follow the sounds of thumps through his still-dark bedroom and into the brightly lit en-suite.

Seungcheol looks at you like he’s not sure where you came from, the toothbrush stilling in his mouth.

“Water,” you explain, needlessly, and he nods, still looking a bit baffled. 

You wait in his bedroom until he flicks off the bathroom light and stumbles out and straight into his bed. You set the water down on his bedside table and back away.

“You good?” you ask. You mean, mostly, are you going to throw up in your sleep, or can I leave? 

He pulls the blankets over his head, then pushes one eye out and looks at your blearily.

“There are three of you,” he says seriously, his low voice muffled by the thick blankets.

“All three of us will be on the couch if you need… help, or anything,” you deadpan.

He’s too drunk to appreciate the joke. That one visible eyeball just stares at you, and then he mutters, “Is it fucked up that I missed you?”

You huff a tiny laugh.

“Goodnight, Seungcheol,” you say, instead of answering. “Yell if you need me.”

He only hums, not really an answer, but you’ll take it. You close his bedroom door behind you and survey his living room. You turn on a low lamp and then cross the room to turn off the brighter overhead lights. You get comfortable, scrunching up the throw pillow under your head and pulling a blanket from the back of the couch. 

You thought you’d have trouble sleeping here, alone in a place you’ve never been, but the blanket smells like him, and you feel safe knowing he’s on the other side of the door, and it doesn’t take long at all before you’re drifting off.

You’re woken up mid-morning by a body draping itself heavily over your side, then sliding behind you to slip between you and the back of the couch. His arm rests on top of you, his hand on your shoulder.

You giggle before you even open your eyes. “Hello?” you ask, trying to peer over your shoulder, but Seungcheol holds your shoulder tight, stopping the motion.

“You can’t look at me,” he says seriously, his voice sleepy and soft. “I’m too ashamed.”

You laugh again.

“I am seriously so sorry,” he says, still hiding behind you. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you relax against him, smiling despite yourself. The room is lit up brightly from the morning sun, the lamp you had on last night now turned off. “For calling you… for making you come out in the middle of the night… for everything I said… for…”

For breaking down. You hear it even though he doesn’t say it.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you tell him quietly, reaching up to rest your hand on top of his where it rests on your shoulder. “If I didn’t want to come out, I wouldn’t have. And you don’t need to apologize for… feeling how you feel, or for letting me be there for you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“This is very embarrassing for me,” he mumbles against your head.

You roll over so you can face him, and he lets you. You look up at him, trying to reconcile the sheepish man in front of you to the broken one you saw last night. It occurs to you, as you lay chest to chest with him on the couch, that this is the closest you’ve been since you slept together in July.

You hate how right it feels - no awkwardness, no uncertainty.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” you whisper.

His mouth twists like he doesn’t quite see it the same way. “Thanks for getting me home,” he says, instead of arguing or agreeing. “At… two in the morning.”

You shrug one shoulder, very aware of how dangerously close to cuddling you are, as he places his arm over your back, his hand resting near your shoulder blades. “It makes me happy that you felt comfortable calling me when you needed someone,” you tell him. “I’m glad I could be there for you.” It might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him.

It had - it had made you happy to take care of him the way he’d taken care of you at that resort. It made you happy to be the one that he let in, who got to see him when he wasn’t put together.

It might be complicated, but it’s still true. You’re happy to be here.

You lay there - yes, cuddling, technically - for a little bit, and then you look at him again. His gaze is warm this morning, full of affection and gratitude.

“Hey…” you say, unsure if this is the right move, “I know you asked me to, like, stay out of it. And I’ve been trying to. But… can I ask you something?”

He sighs a little, pressing his hands to his eyes for a moment before looking at you again. The movement cracks the cuddle, and you push yourself up to sitting. He does the same, so that you’re side to side and upright again. 

“Yeah,” he relents. “I guess you have the right, after last night.”

“Why stay?” you ask him earnestly. “Why keep trying, when all of us - including both of you - know how it’s going to go?”

“Because,” he says darkly, averting his eyes.

“Because isn’t a reason,” you point out.

He huffs, frustrated, but you wait him out. “I just… want to prove that… it could work. That I’m not… so fucked up that it can’t.”

You put a hand on his knee, and his eyes flick to yours.

“I can solve that one for you: you’re not. And it sucks that she made you feel like you are.”

“It’s not all her fault,” he mumbles.

“No,” you agree. “It really isn’t. But, Seungcheol, if a couple works, it’s not about their worthiness, it’s not the universe deciding they’re good enough. It’s about the two people involved, and their willingness to put pride aside and try - to communicate, and make sacrifices, and fight for it. And I know you’re capable of all that - because when you were pretending, you were perfect. More than perfect.”

His face softens, those flickers of anger and defensiveness falling away. You sit in silence, looking at each other, the air between you charged and full of tension so thick you could sink your fingers into it like a ball of dough.

The ugliest part of you, hidden way down deep, rises up and whispers, choose me. 

You hate this selfish voice, hate yourself for wanting this even after everything, but you can’t silence the part of you that’s pleading for him to realize he’s been chasing his tail in circles, to realize that he has an option in front of him that could be great if he gave it a chance.

You force yourself up, breaking the spell, going silently to find your keys and your shoes. 

Still, even as he watches you go, the want claws up your stomach, through your limbs, into your fingertips. 

You pause in the entryway, looking back at him. For a long moment, his eyes stay locked on yours, pinning you to the spot.

You clench your jaw to shove down the words, but they flow through your gaze straight to his anyway.

Choose me. Choose me. Please, choose me. 

From the way he sits still on the couch, you think he must hear your plea. You think he must be considering. You finally break eye contact, giving him a tight nod and turning away. Then you close the door behind you, leaving him alone with the choice.

The next weekend at Soonyoung and Chan’s, Seungcheol isn’t present.

The realization goes through you like ice, your heart skipping and galloping with all the implications of it.

“Ah, yeah,” your brother says, when you ask. “He and Jieun went away for the weekend. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

You turn away as casually as you can, trying to school your features. The news hits you like a punch.

He and Jieun. He picked her. 

He picked her, and took her away for a romantic trip to solidify it. It makes you nauseous. You’d been trying to accept this truth - that she would always win - and yet somehow you’re still surprised. 

Stupid. Stupid.

Fine, you think, taking a slow breath in to calm your systems. It’s fine. You wanted him to choose, and he did. Now you know for sure. Now it can be over.

And it has to be - over. You can’t do this again. You can’t open up and let him in just to watch him slip back to her again. Not again.

It sucks, but you don’t feel like you can talk to Soonyoung about this. Not because he wouldn’t hear you, or support you. But at the end of the day, Seungcheol has been his friend for a long time - you don’t want to put him in the middle, or in an uncomfortable spot. 

You sit on it for a few days, and then you crack and do something you’ve never done in your whole life.

You call your sister. Just to talk.

“Hey!” she greets you brightly, like she’s pleasantly surprised to hear from you. Which is fair. “What’s going on?”

“Not a lot,” you lie. “How about you?”

“Same ‘ol, same ‘ol,” she sighs, not unhappily. “Jeongwoo is on a work trip until tomorrow night, so I’m sitting here having a sleepover night by myself - painting my nails, binging some Real Housewives, and drinking wine.”

“Sounds amazing,” you say.

“Feel free to join me,” she says, and you hear the smile in her voice. You wonder if you could ever get there - to the point where you’d even consider that offer from her, to the point where you’d want to go hang out with her.

The idea of it sounds kind of nice.

“Maybe next time,” you say, and you almost mean it.

“What’s going on with you?” she asks.

“Seungcheol called me drunk from the bar at one in the morning on Saturday,” you blurt. It bursts from you, unbidden, though you know that unburdening yourself of this was the whole reason you called.

“Oh my god, what?” she breathes. “Did you answer?”

You laugh. “You don’t even know what a silly question that is,” you say, and it doesn’t occur to you that you’re just saying ‘you don’t know me at all’, but you are. “Not only did I answer, I went to pick him up and drive him home, and then I slept on his couch to make sure he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning.”

Nayoung swears. “You two are messy messy,” she says, and you laugh, because - yeah. “Where’s his girlfriend?”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah, that’s an important detail. They had a fight and she turned off her location, which is why he went off the rails at the bar in the first place.”

“Okay,” Nayoung says, and you can almost picture her holding up a hand to stop you. “Back up and start at the beginning. Tell me everything.” 

You do, starting with his phone call that night, ending with his absence at Soonyoung’s last Friday, the indication that he’d taken Jieun on a romantic weekend away, that he’d heard what you’d said and made his choice definitively.

“Oh,” she says as soon as you’re done, the word rushing from her, “he wants you so bad.”

“What?” This is not the reaction you’d expected. This is also the opposite of how you see the situation.

“He got sad and called you,” she points out. “He needed comfort and he turned to you. To me, that says a lot.”

You hum. “I don’t know. He called me because he was drunk and the girl he wanted had him blocked.”

“I don’t think so,” she says. “I think some part of him knew you were a safe place to turn to.”

Someone good to me. 

You let out your breath, frustrated. “What does that do for me?” you demand. “He chose her!”

“I don’t know,” she says. “He’s gotta figure it out sooner or later, that you’re what he wants - right?”

“You’d think,” you mutter sarcastically.

“He’ll be back,” she says, sounding sure. “He’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t think I care, though,” you say. “Even if he did… he’s picked her over me too many times. I don’t want to be his second choice, I don’t want to always wonder if he’d rather be with her.”

“Well,” she says, “I know I haven’t been married that long, but my advice as someone with a very solid relationship - if I do say so myself - is to just ask him how he feels about it… and trust what he tells you.”

You don’t respond, your lips pressed tight together. Because you don’t - can’t - trust him to mean it when he says he’s done with her. He’s switched up on you too many times. He could tell you day in and day out that it’s you, but you will always feel Jieun’s shadow hovering behind you. There’s no way around it.

You think you might hate her, and that makes you sad, too - because it’s not even her fault.

It’s pouring on the night that Seungcheol shows up at your door - the kind of rain that comes down only sideways, soaking your feet, hair, and even through your jeans in some spots in the short time it takes you to dash from your car to the building’s front door.

You’re still wiping water from your face, shaking it from your sleeves, trying to tame your damp hair when you round the corner to your hall and spot him outside your door.

Your stomach sinks immediately, instinct and past experience telling you that he and Jieun fought again, that the merry-go-round has brought him to the come to you for comfort phase of the cycle once again. 

You’re tired - tired of fighting how you feel for him, tired of feeling guilty for wanting someone that’s not yours, tired of feeling pathetic for wanting someone who doesn’t want you, tired of picking him up every time he comes crawling to you low and angry. 

But you approach him anyway - what else can you do? It’s your apartment.

When he turns to face you, you’re so surprised that you actually falter in your steps, tripping over nothing and having to right yourself.

He looks happy - he looks good, and somehow himself in a way you haven’t seen since Nayoung’s wedding over the summer. There’s no storm behind his eyes, no crease in his brow, no heavy weight to the corners of his mouth, no tightness to his jaw or heaviness on his shoulders.

“Hi?” you venture.

His smile crawls across his face, dimples deepening by tiny degrees at a time. It takes your breath away - you hadn’t realized it, but you haven’t seen him happy like this in so long. He’s beautiful. You miss this version of him. 

“Hey,” he says, dimples deepening. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” you say, digging out your keys. “Is everything okay?”

“Very,” he says, emphatically but cryptically. 

You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms.

He laughs, like you’re being cute. It makes you scowl, but it also makes your stomach flutter. “Can we talk inside? This isn’t really a… hallway conversation.”

You give him a wary look and move past him to unlock the door. He follows you inside and hovers behind you as you flick on lights and set down your things. You’re still water-logged from the rain, and you cross into your bedroom to change into something dry. Seungcheol hangs back in your living room, patiently waiting for you to emerge.

“Okay,” you say, “what’s up?”

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. Something crosses his face - uncertainty, maybe. He steps closer, hands reaching for your elbows. You let him draw you closer, into the circle of his warmth, his smell, his solidity. You look up at him, a question in your eyes.

“I have to just say it,” he says, almost to himself, almost like a reprimand. Like he’s giving himself a pep talk. “I want to try with you. I want to do it for real.”

You stare at him, eyes wide. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this. 

“Seungcheol, what?” You’re almost convinced that you heard him wrong, or that you’re misunderstanding what he’s saying. Your brain whirs as it tries to process, to find the slip-up.

He shifts closer, your bodies almost touching, and you tip your head up to keep his face in your line of sight. 

His voice lowers, softens, turns into something private and pleading. “I know we could be good together. Give me a chance to prove it. I didn’t think I could do it, before. But.. I can. I will.”

Somehow his hands have gone from your elbows to your upper arms, your bodies inching closer and closer like drifting continents, coming closer so slowly it’s impossible to see the movement.

You manage to speak, your words stumbling over each other. “But - Jieun?”

He shakes his head. “Gone,” he says firmly. Your stomach swoops, but the feeling of elation is chased immediately by a dark wave of doubt. “For good. I’m not doing that shit anymore. I’m not…” he trails off, thinking, then calls back a conversation you’d had months ago, on a sandy beach hundreds of miles away - “…accepting an ending that’s less than what I want.”

“I don’t understand,” you breathe. 

“I want to really try with someone who will actually try with me. I like you. So, please. Let’s try.”

Your heart races so fast that you feel a little dizzy as you consider his offer. You’re afraid of him hurting you again, changing his mind again. You’re afraid of accepting him and then letting him down, making him regret it all. You’re afraid of him becoming just another person who gets tired of you and walks away. 

But your feelings for him haven’t dissipated at all over these months, no matter how firmly you’ve tried to store them away. You want to feel close to him again. Very little in your life has felt as safe as being close to Seungcheol feels. 

You want to feel good again, too.

Your bodies are touching now, his arms fully around you, your faces so close you could kiss him without reaching. 

“Give me a chance,” he murmurs, his eyes tracing your face.

“I’ll give you a night,” you breathe, nearly against his lips. “We can go from there.”

His arms close around you instantly, his mouth finding yours - this was all the permission he needed. You melt into him, hands sliding up his back, already beneath the hem of his shirt, seeking skin, seeking warmth, seeking him. 

The way he clings to you as he kisses you makes you wonder if he’s been missing this, too - if you aren’t the only one whose single dose failed as a cure, only left you wanting.

You peel his shirt over his head slowly, reveling in every line and ridge of muscle as they are exposed one by one. You feel possessive of him, suddenly, want to carve your name across his ribs, want to make sure no one forgets that you were here, that at least for this moment he was only yours.

He does the same, making quick work of the hoodie that you’d just pulled on, tossing it towards the couch. He smirks a little when he spots the lacy edges of your bra - thank god, thank god you’d picked a cute one today - and remarks, “Pretty,” before pinching the clasp open with one hand and discarding it in the same direction that your hoodie and tshirt had just gone.

He kisses you again, hot and deep and seeking, as his hands find and knead your breasts firmly, something possessive in his touch - like, once again, you match. Your knees go a little weak and you lean into him, a wanting sound slipping up your throat and disappearing into his open mouth. 

His thumbs brush your nipples once and the sound turns into a whine. He breaks the kiss long enough to tease, “What? Not enough?”

Never enough, you think. You’ll always want more of him.

“Feels nice,” you tell him, in a whisper.

You kiss him again as your hands fumble with his belt buckle. His jeans drop to the floor and he steps out of them, his eyes closing on an audible sigh when you palm him over the black briefs he’s wearing. He’s hot under your hand, a small patch already damp beneath your palm.

“Get rid of those,” he instructs as he steps away from you, pulling at his own socks. He nods at your lower half as clarification and you pull off your leggings, leaving only the matching bottoms to your bra. You hook your thumbs under the edge of the lace, but he reaches out to stop you.

“Leave that,” he says, his eyes shining and devilish. 

He lays you back across the couch and settles between your thighs, all mischief and anticipation, and then he licks a warm stripe up the center of the lace. You reach over your head and clutch at the arm of the couch, trying desperately to keep it together as he hooks a thumb under the lace and pulls them gently to the side, exposing you to the cool air of the room and his own hungry gaze. You moan loud, eyes squeezing shut, as he dives back in.

He slides two fingers into your heat and your back arches as his name slips between your lips. He returns his tongue to you as his fingers open you bit by bit, whimpers and gasps replacing the silence in the room. He grunts when you lose control and buck once, then uses his free hand to splay his fingers across your lower belly to hold you still.

The snap happens before you expect it, almost without warning. The heat blossoms from your stomach down to your toes, and you chant his name as the waves roll through you, demanding your attention. 

“Shit,” he growls, fingers still moving, his mouth an inch away from your pulsing center. “Fuck, I feel you, baby.”

When you finally unclench, the room spinning around you as you gasp for breath, he slips his fingers from you and crawls up your body, his mouth seeking yours. You barely register that you can taste yourself on him; all you can process is the need to cling to him as you come back to earth, the need to know he’s surrounding you, solidly between you and the rest of reality.

“Please,” you hear yourself say, though you didn’t make the decision to beg. He obliges, doesn’t tease you for it, just lines himself up and slides into you in one slow, unfaltering motion. 

Your hips tilt on their own, taking him just slightly deeper; you gasp against his mouth, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to hold on, trying to hold him still, trying to climb inside him. 

He presses his forehead to yours, both of you panting, his arms caging you in as he fucks in and out of you slowly, letting you adjust to the stretch. It’s a lot, but it’s so good, and it isn’t long before you’re moving with him, meeting each thrust, your legs tangled behind his waist to pull him in closer.

You let go of his shoulders and cup his face with both hands, pulling his mouth back to yours tenderly. 

You think you might be halfway in love with him. That’s been your whole problem all along.

“Touch yourself for me,” he murmurs, lips on your jaw.

You pull back and slip two fingers into your mouth, eyes on his as you wet them. You smirk when his face twists, his stroke faltering for just a second, and then bring your fingers between your legs.

“How are you real?” he groans, his pace quickening. You feel yourself shake slightly each time he pushes back into you. 

When he stops, pressed so deep inside you that it steals your breath, you look up at him inquisitively. Sweat beads on his forehead, and he reaches up to push his hair back from his face.

He doesn’t answer your unvoiced question, just slides out of you and stands, reaching for your hands to pull you up after him. He kisses you messily, hungrily, pulling you tight against his body. His cock is trapped between your bodies, hot and slippery against your lower stomach. He ignores this, holding you desperately, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll get ripped away. A detached part of your brain wonders what fear is behind the tightness of his grip.

Then he’s moving with renewed energy, turning you by your shoulders and pressing between them, leaning you over the arm of the couch, one hand sliding down your spine and resting on the small of your back. You cry out wordlessly when he slides into you again, the new position bringing him deeper than before, stars sparking before your eyes. 

He grips your hips tightly, using the leverage to pound into you with a force he hadn’t earlier, or back in July. All you can do is take it, eyes screwed shut, wailing wordlessly and trying to press your face into your arms to muffle the noise. 

“Too much?” he manages to ask you, the words slipped between breaths, his voice tight with effort.

You can’t form an answer, can’t make your mouth shape no, it’s perfect, so you shake your head wildly. You think you might die if he stops.

Seungcheol slows anyway, soothing a hand down your back again, giving you a chance to relax your muscles and take a deep breath. He sets a steady pace, far less brutal than a moment ago, and you reach back to run a hand up the back of his thigh, just wanting to touch him. He reaches down with one hand and tangles his fingers with yours, giving a single reassuring squeeze before dropping them again.

Your thighs are shaking constantly now, and your voice comes out thin when you try to warn him you’re close.

“Yeah?” he croons, and then you feel the gentle pressure of his thumb ghost over your rim before circling it more firmly. 

You lose it entirely; you think you scream. Everything goes white and then staticky. You’re dimly aware of Seungcheol growling your name, pulling out, splattering your ass with strings of hot cum.

You cooperate when he maneuvers you back onto the couch, laying on his back and pulling you onto his front, your hearts both beating wildly against one another, like they’re both trying to break through your ribs and reach the other. 

“Shit,” you whisper, when you feel like you’re in your body again. He chuckles warmly beneath you, reaching up to run a hand down your arm affectionately. 

“You good?” he asks, voice gravelly. 

“Mhm,” you manage, though you’re already starting to feel soreness everywhere - in your hips, between your legs, even in your lower belly. “You wanna shower?”

“Definitely,” he says, and helps you up, follows you into the bathroom. Soaps you up gently, kisses your head while you rinse. It’s frighteningly tender, and you find yourself struggling to look directly at him.

Something inside you feels like you should run.

When you’re dry, he asks you tentatively, “Should I go home?”

Probably, you think. Before I get in even deeper. 

But you’re already in so deep. You haven’t slept next to him in months. You crave it just as much as what you’ve just done. So you tell him, “I don’t mind if you stay. If you want to.”

In the dark, you lie facing each other, your head resting on his mountain of a bicep. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers.

That I’m not going to be enough to make you stay, you think.

“That I’m going to need to soak in a hot bath tomorrow,” you lie.

You wake up between his arms, your room bright with early morning sun. You let yourself revel in it for only a moment, and then you slip out of the bed as quietly as you can. Silently, you start dressing. 

You’re hunting for your shoes when he wakes, squinting at you adorably, a pout on his face.

“Come back,” he whines, and you almost cave. You don’t answer, and this seems to be what alerts him that something is wrong. He’s fully awake, quickly, his eyes sharp on you as he throws off your blanket and stands.

You step back as he comes closer, and you hate that you recognize a flash of hurt crossing his face.

“I need to go,” you say quietly, and you can hear the cornered-animal fear in your voice, hate that it’s evident.

“Why?” he asks, his voice just as raw as it had been the night he’d cried over her, less than a month ago.

You shake your head, the words in your head scrambled and unfocused. 

“Talk to me,” he begs, trying to step closer again. You let him, this time. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you manage, but your voice is choked, and the second you hear it the dam inside you cracks. You blink away tears and step back from him again as he tries to reach for you. “I just can’t do this. I can’t let you in and then watch you leave for her again.”

His brows scrunch with confusion. “Leave for - who? Jieun? That’s not -”

“You just ended things with her,” you point out, interrupting. “You were away with her on a romantic little trip last fucking weekend. You’re not over her, and every time you think you are you just go running right back and I can’t be the collateral damage even one more time, Seungcheol - please, I think it’ll kill me to lose you to her again.”

“I went away with her last weekend to tell her goodbye,” he says, voice hushed, like he doesn’t want to spook you. “She and I talked for a long time about… us. We agreed - we put that part of our lives away for good.”

You shake your head again, letting this speak for you, because you feel like it would be cruel to say I don’t believe you… even if it’s true.

He steps closer again, finally within reach. He places one hand on your arm, gingerly, like he wants to root you to the spot but knows to tread lightly. “It’s not you or her,” he tells you earnestly. “It never was.”

A scoff escapes you without permission.

“Please listen to me,” he says again. It occurs to you that he could be angry, could be flying to the defensive, could be turning this into a fight. Instead, he’s being gentle - hearing what you’re telling him and talking about it. A tiny part of you is proud, knows this takes effort on his part, knows he’s had to unlearn how he once would have reacted.

“I’m listening,” you whisper. It’s all you can give him right now.

“She and I haven’t really loved each other in… a long time. That’s one of the things we talked about last weekend. We were both just… trying to keep a dead thing alive, because that hurt less than admitting it wasn’t going to wake up. I’m not going to suddenly realize I miss her, or that being with her was better. There’s a zero percent chance of that - less than zero.”

“Less than zero percent can’t exist,” you croak, just to be contrary.

“Well it does in this case,” he shoots back, lips starting to pout a little. “I’m not saying you and I will be magically perfect, but I can promise that if we don’t work for some reason, she will not be the cause.”

You want to believe him - you ache to believe him. 

You wipe under your eyes, trying to get yourself put together. Seungcheol watches your face carefully.

Then he says, very quietly, “We work. You know we do.”

“We worked when it was pretend,” you rebut. 

He says your name, a demand hidden in it - a demand to listen, to hear him. 

“You’re what I need,” he says firmly. “I need someone who won’t rise to the bait if I slip and fuck up and say something stupid. I need someone who wants me to be happy, not just someone who wants me to make them happy. And I want so many things for you - I want to make life easier for you, I want you to feel loved and valued, I want to do all of that for you. I want to do shit for you that I never did before, like double text and call first and apologize even when I don’t think I’m wrong.”

He’s teasing a little by the end, and you laugh through your tears despite yourself. 

“Seungcheol, I don’t know,” you tell him. “How can you be sure?”

He takes your hands, grips your fingers tight. “I want to do this right with you,” he says plainly. “I want you, and I want to really try. The way I feel about you… it makes me want to believe in happily ever after and all that other shit. Being with you makes me feel like maybe it’s not totally impossible.”

As gently as you can, you pull your hands away. “I don’t know,” you repeat hollowly. “I… I need some time to think about it.”

You step away and he lets you, his hands falling uselessly to his sides. 

“It’s not no,” you tell him, the only comfort you can offer him, nothing more. “I just… please, I need to think.”

You leave him in your apartment, don’t even wait to let him out. With shaking hands, you unlock your car and get in, scarcely breathing until the apartment building has disappeared from view.

Then, you drive to your sister’s house.

–

Her husband answers the door, the first time you’ve seen him since the wedding. He looks surprised - understandable, because you’ve never been there before, never ever just showed up, and also it’s probably very clear that you’ve been crying.

He greets you by name, but the shock in his voice makes you feel so guilty that you whisper, “I can come back another time, I can give her a call first -”

“No,” he cuts you off. There’s something you can’t name in his tone. “I’m - I think she’ll be really glad you came. Please come in.”

It isn’t a formal please, come in, that you’d give to someone as a pleasantry. He means, please, come inside and talk to your sister, please, come in so she can see that you came here for her. 

You hear it loud and clear. You wonder if Nayoung has felt as rejected by you as you’ve felt by her, over the years. 

Nayoung rises when she sees you enter the room, her face flashing from surprised to concerned.

“What happened?” she asks, as she rounds the corner of her couch, already coming to hug you.

And you let her. You open your arms and step into her embrace, because despite the way you’d grown up, she’s here now and she’s trying and you think you might like having her in your life.

“I slept with Seungcheol last night,” you tell her miserably.

Behind you, Jeongwoo says uncomfortably, “Um, I’m going to run to the store. I’ll get ice cream.”

Nayoung lifts her head to make eye contact with him over your shoulder and he adds, “And wine.”

On your sister’s couch, you tell her everything - almost everything. The way Seungcheol had disappeared, how you’d assumed he was choosing Jieun for good. How he’d shown up, had asked you to try, had laid his heart out for you.

How you’d run.

It makes you cry all over again. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit through your tears. “I know what I want to do. But there’s so many what if’s…”

“There always are,” she says seriously. “There are no guarantees with love. The question is, do you believe that he’ll really try - that he means what he’s telling you? Or do you think it’s just lines to get you to say yes?”

“Of course I believe he means it,” you say, almost surprised. But Nayoung doesn’t know Seungcheol like you do, doesn’t know how genuine his heart is. “I’m just scared he’ll… change his mind later, or something.”

“No one can promise you forever,” she points out, a little sadly.

“How can you say that?” you ask her. “You’re married. You took a vow in front of the whole family to love each other forever.”

“Sure,” she agrees. “But what I mean is that when you’re with someone… every day is a choice. You’re choosing them over the rest of the world every day that you wake up. The vow Jeongwoo and I took was to keep choosing each other, even if there are days that it’s hard.”

You drop your gaze and run your hands over the cushion of her couch absently. 

“If you’re asking me what I think you should do,” she says, “then I think you should let him try. I’m not telling you to marry him tomorrow. What could it hurt to try dating?”

“My heart,” you answer pitifully.

She reaches for your knee and gives you a playful shake. “But would that really be worse than walking away and wondering if you missed out on something real? Wouldn’t it drive you crazy not to know?”

You think about this question for the rest of the night, even after you’ve gone home again. 

When you let yourself into the apartment, you hold your breath. You know it’s ridiculous, but part of you wonders if Seungcheol will be waiting for you, waiting to make you talk about it.

The door swings open. The apartment is dark, and silent.

You think about calling him, or at least texting him - but what would you say? You’re still not sure what you want. 

Soonyoung texts you the next night - come over for pizza and movie??? pls pls??

You text back, idk. who’s coming over?

He understands the real question, sends back, he’s already here. please come anyway, noona :( chan misses you.

You sit on the edge of your bed, your phone in your hands, and hang your head, wracked with indecision.

You do know what you want. You’d said as much to Nayoung yesterday. But just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

Your sheets still smell like Seungcheol. You want to bury yourself in them, breathe him in. You think just his smell is enough to make your head clear, your pulse calm, your pain ease.

It is this that tips you into making a choice. 

This was never about deciding if you want him. It’s been about deciding if you can trust him to take care of you.

With a sigh, you swipe back to the conversation and tell him, i’ll head over in a bit. 

The scene at Soonyoung and Chan’s is as familiar as your own home. The television screen flashes with whatever game Wonwoo and Vernon are playing, the blue LED lights lining the ceiling’s edges. Your brother’s and Chan’s voices float from the kitchen, bickering. And Seungcheol sits in his usual chair, his dark eyes on you, still and serious.

You freeze in the doorway, caught in his heavy, unwavering gaze. 

The moment stretches. He’s asking you a question without speaking, without moving, and you know that whatever you do next is an answer - definitively yes, or definitively no. 

It’s like the whole world stills around you, waiting to see… what will it be? If you shake your head or turn away, you know it means losing your chance with Seungcheol forever. He gave you grace and time to process but if you turn him down now, he won’t be crawling back.

And maybe that’s the safe option - maybe that’s the option that keeps your heart nice and swaddled, alone on your island.

But you’re trying not to be like that anymore. You’re trying to let people in. You’re trying to give others a chance.

He deserves a chance - and so do you.

You take a bracing breath and cross the room. As soon as he can tell you’re heading for him, a smile lights up his face, and his hands are ready for you, reaching to help you balance as you climb up and side sideways across his lap, your arms looping around his neck.

You hear one of the controllers hit the floor - either Wonwoo or Vernon has dropped it in shock - and then the whole room explodes into protest as you lean in and press your mouth to Seungcheol’s, as his arms wind around your back and pull you in closer.

You hear your brother shout, “Not in my living room!” and Chan’s horrified, “That is my sister!”

You tune them all out; you don’t even care. You want him to know you mean it, that you aren’t scared, that you’re in this as much as he is - for as long as he is.

He’s smiling against your lips and it’s infectious - you’re fighting your smile too, so filled with happiness and hope that you can barely hold it in. 

You break away, beaming at each other.

“All right, all right,” Seungcheol says, flapping a hand at your brother, unphased. “Calm your ass down, we’re done.”

“We’re not done,” you murmur to him, and he laughs, loud. The sound lights you up.

“Okay, we’re not done, but we’ll leave,” he concedes. You stand unsteadily, still laughing, and he leads you by the hand towards the door. You wave an unapologetic and cheerful goodbye over your shoulder and let him pull you into the hallway. 

His hand fits yours, secure and sure, large and warm, as he pulls into a future where you don’t have to be alone to be happy. His hand squeezes yours to punctuate his smile, dimples popping, promising you a wild kind of love - with time. With him.

You think you might want your hand in his forever.

<- Prev

ahhhhhhhhhhhh it's overrrrr!!!! :(

thank you so much for joining me for this series and i hope i'll see you at my next!!

[sargeteen]

𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 ! ᵐᵛ¹

i just wanna see you win ｡𖦹°‧

𝒎ax verstappen x 𝒅rag racer!male reader synopsis: max verstappen wasn't gay...at least that's what the internet believed. he believed he was being obvious that y/n was his, but then other people started to flirt with HIS boyfriend.

genre: smau, humor warnings: y!paul walker/hayden christensen as a fc, suggestive comments, plot was lost????

requested? nope author's note: requests are coming trust!! also, requests will be closed for the time being. i'm currently in the last stretch for high school, so i'll probably open them up during the summer!!

masterlist.

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri, danielricciardo, and others tagged: maxverstappen1

blondcars win after win

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userone oh you are so fine

usertwo THEY DONT MAKE MEN LIKE THIS ANYMOREEEE 😩😩😩😩😩

maxverstappen1 couldn't have picked a picture of my face? ⤷ blondcars babe they don't need a picture of your face to know it's you ⤷ userthree the way that they're so comfortable with each other that y/n started calling max babe im 😭😭 i wish i had friends like that

userfour you are so fine, i'm following you home ⤷ blondcars please dont do that actually

danielricciardo you got that bde ⤷ blondcars thank you big man 😉🔥 ⤷ maxverstappen1 leave him alone daniel he's mine ⤷ danielricciardo didn't know we gatekeep friends 💔💔

userfive #smash. hard.

usersix "till the-" WRONG WE ARE NOT STOPPING ⤷ blondcars take me out to dinner first, will ya?

userseven god just one chance

usereight you and max are so cute togehter omfg ⤷ usernine theyre not dating ����😹 ⤷ usereight oh theyre not? oh.. ⤷ usernine LMFAOO yeah theyre not dating, theyre both straight

charles_leclerc just one chance, y/n 😞😞 ⤷ maxverstappen1 no. ⤷ userten lestappen mention?? ⤷ usereleven protective over our monagasque are we? ⤷ blondcars i thought you would never ask, charlie 🙇 ⤷ maxverstappen1 ... ? ⤷ charles_leclerc my door is open ☺️ ⤷ lando can i come too 😏😏? ⤷ blondcars obviously, but max you stay home ⤷ maxverstappen1 ?????

liked by logansargeant, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and others tagged: maxverstappen1

blondcars new car who dis?

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usertwelve why is max always here ⤷ blondcars cause i want him to be

userthirteen please tell me it's named banana ⤷ blondcars no it's called twig ⤷ userthirteen ...like the monaco bar? ⤷ blondcars max named it.

maxverstappen1 twig looks good ⤷ blondcars i can't believe i let you name my car ofc you would name it after a bar in monaco ⤷ charles_leclerc twiga is actually a restaurant not a bar ⤷ blondcars ☝️🤓 nerd alert ⤷ charles_leclerc i know your home address. ⤷ blondcars scuderiaferrari ??????? ⤷ scuderiaferrari who's charles leclerc?

lando UGLY ASS CAR MINES BETTER ⤷ blondcars who? ⤷ lando my car??? ⤷ blondcars CARES!!! ⤷ lando 👴🏻👴🏻

userfourteen you look sexy asf man

userfifteen suddenly my name is twig 🚕

logansargeant this is so fast and furious core ⤷ blondcars i am actually brian spilner btw ⤷ logansargeant you would ⤷ blondcars tf does that mean ⤷ logansargeant ????? I WAS AGREEING WITH YOU HOE????

usersixteen you're the hottest formula 1 driver and you're not even a formula 1 driver ⤷ blondcars i'm associated with them cause i used to be a f2 driver but now i do something cooler so thank you ⤷ userseventeen wait how did i not know you drove in f2????????

usereighteen SMASHHHH SMASHHHH

usernineteen are you single perchance

maxverstappen1 none of these comments would be able to treat you right ⤷ blondcars and you would? ⤷ maxverstappen1 maybe. ⤷ usertwenty HELLO?????????/

usertwentyone i would until i pass out

liked by danielricciardo, lewishamilton, maxverstappen1, and others

blondcars omfg im so goofy you can't take me anywhere

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usertwentytwo yet i still would

usertwentythree yall are too freaky in these comments...digital footprint and all that...

oscarpiastri the goofiest ⤷ blondcars you know it goat

usertwentyfour omg!! he is so goofy!! so crazy!!

maxverstappen1 contain your goofiness. ⤷ blondcars let me be myself, max ⤷ maxverstappen1 you can be yourself, just contain your goofiness around me, you're too goofy. ⤷ blondcars you da goat max, but imma keep being goofy

charles_leclerc neva let a man dull your sparkle 💁‍♀️💁‍♀️ ⤷ blondcars you know what, hell yeah! thank you charles ⤷ charles_leclerc happy to be of service, king 💁‍♀️

usertwentyfive when you pulling up to a formula 1 race, king? ⤷ blondcars when i want to ⤷ usertwentyfive yeah...you know what yeah

usertwentysix GOD I LOVE YOU

usertwentyseven even when he's being goofy he's hot

usertwentyeight please reject me so i can move on

lando you got a bunch of whores in your comments, mate ⤷ blondcars thats one thing we got in common ⤷ lando don't call my fans whores ⤷ blondcars you just called mine whores??????? ⤷ lando mate most of these comments are bots ⤷ blondcars yet they're commenting on my account, therefore fans

usertwentynine pùś$ÿ in bïò 😍😍😍😍 ⤷ blondcars ok ⤷ maxverstappen1 ???? ⤷ blondcars max look away im taking care of business

userthirty HASHTAG HARD SMASH

danielricciardo cant take you anywhere but you can take me somewhere ⤷ blondcars on god? ⤷ danielricciardo on god

liked by lando, blondcars, danielricciardo, and others tagged: blondcars

maxverstappen1 off limits.

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userthirtyone WHAT THE FUCK

userthirtytwo HUHHHHHH???????????

danielricciardo im sorry what ⤷ maxverstappen1 who has bde now ⤷ danielricciardo ?????/

blondcars oh max emilian verstappen... ⤷ maxverstappen1 hi y/n :) ⤷ blondcars you jealous little shit

userthirtythree HELLO????? WHATS GOING ON WHAT IS THIS REAL

userthirtytwo GUYS WHATS GOING ON ARE THEY GAY ⤷ maxverstappen1 blondcars ? ⤷ blondcars oh yeah we're super gay

lando ykw yeah i knew that ⤷ maxverstappen1 because i told you ⤷ lando yet i still knew

userthirtythree im crying what i knew they were together ⤷ userthirtyfour do you want a medal or something

oscarpiastri my eyes still need bleach btw ⤷ blondcars your fault for barging into max's drivers room ⤷ oscarpiastri LOCK THE DOOR MAYBE??? ⤷ maxverstappen1 nah everyone at red bull knew not to walk in ⤷ oscarpiastri YALL ARE GROSS ASF

logansargeant papa y papa ⤷ maxverstappen1 blondcars since when did we have a kid ⤷ blondcars since always. logan is my child. ⤷ maxverstappen1 ok...logan can you take jimmy and sassy for the night? y/n and i have a date night and i don't want them to be by themselves. ⤷ logansargeant SIR, YES SIR!

userthirtyfive holy moly...hottest couple ever

userthirtysix always knew y/n swung for the same team ⤷ blondcars wtf...💔 but like yah 💁‍♀️💁‍♀️💁‍♀️💁‍♀️💁‍♀️

liked by danielricciardo, lando, charles_leclerc, and others tagged: maxverstappen1

blondcars blah blah blah...proper name, place name, backstory stuff

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maxverstappen1 i love you, y/n ⤷ blondcars love you more geek

userthirtyseven this isn't your max fan account y/n ⤷ blondcars OH FUCK

userthirtyeight oh fuck man...yeah smash

lando jesus max hard launches you and suddenly you're all that's on my feed please get a job y/n ⤷ blondcars i'll get a job when you win the drivers championship ⤷ charles_leclerc so, never? ⤷ lando you're one to talk, charles ⤷ blondcars hey leave my charles alone. ⤷ maxverstappen1 your charles?

userthirtynine ok so theyre both sluts ⤷ blondcars um well um well, yes!

userfourty ok so theyre boyfriends thats awesome i love you guys so much

userfourtyone still can't believe max verstappen is gay ⤷ blondcars i know right?

danielricciardo do you guys need a third? ⤷ blondcars maxverstappen1 ??? ⤷ maxverstappen1 charles asked first, then you get second ⤷ jackdoohan turns out max and y/n are the paddock sluts ⤷ blondcars TF YOU DOIN HERE????????

oscarpiastri yall cute or whatever ⤷ blondcars thank you or whatever

logansargeant papa y papa ⤷ blondcars is that all you're going to comment ⤷ logansargeant well, yes!

userfourtytwo need y/n in the red bull garage next race ⤷ blondcars redbullracing 🙇🙇????????? ⤷ redbullracing 💁‍♀️💁‍♀️🔥🔥🔥🔥!!!!!!!!!!!!

userfourtythree formula 1 should do what formula e did and have outside people drive their cars ⤷ blondcars actually just let me drive my cars on the track. i feel like i'd wreck the f1 car and i don't want red bull or me to pay for that...

userfourtyfour yall sluts

a/n: this was fun to write

tags: @milessunflowers @lokisen @kevinlolwife @op-81-lvr-reblogs @kazanskied @481rosier @raizelchrysanderoctavius @mountainshuman

[brights-place]

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝟏‼ ♡ ؛ ଓ Read The full book on my wattpad

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ ❝ 𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 ❞ ‎♡ ؛ ଓ

[Name]

"So I'm Dracula's daughter, [Name]"

"Killer Style! I love to splash my black outfits with some cheery pink, and I even carry a frilly umbrella so I can take an occasional walk in the sun!"

Grim 'The Great' "I'm gonna let you be my minion lucky you!"

"MYAH! STOP IT STOP PETTING ME MINION- Oh that feels nice... MINION BRUSH ME! Can I also have some tuna..? Please... I MEAN GIVE IT"

"AWWWW GRIMMM! You're gonna look Fangtastic! with this cute bow!"

A monster who aspires to be a great mage. He will eat anything and everything, and his tendency to get carried away often gets him and the main character into trouble.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ ❝ 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐮𝐥 ❞ ‎♡ ؛ ଓ

Riddle Rosehearts "If you refuse to obey the queens rules, you understand what will happen right?"

"NOW! Like I said you have to- why are you not following me inside?"

"Old Vampire rule we have to he invited inside"

"Oh my deep apologise... come inside I'll give you some tea"

Housewarden of Heartslabyul. A serious-minded student who firmly upholds the rules written by the Queen of Hearts. While a top student, he is easily angered and just as strict with others as he is with himself.

Trey Clover "Just the one I wanted to see! Would you help me paint the roses red?"

"Here [Name] I made these pink desserts for you to try out" - Trey

"Omg! These are Scarily good Trey!"

"You should come by more to have the desserts or just to watch me bake. I wouldn't mind"

Vice Housewarden of Heartslabyul. Mild-mannered, he acts as a parental figure for the dorm's students, and is frequently left to smooth things over when Riddle's strictness gets out of hand.

Cater Diamond "Play Croquet with me"

"Your cute Batsy~! Hey maybe if you want we can go out together it would look so good for my magi-cam! Plus they'd get to see the new chick!"

"YOUR SO RIGHT CATER! We should totes Fang-out soon maybe go shopping!"

Casual and carefree, this expert room-reader is often called on to mediate between others. He's always on top of the latest trends, and has an exhaustive familiarity with social media in all its forms.

Deuce Spade "Hurry up. We'll lose our heads if were late to the tea party" "I'm a vegan, no icky blood for me, so it's fruits, vegetables and a lot of iron supplements."

"but your a vampire... I'll take note of that for when we go out again!"

An earnest young man who enrolled at Night Raven College with the singular aim of becoming a respectable mage. He tries as hard as he can in his schoolwork, but he can be slow on the uptake, and his grades suffer as a result.

Ace Trappola "Stop Spacing out. You wanna get lost in a rose maze?"

"YOUR A VAMPIRE?! LIKE THE ONE THAT SUCKS BLOOD THE TYPES THAT KILL HUMANS?!"

"Well I don't do the whole blood stuff-"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DONT?!"

A quick learner with an upbeat personality and a mischievous streak. Since he and Deuce are both Heartslabyul freshmen in the same class, they regard one another with amicable antagonism.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ ❝ 𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰 ❞ ‎♡ ؛ ଓ

Leona Kingscholar "Honestly, most of your life's decided for you from the moment you're born. There's no point in workin hard"

"Are you seriously doing my hair while Im trying to sleep right now?"

"Of course you have to look your absolute best! Plus these beads needed to be re-braided into your hair!"

"Ugh... wake me up when your done so we can go on a stroll"

Housewarden of Savanaclaw. Perpetually effort-averse, his immense magical ability contrasts with his lazy demeanor. Given his position as the secondborn prince in his homeland, he treats others with an imperious attitude.

Ruggie Bucchi "You're pretty brave, Stepping foot into our territory shyeheehee"

"Ya know shishishi you should fork over some of the food you have~ Since you cant eat meat and all dont want you to pass out or anything"

"Of corpse! Here have some of my vegetables too"

A long-suffering runt who spends most of his time cleaning up Leona's messes, both literally and figuratively. Raised in a poor environment, he gets downright shameless when it comes to food.

Jack Howl "If you're scared tuck your tail and get outta here. I'm more then enough for them on my own"

"OH MY GHOUL! Are you a werewolf?! Thats soooo good! I have lots of werewolf friends so Its nice to be around someone familiar well monster wise"

"I'm a beastman-"

[ Cue you grinning and showing your fangs ]

"Yup werewolf sure lets go with that"

A stern student focused on self-betterment. He's the kind of misfit who hates acting buddy-buddy with others, but still respects the pecking order.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ ❝ 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 ❞ ‎♡ ؛ ଓ

Azul Ashengrotto "Come this way. We musn't lurk in doorways. It's rude"

"Angel Fish~ dont fret this necklace is  just a gift as a thank you for your help from last week! Nothing more nothing less..."

"Aww thank you~! Your so sweet Zul!"

"Of course.. for you I'll he glad to help for a price..."

Housewarden of Octavinelle. He runs a café on campus and makes it a point to gather information in all forms. His benevolent demeanor belies an extremely calculating personality.

Jade Leech "If you have a problem we can help you"

"Hmm.."

"What are you thinking?"

"You cant go into the sun right?"

"Nope! Not unless with my parasol and my lots of layers of sunscreen!"

"would you enjoy to swim with me tonight. It would suite well for you wouldnt it?"

"Uhm... Yeah"

Vice Housewarden of Octavinelle and twin brother to Floyd. He is soft-spoken and courteous to everyone he deals with.

Floyd Leech "C'mere. I'll give you a nice, tight squeeze"

"Vampire Squid~ why are you under the tree?"

"I left my parasol in the library by accident... and it was cloudy before but now Im here having to wait for abit and I'm already late for my next class"

"Hmm kay~ up we go"

"What-"

"Lets go Vampy we have to get you your parasol you can become a little bat right? I can hide you in my blazer wheheh"

"Thats- acutally not a bad Idea"

Twin brother to Jade. His mood swings make it hard to predict what he'll say or do next. He likes to call others by odd pet names.

୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ ❝ 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐚 ❞ ‎♡ ؛ ଓ

Kalim Al-Asim "You'll liven things up. I'd know; I'm an excellent judge of character!"

"BRING ON THE FEAST!"

"Kalim- I- I cant eat this..."

"Oh? Oh! No no! Dont worry this is traditional Scarabian food!"

"Wait what..."

"Do not worry we separated the meat from your meal! I had Jamil make you food that suites you so you don't pass out. You don't like meat and blood right? Oh and we also used the curtains to not get the sun in here cause Jamil said you got burnt! We don't want that"

"Your the best"

Housewarden of Scarabia. Born into vast wealth, he is a generous boy who always has a smile on his face. He's grown up with Jamil since a young age, and considers him a brother in all but blood.

Jamil Viper "Could you be a diamond in the rough?"

"Here. Since Kalims been acting off I'll make sure you'll get the care you need. Im here for you"

"Thanks Jamil- Oh my ghoul! You have fangs and a little snake tongue!"

"Huh- oh yes ahem its not anything weird though"

"Woah so you do fit your last name! Viper thats so Vamptastic!"

"You are squishing my face alot [Name]"

Vice Housewarden of Scarabia. Born into a family that has served Kalim's family for generations, he has spent the better part of his childhood and later life being subjected to Kalim's carefree whims.

⁀➴༯ 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 / 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 Love Bites — MASTERLIST

Tag List @ocean-mochi @1abi

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ ©brights-place 2025 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact!

[black-suns-rim]

My two cents on Dek

I know Dek is a hot topic in the yautja fandom right now. I'm seeing a lot of opinions on him and discussion about his appearance.

I dont care what people think, I'm really digging his look. He looks like a young yautja, a teen. He looks much younger than Chopper, Celtic, and Scar (who I consider more like young adults/older teens). The way that Dek's face is shaped could just be because of his young age and having not matured fully yet. Here's an example for what I mean

Dek could just belong to a species of yautja that has a different developmental stage (because I highly doubt he's part human like a lot of people have been saying about him, given how yautja canonically view humans). Plus, "first hunt, last chance" seems like Dek is going on his very first hunt, NOT CHIVA! (Chiva being what Scar, Celtic, and Chopper were doing in AVP; a ritual hunt as a rite of passage into adulthood) He could still be in the unblood rank, having not hunted anything before.

On top of that, it's confirmed he's a runt; much smaller than the others and wanting to probably prove himself to his clan and to his father. Him being a runt could also be the reason why he looks different.

Some commentary about his appearance

His bottom left tusk looks like it's chipped or has been broken in the past. Due to him being a runt, he has probably been bullied and has suffered from abuse from his peers.

His eyes are so uncanny, and I love it. It gives an unsettling vibe to his appearance

Bro's skin looks soft. This could also play into him being a teen/young. His lack of scars too

His armor looks like what you'd wear as someone who doesn't have much status. Like hand-me-down armor

Conclusion

Dek is a teenager going on his very first hunt for approval and acceptance. He's not half human; he's just young and a runt.

[eldritchmochi]

my (cishet) boyfriend is into Weird Shit. i am conveniently into the same vein of Weird Shit. i have had (cis male) partners also into similar but far less weird shit in the past who i did not want to engage in those kinks with. the difference is the way my current partner approaches and interfaces with his kinks, with himself, with me, and with the world. im down to clown, despite his lack of practical experiences (compared to previous partners) because he is emotionally mature, respectful, and communicative. he is a walking green flag and several friends who struggle with men due to severe trauma have told me he makes them feel safe. he makes me feel safe and thats why i am 100% ready to do Weird Shit in a way that i havent been with really any of my other partners, regardless of gender or sexuality

the things that make him feel like a safe person definitely dont crop up often with cishet men, but, frankly, they dont tend to crop up a ton in women, or queer people, or any other specific demographic either, because its not about the demographic youre labeled with. its about who you are as a person and how you interface with others thatll make you a safe person to participate in vulnerable activities with, and kinks are not a good gauge of how people interface with the world because kinks are just fantasy. they're play. theyre a game. they are not indicative of who you are and how safe you are the same way i wouldnt necessarily get the ick from someone who plays renegade characters in video games, or someone who cosplays exclusively villains, or someone who does civil war larp. theyre games, and sometimes theres a reputation, like cishet men being into cnc for dubious reasons, but pretending to be a bad guy does not inherently make you a bad guy

is a cishet guy who's into cnc automatically a red flag

I think probably determining what kinks people are allowed to be into based on their gender and sexuality is the bigger red flag here

[hellinistical]

Thinking about pregnant sex with Caleb

Okay first off the bat let’s talk about how he 1,00000% has a lactation kink

Imagine he’s doing his usual tit sucking and milk comes out unexpectedly. The fact that this man didn’t cream on the spot is a MIRACLE

And why it was a miracle is because he was sucking ur tits in the dressing room while you were trying on maternity bras and clothes

+ sure he was calling you mama before but now you would think it’s YOUR NAME with how much he uses it

“ pretty mama all wet and ready for this cock hm”

“ look at this bump, your glowing mama “

You carrying his child is ultimately the sexiest thing to this man.

EXCUSE ME?????

NO HI OR HELLO???

NO SIGN OFF???

WHO ARE YOU???

lactation kink and caleb go hand in hand im afraid. dude starts sucking the second you start lactating im afraid. god forbid you have tender tits. that just wont do, he'll get right to business. and ngl i think he'd be great at edging himself so like busting a load at the first chance aint even a risk he's been holding back forever now that shit is muscle memory atp. but also just fucking you while your pregnant and having you ride him so he can just have a lil bit of all of you all at once?? bro is in heaven. dude i dont even know what to say.

i'm just baffled

you come here. to my inbox- kept your shoes on at that- and just

but yeah hard agree.

bro probably kept you knocked up again and/or fucked you throughout each pregnancy.

But yeah YOU gotta come here more often cause this behavior is just.

...

[hsangel64]

meeting the family

pairings: neighbor!ellie williams x fem!reader

synopsis: its been a few weeks since ellie asked you to be her girlfriend and now its time to meet her family

warnings: use of y/n, mild cussing, mainly fluff!!

a/n: really short thats all enjoy!

pt. 2 — pt.4

“dont be nervous! joel can be scary but he’s like a giant teddy bear. just has that hard exterior cause he’s old..” she waved her hand around and went back to sifting through her clothes.

“i know i just get nervous with this stuff, my ex’s family HATED me! of course i’m going to be nervous.”

“i promise they will love you.” she came over to you and put her hands on your shoulders reassuring you, landing a small peck on your cheek and going back to finding herself an outfit. you groaned and fell back into the bed trying to reassure your own feelings. if ellie says it’ll be okay…it’ll be okay. you got up and got your things ready as ellie finished getting ready. ellie emerged from the bedroom smelling like her famous pine cologne.

“ready to go?” you nodded and you both made your ways outside to ellie’s car. the drive over was silent with the radio on a low volume and the sound of the car. you were nervous, like a lot. just thinking about the worst outcomes wasn’t helping your case.

“are you okay baby?” grabbing your attention you turned to her and nodded.

“yeah im okay.” she placed her hands on your on your thigh rubbing her thumb.

“i promise you it’ll be okay, ill be there to help.” you gave her a small smile and took a deep breath.

you guys got there quickly, pulling into the drive way you took yet another deep breath and got out of the car. following ellie close behind carrying the small tupperware of the cookies you made.

“babe its going to be fine. if you feel too overwhelmed just let me know okay.” you gulped and nodded thanking her. ellie knocked on the door and a woman opened it.

“hey honey! joel ellie’s here!” she pulled ellie into a hug and you just watched from behind.

“hey tess.” she giggled at the sudden hug.

“you must be y/n!” you held your hand out but tess pushed your hand away and pulled you in for a hug.

“no need to be formal were all family here!” you smiled at her and followed behind ellie inside, you saw two men standing in the kitchen and another woman sitting at the dining table.

“hey kiddo! how goes it?” she went around and hugged everyone and said hello.

“its been great…oh this is y/n.” she introduced you and you held out your hand, he shook it and nodded at you.

“i’ve heard a lot about you, been wondering if ellie was gon’ find someone to deal with her.” she hit him and you giggled at his remark.

“she doesn’t deal with me!”

“okay okay.” he put his hands up in defense and looked over at you and winked, you giggled quietly at his action. maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

———————————————————————————

you all were sat at the patio table outside enjoying a delicious dinner that tess and joel made. the string lights and the sunset being the source of light with the smell of food and laughter from everyone around the table. your nerves eased down and you got more comfortable. ellie had her hand on your thigh as you guys talked about funny moments during ellie’s childhood.

“you really were an ankle biter huh.” ellie pushed your shoulder as you all laughed at the story joel told. everyone was done eating so joel grabbed everyone’s plates.

“hey y/n why dont you help me with these dishes, i’ve gotta show you somethin’.” your heart dropped, what was he going to show you….oh god. you got up and grabbed some plates looking at ellie for some support. she tapped your butt and whispered that it would be okay. you followed behind joel as you both made your ways into the kitchen.

“i don’t want you to think i pulled you in here to tell you i don’t like you or somethin’ like that.” you nodded to him and he continued. “ellie’s been through so much, last time she had a girlfriend it ended horribly and she was here sulkin’ on my couch for months. all im sayin’ is i trust you and i like you a lot already. i just hope you don’t go and break her heart too.”

“no i promise i would never mr miller-“

“please call me joel, mr makes me feel old.”

“okay- sorry…but i promise i like ellie a lot and i would never go out of my way to ruin the one thing that has made me happy in a long time.” he nodded and did the unexpected…he pulled you in for a hug. pulling you against his chest with his hand holding your head against him, you slowly placed your arms around him and sat there for a little.

“woah were buddy buddy already??” you both pulled away to see ellie standing in the arch way of the kitchen, eyes wide open.

“was just givin’ her a talk that’s all.”

“oh jeez joel don’t tell me you scared her away..”

“i think you need to worry about that with yourself.” she gasped loudly and pushed him.

“you ass!” you laughed watching them mess around, you were thinking about what joel had told you and it made you smile. he wasn’t so bad after all.

———————————————————————————

taglist: @elliespotion

a/n: the shortest thing i think i’ve ever written but i’ve been busy and couldn’t think of what else to do for this… i will have longer chapters though!

[triglycercule]

happy birthday killer sans 😒‼️

"looks like it hurts. seems like a pretty painful way to come back from death's doorstep."

"of course you'd know. but i'd say... this type of hurt probably doesn't feel that bad."

"and how's that, dust? his soul is corrupting, he's choking on his own blood, and he cant even see!"

"doesn't matter. determination gives killer control over death that we never had."

"and control suddenly makes it better?"

1 | 2 | 3

[latenightwithpizza]

oh goodness, i don't even know WHERE to start. im just so happy you kept going with this absolutely fantastic piece!! so heartbreaking raw and angsty, i want to strangle mattheo and kiss him and give him a hug and then shove him off a cliff, i feel dizzy from all the emotional whiplash you have given me! but i love it sm!!!! the way reader is struggling so much with their situation but is still being selfish by leading rowan on because she can't fully have mattheo god they're both so fucked up in their own ways, AND I DONT EVEN KNOW WHY yet for her!! so beautiful leo, you always kill it, your writing is one of my favs to devour and i truly wanted to highlight every line in this whole piece!!! 😭🤍🤍🤍

Also just love this timeline of this fic, of it being set when they go back to a rebuilt Hogwarts for the 8th year!!!

Mattheo Riddle had become a ghost before the war had even ended, had already lost his entire sense of self. That moment—when he watched his father turn to literal dust—he couldn’t differentiate between whether the stirring he felt was grief or relief.

FUCKING BEAUTIFUL the not being able to differentiate between grief and relief. Sure he hated his dad but that's all he’d ever known in a way, god that must be so hard to have that taken away, the familiarity and to be left completely alone now even tho now hes free. 😭😭😭😭 The boy you remembered—the one who used to tilt his chair back during lectures and talk shit under his breath—he’s gone. What’s left is quieter. Harder to read. OMG this breaks my heart so much to see mattheo reduced to this walking zombie of a boy FUCKKKK

It wasn’t gentle or romantic. Just a pathetic attempt from both of you to bury the feeling of emptiness lodged into your hearts. 💔💔💔 UGHHHH god i want them to have love so badly!!! The months passing by in an unyielding ocean of grievance and lust, the current never failing to pull you under. No labels. No expectations. Just bodies and silence.

THE METAPHORES SCREAMINGGG they always hit so good!!! 🙌🙌🙌

Despite your better judgment, despite the voice in the back of your head telling you to wake up and face reality, you’ve catalogued each of those moments in the most ornate corners of your brain.

God i feel so much for the reader, not her trying to convince herself that she needed this as well. That it was really a business transaction, a mutual need and nothing else!! poor baby i love the way you've explained how she can't escape the memories and moments with him no matter how much she might wish to forget and move on 😭 The problem was, that need had a different definition for you than it did for him. SOBBING OMG

There’s an odd kind of comfort in knowing that you’re still able to feel, in knowing that your heart still works, and you’ll take whatever pain comes along with the pleasure to prove it.

OMG i love this line so much the ‘knowing that your heart still works’ the fact that i yet have no idea what has happened to the reader for her to crave this kind of attention and love has me dying to know more. Like something must have happened in her life for her to connect with mattheo in that same level as him!! The storytelling leo is so beautiful, im absorbed!!

“How’d you sleep?” he asks with a smile that came too easily. Peacefully, with another boy in my bed who fucks like a—

PLEASE LMFAO yeah fucks like a what A FUCKING WHORE

He grins, all sunshine and sincerity, and you hate yourself a little more than usual. Because you know you’re going to cancel at the last minute. You always do.

READER using rowan is so mean, the fact she knows he'd be so good to her yet she craves that wild and rougher side with mattheo fucking hell and to know she'll use rowan anyway because she can't get these sweet moments with mattheo, its all so twisted and complicated and mean but i kind of love it

You’ve kept your distance, save for the occasional glance in his direction—you can’t help yourself. But every time your gaze finds him, he’s never looking back.

YOUR BREAKING ME LEO !!!!! </3 him not looking at you NO why is he not yearning for her!!

And maybe you are that transparent. Like someone’s cracked open your spine and flipped through your insides. Public display. Exhibition. Autobiography of your worst decisions.

AGAIN LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH !! 😭😭😭 EEEH so excited this is far as the preview sneak i got and the way i was NOT PREPARED in the slightest for what came next !!

also the fact she only has the courage to approach in drunk </3 Being sober means remembering everything, and you refuse to take that chance. i want to cry for her but also so true, having that intoxicated confidence is like no other

gives you a look, one that says you’re not fooling anybody, and it’s enough to make your stomach twist. // You slip your arm from hers, gently but firmly, like peeling off a bandage that’s clinging too tight.

LOVE this whole section SO FRICKEN MUCH, like pansy is suffocating her with that whole 'told you so'. and reader knows everything pansy is saying is right but still chooses to be a dumbass and ignore the warning signs, literally shes hanging on by that tiny thread that theres something there with mattheo so badly she's willing to hurt herself in the process

The sight hits you like a fucking punch to the gut, jealousy slithering up your spine and coiling tight around your ribs until you feel like you can barely breathe. Your hands tighten into fists without you realizing, the stupid watch in your pocket starting to feel like 50 pound weights, dragging you down every moment you were still standing.

OBSESSED, i love the way the jealousy is described and that watch being a metaphor for so much eeeh!! Not him ignoring you and you just watching him kiss her neck THIS FUCKING BITCH MATTHEO. I can feel her embarassment dripping off the page, its like when reader does something cringe and i just wanna look away like GIRLIE STOP ABORT ABORT 

“Why not?” His voice is low, dangerous now, eyes narrowed as he leans in. “Because he’s the one who takes you on real dates? The one you’re actually proud to be seen with? While I get what—sloppy seconds in the dark when you’re drunk enough to forget you don’t give a shit about me?”

WHAT mattheo!?!? You’re actually jealous and wanna go on dates with usss Lowkey kicking my feet at this, like yes baby boy you've been spying on us enough to know we're kind of seeing someone twiring my hair 🤭🤭🤭

“No?” He leans in again, voice like poison. “I know you kept that watch for a week. Slept with it on your nightstand like some pathetic little souvenir. I know you came here in a skirt that screams look at me, Mattheo, and now you’re pissed that I did.”

OKAY I TAKE IT BACK, EXCUSE ME 😤🤬didn't have to call us out like that lmfao the way id die if someone humilated me like this; "Slept with it on your nightstand like some pathetic little souvenir.” 

STOP WHY IS HE SO INFURATING BUT SO HOT IM SCREAMING  His expression darkens. He lifts the watch, holds it between two fingers like it’s meaningless. “Yeah. Well. It was just a fucking watch.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper. He takes a step forward, chest nearly brushing yours. “You already did. Again and again. Until you were shaking so hard you couldn’t even see.”

BITCHCHHHCHC WHY IS THIS SO FUCKING HOTTTT ‼️‼️‼️

“You think Rivers would still look at you the same,” he murmurs, “if he saw the way you drool on my cock?”

UM UMUMUMUM IM WET

“That’s it,” he grits, hips starting to move. “Take it. Fucking take it like a good girl.” PURRRRRING “Still think I’m the problem?” he asks softly, venom sweet in his voice. // “Yes,” you whisper hoarsely, voice raw from his cock. Wrong answer. He slams his dick back in without warning, so deep his balls are practically pressing against your chin. Your throat constricts in protest and the noise you let out is one of pure, unadulterated shock, but it only spurs him on. 

im sorry the whole blowjob scene chefs fucking kiss!!! He’s so fucking maddening right now but i relate to the reader sm much right now fucccck

THE SPITTING !!!! “That’s it,” he growls, watching you like a man possessed. “Fucking swallow it. All of it. Like you’re proud.” YES DADDY 😫😫😫

And the look on his face when you do… God, it’s like you’ve just handed him your soul. HES GOING TO THINK THESE MF THOUGHTS AND THEN act like there aint something going on i swear this man

Your hand trembles as it slides down between your thighs, slow and uncertain, and he watches you in the mirror like a hawk, gaze burning into every inch of you. You suck in a breath as your fingers reach your cunt, slick and hot and already pulsing. // “Fuck,” he mutters. “Come on, baby, make yourself feel good.”

Especially when he groans, low and raw, like he missed this. Like he’s been starving for you.

BRUHHHHH

Because this isn’t just about getting you off anymore. // This is him, laying claim to every last piece of you in the only language he knows—sex, sweat, spit, and everything he’s not brave enough to admit out loud. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

why does this make me want to cry, like come on matty its okay come here lemme give u a hug 🫂

He suddenly looks so fucking broken, so vulnerable. You want to reach for him, wipe the tear from his face, ask him what the fuck is going on inside his head. You want to ask him why he’s so fucking cold one minute, and then this the next.

Not him shedding a tear whaaat im so conflicted!! 😫

YOU SHOULD GO WHAT the FUCK MATTHEO U CANT BE SERIOUS 😭😤😖

His fingers trace a line down your spine, his touch almost affectionate, but it doesn’t last long. The coldness creeps back in, wrapping itself around his words like a familiar shroud. “You should go.”

WHILE HES CARESSING OUR BACK GTFO 🤺🤺🤺

And as you step into the cold air, your chest aches, but you don’t know whether it’s because you want him to chase you or because you know he won’t.

THE ENDING LINE LEO BRUH NOOOO WHAAAT, the way i cant wait to skip over to part two. God the way you threw me around there, diagloue, descriptions, emotions never fail bb you truly have a talent and once again so proud of u for continuing to pour your heart into this!!!! 🤍🩵 I’m so hooked, like this could go so many ways but I’m praying for a happyish ending 🙏

WICKED GAME. mattheo riddle.

mattheo riddle x fem!reader. part one. → part two.

summary ; after the war, nothing feels real except him—you’re not together, not really, but that’s never stopped you from crawling back to him when it burns too much to feel nothing at all. it’s cruel and addictive, and things change when your hypocrisy begins to bleed through. words ; 9.5k warnings ; sexual content, angst, toxic situationship, fingering, unprotected p in v, mattheo’s rough, creampie, oral m! & f!receiving, throatfucking, overstimulation, f!masterbation, voyeurism (?), swearing, hair pulling, orgasm denial, dirty talk, degradation, spitting, choking, pussy slapping, spanking, dp (fingers + cock), squirting

navigation. masterlist.

His back is to you when you open your eyes. 

You watch as he slides on his jeans—the same blue denim he was wearing last night when he showed up at your door. Listen as his shoes tap against the wood floor. There’s a certain rhythm to it, almost mechanical, like he’s done this a thousand times before. Muscle memory. 

He bends down to pick up his shirt from the floor, his movements slow, careful. You can almost hear the thoughts running through his head, though you know better than to ask. He’s good at keeping things to himself, as good as you’ve learned to be. 

His muscles flex as he reaches up to slide the shirt over his head, and your eyes catch on the scars littering his back, the faint red lines and the faded, angry stains left upon his spine, holding memories of the days that brought him to this point of roboticism, and despite your best efforts not to think too hard about it, your heart clenches painfully in your chest.

He glances over at you, and for the briefest second, there’s something in his eyes. Something soft, something different, though you can’t quite place it. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by that familiar mask.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, his voice low, but there’s nothing in it. No affection. No real meaning. Just words.

You nod, eyes following his every move as he heads for the door, but you don’t say anything. Because what is there to say?

He leaves, and the silence that follows feels heavier than it should. You stay there for a few moments longer, listening to the sound of the door clicking shut, before you finally let out the breath you’d been holding.

Last night still lingers—on your skin, in your throat, between your legs. You feel it in the ache of your limbs and the hollow in your chest. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It never is.

Mattheo Riddle had become a ghost before the war had even ended, had already lost his entire sense of self. That moment—when he watched his father turn to literal dust—he couldn’t differentiate between whether the stirring he felt was grief or relief. 

The first time you saw him outside of Hogwarts was in a Muggle pub just off Diagon Alley. It had been a couple months since the end of the battle, right around the time you’d returned to a rebuilt version of Hogwarts for an eighth year. You hadn’t expected to see him at all, let alone there—half-drunk in a booth, sleeves rolled to his elbows, eyes darker than you remembered. He looked up when you walked past. Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just lifted his glass in a sort of salute, like you were two survivors nodding across the wreckage. 

You weren’t close, back then. Not really. Before the world went to ashes, you ran in the same circles—shared friends, shared classes, shared the occasional smirk across the room—but that was it. He was always a little too reckless for you to trust. And you were a little too careful, too quiet, for him to notice.

But war changes things.

The boy you remembered—the one who used to tilt his chair back during lectures and talk shit under his breath—he’s gone. What’s left is quieter. Harder to read. He still walks like he owns the ground beneath his feet, but there’s something broken behind his eyes now. Something lonely. You recognized it the moment you saw him again.

How could you not? It’s the same hollow feeling you can’t escape even in your wildest dreams.

That night in the pub, it was you who approached first, who spoke first. What started with small talk about mutual friends—about who made it out, who didn’t—turned into two drinks, then three, and then suddenly you were closer.

You can’t remember who leaned in first—only the bitter taste of whiskey on his lips and the way his hands slid under your shirt, all rough and desperate, as if he was trying to claw his way back into something real. It wasn’t gentle or romantic. Just a pathetic attempt from both of you to bury the feeling of emptiness lodged into your hearts.

He took you back to his dorm that night, and all you can remember was the way he had you pressed up against the wall, his mouth on your neck and his fingers fumbling with the buttons of your shirt like he hadn't touched another person in years. 

And then it happened again, two weeks later. And again, and again, until it became a pattern, the months passing by in an unyielding ocean of grievance and lust, the current never failing to pull you under.

No labels. No expectations. Just bodies and silence.

He doesn’t stay the night. Except when he does.

And you don’t care. Except you do.

You pull the silk sheets tighter around your bare chest, the scent of him burning your flesh. It’s riddled with vodka and musk and that cheap ass cologne you pretend not to love. Your eyes flutter shut, drifting back to last night, or more accurately, to every fucking night you’ve ever shared with him, honing in on every time he touched you with a certain gentleness that he usually never possessed. 

Despite your better judgment, despite the voice in the back of your head telling you to wake up and face reality, you’ve catalogued each of those moments in the most ornate corners of your brain. The moments when his fingertips glided softly along the ridges of your spine, when you’d moan a certain way and he’d ease the hold he had on your hair, when he positioned you facing him instead of away. 

It was pathetic, really. The arrangement was what it was, and there was no underlying meaning to any of the unspoken rules the two of you set. It wasn’t serious, it wasn’t exclusive, and it never would be, but it seemed the walls around your heart were far too fragile, far too decrepit, to ever stand a chance.

You told yourself you could do it. That it was fine. That you really were just helping each other cope and it was only about satisfying a mutual need. The problem was, that need had a different definition for you than it did for him.

You glance to your side, sitting up with the covers pulled just below your arms. His expensive watch is on the nightstand, forgotten again. He always forgets something, and you’ve started to wonder if it’s intentional. 

Eventually, you force yourself out of bed, wincing at the sensation of your bare feet hitting the cold floor. The clock’s only just ticked past six—feels too early to get up now for a 9AM class, but you decide you need a shower. To wash away the smell of drinks and smoke and the grease in your hair, but mostly, to wash away last night’s activities. To wash him off your skin.

This cycle, it’s never ending, like a wound that scabs but never heals. Maybe a sane person who actually fucking cared about theirself would have called it off by now, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. Because no matter how much it stings, no matter how bad the fire burns you, it’s still reassuring. There’s an odd kind of comfort in knowing that you’re still able to feel, in knowing that your heart still works, and you’ll take whatever pain comes along with the pleasure to prove it.

Your body feels unfamiliar as you pad quietly to the bathroom, like it doesn’t quite belong to you anymore, your limbs heavy with leftover sleep. You let the door click shut behind you before turning the water on hotter than you should, letting the steam rise and drown out the thoughts bouncing around your skull.

You step under the spray without waiting, eyes shut, letting the heat burn away whatever’s left of last night. It doesn’t work—but you stay there anyway.

By the time you drag yourself out, the mirror is too fogged to show your face, and your fingers are wrinkled from how long you stayed under. You dry off without thinking, dress even faster, and force yourself out of the dorm before your mind can drag you back.

The Great Hall is already buzzing with chatter when you arrive for breakfast but making conversation is the last thing you want to do.

Unfortunately for you though, things never work out in your favor. That’s made clear enough by the sight of a handsome boy in blue robes waving you over. Groaning internally, you give in and trudge over to him and his friends—not that you have much of a choice.

“Hi Rowan,” you offer, flashing him a half-arsed smile as you took the seat next to him, fighting the urge to drop your tired head into your hands. 

“How’d you sleep?” he asks with a smile that came too easily. 

Peacefully, with another boy in my bed who fucks like a—

“Fine. Well, actually, I slept well.”

“I’m glad.”

Rowan was sweet. You’d been seeing him for a few weeks now. Nothing serious, but just a bit of fun. Dates, kisses, late-night study sessions that turned into something more. It was easier with him. He smiled at you in the hallways, held your hand under the table, asked questions like he genuinely wanted to know the answer. And he wasn’t bad to look at either—or to kiss. But when you did kiss him, when his hands were on your waist, your mind wandered. You couldn't help wishing his hands were rougher, warmer, different.

He pours you a glass of pumpkin juice without asking, like it’s an ingrained habit now. You thank him with a small smile and start picking at a piece of toast.

Rowan leans a little closer, nudging your shoulder with his. “You look tired. Was it the Arithmancy essay?”

You nod vaguely, reaching for the pumpkin juice. “Yeah, something like that.”

He chuckles softly. “Knew I should’ve stayed to help. I would’ve, you know—if you’d asked.”

You manage a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I know. You’re sweet.”

There’s a brief silence as you sip your drink, and then:

“I was thinking,” he starts, hesitant. “Maybe this weekend, you and me could take a trip to Hogsmeade? Just the two of us. I feel like I never get you all to myself anymore.”

You nearly choke on your toast.

“I— yeah. Sure,” you say too quickly, blinking down at your plate. “That sounds nice.”

He grins, all sunshine and sincerity, and you hate yourself a little more than usual.

Because you know you’re going to cancel at the last minute. You always do.

Your eyes flick toward the doors of the Great Hall every few seconds, scanning the entrance like your body’s acting on instinct, searching for him even when your mind insists not to.

Rowan’s voice pulls you back.

“Do you have class after this?” he asks, brushing a crumb off your cheek with his thumb. “I could walk you.”

You swallow thickly, nodding. “Yeah. Defense. With Slughorn.”

He laughs. “Isn’t he Potions?”

You blink again. Shit. “Right. Sorry. I meant… I meant Potions.”

You’re falling apart at the seams and he doesn’t even notice. That might be the worst part.

The weekend arrives with a sickening speed, each day bleeding into the next like ink soaking through thin pages. You’ve kept your distance, save for the occasional glance in his direction—you can’t help yourself. But every time your gaze finds him, he’s never looking back. You don’t get the butterflies, the stupid fluttering warmth a younger, more naive version of you might have felt if he’d met your eyes across the room. Mattheo doesn’t give you that satisfaction, and it eats at you because all you want to know was if it was on purpose—if he was fighting the same fucking battle as you or if he honestly just didn’t care.

Too much to dwell on, you think. Too much to dwell on and too little in return. 

Your hands tremble as they gently scoop up Mattheo’s watch from the cozy spot in your nightstand drawer that you’d tucked it into, between freshly washed socks and bras. It felt too intimate, storing something that belongs to him in such a personal space, but you told yourself that that wasn’t your intention, that you were just safekeeping it for him.

Of course, safekeeping would’ve meant more if you’d returned it to him days ago, during one of the countless times you’d crossed paths in classrooms and hallways, and of course you'd thought about it, but you backed down before you even began.

Speaking to him when you weren’t drunk was a risk you didn’t want to gamble.

True, it would give you an advantage; you wouldn’t spew the same utter bullshit and nonsense you usually did when intoxicated. And true, chances were he’d just take the watch and you’d both move along with your days, but fuck, there was also the chance that either he’d ask you something you didn’t want to answer or you’d say something you couldn’t take back.

Being sober means remembering everything, and you refuse to take that chance.

So instead you wait.

You wait and wait until Saturday night rolls around, his watch crammed into your jacket pocket as you stumble down the steps of the dormitories to the common room, where music is blasting so loud it could hardly be considered anything but noise. The air reeks of alcohol and weed, tendrils of secondhand smoke snaking through your nostrils to leave your head throbbing in record time. You haven’t even made it halfway across the room and your skull already feels like it’s cracking open.

The second Pansy spots you—your oversized jacket swallowing your frame, concealing the bare skin shown off by your tiny skirt —she’s practically lunging. Her arm hooks around yours, too tight and too fast, and her breath smells like firewhiskey when she leans in.

“Oh, look at you,” she drawls, eyes glassy, voice syrup-thick. “Looking all dangerous tonight. Who are you trying to kill with that skirt?”

You shift on your feet, uncomfortable. “No one, Pans,” you mutter. “I’m wearing the jacket for a reason.” Your free hand fidgets with the hem hidden beneath the leather, fingers twitching like they’ve got something to hide. “The skirt was the only clean thing I had.”

Pansy’s smirk doesn’t budge. If anything, it grows smugger. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing with a glint that makes your skin prickle. “Mhm. Sure. Nothing to do with a certain someone you’re hoping to accidentally bump into? Saving the view for him?”

God.

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts, but the heat crawling up your neck betrays you. Because she’s right. And maybe you are that transparent. Like someone’s cracked open your spine and flipped through your insides. Public display. Exhibition. Autobiography of your worst decisions.

“Fucking hell, Pansy, give it a rest. Aren’t you the one preaching every day and night about how women don’t dress for men?” 

She blanches, her brows furrowing. “Yes. Doesn’t mean I can’t tell when my best friend’s trying to get a certain boy’s attention.” Her voice is softer than before, like she’s trying to ease you into being honest with her, but she’s still slurring her speech and frankly, the words ‘best friend’ give you the urge to pull away. It only takes a couple beats without a response from you for her to rub at her reddened eyes with a fist and speak up again.

“You know he’s fucked up, right?”

Right. That again.

Like it’s news. Like it’s something you haven’t played on repeat in your brain until the record scratched.

“I’m well aware.”

“He’s not built for relationships.” 

You smile, sharp as broken glass. “Good thing we’re not in one then.”

She sways slightly, like the ground feels just a little softer than usual, and gives you a look, one that says you’re not fooling anybody, and it’s enough to make your stomach twist.

Eyes flicking to the floor, you bounce up and down on the heels of your feet, running your tongue over your teeth. “I came here to loosen up, not be lectured.”

You slip your arm from hers, gently but firmly, like peeling off a bandage that’s clinging too tight. Her fingers linger for half a second before falling away, and you don’t wait for her to say anything else—you’re already moving. Head low, feet light, weaving through the maze of limbs and smoke and pulsing bodies.

The makeshift bar is a disaster. Half-empty bottles, sticky counters, solo cups stacked like some drunken monument to poor decisions. You grab the first clean-ish one you can find and pour whatever’s within reach—firewhiskey, you think, but it burns sharper than usual when it hits your tongue. You wince. Swallow anyway.

Your eyes skim the room. Just surveying. Being observant. Gathering intel like you’re not standing there in a fucking skirt short enough to haunt a Catholic grandmother.

Swallow again. The burn licks up the back of your throat, makes your eyes sting, but it shuts your brain up for a second. So you pour another.

You don’t even like the taste. You never have, but it gives your hands something to do, and something about the numbness creeping in behind your ribs feels... safe.

You glance around, like you’re doing it casually. Like you’re not scanning the room for a face you know too well. 

Your fingers tighten around the cup.

You’re not drinking just to get brave enough to talk to him. That’s not what this is.

This is you having fun. Being normal. Loosening up, like you said.

Right?

You take another sip.

He’s not even your boyfriend. You’re not his. There’s no label, no promises, no rules. Just... blurred lines and late nights and moments that mean too much and not enough all at once.

Your mouth tastes like sugar and regret. You chase it with more alcohol.

But then you catch a glimpse of him. He’s got a short brunette in a little black dress pressed up against the wall with his hands on her hips, the top button of her shirt undone, and worst of all, his mouth on her neck. 

The sight hits you like a fucking punch to the gut, jealousy slithering up your spine and coiling tight around your ribs until you feel like you can barely breathe. Your hands tighten into fists without you realizing, the stupid watch in your pocket starting to feel like 50 pound weights, dragging you down every moment you were still standing.

Jealousy slowly bubbles into rage, and you don’t know what pushes you to do it. Be it the alcohol, or bravery, or just pure fucking stupidity, you stomp over, effortlessly pushing through the countless bodies in your way, the hurt giving you power enough to do so. 

“Mattheo,” you croak out when you’re closer to him, fingers twitching with a lethal mixture of fury and anxiety. He doesn’t budge, lips still firmly attached to her neck, leaving a trail of red splotches and saliva.

Heat floods your entire body, up your ears and cheeks and neck, leaving you embarrassed for having called to him in front of all these people only to be ignored. Either he didn’t hear you because he’s completely entranced by this girl, or he disregarded you on purpose. Either way, it burns.

“Mattheo,” you call, louder this time. 

His eyes snap up, searching his surroundings before landing on yours, hooded, glazed, like he’s not really there. But the second he sees you, something in his expression shifts. Brief and barely visible, but there.

“…What?” he mutters, voice low and rough. He doesn’t move away from her. Doesn’t drop his hands from her hips. The girl turns slightly, confused, but he doesn’t even acknowledge her. His gaze is still locked on you, half-dazed, half-aware, like he’s trying to decide whether to fight or flee.

Stomping over, you fish the watch out of your pocket, eyes never leaving his as you get closer. “You fucking forgot this,” you snarl, shoving the dumb thing against his solid chest, hard enough to make him stumble and to make the girl yelp. Without wasting a single second, you turn the fuck back around and walk away.

“What the fuck?” he mutters under his breath, his hand clasping over the watch as to not let it fall before completely disregarding the girl to follow you through the crowd.

You pray that he’ll lose you in the swarm of people, but of course, he doesn’t. He catches up just as you hit the corridor past the main room and grabs your arm—not hard, just enough to stop you, to turn you around—and the look on his face is equal parts confusion and condescension and anger. Like you just ruined his night.

“Are you fucking serious?” he growls into your face, the watch still clutched in his fist. “You come storming in, start throwing shit like a lunatic—”

You yank your arm out of his grip. “Oh, I’m the lunatic?” You laugh, short and humorless. “Sorry, didn’t realize interrupting you sucking face with some random slag made me the irrational one.”

He scoffs. “She’s not random.”

“Yeah? What’s her name then?”

He opens his mouth then closes it. Shrugs like he can’t be bothered to come up with a proper answer. “Does it matter?”

You glare at him, lip curled. “No. Of course not. Why would it? You’ve got a whole fucking lineup, don’t you?”

“You’re one to talk,” he sneers. “You playing house with Rowan fucking Rivers now? Letting him leave his shit behind too? Or do you just shove it under your bed like a good little whore and keep rotating us in?”

The slap would’ve landed if he hadn’t caught your wrist.

“You don’t get to fucking talk about him,” you seethe, struggling against his grip. “You don’t get to say anything.”

“Why not?” His voice is low, dangerous now, eyes narrowed as he leans in. “Because he’s the one who takes you on real dates? The one you’re actually proud to be seen with? While I get what—sloppy seconds in the dark when you’re drunk enough to forget you don’t give a shit about me?”

“You don’t know anything,” you snap, shoving him. He barely moves, just smirks wider, crueler.

“No?” He leans in again, voice like poison. “I know you kept that watch for a week. Slept with it on your nightstand like some pathetic little souvenir. I know you came here in a skirt that screams look at me, Mattheo, and now you’re pissed that I did.”

You take a step back, voice shaking. “I kept it because I thought you’d come back for it, you prick.”

The silence that follows is blistering. It’s a truth you’ve only just admitted to yourself for the first time.

“You left it in my room on purpose, Mattheo.” Your voice is trembling now, shaking with everything you won’t say. “Don’t act like I imagined that.”

His expression darkens. He lifts the watch, holds it between two fingers like it’s meaningless. “Yeah. Well. It was just a fucking watch.” He lets it drop to the floor between you, doesn’t even flinch when it hits with a metallic clink.

You feel something splinter in your chest. It’s quiet for a while; you can’t even think of what to say anymore.

“I know enough about you,” he says again, and the venom in his voice feels like a slap all on its own. “I know you like it when I fuck the good girl out of you and you still act like I’m the one who should feel dirty.”

It’s a low blow and he knows it, to make you sound like such a needy, sex-depraved little girl, but you know he’s not wrong. Being with him makes you feel alive—that’s how you ended up in this position to begin with. Because you made each other feel real.

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

He takes a step forward, chest nearly brushing yours. “You already did. Again and again. Until you were shaking so hard you couldn’t even see.”

You shove him. Hard.

He lets you.

But then he grabs your arm, pulls you into a corner, out of view, and slams his hand against the wall beside your head, caging you in like a goddamn threat.

“Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he says low, voice almost shaking now. “Don’t act like you came to this party looking like that for anyone else.”

Your mouth opens to argue, maybe, or scream, or slap him again, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

Because suddenly his mouth is on yours—hard, bruising, possessive—like he’s trying to prove a point, or make you forget every name that isn’t his. And you let him. You bite back. You kiss like you’re angry, because you are, and he tastes like smoke and firewhiskey and everything you can’t have but take anyway.

He’s already dragging you up the stairs to his dorm before you can even blink.

He slams the door shut behind you and you barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on you again, his mouth hot and desperate, hands roaming like he needs to memorize the shape of your body all over again just to spite himself. Your back hits the wall with a thud, and he swarms into you, one hand fisting your hair and the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

“You’re such a fucking liar,” he growls against your mouth, biting at your bottom lip until you gasp. “Walking around with that innocent look, like you don’t fuck like you want to ruin me.”

You dig your nails into his shoulders, dragging him closer, refusing to let him think he’s the only one holding the reins. “You ruined yourself,” you spit. “Don’t put that on me.”

He laughs, low and cruel and breathless. “Still acting like you’re better than this,” he whispers, pressing his body flush to yours so you can feel just how hard he is, how much he wants. “Better than me.”

You don’t answer. You kiss him instead, messy and open-mouthed, biting down on his tongue just enough to make him hiss. He grabs your throat, not to squeeze, just to hold you there, thumb stroking along your jaw with a gentleness that contrasts his actions.

“You think Rivers would still look at you the same,” he murmurs, “if he saw the way you drool on my cock?”

Your breath catches, humiliation and arousal burning through you simultaneously. He sees it, the way your body betrays you, and it only makes his grin sharper, hungrier.

“Knew it,” he mutters. “Knew that mouth wasn’t just for smart little comments and pretending you’re not fucking dying to be used.”

He tugs you deeper into the room, pulling off your jacket and revealing the skirt you wore underneath. His eyes narrow; the implication is clear. So is the command in his voice when he says, “On your knees.”

Your heart stutters, but you obey, mostly because you’re too proud to hesitate. The carpet bites at your knees as you kneel in front of him, evading his gaze because he’s watching you with a look that makes your skin feel too tight.

“Take it out,” he says, voice low and sharp. “Since you came all this way.”

You glare up at him, but your fingers are already working his belt loose, pushing fabric aside, your hands far steadier than you feel. He’s hard, flushed, already leaking at the tip. You swallow hard, shame heating the back of your throat, and he fucking sees it.

He’s thick and hard, and when he hits the back of your throat, you gag, but don’t pull away. He holds there a second too long. Then pulls back. Then thrusts again—harder this time, hand fisted in your hair.

“That’s it,” he grits, hips starting to move. “Take it. Fucking take it like a good girl.”

You whimper around him, hands curling against his thighs for balance, spit slicking your chin as he thrusts deep, over and over. It’s brutal and filthy and not even a little bit gentle.

“You pretend you’re too good for this,” he breathes, cock dragging against your tongue. “Pretend you like him so much, but you never gag on his cock like this, do you?”

Your eyes water. Your throat clenches. You want to hit him, bite him, shove him back and scream, but you don’t. You just moan, low and broken, like you're agreeing with him.

Because part of you is.

“You like when I use you like this,” Mattheo hisses, slamming in again, making you choke. “When I fuck the lies right out of your pretty little mouth.”

He doesn’t stop until your mascara’s smudged, your mouth swollen, and you’re gasping through your nose with tears running down your cheeks.

Only then does he pull out, cock wet and twitching, your saliva glistening down his length.

He watches you pant for breath on your knees, lips red and parted, cheeks flushed.

“Still think I’m the problem?” he asks softly, venom sweet in his voice.

You glare up at him, breathing hard, heart thudding so violently you swear it might crack your ribs open.

“Yes,” you whisper hoarsely, voice raw from his cock.

Wrong answer. He slams his dick back in without warning, so deep his balls are practically pressing against your chin. Your throat constricts in protest and the noise you let out is one of pure, unadulterated shock, but it only spurs him on. 

His hands find the hand of your head, wrapping strands of hair around his fingers and moving your head back and forth on his own to meet the thrust of his hips. He’s too strong for you to stop him, not that you even want him to, so you let him fuck your face like a damn fleshlight.

“Cumming,” he groans. “Get ready to swallow every fucking drop— I’m gonna check.”

And after a moment, you feel ropes of warm, salty liquid shoot down your throat, coughing a little as he finally lets you come up for air but still doing your best to swallow. His thumb and forefinger harshly grab your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Open.”

Oh. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d check.

Your lips part slowly, tongue out, breath still hitching from the aftershocks. Your throat is sore, your eyes glossy, but you hold his gaze steady even as your jaw trembles from the effort.

He leans in, one hand still gripping your chin, eyes dark as sin. His thumb drags your bottom lip down further, admiring the mess he’s made. His cum still glistens faintly on your tongue.

“Good,” he murmurs, low and rough. “Good fucking girl.”

The praise hits something dangerous inside you and you swear your body betrays you all over again. You don’t move, don’t speak, just keep holding your mouth open like he told you to, letting him see every bit of you wrecked and obedient. “Keep it open.”

You blink up at him, confused for only a second—until you see him curl his lip, tilt his head slightly, and then—he spits.

It lands right on your tongue, warm and wet and humiliating.

And your whole body clenches with how fucking turned on you are.

“That’s it,” he growls, watching you like a man possessed. “Fucking swallow it. All of it. Like you’re proud.”

You do. You swallow every drop—his cum, his spit, all of it—and then open your mouth again without being told, just to show him.

And the look on his face when you do… God, it’s like you’ve just handed him your soul.

You barely have time to brace before he’s yanking you up from the floor by the hair, your knees scraping the rug as you scramble upright, unbalanced. Your face is hot and slick and wrecked, your mouth still tingling from how thoroughly he used it, and your body stings with humiliation and heat and something even worse: want.

He spins you around and shoves you toward the full-length mirror propped up against the wall. You catch yourself just in time, palms flat against the wood paneling on either side of the mirror’s frame. Your reflection stares back at you, wide-eyed and flushed, mascara streaking down your cheeks, lips red and swollen and shiny with spit.

Mattheo crowds in behind you, pressing his chest against your back, trapping you with his body. His mouth hovers just above your ear.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice thick. “Fucking look.”

Your throat is raw. Your heart pounds. You look.

“Mouth wrecked. Face ruined. Drool all down your chin.” His eyes meet yours in the mirror, unblinking. “And your thighs have been pressed together since the second you knelt down. What, sucking my cock got you wet?”

You don’t respond. He laughs, low and cruel, and his hands trail down, slow and mocking, sliding over your waist, the curve of your ass, gripping the hem of your skirt and hiking it up just enough to reveal the way your legs are trembling.

“This what Rivers gets?” he sneers. “This pretty little mess? Or do you clean yourself up for him, act sweet and shy and fuckin’ pure like you don’t choke on my cock every chance you get? Think he’d still hold your hand if he knew what you looked like with your mouth stuffed full of someone else’s cock?”

You blink, furious and humiliated, and maybe just a little aroused by the heat in his voice, the roughness of his grip, the fact that his cock’s already starting to harden again against your hip. Swallowing hard, you still refuse to speak, but your silence damns you more than any answer.

He smirks.

“Take your clothes off,” he says simply, stepping back and folding his arms. “Slow.”

Your breathing falters, but your hands move.

First your shirt, inch by inch, over your head and off your arms. Then your skirt, unbuttoning at your hip, sliding down your thighs and pooling at your feet, then your panties. You don’t rush, not because you’re trying to be seductive, but because there’s something humiliating about doing it this way. Slowly, while he watches, while you watch in the mirror. You’re down to just your bra, skin flushed, legs bare. 

Mattheo’s eyes drag over you like fire.

He walks you back toward the bed until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You sit automatically, and he moves behind you, knees bracketing yours as he settles on the edge and tugs you back against his chest.

His breath is hot at your ear as his hands drift up.

One finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it with a single practiced flick. The straps slide down your shoulders, and you make a move to shrug it off, but he stops you, his hand coming around to cup your breast through the lace before it falls away completely.

You suck in a breath.

“You know, every part of you is prettier when it’s ruined,” he says, his hand squeezing once before letting the bra fall away altogether. “Even this.”

Your head tilts back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed for just a second, but then his other hand slides under your thigh, hooks beneath your knee, and yanks your leg up, holding it back so wide you can see the slick mess between your thighs in the mirror. He does the same to your other leg, locking them open from behind, his arms under your knees, your cunt completely exposed.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he mutters. “Not done with you yet.”

You blink at your reflection, the slow creep of vulnerability tightening your chest. You’re fully bare now, curled against Mattheo like some kind of obscene doll, his hands splayed possessively over your body like he owns it, like he owns you.

“You know what I want,” he murmurs, voice rough against your temple. “So do it.”

You hesitate again and his palm tightens under your knee, jerking your leg higher, further apart, until your muscles strain with the angle.

“Do it,” he says again, quieter this time. More dangerous.

Your hand trembles as it slides down between your thighs, slow and uncertain, and he watches you in the mirror like a hawk, gaze burning into every inch of you. You suck in a breath as your fingers reach your cunt, slick and hot and already pulsing.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Come on, baby, make yourself feel good.”

You press your fingers against your clit, drawing slow, tentative circles, but it’s not enough—he makes it feel dirty, degrading, like something shameful when he’s not the one doing it to you. But his eyes are fixed on your hand now, on the way your legs twitch under his hold, on the stutter in your breath.

His palm slides up to your chest again, this time tweaking your nipple between two fingers with a twist that makes your hips buck—and then he’s gone again, gripping both legs now, holding them wide, making sure you stay open as you push a finger inside. You don’t even realize you’re whining, begging under your breath—please, please, please—until you hear him laugh softly, right in your ear.

“Pathetic little slut,” he breathes. “You’re going to cum just from your own fingers? From being watched?”

You nod without meaning to, the pressure mounting too fast, too sharp. You’re close, so fucking close, and your body’s about to give in.

But then, his hand lashes out and grabs your wrist, yanking it away from your cunt just seconds before you tip over the edge.

You choke on a sob, hips rocking up into nothing, your cunt clenching around emptiness as the orgasm dies, suffocates, fizzles out in your gut like ash.

“No,” he growls into your neck, dragging your hand up and away. “You don’t get to cum yet.”

You whimper, chest rising and falling like you’ve run a marathon, still trembling in his arms. His grip on your legs doesn’t loosen. You’re still spread open, still flushed and dripping and unsatisfied, your cunt throbbing from the denied release.

He brings your hand up to your mouth, still wet from between your thighs.

“Open,” he says again, voice a whipcrack.

You do and he shoves your fingers between your own lips, slow and punishing, until your taste coats your tongue.

“Now be a good girl,” he says, breathing ragged against your ear, “and fucking hold it in.”

Your fingers are still in your mouth, tasting yourself on your tongue, when he finally lets go of your legs and shoves you forward onto the bed. You land on your elbows, breath catching, and before you can adjust, he’s dragging you back by the hips, forcing you flat on your back, knees bent and spread wide as he looms over you.

“Fucking mess,” he mutters, looking down at your slick cunt, still flushed and leaking from earlier. “And this is what you’re trying to give to someone else?”

His thumb drags along your inner thigh, deceptively slow, just skimming the edge of where you need him most, but not quite touching. You squirm under his gaze, shame prickling hot over your skin.

“You think Rivers could ever make you look like this?” he sneers. “Think he could make you drip like this, just from talking down to you?”

You don’t answer because you know he’s not waiting for one.

Instead, he grabs your thighs and spits—a sharp, wet sound—and the slick hit of it lands right on your cunt, warm and filthy. You jolt, moaning despite yourself, and his grin turns sharp and mean.

He licks a slow stripe through your folds, tongue flat and dragging, and your hips buck immediately. You can’t help it; you’ve been denied, teased, ruined already, and the wet heat of his mouth is unbearable. Especially when he groans, low and raw, like he missed this. Like he’s been starving for you.

He doesn’t start soft, doesn’t build up. He dives in with a filthy kind of hunger, tongue working in tight circles over your clit, then flattening to lick deep into you like he’s trying to clean out every trace of anyone else.

His hands push down on your thighs, holding them wide, fingers pressing bruises into your skin. You’re panting already, arching into his mouth, and he moans against you like he likes how desperate you are.

“Fucking taste of you,” he growls, voice muffled against your cunt. “Could eat this for hours. Make you forget every single thing but me.”

You whimper, fingers knotting in the sheets.

He pulls back just enough to spit on you again—louder this time, wetter—his saliva mixing with your slick and spreading as he drags his tongue through the mess. The sound alone makes your stomach twist.

You try to squirm away, overstimulated from earlier, nerves already frayed—but it’s useless. His mouth chases you with unrelenting hunger, tongue circling your clit, then sucking on it hard enough to make your legs jerk.

“Stay fucking still,” he growls, and when you don’t, he lifts one hand—crack. Slaps your pussy once, hard.

You cry out, thighs shaking, but he doesn’t give you time to recover. He slaps you again. And then again. Three times in total, each one harder than the last, until your whole cunt is aching and wet and flushed.

You blink through the haze of pain and pleasure, cunt throbbing where he hit you, but you don’t dare close your legs. His mouth is back on you in seconds, licking over the sting, soft for one moment before he starts sucking your clit again like he’s trying to draw every last sound out of you. His nails dig into your thighs. He growls something you can’t even understand because your mind is fucking splitting—

And still, he doesn’t let up.

Not yet.

His mouth is relentless, tongue lashing over your clit like he’s angry at it, like if he sucks hard enough it’ll undo the fact that you ever even thought about being with someone else.

When he pushes two fingers inside you, it feels like too much. They’re thick and rough and he doesn’t give you time to adjust; just starts fucking them into you, curling them with practiced precision until your back arches off the bed and your scream rips through the room.

“Yeah?” he pants, barely coming up for air. “You gonna cum? Gonna soak my fucking face like the little slut you are?”

Your hands fly to his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt, but he only groans louder, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

“I said fucking cum,” he growls, fingers driving in even faster. “Now.”

And you do.

It slams into you like a wave, knocking all the air from your lungs. Your thighs clamp around his head, your entire body tensing as pleasure crests so violently it almost hurts. You cry out, raw, broken, and fucked-out, and your cunt clenches hard around his fingers, gushing as your orgasm tears through you.

You thrash, moaning his name like it’s a curse, trying to twist away from the overstimulation, but he’s got you pinned. One arm locked around your thigh, the other keeping his fingers buried in your cunt, his whole body pressed between your legs to keep you spread open for him.

“Fucking look at that,” he growls against you, his voice thick with pride and something almost reverent. “You fucking squirted, baby. All over me. Shit.”

Your body convulses again when he spits on your pussy, again, mixing it with your slick as he keeps working his fingers in and out of you.

“I’m not stopping,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, like he can’t stop. “Not until you’re shaking. Not until you forget every name but mine.”

Your legs tremble around his hands, your breath coming in broken gasps, your vision blurring with tears from how good it feels, how fucking much it is.

And through it all, Mattheo doesn’t ease up.

He just keeps devouring you.

Like he’s trying to crawl inside your body.

Like he wants to tear every trace of anyone else out of you—until there’s only him left.

Your second orgasm hits fast, brutal, not even a minute later. It crashes into you mid-sob, a breathless, splintered sound that makes Mattheo groan like you just fucking fed him. Your nails rake down his scalp, your legs spasm around him, and it doesn’t matter how much you squirm or whimper or cry out—he keeps going.

Because this isn’t just about getting you off anymore.

This is him, laying claim to every last piece of you in the only language he knows—sex, sweat, spit, and everything he’s not brave enough to admit out loud.

He finally lifts his mouth from your cunt, lips swollen and glistening, and you gasp at the sudden cold air hitting your slick skin, but there’s no relief because his fingers are still moving inside you, slower now, deeper, like he’s exploring. Learning you all over again. Your hips twitch when he curls them just right and your voice breaks completely.

“Mattheo, I— fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he cuts you off, low and rough. His voice is almost affectionate now. Almost. “You will.”

His other hand strokes your thigh, deceptively gentle, before landing another sharp slap to your overstimulated pussy. You jolt, a pathetic little noise escaping your throat.

“So sensitive now,” he murmurs, like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “Could cum just from my fingers, couldn’t you? Just from this.”

He adds a third finger.

You cry out, legs flying open wider on instinct, your walls fluttering as your body betrays you again, greedy, eager, desperate even when you’re already spent.

“You feel that?” he breathes, pressing against the spot that makes your whole body seize. “That little flutter? You’re so fucking close again, aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over my hand this time, too?”

Your answer is a strangled sob and a frantic nod.

But just as your stomach starts to coil, he pulls his fingers out.

You whine, hips lifting off the bed in desperate protest, but he presses a firm hand to your stomach, holding you down.

“Don’t fucking move,” he growls. “You’ll take it when I give it to you. Not a second before.”

Your body trembles under the weight of it, your thighs twitching, breath ragged, heart pounding so hard it hurts, and for a moment, it’s quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl.

Mattheo sits back between your legs, hand dragging slowly down your stomach, through the mess between your thighs. His fingers are wet with you. You. He stares at them like they’re proof—proof of how much you want him, how much you’ll always come back, no matter how many names you let slip from your mouth in the dark.

He drags his hand up, smearing slick across your hip, your ribs, up to your throat, gripping it again, just tight enough to make your breath catch.

Then he leans in, nose brushing yours, voice low and gutted.

“You let him touch you?”

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, mind still trying to catch up. “What?”

He squeezes your throat once, firm, unforgiving.

“Rivers,” he spits. “Did you let him see this pussy?”

“No,” you gasp, voice thin. “No, I— Mattheo, I didn’t—”

“Did he taste you?”

You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes, and it’s not just fear or arousal or shame—it’s the ache underneath it all. The ache that says this still matters to you. That some part of you wants it to matter to him, too.

His grip on your throat softens for a second.

Then he shoves your legs open and flips you over onto your stomach.

You cry out in surprise, hands scrambling against the sheets, but he doesn’t give you time to think. He pulls you up onto your knees, dragging your hips back until you’re arched, exposed—humiliated in the most obscene way. Your face is half-buried in the blanket, flushed and wet, and you can just barely make out your reflection in the mirror across the room.

You look wrecked.

Mascara streaked down your cheeks. Lips red and bitten. Hair wild from where he’s been fisting it all night.

And your thighs are trembling, still parted, slick with arousal.

“Look at yourself,” he snaps, fisting a hand in your hair to make you lift your head. “So fucking beautiful.”

You do look. It’s unbearable.

“You see that?” he murmurs, dragging the head of his cock through your folds. “See what I’ve done to you?”

You shudder as he presses in just a little, enough to stretch you open around the tip, but not enough to satisfy the ache. Not yet.

“You used to act like you were better than this,” he whispers, and his voice is low, hoarse, almost reverent. “All those books. All that fucking perfect posture in class. Just fooling everyone else.”

He shoves forward, burying himself in you in one brutal thrust.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as your body clenches around him, raw and slick and too sensitive, but fuck, you’re full. So full it almost hurts. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He just starts to move, deep and rough, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

Your eyes flick up again, dazed, catching your own reflection, and the look on your face is almost unrecognizable. Pleasure, pain, possession, and everything in between.

He wraps his hand around your throat, pulling your upper body back against his chest. Your spine arches, your tits bouncing with each harsh thrust, and he watches all of it, obsessed, with his eyes locked on the mirror.

"Say it," he snarls, hand tightening at your throat. "Say who you fucking belong to."

You gasp, pulse hammering against his grip, and he spanks you hard when you hesitate. The sting ripples through your thighs and up your spine.

“Try to run and I’ll fuck you into the floor,” he warns, lips brushing your jaw. “Now say it.”

Your chest rises and falls in stuttering gasps, throat working around the pressure of his grip. His cock pounds into you from behind, fast and unforgiving, and the obscene slap of skin against skin drowns out every last rational thought in your head.

“I— I belong to you,” you choke out.

He growls low in your ear. “Louder.”

“I belong to you, Mattheo.”

The hand on your throat tightens, but you see his eyes flash with something deeper. Something you’ve never seen before.

“Fucking right you do.”

He shoves your thighs farther apart, hand sliding from your throat to your mouth, stuffing two fingers between your lips until you're choking again, but on him this time, gagging softly as your tongue flicks against the calloused pads.

His other hand smacks your ass again, harder, the sting blooming bright across your skin. “Can’t even keep your legs closed,” he spits, hips slamming into yours. “So fucking desperate for it— this is what you need, isn't it?”

You nod, moaning around his fingers, mouth drooling, legs trembling beneath you. Every muscle is strung tight, a storm of overstimulation building beneath your skin, burning you alive from the inside out.

Then he pulls his fingers from your mouth and drags them down between your legs, slipping them in alongside his cock, stretching you, fingering you hard while still fucking you deep.

You scream.

He clamps a hand over your mouth this time, muffling the sound, and still doesn’t stop. The rhythm of his hips falters just long enough for him to pant in your ear, “Gonna make you squirt all over me. Gonna ruin this bed, this carpet— fucking everything.”

Your orgasm builds fast and brutal, a hot knot in your gut pulled tighter and tighter with every brutal thrust, every curl of his fingers inside you. You cum with a sharp, guttural cry, convulsing around him, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs. Your thighs tremble, your vision whites out, and then you feel it.

Liquid gushes out of you, soaking the sheets, his hand, his thighs.

He groans like he’s been punched in the gut. “Fuck yes. Just like that. Look at yourself, baby. Look at the mess you made for me. So perfect, you’re so perfect.”

Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror: eyes wild and glassy, mouth open, chest heaving. You don’t even recognize yourself anymore.

But Mattheo does and he’s fucking obsessed.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down.

His hips keep snapping forward, unforgiving, his cock slick with your release, his hand back at your throat now—not tight, not angry, but there. Holding. Anchoring.

“Mine,” he breathes, voice cracked and wrecked against your shoulder as he finally cums, spilling deep inside of you. “You’re mine, you understand me?” 

You can’t even speak. Just nod frantically, tears running down your cheeks. And then you feel a little splash on your bare shoulder, so faint you almost think you’re imagining it, but you look up to see his face in the mirror, small tears evidently falling down.

It’s unclear whether the fluttering in your chest is from heartache or hope or pleasure, but it’s there, and it reassures you that he must be feeling something. At least a fucking sliver of the suffering you’ve been dealing with, at least a fraction of the feelings you’re harboring for him.

He suddenly looks so fucking broken, so vulnerable. You want to reach for him, wipe the tear from his face, ask him what the fuck is going on inside his head. You want to ask him why he’s so fucking cold one minute, and then this the next.

But you can’t. Not now. Not with your body still trembling beneath his, still so raw, so exposed. He’s still inside you, still holding you in place as he leans into you, his face resting against your neck.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice hoarse and barely there. His chest presses against your back, his grip on your throat loosening, fingers brushing softly over the delicate skin. “I hate this.”

You let your head fall back onto his shoulder, feeling the weight of his confession. You want to tell him that you hate it too, but it’s a lie. Part of you thrives in this chaos, this connection that burns and stings, even when it destroys you both.

His breath is still shallow, and for a moment, you both just stay there, silent, eyes locked on the mirror. He shifts slightly behind you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets out a shaky breath that sounds almost... genuine.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispers. “I didn’t...”

But his words fizzle out, swallowed by the distance that still stands between you two, even in the most intimate of moments. The words hang in the air, unspoken, a fragile thread that snaps the second you try to hold onto it.

His fingers trace a line down your spine, his touch almost affectionate, but it doesn’t last long. The coldness creeps back in, wrapping itself around his words like a familiar shroud. “You should go.”

It’s not a command, not really. It’s just the unspoken truth of what you are. What you always have been in this twisted dance; temporary. A passing fucking storm.

You turn your head slightly, catching his gaze in the mirror one last time. The rawness of his expression still burns in your chest, and for a fleeting second, you almost feel like he might say something else. Something more.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lets go of you completely, pulls away, and it’s like the warmth he’d offered you was never there to begin with.

”I should go?” 

“… Yeah.”

Hm. Okay.

With shaky legs, you stand, slipping out from his grip and collecting your clothes. You force yourself to dress, your hands trembling, but your heart still pounding in your chest.

Before you leave, you glance at him one more time, his eyes averted, his jaw set, the wall around him already back up. You don’t say anything; you don’t need to.

You walk out of the room, the door clicking softly behind you.

And as you step into the cold air, your chest aches, but you don’t know whether it’s because you want him to chase you or because you know he won’t.

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

reminder that reblogs, feedback, and comments are very appreciated and make me smile :)

part two

[irradiatedsnakes]

realized i had this in my drafts and planned to post it a month or two after the wheel dropped and then forgot about it. oops! here you go

"why does it feel like i just got scammed", my contribution to the wheel of wow, a small dialtown fic collection comprised of randomly-generated ships written and illustrated by our group of friends! we released it this past valentine's day, and i'm unbearably proud to be a part of it. please take a gander if you haven't!

the ship generated for this one was, uh, milton r. wallace/milton r. wallace. well i hope you like it (please check under the cut for the feelings/concepts behind the comic and my ramblings on the dialup!)

ive been thinking a lot about the dialup lately and like. okay. milton was opposed from day 1, he never Stopped being opposed, but- obviously the dialup is Unfathomably Unethical, i agree with this. a violation of bodily autonomy on a high-incomprehensible scale. but there is that little nagging doubt, what IF it all went exactly according to how callum said it would, if it accomplished all the improvements to people's lives that it was meant to? (given everything we know it seems unlikely it ever WOULD.)

but damn if me, i, griffin, were posed with the choice to press a button where "quality of life improves significantly for like everyone on earth, and also phone heads happen" i would probably definitely press the button. now, i dont think milt would, but like, this comic is meant to explore that bit of doubt, that little voice of callum's in his head going on about changing the world, helping people. what IF it was possible, what IF it worked.

which is also why, in this, hypothetical post-dialup-milton talks more like callum than he does milton (hence why he specifically calls him "milt" and not "milton" on the last page). that little needling voice of doubt speaking up, that after consideration (ie, this conversation) just solidifies his conviction- that the dialup is something horrible, but also not something he feels like he has the power to stop, anymore.

also phone head notes!

it's an ericsson n2200 wooden wall phone, as mentioned in the first page

i wanted an ericsson model specifically since that's the same company that made callum's model (an ericsson dbh of some kind)- playing on the "made in his image"/callum-as-god theme.

unlike callum's model, this is a wooden phone specifically- it's primarily made of organic materials.

the front is completely blank. there's lots of bits and bobs on rotary phones that can read as facial features- dials, bells- i wanted him to be as blank and faceless as possible, removal of expression and individuality. he's not as much a person anymore, he's a vehicle for callum's ideas and ambitions.

[teruthecreator]

gimme 1 and 17 dialtown ☎️

hiiiii griffin i hope you're having a good time at graduation. probably not since u sent this ask but hey man i get i too was on my phone during graduation. anyway

1. the character everyone gets wrong

oh boy where do i start with this. i mean like. tee bee aych i feel like most people have a fundamental misunderstanding of randy. like he's not pathetic for pathetics sake he kind of intentionally puts himself in the worst situations imaginable to feed his worldview of everything being bad for Him specifically and no one else. the fandom kind of babygirls him? like treats him softer and generally makes him more of a shy uwu guy rather than a person stuck deeply in his own fractured worldview that is intentionally letting himself get worse. like randy's whole route is about making him realize his happiness is His Choice, His Decision and not a work of fate/luck/unseen outside force that he has to relinquish control to, and everyone just goes "yeah but what if we make him sopping wet uwu yaoibait guy with oliver".

speaking of oliver i feel like EEEEEEEEEVERYBODY makes him way too wacky and not actually grounded. like, despite his many odd mannerisms and such, he is still one of the few characters who has a job and is able to Maintain That throughout his route (though, of course, in the good route it changes). oliver is a pretty stable guy, all things considered. sure he talks funny and has a general inclination for the ridiculous, but a lot of people kinda coke him up and let him run loose like he's a wild animal. and i think it's more fun if you ground him in a place of reality and then let him play. instead of being the guy to drag people into stuff, let him be a part of a scenario and see what his reactions are. much more fun. also i feel like a lot of people forget how, like, awkward he is? like he tends to apologize when he says really outlandish/forward shit and seems to view Himself as a "freak" in a way that would suggest he's aware of how he stands in comparison to most people. like dude knows he's weird, and that's not Always a good thing.

and yknow what while im talking about the main dateables i would be remiss to bring up karen because like. WOW. i mean this is a problem with most fandom spaces unfortunately but the way people straightman her is so fucking sad. like people forget she literally quit her job on a Whim because someone vaguely suggested leaving and she went full throttle. karen is impulsive and karen makes bad decisions based on rash judgments and she is generally not that hard to goad into doing something stupid. i mean, she agreed to a date with gingi. twice! that takes some real loose grips on impulse control to just go along with that. like sure she is a bit more deadpan than, say, oliver, but she does have a sense of humor. she likes to use sarcasm! she has wit she has sass. also she is like. INSANELY jealous and i feel like a lot of people dont hone in on that aspect of her being the reason why she is sometimes so rash. she is fiercely protective of those she considers "hers". she wanted to Kill A Giraffe because gingi liked it. she is jealous she is rash she is impulsive PLAY IN THE SPACE STOP MAKING HER THE DEADPAN STRAIGHTMAN ITS SO BORINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

okay that's enough of that but just know i could've done it for every character

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

maybe i am insanely ridiculously biased but there should more content of mingus and norm. or just mingus. or norm. those two are SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO fascinating and i feel like people kinda gloss over that. like they're similar beasts in their rampant paranoia and flawed perspective on callum/the world and they butt heads about it like crazy. generally their dynamic is one of the most interesting parts of chapter 3 to me and i feel like there really isn't enough chapter 3-focused content out there. we should talk about these guys more. and if i have to stand on a podium and take a stand there should be more content of MINGUS. girl is the driving antagonist of AN ENTIRE ARC. BASICALLY THE WHOLE GAME IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT. AND NOOOOOO I DON'T SEE HER ANYWHERE. IS IT BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T FIT IN YOUR FOUND FAMILY DYNAMIC? IS IT BECAUSE SHE'S A WOMAN? I DON'T KNOW I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DIRECT YOU PEOPLE TOWARDS HER BUT I WANT TO. if my brain was functioning at the capacity it was last july i would've written ten million fics about her i have so many days. alas, i don't know if they'll ever happen... (but if people were curious i would gladly share)

but in a slightly more biased take, i think there needs to be more normingus in the world. how we were the chosen few to proclaim the good word of normingus is beyond me. like don't get me wrong i'm happy tryt had its impact but JESUS CHRIST I SHOULD NOT BE THE MOST POPULAR. SOMEONE ELSE COME TRY AND PLAY IN THE SPACE WITH ME. I CAN GIVE YOU IDEAS. I CAN GIVE YOU SO MANY IDEAS.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Will we get to see any NSFW stuff with Mommy!Hwa?🥺

I totally understand if not but I just know he would go feral while pleasing his Baby😩

➯a/n: yes. yes. YES. OH MY GAWD YEA LFHSKQ I ABOUT COMBUSTED WHEN I SAW SOMEONE ASKED FOR THIS 😭i was so excited that i kept losing my train of thought and had to rant about how mommy hwa is in bed to calm down bahaha

Mess

Baby Series !

❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, smut

✫彡wordcount: 4.5k

♫ "It feels good, girl, it feels good to be alone with you." Hozier, To Be Alone♫

♫Baby Playlist♫

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: not proof read, ddlg themes (NO age regression), dubcon (because of stockholm syndrome), hwa is a PERVERT, messy and rough sex, cunnilingus, fingering, spit, squirting, overstim, extreme dacryphilia, creampie, big dick hwa, reassurance, unbelievable amount of praise and pet names, embarrassment, accidental piss kink discovery (LMAO DONT LOOK AT MEEEE)

♡ateez masterlist !♡

➯disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy relationship of any kind. ➯disclaimer2: as i've said before it is VERY important to always keep age regression and age play SEPARATE, and ive also said that seonghwa never touches baby while she's in little space MANY times. baby is not "baby mode" when they are being intimate, and i will never write that. baby is ALWAYS going to be in "adult space" (kkkk i can't think of a better word) when sexual things are happening, even if she acts cutesy and stuff

MINORS DO NOT TOUCH MY BLOG

❝you're my baby, say it to me❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

"Here you go," Seonghwa whispers as he tosses your shirt to a far off corner of the room; completely forgotten about as he slowly slides his hands up your sides, "let me see my girl."

"Don't be a tease, Mommy," you pant softly, already worked up beyond belief as your eyes flick up and down his naked torso.

You had joined him in going a few hours away from home for a photo shoot — of course you did, it's not like he would ever leave you behind. You watched with his manager, which was probably a mistake considering how hot and bothered it made you. You hadn't felt like slipping into your little space all day long, probably because you were so busy gawking at your 'boyfriend'.

Because it was so far away, there was a hotel room waiting for you when he was done. And he wasn't blind, he saw the way you were looking at him. He knows you like he knows the back of his hand — even better, actually.

So this room is going to get a lot more use than originally expected.

"But you're so cute when you're flustered," he smirks, cupping your chest gently as he leans down and pecks your lips. "Does my pretty baby want to play?"

You nod quickly, fisting the blanket with anticipation bubbling up. Remember your manners, "oh- oh, yes! Yes, please, I want to..."

    You hadn't been intimate together since you had a tantrum and yelled at him, almost a month ago now. That probably partly why you were so needy — if he isn't the one making you cum, it's not happening at all.

He doesn't need more convincing than that. He straddles your hips and cups your face like he doesn't have a second to waste, his kiss is different than it usually is. It's hungry and passionate and soul consuming.

He can't help himself. He doesn't have any restraint when it comes to pleasing you. Anything you want, save for your freedom, is yours the second he can do something about it.

And he won't admit it out loud, but he's just as needy as you are.

His inconvenient hard-ons have been more frequent and frustrating. He's lucky you haven't noticed the way his eyes have been lingering when he helps you change. He's sexually frustrated, sure — but he keeps to his promise and he almost always waits for you to come to him.

No matter how badly he wants you, he wants you to want him more. He needs you to.

     He starts peppering kisses along your skin; traveling lower and giving attention to your chest. As your fingers tangle up in his hair, he's moaning like he's the one having their body worshipped. He steadies himself by grabbing your waist, fingers digging in.

A broken moan bubbles up your throat as he wraps his lips around your nipple, "a-ah! Mommy, I need more..."

Oh, he might explode here and now. You call him that every single day — but not like this. Not with your voice filled with lust. Begging him to touch you.

     That little tremble in the way you call his name is reserved for times like this.

    He takes in a deep breath before he speaks, "tell Mommy what you need." He leans back over your face, hovering with stars in his eyes. Any hint of tiredness from the day is gone. Only passion remains.

"I...w-" Even when you're not in little space, you're so light headed around him. He just has that effect on you, especially after so long.

"C'mon, Baby," he coaxes you gently, giving a single roll of his hips that leaves your jaw dropped with the flood of dopamine that it gives you. "You know I won't judge you, tell me how to make you feel good."

"Please," you look away shyly, like you aren't about to ask something so vulgar. "I need you to make me cum..."

The quickness with which he yanks off your skirt and panties makes you yelp in surprise, but the sound is quickly cut off by a lewd moan as he slips down and gives a slow lick up your slit. All in one fluid movement: he's rid you of the fabric, slid down the bed, and got you on his tongue.

You slap your hand over your mouth as he spreads your thighs, your eyes nearly rolling back at the feeling of his pointed tongue. As he draws a slow circle around your clit, you nearly cum then and there. You've forgotten how skilled he is.

"God, I've missed you," his mumbles are lost on you because next thing you know; he's eating you out like a man starved. Flicking and swirling and lapping and sucking. If your mind could form any semblance of a thought, you might wonder how in the world he's doing all those things at once. And the answer is simple. He was born to please you. At least, that's what he claims.

Your other hand is wrapped in his hair like a lifeline, and the slight stinging with each movement of his head doesn't stop him from licking your clit like a mad man — it only stirs him on.

He's messy as always, slobbering all over your heat without a care in the world.

    He gives one last rough suck before he pulls back a bit, panting as he looks up at you. "Baby-ya," he calls as he slides a hand down your thigh and towards your heat. He locks eyes with you as he purses his lips and lets his spit dribble down onto you.

    "Mommy-ya," you moan back, grinding up into his hand as it brushes against your epicenter. His middle finger slips in, drawing out a loud "oh~!" from you before you can stop it.

He's never practiced so much self restraint in his life. Even just feeling your hot walls around his finger has him twitching. If he wasn't so dedicated to pleasing you first and foremost, he'd already be buried inside of you. But, his Baby comes first.

"That's a good girl," his praise makes you clench around his digit, your head tossing to the side. It feels like it's been so long. Even just his finger feels like it's hitting all of the wonderful spots inside of you as he slowly starts thrusting it. You can barely imagine what it will feel like when he's inside you again —

"Mommy, please," you groan, swirling your hips until he rests his forearm across your pelvis and holds you down to continue his devilishly slow teasing. "More!"

"I know, Baby, you want me to fuck you so bad, huh?" He nips your thigh as he adds another finger. "Mommy has to stretch you out first~"

"Hurryyyy," you pout as you try to arch your back, trying to suck his fingers in deeper, "I need you."

You don't have to tell him twice, that is for sure. The soft way you cry for him to hurry and fuck you has his brain turning into a feral mush.

You let out your loudest moan yet as his fingers, previously going at a leisurely pace, are now diving in and out of you with near reckless abandon. You can't move your hips, still held down by his arm and forced to take the onslaught of pleasure.

You slam both of your hands over your mouth as you slump back.

He doesn't like that one bit. He reaches up and yanks your hands away; and all while still curling his deliciously long fingers, he speaks, "let me hear you. Be as loud as you want, Baby. We can be as loud as we want, you don't have to be shy."

"Ah, I f-forgot," you whine, your eyebrows pressing together as his fingertips graze against something inside of you that makes you gush around his fingers with more messy arousal.

"It's okay, angel," he laces his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand as he pushes a third finger inside of you. "You can scream. Let Mommy hear how good you feel."

The stretch and the angle and his voice — "don't stop!"

He wouldn't dare. He's watching every twitch of your brow and every jolt your body makes as he searches for something inside of you. When your jaw drops and your eyes roll back, he knows he's found it. He's on a mission. He needs to make you squirt. He needs to make a mess of you.

"Ohhh," he coos deeply, "right there, Baby?"

"R-right there, Mommy!" You don't care about your volume anymore. His reassurance and the way he's practically assaulting your g-spot while holding your hand makes it impossible to care about anything.

"Riiiiight there~" He smirks as you roll your hips clumsily to push his digits deeper; even when his palm is already hitting your clit with every thrust of his fingers. "That's it, pretty girl," he leans over you and drives his fingers in at a whole new angle; pressing harder against the spot that's making you dizzy, "give me a kiss."

Shakily, and quickly, you toss your arm over his neck and yank him down. Your lips on his like you need him more than you need air: and he returns the passion ten fold, he always will.

Your moans are swallowed up by him as he sends you closer to the edge. Closer and closer and closer and straight over. Your release splashes against his lower stomach, the warmth of it makes him send moans right back to you. Your hand is still held tightly in his and he's starting to lose color in his fingers from how tightly you squeeze them.

He lays on top of you to stop your convulsing, a dark satisfaction settling in his bones as you whimper; forced to take the overstimulation as he curls his fingers. It fills the room with lewd squelches that make his neglected member twitch.

A string of saliva keeps you connected as he finally moves away from your lips. He watches it closely as it snaps, falling onto your chin. And you don't even notice it as you have your eyes closed, panting, in the throes of bliss.

He leans and licks it up softly while he slowly withdraws his fingers, making you whine and chase after them with your hips. "Shhh, none of that, Baby." He hums as he rubs down your arm gently, "you ready for me now?"

"Oh, yes," you nod quickly, you almost forgot that's where this was leading. Now, you're ecstatic at the promise of him being even deeper inside of you, "please, Mommy."

God, if you keep saying it like that he won't be able to hold himself back. He knows he'll end up being rough with you — both of you do. But he likes to take it slow at first so he doesn't hurt you.

    He bites his lip, quickly pressing his forehead to your shoulder so that you won't see the wild look in his eyes. The look that says he's about to lose control.

"So polite," he pants softly, smiling down at you after he forces himself to calm down. "I'll give my angel what she wants~"

     His pants are gone in a second flat, and he's pulling you further down the bed by your thighs until your hips hang on the edge. "Hold your legs for me, Baby," he hums as he pushes your knees together.

While you're wrapping your arms under your knees and hugging them tightly to prepare yourself, effectively exposing yourself to him — he's gathering up the wetness from his skin and lathering himself with it, jerking off slowly to the sight of you.

All worked up and gushing for him; giving him a nice, unobstructed view as you hold your legs as close to your chest as you can. Your eyes a bit fuzzy as you watch him eagerly. Your socked feet fidgeting in the air, white frills catching his eyes. Your breathing still uneven from your first peak of the night.

The first of what will be many, because Seonghwa is an overachiever when it comes to you.

He kisses your leg gently, smiling innocently as he bends down and lines himself with your weeping hole. "My good girl," he mutters softly, "that's what you are. My perfect little angel."

The praise goes straight to your cunt, fluttering around nothing before his tip is suddenly entering you with an almost audible pop. Your eyes slam shut, a gasp caught in your throat. Three fingers and a squirting orgasm suddenly didn't seem like enough prep for Seonghwa's impressive girth.

"Fuck," he groans, hands planted on the back of your thighs to ground himself; digging his fingers into your plush flesh. He leans his head against the side of your legs, gazing down at you with nothing but love and lust. "You gotta relax, Baby-"

"You're too big," you shake your head, eyes still squeezed shut.

He bites his lip in a combination of effort to conceal his chuckle and to hold himself back. He takes a breath, rubbing the back of your thighs softly as you continue to clench around his bulbous tip — it feels like you're already trying to milk him for all his worth. The warmth of your gummy walls is trying to enchant him, trying to make him sink deeper, faster. He needs to bury his whole shaft in you or he's going to lose what's left of his mind.

"Have some faith in yourself, baby-doll," his nickname makes you twitch around him. He did that on purpose, no doubt about it. "You've taken it before, right? Mhm~" He nods with you, reaching to trace your heated cheek with his knuckles as you peek your eyes open. "You can take it, can't you~?"

It's not a question, even if it's formatted as one, rolling off his tongue with a soft inquisitive tone.

It's a reassurance and a statement. You can and you will take it, just like you have so many times before. "Yes, Mommy-"

You should have chosen your words more carefully, because the second 'Mommy' leaves your lips — all whiny and sweet — he's sinking into you.

"Ah-" He almost whines, "that's it, my star~ Let Mommy fill you up."

No matter how much you relax, no matter how pliable you make yourself; he's still having to make his own path through your gooey channel. He's still carving you to the shape of his cock to fit like a custom sleeve. And it feels too fucking good — "Please!" You yelp, nails digging into your legs as you continue to hug them as tightly as possible, "please, I want you to take me already!"

You can't take another second of his slow march forward — but that's too bad, Baby.

He likes to take his sweet, sweet time to really feel your searing cavity as it encases him. "Shhh, Baby, don't you worry," he places another kiss on your leg, smirking as you quiver around him, "you know I'll give you what you want, right?"

He leans over further, crushing your thighs all the way against your chest and making your legs rest over one of his shoulders. "Right, Baby?" He moans as he finally, finally bottoms out.

"Y-yes," you pout up at him beggingly, your entire being set ablaze as he settles inside of you.

For someone built so slim, his cock is thicker than you feel it should be — but you are not complaining as he stretches you from the inside out so nicely.

"What did you say you wanted, hm?" He teases you playfully, withdrawing just an inch before sliding back in.

It's maddening, he does it again; the tiniest bit further this time. "T-aaah!" You kick your feet lightly when one of his hands snakes between you and begins rubbing your clit. "Take me! Go faster, please! Please, plea- oh my good g-aaaah!!" You wail unabashedly as he starts slamming his hips into you: rough, fast, and calculated all while toying with your bundle of nerves.

      "Of course, My Baby~"

His words are so sweet while he absolutely ruins you for anyone other than himself. Not even you could make your body fill with the pleasure that you're feeling as he rubs his thumb across your cheek affectionately while drilling into you. "Look at my gorgeous doll, taking me so well."

All you can respond with is a slurred 'mhmmfff', your brain already sufficiently scrambled and overheated from his inhuman pace with his in-and-out, in-and-out; the pad of his finger never leaving your buzzing clit.

"Aww, it feels good?"

You nod quickly, leaning into his cupped hand while you gulp down the build up of saliva in your mouth. His eyes are trained on you like a hawk, every single twitch in your face committed to memory.

"Yeah, it does~" He grins devilishly while giving you a particularly rough slam when he catches your lips parting — making a loud and lewd yip-like moan tumble out. 

    "Mommy, c-" You choke on your words, arms trembling as you clutch your legs as a lifeline.

    "Cumming~?" He hums, pressing his fingers harder to your clit and making you squeal. "Go ahead, Baby, make a mess on Mommy's cock," he licks up your neck and the warm feeling of it passing your jugular makes the burning ball of arousal in your gut spread through your entire body.

    Once again, he's holding you down with the weight of his body as you tremble, your jaw dropped in a soundless scream while you release with a wave of cream onto his member; a milky white ring forming around his base while he fucks you through it.

     You let your legs go with a whine, letting him gently maneuver them and lay you on your side while he whispers soft praises that barely reach your muddled mind. "N'break..." You slur out through your breaths, melting under his soft touch on your legs.

     "A break?" He smiles while rubbing up and down your legs. His cock, still lodged deep inside of you, is throbbing — basically yelling at him not to give you what you ask for. "Just a little one, starlight." Because he isn't done wrecking you yet.

     "Thank goodness." Your little sigh makes him chuckle as he forces himself to pull out; doing so slowwwwly to make your sensitive walls tremble and beg him to stay.  "...fuck."

    The only time you ever dare curse infront of him is when you're like this. And the sound of the filthy words on your precious lips almost makes him take back his promise of a break.

     He leans back and stands fully, his heart pounding in his chest even harder as he gets a good look at you.

    In nothing but your cute little socks, you're already in a sheen of sweat from the violent thrumming of your own heart after two intense orgasms. There's already two wet spots on the hotel bed, the source between your legs glimmering in the dim lamp light. Your poor pussy lips are already a bit swollen from his stretching and pounding, your legs twitching every so often in the aftershocks of pleasure.

     He needs to make a much bigger mess of you before he's satisfied. Some deep, dirty part of his brain demands it. He has to make a mess of you, he just has to — and you've barely cried! That will not do. He needs to ruin you completely and place you back together with his saccharine words. He needs to. 

  He maneuvers you like a doll, smirking to himself at the trust you have in him to let him move you into whatever position he sees fit.

     He kisses your shoulder softly as he lays you on your stomach, crawling over you. "Are you ready for more, Baby?"

    "Mhm," you nod, having caught as much as your breath as you could.

   "Close your legs for me."

    You look back at him with a questioning gaze, "close them? Isn't it the opposite, Mommy?"

    "Not today, Baby," he grins as he soothes your messy hair, "you want me to show you what I'm thinking?"

    You hesitate for a second before you nod, turning back to face the blanket shyly as he locks his eyes on yours while sliding back inside of you. He breathes a laugh, straddling you from behind and already stretching you to the limit when —

    He starts pushing your legs together with his own, making you clamp down on him.

     "Oh my g-good fuck!"

      "Tight, isn't it~?"

    You nod quickly, shivering as he puts almost his full weight on you — and, by extension, on his cock inside of you. By the time he's got your legs fully pressed together, it feels like he's filled you up so much that he's in your guts. And when he starts thrusting? You have no brains left in your head.

    "Ahh, yes!"

    Your yell stirs him on, making his pace pick up almost immediately and he's back to pounding you like you owe him money; no mercy at all for his precious Baby. The slap of his skin on yours echoing and making his stomach flutter. The way you can't even hold back a single noise, every hit of his pelvis to your hips making a small yelp or moan tremble out of your lips. This is his new favorite position. His only complaint is that he can't see the cute little faces you have to be making right now.

    You certainly don't have any complaints. He feels like a fucking giant as he pounds the life out of you but his arms are gentle as he wraps them around your shoulders — all of his weight on you besides what he uses to slam into you. A shattered gasp leaves you as you feel his cock prod you so rough and deep that it presses into the mattress through you.

    He feels it too, and heaven help you; because now he's never changing his angle. Groaning and praising right in your ear as he continues to relentlessly fuck you into the mattress — quite literally. "Oh, My Baby," he moans deeply, "Mommy is fucking you so deep~ And you're taking it like such a good girl. F-fuck..."

   He's pressing every spot inside of you that there is. Even one that you've never felt before — no, that's not right. You have felt that pressure before. But not when you're having sex.

     He's fucking you so deep that he's putting pressure on your bladder.

    You gasp loudly, clenching around him, "Mommy! Wa-" Clenching was a mistake. Usually, it helps you hold it. Not this time. It pulls him closer. You grab at the blanket, fisting it tightly. Fuck, this is embarrassing. Well, you'd rather just say it so he can stop and you can relieve yourself.

     "Mommy, st-op! M'gonna pee myself!"

     Only... Seonghwa doesn't stop.

     His hips stutter for a moment as he takes in your words — then he's plunging into you impossibly rougher. Like he wants you to. Because he does.

     He knows that makes his an unbelievably perverted person; wanting you to piss on his cock. But he can't help it. He couldn't stop right now even if he had to.

     He can't put it into coherent thoughts right now, only thinking 'harder, fuck her stupid, make her cry, harder, make her pee, make her break...' But when he eventually can organize his thoughts; he'll realize why he couldn't even speak because he was so focused on fucking the literal piss out of you.

     Why? He is the only one on the entire planet that can fuck you so good that you lose control of your bladder. He is the only one to see you so vulnerable. He gets to be filthy with you.

    "Mommy!! P-please! I have t'go!"

    Bless your heart. You still think he might let you get up and go to the bathroom to relieve your abused bladder.

    He wraps his arms around your shoulders tighter, panting and growling like a damn animal in your ear. He's never sounded so dangerous, so feral. He's not even acknowledging your words with any of his own. Only digging his fingers into you and holding your legs shut with his as you try to spread them and get a bit of pressure taken off.

    "Please! P- uh!!" You're crying fast, fat tears now, and Seonghwa can hear them in your voice. Not just because of your embarrassing predicament, but because it feels like pure ecstasy in your very being despite it. "Mm, fuck!" You whine loudly, still feeling his tip press against the bed through you every time he bottoms out. "M-mommy, se-riously! M'gonna pee!"

     "So do it." His words make you wail, shaking your head as vigorously as possible and instinctively clenching again even though it does nothing to help your situation. He presses somehow deeper as he leans his head up and looks over your shoulder at you.

    His cock throbs inside of you, making you gasp, as he watches the tears flow down your heated face. Now he's getting somewhere.

     "It's okay, Baby-ya," he hums, his chest vibrating against your back as he crushes you to the bed, "do it. For- for me."

    "Tha-that's dirty!" You hiccup, kicking your legs until he places his over them.

    "You're already l-leaking everywhere, angel~ You're already creaming all over me. Do it."

   "Nmf-" You bite your lip roughly, a defeated squeak in your throat as a spurt comes out with his thrust. You try to hold the rest in. You really try. Despite his encouragement, you're still mortified.

    His next few thrusts earn him the same thing, a lewd splash against the bed. It's so fucking warm. He's digging his nails into you by the time you finally stop holding it back.

      The relief is almost as good as the orgasm that slams into you like a tsunami.

     You're a complete mess below him. Sobbing, kicking your feet, gripping the blanket so tightly your hands are shaking — all of you is shaking. Trembling like leaf in the wind as relief and pleasure overwhelm your humiliation and creates a feeling you've never dealt with before.

And Seonghwa isn't far behind you. He thinks his body must know not to make him cum while he's watching the absolute work of art he's made of you, not until you finally slump below him. Then, though — he's slamming one last time until your soaking cunt and staying as deep as humanly possible while he cums, holding you so tightly that you might have heard something pop if not for your absolute fried brain and his guttural moan drowning it out.

Yeah. This is his favorite position now, for sure.

❝MESS❞ ✧ ೃ༄ ｡

[acetheta]

daniel molloy actually IS just a lost pup!!! hi i love u dog metaphors never getting over u

[mandiipss]

Hmmm cool, I'm so used to dead fandoms lol

Favorite character: Leo. You're telling me they made him.. EVEN GAYER.. how could I not love him dearly. My actual answer is that I feel like his caring, motherly side was more organically done in this series compared to 03 and 12. Thinking about Raph Alone and how no-nonsense he gets when his brothers ACTUALLY need help. Also seeing him just unabashedly love Splinter and Mikey and Donnie in little interactions fuels me so muchhh. I think Nick pushed his comedic relief too much in serious scenes, there's so much potential to his character and this goddamn show.

Least Favorite Character: the masked bodyguard of Big Mama that was definitely gonna be set up as one of the sister turtles. I don't even know why, SHE'S ENCROACHING ON MY TERRITORY I GUESS, I'M NOT A FAN, I'M A LITTLE FUCKING HATER. PIEBALD AND APRIL ARE THEIR SISTERS BACK OFFFF

A character I find attractive: ?? fucking uh. Oh fuck. I know who. Lou Jitsu is. Listen he's. Listenn

Favorite villain: Shredder because of the redid backstory adding SO MUCH

Least favorite villain: Hypno. gay on gay man violence I'm jealous that he's in a loving relationship with a literal worm. a worm. a fucking..

Fav duo: Donnie and Leo

Favorite ship: SLAMS leoichi on the table I DONT make the rules. (Sunipril)

Reasons you love rottmnt: the fandom is genuinely so uplifting and sweet it's crazy, also "WRONG, you're terrible-" cut to Leo about to bite Donnie I meaN COME ON. (I also love the intricate web of relationships and watching how each character interacts with other specific characters.)

Calling all ROTTMNT fans

Hi i'm new and I've been seeing these on Tumblr, so I thought to do one :) Btw tag your Rottmnt friends to do this to!

Favorite Character and 1 reason why: (Mine is Donnie because he's funny XD)

Least Favorite Character and 1 reason why: (Mine is the Leader of the Kraang bc of what he did to Leo..)

A character you think is attractive(Can skip if you don't have one): (Mine is DONNIE >:))

Favorite Villain: (Mine is Kendra, or Big Mama)

Least Favorite Villain: (Mine is same as my least fav character)

Favorite Duo: (Mine is DISASTER TWINS)

Favorite Ship: (None tbh)

2 reasons why you like Rottmnt :3: (Mine is because it's a genuinely funny show, the humor in it is great, and the characters are so well done.)

Your tags: (Mine: @donniecrazy20, @geese-ball, @mycomars, @tonystarkwasrobbed, @ihateitallsomerandomguy, @yourlocalmia, @sockkllyy, @strawberryswirl4321)