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madridfangirl · 1 day ago

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Couple Intimacy Quiz

(Jude Bellingham blurb. 2.3k words. Mature language)

Jude and Ananya were laying in bed, naked, after some erotic yet exhausting morning sex. Her head in the crook of his neck, one arm & leg over his body while his arm was draped around her shoulders. One thing led to another and they decided to take a couple intimacy quiz. Brahim had mentioned one to Jude some time back and Jude had been curious ever since. He googled the most popular one and handed over the phone to Ananya.

‘You read the questions.’

She had been intrigued (& slightly embarrassed) by the idea of such a quiz. He thought it would be fun to watch her process the questions and read them out loud. The pink in her cheeks a welcome gift. Jude shifted them so they were on their sides, facing each other.

Ananya clicked on the link and started going through the questions, very aware of his firm gaze on her and his warm, large palm stroking her bare waist.

‘First question. How often do you have sex?’

‘Does it mean number of days or should we include number of times also on those days? Or the number of orgasms every time or what?’

Ananya rolled her eyes.

‘It’s not meant to be so technical. Just the number of days is fine.’

He smiled.

‘A few times per week, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

Jude took her to bed pretty much every time their schedules allowed them to be together, unless there were some extenuating circumstances. And like he had insinuated, it was never just one time in those sessions, unless one of them was tired from work.

It had been almost 4 months of their relationship and the passion had only increased.

‘Next question. Do you daydream about your partner?’

‘You go first.’

She played with the strands of her hair absentmindedly, something he always found cute.

‘I mean, yeah.’

‘Tell me an instance.’

‘Like, when I am watching your match. Or some….training pics.’

‘But you can see me then. Do you think of me in a completely unrelated manner, out of nowhere?’

The hair playing became more vigorous, making him smile.

‘Umm when I’m in the shower sometimes, I can…’

‘Yes?’

‘….I can almost feel your gaze and your hands on me.’

His smile widened, and he leaned over to brush his lips against hers, lingering there.

‘Do you touch yourself then? Imagining it to be me?’

‘…..sometimes….’

‘Will you let me watch when we shower together next?’

She nodded slowly, lifting her eyes to watch his keenly hopeful ones. Earning herself another slow kiss.

‘Once I was in a pool recovery session with the national team. And an Elvis song was playing in the back, which just reminded me of Valentine’s Day.’

He didn’t need to say more. She had made an Elvis playlist for him on Valentine’s Day. Wore his favourite lace lingerie. And it was the first time she had tended to him with her hands. Jude had held his breath when her tentative hands started to go lower, into his briefs, and he had discarded the garment quickly to give her better access, throwing his head back in pleasure.

‘It was that song again. And my mind just went to that night. Fucking hell I was with the lads, with fucking cameras on. Last thing I needed was for anyone to wonder why I was hard around half-naked lads.’

She giggled, visualising the scene.

‘Fine, laugh away. But it could have been a genuine PR meltdown.’

‘Sorry I torment you such!’

‘You should be.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘Waited for everyone to leave, then lunged for a towel.’

She giggled harder. But then he reminded her it was the same day he had called her from the hotel, while she was at work, and made her stay on the line while he took care of his need. She had to lock herself in a washroom and stay there for a while after.

The giggles paused, leading to an onset of blush, as she avoided his eyes. But he found hers & she quickly skipped to the next question.

‘Third one. Are you vocal during intimacy?’

‘Well, I am.’

Jude was a talker. During both foreplay and sex. His words would go from sickly sweet to downright filthy to everything in between. Assaulting all her senses.

‘I am too. Just….not with words.’

‘Love the noises you make for me.’

She shrugged lightly, and he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers.

‘Would love to hear your words too, babe. You’d be so hot.’

‘I…it’s just…am not coherent when you….touch me like that…’

From the way his lips split into a grin against her jaw, she could tell he liked that response.

‘Next one. Do you feel comfortable when you’re naked in front of your partner?’

‘I do. Took you a while to get there.’

‘Yeah, no shit. You flash people in the middle of the stadium. And walk around naked in your dressing room. Of course you are comfortable with nudity.’

‘Nudity? Flashing? Just coz all my responses are an easy yes you don’t have to attack me.’

He stated matter of factly, but with a smirk, to soften the blow. It did the reverse.

‘This quiz is rigged. You’ve picked it on purpose.’

‘Yeah? You pick another one then.’

‘Am not playing.’

She tried to turn away from him but he grabbed her just in time, cooing into her ear, stroking her hair.

‘Heyy dove, what happened suddenly?’

When she didn’t respond, he rubbed his cheek against hers.

‘Remember how it was in the beginning? Took me forever to even have you the first time. Look how far we’ve come since then.’

It was true. Their intimacy touched new levels each passing day. But it bugged her that the physical part of intimacy didn’t come as easily or naturally to her as it did to him. Her forte was emotional intimacy, something he was growing into. Something she could kick his butt in. Why wasn’t there a quiz on that? She’d find one the next time.

‘I guess, yeah.’

‘Let’s continue?’

‘Uh-huh. Next one. Sexting and who initiates it?’

She rolled her eyes loudly, and he smirked again. What were these questions? The universe was seriously conspiring against her.

‘Love it. And I’m kinda the gold standard there.’

Kings of England would not have had cockiness like his.

‘Ofcourse.’

‘But you knocked it out of the park that one time. Easily my fav one.’

His hands slowly stroked down her bare back, as they both thought about that evening.

Roma’s boyfriend Chris was visiting & Ananya had not expected them to be this loud. And this obvious - the two had been locked inside their room for like a day & a half straight.

It did something to Ananya. Made her long for her boyfriend’s touch. And she was ovulating, which made her a desperate mess. She knew Jude was at a shoot, and his mother was with him for crying out loud. But a demon had taken over her senses. She had become a slave to the needs of the flesh.

Jude had been stunned when he checked her message.

‘Need you to come fuck me RIGHT NOW.’

He was surrounded by people on set & couldn’t even call immediately.

‘Babe, what? You ok? Is this you? I’m on set.’

She took the shortest route to convince him. By sending him a nude. For the first time. Didn’t even feel any inhibition coz of how horny she was.

His jaw dropped, and drool came out of it. But then he saw the message underneath.

‘Wanna have some? Or should I ask Chris to help a girl out - don’t think he’d mind, he likes me.’

The mad fit of arousal & rage made Jude’s head spin. The brattiness was new, infuriating, and Jude was going to nip it in the bud. He’d make her regret those words deeply, for putting that image in his mind.

‘Gonna ruin you. 25 mins. Stay there. DON’T DO ANYTHING STUPID.’

She was in no mood to back down.

‘Let’s see who ruins whom.’

Jude had reached in 23 mins & found her on her bed. Naked. Legs spread open. Sucking on her fingers. Drunk on tequila.

He tied her hands to the bedpost, flipped her over on her knees, smacking her ass hard. Revelling in her shocked gasps.

‘Jude please can we…’

A particularly harsh spank shut her up. The sting almost bringing tears to her eyes.

‘If I hear a word other than my name or our safe word, you’d regret the day you were born.’

His threatening growl delivered the message. And Ananya realised she had poked the tiger to a point of no return.

‘You wanted to know how I fucked the other girls, yeah? Stuff I didn’t do with you? You’ll see now.’

She whimpered as he fisted his hands in her hair, pulling her up and thrusted inside from behind without preparing her much.

It was tough to take him with preparation. Now it was 5 times harder. Her lower body stung with the harsh intrusion, thighs shaking around him. But his hold was strong & relentless. Giving her 5 seconds to adjust, he thrusted again. With force. Making her cry out.

‘Your body is MINE. How dare you even mentioned another man? WHO GAVE YOU THE PERMISSION TO DO THAT?’

Jude made good on his promise that night. Ruining her mercilessly. Endlessly. Her screams filling the room. Hours later, she had to use the safe word, after some unbearable pounding.

Once he calmed down, he got back into his boyfriend mode, taking care of her, carrying her cramped body to the washroom. Boy, did she need tending to, and he did all of it, after making her profusely apologetic for her brattiness.

It was one of Jude’s top 5 nights with her. The sounds she made were catalogued in his head forever.

Ananya jumped a little when Jude leaned over to kiss her temple, bringing her out of her memories. The flush on her cheeks spreading to her chest now.

He took the phone which was discarded on the bed somewhere to do the rest of the questions.

‘Fav body part of your partner - other than the two obvious ones. You first babe.’

It was impossible to answer. She loved so many parts of him. His height, his broad shoulders, his caked butt, large hands, meaty thighs, perky tits, chiseled torso, defined back, and his face. Everything on his face. How could she pick one? It was all of the above.

He smiled when she said it out loud. The authenticity in her voice making him preen.

‘Same for me.’

‘Liar.’

He smirked at being caught.

‘Your eyes.’

‘Right. Stop playing it safe, it's not a trick question. Boobs or ass?’

‘Why not your mouth? I love your mouth.’

‘Yeah..I mean…whichever. So which one is it?’

He reached under the blanket to cup her boobs in response.

‘These babies. Coz you’re more sensitive here. But your mouth is a close second.’

His hands played with her nubs, grazing & pinching softly, making her bite back a few moans. His eyes never left her face.

Grudgingly, he let go & went back to the phone. She opened her eyes in part-surprise.

‘A fetish of your partner that you like? Ooh this is interesting.’

Jude tapped his lips dramatically, thinking for a few seconds, then gave an enthusiastic nod.

‘Your special obsession with my thighs and ass.’

‘Well they are very juicy & meaty. So biteable.’

‘I can think of another thing juicier & meatier for your sweet mouth.’

‘You wish.’

‘Oh I wish it all the time.’

‘Win the Champions League & that would be your reward.’

‘You’re cruel you know that?’

‘Aww poor baby. Such first world problems.’

‘I promise you’d do it sooner. You’re gonna want to. You’re already curious, I know that.’

‘Next question, Jude.’

‘Don’t deprive yourself babe, lemme make you taste heaven.’

‘Next question, you idiot!’

‘FINE. Do you engage in role-play?’

They did. He had cajoled her into trying. The first role-play they did was the re-enactment of their first date, which ended in him taking her on the kitchen counter. Since then, they had tried many other scenarios.

‘Tell me your fav one.’

She sunk into the pillow, coz her choice was embarrassing. Jude could tell the answer would be juicy. His hand slid to her lower back, stroking her slowly, the warm sensation seeping into her bones, making her sigh deeply.

‘C’mon baby. I wanna know.’

‘It’s…I….’

‘Please, love?’

She shut her eyes in defeat.

‘When you were the debt collector, and I was the defaulting college student.’

Ananya hid further into the pillow, face warm & red. A sight for his sore eyes. Flashes from the night swirled in both their minds.

‘Like the submission & manhandling, don’t you?’

She whimpered when he grabbed the back of her neck, kissing under her jawline, tracing the length of it with his tongue.

‘And the roughness, yeah?’

He bit her pulse point decisively, then pulled the blanket down, leaving her bare to his hungry eyes.

‘I’ve corrupted my dove, haven’t I?’

‘Y-yes. A little.’

‘Maybe you were always like this. And I just brought it out, yeah?’

‘I..I don’t know.’

His mouth on her upper body and his hands on her lower body were making her lose her senses again. She was sore from this morning, and from last night, but stopping him never crossed her mind. Resting him was not her forte, something he knew & exploited.

Jude rolled on top of her, pinning her hands over her head.

‘What about the rest of the quiz?’

He dove into her cleavage, using his mouth with practiced ease & precision while she squirmed under him.

‘Loved the quiz. But this is more fun right now.’

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Needed some fictional Jude to restore order to my world. So whipped this one up.

Hope you like it, and hope it helps you recover :)

#jude bellingham #real madrid #bellingham #jude #jb5 #jb #jude bellingham smut #jude fanfic #bellingham x reader #star crossed lovers #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham blurb #desi girl #jude bellingham angst #jude fic

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fanfics-i-find-here · 23 hours ago

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Do I know You? Part 10

Jason Todd X Reader

Synopsis: Jason takes care of you.

Notes: I have seriously hyped up this chapter because I’m in love with it actually. It’s a very comforting moment after what our girl has just been through. She has one panic attack but it’s okay because Jason’s there. There is some semi-nudity but nothing sexual. This is very, very intimate(again not sexually though). Enjoy!!

Warnings: one Panic attack, semi-nudity

Masterlist

You pick at your hands, trying to scrap the blood from under your nails when your eyes catch movement, glancing up and dropping your gaze when you notice it’s a body bag. In a matter of minutes, you hear a familiar voice questioning several officers.

“Where is she? Is she okay?” You look up and spot Jason quickly following the commissioner towards you. For the first time in what feels like hours you stand up and take only a few steps forward before Jason is hugging you. He cradles the back of your neck avoiding your head. His other hand takes to gently sweeping up and down your back. A well of emotions exploded from your chest and your sobbing again, Jason’s shirt becoming wet with it. Despite the jacket and blanket on your shoulders, you’re suddenly aware of how cold you still feel as you press your face to the warm skin on Jason’s neck. If he thinks you feel like an ice cube, he doesn’t complain

He quietly coos at you, whispering soft calming words. You zone back out again, only focusing on Jason holding you as he slowly leads you to a car. The commissioner stops and talks to him for a moment and if you were more conscious you may have questioned it more.

“Be Careful. Red Hood was here, and she lived to talk about Penguin. News travels fast in Gotham. We don’t want bodies piling up again.” He gives Jason a meaningful nod before returning to police duties. Jason shakes his and continues to guide you to a car (a quick borrow from Bruce out of hidden garage in the area). Even when Jason was Robin, he always had the feeling that the commissioner knew everything about the family’s nightly activities and that for the sake of his own job never vocalized anything about it. Comments like these felt like they proved that point.

Jason takes his time leading you, mindful of icey patches. Your absent stare from earlier was still present and it worried him. He had attempted to wipe as much blood off of you with the sparse medical supplies he had in his belt. Gauze were used to soak up the blood and wipe you clean, but he didn’t want to hurt you by wiping too hard. Streaks of now dried blood remained on your arms, but your face seemed clearer and your nose was no longer bleeding. He was sure you were very uncomfortable.

He opened the passenger door and helped you slide into the seat. You tense as you sit back, and he can only assume you’re a little more hurt than the mild concussion he was told about. You sit passively in the seat, making no move to do your seatbelt. He squats down and slowly reaches for the seatbelt, pulling it over your lap. However, your hands stop him. You look up to meet his eyes. There’s a pleading look there but he’s unsure what about. He glances back down at your hands and follows the line to your wrist. He can see it now. You had been tied up. Your wrist, redder than the other exposed parts of your skin. He had thought it was more blood. Now a slow bruising started to show on your skin, darkening slowly. He understands the pleading look and doesn’t fight you over the seatbelt, letting it slide back into place.

“You going to get me in trouble, sweetheart. The cops are right there.” He says softly and he feels like his chest is going to crack open when you give him a weak smile. He stands and your hand latches onto his. He remembers the panicked look you had given Red Hood when he said he had to leave. He has never wanted to carve his heart out and give it someone more than he did in that moment. He knew you had abandonment issues. Way back when this thing you two have had started, you thought he wasn’t going to come back, and he’s seen you have same thought process a few different times. It hurt that he had to be part of the problem. Red Hood had to be part of the problem. Jason, however, was not going to let you feel like that.

“I’m just going to walk around to the driver’s side. You can watch me through the windows.” He offers and your hand slowly loosens up and settles in your lap. He closes your door and moves quickly around the car and into the driver’s seat. He starts the car and blasts the heat. He hadn’t missed how cold your face was pressed against his neck and your hands were the same when you grabbed him. It worried him, like everything in the past four hours had. He gently slides his hand around your nearest hand, squeezing at your frozen fingers and trying to get you to look at him. Your head moves sluggishly but you finally meet his eyes. Your own are bloodshot but you look nearly cried out and on the brink of a well-deserved nap.

“I need to know where you live so I can take you home.” He says, gently massaging your hand. You stare at him but still have consciousness for the barest of warmth to flutter across your cheeks. You had hoped that maybe you would move before you brought Jason to your home. Then you wouldn’t have to admit that he had been parking in front of your building, and you had lied about living further down. You don’t have the energy to be embarrassed now.

“It’s where you park.” You murmur looking away from him. You focus on his hand holding yours. Warm, sturdy, present. He was here. He was real. He was taking care of you. He doesn’t question what you mean, briefly letting go of your hand to put the car in drive before holding your hand again. You easily lay your head against his upper arm, mindful of your twinging back. The car is quiet as he drives, and your eyes flutter closed for what feels like a second before he’s gently nudging you. He’s parked in the same spot he always does, and a moment of awareness crosses your mind that you’re in a car not on a bike. He’s out the door and you’re cold again. But he’s back at your side in seconds, helping you out of the car and up the steps into the apartment building. He guides you to the elevator and you finally sense hesitancy in his movements. You press the 6 for him and settle your weight against his side, sleepiness calling to you again. The elevator dings and it takes him pressing a hand to your lower back for you to start moving again.

You walk dazed and come to stand at your door, staring at the knob. You didn’t have your keys. They were in your bag, and you had lost that. Jason’s hand comes into your line of vision along with your keys. He tries a couple on the chain before the one for your door meets the lock. You only stare in confusion. He opens the door and must sense your hesitancy.

“They found your bag and keys at the warehouse.” He states before his hand is on your elbow, gently pulling you forward. He closes the door and moves around you pulling the shock blanket and leather jacket from your shoulders and helping you take off your shoes. You shiver and he’s quick to rub at your arms.

“We should get you clean.” Your face scrunches because all you want to do is sleep. His thumb gently rubs at your cheek. “Trust me. It’ll help you feel better in the morning.” He tugs you again, more into your apartment and down the hallway towards your bedroom and bathroom. He turns on the light for the first door and leads you to sit on the toilet in the bathroom. He kneels in front of you with a hand on your knee.

“You want a bath or a shower?” He asks. You stare at him blankly, the terrors of the night starting to creep in your mind. You choose to focus on him, his features, his touch. Your hand comes up and you press the tips of your fingers against the scar on his cheek, following the line of it. He breathes in a strange way that you’ve never heard from him.

“How ‘bout a bath? I don’t think you could stand long enough for a shower.” You nod at his thought process, still focused on his skin. His hand comes up to hold at your wrist, pulling your hand away to rest in your lap again. He stands to turn on the faucet of the bathtub. Soon the room begins to feel warm and humid.

“I’ll be right outside the door if you need anything.” Your hand shoots out to grasp at his tightly despite your weakened state. He doesn’t flinch, just kneels back down in front of you.

“What is it?” He speaks softly, with all the concern in the world and it eats at your chest. You don’t want to be alone; you need someone present.

“Please,” your voice wobbles and you hate it, “don’t leave.”

“I’m going to be just outside the door. I want to give you some privacy.” He says, pushing at your hair. You don’t listen because all you can think about is how Red Hood left you out on the street and you don’t think you could deal with that heartache right now. You stare at him with all the energy you have, hoping he’ll understand. He concedes with a sigh.

“I’ll close my eyes.” He says and your blank stare returns because you’re not cognitive enough to understand what he’s saying. “To undress.” he adds, glancing at the water filled tub. You follow his line of sight, remembering you were in this room for a purpose. You lift your arms slightly and wince. The ache in your back and head doubling at the movement. You hadn’t reached for your shirt, so Jason hadn’t closed his eyes.

“Do you want help?” he asked carefully. Your eyes meet his and you search, worried you’d find that same lustful gaze that the other man had. Jason’s eyes held no such malice. There was no spark of an opportunity to get an eyeful. He just looked concerned. The same kind Jason you’ve been slowly falling for. You nod slowly, with a little shame that you can’t undress yourself.

Jasons hands move slow. They hover over your thighs before settling on your hips. His warm hands skim under the hem of your top and settle against the skin above the waistband of your pants. You watch him and he watches you. You keep waiting for the ball to drop, waiting for a glimmer of want in his eyes. It never comes.

“Is this okay?” he asks and your heart aches from the gentle way he speaks and holds you. You nod, swallowing harshly around the knot in your throat. He guides one side of the shirt up, mindfully keeping his hand off of your skin. He helps you pull your arm out of the shirt, apologizing when you wince. He repeats the process on the other side and finally slides the shirt over your head. You’re wearing a ratty, old bra and feel a little embarrassed for a moment but Jason’s eyes never drift from your face. His hand still holds one of yours. He stands and tugs you with him.

“Think you can do your pants?” he asks.

Your voice shakes as you respond, “yea.” You drop your eyes to the buttons on your jeans. You tug them down your hips, keeping your underwear in place. You feel the heat of his hovering hand next to your arm. As you push the pants to your knees you start to lose your balance, blood rushing to your head from being momentarily upside down. Jason’s quick to steady you, like always. You stand back up. He doesn’t say anything as you blink away the dizziness. You think you should feel ashamed that you can’t take care of yourself at the moment but Jason’s face holds no judgement. You want to cry again from the tender care in his eyes.

“Will you?” you ask quietly. He nods and kneels back down. Despite where his face would meet if he looked forward, he keeps his head ducked respectfully. Eyes on your pants he tugs them past your knees and to your ankles. He taps one of your knees and you press your hands to his shoulders, not wanting to lose balance, as you lift your leg. He repeats the process on the other leg and your jeans join your shirt on the corner of the bathroom. He gives your calf a tender squeeze before he’s standing again, eyes on your face.

“Okay?” he asks

“Yea” your answer is weak, and it has nothing to do with the events prior to the apartment. His ever-gentle hands help you into the tub. You hiss slightly from the heat of the water, body still fairly cold. You sit down and pull your knees to your chest. You rest your cheek against your knee as you watch him ruffle through your cabinets. You feel weepy again, out of gratitude instead of fear, as he comes back with a wash clothe and the cup you use to rinse after you brush your teeth. He settles them on the edge of the tub.

“You should lay back. The heat might help with your back a little bit.” He says as he sits criss cross next to the tub. You nod and slowly tip back, the heat slowly creeping up your back does feel nice. His hand is suddenly at the base of your skull, and you don’t understand why until you rest against his hand and the tub itself. A tickling of pain shoots through your head no doubt dampened by the cushion of his hand. You had a concussion. At least someone remembered. Your eyes slide shut, and you will your body to relax in the heat for a minute.

After a few minutes Jason begins to worry that you had fallen asleep, in the tub of all places. If this had been literally any other situation, he would be losing his mind. You were practically naked in a tub of water. Any other guy would be taking advantage of eyeing you up and he would be too, in a very, very different instance. But he would never do that to you, especially after the night you had. He watches your face and even though the rest of your body seems to have relaxed in the water, your features twitch. Laying in the tub against his hand probably was not the most comfortable position for your injuries. He rubs at your hair where his fingers rest.

“Feeling any better?” He asks you to which you respond in kind with a nod. He is a little worried that he can only get nods and short answers from you but he’s sure you’re exhausted.

“We should get you clean and into your much more comfortable bed.” Your eyes flutter open as he presses you up. Your hand wraps around his other arm that was resting on the edge of the tub as you lift yourself. You curl back in yourself, knees dragged up again. He eyes all the bottles in your shower. He’d rather get what remained of the blood off of you and call it a night, but you had blood in your hair too and a simple rinse wasn’t going to do the job. He finally finds a shampoo bottle. He picks up the cup he found on the counter and scoops up a cup full of water and dumps it on the back of your head. Your neck straightens as you turn to look at him. He can’t read your expression, and it drives him crazy. The entire night you’ve had a blank face, like you don’t have the energy to emote.

“I’m gonna wash your hair, okay?” You stare at him a little longer before turning your head forward and tipping it back. He takes it as your agreement, scoops up some more water and dumps it around the hair faming your face. He squirts a very generous amount of shampoo in his palm. Your lip quirks as you watch him from the corner of your eye. He’ll take it as a win even though he doesn’t know what’s amused you. You turn your head so you’re facing the wall, and he has clear access to the back of your head. He rubs the shampoo in a lather and starts to gently run it through your scalp. He takes his time at the top, working down. Your shoulders tense as his fingers circle near the bump on the back of your head. He works around it and then rubs the shampoo into the lengths of your hair. He hears you sniffle quietly but doesn’t question it. He takes his cup and gently rinses the soap, gently turning your head this way and that way, careful not to get soap on your face. He spots a body wash and soaks the washcloth he had found before rubbing that.

You watch him with sleepy eyes as he turns your face towards him and rubs gently with the corner of the rag. For a moment your mind flashes to Red Hood with whatever material he was using to get rid of the blood that had been harsh against your skin. You push the thought aside once again focusing on Jason. His face concentrated. He was handsome, rugged and regal looking all at once. The rag is settled on your knee once he seems pleased with the soap on your face. His hand dunks in the water and then he’s gently caressing your face. Your eyes shut as he wipes at your forehead and down your face, carful touches at your eyes and brushes at your neck.

He pulls your arm from where you hold your leg, and the rag is off your knee. He moves it up and down your arm, starting at your shoulder. You watch as the previously dried blood wipes off easily. He soaked you like a dirty pan. The thought makes a quiet giggle start in you. Jason gives you a strange look and then you can’t stop. You erupt in heavily laughter and tears spring up in yours. It only takes a few seconds but laugh changes to gasped breaths, a harsh weight on your chest. Tears stream down your cheeks again but you’re barely conscious of it because you can’t breathe.

You barely register a harsh squeeze on your knee before there are hands on your face. Thumbs rub at the skin on your cheek, and you can barely make out the blob that is Jason through your blurry vision. You try to focus on him. Your hand wraps around one of his wrists and your nails dig into his pulse point as you try to ground yourself. His voice filters into your ears.

“Breathe, Sweetheart, you’ve gotta breathe. Come on.” His free hand grabs your own and presses your flat palm to his chest. You can feel his heart beating and his chest moves as he breathes. You try to copy him with a stuttering gasp. You slowly become conscious of your surroundings again. His thumb on your cheek. The water you sit in slowly turning warm instead of hot. The hum of the bathroom fan. Your breathing slows but your grip on his wrist remains firm.

“There you go, atta girl. Just keep breathing” You lean against Jason’s hand and close your eyes focusing on his breath and your own. If you thought, you were exhausted before you were wrong.

You desperately need sleep Jason decides. He thinks that’s why you had the panic attack in the first place, exhaustion and stress over taking your sense. He coaxes you to release the grip you have on his wrist so he can clean that arm. You keep a grasp on his shirt though. He rinses you off as quick as he can. He does a once over to make sure you’re as clean as he could get you at the moment. Your wrists have bruised up and there were scraps on your knuckles. Some minor first aid would be smart, but it would have to wait til morning. He pries your hand from his shirt and holds it in his as he reaches back and tugs a towel from its rod. He pulls the plug from the drain and pulls you stand. You’re weak and leaning on him as he helps you step out of the tub. The front of his shirt soaked from where you lay. You shiver and he wraps the towel around you. He gives you a harsher than necessary rub but he’s trying to keep you awake long enough to change into dry underwear and warm pajamas.

He guides you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom and sits you down on your bed. It’s different than the last time he had been in there as Red Hood. No messy piles of clothes, only the cleanliness he was use too. He picks though your drawers and pulls out some fuzzy matching pajamas and he tries not stare at your underwear draw too long. He sets the clothes next to you. He wonders if you’ve fallen asleep sitting up, your eyes closed. He taps at your shoulder and your eyes open, half-lidded.

“Clothes” he offers. You nod but make no move. He remembers your struggle with your shirt. He slips the pajama top over your head as you stare at him. He pulls your hair from where it’s tucked. He pauses before he tries for your arms. You still had a wet bra on. He couldn’t let you sleep in that.

“You need take your bra off.” He tries to be delicate but there’s no way around it. You blink at him. He stares back. Theres a pause before your arm bends back awkwardly and you wince. Jason face scrunched in confusion. You stop your movement and stare at him.

“I can’t” He understands now. What idiot put the bra clasp in the back he didn’t know. He climbs on the bed behind you. He lifts the back of your shirt slightly and stares at the clasp. Jason would hate to admit it out loud, especially to you considering whatever your relationship was, but he had never taken bra off of a girl. This was the first time he was up close and personal to one and he wishes it was under different circumstances. He leans to look closer at it and pulls it off your skin. He folds it slightly and sees the hooks. After a minute he finally gets it undone and you easily slip it off of your shoulders. He pulls the shirt down and pulls your arms through the sleeves, careful not to touch any unnecessary skin.

He stands in front of you again. You still have that dazed, sleepy look in your eye but you still have the towel settled around your hips. He sighs

“Sweetheart, I can’t help you with this one.” You squint at him. He glances at the towel, and you follow his line of site. You nod in understanding. You pat at the bed until you find the pair of clean underwear. You pause before moving the towel and look at him, waiting. He gets the message, turning around, closing his eye and covering them with his hand for good measure. He hears you shuffle around the bed, no doubt sitting to change your bottoms instead of standing.

“Okay” you say, sounding out of breath and exhausted. When he turns around, you’re laid back on your bed, legs dangling over the edge and eyes closed. Your undergarments are nowhere in sight so he can only assume you threw them somewhere.

“Don’t fall asleep yet. Let’s get you under the covers.” He says. Your face scrunches like you’re going to whine about it, but you let him gently man handles you up and under the covers of your bed. By the time he has you tucked in your fluttering between awake and asleep, eyelids staying closed longer than open. His hand presses at your face tenderly and then the warmth of it is gone. Your eyes open to see him drifting to the door.

“Wait,” you call out weakly. He pauses, turning back towards you, you can see a fond look cross his face while he waits for you to speak. “Stay, please” you scoot over in your queen-sized bed. It was large enough you could span out eagle style, but you get the feeling it may be too small for Jason. You just didn’t want to be alone. He concedes without complaint, laying on top of the covers beside you. You turn on your side, curling in on yourself and against him. Your hand pops out from under the covers and curls around his forearm, his own mimics you. You close your eyes and carefully press your face against his arm.

“Thank you” you murmur, already drifting in unconsciousness. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel him squeeze your arm before you’re completely out.

Additional note: Yea so I love him. I hope the comfort lives up to what guys wanted after the last chapter. Also, I would like to apologize, I told a bunch of people it would be out Saturday, and I am posting it Sunday morning. I had COVID all of this last week, stuck in my apartment by myself. So obviously the days don’t exist. Anyways sorry about that. Also the amount of times I had to walk away because I felt like I was witnessing someone else's private moment was insane. Thank you for reading and for loving on this series.

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369, @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @tetsuroubaby

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #do i know you?#kandywrites #fanfics-i-find-here

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shehungers · 1 day ago

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OF FLESH SIN

vampire priest x reader | 2.6k | 18+

a ghastly sight! one of the monastery's beloved priests has been found brutally murdered and disfigured in his chambers. father shaw, a newer addition to the monastery, claims to have answers to sate your reaching curiosity—but he wishes for you to come to his chambers at night.

story warnings; dark content, time period inaccuracies, graphic + gruesome details, vampires are predators, power imbalance, kinda obsessive behavior, prose + detail heavy, mention of animal death, hypnotism (kinda), very yandere behavior, roughly proofread.

reposted from my old blog: theoxenfree.

please consider leaving feedback + reblogging!

Father Marius died in quite some awful way last night, as reported to you by the nuns hanging fresh washed garments on the clothesline in the waning, purpling daylight.

“A look of horror! Utter terror! So frightened that his jaw had become dislocated in forever a scream,” shivered one young nun, Lucy; recently a convert from the slums. “I, well, I didn't see it myself. Neither did the rest of us, actually. They say it was that new Father Shaw who found him at dawn.”

You had been raking gravel out of the yard, tiny stones kicked off of the path into the kempt lawn by prancing horses and wagon wheels, when Lucy and the other nun, Esme, had caught your attention with their hard, dense gossip. They regarded your approach with less caution than they would have had with their other sisters, as gossip was deemed inappropriate, a violation, a flickering serpent’s tongue carrying covert temptations leading to luscious sins and debauchery.

They saw you—poor, morose, the groundskeeper's only child and reminder of loveless trysts—and thought nothing of snaking you into their prattle. You were not the sort to divulge anyone's secrets without gain, without reward, and you knew that the nuns kept nothing to their names once they took their vows and donned their habits.

“Father Shaw,” you continued the discussion with some intrigue, mostly from the fact that he was very new, very young, and modestly handsome, “why was he awake so early? Why was he in Father Marius’ chambers? Curious to me.”

Neither of them gave much caution to your questions, shrugging as if to dismiss your ambivalence and accusatory tone. You were bold in the way that the faithless and lost always tended to be: asking senseless things, always concerned with the wrongdoings of others, always suspicious, always inquiring—forever inquiring.

“Oh, my, you're so defensive,” Esme fanned a yellow bedspread out with an oncoming breeze, catching the wind beneath the fabric so it billowed and rippled midair. “If that’s how you're going to be, then: why does your father stumble around the yard at night with a lantern, swinging around a pistol like a madman? Won't he hurt someone?”

Because he's a godless, superstitious drunk. Perhaps, even, a bit disturbed in his mind, but you couldn't bear to think that way, that he might be the type to need his head locked in a metal cage, gagged, arms bound, and padlocked in some damp, distant corner of an asylum.

“He's a good man,” you relented, taking your hands from the top of the smoothed out, worn handle of the rake and resumed your task. The gravel made an awful, grinding sound as the teeth of the rake collected pieces of stone and led it back to the rest. “He's served this monastery well. I don't mean offense about Father Shaw, I'm simply curious about what transpired is all.”

“No offense taken,” came a voice from behind, startling both the twittering nuns and yourself at the same time. They saw it to be Father Shaw standing there, hands cuffed behind his back with a particularly demure disposition, hiked their skirts and whisked themselves away back inside. “Ah, am I really such a frightful figure? I couldn't really find an opening during your conversation to invite myself in. I apologize.”

You were of a similar fretful nature, quickening your clawing and the reach of the rake. “Nay, Father. I think it's simply because you're a strange man to them still. A handsome face, a warm voice, mysterious; give them time, they'll come around.”

“Have you?” Father Shaw asked, taking measured strides in a half-circle around to your front. He concentrated on where the teeth of your instrument struck next, tips temporarily wedged into the soft dirt before being ripped up with chunks of earth and gray gravel. “It wouldn't do for me if you… were still ill at ease with me as well. I consider you my one, true friend in this place.”

Your father held a certain destestation towards Father Shaw that you'd never witnessed before, saying nothing else than that something was terribly wrong with him and not to place yourself in a position to be alone with him. This you attributed to his unsoundness, but it was always the sudden flicker a sharp breath against candlelight—a jarring shift in his demeanor when he spoke about the Father, neurotic and prone to throwing things about the cottage interior, that caused you to pay some mind to what he told you.

“And, you're a great friend of mine as well,” you hoped you sounded coherent and paced your words evenly enough. “I'm sorry if you thought I was accusing you of something, sir. I really meant nothing to it.”

Father Shaw’s lips sprawled tight and pale into a fond smile, never showing his teeth, though the imprint of them seemed massive and the skin of his lips startlingly thin across them. “I know. You have nothing to fear. My feelings were not affected. If you'd like, come to my chambers later, we may pray together first, and I'll tell you everything you wish to know about what I saw to sate your curiosity.”

“That seems improper, sir.” You said.

“How so?”

“Inviting someone to your chambers at night seems an unbecoming venture for a pious man of status, such as yourself,” you continued, now standing upright beside your rake, “if any of the sisters were to witness it, worse another priest, aren't you afraid you'd be horribly chastised? Even worse, excommunicated altogether?”

Although Father Shaw’s dark eyes reflected no light, holding such demanding depth to them that it was hard to keep your bearings whenever you realized you'd been staring, his entire face was alight in amusement.

“Wherever did you learn to speak like that?” he asked candidly, still glowing despite his pallor. “Forgive me when I say, but your father is not an educated man. I mean no offense, please don't look at me in such a way. You are so well spoken, I only wish to know more about you.”

“I've lived here my entire life,” you told him. “The nuns taught me how to read.”

He looked impressed. “You can read?”

“I can!” From a near distance, you could make out your father’s haddard form, bent sideways on a walking cane and limping towards the pair of you. You looked up at the priest’s smooth face. “It'd be best for you to leave before my father can speak to you. He isn't the kindest soul after a long day.

Father Shaw didn't react with any semblance of worry, but agreed that there were other things needing to be done and began away. Just as he passed you on his way towards the monastery, he let his hand rest atop of your shoulder and leaned you towards him to whisper in your ear: “come to me tonight. I'll be waiting for you.”

There was something so luxurious and cooling about his voice; fine silks sitting in the shade during autumn gliding across your bare skin, wrapping your neck, your chest, your nether parts. His voice was a fine, chilly mist after the first rains in spring which felt refreshing and new after a glacial winter, yet still had capacity to soak you to the bone. It was a nighttime breeze caressing your cheek, sweeping through the hairs of your scalp, making your skin burst all over with bumps.

“I don't like the way he looks at you,” said your father with a mouthful of porridge you'd seasoned with herbs of the season. It was wonderfully fragrant and warm during nights that were still a bit too uncomfortable to sip anything cold. “He looks at you like you're a slab of meat! Some prize after a hunt. I don't like him, love. Not one bit. You'd do well to stay to mind yourself and do your chores and nothing else, y’hear?”

After dinner, you cleaned up, swept the floors with hard bristles, and snuffed all the lights except for the fireplace where your father sat in his old chair, fiddling with his favorite pistol.

“It's time for bed, old man.” You watched him fit a couple of small bullets into the loading chamber. They glinted against the orange flames. “Goodness. What have you gotten this time? Something new?"

“Aye!” he grinned, nearly toothless and in a sickly sort of way. “Went to market the other day while the nuns bullied you and picked out some fine bullets from the silversmith,” he cracked the two halves of the pistol shut. “Better to be prepared.”

You waited until sometime later once he was finally asleep, possibly after midnight, before leaving the humble cottage sitting on the fringes of the massive monastery yard and rushing across the grounds to get inside.

Once, they'd kept a guard dog on the property, one of those meaner breeds that were used for gambling, but the poor thing wound up shot dead in the middle of the night by a traveling friar who'd come to seek refuge at the monastery. The sisters, and yourself, were horribly distraught by the entire ordeal and all vetoed the consideration of bringing another dog here.

Since then, it was no task for you (or anyone else) to get inside the building and shuffle along the shadows through the corridors. At night, the place stirred with patient insects, feral rodents large and small in the pantry, and hungry owls tamely whining from the rafters when something startled them away from their hunt of vermin.

Your feet were a light sound on the masonry below, padded by thin leather soles which alerted you to your enthusiasm as the thwap thwap thwap became louder, aggressive as you closed in on a wall and turned down another hallway for a sturdy wood door at the end of it.

As your knuckles rapped, hoping the sound wouldn't disturb the animals’ nighttime caroling, a swift darkness moved across the floor from behind the door, briefly blocking out the soft light seeping out from underneath.

The next moment, you were being pulled inside and sat at a small table tucked to the side of Father Shaw’s rather generous room. It was a simple space, sparsely furnished for the barest of comforts—only for what was needed to live—but what had been made for him was of exquisite craftsmanship, some made of teakwood, which Shaw assured you was remarkably durable and highly resistant to rotting.

“It's wonderful for boats,” he said, pouring a light amber colored brew from a metal kettle he'd heated a short while ago. “It’s good for all elements, really. Exceptional longevity. I've heard it has become a popular option in the city for burying the deceased.”

“Will Father Marius be buried in a teakwood coffin, then?” you asked, sipping politely from the cup even though you had no appetite for it. You already felt ill at ease enough having disobeyed your father by sneaking into a priest's personal chambers at night. The things the sisters would say about you—

“He will be entombed underneath the monastery with the rest who have served here and passed. I believe that is all stone down there, my dear.” Father Shaw smiled tepidly, kettle aside, no tea of his own. “But, I know that your curiosity led you here to me with questions, yes? About the state I found Father Marius in, yes?”

You tried to disguise your intrigue by drinking more of the tea, of whatever it was he had given you, and listened to the sounds of your fingertips sticking to the porcelain from sweat and steam.

“If you wouldn't mind sharing…”

“I wouldn't!” he leaned on his arms on the table, closer towards you as though with a secret. “As I've said, you are truly the only soul here who I can confide in. You are not a sheep. And you do not fear sin as the rest do. So, you can ask me anything and I'll tell you everything.”

“Tell me about Father Marius, then.”

Father Shaw reached across the table for one of your hands; his far larger, fingers much longer and colder than your own and held it as he recounted the event.

“Dreadful sight, it was. It was, oh, perhaps sometime after three o'clock when I heard a massive racket. A struggle. When I knocked, all of the noise subsided at once and there was complete stillness. Silence, my dear, silence so deep, dark, and damning that I knew something awful had happened

“I didn't knock again, I was too afraid to! But, Father Marius was getting on in age, so I couldn't just stand by, either. I kicked the door in—just once was all it took—and I rushed inside to see the room was a complete mess. A fight had clearly taken place, and the walls—oh, the walls—”

His remorse was carefully placed, stiff, and uncertain and he couldn't be seen in the vastness of his black gaze. You were moved by the vulnerability he was trying to show you, going as far to abandon your drink to place your warm hand on top of his.

“The walls, my dear, were a mess of blood. Something vicious and awful had happened in that room. But, then, I found Father Marius lying there on the ground next to a broken window. I think he'd tried to throw himself through it. His face was shredded to pieces, his eyes gouged. When I got closer, I noticed that his tongue had been severed from his head!”

You were holding Father Shaw’s hands in a bloodless grip, face ashen, teeth chattering behind your lips. “What on earth! That is not only horror, but cruelty!”

“Oh, my love, it gets worse!” Father Shaw held you mesmerized in his gaze, the conviction and anguish with which he told his story. “Closer still, Father Marius’ face was locked in one of pure terror, I've—I’ve never seen a human react in quite a way such as that before, to fear. The man unhinged his own jaw in a hideous scream, and it seemed to me he was skeletal. By that, it's like he was, well, quite dry.

“So, I crouched down so much lower and inspected him all over. Do you want to know what I found?”

“Yes.” You spoke breathlessly.

Father Shaw had moved out of his seat and was on one knee in front of you, both of his frigid hands on your face to smooth across your cheeks, pushing away pieces of hair obscuring some part of you he'd wanted to see.

“My love, I saw marks in his neck. Two, beautifully, wonderfully symmetrical marks that were far too clean to be of any animal that we know of. The bite was clean, it was patient and cunning. And the fangs that had sunk into his tender flesh had drained him of blood, of the very essence that kept his heart beating until the very last.”

“Sir—” your stomach plummeted, falling forever, when he smiled, teeth longer than any humans should be shown through to you. He wouldn't let you go when you went to move out of his hands, away from him. “Father Shaw, please—”

“I wish you could have seen it, my love. It was a breathtaking sight and I long for someone else to admire the beauty of my work alongside me.”

It was unthinkable that a vampire could walk on these holy grounds and in the bright of day, yet Father Shaw had for countless days. Evil held you sweetly by the cheek and in your hair, kissed you with a corpse’s cold lips, and laved the skin of your skin with a long, serpentine tongue.

“O’, my merciful lord…”

Father Shaw bent your head back with a fistful of hair and spoke from your throat:

“There is no God, only me. Come into the endless night with me, my love.”

a/n; I'm aware this is historically inaccurate as nuns and the priest wouldn't have intermingled like this in a monastery. it's really not that big of a deal lmao.

so, two of the characters from this: father marius and father shaw, actually have been adapted as important side-characters in my upcoming possessed!scholar husband x reader story, which is based in a fictional victorian era.

they're essentially the same characters, just tweaked to fit the narrative of that story!

#yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #vampire x reader #vampire x you #vampire x human #vampire x y/n #monster x reader #monster x human #monster fucker #monster romance #monster story #monster x you #original writing #writing #x reader #reader insert

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spindle-girl · 19 hours ago

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Alec predicted Piggot, but not Sophia

How the PRT treats Sophia is something that used to be debated a fair amount a few years back when I was on other forums. Both in the canon scenario and potential what ifs that Wildbow answered to an extent. I don't think it's too hard to piece together if you're going back and looking for any mention of Sophia/Shadow Stalker, but it is spaced out between a bunch of different arcs and some of what Wildbow said got misquoted so I wanted to compile it all into one go.

Lots of quotes with explanations below, so the short of it is:

Alec wanted Sophia to keep quiet about the extent he controlled her for and guessed how Piggot would react in order to scare Sophia from speaking up. She didn't, but Alec turned out to be right. Piggot dropped her, Shadow Stalker no longer being worth it to keep around, and to sell that, she ensured Sophia was sent to jail where before she would have stayed as a member of the Wards. The biggest change for that being that she was compromised by Regent.

We know from 9.1 that Director Piggot believes her role as Director is ensure parahumans are integrated with regular people:

“You likely know Director Armstrong in Boston, how he tends to prioritize research and understanding parahumans. I concern myself with more concrete affairs. Public relations, parahumans as a part of America.”

At the end of 10.x, Alec's interlude where he controls Sophia up to the very end, he nails this attitude Piggot has and uses it to put doubt in Sophia's mind to stop her from telling someone and getting help:

“Here’s the thousand dollar question,” he mused, as he began following the steps outlined in the video, putting the knot together, “Will your boss tell your mom what happened with me controlling you? If she keeps her mouth shut, well, this paints a pretty ugly picture, doesn’t it?” A tear rolled down his cheek. He scoffed a little, blinked the tears out of her eyes. “But if she does tell, if she lets mommy know, then shit hits the fan. It looks pretty fucking bad for her, and if word gets out, it’s as bad as it gets for public relations. Scary, dangerous parahumans. Not just lives at risk, but you could be controlled. Ooooh, scary. Nobody would ever be able to trust their coworkers or neighbors. It’s the kind of stuff they want to keep quiet.”

Then, he threatens Sophia to keep quiet about him controlling her up to this point, telling her to sell the lie he told the other Undersiders, that he was going to let her go after walking her across the city, in order to keep the heat off him and maybe so his teammates don't find out he lied:

“I can feel your emotions. I know I’ve convinced you. You leave town, and if you don’t want me paying a visit, wherever you wind up, you keep your mouth closed about tonight. They don’t need to know this was all my doing. Things get messy that way, yeah?”

However, in later talks with Piggot (14.4, 16.3) we find that Sophia did tell her about him controlling her to threaten her mother and later herself with the suicide fake-out. Alec got it wrong. She trusted Piggot with that info, presumably hoping Piggot would get her mother to believe her story about being body-jacked when Alec used her to threaten her and maybe so that they'd go after Alec more seriously:

“The power has range. I suspect the creator can stay miles away and still manage some control, but ventures closer for voyeuristic purposes or because it offers more control and faster response times.” “Much like Regent, hmm?” Tattletale paused. “So you know that.” From the tone of the conversation, I would have expected a ‘No, you just told me.‘, but Tattletale wouldn’t have done that. More likely that her power confirmed her thoughts. “Shadow Stalker debriefed us. What do we know about this woman who controls-”

~14.4

“I don’t think so,” Director Piggot replied, turning to level a glare at him. She looked almost feral, even as her voice was controlled. “See, I know you might try to kill me if these others weren’t around. But the others won’t let you. There’s Regent too: little to no compunctions, as we saw with Shadow Stalker.” Her eye darted to Tattletale, then to Grue, and finally to me. “Do they know the full story?” the Director asked. “No,” Tattletale replied. She sighed a little. “Tell us what?” I asked. “I’m interested, too,” Grue added. The Director only smiled.

~16.3

So Piggot knows, but Alec was right about her having to make a choice. Does Piggot tell Sophia's mother, letting her know that her child didn't really try and attack her, that her body was stolen and she couldn't do a thing but watch?

Nope!

“Because of what happened, because she was still reeling from the time she spent as your meat puppet, she attacked her mom, who called the authorities. They caught up just in time to catch her in her room, electrical cord around her neck. Cost Shadow Stalker her probation, meaning she got stuck in some parahuman detention center until she’s eighteen. And word is her mom doesn’t want her back when she’s finished the three-year sentence. Last straw and everything. Her life, put on hold, her family shattered. Maybe she was damaged like you said, but you took her captive and tormented her until she went off the deep end.”

~18.3

She takes the other route Alec laid out. She kept quiet and used the opportunity to get rid of a compromised, potentially PR-damaging tool. And I think that's the real reason why she got sent to juive, because we know from Weld in 10.3 that Piggot wanted to keep Sophia around before finding out she was compromised despite attacking Vista and that it was Weld pushing for something to be done:

“No. This is serious. You assaulted a team member. I’m not about to let that slide.” ... A few seconds passed before she finally asked, “What are you going to do?” “After these guys are securely in custody, we’re going to have words with the Director. She wants you on this team, for whatever reason, so I don’t expect your probation will be broken, but there’s going to be consequences.”

There is the matter of the text messages Alec sent to the school and the police that may have helped changed how Piggot reacted, but it's doubtful because why would either of those institutions care enough about a months-old bullying incident with the city in the state it was in to contact the PRT about it? Dragon didn't mention informing Piggot either when she found it in her interlude.

Also, Piggot already knows Sophia was bullying a fellow student at this point. Her "guardian" in 5.4 was sent by the PRT for the school meeting and Armsmaster talked about knowing the incident in 7.x, Miss Militia's interlude.

None of what Wildbow said out of text would counter this either:

It's hard to unseat a crook-turned-cape once they're on board, because then you run the risk that the public discovers you're bringing less than savory types on board. Besides, in the PRT's view, she was more or less playing ball. Getting therapy, using tranq darts, attending patrols (if alone), attending her track team, and going out to movies with her best friend. If something came up at school, it was generally seen as a bump in the road to recovery. This is why she was as pissed as she was over the meeting at the school where everything came up. It straight up overturned her act. In a calmer situation, if things hadn't gone shit-sideways, stuff would have gone through and things would have changed. Not enough, but they would have. If Taylor had pushed and pushed and pushed (or if Taylor had joined the team and made an issue of it), maybe something would have happened, but even then... what do you do? It goes back to the question of how problematic it is to get rid of troublesome recruits. Sophia stays on the team in an official capacity, makes appearances, but generally it's for show, and she isn't allowed to patrol anymore (at which point she gets restless and snaps, which the PRT may or may not anticipate, depending on what's on the table).

Had Leviathan not shown up in Brockton Bay, the PRT would eventually address the bullying issue brought up in 5.4, but their efforts wouldn't amount to much. It's contrasted with the scenario of her getting benched, where that would only happen if Taylor kept making an issue of it for the PRT or if she joined the team, giving Piggot another Ward to use. So if the text messages were relevant enough to fall under "If Taylor had pushed and pushed and pushed", Sophia would either get benched, or accounting for Regent being able to control her, just get sent to another team in another city. It would not be her getting sent to jail.

What's more, Piggot didn't just keep it from Sophia's family. None of the heroes, Wards or Protectorate, know about it either (15.x, 18.3). They're under the impression that Sophia had a breakdown after being let go and went home and threatened her mother before trying to kill herself.

“I’m tired of losing people,” Vista said. “We lost Gallant. Aegis too, and Velocity, Dauntless, Battery…” “Yeah. And Shadow Stalker,” Triumph offered. “She left,” Clockblocker said. “I’d still consider her a casualty,” Triumph said. “We might not have liked her, but she was one of us, and the enemy basically took her from us.”

~15.x

“Our focus right now is you. You, who drove Shadow Stalker into a corner, to the point where she flipped out on her mom and tried to hang herself with an electrical cord.”

~18.3

They also weren't aware of her using lethal ammunition, also shown in 18.3, so she wouldn't have been jailed for that either:

“She was a hero because the other choice was juvie,” I said. “In the months leading up to our kidnapping her, she was using real crossbow bolts. Shooting them at people, Grue included. If I remember right, she wasn’t supposed to have or be using any lethal ammo, on penalty of jail time.” “Do you have evidence?” Miss Militia asked. “Would it matter? Does it matter? Judging by what I saw, in my limited interaction with her, she was pretty psychotic. There’s no way you guys spent all that time with her without something crossing your radar. The night we took her, I baited her out and she tried to cut my throat.” “I understand where you’re coming from,” Miss Militia said, “But again, I have to ask for evidence. I can’t take you at your word, there’s procedures to be followed.”

Piggot knows it wasn't Sophia that attacked her mom, she is already aware of the bullying at school and a few more text messages wouldn't change that with the city in the state it's in, Weld is having to push Piggot to act on Sophia attacking Vista, and she doesn't know about the lethal ammo. She still sent her to jail.

None of the above mattered to Piggot in making that decision. What mattered was the bad PR. That word could get out if people thought Sophia had been hurt, rather than her doing the hurting. If word did get out, then civilians would see the PRT failing to capture Regent and it would hurt their authority. But by ensuring a parahuman who "snapped" was successfully sent to jail, it shows that the PRT is able to address any problems within it's purview. Becoming convict is another way to add doubt to Sophia's story and being stuck in jail would keep her from easily talking to others about it.

Sophia risked telling the truth about what happened to her, but she couldn't operate in Brockton Bay anymore. She was compromised. She was useless and potentially harmful to Piggot's goals, so Piggot got rid of her.

#parahumans #worm #worm spoilers #sophia hess #alec vasil #emily piggot

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mamushroomoracorn · 2 days ago

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This is not a Anti Palestine Reblog, Zionist go away this is just criticism towards 3rd party to Non-voters of the non afflicted who was trying to show well meaning support, that I think like many others was the worse manner to do so.

As I understand why some third party voters did what they did regarding Gazan genocide that is and was currently happening.

They are valid.

My anger is not directed at Muslims, Arabs, Natives, Palestinians or ethinic groups from countries effected by Isreal terrorism and American government complicity, who these individuals have decided rightfully so making that move to not vote or vote in morality.

Because in this case morality is a question for these people who own folks is effected by this genocidial country and its colonial apartheid state accompanying it.

DNC, Democratic National Committee have lost these people on the argument of "being better choice" when they should of a long time ago drop the AIPAC deals and pressed on Joe Biden.

Zionists is not different much from N_zis for people who is struggling during this horrid event.

But I'm still upset my people(Black) who is also effected by Isreal in our police systems: Is really going to be seared on the skin for "revenge" to "get back at the democratic party" sins.

I have watched overtime, non-black people anti-blackness came out, towards black allies of Palestine for recommending voting for Harris who most reasons is for damage control.

Stating in direct verbal verbatim: "Your oppression doesn't matter. I dont care how opressed you are. If you vote for so and so you're a zionist"

Or "You're voting for a cop, so you must not care."

Which is Belittling. my oppression in the name of ineffective saviorism utterly disgust me to the core hearing statements like this.

Expressly to a nuance situation like voting.

Considering the fact black people don't really have a choice to vote in order to survive like plenty others.

Then of course these fuck ass tankies argue back "What about Jill stein?" Under black progressive posts, Piss me off even harder.

As even reccomending to me Jill Stein in the first place considering the fact she does jack shit other than "exposure", is fucking rude. As if she haven't not using her funds to even grassroot for all these years.

Let alone be president of a nation.

I feel like a lot of third party people who isn't the afflicted I mentioned above. Chosen willful ignorance when even debating she is a "better harris".

Jill wasted pro Palestinian supporters Donors money, she have isreali family and had donations from companies like Amazon, IBM and other pro Isreal companies.

Now they are flip flopping to:

"America is going to a fascist state anyways so why trying saving it? Let it burn." As if my people hard work we done brick by brick for 60+ years in civil affairs to protect our youth is NOT crumbling in front of my eyes.

I feel like I'm being gaslit by all these "leftists" about their wash out version of evangelical doomsday.

About the fact that they REALLY "didn't" went anti-strategic voting. Towards everyone expressly black voters.

Calling them liberals and zionists like I stated above and why that is extremely ignorant in nature.

Even trying to explain to them this isn't just about gazans life and homes at risk if you let these Neo-Nazis win.

It was your own very effectiveness to even protest in the first place.

Due to their very real inflicted trauma (that I can empathize with) they got it from seeing such horrors. They actively tone that shit out, being racist even in their response which is inexcusable in my eyes.

But inflicting their own trauma everyone else as a "final button" when there was so options to approach the situation instead of nurturing their emotional state by using a crucial election to do so to express their hurt.

When that should of been left alone to the afflicted groups.

This is not the "stick to the system" moment they thought it was. Since rich politicians won't be affected, their stock is in AIPAC so DonaldTrump winning would of just made them richer anyways.

Only the result is your allies will be compromised.

The highest group being minorities, and loudly verbally black people.

Which I already seen black people LEAVING to focus on their own community for the hellish mourning upcoming years because people decided voting effectively didn't matter.

"It's all about morality" I'm doubting it as I think it is just trauma, obviously only leaving alone afflicted groups because actions speak more than words or symbolism to case to case person.

As we seen during the failed BLM protests due to such actions like "Third party voters guilt mentality" Instead of effective action that WILL do both mortality and progress.

People was doing black boxes, painting their skin half black, advocating for black people over our own voices instead of elevating it, spamming people comments.

Yet again not listening to black voices in grassrooting but instead doing vote blue no matter who or offering Jill Stein.

That we eventually have to adopt anyways by force due to the face yet again non-black people decided to that.

Which landed in a situation like the 2024 election where turns out not taking action in primaries and midterms does have consequences where eventually YES you had to vote for the lesser evil.

It was fucking stupid how we got to the point in the 2024, yet again due to non voters/third parties.

When really the best course of action YEARS PRIOR was to vote in these elections and pay attention to the candidates. Promote others within your towns or cities through donation and having those special elections enacted by the people to make it harder for lobbying to happen on a state level to HAVE POWER to prevent such horrors like the Gazan Genocide.

But what was people doing? Stating theory, debating, and thinking we was safe in a way to get our voices considered when that could of been put in action in the first place to have that safety come in fruition.

Black people vote like they are buying time, because they are! We are buying time to put in more actual safe guards through law because takes time.

We use that time to take care our inner traumas not to be effected when tragedy strikes and move in effective manners.

Most non-black people have the privileges(not anymore) to ignore this due to our labor in the power of strategically voting.

Black people feel extreme uneasiness for a fucking reason when non-black people get in our black business about voting when we literally fundamentally don't have choices in this damn country.

Allies or not:

This election and the ones prior reflect that, as so much was at stake that I could only speak for myself on as a black person but I know many others who aren't my people was going to be effected.

These people decided even though most black people live in the Bible belt. Decided to reflect themselves(who is not the afflicted groups) really badly in the eyes of plenty of black people non-surprisingly during this election.

By not showing at least empathy for those also effected by Isreal in heavy policed states that will kill you even if you are a innocent, a child, a mother, a father, a grandparent, or a disabled.

They decided to withdrawl empathy twisting the arms of people who helped them by stating they are part of the problem.

For voting for a chance for everyone life despite the rest of the group beyond the afflicted. Only others pride is only going to be effected since those people stated themselves "both parties is the same".

Despite the major differences that they are now seeing now, afraid like we warn them.

A problem that been also oppressing us, A problem that is 80+ years that is both parties. An massive systematic issue that have barely any control in our hands, but only those cherry picked in position that doesn't speak for the community.

We are not a monolith, We are not a hive mind, We black people is not a entity.

We are a group with rich culture here in the US that values history. We are Poets, Artists, and Historians.

We are inventors, we are political scientists.

We barely vote third for a reason and now we are seeing it, being effected, choked out due to others own disregard.

Why are we finding out for others actions[lack there of]

I'm tired of it, I'm tired of my people being body shields then cast away by my "allies".

This isn't just about black people in the US it is about the Haitians, the Congolese and those who are black or dark skinned that Is forgotten.

When will my people be free from the years of imperialism? We busted our asses helping putting down our own problems and got the short end of the stick.

Due to the HELP of traumatized white teens and mourning white women deciding the day is to make doomsday a sacrifice for "All American sinners" and make a morality vote. Thinking in their own racial bias black people are men of steel.

Then of course people thinking life should be put under eggs.

But this post is about the hand these people played alongside many others who done my people dirty.

Putting us in very dangerous hands, ignoring their own hands in it the seeping bucket of blood that is soon to come.

Slavery wasn't even solve and it is going to get worse. All that progress because people thought effectiveness of voting for nothing.

Good job you guys fell into the systematic hands of the conservative parties as they wanted you to do that.

#politics #rant #us politics #reblog #donald trump #elon musk #3rd party voters #voting #voting rights

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yokelish · 1 day ago

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Solas sees himself in Rook is the lie in Veilguard I cannot get over.

"Solas sees himself in Rook, perhaps even things he doesn't like to acknowledge", they said. There are no two people more diametrically opposed than Rook and Solas. Outside of Rook doing that thing that pissed off a bunch of people in some sort of authority over them, there is nothing between the two to connect them. All their parallels are utterly superficial.

Well, they are both leaders! Solas lead armies, agents, spies against seven powerful mages with armies, agents and worshipers of their own. He had to be ruthless, to sacrifice, forge alliances knowing he'll break them, to manipulate. His friendship with Felassan suffers because it's exceptionally difficult to be emotionally open with a person you give orders to, who you know might die in your name, for your cause, willingly. Solas know it. That's why Felassan writes about how Solas is planning something and is not telling anyone, even his closest friend. It's nothing good. Both know that and neither can do anything about it because there is massive wall between them made of their complex relationship, their cause, Solas' devotion to Mythal and his vengeance for her murder. Solas cannot be a true friend to Felassan just as Felassan can be a true friend to Solas. Love and care are there there but there are things bigger than them and their relationship at play. Solas had to go along with the Dread Wolf narrative even if he hated it. Rook has to prove they are a really good guy to factions and therapyspeak their team of professionals into working under a lot of pressure. Rook suffers none of the consequences of leadership unless they utterly ignore their companions' side quests. What does Rook lose? Their moral codex? Not once did they have to do anything morally questionable. Their relationships? Hardened mechanics is utterly meaningless in the narrative. Since Hardened mechanics is the only thing that was brought from Origins, it's fair to compare it to Origins: Neve is not Leliana who becomes ruthless and thinks murder might actually be an answer to many questions; Lucanis isn't Alistair who accepts that he must become First Talon. What does Rook lose? One companion who willingly sacrifices themselves.

Solas made choices. Stupid ones, yes, but choices. His actions had terrible consequences. Rook is not active in the narrative. They only react. The choice between cities is so in the moment that it isn't about what Rook is willing to sacrifice, what terrible consequence they are more likely to accept, it is not about "all choices are terrible and you have to choose" but reacting to having to choose at all with very little information based on your companions 3 seconds explanation before they ran away. In inquisition, the choice between mages and templars is also quite early in the game. But it influences how you meet Cole and Dorian, it influences who comes to attack Haven, which enemy you are more frequently encounter in the world. Antivan Crows and Rivain apparently have business dealings going all the time, about supplies and Antaam, but after a dragon attacks Treviso, the Lords of Fortune do not offer a dragon hunter (who is big Crow fan) to help out their assassin business partners and consequently Rook. No, it's on Harding to find the dragon hunter. They see a blighted dragon in D'Meta Crossing, hear Ghilan'na speak through it, and not even say that this might be a big fucking problem very quickly and no one nearby knows how to handle it. It's after a city gets blighted that Solas is telling you to find a dragon hunter. Thank you, dear, but I knew that 6 hours ago. Rook somehow didn't tho. The choice between the cities is utterly superfluous, influencing only your gameplay (which companion can't heal you, which city's side quest get cut, which merchants aren't available) rather than the world. Minrathous is no better for fending off Elgar'nan in the end whether you save it or not. UNFORTUNATELY, due to AMA and John Epler, they resolved the artificial moral quandary of this choice as well. Because the Blight in Minrathous will calcify and die at the end of the game, the blight in Treviso will not. Thanks, I hate it. Though the Archon you choose is very much aware that there are blighted gods with an equally blighted dragons but no preparations for any war marches, attacks, sieges will be made. Antiva doesn't reconsider its governance after having a city invaded and blighted. You chose Treviso? Cool. MInrathous' blight will die at the end, Dorian will become Archon and outlaw slavery and cults. Crows rule unchallenged. You chose Minrathous? New Archon is outlaw slavery and cults, your blighted mage will be just fine, Crows rule unchallenged, not a single Talon is blighted. Sad about Treviso, though, that place might just have to be Chernobyl of Antiva.

Solas had moral complexity. Rook doesn't. Varric handpicked the goodest, goofiest little guy to go against a morally dubious ancient being (MW Rook seems to have committed some cultural taboo but don't worry that will not influence how Emmrich views you. MW is EASIER to gain rep with instead of harder. Strife being that way about VJ Rook who saved lives of their people is nonsensical because Strife sided with helping a human mage instead of cutting off said mage's limbs to free himself. LoF background is nonsensical. Why a bunch of pirates give a shit what nobles think? Because trade? They trade fucking lost treasures, not freshly caught salmon. If not those guys, it's gonna be the other guys. Every nation has insufferable rich people who like to put "exotics" into their home decor.) WHY Varric picked the goodest, goofiest little guy in Thedas to stop an ancient mage who fooled an entire organization (and possibly his lover) a decade ago before disappearing into mist that Spymaster of Inquisition couldn't find him until he wanted to be found makes no sense. The man who has lived and actively participated in the shit happening in Kirkwall and Inquisition. The man who fucking lies for a living. Yes, Varric is a overall a good man, but he isn't the paragon of goodness, far from it. It's not Varric who approves you helping refugees in Inquisition. In fact, Varric approves of Inquisitor deciding to let soldiers to fend for themselves. Varric greatly approves of bullshitting your way through thing, including lying, and protecting what is yours. Hawke was never the goodest guy, they are either a smuggler or merc he hired to go through the Deep Roads. Without committing to either choice presented in DA2, Hawke was presented with moral choices where either pick can be dubious. Hawke had to have picked either mages or templars. A bunch of people who are without a doubt dangerous. Or an order who will commit atrocious crimes because they can get away with given that the crime is against a mage. Hawke had some sort of relationship with the guy who bombed the Chantry and either executed him or let him run, either choice without being canonical presents a moral quandary of its own. Varric writes books about how underhanded tactics, lying, spying, and manipulation with a dose of blackmail can actually be for the benefit of the greater good if done with right intetions. But by choosing Rook, it's like Varric thinks that goodness of Inquisitor is what gets one through Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, and not ruthlessness, self-service, and a lot of Varric's own favourite hobby - lying. Why Varric you meet in DA2 and Inquisition picks Rook? Well, he CALLS Rook clever and adaptable, but all Rook's cleverness is bulldozing through obstacles and killing obviously evil guys. Rook is stubborn, determined - no doubt. But Rook isn't clever, cunning, or crafty. They prioritize saving life in droves, which is something that would be on Varric's mind IF Varric was to believe Solas was a heartless bastard with no regard for the damage he causes and we know that's NOT what Varric believes about Solas.

Solas has to fight against his downfall - pride. I genuinely don't know what Rook has as a flaw they struggle against. Their compassion doesn't get them in trouble, they don't get tricked or betrayed. But Solas puts them in prison! Yes, but the reason Rook gets caught isn't due to Solas's trickery but because they can't do shit in the moment. They just fought against Ghilan'nain and her darkspawn puppets alone while trying to free their companions, get knocked on the head a few times, hangs upside down like cattle while their friend gets skewered. How Solas gets them into the prison is TACTICAL. Rook is weak, Rook is tired, Rook is vulnerable, and the Veil is thin so he can actually reach through. It's not trickery. But Rook and Co couldn't shut up about Solas' inevitable betrayal so the payoff is due in whatever way possible. Solas thinks he alone can fix what he has broken, he alone has to face Elgar'nan because many ancient grudges and regrets are knotted up in there. Solas turns on his friends because he thinks what he must do is the thing he must do or all is lost (elven immortality, magic, spirits, knowledge, the world he knew and its history). He thinks he alone knows better than anyone. Partially because he is one of the very few beings who lived since it all began, before the world was changed by the Veil. The Prison sequence wants you the player to believe Rook carries the responsibility in some internalized way, but it's not fucking written in any way until this point, so why would you consider it an issue Rook has to actively face and has struggled with and not just an excuse to have Solas out? My brothers and sisters by the Maker's grace, Leandra scolding Hawke for their sibling's death was more scathing than choosing a whole damn city to be left to burn.

"I've molded you into someone the prison can accept in my place". How? You've done nothing. We had like 4 conversations. 3 of which you spent telling me about the Evanuris, the Blight, their dragon thralls, and how much you fucking hate Elgar'nan. Solas says nothing that changes Rook in any way, how they view their leadership, their actions, or themselves. I think the prison will accept anyone with a formed frontal lobe, honestly. Solas makes you say "I'll do whatever it takes" in the dialogue! Again, that attitude Solas tries to push on you is: a. fucking necessary? you have immortal beings with pet dragons and almost unlimited power to fight against. b. the attitude is more embraced by your companions than Rook. c. Rook is never pushed into doing anything morally questionable or even debatably interesting to reach their objective. Not once is Rook saying "i don't want to do this, i hate to do this, but i have no choice." Rook doesn't even have to lie! Not fucking once!

Tricking someone doesn't make you right. It's one of the things Rook and Solas will discuss. And regardless of anything, Rook will go Shiro Emiya "just because you are correct doesn't mean you are right" on Solas's ass. And that's good. It shows that Solas is shit with introspection just like Elgar'nan and Ghian'nain are. It shows why he is stuck in the prison. On the other hand, his fucking murals are shows very nicely why he is stuck in the prison: he immortalizes his regrets that he wishes to forget instaed of working through them. And by bringing the point of trickery without engaging with what it actually menas to trick... It creates a problem. Well, two problems, actually. A. Where the Solas you meet in Inquisition and Trespasser and when can we get him back? Where is the man who tricked a whole ass organization, played chooms with a Seeker of Truth, Qunari spy, published liar, Spymaster of the Divine, and most ruthless diplomat? Never once does Solas feel superior or above the people he tricked there. He is in fact very fond of the Seeker of Truth who not once found truth on her own (I love you Cassandra). He is very fond of the Antivan diplomat who cheats, lies, manipulates, blackmails probably even better than he did as Dread Wolf and he doesn't feel any superiority for having outplayed Josephine. The reason Solas is the trickster is because it's his only weapon. He was never as powerful like Elgar'nan or Mythal, doesn't have a bunch of other somewhat powerful egomaniacs standing for his cause. Wits, trickery, deception are his only damn weapon, were his only damn weapon for centuries. That's why he is so good at it. The problem of Solas isn't in being a fucking trickster who thinks he is right because he can outsmart you, Veilguard, it's that he goes about solving the problems he creates the same way he goes about making them in the first place: alone, through deception. His trickery is a double edged sword and he constantly cuts himself, refusing to lay it down. He alone tricks the Evanuris into containing the Blight with their life force. Boom! The Veil. He lets the Venatori get his orb and bring it to Corypheaus, thinking he outsmarted them all and soon will unlock his orb and tear down the Veil he created. Boom! Corypheus lives, there is hole in the sky! So he slithers his way into the only force he thinks can fix what he just fucked up - the Inquisition - through deception, alone. That's his torment nexus. You tried and you came close, Veilguard, I giveyou that, but you slightly misrepresented the issue. B. The other problem is that Rook never has to trick anyone. Not even their enemies. Rook can never truly testify for the claim "outsmarting someone doesn't prove you were right" because they never had to. Rook is never confronted by the idea that tricking someone might actually good, put you on that high horse and it can be hard to get off. So Rook's words are just lipservice and not proven experience or tested issue.

"Solas sees himself in Rook". Only if Solas views himself as an insufferable goodie-two-shoes fool who thinks in straights lines and is about as easy to trick as a toddler.

#dragon age the veilguard #veilguard critical #da rook #da solas

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bethebesttoyou · 2 days ago

Text

Shiver - Choi Yeonjun

synopsis: Yeonjun and Y/N just can't let each other go.

pairing: College student! Yeonjun x college student! Reader

song: Shiver by Lucy Rose (I was way too young to be listening to just sad songs in middle school)

warnings: suggestive writing again,,,(does it seem like im slowly getting close to writing smut? IDK),,, lovers to exes to ??? to exes,,, ANGST NO HAPPY ENDING (it breaks my heart might have to do a part 2 FNKDS) not much dialogue again, just inner workings of reader who can't let yeonjun go, kinda like right person, wrong time... kinda cheesy ending cause we have fun here... OH NOT EDITED EITHER AHAHA

Wc: 1.8k (I wanted it to be longer T_T, maybe part two coming soon???)

A/N: Ive been writing in means of distracting myself from the reality that is our world rn, and its been really helpful...Ive also been feeling all down about my writing in general but I don't want to give up!!! I want to keep getting better!!! So ima keep just writing... hopefully down the line I get to see the growth ANYWAYS....

“What’s wrong?” Yeonjun breathes out, his hot breath hitting your face, glazed eyes of lust watching you intensely.

He had just shown up, like he usually did, and his hands began to slowly make their way under your shirt before you stopped them breaking the hypnotic spell of his kiss.

It was easy to forget with him pressing into you like this. To forget about the break up, the fact that it no longer was meant to mean anything other than another night together. To you, the kisses were still laced with love, with passion that were left over from the years spent together. You already knew that he was mirroring your love and emotions with his hands caressing your hips, the way he knew his way around your body, kissing where it mattered, touching where it mattered.

It was hard to move on. Hard to give up on every feeling he evoked in you, well because… this was Yeonjun. The very same Yeonjun that asked you out in 9th grade, with a cheesy note and nervous smile, the same one that took you to all the school dances and school trips. The Yeonjun that can make you laugh, cry, and desire all with his own vocabulary. He was the same guy you grew up with, he felt familiar, he felt like home. He was the one and only Yeonjun that could ever make you feel this wanted, this needed, this loved.

The one and only Yeonjun, the one you no longer had.

Not anymore. Not really.

Things had gotten complicated towards the end of the relationship. Young couples often face these common complexities of individual growth, individual paths, college and the opinions of friends and families. And while you thought your relationship with Yeonjun was strong enough to sustain these challenges, believing that the years spent together only added to the strong will of your love, nothing could’ve prepared you for the sudden distance, the change in goals, the shift in thinking, the shift in priorities. It was obvious what the issues had been. But you had pushed them down, buried deep enough to be convinced that time would fix it. So while you were good at pretending that everything had been normal and fine, it was Yeonjun that had visibly carried this boulder in his chest, the boulder heavy to the point that he had to sit you down and bring up the undeniable truth. You were drifting apart, bad. Arguments no longer lasted an hour, but days, schedules were no longer syncing, dates were being forgotten or willingly canceled, communication and keeping up with each other became rare and the voiced opinions of friends were starting to question the ethics in high school sweethearts.

With ache filled hearts, you both knew it was the end. The love never faltered, but time did and your lives were no longer in the same rhythm, your heart, while still beating for one another, no longer to the same young love beat. So with mutual understanding and a night full of sobs and goodbye kisses, you deemed your seven year relationship to be over. Or at least that's what was supposed to happen.

The entire idea was to give each other the space needed to grow and find yourselves, to explore the world of independence, the world of your 20’s, and the brain understood that concept, it made sense. You were both young and hadn't really figured out life, but your hearts, filled with years of history and love, branded with memories of your past, were not getting the hang of it, not just yet. Even with the ending of your relationship being meant to create a fresh start for the both of you, nothing stopped either of you from texting each other, meeting for ‘friendly’ coffees, meeting up at night, when your roommates were asleep, sneaking him in. That's what got you here now.

Nine months after the break up, he's in your hallway, pushing you against the wall in the middle of the night. And you weren't going to lie, you were obsessed with the feeling. Yet, you knew deep down, this was only hurting you both more.There was never any talk about getting back together, in fact there was never any talking about this aspect of your friendship?relationship? Whatever it was. When you were around your mutual high school friends, it was as though these nights never happened, it was as if you both were silently agreeing that this was merely sex. Merely a way of getting your needs taken care of.

But it felt like an excuse. In your head, you convinced yourself that this was okay, because who else knew you like this, knew your body and what you needed, before and after? And you knew he felt the same, when his soft moans and grunts escaped his mouth, when he would beg to hear your own soft moans and whines again and again.

The discussion and acknowledgement of what this was,would have only made things more real. More complicated, and like true Yeonjun and Y/N fashion, you ignored all of that. You would ignore his love filled eyes, the constant electrical current his touch possessed, the way his touch would have you shivering in anticipation, you would ignore the slips of ‘I love you’s from his mouth when he was on top of you. And he seemed to ignore all of your soft ‘baby’s’ and pleads, ignoring your single tears and would silently cradle you after, seeming to understand, yet never actually bringing it up.

Because, neither of you had not been ready, and maybe you still weren't, but things had been changing, life still existed outside of him, and you weren't sure you could keep this up anymore.

It was only recently that your friends suggested dating again. The thought itself made your stomach twist in guilt and fear. Your friends had known about this toxic stance you were in with Yeonjun, this idea that you were still each other’s, even if you weren't. And unlike you, they were worried about this deeply rooted attachment, considering it more obsessive, more out of comfortability than actual love. So even with your desperate rejections, they set you up. And when you suggested the idea of not showing up, they looked at you with concern filled eyes:

“Y/N, you have the chance to grow into the best version of yourself…don't let him keep you stuck here.”

It was in that moment then, looking up at him, when he had brought a hand up to gently caress the softness of your cheek, that you understood.

You knew they were right. And yet, a terribly hard pill to swallow. This didn't just apply to you, but to him too. You both had so many plans, goals, dreams. You both were only getting in the way of that, both keeping each other connected by the willfulness of your hearts. This love was too big for the both of you, and it was sucking the life, the happiness out of you.You loved him, you always did, always will. So much so, that you knew he deserved the same chance at an experience of life, without this weighing on him, without you pulling him back, just like you did.

“I can't do this anymore.” You whispered back finally, a tear hitting his thumb, and you weren't shocked when he sighed, before nodding, like he had known. That was another thing about Yeonjun you had loved,he always just knew.

You embarked in this minute of silence, both of you letting it settle, the room was dimly lit, but you were still able to make out his disheveled hair, his freshly kissed lips, and the tears that flooded the lining of his eyes. Neither of you hid them, neither felt the need too. Your heart fights this feeling of relief, and Yeonjun looks up at you and smiles softly before motioning to the front door.

“Do you remember orientation night?” He asked, once he was out the door. The fresh wind sweeps up a pair of leaves from the floor, and you both watch as the leaves dance around each other, before flying off. You smile.

“I do.”

Orientation night was hell. The world had been against you, you had been picked on by the orientation leaders, your dorm mates didn't seem like they were going to be good dorm mates at all, and to make it worse, you were in a new city, an hour away from Yeonjun’s college. You had decided to suffer in silence that night until he called, and just with the sound of his voice, you couldn't help but blubber out everything that went wrong. He listened and cooed, trying to relax your sobs, you heard the sound of an ignition turning on in the back. As you suspected, he made it to the front of your dorms in the next hour, already extending his arm for an embrace. At this time, the distance was still new and unfamiliar to both of you, no longer living in the same city, no longer having the same group of friends. You're no longer crying as dramatically as before, yet he still held you tightly in his chest, the smell of his cologne calming you greatly.

“Ima just give up and go home. Maybe I'm not made for college life.” You sigh.

“Hey, you are definitely not going back home. Youre gonna go back in there and tell your dorm mates to be nice or fuck off, and then youre gonna go tomorrow and say the same thing to those asshole leaders.” he rubs your back.

“No…” you sigh again, “I'm not gonna do that. I want to actually make friends, and I want my dorm mates to actually like me.”

“I'm your friend.”

“You also live an hour away.”

“So? Nothing can keep me away from you.” He smiles down at you, kissing your forehead.

“I wish I only had to deal with you and your antics…I miss you.”

I miss you too… Do you want me to talk to those leaders?”

“No but thanks.”

“Y/N…” you had been closing your eyes until he called, “I will always have your back. Always. You always have a friend, never hesitate to call him. He loves you, forever.” he finally attaches his lips to yours, quickly pecking your lips before pecking the rest of your face.

“I meant every word.” he says softly, grabbing your hands, “I'm always your friend and I love you, forever.”

“I love you too, forever.” And when he reaches to rub the tear off your cheek again, you chuckle to suppress the sniffle.

If your heart had not been enclosed in your chest, it would have been dragged by the last few strings attached to his, instead all you felt was the frantic pull, the desperate call for him to come back, and he must feel it too cause he turns back to you, already at the edge of the driveway.

“If I ever get you back in my arms, I will never let you go again.”

“Is that a threat?” You laughed already walking back to the door. He smiles upon seeing your smile, one last time.

“A promise.”

A/N: YAYAYAYAAY you made it to the end!!! Thank you so much for reading!!! I wanted to make this super angsty and I hope I tugged at the heart even just a pluck :3 Anyways, as always please let me know how you liked it, my asks are open for any requests as well!! Also let me know if you think I should do a small update (read: part 2) on yeonjun and y/n, maybe seeing each other again /.\ Thank you again!! :3

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azurem · 4 hours ago

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It was a frequent question he had, buzzing in his ears like a particularly annoying fly. As such, he felt no shame in his question:

"Is there a reason why you drink the... blue?"

Ink glanced at him, a raised eyebrow. He turned his head to look at him, keeping within his closed fist the catalyst for the question itself. "...Hm? I thought I told you already. My emotions aren't—"

"—natural, no," Nightmare finished for him. Seeing as that wasn't enough explanation —Ink was just looking at him blankly— he said, "still. Isn't blue the color of sorrow?"

"So, what if it is?"

"I don't see why anybody would choose to feel sadness," Nightmare said. He moved closer, just enough so his thigh would brush against Ink's. "You have happiness beneath your fingertips, courage... affection. I don't see why you'd take the option of suffering through your own sadness when it's unnecessary."

"Well—" Ink looked to the side, in thought. As he looked back at him, as if sensing something in Nightmare's expression, he smiled. "—what's it to you?"

"Pardon?"

Ink kept smiling. "Why would I drink the blue when I could just not do it?"

Nightmare looked away. Even when their joining hasn't been recent, he still struggled with keeping a poker face whenever Ink smiled like that. "...Well—"

Nightmare thought about it for a second, maybe more. Naturally, his thoughts drifted to the very balance he chose to forsake. "—You can't feel happiness if there's nothing to compensate it for."

"Nope," Ink said. "Not for me. I could just feel happiness all the time, if I wanted to."

"It's a thing about contrasts, then," Nightmare said instead. He closed his eye, unwilling yet to look at him. "You can't enjoy happiness if there's nothing to compare it to."

"You're getting colder," Ink said. He tilted his head, as if to look at Nightmare better, before he took his hand, slipping something inside it. When their eyes met, he didn't make any particular expression, yet his eyes shone with the hue of someone in the middle of reading. "Think again?"

"Hm." Nightmare turned his head to look at them, accepting the offering without any particular word. By its shape, he already knew what it was. His next words were hesitant, a bit clumsy: "maybe... You drink it to look normal. People wouldn't accept someone that wouldn't feel as they did."

"Pf. C'mon, now that's just depressing," Ink said. He snorted when Nightmare just gave him an unimpressed glare, which he promptly responded with an elbow to his arm. "You're thinking about it way too hard."

"Am I, now?"

"You totally are," Ink said. "Making stuff way more complicated than necessary— you do that a lot, y'know?"

He could feel his eye twitching. "Won't you just tell me?"

"I will," Ink said. He faked a yawn. "It's rather simple, really— mhm. A simple, simple thing—"

"Which is?"

"Huh, impatient," Ink said. He winked at him when Nightmare made a huff. "Y'know. Usually people just do stuff because they feel like it."

"Because they feel like it," Nightmare echoed, feeling somewhat disappointed. Still, this didn't clear his question. "But why? Why feel sadness, when it's a feeling everyone would rather discard if the choice arose?"

"See? Thinking way too hard about it."

"Ink— I insist. Is it not about the contrast? About normalcy? Why to feel, when it's—"

"An emotion," Ink said. "You're weird, y'know?"

"You— You vex me," Nightmare said. It was like trying to do a puzzle in the dark. "Incredibly so. You choose unnecessary, undesirable things— you love to make your own life more complicated than it should."

"Then we're the same," Ink said. His hands felt twitchy, so he looked down to look at them, curious of the way they dug into the cloth of his overalls. As in echo, he commented, "I don't get it. Why insist on knowing? Isn't it enough to just... let it be?"

"A life without knowledge is nothing better than the life of an animal, you must understand it well. Though...—" Nightmare looked down at him, at the way his hands seemed confused and lost. "—Though I assume a life without emotion is nothing better than the life of a machine."

"It's not," Ink said quietly. He took a moment before he looked up again. "...Still. You're pretty much a weirdo."

"...I've been called worse," Nightmare said after a moment. It felt somewhat disgraceful to know that he wasn't speaking in deceit.

Ink smiled at him. "Y'know... I wasn't lying. I do it just because, because I like feeling blue. Even if there wasn't any yellow for me, I'd still choose to drink it every time. I'd still like it, even if it was my only emotion."

"You're lying to me," he said. Ink only kept on smiling. It was not a lie. "...Where is the beauty in sorrow?"

"Where's the beauty in joy?" Ink echoed, almost teasingly. "You're a complicated guy, Nightmare. But that's why I like when you get serious with me."

Nightmare raised an eyebrow at him as Ink's hand insisted on his own, making his phalanges close on the vial of class within. As if Nightmare would have ever let it fall.

"Tell you what," he continued, bringing his hand up to his chest as if to trace the emptiness in between the colors of his chest, as one would do with a missing tooth. "Until you find the answer to that, keep it with you. It'll be a funny story."

#utmv #undertale au #zu yapping #ink sans #nightmare sans #inkmare #nightink #sanscest #fic like #blue vial origin story up until i decide to erase it from my inkmare canon™ i think hmmmm

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justsumtransdude2000 · 10 hours ago

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Lets talk about narrative framing in Harry Potter and how it lends itself to what I live to call the Regulus vs James vs Snape debate, aka the "why does the fandom praise Regulus and James but hate Snape, it's because they're hot isn't it?" issue.

I'm trying to come at this with a neutral perspective (despite being what many would frame as a Regulus defender).

So narrative framing, what is it? It's exactly what is sounds like; how the narrative is telling you to view something. A great example of this is house elves. They are narratively framed as a net positive, however, when you take them out of the narrative and inspect them without all of the unnecessary context, they're pretty bad. The narrative also does this with characters (obviously), like Cho Chang being framed as annoying for crying over her boyfriend who was brutally murdered. When we look at this, we are looking at it through the lens of Harry, but when we look at without Harry's motives in mind, that shit is weird.

So, how does this apply here? Well, I think the reason that Snape is so hated is cut into two parts; the first being narrative framing and the second being screen time. He is in every book. And in every book, he's being an asshole. He's bullying someone who is half or even a third of his age, or he's being speciesist, or he's being a general nuisance. A lot of his coworkers don't even like him. Of course, our lens isn't unbiased as we see all this through Harry's view, but Harry, narratively, is one of the good guys, making him someone we as the reader are supposed to trust. Also, we do know that whether or not they were influenced by Harry's POV, he did some foul shit: we know that he used to be (and maybe still is, for most of the series) a DE, we know that he tells his students Lupin is a werewolf, and we also know he hates James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin (obviously), Harry Potter himself, and, I may be assuming here but, Peter Pettigrew. All but one of these characters are framed positively in the narrative, meaning Snape isn't just narratively hated; he is up against some of the most beloved characters. There is not a lot going for him until the plot twist, which doesn't help necessarily. To a lot of fans it just made him seem obsessive and bitter, and didn't justify his actions, likely because of all the narrative framing against him. Honestly, at that point it stops being narrative framing and starts being the narrative.

Compare this to James and Regulus who we see very little of. The little we see of James is usually through Snapes memory, which I guess can kind of be considered an unbiased source, but with all the narrative against him it's hard to expect readers to trust that someone the bad guy thinks is bad is really that bad. Not to mention like right after Harry asks for affirmation that his dad wasn't terrible, and Sirius basically just goes "he changed, trust me bro!" (Harry does indeed trust him, bro). And we don't even see Regulus, we only see him through others, namely Sirius and Kreacher, who both answer questions about him scarcely. When we do hear about him it is either, "he was so soft, too soft to disobey our parents" implying something in him was good, he just wasn't strong enough to resist the bad, or through his defiance of Voldemort which, despite setting Harry back is positive for his character and how he's seen. It's important to note most people are way too scary to defy Voldemort, so this is seen as a radical act, which I think is also what JK. Molding was hoping for when writing the Snape redemption scene (because that was not an arc).

However, Snape's falls flat because we actually have to see the negative that he did, we see how it effects Neville, and Hermione, and Remus and even Harry. We don't see the bad of Regulus, we only see him through the tender wounds of his living relative and only friend, which are undoubtedly biased lenses. I think the lack of accountability shown for Regulus is because of object permanence. We only see the negative effect of his loss, not of his bad decisions. We see Sirius scrubbing a house clean of everyone but him. We see grief. And people don't grieve for bad people, right?

TLDR: Fandom favors Reg over Snape because we see how Snape's actions effect people, and the fandom favors James over Snape because the only evidence we have of him being a bad guy is coming from someone untrustowrothy.

#marauders #mauraders #james potter #regulus a black #regulus black #snape fandom #severus snape #fandom discussion #fandom culture #analysis #harry potter #golden trio era #the golden trio #media literacy

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luckyroll3 · 2 days ago

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Quid Pro Quo: Chapter 3

Masterlist and Summary

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, some violence, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 8,357

You walk into the library, the scent of old books and brewed coffee mingling in the air, a comforting embrace to your senses. The sun filters through the high windows, casting a warm glow on the array of chairs and tables. You find Chan at your usual spot, his textbook open, papers scattered like fallen leaves around him. He looks up as you approach, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his lips, that hint of boyish charm that you’ve come to adore.

"Hey," he greets, a hand running through his blonde hair, a bit more tame than usual today.

“Hi.” You slide into the chair across from him, suppressing a smile. “You look like shit.” His face is slightly puffy and there are dark circles under his eyes.

"Thanks. I feel like shit.” Chan rubs the back of his neck. “So, uh, about my party the other night. I was pretty wasted and heard I may have said and done some inappropriate things. Just wanted to apologize if I crossed any lines with you." His brown eyes look genuinely concerned. You can't help but find it endearing.

“Did you actually make it through all 21 shots?”

“I’m not sure. I think so cause I've been nursing a hangover from hell for the past few days and piecing together my dignity.”

You smirk. "From what I saw, you were nothing but a perfect gentleman. At least, to me." You lean forward, resting your chin on your palm. "But I can't vouch for anything that went down when you vanished up the stairs with that brunette."

Chan's eyes widen for a moment before he bursts out laughing. The sound is deep and rich, echoing off the bookshelves. "I’m not even sure what happened with her. I think she gave me head? Maybe more? I don’t fucking know. I haven’t had that much to drink in a while," he quips, still grinning. “And thank you again for the gift. I started reading Desperation.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, actually. It was very thoughtful.” He locks eyes with you for a brief moment before looking down at his notebook. "Should we get started?"

The session unfolds with the usual rhythm—your explanations punctuated by his quick understanding. Yet, today feels different. His gaze lingers as you explain a complex equation, making your cheeks warm. When you catch his eye, he quickly looks away. You sense his gaze lingering longer than necessary, eyes tracing the curve of your jaw, the fall of your hair. Each time you catch him, the air thickens, charged with an unspoken question.

"What?!" you finally ask when his brown eyes meet yours once more, teasingly assessing.

"Nothing," Chan says, but his tone carries a note of mischief, a flirtatious edge that's hard to ignore. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his shirt stretching taut against his pecs.

“There’s nothing on my face?”

"What? No, I’m just... looking at you. I mean, listening. To the math stuff," Chan stammers.

You raise an eyebrow. "Uh huh, riiiiight,” you reply unconvinced. “Well, pay attention to the numbers, not me."

“You’re much prettier than numbers though.” A playful lopsided grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Focus, Channie," you tease, trying to keep the atmosphere light. "We have work to do."

"Alright, alright," he concedes, turning his attention back to the equations on the pages spread out before him.

As the clock ticks toward the end of your session, you pack up your things, feeling the weight of his stare like a physical touch. "My place or yours for tomorrow?" you ask.

"Actually," Chan replies, closing his textbook with a soft thud, "mind if we do it at my place? Roommates will be out. We'll have the house to ourselves. Less eyes and ears than at your dorm."

Your pulse quickens at the thought; your next session is the one you’ve been anticipating, the final session. You nod, trying to keep your voice even. "Sure, sounds good."

"Great," he says, standing up with a stretch that showcases the lines of his body. His shirt shifts up a few inches when he brings his hands over his head, exposing the delicate v-line cut descending towards his crotch area. "It's a date then."

"Not a date," you correct, with a side eye in his direction.

"Riiiiiight," he echoes your earlier skepticism, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "See you tomorrow."

As you leave the library, his words linger in your mind.

****

You step into Chan's house, the scent of spices and laughter greeting you as if they were old friends beckoning you inside. The sight of his roommates gathered around the dining table, plates heaped with food, catches you off guard. You expected an empty house, privacy – not a lively dinner party.

"Hey," he says, dimples appearing as he grins apologetically. "Slight change of plans. The guys decided to stay in tonight. Hope you don't mind?"

“I guess not,” you say as you step inside.

They greet you with friendly smiles and boisterous laughter, insisting that you join them for dinner.

"Hey. Sit! Eat!!" Felix calls out, waving a fork in your direction.

"Come on, we've got plenty to share," Hyunjin says, gesturing to the heaping plates of food.

Chan guides you to a chair, his hand lingering on the small of your back. As you sit, he slides in next to you, his thigh brushing yours under the table. He leans in close, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. "Sorry about the surprise audience," he murmurs.

The meal is a riot of flavors and laughter. They're just as charming and funny as Chan, humor dancing in their eyes, and you find yourself pulled into their warmth like a moth to flame.

“Astrophysics, huh?” Minho asks. “I didn’t think that was a real career. I’ve only heard about it in movies. Never actually met one.”

You laugh, about to respond when you feel Chan's hand on your knee. Your breath catches as his fingers trace lazy circles on your skin.

“Uhm, yeah. There aren’t many of us, but we exist. Our university is actually one of the top schools for astrophysics and astrobiology research.” The boys all nod, super interested.

When they learn about your interest in black holes, they start to talk about the movie Interstellar. You try to concentrate on the banter, but Chan’s discrete touch under the table steals away your focus, igniting a fire within you that you struggle to keep hidden.

The conversation soon turns to you and Chan.

"So, you're the one who's got Chan actually cracking a book," Hyunjin teases.

“Yeah Chan, what's gotten into you?" Minho jokes, elbowing him playfully. "You actually care about passing now?"

Chan's hand inches higher, and you struggle to keep your expression neutral as the conversation flows around you.

“I’ve always cared about passing. I just never had to study before. You do know I have a 3.925 GPA right? I’m not just a pretty face…” He blows a kiss at Minho who pretends to catch it and put it in his pocket. “... that’s Hyunjin,” Chan continues with a smirk.

“Hey! I got good grades!” Hyunjin says, offended.

“You’re an art major; of course you ‘got good grades’,” Minho teases. Hyunjin balls up his napkin and throws it at Minho.

"Seriously though," Felix addresses you, "we've never seen Chan work this hard in any class. You must be some kind of miracle worker."

You chuckle, trying to keep your composure as Chan's hand moves into your underwear. You’re now rethinking your decision to wear a skirt.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," you manage. "His motivation is purely self-preservation.” You take a deep breath when you feel his fingers enter you. "Hmmm…,” the sound emerges unexpectedly from your throat as you try to refocus on your words. “Actually, it's more like Chan doesn't want to fail and get kicked out. I'm just here to make sure he doesn't."

You take a sip of water, the cool liquid doing little to quell the heat from Chan's relentless exploration.

"Sure, sure," Hyunjin teases, winking at you. "And how have you managed to resist his charms?”

You gasp softly against the glass as Chan removes his fingers. You watch flabbergasted as he places those same fingers in his mouth, followed by a devastating grin as he forks his last piece of lasagna.

“Most women can't last a day around Chan without falling for him," Felix adds.

Minho nods as he sits back, “I personally don’t get it.”

“Oh please. We all know that Chan is hot,” Hyunjin says.

“Speak for yourself,” Minho deadpans.

You open your mouth, not sure how to answer, when Chan suddenly stands. "Alright, enough with the interrogation," he announces. "We've got studying to do." He grips your hand, tugging you gently away from the table.

“Thanks for dinner,” you call over your shoulder.

Chan leads you upstairs to the sanctuary of his bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you, muffling the residual laughter from the dining room. He locks the door then turns to face you, the playful glint in his eye yielding to sincerity.

"About my roommates..." He begins, running a hand through his tousled hair. "I'm sorry if they made you uncomfortable."

You shake your head, dismissing his concern. "It's fine, Chan.”

“Do you still want to continue with the next lesson here?”

"Of course," you reply, your heart pounding in anticipation.

"We can head to your dorm…” You shake your head no. “Alright then." He takes a deep breath, his demeanor shifting into something more serious, more instructional. He perches on the edge of his cluttered desk. "So, the mechanics of sex," he starts, locking eyes with you. His voice is low, intimate as if sharing a secret meant only for you. "It's important to understand that women don’t often cum during sex, and many guys... well, they won't make it a priority. They don’t care."

“Is that true for you?”

“It depends. Sometimes I just want to fuck; when I get off, I’m good and I’m not worried about anything or anyone else. Other times, I take it as a personal challenge to make the women I’m with cum. It’s why I have the reputation I do.” He smirks.

You lean against the door, absorbing every word, feeling the weight of their truth. Chan's honesty is disarming, and you can't help but wonder at the contradiction he poses: a man known for fleeting pleasures teaching you the importance of personal satisfaction.

"So this is something you might have to prioritize for yourself if your partner doesn't. Make sure you communicate what you need," he continues, "because your pleasure matters too."

His gaze holds yours, unwavering, the air between you charged. And in this quiet room, with the world shut out, you feel the slow burn of discovery begin to smolder within you, stoked by the words of a man who defies his own reputation.

The soft croon of an R&B ballad fills the room as Chan's hands glide over your skin. His fingers trail along your collarbone, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "I'm going to undress you now," he murmurs. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

His lips find your neck, peppering soft kisses as he slowly unbuttons your shirt. You shiver at the sensation, your hands instinctively moving to his waist.

"You can touch me too," Chan encourages between kisses. "Explore what feels good."

Your own hands explore the planes of his body, feeling his muscles flex under your touch. A groan escapes him when your fingers drift lower, caressing him through the thin fabric still separating your bodies. Your fingers hesitantly slide under his shirt, tracing the planes of his abs.

Chan hums approvingly against your skin. He tugs down the zipper of your skirt with a deliberate tenderness that makes your breath hitch, as his lips then move to your collarbone, kissing and sucking tenderly. His hands gently slide the fabric of the skirt over your ass before letting it fall to the ground with a whisper. Then he repeats the action with your underwear. With each touch, you feel the walls around you dissolve, leaving nothing but the intimacy of this shared space.

Each new inch of exposed skin receives his devoted attention—soft kisses, whispered words of desire, the heat of his mouth as he worships you. And you feel the results dripping between your legs. His mouth kisses the side of your hip, then your lower belly, a nipple, and stops just above your chest.

"Your turn," he murmurs against your collarbone, guiding your fingers to the hem of his shirt. You peel the fabric up and away, revealing the contours of his athletic build—a landscape of muscle and skin that beckons your exploration. The deep dimples in his cheeks flash as he grins, his usual cocky demeanor softened by this sensual dance of give and take.

Once both of you are fully undressed, Chan gently guides you onto the bed, his strong arms supporting your weight as he lowers you onto the soft sheets. Lying back on the bed, the world narrows down to the heat of his body pressing into yours. He takes a moment to grab a condom from the nightstand. The crinkle of the wrapper sounds like thunder in the quiet room as he carefully sheathes himself, locking eyes with you to gauge your comfort every step of the way. He hovers above you, eyes drinking you in, dimples flashing as his lips curl into a smile.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. You nod, unable to find your own words as desire pools in your core. His lips find yours in a slow, sensual kiss.

"We'll take this nice and slow," he murmurs, his breath hot against your cheek. His fingers trail downward, skimming over your body. He parts your legs, slipping a finger into your moist warmth. “Good,” he whispers. “You’re nice and wet. This is why the foreplay is so important.” He slots his body in between your legs, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance. "Remember, communication is key. Tell me what feels good, what doesn't."

You nod. Slowly, he enters you, his movements deliberate and controlled. This is no rushed conquest; it's a lesson of connection, and you're his willing pupil.

When he comes up against a bit of resistance, he says softly, “This might hurt a little. If it’s too much, tell me to stop.” He pushes through with slightly more force, causing you to grunt. He brings his lips to yours and kisses you through the pain as he enters you fully, his cock buried deep within you.

"You okay?" he checks in, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nod, slightly overwhelmed by the feel and the intimacy of the moment. "Yeah, I'm good."

He begins to talk you through various positions, demonstrating each one with a practiced ease. With every shift and change, you learn something new about your own body, and how it responds to him.

"Let's try something else," he breathes out as he shifts your bodies into a new position—one where you can see the intensity in his gaze, feel the full depth of him within you. And then another change, his movements guided by whispered instructions that lace through the music and settle into the rhythm of your heart.

Above you, Chan moves with controlled precision, showing you the contrast between slow, purposeful thrusts and a faster, more urgent tempo. The difference is stark, awakening sensations inside you that you hadn't known existed. Your focus tunnels in on the sound of your mingled breaths, the pressure building within you, and Chan's unwavering attention.

As time passes, your surroundings fade away until all that exists is the two of you, moving together in perfect harmony. The only sounds are the rhythm of your breathing and the quiet rustle of the sheets beneath you, careful not to alert his roommates to your activities.

Even after he finds his own release, he doesn't falter in his dedication to you; he's determined to bring you to an orgasm. "Focus on your pleasure," he whispers into your ear, his voice soothing. His fingers move to your clit, teasing, rubbing, pinching.

His whispers become a mantra in your ear, telling you how close you are, urging you on with words meant to embolden rather than seduce—yet they accomplish both.

With each thrust and each touch of his fingers against your clit, you feel the heat building inside you, spreading like wildfire throughout your body. Your hips buck against him uncontrollably as you chase your release.

"You're so close," Chan murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "Just let go."

You can feel it now, that intense physical build up. Every nerve ending is on fire as Chan works his magic on your body. And then finally, with one last burst of energy, you shatter into a million pieces.

Your entire body tenses as waves of electricity wash over you, making you tremble and gasp for breath. It's an explosion of sensations that leaves you feeling completely satisfied and utterly spent. Chan whispers praises in your ear as he watches your face contort in pleasure, his own eyes slowly closing with satisfaction.

As the intensity starts to fade and reality comes crashing back in, Chan gently pulls out of you and collapses beside you on the bed. The two of you lay there for a few moments, catching your breaths.

In the aftermath, flushed and panting softly, the room feels impossibly large and yet entirely intimate. Chan's gaze lingers on you, a look so intense it nearly overshadows the physical pleasure. It's almost as if he's trying to forge a deeper connection with you, one that transcends the boundaries you’ve set. You tell yourself it's all part of the lesson, but the warmth in his eyes challenges the very notion of detachment he's always embraced. But you remind yourself that this is just an educational experience, and you try to focus on the sensations rather than the emotions they evoke.

"Okay?" His voice is a tender rumble.

"More than okay," you admit, finding truth in the vulnerability of this moment—and wondering if this is just another layer of Chan's enigmatic persona or a glimpse into a desire for something deeper.

The room is still as Chan's arms envelop you in a gentle embrace, his breath warm against the damp skin of your neck. He kisses the tender spot just below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You're cocooned in a post-orgasmic haze, muscles languid and mind blissfully adrift.

"Talk to me," he murmurs. His lips brush your ear, voice low and husky. "So, how do you feel?"

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. "It was... intense. Different than I expected," you admit, as he traces idle patterns on your arm. "There were moments of discomfort, but also amazing pleasure I've never felt before."

You take a deep breath and describe the sensations that coursed through your body, the rush of heat, the clench of pleasure, and the way his gaze seemed to pierce right through you. The intimacy of the moment is unnerving yet exhilarating.

Chan hums, his fingers trailing along your spine. "That's normal. It gets better with practice. Less discomfort, more pleasure," he murmurs, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder. "What were you thinking about during?"

You laugh softly. "Honestly? I was trying to remember all your damn instructions. And... wondering if this is how it always feels."

As you speak, Chan wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you close as he listens intently. His lips brush against your neck, shoulders, and back, leaving a trail of soft, tender kisses.

His chuckle reverberates through you. "Every time is different. But that's part of the fun."

The conversation shifts, meandering into lighter topics — anecdotes from classes, shared jokes, the odd habits of his roommates, mutual friends, ridiculous campus rumors. Laughter soon replaces the heavy silence, light and carefree. You talk about everything and nothing. You're surprised at how easy it is to just be with Chan, to share stories, talk, laugh. An hour passes in what feels like minutes.

Suddenly, Chan's hand slides down your hip. "Want to try again? Round two?" he asks. His voice is playful, but his eyes are earnest, seeking your consent.

You nod, curiosity piqued by this new dynamic.

"This time, you can be on top. It'll give you more control."

"Okay, show me." You straddle him gingerly.

Chan rolls on another condom before guiding you over his erect cock, his hands steady on your hips. You breathe out slowly as you slide down his length, taking him all the way into you.

"Move however feels good," he instructs. "Experiment with different angles until you feel a tingling. That’s how you’ll know you’ve got the right position."

You shift and shimmy on him, cataloguing the differences in each position. When you feel like a buzzer keeps getting pressed, you settle into that position and focus on duplicating the feeling over and over again.

"Good, just like that," he encourages quietly as he steadies your hips, guiding you to find the pace that draws moans from your lips.

As you continue to move, Chan's eyes lock onto yours. The intensity of his gaze is almost overwhelming. You've never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, yet so powerful at the same time. It's one of the most intimate experiences you've ever had.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice strained. "You're doing great."

With a confidence boost from his encouraging smile, you pick up the pace. Chan's fingers press into your flesh with deliberate intent. "Keep going," he coaches, "feel how you control the movement? How you can take what you need?"

As you find your rhythm, your world narrows to the locked gaze between you. Chan's brown eyes are an endless well of emotion, pulling you deeper into the sensation and connection. As you start to reach your peak, he whispers sweet, romantic, dirty words that make you blush. His whispers dance around the room—affirmations of beauty, of desire, of something dangerously close to affection.

When your orgasm hits and you gasp his name, the tenderness in his eyes catches you off guard.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his fingers brushing delicately across your skin. "Absolutely breathtaking."

As the realization dawns on you that the lighthearted joke from the other night might have been rooted in genuine emotion, you feel a mix of exhilaration and trepidation.

Afterward, entwined in the sheets and each other, Chan's fingers idly play with your hair. His voice is a soft buzz against your ear as he murmurs, "You're welcome to stay the night… if you want."

You hesitate, as reality crashes back. This closeness is addictive, but dangerous. This isn't real, you remind yourself. It's just educational. You can't afford to blur lines already smudged by these intimate lessons.

You shake your head quickly. "Thanks for the offer, but I should go," you say, sitting up. "Early class tomorrow."

Chan nods, his expression mostly unreadable. "Okay," he says with no hint of disappointment, only respect. “I’ll walk you home.”

After getting dressed, you and Chan walk silently, side by side, back to your dorm. The night air is cool against your flushed skin; it’s a stark contrast to the warmth of Chan's hand that lightly grazes yours as you move. At the entrance, you turn to face him.

"Thank you, Chan. For everything. You've been... great. Thank you for being so kind to me, making me feel safe and comfortable. You’re a true gentleman." Your voice wavers as you wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him into a hug. You feel his arms tighten around your back. Your lips brush his cheek, leaving a feather-light kiss.

As you pull away, something flickers in his eyes, but it's gone before you can identify it.

“No problem. Have a good night.”

"Goodnight," you whisper as he turns to walk away, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. You sigh and use your student ID to gain access to the building. Your thoughts are already drifting to the upcoming anniversary date with Changbin.

Back in the solitude of your room, you clutch your phone, heart racing as you type a message to Changbin. Excitement bubbles inside you.

You:

Can't wait to celebrate with you this weekend.

Cuddle Binnie:

Neither can I, babe.

****

You step into the opulent suite, and the view steals your breath away. The salty breeze caresses your skin as you step onto the large balcony. The endless ocean stretches out before you, the horizon kissing the sky in a perfect line. A small jacuzzi bubbles invitingly off to the side. Changbin's arms wrap around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"Happy anniversary," he whispers, and the sincerity in his voice swathes around your heart like a silk scarf. He presses a gentle kiss to your neck.

You turn in his embrace, taking in his warm smile and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Changbin, this is... incredible. I can't believe you did all this." When Changbin had mentioned a weekend getaway to celebrate, the last thing you’d imagined was a luxurious suite at a five-star hotel.

He grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Only the best for you. Now, how about we get ready for dinner? I've got reservations at that fancy seafood place you've been wanting to try.”

Dinner is incredible. Each course is more decadent than the last, and Changbin watches you with an intensity that makes every bite feel like a caress.

You find yourself employing some of the subtle flirting techniques you've learned. A lingering touch here, a coy glance there, a game of footsie under the table. Changbin seems to be drinking it all in, his eyes darkening with desire. You place your hand in his lap, using your thumb to gently brush along the outline of his cock.

"You're killing me here," he whispers, leaning in close, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Maybe we should skip dessert and head back to the hotel?" he suggests, his breath warm against your ear.

You giggle, knowing exactly what he’s implying and feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "Patience, babe. We've got all weekend,” you tease. “But did you see the bourbon bread pudding with vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce? We’re definitely NOT skipping dessert."

He laughs and gives you a soft kiss. "I already ordered it for you," he confesses against your lips.

You’re so touched by this thoughtful gesture, you can’t help but deepen the kiss, holding his head in place with both hands.

“See,” you whisper between kisses. “This is why you're my favorite.” You resume the passionate exchange.

After dinner, you stroll hand-in-hand along the moonlit beach. The sound of waves lapping at the shore provides a soothing backdrop to your conversation. The sand is cool and comforting under your bare feet.

"Did I tell you how stunning you look tonight?" Changbin grins, his eyes sparkling as he glances at you.

"Only about a dozen times," you tease, giving his hand a playful squeeze. "But who's counting?" You continue walking silently for a few minutes, nearing closer to the hotel.

You feel your phone vibrate in the pocket of your dress, slicing through the calm. You hand Changbin your heels before retrieving it. It’s a message from Chan. Your stomach does a flip as you open it.

Chan:

Good luck tonight.

Hope it’s everything you wanted and imagined.

You deserve it.

You stare at it, a flicker of conflict crossing your mind before you quickly slip the phone back into your pocket without responding. This moment is about you and Changbin—no one else.

Changbin notices your momentary distraction. “Everything okay?”

You nod. “Yeah, it’s just Chan. But nothing important,” you reassure him. You wrap your arms tightly around his and rest your head on his large biceps as you continue your walk to the hotel.

Back in the sanctity of your suite, the door clicks shut, sealing away the world. The soft glow of moonlight illuminates the room as Changbin gently leads you to the plush king-sized bed.

Changbin's touch is soft, his kisses painting strokes of affection along your skin. As he slowly undresses you, his fingers brushing against your skin with each delicate movement, you find yourself enveloped in a cocoon of passion and desire. You can't help but compare his touches to Chan's. But then Changbin looks into your eyes with such love and tenderness that all thoughts of Chan fade away.

"Are you sure you’re ready?" His voice is a husky murmur against your ear.

You nod, pulling him close. "I've never been more sure of anything." You fall back onto the bed, pulling him on top of you. “I want you,” you whisper.

Changbin grins, desire burning in his gaze. "I want you too, baby." He captures your mouth in a fiery kiss. Then his lips trail down your neck to your chest.

Changbin's mouth finds your breast, sucking a nipple between his lips. You gasp, your fingers raking through his hair. He gives you one quick kiss in the center of your chest before leaning back with a soft sigh. He takes in the sight of your naked body beneath him. His eyes roam hungrily over every inch of you, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.

His eyes never leave yours as he stands and undresses, first pulling his sweater over his head, then stepping out of his slacks and underwear. He finally breaks eye contact to walk to his bag. You can’t help but bite your bottom lip as you watch his brawny physique walk away, his muscles twitching just beneath the skin of his broad back. Your eyes settle on his plump ass, your favorite part of his body. He retrieves a box of condoms from the side pocket and walks back to the bed.

“I’ve had this for over 6 months,” he says with a laugh as he opens the box.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” you say, covering your face bashfully. “Just know it wasn’t you, it was me.”

“No need to apologize. I was happy to wait for you to be ready, babe.” He removed a single sleek black square packet, carefully ripping it open. The condom glides smoothly onto his eager erection as you watch him with anticipation.

Your outstretched arms beckon him towards you as you whisper, “Come here.” He takes your hand, enthusiastically following your instructions as you pull him back to you. As he climbs over you, you place a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid thumping of his heart against your palm. His cock presses insistently against your thigh.

He leans down to kiss you, tenderly at first, before letting his desire take over. Then he reaches down, positioning himself at your entrance with deliberate care. He locks his eyes on yours and you nod. He enters you slowly, inch by inch, groaning as your tight heat envelops him. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as you feel yourself stretched by his undeniable girth. Finally, after a year, the two of you have come together in a union of soulful intimacy.

He pauses to allow you time to adjust to him. “Are you good?” he asks softly.

“So good,” you whisper.

“Good.” He brings his lips back to yours. “Keep telling me what you like, ok?” You nod.

Changbin moves with a grace that might be unexpected based on his large, muscular frame, each motion a testament to his attentiveness. He explores you slowly, worshipfully, mapping every sigh and shiver that escapes your lips. His thrusts are sure and steady, hitting all the right spots, drawing out every sensation. He’s gentle, caring, always checking in to make sure you’re comfortable. He kisses your neck and whispers encouragements in your ear. It’s everything you imagined and more.

As he increases the pace, his fingertips sink into the flesh of your thigh as he holds your leg up against his body, adding another layer of pleasure to the intense full-body sensation washing over you. “You feel amazing,” he whispers.

You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, deeper, as you match his rhythm. You're getting used to this newfound control and power over his body, as he moans your name over and over again. It sends shivers down your spine every time he says it. A feeling of being seen and desired floods through you as he gazes at you with nothing but lust, and you think also love, in his eyes. Every inch of your skin tingles under his touch, his breath against it.

"Changbin," you moan his name as he continues to thrust into you with teasing kisses.

In this moment, there is no doubt in your mind that this is where you belong – in Changbin's arms, with his love surrounding you. As his name falls from your lips again and again, he brings you to the peak of pleasure before following closely behind.

When the explosion hits, it consumes you both.

Your name falls from Changbin's lips like a prayer as he clutches onto the sheets with white-knuckled hands. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, stilling inside of you as he tries to catch his breath while holding on to this moment forever.

Finally, you feel him grin against your skin. “Wow,” he pants out. “Totally worth the wait.”

You dare not move or breathe too much for fear of losing this bubble of intimacy around the two of you. As if reading your mind, Changbin cuddles you tightly. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before he rests his head against your chest, still catching his breath. Your fingers trail lightly along his back, and you feel a deep sense of contentment wash over you.

This moment, being with Changbin like this, feels right in a way you've never experienced before. There's a new intimacy between you now, one that goes beyond just the physical. You've connected on a much deeper level.

Changbin lifts his head to look at you, pure adoration in his eyes. "I love you," he says softly, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

You freeze for a second, the weight of those three words hitting you. It’s the first time he’s said them. Your heart clenches as you stare into his vulnerable, hopeful gaze.

"I love you too," you whisper back. A brilliant smile brightens his face at your words.

The memories of the night you met flood back. It was at a crowded party at his frat house. When one of his drunken brothers made a lewd comment about you and touched you inappropriately, he swiftly intervened and tossed the offender across the room. In that moment, something clicked for you; you were drawn to this hulking beefcake with the charming smile and kind eyes who defended your honor without even knowing your name. You’d never been attracted to anyone in the way you were to him.

After an hour, he eases off of you to head to the bathroom to discard the condom. When he returns, he’s carrying a champagne bottle that has been chilling since you checked in earlier that night. He pops the cork, then hops back into bed.

“To us,” he cheers softly, bringing the bottle to his lips for a sip before passing it to you.

“To us,” you echo. The two of you share the champagne, talk, and make out for the next hour or so, until the bubbles have gone to your head, and you fall asleep in his arms.

The next morning, you wake still wrapped in Changbin. One arm is draped over your hip, the other is beneath your neck with his hand resting on your chest. When he feels you stir, he pulls you closer to his body, eliminating any space between the two of you. You can also feel his erection pressing into your back.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Morning.” You place your hands on top of his and pull his embrace even tighter.

“You sleep okay?”

“I did. You?”

“Yeah. But I always sleep well when I’m next to you.” He nuzzles against your neck. “Last night was….”

“Amazing,” you finish for him.

He laughs. “Yes, amazing.”

“I’m kicking myself for forcing us to wait for so long. I’m sorry.”

“No, the anticipation made it so much more worth it." His fingers find their way to your chin, turning your head towards him so he can kiss you softly. “And I loved how you knew exactly what you wanted and didn’t want, and communicated that without hesitation or shame. Very rare for women our age. You’ve been in complete control of your needs and desires since we’ve met and honestly, I find it fucking sexy. Resulted in a lot of cold showers for me, but still…”

“And your frat brothers referring to me as the ‘Virgin Mary’?” you ask teasingly.

Changbin laughs loudly. “Yes. How’d you hear about that?”

“Chan,” you say softly. “When he learned I was your celibate girlfriend, he put two and two together.”

“I should have told you. But you know it’s just locker room talk, right? I would never let them disrespect you. I would break their legs before they ever got the sentence out.”

“I know and I don’t really care,” you say with a chuckle as you rub his arm gently. Now that Chan’s name has been brought up, you feel that maybe you should say something about the lessons. “Hey Bin,” you start, unsure of what exactly you will say. “I need to tell you something.”

“You can tell me anything. Is it about Chan?”

“Uhm, yeah.”

“It’s okay, I already know.”

“You do?” you ask curiously.

“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious. You really like him and the two of you have gotten very close.”

“We have gotten super close,” you say quietly, trying to decide if now might be the best time to tell Changbin exactly how close you’ve gotten to Chan.

“It’s fine. I really like Chan too. He’s a great guy. I don’t mind if your new best friend is a guy.”

“Okay. But…,” you start to say.

“Shhhhh,” he breathes against your neck as you feel his hand slide down your belly to your clit. He begins to stroke it softly. “Enough about Chan. I don’t want to think about him when I’m fucking you.” You moan as he slips several fingers into you. “It is okay if I fuck you again, right?” He pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“You can fuck me whenever you want,” you say breathlessly. “I’m yours, Bin.” You turn your head to capture his lips in a searing kiss.

He removes his fingers from you and reaches over your body to grab a condom. Once it’s on, he lifts your top leg over and back across his hip and maneuvers behind you until he’s positioned his cock at your entrance. You gasp as he slides in. This position of you both lying on your sides, your back against his chest, allows you to feel every bit of him as the tip of his cock grazes against every inch of sensitive flesh around your g-spot.

Changbin begins to thrust slowly at first, his hips meeting yours, the friction sending shivers up your spine. He kisses your shoulder blade and whispers, "I didn’t know I’d love being inside you this much," causing you to shudder with pleasure. You can feel the fullness of him stretching you in ways that are new, and it feels incredible.

As he picks up speed, his hot breath tickles the back of your neck. "I want to taste you," he growls into your ear before lightly nipping at your lobe. His tongue darts out to trace along the contours of your neck. Then without warning, he sinks his teeth in gently making you gasp. He alternates between biting and sucking the sensitive area. The sensation is unbelievable as it sends shockwaves through your body. You lift your head slightly, offering him more access to your neck.

His hands grab yours and interlaces with your fingers as his thrusts become more forceful, as he gets deeper and deeper into you. You move one of his hands down to your clit and he begins to teasingly trace circles around it. The room fills with the sounds of your bodies colliding and your collective moans and gasps.

Your walls begin to clench around him as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to another climax. Every sensation seems amplified under his skilled touch – from the way he sucks on your neck to the way his fingers dance on your clit.

You arch your back, pressing your ass back against him in invitation. He takes it and plunges even deeper, hitting a spot inside you that sends you spiraling out of control. He groans into your neck, a low primal sound that vibrates through him and excites you even more.

"Fuck, Bin," you moan as you feel yourself about to come undone.

Changbin's thrusts become more urgent and less controlled, his hips meeting your ass in a frenzied rhythm. He releases his grip on your neck and presses his cheek against yours, his breathing ragged as he nears his own release.

With one final thrust, he pushes you both over the edge and you cry out as waves of pleasure crash through you. Your walls clench around him tightly, milking every last drop from him.

As Changbin pulls away from you, removing his cock, panting and sweating, you turn to face him. You run your hands through his damp hair, tangling your fingers in his soft waves before moving them down to caress his cherub-like cheeks. Your lips brush against his nose before gently pressing against his plump lips. He eagerly responds by deepening the kiss, pulling you closer and exploring your mouth with his tongue. The intensity of the moment leaves you both breathless and craving more.

You finally come up for air when your stomach growls loudly. Changbin laughs against your lips.

“Let’s get you some food,” he whispers before reaching for the phone and calling room service.

The weekend unfolds like a dream, a cascade of moments where time loses meaning. It passes in a blissful haze of tangled sheets, sensual explorations, tender caresses, room service, and intimate conversations. You learn the language of each other's bodies. You spend hours wrapped up in each other’s arms. With Changbin, there's no need for lessons or instructions; it's a dance you both know instinctively.

Early Sunday morning, the horizon still dark, you’re both naked in the hot tub, the water warm and soothing against your skin. You’re straddling Changbin with your foreheads pressed together, your hands clasped behind his neck and him gripping your waist gently as you slowly ride him. Your hips are moving back and forth; each time you feel his cock graze your g-spot, you gasp against his lips. The two of you stare amorously into each other’s eyes.

In this moment, it feels like time has stood still. It's just the two of you, lost in each other's eyes and bodies. There's no need for words; everything is conveyed through the way you move against each other and the way you hold onto one another.

Changbin breaks the silence first, his voice low as he speaks. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

You press your lips softly against his before asking. “When did you know?”

“Hmmm?” he says, in between his own gasps.

“When did you know you loved me?”

“From the moment I saw you.” He says quietly. “Spring semester, my sophomore year. I walked into the rec room at the frat house and there you were, sitting at the table tutoring one of my frat brothers. You were wearing purple jeans and your black, cropped Spiderman t-shirt and you laughed loudly at some stupid thing my frat bro had said before promptly putting him in his place with a smack to the back of his head. I sat on the couch for the next hour pretending to read my biology textbook while I watched you. I thought you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.”

You kissed him again then pulled back. “And you didn’t talk to me for months after that, until the night of that frat party?”

“I was too chicken shit to. I asked him about you after the tutoring session. He said you were a cool chick and an amazing tutor, but didn’t know if you were involved with anyone. I figured that someone as amazing as you probably had all sorts of guys chasing you, if you weren’t already in a relationship. I don’t know what came over me the night of the party. I guess I was just tired of waiting. How about you? When did you know?”

“I’ve known I loved you since our third date,” you whispered.

“Astronomy night at the planetarium?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes.” You thought back to that night. As you both lay on the blanket, gazing up at the stars and talking about life, you knew he was different from anyone else you had ever dated. You’d never met anyone like him. And then he leaned over to kiss you, so sweet and gentle. When he sensed your hesitation after that first kiss, he reassured you that the pace of the relationship was entirely up to you, and he would never leave unless you wanted him to. “The way you reassured me… From that point on, I knew I was completely and irrevocably yours.”

You feel his strong hands slide up your back as he pulls you closer to him and your lips reconnect. You wrap your arms tightly around his neck and deepen the kiss even further, pouring all of your desire into it.

As you continue to ride him in the hot tub, the water creating a gentle ripple around you both, every touch becomes more electrifying than the last. You pick up the pace as you feel Changbin start to thrust upwards. The water starts to slosh around the two of you and the sound of the jets fades into the background. His lips move away from yours to explore your jawline and neck, leaving soft kisses and gentle nips along the way. Then his head dips lower so that he can lick and suck softly on one of your nipples, making you moan loudly.

Changbin moves his hands to your ass and lets out a low growl against your skin before standing up suddenly. He carries you out of the tub effortlessly, then presses you against the glass door that separates the balcony from the room. He resumes thrusting up into you as your body slams against the door. You wrap your legs tightly around him to help secure yourself.

The cool air from the balcony caresses your heated skin as Changbin relentlessly pounds into you. The contrasting temperatures only heighten the sensations, making every nerve ending in your body come alive. Your breaths are ragged as you cling to each other, bodies melded together.

Changbin's deep moans of pleasure reverberate through your bones, colliding with your own cries of ecstasy as you both approach the edge of climax together. You tilt your head back, pressing it into the glass, as Changbin kisses and sucks and bites on your neck. You smile at the thought of him adding more bruises to the collection that had already formed the day before, marking you as his. He clearly has a thing for biting.

Changbin's hips slam into yours with a force that makes the glass door shake. His pace is relentless, as if he can’t get enough of you. His lips find yours again, his tongue delving deep into your mouth, mimicking the primal rhythm of his hips. His hands move back to your ass cheeks, squeezing them roughly as he grunts with each thrust.

"God, I love you," he groans against your lips, his voice ragged with desire. "Can't get enough of this ass, baby."

You grind your pelvis against his. The friction between your bodies creates a delicious friction against your clit.

“Ah. Mmmm. Aaaah.” The little moans escape your lips, echoing throughout the balcony, as you feel the familiar build up. Suddenly the orgasm rips through you. “Oh my gawd,” you whisper into his mouth.

Changbin fucks you furiously through your climax. With each hard thrust, he brings you even higher, until it feels like you're about to shatter apart again. When your second orgasm hits, your body turns to jelly. His fingers dig into your skin as he growls low in his throat, indicating that he’s finally close.

His breathing is uneven, and his grip on your ass tightens as he buries himself to the hilt one last time before groaning out his own release. Every muscle in his body trembles with the force of his orgasm. He leans his forehead against yours, gasping for air, as your heartbeats start to slow down. “’Oh my gawd’ is right!” he whispers, causing you both to laugh breathlessly between gasps for air.

After a few moments, he lifts you off the door and carries you back to the hot tub, gently lowering you both into the water. You cling to each other, bodies entwined, as the water swirls around you. The sun is starting to rise, casting a soft pink glow over the city skyline.

"I love you too," you whisper, kissing his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder. "Never let go of me, okay?" you add, your voice quivering with emotion.

Changbin wraps his arms around your back. "Never," he whispers back, the passion in his voice undeniable. "I'll never let go of you, baby. I'm yours; all of me. Forever."

Eventually, the two of you make it back to the bed and your last few hours pass in a blur of bliss interspersed with more sex, lazy cuddling, and napping. The reality of check-out hits you later that afternoon, and you’re both hesitant to leave. As you head back to campus, Changbin’s hand covering yours as he drives, a sense of fulfillment accompanies you.

Back in your dorm room, you finally remember Chan’s text.

You:

Everything was perfect.

Thanks to you.

Your gratitude is genuine, for Chan played his part in your journey. But as you send the message, it's Changbin's face that fills your mind—the warmth of his embrace, the depth of his gaze. Right now, you're floating on cloud nine, replaying every magical moment with Changbin in your mind.

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