#and i hate having one on one conversations about it

[rin-may-1103]

Aspiring Escape Artist

(DCxDP) | Masterpost | Next

"Alright, Mr. Fenton," his newest social worker started, turning in her seat so she might actually get him to look at her. Danny continued looking out the window and up at the gigantic building they were parked in front of.

"This is your last chance before the system declares you unfit for foster homes and sends you off to juvie. And before you get all uppitty about it, know this is as much your fault as it is the system's."

Danny rolled his eyes, watching as shadows rushed past windows too tinted to actually see into. Another shadow darted past a lower one, dragging his eyes down and toward the door. The shadow was quickly followed by three more, one of them waving something over their head.

Allowing his hearing to spread out from its usual range, Danny listened as muffled shouts filled the air, quickly turning into clear words.

"GET THE MASK, GET THE MASK!"

"SHIT!" fallowed by a thump and the sound of a large piece of furniture tipping backward and landing.

"I GOT IT!" another voice cried.

"HEY, I HAd that, you little shit-"

Danny quickly pulled his hearing back, not wanting to listen anymore. He already knew he was going to hate it here.

"Now, Mr. Wayne has taken in a lot of kids and has been very gracious to open his home to you. Make no mistakes, young man. You will listen to what he tells you, and so help me, if you cause this man any trouble whatsoever, you will regret it. Stay in the car until I tell you you can get out. I need to go over your file with Mr. Wayne first."

She was acting like Danny was some delinquent picked up fresh from a gang fight. He was half tempted to act like it just to spite her, but bit his tongue and continued looking around the place.

The large garden surrounding the building was obviously well taken care of, the green hummed happily as the (what Danny's gathered) rare sunlight and clear sky.

His control over plants still needs work, but he's gotten good enough to connect to the green and get the general feelings. Like how the man who just walked out the front doors was greatly loved by the plants, which meant he was the one taking care of them.

"Are you even listening to me?" the lady huffed, unbuckling herself and shoving the car door open. She was already standing and greating the old man before Danny could respond.

"Hello, Mr. Pennyworth, was it? Hi, I'm Ms. Clance, I'm Danny's social worker. Is Mr. Wayne home?" she slammed the door shut and held her hand out for a handshake.

The older man eyed her hand but otherwise ignored it, instead turning to look at Danny, who was still in the car. "That is correct, Ms. Clance. Master Wayne is in his study; he'll be down in a moment to discuss any last minute things you need to cover. Now, why don't we get Mr. fenton inside and aquanted with the others?"

"Hold on for just a moment," Ms. Clance cut in, sending Danny a nervous glance. Danny raised his brow, but continued to pretend he couldn't hear a word they were saying, 'waiting' for her signal to get out of the car.

The front door opened behind them, three heads popping out in an obvious attempt to eavesdrop on the conversation. There was an older guy, maybe in his mid to late twenties, a blond girl, still in her teens, and a guy with eyebags. Though Danny's were definitely worse, he might have Tucker beat. which was worrying, because what could this guy possibly need to pull three all-nighters for?

"I would like to speak with Mr. Wayne before letting the kid settle in. No offence, but I want to make sure Mr. Wayne is serious in wanting to house the kid. We've already had three other families agree to take him on and then drop him in less than a month."

"I see," Mr. Pennyworth hummed, studying Danny with a sharp eye. Danny studied him back; he had good posture, and his graying hair was slicked back. He had a mustache but no other facial hair, so he obviously kept himself well-maintained. Jazz said people like that were more likely to be well-disciplined and lean toward being blunt and honest.

His stance didn't lean toward classic butler, though; it leaned toward fighting and alert. He had experience in the army or something then, which meant Danny would have to keep an eye on this guy. he probably was the one running the house when Mr. Wayne wasn't around. which meant he'd be the one watching Danny the most.

"I still believe the young man should come inside, master wayne doesn't go back on his word, and he'll unlikely do so now."

Ms. Clance warily glanced at Danny, then back at Mr. Pennyworth, a fake smile plastered on her face, before one of the three spying on the cut in," yeah! I want to meet the little guy!"

The door swung open, allowing even more people to crowd around and watch the scene in front of them.

"And you will," Ms. Clance agreed, turning to face the growing group. "Once I speak to Mr. Wayne. We have to go over a few things in Daniel's file before I can sign off on all of this."

"Like, what?" the blond one asked, her eyes meeting danny's as she skipped down the stairs. Danny could just tell she'd be down for all sorts of chaos. And he could also tell she'd be glued to his side until her interest died, which would take only clockwork knows how long.

Instinctively, Danny reached out and grabbed the door, just as someone tried opening it. Glancing up and to the side, Danny met gray eyes. It was the other girl he had spotted wandering the garden a few minutes before.

She stared at him for a moment before smiling and stepping back. 'You can come out,' she signed. Danny glanced back at Ms. Clance, then back to the girl before sighing and getting out.

Her eyes lit up once he closed the door and turned back to her.

"You know sign," she asked, her voice quiet but not obviously disused.

'absoltly not', danny signed just to be a little shit. Turning back, he stared at his social worker, who was watching them in confused frustration.

"Daniel, what did I say about staying in the car?" She looked ready to march over and smack him.

"I thought you decided I wasn't listening?" Danny pointed out, crossing his arms and leaning back against the car. If she wanted to waste time, then that was perfectly alright with him.

"Never mind," she huffed, turning back to the butler. (he had to be a butler; he looked just like the one at Sam's place or the one his parents employed when they had made that deal with the GIW. And the fact that he referred to Mr. Wayne as master wayne.)

"You never answered my question," Blondy cut in, smiling sweetly at the frustrated woman.

"Like the plethora of misdemeanors?" Danny asked, watching as everyone turned to look at him. (probably because he wasn't supposed to know what the question was, considering he was literally just in the car.) The gray-eyed girl had slowly made her way back to join the others, though she still looked happy for some reason.

"no," ms. Clance huffed, obviously starting to get overwhelmed for some reason. she needed to take a step back and breath, there was literally no reason for her to be this agitated.

"More like we need to go over how many times you snuck out, got seriously injured, seriously injured someone else, and sent your last foster parent to a mental facility."

"All classified as misdemeanors, so obviously not that bad," Danny waved off, rolling his eyes. "And Mr. Thompson deserved it."

"You drove that man insane!" she hissed, swatting a piece of her hair out of her face.

Danny blinked at her, tilting his head to the side in confusion, "He was already insane before I got there, though?" which was actually quite annoying. Danny's dealt with enough insane people at this point; he'd rather hug Vlad than deal with another one.

"He was not," Ms. Clance sniffed, trying to straighten herself out.

"he definitely was," Danny argued, pulling his backpack tighter against his back in annoyance. "The dude thought locking me in a room and feeding me white rice once a day was perfectly fine."

Danny ignored the sudden stilted silence at his words, choosing to instead focus on the man slowly making his way outside and over to them.

"Would you stop making things up already?" Ms. Clance huffed, "We've already gone over this. There wasn't a lock on your door, and there was plenty of food in the pantry."

Danny rolled his eyes, going back to studying the gray-eyed girl. The happy sparkle was gone, and she was making hand signals that the others around her were focused on. It wasn't a dialect of sign he knew, most likely a self-made code then.

"Don't need a lock to lock someone up," Danny grumbled, turning back to Ms. Clance, "and if that doesn't count as insane, then talking to the shadows on the wall and claiming to be immortal does. Do you know how many times that man tried jumping in front of cars or out of a window? Way too many. So yeah, he deserved to go to the mental institution, where he'll get some actual help."

"right," ms. clance waved off, turning to continue talking to Mr. pennyworth. danny cut in before she could, "so, do you guys make it a habit; lingering back and listening to conversations?"

The rest blinked, then turned to see who exactly he was talking to, their eyes following his as they finally spotted the man they were all waiting for.

"ah," mr. wayne chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "sorry, I didn't want to interup. it sounded important."

"Right," Danny huffed, glaring at the man. Honestly, all the eavesdropping and being loud as hell was turning out to be a regular thing based on the fact that no one else was acting like it wasn't.

Yeah, he was going to hate it here if that was true.

Next

[ijustwannabecool]

Defending Your Honor

Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader Summary... When online hate targets you, Charles takes matters into his own hands. A fan gets banned. The fandom gets obsessed. And you? You get reminded that Charles will always choose you—loudly, publicly, and intimately.

Trigger Warnings: Online harassment, misogynistic slurs, public confrontation, smut, explicit language

A/N: enjoy reading this little piece. let me know how you like it. dont forget to like, reblog, and comment your thoughts. request are open guys, so feel free to request anything. have a beautiful day :)

--

Charles wasn’t always online—but when he was, it was either to scroll through memes Arthur had sent or to check your Instagram.

Even after a long race weekend—press conferences, media obligations, debriefs—he always made time to find you.

That night, you were curled against him on the couch of your Monaco apartment, fast asleep in one of his red team shirts. The TV hummed softly in the background, showing some home renovation show you’d both forgotten to change.

He should’ve gone to sleep too. But instead, he opened Twitter.

You were trending.

Not in a fun way.

#JusticeforYN

His brows furrowed. Clicking into the tag, his stomach tightened.

A video from the Canadian GP paddock. You and Charles, walking hand-in-hand, laughing at something he’d whispered. Normal. Sweet. Intimate.

Then another clip.

You talking to Arthur, sipping on an iced coffee with a soft smile. And in the background—loud, jarring, hateful voiceovers:

“Charles’s hoe.”

“She’s only famous because she’s fucking him.”

“She thinks she’s special? Please.”

The woman recording was clearly visible. A bright red Ferrari crop top and cowboy hat. Screaming over the barrier.

Charles’s jaw clenched as the screen glowed against his face. You hadn't even flinched. You hadn’t heard any of it over the music and crowd.

But now he had.

Scrolling deeper, he found more: the same account tweeting threats. Saying she’d be at Silverstone. That she was going to “ruin” you. That she’d won a meet and greet through a sponsor.

Not on my fucking watch.

You found him pacing the kitchen the next morning, phone pressed to his ear, wearing nothing but boxers and a deep frown.

"...yes, I want her name off the list. Immediately. No, I don’t care who approved it. It’s a safety concern."

You rubbed your eyes. "Cha? Everything okay?"

His expression softened. He pressed the phone to his chest. "It’s handled, mon coeur."

--

Silverstone.

You were chatting with Lily and Carmen near the espresso machine when Charles stiffened beside you.

“She’s here,” he murmured under his breath.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t have to ask who. You saw the flash of red and country through the corner of your eye.

She was in line for the VIP meet and greet.

Charles excused himself with a kiss to your temple. You watched him cross the room with that quiet, purposeful energy that always made people stop and stare.

“Hi,” he said politely to the girl.

She lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh my god! Charles, I’m such a fan—”

“Can I speak with you? Privately.”

They moved off to the side. You couldn’t hear the conversation, but you saw her face fall. Security flanked them moments later.

Charles returned a few minutes later and wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

“She won’t bother you again. Or anyone else.”

Later that evening, tucked in your hotel bed, his hand slid beneath your shirt.

“Still thinking about it?” you asked softly.

He kissed your shoulder. “Only how I should’ve found her sooner.”

You turned in his arms, straddling his lap. “You’re not responsible for every idiot with a Twitter account, Cha.”

His hands gripped your thighs. "Non. But I am responsible for making you feel safe."

You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his. "I feel safe."

His lips were slow, reverent, then suddenly needy. His hands pulled your underwear aside and you gasped into his mouth.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into your skin, over and over. “Only mine.”

----

Fan Footage, Later That Week:

A blurry video of Charles sneaking a kiss against your neck before heading into the team garage. Captioned: “he’s obsessed with her and I love that for him.”

A Polaroid posted to your Instagram: your feet resting on Charles’s lap in the motorhome, coffee cups on the table, his hand on your thigh. Caption: quiet moments.

Another clip from a fan outside the paddock: Charles lifting your suitcase out of the car while wearing your name embroidered on the back of his jacket.

----

Twitter Aftermath

@f1gossipgirl: charles leclerc handled that like a KING. his wife is off limits, period.

@slowmoferrari: she didn’t even flinch. queen behavior.

@theylovecarles: charles removing a fan for disrespecting yn, then going out and qualifying P1? the husband energy is CRAZY.

----

That night, as you curled into his chest, Charles whispered, “They’ll never understand what you mean to me.”

You smiled against his collarbone. “They don’t have to.”

He kissed your hair, heart steady now. “I’ll always protect you. Always.”

[cruel-as-sin]

what happens when you say “i hate you” to different versions of logan (gender neutral) (smut version)

inspired by a conversation with @lostinlovingrevery, hope you all enjoy!

70s!logan

you’ve been having a really bad day. a really, really bad day. the last thing you need is logan brushing you off because he’s “got shit to do, doll.” so you say it, with a stomp of your foot for dramatic effect. you don’t mean it, he knows that. but you aren’t expecting him to also know exactly what you’re asking for, rough hands grabbing you by the hips and shoving you down onto the couch. he grumbles curses under his breath, fumbling with his belt buckle, and you can’t even process what’s happening before he’s pushing into you. the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness, cause your eyes to roll back into your head. upon seeing this, a pleased expression comes to his face. your mind goes blank within moments, no thoughts except the man pounding into you, cigar still perched in his mouth, smoke blurring your vision as he grunts. “there we go. finally fuckin’ quiet.”

origins!logan

you don’t hate him, you hate the grocery store and those assholes at work and the guy who cut you off when you were driving home. but it just kind of slips out- you’re stressed, anxious, and your sweetheart of a boyfriend unintentionally becomes your punching bag. you’ve barely gotten out an apology before he’s wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. he studies you with a serious expression, hands rubbing circles against your hips. “you hate me, huh?” you try to reassure him that no, of course you don’t, but he won’t listen, the playful glint in his eyes betraying his true intentions. “seems like we oughta fix that.” despite your protests that you’re fine, he carries you to bed with ease, laying you down and using his tongue to work as many orgasms out of you as you need to be happy and satisfied. “feelin’ better, sunshine?”

animated!logan

it comes after he’s slammed you into the danger room floor for the twentieth time that day. you’re utterly exhausted, just wanting one fucking win, but he’s not letting up. he doesn’t take it easy on you- never does. you have a lot of respect for him for it, but goddamn does it piss you off. that was probably the wrong thing to say, though, given the way he’s staring down at you right now. ��hate me? that’s harsh, bub.” something predatory flashes in his eyes. “must not wanna touch me then either.” you get to your feet, glaring daggers back at him. he draws it out with a smug smile, waiting for you to admit the truth- it’s not about if you give in, but when. you’re too proud to admit it- so instead you drag him to the nearest closet, sinking to your knees and unbuckling his belt. his hand fists itself in your hair, guiding your pace as he fucks your throat. he makes you take all of him, forcing you down to the base, grinning when you choke on his cock. “don’t worry. i’ll take this as an apology.”

trilogy!logan

you’re play fighting in the kitchen- a common occurrence as he tries to interrupt whatever you’re doing. today it borders on arguing, which is why the exasperated words direct themselves his way, punctuated by a “so much” for emphasis. he just looks at you, with his gorgeous face that has your stomach doing flips, taking a few steps closer until he’s invading your space. “that’s not what you were saying last night, baby.” the memory of last night, his touch and his filthy words in your ear, brings heat to your cheeks. his breath hits your skin, his mouth tantalizingly close to yours, the proximity making you squirm. before you know it, you’re upstairs, a smug smile on his face as he makes you fall apart with his fingers, begging and pleading for more. the way you writhe underneath him confirms what you won’t confess, and he hums in fake contemplation. “guess you don’t hate me that much after all.”

2013!logan

you want to go out into the city, he tells you it’s not safe. it’s a debate that’s been going around in circles for days until you finally let the words slip. his silence, paired with the flash of anger in his eyes, tells you that was a mistake, but it’s too late to take it back now. not that you would dream of it as he drags you to the bedroom, one rough hand grabbing your chin and forcing you to look in the mirror as he sinks you down onto his length. the other lifts your hips up then drops you back down again, a slow but brutal pace. it’s too much, and you feel lightheaded as he growls in your ear. “what do you say, sweet thing?“ still, you’re coherent enough to remember your manners, babbling incoherent thanks and apologies, reduced to a basic vocabulary as he impales you on his cock over and over. tears begin to stream down your face, and his firm hold keeps you there, made to see the way he wrecks you completely, the way you fucking love it.

dofp!logan

you’re tied down to the bed, silk rope binding your wrists and ankles. he’s been teasing you for hours. logan always likes to play with his food- slow, methodical, taking his time with you. and god, you enjoy it, but you’ve been good today and you just want your reward. the words are muttered, frustrated, and you’re grateful when he keeps going. you think must not have heard you by the way he’s bringing you closer and closer to that delicious peak, until his gravely voice is right next to your ear. “careful.” he takes your chin, making you look at him as he pulls his hand away from where you need it most. his eyes are serious, his tone a warning, one that only further turns you on. a whine escapes you, your hips bucking at just how close you are, how much you need this. “don’t want me to leave you here, do you, honey?” he smiles in satisfaction when you immediately shake your head, begging him not to do that to you. “that’s what i thought.”

old man!logan

you know you shouldn’t have said it. of course you know you shouldn’t have said it, but that didn’t stop you from doing it anyway. logan doesn’t move from the armchair he’s sitting in, whiskey bottle lowering from his lips. he raises an eyebrow, looking up at you with an unamused expression. “you done?” meekly, you swallow and nod, mumbling a sorry and thinking that’ll be the end of it. but you think wrong. he sets the bottle on the table, turning to face you again, something serious in his eyes. “c’mere.” he pays his lap. you move to sit, but he stops you with a firm hand against your thigh. “bend over, sweetheart.” your heart races as you realize what your punishment will be. you do as he says, and soon enough, your eyes are filled with tears from the spanking he delivers you. “you know better than to pull that shit on me.” he grumbles, clearly disappointed in your attitude. “don’t do it again, y’hear me? got enough to worry about without you bein’ a brat.”

worst!logan

you’re standing outside the door of your apartment when it happens. you’ve been lamenting to wade and vanessa about how much logan drives you crazy, with his stupid face and huge muscles and unfairly sexy voice. unbeknownst to you, logan is just down the hall, coming back from the grocery store. looking back, you’re fairly certain both wade and vanessa knew he was coming before you did, deciding to leave you to your cruel fate. it isn’t until you feel strong hands on your hips and warm breath on the back of your neck and a suspiciously familiar sexy voice in your ear that you realize the trap you’ve stepped into. “you’re hurting my feelings.” you turn around and are met with a fake pout. who knows where wade and vanessa went, all you know is that he’s backing you up against your door, continuing to get closer even as you stumble through apologies. “that’s it? you’re sorry?” he flashes a toothy grin, something predatory gleaming in his eyes. “come on, angel. i know you can do better than that.” he’s cornering you: nothing to do, nowhere to run- except, of course, his lips. so you give in, tongue crashing against yours, his body enveloping your senses. and trust me, he’s gonna make sure you never think a single damn bad thing about him again.

patch!logan

you’re in the casino, begging him to let you get in on a game. he says your job is to just “sit here and look pretty, darlin’,” but you’re getting really fucking bored. the moment the words cross your lips, you regret it. not just because you don’t mean it, but because you can see immediately that logan is pissed. he gives you a look the likes of which he’s never given you before, and nearly shoves you off of his lap. you wait by the edge of the table until the place empties out for the night, thinking maybe he just needed to get it out of his system. but even when the two of you are alone once more, he still doesn’t say a word, just leans back and spreads his legs- a command, and you must obey it. so you do. crawling towards him on your hands and knees, reaching up to undo his belt buckle. as you pull his cock out, beginning to stroke him, the tip of his boot presses against your thigh, and you realize what he wants you to do. you’ll do anything to make it up to him, including sacrificing your pride. so you do: grinding on his boot, pathetic whimpers leaving your lips, muffled by the way your mouth is wrapped around his cock. all the while he says nothing, staring down at you with a menacing expression, and the only thing you can do is pray that you’ll be good enough that he’ll show you mercy.

cowboy!logan

you don’t even remember what you were fighting with him about. no, that left your head the second the unimpressed expression took over his face and the words “that so?” left his lips. you nod- stupidly, you nod. then you step back, but it’s too late, his lasso wrapping around you and tugging you closer to him. “ooh.” he sucks air in through his teeth, shaking his head with a heavily disappointed expression. “that’s gonna be a problem, isn’t it?” he doesn’t let you answer, pulling on the lasso a little harder and sending you stumbling to the ground. he leans down to be face to face with you, jerking his head toward the empty farmhouse a few hundred meters away. “you’d better find a way to make it up to me, sugar. and fast.” when you still don’t move, don’t say anything, he frowns, clicking his tongue at you. “get to it.” and now his voice has that commanding tone, and suddenly you are letting him pull you towards the dirty mattress in the farmhouse, tying your wrists to the bedpost as he cages you in.

[seospicybin]

CAM.

FINAL CHAPTER

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

CAM MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Struggling to make ends meet as an art student, Hyunjin never expected his quiet neighbor to change everything. Rumored to be an adult content creator, you offer him a deal—help you with your content, and you’ll help with his financial troubles. What starts as a simple arrangement soon blurs into something more, pulling Hyunjin into a world he never imagined. (9,7k words)

Author's note: I want to thank you for following Cam series. It's been fun. Hope you enjoy this one too ♡

Hyunjin shuts the door behind him and doesn’t look back. Each step away from your apartment echoes louder in his head than the last. His chest feels tight, like he’s holding something back—like maybe he should’ve said more. Maybe he should’ve said anything else. But instead, he chose silence and walked away.

He tells himself it’s the right thing to do. That this is better. That he needs the space. That things were getting too tangled, too fast.

It’s just work, he reminds himself. You were helping me. I was helping you. That’s all it was supposed to be.

But the memory of your smile when you offered him lunch creeps in anyway. So does the look in your eyes when you asked if he was okay—genuine, soft, concerned. Too concerned. He could’ve told you the truth. That it wasn’t just about the job anymore. That he was starting to feel something he wasn’t sure he could handle.

Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten involved to begin with. Maybe he should’ve just focused on his art like he always planned. Still… he feels like he’s walking away from more than just work and that’s what scares him most.

Hyunjin spends the rest of the afternoon staring at the canvas. The brush is in his hand, the colors are ready, but the strokes come out hesitant. Disjointed. Aimless. He tells himself to focus—just paint, Hyunjin. Paint anything. And so, he does.

Slowly, shapes begin to form. A curve here. A slant there. He fills in the shadows, soft and warm, and before he realizes what he's doing, he’s painting you. Your eyes, the exact shade he remembers under the afternoon sun. Your lips, curled in a smile he can’t quite forget. Your skin, the way it glowed under the yellow light in the hallway when you said his name like it meant something. He doesn’t stop until your face is there, staring back at him and he hates it.

Not the painting. The painting is beautiful. But the fact that you’re still in his head—still under his skin.

That night, he lies in bed, restless. The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside his window. When he finally drifts off, you’re there again. In his dream, you're laughing. You're reaching for him. You're so close that he swears he can smell your perfume, feel the warmth of your fingertips tracing his wrist.

And when he wakes up, breath caught in his throat, the ghost of your touch still lingers on his skin.

-

You try to move on. You tell yourself it’s fine—that people quit all the time. That maybe he just got busy, overwhelmed, maybe school is catching up to him. You try to reason with yourself, even smile at the thought of him doing well without needing you. But the truth is, none of that makes you feel any better.

You can accept that Hyunjin doesn’t want to work with you anymore. What you can’t accept—what keeps tugging at your chest like a thread being pulled loose—is that he didn’t even give you a reason why.

No conversation. No explanation. Just that look on his face, distant and closed off, and the way he walked away like everything between you didn’t mean a thing.

You think about how his voice used to sound when he laughed at your stupid jokes. You think about his fingers—paint-stained and warm—fixing the lighting for your shoot like he actually cared. You think about the way his eyes used to linger on you, like he wanted to say something but never did.

Maybe it was all in your head. Maybe you wanted to believe he cared more than he actually did. You spiral—hard. The thoughts come in fast and loud. Of course he didn’t want to stay. Who would?

You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone like it holds the answers. But there are no new messages. No calls. No missed anything. Just silence.

You tell yourself to move on. To focus. To film something. Edit. Call someone else to help. But none of it feels right. None of it feels like him. And maybe that’s the hardest part. Not that he left, but that he left you not knowing why.

Now you can’t stop thinking that maybe it’s not about work at all. Maybe he just doesn’t want anything to do with you. And maybe... he's right to feel that way.

The curtains are drawn, casting a muted gray over your apartment. You’ve been lying on the sofa for hours, curled up in the same position, the blanket barely clinging to your body as your phone keeps chiming over and over. You know what it is. You don’t even have to look.

Eventually, with a sigh, you reach over and swipe it off the table, the screen lighting up with a flood of notifications—all of them from Lustre.

You open the app. Your inbox is filled with flirty, suggestive messages. Compliments on your last post. Requests. Heart emojis. Tips. Offers. You scroll through them with your thumb, barely registering the words. Just eyes glazed over, searching, hoping—waiting—for one name to appear.

But it doesn’t. He’s not there. Not even a silent like. Not even a ghost view.

Your shoulders drop, a quiet, bitter laugh escaping your lips before you toss your phone aside. It lands on the cushion with a soft thud, screen dimming back to black. You drag yourself up, feet cold against the floor as you wander aimlessly around your apartment. It’s too quiet. Too still. And your mind feels just as noisy as it is empty.

As you walk past the makeshift studio, you pause. Something catches your eye. You lean against the doorway, arms crossed as you stare at it—the massive painting that takes up nearly half the back wall. The one you did with Hyunjin. The colors, bold and chaotic. Your brush strokes and his—blended, layered, messy. Your bodies had moved in sync, hands stained with paint, clothes ruined, laughter echoing as you danced around the canvas like kids. Then, the shoot after—bare skin streaked with color, flashes of camera light, his hand warm against your hip as he adjusted the lens.

You remember how proud he was of that piece. The way you both collapsed on the floor after, cracking open cold drinks, toasting with paint-smeared fingers. The initials you both scrawled in the corner, still visible beneath a smudge of deep blue. It was the first of many. A beginning. And now it just feels like an echo of something that’s already ended.

Your heart aches—sharp and sudden, like a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You step closer, fingers brushing the dry surface of the canvas, as if touching it might bring some part of him back even though you know it doesn’t and you’re left there in the silence, missing someone who might’ve already let you go.

Squatting down, your eyes catch the initials in the corner: S.H.

You trail your fingers over them, gently outlining the letters. Your voice barely makes a sound as you murmur, “Sam Hwang.”

The name feels strange in your mouth—familiar, but distant, like something you've read in passing but never truly paid attention to.

Sam Hwang…

You say it again, this time letting it roll slower off your tongue. And then you freeze. You straighten up slowly, eyes widening as your mind starts connecting the pieces.

Sam Hwang.

You scramble for your phone, heart thudding as you fumble to unlock it. Your fingers are unsteady as you tap open the Lustre app and pull up the messages from that one user you had grown fond of—the one who always left sweet, thoughtful notes beneath your content. Never crude. Always kind.

You scroll back through the messages. The way they referenced things you never shared online—small details, like the time you wore your hair differently, or when you used a different song in your clips. It felt like they knew you. Like they saw you.

And then your brain syncs it all at once. The flowers.

Those purple tulips Hyunjin brought you, for no reason at all—just because. You thought it was sweet, random and you were too busy to notice it. But then you remember that it's the flowers on his profile picture. You stare at the screen, your pulse racing.

Mag.Shawn.

Sam Hwang.

It's an anagram. It’s him. It’s been him all along. You cover your mouth with your hand, a shaky breath slipping past your fingers as you try to steady yourself. Every message flashes through your mind now, suddenly reframed in Hyunjin’s voice. The compliments. The support. The gentle teasing. The way he never crossed a line.

Your knees give slightly, and you sit back on the floor with your phone still clutched in your hand, your heart pounding as if you just uncovered a secret love letter that was never meant to be found. Now that you know… everything feels different because it was never just about work. Not really. It was always something more.

-

Hyunjin is tired. Not the kind of tired that paint-stained fingers and aching shoulders bring—but the kind that seeps into the space behind his ribs, hollowing out something he’s not sure he’ll find again.

The school studio had been silent all day except for the low hum of music and the scratch of brushes against canvas. He painted aimlessly, moving through motions that didn’t bring the kind of release they once did. He should’ve felt accomplished. But instead, he just felt... alone.

When he finally makes his way back to the apartment building, the sky is a deep shade of navy. He climbs the familiar stairs slowly, dragging his feet, thoughts tangled like loose threads in his mind.

It’s when he rounds the corner, about to take the next flight up, that he sees you. Sitting on the steps, elbows on your knees, fingers nervously fidgeting. And when you look up—eyes locking with his like magnets clicking into place—Hyunjin stops breathing for a second. He knows that look. It's the same one he saw on that night you first talked to him. You’ve been waiting for him.

You rise slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid you might scare him off. But your voice is steady when you ask, “Can we talk?”

Hyunjin clenches his jaw. His heart hammers against his ribs, screaming yes, yes, let her in—but his head tries to keep control.

“There’s nothing left to talk about,” he says flatly. He doesn’t even look at you when he moves past, doesn’t dare. If he does, he knows he’ll unravel.

You don’t give up. Your footsteps echo behind him, too close, too persistent, and your voice comes again, more urgent this time. “I’m not mad that you quit, Hyunjin. I just need to know why.”

He doesn’t answer. Can’t. The words stay lodged somewhere in his throat, too complicated, too heavy to give voice to. His fingers tighten around the doorknob as he unlocks it. He finally turns to face you, his body angled half into the apartment, half still in retreat.

“Can we not do this now?” he mutters. “Just… not tonight.”

He starts to step inside but then you’re pushing forward—determined, fierce—and before he can stop you, you’re inside his apartment. The door clicks shut behind you, and the air between you both thickens.

“I’m not leaving,” you say quietly, “not until we talk.”

And just like that, he knows—there’s no more hiding.

You stand in the middle of the room like it’s a battlefield. You’ve crossed your arms in front of you, trying to brace yourself, trying not to fold. Your voice cuts through the heavy silence.

“Why?”

Hyunjin avoids your eyes. He turns slightly away, jaw tense. “I’m just tired,” he mutters. “I need to focus on school.”

You don’t say anything for a moment. You just stand there, the weight of his answer settling between you. Then, quietly, you say, “That’s not the real reason.”

Your voice begins to build, unraveling with everything you’ve been holding back. “These past few days I’ve been going over everything in my head, over and over again. I needed to know why, Hyunjin. Why you left like that, without saying a word. I thought maybe I did something wrong, maybe I made you uncomfortable, or maybe…”

Your voice cracks as frustration begins to break through. “Is it because of that night at Sienna’s party? Was it about Felix? Was it... me?”

Hyunjin flinches, hands tightening into fists at his sides. Your words sting in places he doesn’t want to admit. “It’s because I know you don’t want me,” he blurts, louder than he means to. You stare at him, eyes narrowing, confused. He takes a shaky breath, and his voice comes again, rawer this time. “Why haven’t you posted the content we made together? Is it because you didn’t want to do it with me? Because you don’t want me in it? Or is it… is it because you’re ashamed?”

You’re quiet now. The question hangs in the air like smoke. Then you breathe in, shaky and small, and your voice is almost a whisper when you speak. “I didn’t post it because I don’t want this life for you.”

Your arms uncross, and your gaze drops to the floor. “You’re a real artist, Hyunjin. You’re talented. You deserve to be known for your work—not as some guy who makes content with me.”

Your voice is trembling now, your words fragile. “I don’t want to be the reason you get looked at differently. Judged. You’re better than this.”

Hyunjin’s chest tightens. He almost snaps again, but he holds it in. Instead, he takes a step forward, voice low and steady. “Better than what, huh?”

You look up at him, eyes glassy, lips parting like you might speak—but nothing comes out. Another tear escapes, and without thinking, he reaches for you, gently placing his hands on your elbows.

“Do you even know what I want?” he asks, softer now.

You blink, your breath catching, and you shake your head. “No,” you say quietly. “But I know you’re better than this. I know you deserve more.”

His thumb catches the tear that rolls down your cheek.

“What if this—” he whispers, voice shaking just a little, “what if you are what I want?”

Hyunjin leans in slightly, the words right there, barely held back. “I want you,” He says, breathing through the emotion swelling in his chest. “And whatever comes with you.”

-

The second those words leave his mouth—“I want you. And whatever comes with you.”—you break.

It’s not graceful or quiet. It’s a sudden rush of breath you didn’t know you were holding, and then your face crumples as the tears fall fast and hot. You cover your face with both hands, like that could somehow muffle the sound of your sob, but it doesn’t work.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen with alarm, as if he hadn’t expected that reaction. As if he doesn’t understand why it hurts you so much to hear something so kind.

“You shouldn’t,” you croak between your fingers, voice thick and breaking. “You shouldn’t want me.”

That’s the part that cracks him open too. He doesn’t ask you why. He doesn’t tell you you’re wrong. He just steps forward and wraps his arms around you like he means to hold every shattered piece of you together. His warmth surrounds you instantly—his arms firm around your back, one hand on the back of your head, gently cradling you as you cry into his shoulder.

“I do,” he whispers, voice close to your ear. “I want you. I only want you.”

You cling to him, your hands fisting into the back of his shirt as if letting go would undo everything. The weight of everything—the confusion, the distance, the aching loneliness—pours out of you all at once, and still, Hyunjin holds you tighter.

You breathe in slowly, trying to steady the trembling in your chest. The worst of your tears have passed, but your throat still burns and your hands are still curled in the fabric of his hoodie, like you’re afraid to let go.

When you finally lift your head, your eyes meet his—deep, warm, unwavering. And it’s there again. That quiet devotion. That stubborn tenderness he always gives you without asking for anything in return.

“I do want you,” you rasp, voice barely above a whisper. “But I just… I know you deserve better.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, his thumb brushes softly across your lips, silencing the words before they can cut deeper into the space between you. He looks at you with something like heartbreak and fierce affection wrapped into one.

“You’re the only one I want,” he says, voice low and sure, as if daring you to challenge him again and then he leans in.

His lips find yours in a kiss that’s tender at first, then deepens with something heavier—something full of things he’s been holding back for far too long. It’s not rushed, not messy. It’s slow, consuming, full of warmth and ache and all the unsaid things that have been living between your hearts.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. Just enough to cup your face with both hands, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his breath mixing with yours.

“You’re all I want in this world,” he whispers.

And before you can say anything else, he kisses you again—like a vow, like a promise, like he’s sealing every word he just said with the press of his lips against yours.

You pull away just enough to catch your breath, your forehead still resting against his. Your lips are tingling, heart pounding, and there's something new blooming in your chest—hope, maybe. Or something dangerously close to it.

You swallow, eyes flicking down to his lips before finding his gaze again. “Do you… want to continue?” you ask softly. “Pick up where we left off that night?”

For a moment, Hyunjin just blinks at you—like the question caught him off guard. But then a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, warm and crooked and so undeniably him. He lets out a breathy laugh, voice laced with fond disbelief. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that.”

Hyunjin kisses you again—deeper this time, with more urgency. Like something in both of you has snapped free and there's no turning back now. His hands slide down to your thighs, and in one swift motion, he hoists you up. You gasp softly, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist, your arms looping around his shoulders as you press yourself closer. Your bodies fit together like they remember how it felt—how right it was.

The kiss grows heated, the air between you humming with everything unsaid and everything still to come. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, it feels like the weight on your chest has lifted, like you're exactly where you're supposed to be—held tightly in his arms, kissed like you're the only thing he sees.

Hyunjin carries you down the short hallway with a kind of quiet certainty, his arms secure around you, his breath steady near your ear. Your heart flutters with every step—part anticipation, part disbelief that you're here, that this is happening again but different, deeper.

You glance over your shoulder, peeking into the dimly lit room as the two of you enter. It's the first time you’ve seen his bedroom, and the sight makes your lips twitch. The bed—mattress on the floor, slightly rumpled sheets, a couple of sketchbooks stacked on the nightstand—is exactly what you expected, yet still makes you grin.

You turn your head back to him, raising an eyebrow. “No bedframe, huh?”

Hyunjin just smirks, unbothered. “Didn’t realize I needed one to impress you.”

Your laughter is soft, breathy against his neck, and before you can fire back a reply, he’s already kneeling to lower you onto the mattress. The sheets are cool against your skin, but the warmth in his eyes keeps you steady. He leans over you, his fingers brushing your cheek, and for a second, he just looks at you like he's taking you in all over again, like you're his favorite work of art.

You feel it—that pull in your chest, that ache in your throat—as Hyunjin hovers above you, his eyes locked onto yours. There’s something intense in his gaze, something unspoken yet so loud it fills the room. His stare burns through the quiet, says everything he hasn’t said yet and everything you’ve been too scared to admit.

When he kisses you again, his body settles gently over yours, and you instinctively welcome the weight of him, the warmth, the way his presence wraps around you like a second skin. There’s nothing frantic about the way he touches you—his hands glide over your body like he’s relearning every inch. But even within that gentleness, there’s a sense of urgency. His fingers trail down your arm, brushing the side of your waist, and you can feel how much he wants you—how much he’s been wanting you. Still, there’s something soft in his every movement. Like even when he’s aching for you, he’s still being careful with your heart.

You don’t know what gets into you—but the moment your eyes meet his, wide and expectant beneath you, something shifts. A boldness, maybe. A need to let him feel what you've been holding back. You roll over, catching him off guard, and suddenly it's him beneath you. His back hits the mattress with a soft thud, and his breath catches as your legs settle on either side of his hips. His hands instinctively find your waist, grounding himself in your touch.

For a moment, you just take him in. The way his dark hair falls into his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his chest rises and falls a little quicker now. You can’t help but trace the shape of him with your eyes, then with your hands—slowly, deliberately. Fingers skimming down his chest, feeling the warmth beneath the fabric.

You start unbuttoning his shirt, one at a time. His muscles tense beneath your touch, his breath hitching when your palm brushes bare skin. When the shirt parts open, your hand slides over the contours of his chest—smooth skin, defined lines, the flutter of his heartbeat under your fingertips.

And then your lips follow. You press gentle kisses against his skin, soft and slow, tasting the warmth of him, the way he shivers with every touch. As your kisses trail lower, his breath grows more uneven. You pause just at the edge of his waistband, the tension between you humming like a live wire. You lift your head just enough to look at him, his lips parted, eyes dark with anticipation, and the faintest tremble in his breath. You smirk.

Then you lean in and kiss him—hard. His lips mold to yours instantly, his hands gripping your waist tighter, pulling you closer, like he needs you there, needs this. And between the kisses, your voice dips low, teasing against his mouth.

“Why are you so nervous?” you murmur, brushing your nose against his. “It’s not like this is the first time we’re doing this.”

You feel the subtle hitch in his breath, the way his fingers flex against your skin. Still, he doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, he surges up, kissing you again. Deeper this time. Hungrier. Like that was all the encouragement he needed.

You melt into it, into him, your body pressed flush against his, his warmth grounding you in ways nothing else ever could. His hands roam—up your back, over your spine, holding you close and you stay there, tangled in him, lips moving together in quiet desperation, slow but insistent, a rhythm you both fall into with ease.

You breathe him in, every kiss tasting like something familiar but new again. And wrapped in his arms, with the weight of his affection holding you steady, the ache in your chest softens.

For now, it’s just the two of you. No doubts, no questions—just this moment, and the way he makes you feel like you’re the only thing he wants.

-

Hyunjin feels every second of your kiss like it’s being etched into his memory—every soft press of your lips, every shift of your body melting against his. You fit against him so perfectly, like your body was molded to match his. And god, he could stay like this forever.

Even with his mouth busy, his heart races as he feels your hand glide lower, fingers trailing the edge of his jeans. He catches your wrist gently, right before you can slip your hand beneath the waistband. You pull back slightly, gasping in surprise, and the look on your face—wide-eyed and slightly mischievous—makes his chest ache in the sweetest way.

You’re straddling him still, your legs snug around his hips, and he props himself up on one elbow, gazing at you. Your lips turn into an adorable pout. “But we’ve been waiting so long for this.”

He knows you’re right. He knows the urgency, the ache in your voice—it’s the same one he feels burning through him.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice low as he reaches up, brushing a few strands of your hair away from your face. He lets his fingertips trail along your jaw before settling just beneath it, holding you gently.

He leans in and kisses you. Slowly. Purposefully. Like he’s telling you everything he can’t quite put into words. When he pulls back, barely an inch from your lips, he rests his forehead against yours and whispers, “But let's make this lasts.”

You let out a quiet breath, your lips curling into a soft smile, and he swipes his thumb gently across your bottom lip, marveling at the way you look at him like he’s worth something, like he matters. And then he kisses you again, capturing that smile with his lips, holding it there between the both of you—this tender, perfect moment that feels like it could stretch into forever.

His hands find the hem of your blouse, fingers brushing warm skin as he gently tugs the fabric upward and over your head. You let him, your arms rising instinctively, eyes never leaving his. He trails his fingers down the length of your arms afterward, slow and reverent, like you’re something sacred, something to be worshiped.

When he reaches behind you, his fingers find the clasp of your bra, unhooking it with ease. You let the straps slide down your shoulders, and he watches as you shrug it off completely, tossing it somewhere forgotten. His breath catches when he sees you—bare, soft, and beautiful in the dim light.

He reaches out, fingertips tracing the slope of your collarbone before moving lower. He touches your chest with care at first, almost in awe, and rests his hand flat on your sternum, feeling the rapid thud of your heart beneath his palm. Slowly, he glides it down until it finds home on your ribcage, holding you steady as he leans in.

His mouth follows next—kisses pressed along your jaw, trailing to the curve of your neck, each one lingering longer than the last. He kisses your chest, hands rising to cup your breasts with a kind of reverence, but also urgency. His palms are warm, fingers pressing in gently, fondling and kneading. When he takes your nipple into his mouth, your breath stutters into a soft moan, and that sound alone drives him wild.

He lavishes attention on you, switching sides, leaving behind faint wet marks on your skin—his own quiet claim. He moves higher, up your chest, his tongue smoothing along your skin before he suckles the hollow between your neck and shoulder, and he feels you shiver beneath him.

Hyunjin breathes you in as he buries his face against your sternum, his lips resting just above your heartbeat. It drums steadily against him, louder somehow now that everything else has quieted — the world, his thoughts, the tension that had built between the two of you over the past days. All of it fades as he listens to the rhythm of your heart, like it’s telling him something he already knows deep down.

Your hands come up gently, arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him close. Your fingers slide into his hair and he sighs into your skin — the sound barely audible but full of meaning. You don’t speak. Neither of you needs to. It’s not about words right now.

The warmth of your embrace, the bare skin against his, the rise and fall of your chest under his cheek — it feels like a thread, invisible and delicate, tugging the two of you closer until there’s nothing between you. Nothing but the ache of longing finally answered. He presses a soft kiss to your chest, right over your heart, and stays there, still, quiet, content.

For the first time in a long while, Hyunjin feels whole — like he isn’t running from anything anymore. Like maybe this… is exactly where he’s meant to be.

After a long moment, he lifts his head from your chest, his breath warm against your skin as his gaze finds yours — intense and unreadable. Then, without a word, he shifts his weight and catches you off guard, pushing you gently down onto the bed, reversing your positions once more. You let out a soft gasp, eyes wide as you land against the mattress, your hair fanned out beneath you.

His hands frame your face as he leans down and kisses you again — slow, deep, claiming. You can feel the change in him, in the air. It’s not rushed. It’s not just need. It’s more than that now.

As his lips part from yours, his hands begin to explore you again, moving down your sides in a slow, reverent motion. Every brush of his fingers leaves a trail of goosebumps in their wake. When they reach your hips, they linger for a heartbeat before he tugs gently at the waistband of your shorts.

His gaze lifts to meet yours again, seeking permission without speaking, and when you give the slightest nod, he inhales quietly and then continues — slowly peeling them down your legs, your underwear along with them. The air feels cooler against your skin as you’re exposed to him fully, but the way he looks at you makes you feel anything but vulnerable.

He kneels there at the edge of the bed, unmoving for a moment, just looking at you. Not in lust — though there’s desire in his eyes — but in awe, like he’s looking at a painting he doesn’t dare touch, like he wants to memorize every curve of you, every detail, as if you were art in motion. And to him, you are.

His hands are steady as he leans in again, his lips brushing over yours in a soft, lingering kiss before moving lower. He places gentle, fluttering kisses along your collarbone, then down to your ribcage — slow, unhurried. His mouth grazes your navel, then your left hip, each press of his lips last longer than then previous.

You gasp softly when he slips his hand under the back of your thigh and lifts it, his lips finding the soft skin of your inner thigh. He lingers there for a breath, the warmth of his mouth sending ripples through your entire body. Then he trails lower, his lips brushing down your calf, and finally landing on the sole of your foot. The unexpected kiss makes you giggle, the sound breaking through the quiet like sunlight through clouds.

After giving your foot a quick massage, he gently sets your leg down and looks up at you, his expression shifting — no longer teasing or playful, but full of something much deeper. He sighs, almost shakily, and brings his hand up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing along your cheek.

“I should be the one asking if I deserve all this,” he murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “If I really deserve every beautiful part of you… to touch you, kiss you, hold you.”

You don’t say anything — the way you look at him already says enough.

Hyunjin reaches for your hand, holding it tenderly in both of his. He brings your wrist to his lips first, placing a kiss there like he’s sealing a vow, then presses one to your open palm. Then he shifts forward, lowering himself over you slowly. His body presses gently into yours, his skin warm, his heartbeat strong and steady against your chest.

This time, he’s not just close. He’s with you — completely, quietly, and fully present. Molding into you, like the final brushstroke that completes a painting.

Just when you’re completely wrapped in him, he suddenly pulls away, sitting up on the bed with a breathless laugh, eyes flickering with something unspoken. You watch him as he impatiently pushes his jeans down his hips, shedding the last barrier between you. His sigh of relief is audible, and the way his chest rises and falls is enough to make your breath catch.

Hyunjin doesn’t waste time to wrap his hand around his swollen length with evident veins coiling around it, pulsating with need. He glances at you through heavy lashes, his hand begins stroking it up and down, then he murmurs, “Do you want to?”

You don’t answer with words—just a slow, sure nod. He reaches for your hand, guiding it gently, curling your fingers around his hot, hard cock.

The moment your hand wraps around him, his jaw tightens, his eyes fluttering half shut. Together, you find a rhythm—pumping his cock at a slow, steady pace, the tension thick between you as your eyes stay locked, every breath shared and every movement deliberate. There's no rush, just this quiet moment of closeness, of trust and want, unfolding between the two of you.

Hyunjin’s breath hitches as your hand continues its slow movements, the tension in his body unraveling under your touch. His eyes stay on you, dark and intense, until they flicker downward. With one hand still wrapped around yours, guiding the rhythm, his other hand trails down your thigh—light, teasing, reverent.

When his fingers slip between your legs, dipping into your wetness. His touch is gentle at first, exploratory, but it doesn't take long before he’s pressing two digits into you, finding the spot that makes you shift and gasp. His lips part as he watches your reaction, his own breathing getting heavier.

“So wet,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, “so ready for me.” There’s awe in the way he says it, almost like he can’t believe this is real—that you're here, letting him touch you like this.

The sensation of his fingers working you open while your hand still pumping his cock pulls a shiver from deep inside. It’s a push and pull, each of you responding to the other in quiet desperation, building the tension between you. His forehead presses to yours for a second, grounding both of you, his eyes closed like he’s trying to savor every second and when he opens them again, there’s no mistaking the hunger swimming there—an ache mirrored in your own heart.

You barely have time to react before Hyunjin grabs both of your wrists and pins them gently above your head, his fingers firm but careful around your wrists. His eyes meet yours, hooded and dark with want, and for a moment, all you can hear is your breathing—intertwined and uneven.

Then his free hand slips between your bodies, guiding himself down until the thick heat of his cock presses right against where you need him most. He doesn’t enter—only drags his length along your soaked core, slow and maddening, your essence coating his shaft for every time it sides between your folds. The friction makes your back arch, your body instinctively chasing more, needing more. But Hyunjin just smirks, watching the way you react to him as the tip of his cock pressing right on your clit.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice gravelly, lips brushing against your cheek as his hips roll forward again, grinding against you in a way that makes your whole body tense and tremble. “This is how much I want you…”

You whimper beneath him, wrists still caught in his hold, entirely at his mercy. Each slow stroke of his hips is deliberate, calculated to tease, and it works—you're writhing, eyes fluttering shut, your legs falling open for him without a second thought.

Hyunjin leans down and kisses your jaw, your neck, then your lips, swallowing every sound you make as he keeps moving, driving you to the edge without even taking you there yet.

Despite the desperate, breathless moans you let out, he doesn’t ease up. If anything, his teasing only grows more deliberate, each slow roll of his hips keeping you right on the edge, never enough to satisfy the ache building in your core. You squirm beneath him, your breaths coming out shaky, helpless—your body begging for what your lips still struggle to say.

“Please,” you whisper. Then again, more desperate. “Please… please…”

Hyunjin lowers his head, brushing his lips against your temple. “Please what?” he murmurs, voice rough with control, eyes glinting with mischief.

You can’t answer—not with words. Instead, you keep whispering his name between each breathless plea, your hands clutching at his arms, your hips lifting, chasing him. A slow, almost smug smile forms on his lips.

And then finally, you manage a broken, “I want you.”

He pauses to look down between your bodies where your need for him is obvious—undeniable. He can see it from how drenched you are, from the way your essence gets all over his thick shaft.

“Yeah?” he says, low and teasing, brushing the crest of his cock against you, slipping just barely in. “I can see that.”

You let out a choked whimper, nodding frantically, pleading again without shame. “Please. I need you.”

Hyunjin releases your wrists, only to grip your hip with one hand and steady himself with the other. Slowly, achingly slow, he pushes into you—just an inch or two—then stops. The pressure is there, intense and lingering, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. He looks down at you, lips parted, eyes dark and focused entirely on the way you react to him.

“You want more?” he asks, breath hitching as he holds himself still inside you, teasing you with just enough to drive you wild.

Your back arches, fingers digging into the sheets. “Yes,” you gasp. “More. Please…”

Hyunjin leans in, kissing your neck before murmuring against your skin, “Then hold on to me.”

Despite his words, he doesn’t grant your plea just yet. Instead, he moves with intention—slow, shallow thrusts that never go deeper than your entrance, but it’s more than enough. Each time he rocks into you, it sends a ripple of heat through your body, igniting something that builds faster than you expect. He watches you carefully, his hand gripping your hip tighter each time you clench around him.

You’re unraveling beneath him, your breath catching, moans spilling from your lips in broken, rasping fragments. And he can feel it—how close you are, how your body trembles under the weight of your need.

“You’re close,” he whispers, voice husky as he leans closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You nod, unable to form words, completely lost in the feeling. Then it hits. Your back arches, fingers twisting into the sheets as your release rushes through you in waves, pleasure so intense it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.

Your body pulses around him, and you’re still gasping for breath when Hyunjin finally moves again. He exhales shakily—almost a groan—and slowly sinks all the way in, filling you completely in one smooth, careful push. He's giving you what you want when you least expect it.

You gasp, overwhelmed, your body still sensitive from the climax. The sensation of him, so hard, so deep and still inside you, makes your whole body shiver. You can feel his heart pounding against yours, his breath brushing over your lips as he hovers above you.

He stills, just holding you, letting you feel every inch of him as your body adjusts—pulsing, vibrating gently around him. “You feel… unreal,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his voice raw with awe.

-

Hyunjin feels like everything.

Inside you, around you—He is all you can feel, all you can see. And for the first time, it truly feels like the two of you have become one. Every breath he takes, you feel it in your lungs. Every beat of his heart echoes in your own.

You wrap your arms tightly around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel his weight, his warmth, his reality. Your lips find his, and he kisses you like he’s been holding back an ocean of longing—eager, deep, like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth.

You pull away just a little, breath caught, lips still brushing his as you whisper, “Hyunjin…”

The second his eyes meet yours, you know he’s listening—really listening. Like your voice is the only sound in the world.

“Take me,” you say, voice low and trembling. “Make me... Claim me.”

His brows draw together, jaw twitching like he’s trying to hold something back. You reach up and brush the hair that’s fallen over his face, tucking it behind his ear, your thumb gliding gently across his temple.

“Come inside me,” you breathe.

That’s when you feel it—something in him shifts, snaps, cracks wide open. His restraint melts away, and suddenly his mouth is on yours again, desperate, aching. He starts to move, slow at first, but there’s something different now. Every thrust is more than just movement—it’s a vow, a promise, a confession.

There’s no bedframe beneath you, just the mattress pressed against the floor, and for a fleeting second, you’re oddly thankful—because with the way he’s moving, rough and hungry, anything else would’ve fallen apart beneath the weight of it all.

His gaze never leaves you. It darkens when he sees your hands slide up to your chest, fingers teasing over your erected nipples, doubling the pleasure sparking through your body. You squeeze and cup yourself, breath hitching, and when you bring your breasts together for him, he takes them in his mouth in an instant. His tongue swirls, flicks, sucks on your nipples and on the flesh of your mounds, drawing shameless moans from your throat that echo off the bare walls.

Then he grabs your hands gently, pulling them away and placing them around his shoulders like an unspoken message—hold on to me. And you do.

Hyunjin picks up the pace, his breath turning ragged against your skin, and all you can do is cling to him, gasping, moaning, unraveling as his body claims yours with everything he has. There’s no space between you anymore, only heat, only movement, only the rush of him building toward the edge.

And when he finally lets go—when he gives you all of him, coming inside you and fill you full of him just like you asked—it feels like a vow, wordless and sacred. A promise sealed with every part of him. He collapses into you, your bodies tangled, breath shared. In that moment, he is wholly, completely yours. And you are his.

-

The bed is cold when you wake up.

The first thing you notice is the emptiness beside you—no warmth, no steady heartbeat to lull you back into sleep. Just rumpled sheets and the faint imprint of where he lay last night.

You blink against the light, slowly sitting up, the duvet clutched to your chest. It smells like him—something between fresh paint and fabric softener—and you breathe it in like it’ll bring him back. It only makes your heart ache a little more.

“Hyunjin?” you call out softly, voice rough from sleep and get no reply.

Your gaze lands on his sweater, half-draped at the edge of the bed. You reach for it, pulling it over your head, letting the sleeves hang long past your hands. It’s warm. It’s him. And somehow, it helps.

You slide out of the bed and walk through the apartment barefoot, your steps quiet. “Hyunjin?” you call again, a little louder this time and still no answer.

The silence makes the apartment feel unfamiliar like it doesn’t quite belong to either of you without him in it. You wander through the space, and your eyes land on the canvas—that one. The one covered by a white cloth. The one he said was a failure. You hesitate for only a second before stepping closer. Your fingers grip the edge of the fabric, and with one careful tug, you lift it. The breath catches in your throat. It’s… you.

A portrait. A figure rendered in soft colors and tender strokes. The way he’s painted you—it’s intimate, it’s raw. It’s real. Not just your features, but the way he sees you. The way he feels you. And he called this a failure?

Your fingertips trail lightly along the edge of the painting, your chest swelling with something deep and warm. He lied. Not because the painting wasn’t good, but because it meant too much to show. And the fact that he created this—that he thought of you like this—makes your heart ache in the most beautiful way.

Then you hear it—the click of a lock turning, the quiet creak of the front door opening. You turn just as Hyunjin steps inside, balancing two takeaway coffee cups in one hand and a paper bag in the other. His sweater hangs a little loose, and his hair is messy from the breeze outside. His eyes land on you in surprise.

“Hey—!”

You run to him, arms wrapping tightly around his torso, and he gasps as he tries to keep the coffee from spilling. His laugh is muffled against your hair as he shifts the cups to one hand.

“Careful,” he says through a breathless chuckle. “Or I have to go and buy coffee again.”

“You left me,” you say with a dramatic pout, burying your face into the soft fabric of his hoodie. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“I didn’t think I’d be long,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You were still asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze—and then you kiss him. A soft, sleepy kiss, full of affection. When you pull away, there’s a smile playing at your lips. “Good morning.”

His own smile softens as he leans in again, placing a longer kiss on your lips, like he missed you in the hour he was gone. “Good morning,” he echoes. “Let’s have breakfast, mmh?”

And just like that, the day starts with him again. Just the way you like it.

-

You and Hyunjin settle onto the sofa, breakfast in your laps and a lazy, quiet comfort hanging in the air between you. The sun filters in through the windows, casting a soft glow over everything. He sits beside you, legs spread just enough for you to slide in closer. After finishing your pastry, you cradle your coffee cup between your hands, still warm and fragrant.

Without a word, you scoot closer to him, draping your legs over his lap and letting them rest comfortably between his. He glances at you, smiling softly, and you return it with one of your own.

“So,” you start, sipping your coffee slowly before turning to face him fully, “I saw the painting.”

His brows lift, amused, and a little sheepish. “You did?”

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “You lied to me.”

Hyunjin huffs out a laugh. “I did say it was a failure.”

You jab a finger into his chest and grin. “It’s me.”

He tilts his head, playing along. “Do you like it?”

You set your coffee cup down on the table, then fold your arms and pout at him. “I don’t like it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“I love it,” you say with a wide grin. “So much.”

He chuckles and shifts slightly to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. “It’s not finished yet.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “When are you going to finish it then?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

You pout again, exaggerated and dramatic. “Why not?”

He looks down at you, eyes soft and full of something you can’t quite name—something tender, something warm. “Why should I finish it,” he murmurs, “when I have the real one right here?”

You groan out loud, burying your face against his chest. “Ugh, you’re so cheesy.”

He laughs, a full, unguarded sound—and you can’t help but join him, laughing like everything in the world is just a little lighter when you’re together and maybe it is.

You set your coffee cup aside on the table, shifting on the couch so you can climb onto Hyunjin’s lap. He doesn’t protest—in fact, he opens his arms right away, welcoming you into them. You nestle into him, your knees framing his hips, and he takes a long sip of his coffee before placing his cup down as well. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, and you feel his chest rise and fall against yours.

You tilt your head and kiss his jaw, then press another soft one to his cheek. He turns to look at you, amused and already smiling when you gently grab his chin and turn his face toward you for a quick peck on the lips. Then you settle back into him, your head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck. His warmth surrounds you, his scent familiar, and when you glance up at him, something in your chest flutters.

“We should go on a date,” you murmur.

His thumb brushes along your cheek, soft and sweet. “Where do you want to go?” he asks.

You hum as you think. “Uhm... To your favorite place?”

He smirks, his hand playfully hovering on your inner thigh, intentionally brushing his knuckles against your clothed core. “My favorite place is right here.”

You gasp, laughing as you lightly slap his chest. “Hyunjin!”

He laughs too, that bright, boyish sound filling the room. “Just being honest here,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender.

You nod, your expression softening. “You know... somewhere that feels personal to you.”

Hyunjin leans in and places an affectionate kiss on your lips, lingering for a second before pulling back just enough to whisper, “I know a place.”

-

Hyunjin pats down the pockets of his jacket, doing a quick mental check—phone, wallet, keys and that thing in the inner pocket of his jacket. All good. He smooths down the front of his shirt and glances once at the mirror near the door, fixing his hair with his fingers before finally stepping out of his apartment.

He walks over to your door, heart thudding just a little faster than usual. It’s strange how it still feels like this with you—like he’s a teenager picking up his crush, not someone who spent the night tangled up in you.

Hyunjin knocks and when the door swings open, He blinks—once, then twice. You’re standing there, looking… breathtaking.

He lets out a soft, stunned laugh, eyes sweeping over your outfit. “Wow,” he says, leaning a shoulder against your doorframe. He says nothing else but his eyes endlessly admiring you.

You laugh, a little sheepish but so proud. “It’s our first date,” you simply point out.

Something tugs at Hyunjin’s chest at that. The honesty in your voice, the way you’re looking at him—it’s soft, real, and he’s suddenly so glad he gets to have this with you.

He grins, stepping closer. “You’re beautiful,” he says, meaning every word. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, “Maybe we should just cancel the whole plan.”

He nudges you playfully, pushing you back a step into your apartment, and you both burst into laughter. But before either of you can say more, he grabs your hand, warm and certain.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go make it a good first date.”

The quiet hush of the gallery wraps around you both like a blanket, softening the sounds of passing footsteps and hushed conversations. Hyunjin walks beside you with his hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze darting to you now and then—your curious eyes, the way you lean in just a little to read the small plaques beside the paintings. He’s not sure why his heart won’t stop doing these little flips, but he doesn’t want it to stop either.

Eventually, he stops in front of a painting. It’s large, vivid, a swirling composition of shadows and light that seem to breathe if you look long enough.

You pause with him, sensing something different in his stance, the way he exhales slowly. “This one?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin steps closer, moving behind you and gently resting his hands on your waist. He nods. “Yeah… this one.”

You both stand there in silence for a moment, staring at the canvas. And then, in that quiet space, he begins to speak.

“There was a time I used to come here almost every week,” he says softly. “I'd just stand here and look at it. For hours, sometimes. I didn’t even understand everything about it—I still don’t. But something about it made me feel… seen. Like it understood what I was going through even when I couldn’t say it out loud.”

You listen, still and patient, your fingers brushing lightly over his where they rest on your waist.

“When I couldn’t eat, when I was too tired to sleep, when I was too overwhelmed to paint… I came here. I used this painting to hold myself together.” His voice falters for a second. “But now when I look at it, all I feel is everything I tried to suppress. Exhaustion. Pressure. Loneliness.”

He pauses. You can feel the weight of the memories in his breath.

“I want to change that.”

He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out something small. A glint of silver and a soft charm catches the light as he holds it up—it’s the bracelet you once tried on absentmindedly at that jewelry shop weeks ago. You’d joked about him buying him for you and he hadn’t said anything then, just smiled.

Now, without a word, he gently slips it around your wrist and fastens the clasp.

“From now on,” he murmurs, “when I look at this painting, I’ll remember this moment instead. You. Us.”

You turn your head slightly to look at him, your eyes glistening with emotions you can’t quite name. Happiness. Sadness. Love. Grief. Hope. All tangled up into one beautiful ache.

“Thank you,” your voice breaking at the end of the sentence.

You kiss him, just a brush of lips—but it’s enough to make his breath catch. Then you take his hands and wrap them fully around your waist, holding them there like a promise.

“You’re not alone anymore,” you say gently. “I’m here. You have me now.”

Hyunjin looks at you like you’ve just handed him the sun and then he leans in and kisses you—not in a rush, not in desperation, but with everything he’s been carrying in his heart. Quiet gratitude. Relief. Love. It’s a kiss that says, I see you. I feel you. I’m yours.

And in that gallery, under the gaze of a painting that once held all his pain, he lets it all go—and chooses to remember this instead.

The kiss lingers long after it ends, warmth spreading through Hyunjin’s chest like a sunrise. He stays there for a beat longer, arms wrapped around you, your head resting against his shoulder as the painting stands silently before you—no longer a mirror of pain, but now a witness to something new.

Eventually, you both pull away, your fingers still tangled in his, your bracelet catching the light with every little movement.

Hyunjin glances down at it and smiles softly. “Ready to go?” he asks, brushing a thumb across your knuckles.

You nod. “Where to next?”

He pretends to think, lips twitching. “Somewhere with less staring eyes and more delicious food?”

You laugh, and the sound echoes faintly through the quiet halls of the gallery.

Hand in hand, you walk out together. The doors open, and sunlight spills across the marble floors, welcoming you into the rest of the day.

And as the two of you step into the light—your shoulders brushing, your smiles easy, your hearts just a little fuller than before—it feels like the beginning of something beautiful, something real and it's just getting started.

-

✨ A bonus chapter to Cam is available on my Patreon ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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[volixia669]

I do GENUINELY understand the urge to pass this all off as bs. I've seen people I generally respect have...opinions about this very post.

And look, if you don't want to believe the scam farm thing, fine. Its not actually that unusual sadly, but I understand it seems too shocking to be real. And maybe its not what's happening in this case...

But there's still scammers taking advantage of a genocide.

And yes, its racist to assume bad English equals scammer. But OP also checked other factors too. And that's what you have to do too. You can't take every ask at face value, you just can't.

But the thing is. Checking isn't bad. Checking is going "hey, i want to give you the benefit of the doubt but there's a lot of shitty people taking advantsge of a genocide." Then you check to see who they are if the ask even leads to a specific account or is from an anonymous one.

Don't expect people with sporadic internet to post Destial gifs amidst the requests for help, but see if they engage with people. Are there pictures? Personal identifiers?

Chat with them! Again, sporadic internet, lots of people to poke, immediate replies or good English cannot be expected but psy attention to what is said. Is it a natural flow of conversation? Is there are a strange...stutter to it?

Also like, look into the gofundme page. Make sure all the info seems to make sense and also that it isn"t disturbingly similar to twenty others like it. Sure there might be a template shared, but people generally still like customizing and humanizing pages beyond a template.

And if you're still unsure? Donate to e sims for gaza, or to someone you know is verified or the literal last organization there that is still feeding people. Demand various groups and politicians divest from Israel. Its not the same as an individual donation and yes, is a personal balm, but at least soothe yourself with something that can help someone.

Again, I get it. Hell, these asks make me hate tumblr some days because I just can't saave everyone and its a lot of work to verify who's legit and who's a scammer.

But just as you can't declare every account a scam, you also can"'t declare every account legit.

Nuance is hard but necessary. Otherwise we will keep ending up with genocides.

I miss when I would get Tumblr asks that actually said things and weren't just digital panhandling scams.

[bosbas]

Chapter 8: if I'm dead to you why are you at the wake

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 1.6k

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, the usual pining of courseeee

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

September 24, 1812 - It had been two and a half months since Anthony had found out the truth about your intentions with him, and he considered himself to have largely overcome the summer’s chaotic romance. Fake romance, he reminded himself.

It wasn’t something he thought about excessively. Perhaps he did think about it every day, and it would be safe to assume that he thought about you every passing hour, but he wouldn’t say he thought about you every minute of every day. And that was progress, wasn’t it?

At least he had forgiven Daphne, and the siblings had been able to sort out their differences. Though Anthony truly wanted his sister to find a husband she liked in due time, it certainly didn’t hurt that she had ended the summer just as unattached and hopeless as him.

“I heard Lady Mitchell got engaged last night,” commented Daphne, who happened to be sitting next to Anthony. 

“Did she? To that Roberts fellow?” hummed Violet. “He’s a good man, she’ll certainly be happy she’s got that sorted.”

“A good man who made her wait six weeks until he proposed,” scoffed Daphne, unimpressed by her friend’s lengthy courtship, especially with how smitten she seemed to be. “Practically unheard of to wait that long this late in the season.”

“Have any of your other friends gotten engaged then?” asked Anthony automatically, the words slipping carelessly out of his mouth. 

He cringed slightly, looking up from the morning paper to see his sister shooting him an amused glance. 

“She hasn’t, no” Daphne responded, her voice soft, akin to when she talked to one of their horses after a tough ride. 

Immediately, Anthony felt his shoulders release some tension he didn’t even know was there. 

“Shame,” he said, making sure to keep his voice light in a desperate attempt to convince his family of his nonchalance.

A beat of silence prompted Anthony to look up and catch the tail end of a knowing look between Daphne and Violet. 

“It is!” he insisted, trying to convince himself at the very least. “I hope she’s found someone who cares about her.”

“She had,” cut in his sister. 

Daphne might be Anthony's sister, but was still your best friend, after all. And she was the only one who saw just how miserable both of you were since you had stopped whatever it was you had with Anthony and refused to step foot in the Bridgerton home.

Anthony scoffed, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “I can’t have this conversation again.”

“Very well, then,” pressed Daphne. “There’s a remarkably easy solution to that problem.”

This earned an irritated groan from Anthony, who was rather tired of his sister trying to convince him to declare his love to you in some grand and extravagant way like you wouldn’t just laugh in his face. 

“I’ve told you, it’s for the best, Daphne. And that’s the end of the discussion. She’s not what I’m looking for in a wife anyway,” Anthony said through gritted teeth. 

“And why not?” asked Violet, scandalized by her son’s apparent disrespect of someone who was almost a daughter to her. “I know things might have ended on less-than-ideal terms between you but Y/N is still someone to be treated with respect and dignity.”

“It’s not that,” replied Anthony, already feeling a headache coming on. 

It’s because I love her, he thought. But of course, he couldn’t say that out loud. Not without having the rest of his day taken up by a long lecture from his mother on how fulfilling and special true love could be. 

He simply didn’t care. 

Not anymore, at least.

He’d had a taste of being completely head over heels for someone he intended on marrying. He'd had a chance to truly know someone, and consequently be completely in love with them. However, he rather preferred not having a flutter in his stomach– out of excitement or anxiety he didn’t care to find out –every time he thought of his future with you. 

Falling in love once had been enough. Anthony had done it. He’d experienced the love his parents had. And he wasn’t itching to experience it again. He could now just focus on finding someone adequate who fit his list of requirements for a Viscountess, which heavens knew you didn’t. 

“Well, whatever the reason is, you’ll have to get over it before Christmas,” sniffed Daphne, not in the mood to argue with her brooding brother. 

“Why Christmas?”

“Because Y/N is coming to spend Christmas with us in Kent, like she does every year,” responded Daphne in an obvious tone. The Are you thick? was left unsaid. 

Now Anthony felt the headache in full force. Of course, he’d forgotten. Well, at least he had a few months to prepare to face you again. 

---

“Are you quite sure there’s nothing we can do?” you said, exasperated.

Your carriage had broken down on your way home from the shops, and your father had taken the spare carriage for the day with no hints as to when he would return. 

“Afraid not, Miss,” said your driver, looking quite apologetic. “I can try to reach the Bridgertons, who don’t live too far from here.”

A sharp inhale. “That won’t be necessary,” you smiled weakly. You’d rather walk home than risk having to ask Anthony Bridgerton for help. 

Instead, you leaned against the lopsided carriage and put your head in your hands. A few hours alone with your thoughts wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it? Was it really too far to walk? Usually, it wouldn’t have been, but the sun was about to set and the chilly November air gave you pause. 

“Y/N? Is that you?” called the unmistakable voice of the oldest Bridgerton brother from atop his riding horse as he slowed down to get a good look. 

Speak of the devil, you cursed.

“Anthony,” you said, slightly taken aback by how handsome he was. 

You hadn’t seen him outside of the privacy of your imagination in a few months, and his hair was slightly longer than it had been over the summer. It suited him. Well, everything suited him. 

“Is something the matter with your carriage?” he asked, already hopping down and inspecting the vehicle, which lay in disrepair. 

“It’s quite alright,” you started, but your driver was too quick. 

“Just hit a hole in the road and had a bit of a hiccup,” he explained. “I’m afraid there’s not much I can do right now, we just have to wait for another carriage to come retrieve Lady Y/N.”

“Nonsense,” waved Anthony. “I can take her home right now if that’s alright.”

“That won’t be necessary,” you said, only to be spoken over once again.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Bridgerton. Especially since the sun is going down, it’d be best to get Lady Y/N inside.”

It seemed like you had no choice in the matter. Annoyed, you huffed and crossed your arms, but made your way over to Anthony anyway. 

“Can you help her on?” Anthony asked your driver, getting back on the horse and shuffling forward so you had enough space. 

Once you were safely atop the horse, Anthony grabbed your arms and put them around his waist. 

“Just don’t let go,” he warned you. “I know it’s not the most comfortable ride, but it’s the best I can do.”

“I- It’s fine,” you said, speaking softly lest your voice betrayed your true feelings. 

You rode the rest of the way in silence. A special kind of hurt bloomed in your chest as you passed the Bridgerton residence, which you once considered your true home over the house you were born in.

You found comfort in holding Anthony, even if only for a moment, and even if only out of necessity. It was surreal to be so close to him again, and you closed your eyes so you could memorize exactly how it felt to feel his heart beating and the rhythm of his chest rising and falling. 

You’d long convinced yourself not to think about what could have been, but it hadn’t made the feelings go away, and it was lovely to be in Anthony’s presence for a little while longer. 

Once you reached your house, Anthony slipped off his horse and held out his hand to help you off as well. 

As soon as you were stood on solid ground he retracted his hand, and you were left with only the ghost of his touch in your memory. 

The two of you stared at each other, and you saw an unreadable expression on Anthony’s face. There was an unmistakable longing, but also something else entirely you weren’t sure you had seen before. 

“Thank you,” you finally whispered, the words barely above a whisper. “You didn’t have to do that.”

And it was true. Anthony had been a true gentleman, even in circumstances like these. Curse him for remaining the picture of grace after everything you'd done to him.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, his eyes flashing with some unknown emotion. 

“Anthony-” you started, not entirely sure where you were going with this but wanting to try anyway. 

But Anthony interrupted gruffly. “I said don’t mention it.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, not used to him being so short with you. You took in a breath, readying yourself for another attempt at something. Begging for his forgiveness, confessing you still loved him, anything at all, really. 

But before you could open your mouth he had already turned around, not sparing you a second glance as he mounted his horse and headed back, presumably to the Bridgerton house. 

A choked sob escaped your lips as you saw his figure disappear into the dusk. You supposed this was just how it would be from now on. At least until you moved on and found someone else, which seemed more and more unlikely as the weeks went by. 

—

previous part || next part || buy me a ko-fi!

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[enwoso]

blood, not bond | alessia russo x child!reader

-> based on this request

grumpy masterlist | leah is in it but she kind of pops in and out of it - more focused on: harrison, alessia and lovie.

at seventeen, you had gotten used to the strange rhythm of your relationship with, your dad, harrison.

once every four or five weeks maybe longer if life got in the way, you'd meet up with him. lunch or a quick shop around town, maybe both if you were lucky.

he'd always ask you about school, about your football commenting on the fact that he managed to watch your match on a stream like it meant something to you, or if you were still writing in that journal you'd started in year nine.

it wasn't uncomfortable, wasn't bad either. it just wasn't what people imagined when they heard the word 'dad'.

because really you didn't have a 'dad'. you had an alessia and a leah. they were your parents. your constants.

harrison well, he was.. something else? a figure which floated in and out your life with well meaning eyes and clumsy attempts to connect.

this time you were spending a rare saturday with harrison. but it wasn't in a 'cherished' kind of way, more like it was an obligation.

you didn't hate seeing your dad, sometimes on the rare occasion you'd actually enjoy yourself but most of the time were just.. odd. scheduled. like fitting a phone call in with a stranger into a diary full of people who actually knew you.

this one had started like the others: brunch at the cafe that he liked, shopping afterward if he remembered that you needed new trainers or a jacket. a few attempts at small talk — 'is school going okay?', how's football? scored any crackers yet?', 'how's your mum?'

the day had been fine, until it wasn't.

"so," harrison started, halfway through his eggs benedict. "louis and lily would love to meet you one day."

you blinked, pausing mid-forkful of your pancakes, "who?"

he just smiled like it was a name you should recognise, "your younger brother and sister. i've told them about you, there always asking when they're going to meet you."

your fork hovered still in mid-air, your mouth going dry. "you.. you have kids?"

"yeah, i do" he said as if it was nothing and that it should have been common knowledge to you. "well, you knew about zoey—"

"i knew you had a girlfriend when i was like eleven, you posted her once and then never mentioned her again."

he frowned, "louis is five and lily is three. and the only reason i didn't tell you sooner is cause i didn't want to throw too much at you all at once, but they've been asking about you for a while — especially louis, he's a big football and arsenal fan"

you didn't respond, just looked down. you now suddenly hyper-aware of the clink of cutlery around the cafe, the swirl of the cream in your coffee cup. your appetite vanished.

the rest of the day passes in awkward silences and occasional comments which you couldn't force yourself to reply too. he asked if you liked a jacket, you shrugged. asked about football, you said 'great'

finally, when he pulled up outside your house, home, he put the car in park but didn't turn off the engine.

"i'm serious, y/n" he said, hand still on the steering wheel like he might need to grip it to keep the conversation from drifting. "think about it please, they'd love to meet you."

you nodded slowly, "we'll see." it came out small, flat. a placeholder for all the thing you didn't know how to say.

you slipped out the car muttering a 'thank you' but before he could say more, you were heading up the driveway with quick steps and slipping through your front door like a ghost.

the front door creaked with the same familiar cream it always did. leah was in the kitchen, stirring something in a pan which you knew she'd of been instructed to do by your mum. music drifting through the hallway, quiet but calm.

"hey, angel. you good?" leah called out, you nodded again, tossed your shoes by the door, alessia bundling down the stairs as she ruffled your hair a warm smile on her lips.

"lovie! how was your day?" she asked as she leant against the banister, you knowing she wouldn't drop it until you said something.

"fine" you said, dropping your bag by the stairs.

"did you go for food?" alessia asked, her eyebrows raising at your short answers and the way you were behaving.

"yeah." you hummed, one foot on the bottom step waiting for your exit to go straight to your room.

"you want tea?"

"i'm good." you didn't wait for more. just walked straight up to you room and closed the door with a quiet click.

leaving your mum at the bottom of the stairs, her being slightly confused at your quiet behaviour, usually you'd come home with a story or maybe at least complaining about your dad asking you a question about something you hadn't done since you were ten.

but today, nothing. silence. but alessia knew better than to push. you'd tell her eventually.

—

alessia waited. she didn't follow after you. didn't push. she never did. she left you in your room while her and leah ate tea together. a slight look of concern on leah's face when alessia told her to leave you when she asked if she should call you down for dinner.

but a few hours later, after you had spent most of the evening buried in your duvet with your headphones on, alessia knocked softly and poked her head in.

leah had taken the dog out. the house was still, humming only with the low buzz of the boiler and the occasional car passing outside.

"can i come in?" you shrugged glancing up at your mum as she poked her head through the door.  you were sat cross-legged, staring blankly at your phone screen. alessia walked in, sat on the edge of the bed like she always had since you were small.

"so how was today? with your dad."

alessia looked at the way your face changed at then mention of it. she could tell something was off. not just because you were quiet, but the way you moved as if your skin didn't quite fit right. your shoulders were tight, tense.

"hey" alessia said gently. "you okay?"

your eyes stayed on your phone screen, you having been doom scrolling for the past few hours trying to get rid of your thoughts however it was probably making them worse.

your jaw clenched once. then again. then— "he told me he has another family."

alessia's heart thudded, a pout forming over her lips, "lovie.."

"i have siblings," you snapped, you voice sharp. "siblings, mum. five and three. and tells me like it's some lovely fun little surprise over brunch!"

alessia's face dropped, she knew about harrison moving on with zoey, in a way she was delighted it had meant he wouldn't keep sticking his nose in her relationship with leah and she knew about louis.

not because she found out from harrison himself first (no surprise there) but, from one of harrison's friends she bumped into while doing a late shop one afternoon. harrison then telling her a few days later, alessia urging him to tell you but he promised he would when the time was right.

"wow. i-i didn't know about the three-year-old. just louis but that was years ago."

"you knew!?" your voice hitched as you head snapped to look at your mum. hurt blooming behind your eyes.

"i knew about louis and yeah we both knew about zoey, but i didn't know they'd had another child." alessia explained, her voice calm, too calm for your liking. with the way your chest felt like it was about to explode.

"and what? you didn't think to tell me?" you snapped, your voice dripping with bitterness but also hurt.

alessia took a slow breath, "it wasn't my place to say anything. at the end of the day lovie, he is your dad. it should've come from him."

your eyes flashed. "oh, come on. that's such a cop-out."

"no, i didn't mean it like that."

"then how did you mean it?" your voice rose, frustration starting to build. "cause right now it sounds a lot like you just didn't want to deal with it. just like he didn't either."

alessia flinched but she didn't move her eyes hardening. "hey, no, don't put me in the same category as him, lovie. i've been here. every day. for every meltdown, for every match, for every homework crisis."

you started pacing back and forth in your room. "yeah, you have. you've been here. and he's been off playing happy families with some other kids. buying them toys, tucking them into bed, going to their school plays, their out of school clubs—"

"you don't know that."

"i don't have to!" you nearly shouted. "cause i can guess. cause i know what it looks like when someone doesn't show up, and he's had plenty of practice."

alessia took a careful step forward wanting to try and help calm you down before you did something silly. "you're allowed to be upset. you're allowed to be angry."

"well, good. because i am." you said, voice cracking with each word. "he shows up once a month, if that, buys me lunch, asks me about school like he knows me, and then drops this on me like it's something i should be excited about."

you stop pacing and turned to your mum, eyes shining with unshed tears. "he said they want to meet me. that they know all about me. like i'm just some story that their dad tells sometimes at bedtime. like i'm not even a real person."

alessia's heart broke a little more with each word. "he should've told you a long time ago. but he also should have done a lot differently then he did when you were growing up."

your voice shook as you sniffled. "i spent years thinking i did something wrong. that i wasn't enough. that i was the problem. that if i'd been better—quieter, smarter, easier—maybe he'd have stayed, maybe he'd of made more of an effort to get to know me. and now i find out he did stay. just not for me."

"oh, lovie..."

"he just replaced me, mum. he left you, and then he replaced me. like i didn't even mean anything."

and that was it—the dam broke. your legs gave way as you collapsed onto the side of your bed, and the tears came hard, your chest heaving with the weight of everything you'd been holding in for years.

alessia was beside you in an instant, pulling you close, her arms wrapping tightly around you like a shield. alessia didn't speak right away. just held you. let you sob.

"i don't want to meet them," you whispered eventually, voice hoarse as tears still streamed down your face.

"you don't have to," your mum murmured against you. "you don't owe him anything. this isn't your responsibility."

"he said they'd love to meet me," you scoffed bitterly. "but they don't know me. i'm just a name. some girl he sees sometimes. i'm not part of his family. not really."

alessia pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. "then let's make something very clear—you do have a family. me. mama. this house. your many, many aunties. your friends. the people who show up. that's your family."

you nodded, barely. your hands clutched the hem of your mum's jumper.

"do you think it makes me a bad person for not wanting to see them?" you asked softly, slight hiccup coming from your lips.

"no," alessia said without a beat of hesitation. "it makes you honest. and human. and hurting. and that's perfectly okay."

your mum stood, slow and careful, like you might shatter if she moved too fast. "your allowed to be angry."

"i don't even know what i am." your hands were trembling now. "i'm not mad he has a family. i'm mad i'm not part of it. that i never was. that he never gave me the chance. that he never loved me, not properly."

flash— age four: harrison meeting you for the first time after walking away after alessia had told him she was pregnant. bringing a little teddy bear like it could fill four years of nothing.  you didn't even remember it—but you remember your mum's face when the door had closed again.

flash— age nine: he missed your school plays. said he had work, but you saw the tagged picture later on. a dinner. smiling. a different world.

flash— age twelve: he missed your birthday. fourteen: he never messaged to say congratulations on your first start for the england youth team.

flash — age sixteen: he said he'd take you out for dinner after your exams, you sat waiting for hours - he didn't even bother to call and cancel.

instead it was just a pattern of promises that never really included you.

alessia took a slow step closer as she knelt down in front of you, you sat looking at your hands in your lap. "you don't have to figure this all out today, lovie."

"i don't want to meet them," you said, voice still hoarse but still sharp. "i don't want to play happy families with strangers. i don't want to pretend i've ever been more than a once-a-month reminder for him."

alessia arms wrapped around you like muscle memory, strong and warm and safe. "and that's okay, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. you have us. you always have and always will, that's never going to change."

you pressed your face into her mum's shoulder in front of you, letting the tears come again, now that you weren't pretending to be okay.

the front door opened. leah's voice floated in, as she called out, the sound of the dogs collar echoing as it shook itself in the hallway. "i'm backk!"

alessia looked over the top of your head, eyes soft as she whispered. "we'll get there. i've got you."

she stroked your hair gently as you curled into her side, exhausted and broken but safe. it wasn't fixed. not yet. and maybe wouldn't be for a while. but you had what mattered most. you had home.

[whorelaud]

WRONG NUMBER, LOSER – rafe cameron (2)

a rafe cameron mini smau series

summary Rafe gets tangled in a complex love-hate relationship when shooting his shot at a party, merely for him to end up with the wrong number instead, leading to a new beginning, or so he assumed, unaware of who really was behind the screen; his next door neighbor, whom he'd define his sworn enemy.  contains neighbor!reader, enemies (?) to lovers, wrong number trope, mostly texts, sexual jokes, shameless flirting, loser!rafe, jealousy, lots of tension, attempt at humor

NAVIGATION. main masterlist; 01 ¡ 02 ¡ 03

Loser: Aye

Loser: Wsg 

Loser: Hello 

Loser: Uhmmmm 🫤 

Loser: ???

Loser: Did you delete my number alr? 

Loser: Am I tripping? Are my messages not going through 

You: bro 

Loser: There she is

Loser: Hey sugar ;) 

Loser: … Did you disappear again 

Loser: It hasn't even been a min :( 

You: shut

You: up

You: GUCK YOI LIKE ACTUAJLY 

Loser: Tf

Loser: What did I do? 

Loser: Biting my fingernails why are you edging me 

Loser: Mommy I’m scared

You: . 

Loser: Oh hey

Loser: You’re back 

You: sniffles 

You: you just got me scolded dumbass i hate you i hate you I hate You so much 

Loser: Huh 😧

Loser: Who scolded you baby

Loser: I’ll kick their asses 

You: boiii 🤨🤨

You: Ugh this is so annoying why’d you text me when it was dead silent 

Loser: I am so confused rn

Loser: What did I do exactly? 

You: Text me 

You: i forgot to turn dnd on WAHHH 😭😭😭 

You: i was tryna hit now that professor hates me :(

Loser: Oh 

Loser: How old is he 

You: 54 

Loser: Oh 

Loser: And how old are you?

You: 20 😊

Loser: Oh 

Loser: That’s nice sweetie

You: stop Ohing me 

You: it's no biggie hes only 34 yrs older

Loser: Girl he could be your dad

You: good thing he isnt

Loser: Bro...

Loser: This generation dawg

You: why are you judging me

You: god forbid a girl has hobbies

You: How old are you big fella 

Loser: Why do you wanna know? 

Loser: You interested in me or sum? ;) 

You: Die nvm 

Loser: No I’m sorry

Loser: I’m 24

You: 👴

Loser: Bro 

Loser: Wym by that 

You: Nothing old Man. 

You: No wonder you Type like That…

Loser: What the hell 

Loser: What’s wrong with the way I type 

You: Nothing honey you’re Doing Great keep it up 😘 

Loser: This is humiliating 

Loser: Why am I getting cyber bullied 

You: nah you'll be fine

You: taking it like a champ 

Loser: Oh… hehhehebeh 😅

You: What. 

You: Why are you Laughing old man

Loser: No reason 

You: Right…  

Loser: Wyd 

You: well i technically just got kicked out so now im walking around capmus waiting for my next class 

Loser: Seems fun 

You: im having soooo much fun thanks to someone 😊

Loser: I’m sorry 

Loser: I didn't mean to get you scolded sugar

Loser: Promise I won't disturb you during lesson hours from now on 

You: from now on??? YOU PLAN TO STICK ALONG??? 

Loser: I mean… You haven't blocked me yet

Loser: Taking it as a sign 

You: Dawg you're hella clingy… 

You: do you not have other ppl on your phone 

You: leave me ALONE 😭😭😭🙏 

Loser: Nah I like you

You: erm

Loser: Wait

Loser: Not like that

Loser: WAIT. 

Loser: You know what I mean right? 

Loser: I just think you're funny and cool hahahah 

You: mhm… 

Loser: Not that there’s anything wrong with liking you of course 

Loser: I mean you must be gorgeous 

You: How do you know I’m not an ugly discord kitten catfishing you for money

Loser: … Are you? 

You: wow okay 🙄

Loser: Just messing I know you’re pretty sugar 

You: Quit calling me that 

Loser: Why I think it’s cute

Loser: It suits you 

You: shut up 

Loser: Did that get you? 

You: get me as in… 

Loser: Idk 

Loser: You seem p flustered 

You: WHAT 

You: i literally just said shut up  

Loser: Yeah yeah they all say that 

You: ‘they’ referring to the two poor ladies you probably forced into a conversation? 

Loser: Hey 

Loser: A lot of women find me attractive 

You: never said you weren't

Loser: Woah

Loser: Are you flirting with me :D 

You: what No

You: We’re talking about conversations you’re the one who brought up being attractive 

Loser: That somehow hurt my feelings

Loser: Do you not think I’m attractive? 

Loser: Should I just die? 

You: k i never said that… 

You: i don't know what you look like its as simple as that 

Loser: Oh 

Loser: Should I doll myself up and send you a selfie 

You: No 

Loser: What why :( 

You: what if you’re ugly 

Loser: I am not ugly. 

You: everyone is a beautiful tootsie in their mother's eyes

Loser: My mom’s dead 

You: Oh… 

You: sorry 

Loser: It’s fine 

Loser: Wyd? 

You: walking

Loser: Still? Are you not tired?

You: im exhausted. ive been pacing around capmus for like fifteen minutes ugh 

Loser: When does your next class start? 

You: 3:20 

Loser: What the hell

Loser: That’s an hour from now

Loser: Go home and rest in the meantime 

You: that would be even more exhausting 

Loser: Is it a long ride? 

You: no 

You: i have a bitchy neighbor im not risking it 💔

Loser: Again with your fussy neighbor…

Loser: What is that son of a bitch doing to annoy you that much

You: exist 

Loser: Oh 

Loser: Sue him for existing?? 😅

You: i wish

You: he actually gets on my nerves 

You: always so cocky and for what this is why you don't get no bitches cunt

Loser: Hell yeah fuck that hoe why’s he being a bitch 😂 

Author – laughing like they’re not talking ab him… 

You: IM SAYINGGG 

You: You get me thank you 

Loser: I actually do 🫤

Loser: I too have a lousy neighbor it’s so difficult dealing with her

You: see now this is something we can bond over 

You: you found your purpose loser 

Loser: Loser? Hey >:( 

You: im starving 

You: my stomach just grumbled in front of fine shyt bury me alive 

Loser: It’s fate. You’re not meant to be. 

You: die are you praying on my downfall 

Loser: 🤷🏼‍♂️ 

Loser: Seriously though do grab a bite 

You: ugh i might 

Loser: I’ll leave you to it then ;) 

Loser: Eat and have fun in class sugar

You: dont call me that

Loser: Sorry baby

You: that too

Loser: Mb sweetheart 

You: bye. 

Loser: Js accept it next time 

You: I am Too hungry to be arguing with you right now. Bye. 

Loser: Okay. Bye. 

You hearted loser’s message! 

a/n hi :p this was fun def took a different approach but i went w the flow so yayyyy!! hope you enjoyed let me know what you think hehe!! ill try working on ch 3 faster these are acc super fun || also sorry for how much of a loser rafe is... i dont talk to men inhate them so im just making him sound like a facebook mom hope you guys dont mind hes just a cute tootsie...

taglist is currently open, feel free to let me know wether you want to be added/removed. however, in order to stay tagged, you must interact with the posts!

TAGLIST @rafeycameronsgf @nemesyaaa @totalswag @vanessa-rafesgirl @enchantingexile @my-name-is-baby @wintercrows @cl4uus @ethanthequeefqueen @emmasclaws @countryclubwhore @drewstarkeyzwhore @davinashifts333 @i-love-gvf @ayy1234567 @kissesandmartinis @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @mariamadison6-blog @harryzcherry @vdotcom

[miaoua3]

can you do svt possessive hcs

sure can! i’ll keep it mostly short because there are A LOT of other asks that people have sent, hope that’s okay with you😭🫶

SVT-Possesive Hcs

Pairing: ot!13 svt x gn! reader

Genre: hcs, possessiveness and light jealousy

Warnings: jealousy, cursing, psychotic tendencies? from a few of them, pouty svt

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

scoups-all dead stares and possessive arms wrapped around your waist in public, but all pouty and mumbling “you are mine” while having his face buried in your chest while you two cuddle at home. he just hates it-he knows what he got himself into the moment he got with the prettiest person ever but he hates the way men look at you-eyes filled with lust and trying to slide in next to you just so they can get a chance to chat you up, but he won’t stand for it. immediately shows up by your side, giving the men dead stares before he lowly says “leave.”

jeonghan-menace, all the time, every time. and in this instance as well. oh they think they can chat YOU up? the love of his life? watch this. *cue him just watching how far and outright desperate men can get, but immediately gets up and slaps the man’s hand away the moment he sees him reaching to touch you. will get all up in his face and with terrifying eyes and even more terrifying voice will slowly warn the guy “touch them again. see what happens. try out your luck and see what i will do to you.”*

joshua- maybe even the most terrifying when somebody is touching what’s his. the light smile that is seemingly permanently tattooed on his face turns into this weird and scary one when he sees somebody trying to talk/touch you. isn’t afraid to get physical and twist the mans arm painfully behind his back and lowly ask him like he’s an idiot “didn’t your mother taught you not. to. touch. what. isn’t. yours. touch what’s mine again and i will break every bone in your body”. to prevent that from happening he just keeps at least one hand on you at all times, be it wrapped around your shoulders, on your thigh or simply holding your own. he doesn’t play about what’s his, i’ll tell you that much.

jun-he wishes he could be all scary and brave like shua and hannie but he just doesn’t have it in him (plus you warned him not to do it). instead he resorts to literally announcing your relationship to everyone like it’s a pregnancy announcement. somebody wants to talk to you? he’s immediately pushing in between you two and loudly exclaiming “i’m sorry but that’s the love of my life that you are trying to talk to! go away!” but mostly pouts and clings to you, both hands wrapped around your waist while you are just sitting and existing, head leaning on your shoulder

hoshi- oh this absolute lunatic. hope you are okay with being covered in hickeys from head to toe, because that’s what he will do. uses hickeys and anything like that to basically mark you as his. not only that-will force you to wear his clothes all the time, wear his initial on your bracelet and basically drench you in things that scream “kwon soonyoung”. he just HATES whenever people can’t get a hint that you are his, making his eyes turn black as he watches the man try to talk to you before he lowly says “are you done talking to MY partner yet?” before going back to your conversation as if he doesn’t even exist. oh, and also clingy asf, he won’t let you BREATHE, he will always be all over you so good luck with that lol

wonwoo-silent but brooding type of possessive. he’ll only say something if someone is really crossing both your boundaries, but otherwise he’s all dark stares and gentle possessive touches. hand around the waist, lightly pulling you towards and/or behind him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and using his hold to pull you closer so he can lay a gentle and barely noticeable kiss to your temple. this is all in public. at home however? he WILL claim what’s his and make sure that both YOU and whoever awakened his jealousy and possessiveness know who you actually belong to (say goodbye to the walking abilities for the next morning)

woozi-surprisingly very possessive. you would think just because he’s naturally quiet and because he’s very secure in your relationship that he wouldn’t be so territorial, but oh he so is. he hates it whenever anyone invades his space and privacy, as well as whenever they do it without his permission. what makes you think he would act any differently about you and when someone can’t get the fucking hint? immediately pushes you behind him and glares at the man like he’s three seconds away from punching him and telling him “don’t fucking touch them. who the fuck do you think you are to be touching my partner? get out before i touch you, with my fists”. the funniest thing about the whole thing is that he will never acknowledge that he does this, that he’s very possessive of you and that the thought of anyone touching you makes his skin crawl with nerves.

minghao-none to very little possessive. he knows that you would never do anything like to cheat on him, so he completely trusts you and therefore thinks its a bit unnecessary to be possessive over you. he knows that they all can watch, but not touch you. because only he himself has the privilege of touching you, of being yours, and of you being his. at most he will keep an arm wrapped around your waist and kiss the back of your hand when he notices someone persistently watching you with those eyes, but otherwise he knows you can and will tell them off. and as a reward, he will lowly whisper “that’s my baby.”, just like he knows you love it

mingyu-oh good luck dealing with his possessiveness, you will need it. he won’t let you breathe from how all over you he would be. touching you at all times, kisses your cheeks, temples and lips all the time, arm possessively massaging your thigh under the table and all that. but you gotta understand- he’s THE kim mingyu, he won’t settle for less, meaning his partner will also look so beautiful everyone will question their beautiful and try to get it all for themselves. that will only happen over his dead body. the minute somebody tries to approach you, he just raises his hand to stop them and says “no. walk away. whatever you wanted to tell them, forget about it. they are mine.” does this then snuggles in close to you and in his baby voice asks you “did i do good? did you see how i told them off? give me a reward now.”…he’s lucky he’s so cute i will say that much

dokyeom-see, you would think because this man has sun shining straight out of his ass, that he wouldn’t be as extreme as some of them are, and yet he is, if not even worse at times. if he sees someone persistently eyeing you, or trying to get your attention by being all flirty, trust that he WILL start making out right there and then. fuck the pda and social norms, he won’t stand for someone desiring you so openly, not his baby, nuh-uh. the moment he sees someone approaching you, he immediately tenses up, gaze hardening, unconsciously pulling you towards him. you are his, and if he has to let you know that through a heated kiss, where his tongue invades your mouth, then so be it.

seungkwan- oh one of the worst ones, he will makes you pull on your hair in frustration at the stunts he will pull just to make it known that you are his. from making outright rude jokes about how some people can’t take a hint and fuck off, to starting (verbal, not ballsy enough for physical) fights with the man who was trying to hit on you. if that wasn’t enough, than the way he’s all over you will be. intentionally puckers his lips and orders you “kiss me so that we can give that asshole something to actually stare at”. not only that, he will literally pull you onto his lap if he still sees them ogling you. very very possessive, i will say. he just hates how people give themselves the right to hit on people who are obviously his SPOUSE (you aren’t, you haven’t even been dating that long). if you scold him for his behaviour, good luck trying to kiss his pout away

vernon-as cool as a cucumber, all is chill, unless someone is like reaaaally persistent and can’t take a hint. then he will be like “fuck it, they are asking for it.” otherwise he isn’t all too possessive. he believes that relationships are all about mutual respect and trust. he trusts you enough to know he can let you go away for like 6 months and he wouldn’t have to worry about anything, that you would stay loyal to him because he would do just the same. but yeah, isn’t too possessive, he thinks he’s smug enough simply because you agreed on being with him, no need to guard you like a dog or something. but if someone really can’t take your hints-and although he’s a big believer that you can deal with your problems on your own, he will just jump in to say “dude. they already said they aren’t interested because they have a boyfriend. im the boyfriend in question and im telling you-fuck off already.” isn’t too big on pda but simple hand holding or an arm around the shoulder should be enough in his opinion.

dino-oh he will k*ll someone if they don’t fuck off the first time he tells them. he hates it with passion whenever someone is trying to hit on you and take away what’s his, it gets his blood boiling and hair on the back of his neck stand. hence why he always has at least one limb on your body, be it hand holding, thigh holding or face holding as he’s kissing you out in public just so that motherfucker across the room can finally get the hint. will shamelessly kiss you, as already mentioned, if he sees someone wanting to get your attention across the room. he just hates it, both that other m*n🤮 feel the right to look at you like it’s their birth given right, and how that makes him feel. loses all rationality upon sensing someone looking at you with lust

[revelboo]

I finally found an Optimus Prime figure that actually transforms at a local store!!! I had been looking like crazy for one. Sorry I'm just so excited I wanted to share. 🥹❤️‍🔥 Thanks for all your amazing stories. 🫶

Aww thank you! Optimus looks good

Better Open The Door Pt 19

Thundercracker x Reader

• Glancing up at him as his arm brushes yours, you really hope that unease jangling through you is because you know the avatar is fake. You know him, so maybe it’s just you? Maybe he looks perfectly human to everyone else? Remembering the way people had unconsciously gone out of their way to avoid accidentally brushing against him during your test run in town, you know you’re lying to yourself. “Stop smiling like an axe murderer,” you mutter, as you walk up the sidewalk with him.

• “What if they don’t like me?” He asks. Wants you to be happy. For this to go well. But what if your family looks at him and just run him off like in a monster movie? “Do your parents have pitchforks and torches?” Smiling weakly at your little laugh, he’s tempted to hook his arms around you, pick you up, and book it back to his real body hidden in the woods. Try again later. Much later.

• Raising an eyebrow at him, you reach to intertwine your fingers with his avatar’s. It’s sweet that he wants to make a good impression. That he cares about this because it matters to you. “I wouldn’t worry,” you say, imagining your dad’s disapproving frown at everyone you’ve ever brought home. His nerves feeding your own, distracting you from that smutty book he’d written, though you’re going to have a discussion about it later. And about who all he’s distributed it to. Your sex life apparently a best seller among the aliens.

• Relaxing some, he bumps against your, curling an arm around you and you immediately reach up to tangle your fingers with his again, making warmth spread through him. “So I’ve got this?” He asks and you shoot him a look that chills him to the very spark. You’re smiling, but he really doesn’t like it.

• Snorting a laugh you squeeze his fingers. “Oh, honey. No, they’re going to hate you.” And he just stares at you, stumbling to a stop and you have to pull him to get him moving. ‘Wait-what?’ He manages, sounding so horrified you start laughing. “Don’t take it personal, they hate everyone I date.”

Previous

If this helps anyone trying to start writing, sometimes this is how I start a ficlet- just a conversation and then flesh it out

[warsamongthestars]

I don't normally do Andor, because I can't work myself up to care about the other series. Sorry, but TBB pretty much burnt me from any of Disney's... Attempts. Any Star Wars that comes with the Sequel Trilogy and TBB in mind, is one that's not my Star Wars.

[ Sorry Folks, Star Wars ended at the Buyout. Its just a clickbaint content farm now, and forever will be until I get my burning retribution. ]

But.

Something like this pops up, by itself, and it looks good. The environments are stunning. The conversation? Relatable on a soul deep level. Camera work? Amazing. Constumes? Can't have good space-fantasy without them.

The food even looks edible (You can always tell the quality of a world-build by its food. )

Thing is. This is also a gif set, and I'm an inclined reader. I'd have to actually watch this episode, and maybe the season, to determine if the quality I'm seeing here, is actual quality and not just another hookup-call-me-later that I'm imposing personal feelings on.

A story I hate (From another fandom of particular infamous webcomic, and it had very good reasons to hate it and most people did and still do), gave some beautiful advice:

Be careful of Malicious Narrators.

Pay attention to who is telling the Story, and why.

This will involve doing what I like to call "Thinking in Layers".

But this is just coffee-rant. So I'm just gonna TVlogic here and take it at face value.

Its still a good gifset, good environments, and I like reading the wording (even if I can't tell any vocal cadences, nor what lead up to this, nor what's going to lead afterwards--and nor do I want to) and the implications I'm taking from this gifset alone. You can always tell a bigger story with less, and I love that shit.

My compliments to the editor who made it.

Bonus:

Andor S02E03 "Harvest"

[himasgod]

Where you have problems with the words starting with R

Riddle, Rook and Ruggie x Reader

How would Rook, Riddle and Ruggie react if they realized that you avoid calling them by their name at all costs, because you have difficulty pronouncing words beginning with R?

I find it funny that you ask me this, because I had a lot of trouble pronouncing the "doble rr" as a child (in spanish, my native language, it's a sound that doesn't exist in english, in words like "perro", etc.) I went to the speech therapist when I was 4 or 5 years old, since it is a fairly common problem not being able to pronounce the double r

At first, Riddle takes it personally.

Why are you calling him “You” all the time like he’s your classmate and not your boyfriend? He’s even heard you call Deuce by his first name!

He doesn’t want to scold you—he’s trying to be better about that—but it does make him quietly anxious.

“You can call me Riddle, you know,” he finally says one afternoon, trying to sound casual, but his fingers fidget with his pen.

You freeze. And mumble something like, “Yeah... you.”

That’s when Riddle’s brain, as sharp as it is rule-bound, finally connects the dots. You’ve never once said a word that starts with "R" around him. Not Riddle, not roses, not even ramen when Trey brought it up.

Guilt hits him like a tidal wave.

“...Do you have trouble with R sounds?” he asks gently.

When you admit it, sheepishly, Riddle just goes quiet for a moment—then he scoots closer, gently brushing your hand with his.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, earnestly.

“There’s nothing wrong with the way you speak. I like hearing your voice, no matter how you say my name. But... if it makes you feel better, you can call me anything you'd like.”

After that, he gets oddly flustered when you call him cute pet names like sweetheat or my love, but he never corrects you again.

At first, he doesn’t notice. You call him “Bucchi,” “Hyena Boy,” “hey you,” and every nickname—he just thinks you’re being cute or cheeky.

But then he overhears you say “Deuce” and “Ace” perfectly in a conversation with them.

Cue record scratch.

He raises an eyebrow, tail flicking with curiosity. "... why don’t I get the honor of being called by name, huh?”

You try to dodge it, joking your way out, but he can see the embarrassment behind your grin. That’s when he softens.

“Wait... hang on. Is it ‘cause it’s hard for you to say?”

You finally nod. You tell him how R’s get caught in your mouth, how you hate how it sounds when you try to say them.

Ruggie blinks. Then grins.

“That’s it? Sheesh, you had me thinkin’ you were mad at me or somethin’!”

He immediately wraps an arm around your shoulder and ruffles your hair.

“Y’know, I kinda like it when you call me weird nicknames anyway. ‘Hyena Boy’? That’s hilarious.”

He never makes a big deal out of it, but if he ever hears someone tease you for your speech, they will know pain.

And if you ever do manage to say his name, even just once, he gets this little crooked smile and says, “That one’s goin’ in the memory bank forever.”

Rook notices immediately. This man is the embodiment of hyper observant.

He thinks it’s adorable, actually. You’ll say, “Hey, mon soleil,” or “Youuuuuu~!” while dramatically waving from across campus, and never once say his name.

He tries a little playful teasing.

“Ah, ma colombe, you say everyone’s name with such ease... but never mine. Am I cursed, perhaps~?”

You visibly stiffen, and that’s when he drops the teasing. His expression shifts into something warm, understanding, and completely sincere.

“Is it difficult for you to say words beginning with ‘R’?” he asks, ever so gently.

When you admit it, a little shyly, his reaction is pure sunshine.

“Ahh~ mon amour,” he says. “There is a certain elegance to overcoming challenges, isn't it? You needn’t say my name if it brings you discomfort. I shall treasure whatever words you gift me.”

From that day forward, he makes a habit of calling you beautifully poetic pet names, hoping to make you feel more confident using your own.

And when you one day manage to say his name—halting, unsure—his smile is brighter than the sun.

[jxwl4k]

Hi J!! I have a little request 😊

Reader (she/her and a little girly if possible🙏🏻) and Katsuki are on a date or shopping, and they both run into Katsuki's old "friends" from middle school. At first, Katsuki didn't recognize them at all (until it hit him who they even were 💀), and then they started small talk. Katsuki really didn't give a fuck, the poor guy just wanted to spend time with his girl. Until they saw Reader and started completely objectifying her with comments like, "And that's your play thing?", "She's pretty to look at" without even acknowledging her as a person. In the end, Katsuki stands up for Reader and reminds the guys where their place is.

I would be very happy and wish you a good night/day, drink enough water, and take care of yourself.🩷✨️😚

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Mine .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff, slight angst

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

☘︎ . . . requested? yes by anon

⤿ Katsuki Bakugou defends YN when his old friends objectify her during a shopping trip, showing them no one messes with what’s his.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the bustling shopping street. Katsuki Bakugou was doing his best to keep his cool, but it wasn’t the heat that had him irritated. No, it was the fact that he was on a date with YN, his sunshine, the one person who could make him forget the world around him. She was everything soft and delicate, and he loved every bit of it.

“Hey, YN, do you think this would look good on me?” she asked, holding up a cute pink cardigan that seemed to make her eyes sparkle even more.

“Definitely,” he grumbled, his tone softening only because he could see how excited she was. Katsuki was never one for shopping he’d rather be training or blowing up the nearest target but anything to make her happy.

She smiled, holding the cardigan to her chest. “Okay, I’m getting it!” YN was a little girly, and he’d gotten used to it, even if it made him roll his eyes half the time.

As she skipped ahead to the register, Katsuki followed behind, hands in his pockets, his usual scowl in place. He wasn’t really paying attention to anything until a familiar voice broke through his thoughts.

“Bakugou?”

Katsuki’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing in confusion. Standing across from him were two guys, both grinning like they knew something he didn’t. It took a moment, and then it hit him. They were from his middle school.

“Shit… no way,” Katsuki muttered under his breath.

YN, still standing at the register, hadn’t noticed the encounter yet. Katsuki sighed, running a hand through his spiky blonde hair, clearly unimpressed. “What do you two want?” he grumbled, his gaze shifting to the two old “friends.”

The guys grinned, clearly surprised to see him. “We were just talking about how you turned into a big shot hero. Not bad, Bakugou,” one of them said.

“Yeah, real big shot,” the other chimed in, crossing his arms, his eyes scanning Katsuki’s face. “Didn’t expect you to be hangin’ around here, though. You always hated places like this.”

Katsuki just shrugged, uninterested. “I’m here with my girl. Don’t have time for your shit.”

The guys exchanged amused looks, their eyes flicking over to YN, who was chatting with the cashier, completely oblivious to the conversation.

“Is that your play thing?” one of the guys asked with a smirk, his voice dripping with condescension. “She’s pretty to look at, I’ll give her that.”

Katsuki’s blood began to boil, but he kept his posture relaxed, trying not to snap in front of YN. But the way they were talking about her? It made his skin crawl.

“She’s not a ’play thing,’” Katsuki bit out, his voice low and dangerous.

The other guy leaned in, clearly trying to get a rise out of him. “C’mon, she’s cute. She’s gotta be a fun little distraction for you, right? You always were the type to get bored quick.”

Katsuki’s hands clenched into fists, his patience wearing thin. This wasn’t middle school anymore. YN was his no one talked about her like that.

“Listen up, assholes,” Katsuki’s voice was suddenly sharp, his usual scowl back in full force. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. She’s not some object for you to ogle or make jokes about. She’s a person. And I won’t tolerate any shit from you two.”

The guys blinked, clearly taken aback by the intensity in his voice. “Whoa, calm down, Bakugou. We were just messin’ around,” one of them stammered.

Katsuki stepped closer, his towering presence making the guys take a step back. “You wanna mess around? Fine, but not when it’s about her. You’ve got your place, and that’s not it.”

YN finally turned around, the confusion clear on her face when she saw the tension between them. “Katsuki?” she asked, her voice soft and uncertain.

Katsuki’s expression softened the moment he turned to look at her. “Don’t worry, babe. These idiots are just trying to get under my skin.” He shot the guys one last glare. “And trust me, they’re not worth your time.”

YN frowned, her lips pursed. “I don’t like when people talk about me like that,” she murmured.

Katsuki reached out and gently took her hand, his thumb brushing over her soft skin. “They won’t anymore,” he promised, his voice low and firm.

The guys, now realizing they’d pushed their luck too far, muttered a quick apology and scurried off, clearly aware that they’d crossed a line.

Katsuki watched them go, his face hard, before he turned to YN. His fierce expression softened, and for a moment, it was just him and her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone much softer now.

YN smiled up at him, her eyes glowing with affection. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just hate when people treat me like I’m not… well, me.”

Katsuki nodded, pulling her close. “No one will ever treat you like that again. You’re mine, and that means no one messes with you. Got it?”

YN’s heart skipped a beat at his words. “Got it,” she replied, resting her head on his shoulder.

And as they walked off down the street, Katsuki’s arm securely around her, he couldn’t help but feel proud. Not just because he’d stood up for her, but because she was the one person who truly made him feel something real, something that mattered.

And he’d be damned if anyone ever tried to take that away.

© jxwl4k 2025

[drdemonprince]

Holy shit. I’ve never been on Reddit until recently. So I missed the fact that people are like completely feral about you on there. For unhinged reasons like not believing you’re really autistic, mad because you don’t like diagnosis, you being a social psychologist, calling you ableist and weirdly misgendering you as if pronouns were really hard to understand. Why are people like this? I’m just an autistic person who follows a ton of autistic people but most don’t get the hate that you do. I mean maybe that’s like a positive thing because it shows your level of unmasking where you’re ok with being unliked by some? But it’s still shit. I’m sorry people are like that about you. It’s not ok.

awww wow thank you. That's really nice of you to recognize and say. There are several reasons why things have gotten to be like this. One of them is that people on reddit generally adopt a more medicalized understanding of everything from Autism to transness -- and so they reallly hate someone who pushes back against the medicalization of both. There's a lot of conservativism and self-hatred in reddit communities for marginalized groups, and really high respectability standards. The Autism in women subreddit hates me because i have challenged the idea that there's gendered variants of Autism, and it makes them uncomfortable to see trans women, queer people, and men of color lumped in with themselves.

There are also things I have done to contribute to this problem -- I used to fire off hot-take versions of my opinions on Twitter that were very easily misunderstood by those with the intention to do so or no context on the conversation, and there's the fact that I write about and for a predominately masked Autistic audience that has a lot of privileges that higher-support-needs Autistics do not have. People take umbrage at that and I don't really fault them for it, because even I am troubled by the ways in which the online Autistic community caters to those who can speak/mask/neuroconform more than those who are nonspeaking, intellectually disabled, or more visibly disabled in general. If people would really pay attention to my work they'd understand that I'm not the Aspie supremacist dipshit they think that I am, and that I actually do find the exact same things as them concerning, but some of them are just so sick of how overhyped they perceive me to be to really care about the nuances, or they've seen full on hate videos about me made on Tiktok by a few people who stalk me.

There sadly is a small but vocal community of people who viscerally hate me and spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about me and my work. It's sad. I've done my best to detach from the aspects of public life that would force me to deal with all of that, but some people are obsessive enough that it still breaks in.

[sossegato]

"In many ways I would consider myself a radical feminist."

Would that be exclusively in your mind? 'Cause you know we can just see your blog, and not only is it not even remotely rad-aligned, it's hardly feminist-aligned. There's about zero posts about women's issues or anything else you're accusing us of ignoring (PLENTY of posts accepting at face-value of trans identities, though, would you look at that).

You just added this little caveat to deflect from the fact you don't read radfems and know fuck all about it or what we habitually discuss, just like every single other post of this kind that's been poppping up.

"Women around the world are being raped, murdered, mutilated, and trafficked"

By who? Like, how does that happen? Are they all just tripping and falling into murder and assault? Who's doing that to them? Who does every statistic database ever indicate are the perpetrators of these crimes? What does it say on the "sex" box?

"and all you talk about is whether a group of people (who experience misogyny, btw) get to be considered women?"

Oh, you do know who.

"Go donate to an organization helping little girls get an education or something."

Women's organizations? You mean anti-trans hate groups? Careful with that, bigot.

"It's so disingenuous and I truly think it's a distractor from much bigger issues."

So, it's disingenuous to discuss how women have lost the right to self-congregate, at the risk of being taken to court on a Human Rights violation charge, like in Australia?

It's disingenuous to discuss how trans activists have so far managed to defund two rape shelters for women? From Canada to Tokyo? And how the Edinburgh Rape Crisis Center had to apologize to survivors refusing them the service they alleged to provide?

That female athletes have suffered life-altering injuries competing with males? That female athletes have lost countless and counting spots to males which easily beat their scores with their own male-average ones? That female athletes have lost countless and counting awards, sponsors and their entire careers by merely pointing out the well-documented differences between the sexes in sport performance, or that they should just get to have their own leagues 'cause it should be their right to (a right trans activists simultaneously insist they absolutely have and shouldn't have anyway).

That children and minors are being unnecessarily medicalised and subjected to elective surgery which will impact their development permanently? That it's been proven, by admission of gender clinicians themselves, that these interventions can prevent them from normal sexual development, depriving them of the capacity to orgasm when adults? That'll cause them a variety of endocrine and reproductive dysfunctions, increased risk of cardiovascular disease, premature osteoporosis?

That trans activists have adopted conversion therapy rhetoric verbatim to refer to the gay community? That the mere definition of our sexual orientation has been deemed transphobic? That this is all again publicly accepted?

It's disingenuous to bring up males in female prisons and consequential sexual assaults? It's just no fucking biggie?

All of this is just distracting from what you think actually matters, which is... the same issues, except only if it doesn't mention when and how trans people are involved.

I see.

My problem with TERFs is not the radical feminism part. In many ways I would consider myself a radical feminist. My problem is that TERFs focus their activism on being anti trans women when they're not even 1% of the world's population. Women around the world are being raped, murdered, mutilated, and trafficked, and all you talk about is whether a group of people (who experience misogyny, btw) get to be considered women? Go donate to an organization helping little girls get an education or something. It's so disingenuous and I truly think it's a distractor from much bigger issues.

[alicentsgf]

working on the basis jackie and shaunas relationship has always been blatantly and very deliberately homoerotic and that they were both silently habouring feelings (which i do), i find the rabbit motif even more interesting.

its been said before but the rabbit motif isnt so much representative of jackie as it is representative of the false version of jackie. her own parents didnt know her, her teammates didnt, even shauna didnt fully know her, etc, but thats not by accident, jackie simply didnt make herself easy to know. the girl looks miserable every time we see her alone in the pilot, but she pulls on a mask for others. for jeff. for shauna. we see her seemingly have a crisis over sleeping with her boyfriend and then she gets in the car with her best friend and buries it all, not letting shauna know shes struggling. starts talking about losing her virginity to him like its no big deal, like its what she wants, when its pretty obvious to both shauna and us as the audience that it isnt.

we later find out from the meat shed conversations that shauna knew about jackie's struggles. deep down she knew, even though they didnt discuss it, she saw jackie was lying about her relationship. but shauna has never been a good communicator and also perhaps was too afraid of upsetting/losing jackie to have an honest conversation with her. and if shauna knew that jackie was hiding things from her, obviously that causes resentment in someone like shauna. shes irrational, reacts to percieved rejection in unhealthy ways, and this is her best friend whos lying to her. something shauna sees as a form of rejection.

the first act of violence we see from shauna in the show is her adult self killing the rabbit. it cuts to this directly after we see her sleeping with jeff in the teen timeline and i dont think its as simple as parralleling two acts against jackie. like maybe its foreshadowing jackies death, aka that shauna sleeping with jeff will ultimately lead to it, but given that we've been shown time and time again how rabbits are mistakenly attributed to jackie, it could be something else instead. if the rabbit is representative of jackies perfect, manicured facade, then having sex with jeff and killing the rabbit are one and the same. shauna gains control. she takes all the power out of jackie's facade by sleeping with jeff. ruining the perfect lie. which makes her actual objective clear —

she hates the fake exterior jackie maintained. her adult self literally murders it. she is desperate for jackie to be truthful with her. to confess. be open and vulnerable. and as if that desire wasnt homoerotically charged enough, their entire conversation about jeff later in season 1 furthers it; jackie saying she should have said i love you back the day before they left, saying she shouldnt have made "him" wait, saying she just wanted it to be perfect, all fits within the circumstances of jackie and shaunas relationship as well. jackie didnt say i love you back thay day, she did make shauna wait (for jackie to be honest with her), she was too fixated on some perfect ideal to share her true feelings with shauna. i think its relevant that another big way the rabbit motif resurfaces is as a mask that melissa wears. like... a literal mask. worn when she tries to kill shauna and cant because she does love shauna, despite how badly she doesnt want to.

and for me the conversation about jeff, jackies struggles, everything about jackies character, if we put it all together, hardly makes any sense at all without accepting that jackie was in love with shauna. like yes it can be explained away, because of course it can, but does any of it actually add to the story? why was it included? if jackie wasnt, there is no obvious reason for the focus on it. why do we see her express her worry that she'll die and someone else will be jeffs first? just so we can see shauna feel guilty? the framing of the scene makes it so obvious this is about far more than that. and then jackie does die and someone else is shaunas first.

shauna is the only one who knew jackie didnt like rabbits. aka shauna was the only one who even came close to knowing the real jackie. but one thing jackie would always put up a facade for with shauna was when she'd talk about jeff. she didnt love him, barely even liked him, and shauna knows that. we see her confusion when jackie says she should have said i love you back.

shauna killing the rabbit then becomes very specifically about her killing that lie. the jeff lie. just like her having sex with him is. she wants control, she wants honesty, she wants an "i love you". she wants the lie jackie was telling her dead, but she also EATS it. she consumes it. accepts it. makes it part of her. never actually confronts jackie on it. eating the rabbit, making her family secretly eat it, as a metaphor for both her and them accepting the lie that their family is based on. a marriage she got into out of "guilt and shame" because she was in love with her best friend and her best friend loved her back and on some subconcious level shauna has always known that and cant face it, didnt dare make jackie face it either. i think any true conscious realisation of it would kill shauna. it honestly might be what eventually kills her. or rather, it might be what she has to face at the end. because if we're talking about things coming "full circle", as things often do in this show, then shaunas story would have to end with jackie and the secrets they kept from each other in that car in the pilot.