#and i will tell you that i am LOSING IT over this drawing

[lemon-russ]

More lore for my insane porn.

Why am I doing this? Does human pet smut need a backstory? If there were a merciful god, wouldn't I be stopped? Some things are never answered. The important thing is I am having fun ✨

Mortarion x F!Reader (prequel 2? Part 3??)

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CW: None for this specific thing. Many for the first one. Many for the future of whatever this is.

TAGS (no one participated in the prayer circle to stop me so it continues): @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk @moodymisty

“Go on, pick.”

Mortarion holds you out at arms length, pointing you at a display of items in colors you couldn’t name, so bright and varied it made your head start to swim.

“Pick?” You parrot, “pick… what? What are they?”

You hear a small huff behind you. “They’re toys. Weren’t you saying you were bored?”

It had been boring. After a week of toting you around, quizzing you on your world, crops, government systems, and various other minutia, you found out that your world did in fact have a ruler, unbeknownst to a simple farmer like yourself, and had happily agreed to join the imperium of man, as it was apparently called.

All Mortarion asked for in payment was you.

“You entertain me.” Was all he had offered as explanation.

And thus you had been stuck in his quarters for two weeks, losing your mind at the lack of work to do. You’d taken up trying to draw, but that only entertained so long. You tried to read, but you were barely literate in your own tongue, let alone what your master called “high gothic”. What use did a farmer have for reading? You’d tried to clean up, but there was barely anything in the room to tidy.

You refocus on the colorful display, reaching out to touch one of the bright objects. ”It’s really soft...” You say, picking up one of the toys. It vaguely looks like some sort of animal, furry with stylized ears, but beyond that you can’t imagine a use for the thing.

“How is it a toy?” You ask, turning to try and look at your new masters face over your shoulder.

He frowns slightly. “What were toys on your planet?”

“Wooden blocks, mostly. Or the Hoop game.” You say, then add with a fond smile, “and dolls, made of water-reeds.”

He sighs. “Well, think of these as the… reed dolls. They are stuffed animals, you’re supposed to find them pleasant.”

You look back to the unnaturally bright creature in your hands. “what color is this?”

You yelp as you are dropped to your feet, stumbling a little.

Mortarion turns you around by the shoulder, face grimacing in disbelief. “I don't enjoy being teased.” He huffs.

You frown. “What-”

“You know purple.” He snaps, but it sounds less angry and more desperate. “You cannot tell me you don't know the color purple.”

You look at the thing in your hands. If you absolutely had to answer, life or death, what color it was, you'd only be able to say not red but not blue.

You look back up to see mortarion's face more stern. “your planet was quite brown and hazy, I suppose.” He said. “I can… understand that.” For a moment you see something flicker behind his gaze, but it is gone before you can guess it.

You tilt your head in a little confusion, intending to ask what he meant, but are turned back to the display instead. Mortarion leans over you to start pointing at the soft creatures.

“Purple.” He says, pointing at the one you held. “Pink, blue, orange…”

You pout. “I know blue-” you point at the pointy eared alien toy, “That's not blue. Blue has more grey in it.”

He sighs. “No, your rivers were not blue, they were just the only thing on that forsaken dirt ball that had a slight hint of blue in it. This is blue.” he says, picking up the bright, smiling creature and handing it to you.

Suddenly, you're being hoisted again, and tucked under the massive man's arm. “you're getting those two, I have chosen for you.” he grumbles. You think you catch him grumble something about doesn't know purple under his breath.

He forces you to pick out a blanket as well, as you'd been complaining about being chilly sleeping on the floor at night. That was true, but you more mean that it is a hard, metal floor, and wanted a bed. You had asked for some straw to weave yourself a proper mattress, but only got an annoyed look in response. He tossed you a pillow to sleep atop instead.

You chose a blanket in pink. You know pink too, but this one is an almost pastel, dusty version that you've never seen in nature. It was pleasant, and didn't hurt your eyes like the other new colors. Plus, it was quilted and full of feathers. He didn’t seem to mind buying something so lavish, so you figure you may as well be comfortable.

When you're finished shopping, Mortarion opens the large satchel he'd taken you out of his room in. You frown, looking up over the toys and blankets in your arms.

“Can't I just walk in…?” You ask.

He presses his mouth to a line. “No.”

You mimic the expression. “I promise I won't try to run again…” you say, referring to the ill fated attempt you'd made to avoid going into the belly of the flying beast when he'd first taken you.

He rolls his eyes. “No. In. And be quiet. I don't want my sons to see you.”

You sigh, shuffling up to the large bag and tossing your new toys inside first. “Can't you just tell them I am some sort of field hand?”

He shakes the bag opening at you. “No. We don't have those, and I don't want them getting strange ideas. In.”

“Stranger than this…?” You mumble to yourself as you crawl into the bag, curling up and situating yourself.

He peers down at you through the opening. “Don't talk back. And there's nothing strange about having a….” He glances away and back quickly, frowning. “A personal serf.”

Your scrunch your brow. “Serf…? But I don't do anything-”

Your words are cut off as he cinches the bag closed and hoists you up, making you squeak in surprise and have to scramble to reposition yourself where you can breathe.

“I said, don't talk back.” He grumbles, setting off on a quick pace that makes you jostle and swing as he walks.

[estellan0vella]

Absolutely Fucking Perfectly Imperfect: L.F Lee Felix x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 10.9K

CW: Guns, robbery, Felix uses the word cunt, inappropriate reactions in the face of danger

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist Part I

The room is steeped in the low thrum of Felix's game. A constant, chaotic melody of clacks, pings, and loud swearing. His three monitors shift between shades of brilliant neon, painting the walls with flickers of pink, green, and blue. Felix is leaning forward in his chair, elbows braced on his desk, the hood of his oversized sweatshirt falling halfway off his head. His messy blonde hair sticks out at odd angles and his jaw tightens as he glares at the screen.

"You absolute blind fuckwit," he growls into his headset, his Australian accent sharp with irritation. "I pinged the gank five fucking times! What do you cunts even do when you play? Draw fucking pictures?"

The venom in his words makes you snort softly, but you quickly press a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound. You're sprawled across his bed, one leg hooked under you while the other bounces idly in time with the lo-fi beats playing softly from your phone. Your paramedic science textbook is open in front of you, drowning in sticky notes and highlights, and yet you've barely absorbed a single sentence in the past fifteen minutes.

Felix slams his mouse against the pad, his free hand running through his hair as he mutters to himself. "Goddamn trolls. How the fuck am I still stuck with people like this?"

You bite your lip, trying desperately to keep your focus on the diagram in your book. But when Felix groans, loud, dramatic, and utterly exasperated, it's impossible to hold back the laugh bubbling in your chest.

"You're not fucking slick, sweetheart," Felix says, his voice cutting through the space without warning. He doesn't even glance your way, still hammering keys with laser-sharp precision. "I can hear you giggling."

You glance up from your textbook, feigning innocence. "Me? Laughing? At you losing? Never."

"Bullshit," he shoots back, finally pulling one ear of his headset off and swivelling in his chair to look at you. The glow from his monitors casts soft shadows across his freckled face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the mischievous tilt of his grin. "You live for my fuck-ups. Admit it."

You raise an eyebrow, sitting up straighter. "I live for many things, Felix, but your decade-long inability to climb out of bronze isn't one of them."

Felix's eyes narrow, his grin widening. "Oh, you're fucking bold tonight, aren't you?" He spins back to his screen as another ping echoes from the game. "Just remember, sweetheart, payback's a fucking bitch."

You snicker, flipping a page in your book with deliberate slowness. "I'm not worried. You're too busy getting carried by your teammates to ever come up with anything clever."

"That's rich," he fires back immediately. "Coming from someone who cried over her med math assignment last week."

Your mouth drops open in mock offence, a highlighter frozen mid-air. "I did not cry. I had a moment of academic distress."

Felix laughs at that, the sound loud and warm, cutting through the tense clicks of his keyboard. "Right, sure. You were so distressed you fucking threw your pen across the room and yelled, 'Fuck it, I'll just die.' Real professional of you, future paramedic."

You chuck a pillow at him without thinking, laughing when it bounces harmlessly off his back. "Eat shit, Lix."

"Gladly," he shoots back, not missing a beat. "But only if you're cooking."

"Oh, fuck off," you retort, biting back a grin. "I wouldn't trust you to boil an egg without setting the kitchen on fire."

"I'm insulted," Felix says, slouching back in his chair as the death screen flashes across his monitors. He peeks at you over his shoulder, an exaggerated pout on his face. "You've eaten my fucking food, Y/N. Tell me it's not amazing. Go on."

"It's okay," you say, shrugging nonchalantly as you highlight another passage in your textbook. "Like, solid six out of ten. Very edible."

Felix gasps, spinning his chair around to fully face you, his hands flying to his chest in mock betrayal. "Six out of fucking ten? Are you kidding me? You fucking licked the plate last time I made pasta!"

"You're delusional," you say, fighting a laugh as you flip another page. "Maybe I was just really hungry."

Felix leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his grin sharp and unrelenting. "You talk so much shit for someone who can't even scramble eggs without making them look like roadkill."

Your jaw drops again, this time with genuine indignation. "Okay, fuck you, those eggs were fine. Rustic, even."

"Rustic?" Felix repeats, his laughter spilling out before he can stop it. "They were burnt. I had to scrape them off the pan with a fucking chisel."

"Fuck off," you mutter, but you're smiling, the textbook in front of you momentarily forgotten. "At least I can make coffee without putting half a kilo of sugar in it."

"First of all," Felix says, holding up a finger, "I put exactly the right amount of sugar. Second, that's fucking rich coming from someone who adds four sugars to hers and then drinks it like it's a health tonic."

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off with a smug grin. "Yeah, sweetheart, I fucking count."

You glare at him. "You're the fucking worst."

"You love it," Felix says smoothly, leaning back in his chair and spinning slightly, his grin turning softer as he watches you pick up your highlighter again.

"Debatable," you mutter.

For a moment, the room falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by the faint hum of Felix's PC and the soft rustling of pages as you flip through your textbook. Felix glances over at you occasionally, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches you scribble notes in the margins.

"You know," he says eventually, his voice quieter now, almost tentative, "you look kinda cute when you're all focused like that."

You glance up, surprised, and find him watching you with an expression that's softer than usual, his teasing grin replaced with something more genuine. The glow from his monitors cast warm shadows across his freckled cheeks, and you feel your heart stutter at the sight.

"Don't be fucking mushy," you mumble, burying your face back in your book.

Felix laughs, soft and low, his chair creaking as he leans back lazily. "Fine. I'll save it for when you're crying over your next quiz."

"Fuck off, Felix."

"You're so fucking cute when you're mad."

You're elbow-deep in your notes, eyes scanning a particularly dense passage about hemorrhagic shock, when Felix lets out a groan loud enough to rattle the walls. His voice is full of pure, unfiltered frustration as he slams a hand onto his desk.

You glance up and it's almost comical how over-the-top his expression is. Head tilted back, eyes shut, like the world has personally wronged him.

"For fuck's sake," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. The League of Legends screen vanishes from his screen with a decisive click, the rage-quit both swift and inevitable. He swivels his chair slightly, his freckled face twisted in a mix of defeat and irritation.

"Done with your self-imposed torture?" you ask, leaning back against the wall behind Felix's bed.

Stretching your arms overhead, you feel the hem of your black lace-trimmed camisole ride up slightly, and you tug it down absentmindedly. Felix's gaze flickers toward you at the movement, but he quickly turns back to his screen, pulling up another game launcher.

"Fuck League," he huffs, opening Call of Duty with a few sharp clicks. The new interface floods the room with aggressive reds and blacks. "Let's play something where I can actually ruin other people's days."

You smirk, tapping your pen idly against your notebook. "You mean something where you let other people ruin yours?"

"Oi," he snaps, spinning his chair to point an accusatory finger at you, but the grin tugging at the corner of his lips betrays him. "Shut the fuck up. You don't get to talk when you're the one who cried over a fucking dosage calculation last week."

"I didn't cry," you shoot back, glaring at him. "I had a moment. And don't deflect, we're talking about your fragile gamer ego right now, not my future as a paramedic."

"Fragile?" Felix snorts as he throws on his headset, the mic resting against his cheek. "Sweetheart, I'm about to emotionally destroy some poor cunt in a CoD lobby. You're about to see mental fortitude at its finest."

"Oh, this I have to see." You close your textbook with a snap, crawling to the edge of the bed to get a better view. Felix raises an eyebrow at your movement, his grin widening.

"Come here," he says, patting his thigh with one hand while the other adjusts his mouse sensitivity. "Sit in my lap and listen to me eviscerate these dickless pricks."

You roll your eyes, but the grin you try to suppress betrays you. "You're a fucking idiot," you mutter, standing up and crossing the short distance to his chair. "You know that, right?"

"Yup," he says cheerfully, grabbing your waist as you climb into his lap and his arm wraps around you like it belongs there, securing you against him. "But I'm your idiot."

"Unfortunately," you mutter, but you're smiling as you settle into him, your legs dangling off one side of the chair. Felix's fingers fly over the keyboard as he queues into a match, his in-game mic already unmuted.

The game loads, and almost immediately, Felix's shit-talking begins. "Oi, you camping piece of shit!" he shouts gleefully as he sprints across the map, his character firing wildly. "You gonna spend the whole fucking match in that corner, or are you gonna grow a pair and actually play the fucking game?"

You laugh before you can stop yourself, the sound light and genuine. Felix's grip on your waist tightens slightly as he leans back, turning his head just enough to smirk at you. "What's so funny?"

"You're deranged," you say, shaking your head. "It's just a game."

"It's not just a game," he retorts, spinning back to face his screen. His tone is dramatic, dripping with mock sincerity. "It's about principle. I will not let this dipshit out-insult me. Watch and fucking learn."

You nestle closer, resting your chin on his shoulder as the match kicks into full gear. Felix's hands are a blur on the keyboard and mouse, his voice rising above the chaos of explosions and gunfire. "Oi, you fucking rat bastard! How about you aim for once in your goddamn life, you useless cunt?"

The other player doesn't miss a beat, his crackly voice shooting back through Felix's headset. "Says the guy who sounds like he's 12 and still jerks off to hentai."

Felix barks a laugh, sharp and incredulous, his arm tightening around you. "Hentai? Bro, how about you crawl out of your mom's basement and maybe speak to a woman for once, you dickless clown?"

You burst out laughing, burying your face in Felix's shoulder to muffle the sound. His shit-eating grin only grows wider as he continues. "Yeah, you hear that? That's the sound of a woman's laugh, mate. I know you wouldn't recognize it, but that's what it fucking sounds like."

The other player falters, and Felix pounces on the silence like a predator. "What, got nothing to say now? That's what I fucking thought. Bitchless loser."

You're practically crying at this point, clutching at Felix's hoodie as your laughter spills out uncontrollably. "Oh my fucking God," you manage between gasps. "You're insane."

Felix chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. "And you fucking love it."

"I do not," you shoot back, though the warmth in your tone betrays you. "You're a menace."

"Yeah," Felix says, leaning back slightly as his character reloads. "But I'm your menace."

The other player finally speaks again, his voice wavering with frustration. "Whatever, man. You're fucking dogshit at this game."

Felix snorts, aiming down sights and taking the guy out with a single headshot. "Dogshit, huh? That's funny, coming from someone I just fucking clapped, you silly cunt."

You shake your head, still laughing as Felix adjusts his grip on you, his cheek brushing against yours. "You're the worst."

"And yet," he says, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur, "you're still here."

You glance at him, and for a brief moment, the chaos of the game fades into the background. His dark eyes meet yours, full of mischief and something softer, and your heart stumbles over itself.

"Shut the fuck up," you mutter, looking away quickly, but the smile tugging at your lips is impossible to hide.

Felix laughs, low and warm, and you feel the vibrations of it through his chest. "Whatever you say, sweetheart. Now, let me go ruin someone else's day."

A familiar voice cuts through the channel. "Felix, you absolute cockwaffle, why the fuck are you yelling at strangers again? I can hear you down the fucking hallway."

Felix groans audibly, leaning his head back against the chair in a dramatic display of exasperation. "Jisung, what the fuck do you want?"

Jisung's laugh crackles through the headset, bright and unrelenting. "Just wanted to check in on my favourite blond bitch and remind you that you're dogshit at this game. Like, the kind of dogshit covered in flies and left to bake on hot pavement."

Felix's entire body stiffens, his character spinning wildly on the screen as he slams his fingers against the keyboard. "You silver-haired dick, I will walk down the hall and fight you right fucking now."

Jisung doesn't miss a beat. "Do it. You won't, you spineless sack of kangaroo shit."

"I fucking will," Felix growls, his free hand tightening slightly on your waist. The motion makes you glance up at him, amused. "Or better yet, I'll send Y/N to fight you."

"No fucking way," you chime in, leaning your cheek against Felix's shoulder as you observe the escalating chaos. "I already spend too much time patching up Jisung. Why the fuck would I make more work for myself?"

"That's valid," Jisung says immediately. "See? Y/N's on my side."

Felix turns his head slightly, just enough to send you a mock glare. "She's not on shit, mate. She's just smarter than to waste her energy on a little gremlin like you."

"You blond fuck," Jisung snaps, his voice rising in indignation. "You're the gremlin here! I swear to God, if you call me that again-"

"What?" Felix interrupts, his tone full of fake concern. "What are you gonna do, huh? Cry about it? Piss your pants, maybe? Shit and cum? I'll send you a fucking diaper, Jisung. Express delivery to your room."

"Oh, you absolute wanker," Jisung fires back. "When's the last time you even fucking did laundry, Felix? Your room probably smells like a mix of week-old pizza, gamer sweat, and poor life choices."

"Oh, fuck all the way off," Felix snaps, though he's grinning widely. His hand flies to the mouse as he takes another shot on screen. "At least I don't dress like I raided the wardrobe of a discount backup dancer from fucking Step Up."

"Big talk coming from someone whose entire wardrobe is just oversized hoodies and sweatpants," Jisung shoots back with a laugh so loud it nearly crackles in the headset. "If it weren't for Y/N, you'd look like a fucking hermit."

Felix huffs, his fingers smashing against the keyboard as his character goes down again. "Eat my entire fucking ass, Jisung. I swear to God, if you weren't such a liability, I'd uninstall this game just so you'd be forced to suffer alone."

Jisung cackles, his voice full of smug glee. "Do it, you coward. But remember, when I kick your ass, Y/N's not saving you."

"Oh, I'm not saving either of you," you chime in, giggling as Felix mutters something under his breath about teammates being actual horse shit. His hand slides against your waist again, almost as if grounding himself, while he waits to respawn.

Jisung picks up immediately, his tone back to chaotic energy. "See, Felix? Y/N doesn't even like you."

"Shut the fuck up, Jisung. At least I don't break my toe every other month running into fucking doors."

"You blond fucker," Jisung yells back, his indignation almost comical. "You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope," Felix fires back, leaning forward slightly to hammer out a kill in the game. "You're a fucking hazard to yourself and everyone around you. If Darwinism were real, you'd have died out years ago. Society would have culled you for the betterment of the world"

You can't hold back your laughter anymore, leaning into Felix's shoulder as the insults continue to fly. The absurdity of their exchange, Jisung calling Felix "a gutter-dwelling kangaroo-shagger" and Felix responding with "a fucking mosquito with an inferiority complex", leaves your stomach aching from the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

By the time Felix wraps up the match, somehow pulling a win out of his ass despite the nonstop shit-talking, you're practically breathless with laughter. He yanks off his headset, tossing it onto the desk with a loud sigh of satisfaction, and leans back in his chair, pulling you back against him.

"See that?" he says, grinning smugly as he glances down at you. "Told you I could emotionally destroy those bitches."

"You're ridiculous," you reply, shaking your head even as you fight to suppress your smile. His hand rests warm and steady against your waist, his hoodie soft against your skin.

"And you fucking love it," Felix counters smoothly, his grin widening as he presses a quick, teasing kiss to your temple.

You roll your eyes but let the moment linger, warmth blooming in your chest as Jisung's voice cuts through again, indignant as ever. "Oi, Felix, you absolute fuckstain. I heard that kiss. Save the mushy shit for later, yeah?"

Felix laughs, his chest vibrating against you as he glances toward the door. "Shut the fuck up, Jisung. You're just jealous."

"Damn right, I'm jealous," Jisung shoots back. "Jealous that you're still dogshit at Call of Duty."

"Eat shit and die," Felix says, laughing as he rests his head against yours. "Fucking gremlin."

The soft hum of Felix's gaming rig dims further as his monitors finally shut off, plunging the room into a calm, muted glow from his LED strips. The clock ticks over to 4:00 AM, the hour dragging its weight into the air.

It's quieter now, the kind of silence that clings to the dead of night, thick and unrelenting. You're still perched in Felix's lap, scrolling idly through social media on your phone while his hand rests warm against your thigh. The stillness is comfortable until your stomach betrays you with a loud, unapologetic growl.

"Fucking hell," Felix mutters, breaking the silence with a groan as he nudges you off his lap. "Your stomach sounds like it's trying to summon a goddamn demon."

You shoot him a flat look as you stand, stretching your arms over your head. The hem of your black lace-trimmed camisole rides up slightly, and you catch Felix's eyes flicking down for half a second before he smirks. "It's called hunger, you dick. You wouldn't know since you've been surviving on Doritos and Monster like a fucking raccoon all night."

"That's a perfectly balanced diet, thank you very much," he retorts, leaning back in his chair and spinning lazily to face you. His hoodie is skewed from hours of sitting, the hem riding up just enough to reveal the faint lines of his abs. 

"I need food," you declare dramatically, hands on your hips like you're about to stage a protest. "Real food. Not this gamer bullshit you keep calling a balanced diet."

Felix snorts, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his phone from the desk. "Good luck finding 'real food' at four in the fucking morning. What do you think this is, MasterChef?" He stretches his arms overhead, his hoodie lifting enough to give you another fleeting glimpse of his toned stomach. His voice pulls you back before your gaze lingers. "How about instant ramen? The convenience store is open, and ramen's practically fucking gourmet at this hour."

You don't hesitate, already grabbing your shoes. "Say less."

Felix chuckles, grabbing his sneakers from under the desk. He doesn't bother tying them, as always, the frayed laces dragging behind him like an afterthought. As he slips them on, you unlatch his window to test the air outside. A sharp gust of cold rushes in, making you shiver.

"It's fucking freezing," you mutter, pulling your arm back inside. Felix, now rummaging through his wardrobe, glances up with an amused smirk.

"No shit," He tosses a black cardigan at you, the fabric hitting you square in the face. "Here. Can't have my sweetheart freezing her ass off and bitching about it the whole way."

You roll your eyes at the nickname, but you slip the cardigan on without complaint. It's oversized, the sleeves swallowing your hands and the hem brushing the tops of your thighs, and it smells faintly of his cologne, a warm, woodsy scent that lingers comfortingly around you. "Thanks, Lix. I'd say you're a gentleman, but we both know that's a fucking lie."

"Oi," he shoots back, grabbing his keys and holding the door open for you with an exaggerated bow. "You wound me."

The hallway of the Alpha Phi house is eerily quiet, the usual chaos replaced by the occasional creak of the floorboards and the faint hum of the fridge down the hall.

Felix pulls the door shut behind him as you both tiptoe past the other guys' rooms, careful not to wake anyone. When you reach the front door, he holds it open for you as the cold night air hits you like a slap.

The walk to the convenience store is short, but the chill bites at your skin, making you huddle closer to Felix. The streets are deserted, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, and the only sounds are the shuffle of your footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves caught in the wind.

Felix's hand finds yours without ceremony, his fingers threading through yours with a warmth that contrasts sharply against the cold. "So," he starts, his voice casual but tinged with that mischievous lilt you know so well, "what's the game plan? Ramen? Energy drinks? Or are we going all out like the unhinged fucks we are and getting both?"

"Both, obviously," you reply, squeezing his hand for emphasis. "And chips. And chocolate. Maybe some of those prepackaged muffins too."

He snickers, pulling you closer as another gust of wind whips past. "You're gonna eat all that, feel like shit, and then somehow blame me."

"First of all," you retort, grinning up at him, "I'll feel fine. Second, I'm buying you snacks too, so maybe don't be such an ass about it."

Felix hums thoughtfully, his lips quirking up at the corner. "Alright, fair. You're forgiven."

"Oh, I'm forgiven?" you say, feigning disbelief. "Thanks so much, your majesty. Truly blessed to have your mercy."

"You're welcome, peasant," he replies smoothly, then, without warning, he spins you in a circle, his grip on your hand firm as he twirls you like a dancer mid-performance.

You let out a startled laugh, stumbling slightly as he catches you with both hands. "What the fuck, Felix?"

"Couldn't resist," he says, his grin wide and unapologetic as he tugs you back beside him. "You looked like you needed a little excitement."

"At four in the morning?" you ask, still laughing. "You're fucking insane."

"And yet," he replies, his tone smug as his hand squeezes yours again, "you're still here."

The two of you continue down the street, Felix twirling you every few steps just to hear you giggle. By the time the neon glow of the convenience store sign comes into view, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and you've threatened to shove him into a bush at least three times.

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store buzz faintly, casting a sterile glow over the shelves stocked with instant noodles, candy, and cheap energy drinks. The air smells faintly of burnt coffee and plastic, a strange but familiar comfort to you and Felix.

 It's the unspoken backdrop of your late-night snack runs, the kind of ritual that feels absurdly sacred at this hour. The automatic doors shut behind you with a quiet whoosh, and you grab one of the red plastic baskets stacked near the door.

"Alright," Felix says, clapping his hands together like a man on a mission. "Let's stock the fuck up, sweetheart. We've got a long night of doing absolutely nothing ahead of us."

You smirk, shoving the basket into his chest. "You're in charge of drinks, chef boy."

Felix salutes you mockingly before strolling to the refrigerators, his sneakers scuffing against the tiles. He doesn't even hesitate before yanking open one of the glass doors and grabbing cans of energy drinks like he's on a game show and every second counts. Red Bull, Monster, Rockstar, the classics, pile into the basket with abandon.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Lix," you mutter as he lugs the basket back toward you, the drinks rattling ominously. "You planning to die of caffeine overdose or what?"

Felix grins, his freckles dancing as he shrugs. "Fuck it. If I die, I die. At least I'll be wide fucking awake when it happens."

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch in amusement as you grab a handful of chocolate bars and throw them into the basket. Felix matches you tit for tat, grabbing sour gummy worms, chips, and a suspiciously large bag of candy-coated chocolates. By the time you reach the ramen aisle, the basket is teetering on the brink of disaster.

"We're going spicy," Felix declares, grabbing a red-and-black packet of ramen and holding it up like a trophy. "You game?"

"Always," you reply, grabbing your own packet. The two of you quickly stock up on more, just in case the apocalypse hits and ramen is the only thing that will save you, and Felix carefully balances the new additions on top of the precarious pile in the basket.

You're halfway through debating the merits of sea salt chips versus barbecue when the automatic doors behind you whoosh open again. A loud, frantic voice booms through the store, tearing through the quiet like a gunshot.

"Everyone on the fucking floor!"

You whip around, and sure enough, there's a man standing in the doorway, a gun clenched in his shaky hands. He's wearing a black ski mask that's slightly crooked, revealing part of his sweaty face, and his body language screams desperation. The store clerk lets out a strangled yelp before diving behind the counter, leaving you and Felix standing frozen in the snack aisle.

Felix meets your gaze, his expression calm but incredulous, like he's just been inconvenienced by the universe itself. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mutters under his breath.

You can't help it, a disbelieving snort escapes you as you glance at the gunman, then back at Felix. "Of course this happens while we're here."

Felix sighs dramatically, setting the basket down on the floor with a deliberate thud. "Fucking typical. Can't even get some fucking ramen without some prick trying to play GTA in real life."

The gunman notices you and Felix standing there, clearly unimpressed by the gravity of the situation and waves the gun in your direction. "I said get on the fucking floor!"

You exchange a look with Felix, then slowly lower yourselves to the ground. Felix lies down with all the enthusiasm of someone forced to participate in a group project they didn't sign up for, folding his arms under his head like he's on a beach. "Of all the fucking convenience stores," he mutters under his breath, "he had to walk into this one."

You shoot him a look, biting back a laugh as you settle onto the dirty tiles. "Shut the fuck up, Felix."

"I'm just saying," he whispers, propping his chin on his hand like he's bored. "This guy couldn't pick a different store? A bank, maybe? Literally anywhere else?"

The gunman slams his fist on the counter, yelling at the clerk. "Hurry the fuck up and open the register!"

You glance toward the counter, then back at Felix, who has now rolled onto his side like he's posing for a calendar. "Do you think it's real?" he murmurs, tilting his head toward the gun.

You stifle a laugh, clamping your hand over your mouth. "Felix, shut the fuck up."

He grins, his voice dropping to a low, amused whisper. "I'm just saying, what if it's, like, a water gun? Or some shitty BB gun he got off eBay?"

You shake your head, trying to suppress the absurd giggle bubbling in your chest, but it escapes anyway. Felix shoots you a triumphant look, clearly pleased with himself.

"Oi, you two!" the gunman barks, his voice cracking with frustration. "Shut the fuck up back there!"

Felix doesn't even flinch. "Sure thing, Mr. Criminal Mastermind," he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

"Felix!" you hiss, your voice a mix of a scold and a laugh. "You're gonna get us killed."

He shrugs, his grin unrelenting. "Doubt it. He's all talk."

To prove Felix wrong, the guy fires a shot into the air. The deafening crack makes you flinch instinctively, your hand flying to Felix's arm. He stays completely unfazed, his expression almost bored as he mutters, "See? Terrible fucking aim."

You choke on a laugh, burying your face in your arms to muffle the sound. Felix, ever the shit-stirrer, grins like a Cheshire cat.

"Shut the fuck up back there!" the guy yells again, his voice higher now, tinged with panic.

Felix leans his head closer to yours, his voice still low and dripping with amusement. "Think he's ever been laid?"

"Felix," you whisper, biting your lip to stop another laugh. "For fuck's sake-"

"What?" he says, feigning innocence. "It's a valid question. He's got serious incel energy."

The gunman stomps toward the back of the store, still yelling at the clerk, and Felix lets out another exaggerated sigh. "Fucking rookie," he mutters, shaking his head like he's genuinely disappointed.

You glance at him, half-laughing, half-mortified. "I can't take you fucking anywhere, Lee Felix."

"And you fucking love it," he replies, his grin widening. "Now, let's see how this plays out."

The guy spins back toward you and Felix, his gun raised and pointed directly at the two of you. His posture screams tension, shoulders hunched, chest heaving, hands shaking slightly.

But you and Felix? You're fucking useless. The absurdity of the whole situation has a death grip on both of you, and neither of you can stop laughing.

"You think this is fucking funny?" the guy barks, his voice vibrating with equal parts rage and disbelief.

You're clutching Felix's hoodie sleeve as your shoulders shake. The laughter bubbles uncontrollably out of your chest, your face pressed into Felix's arm in a desperate attempt to muffle the sound. Felix isn't helping. He's snickering like a teenager in church, his lips twitching upward every time he glances at the guy.

"Funniest shit I've seen all week," Felix mutters, wiping at his eyes like he's genuinely emotional about the comedy of it all.

"Stand the fuck up!" The guy waves his gun wildly at you, his voice cracking as he shouts.

Felix lets out a long-suffering sigh, tilting his head back as though this is the greatest inconvenience of his life. "Alright, alright, keep your fucking panties on," he mutters, nudging you gently with his shoulder. "C'mon, sweetheart. We wouldn't wanna upset Mr. Very Serious Crime Guy."

You both get to your feet, but the laughter doesn't stop. It's fucking ridiculous, and neither of you can find it in yourselves to take this seriously. not when Felix's mouth is twitching like he's fighting back the punchline to a bad joke.

The guy points his gun directly at Felix now, his knuckles white against the grip. "You wanna get shot, pretty boy?"

Felix blinks at him, utterly unfazed. "Not particularly, but thanks for the offer. Generous of you."

The sound that escapes you is half-snort, half-laugh, and you slap a hand over your mouth immediately. The guy's eyes snap to you, his glare sharp enough to cut glass, but you can't stop the way the giggles keep bubbling out of your throat.

"You're really leaning into this whole 'angry criminal' vibe, huh?" Felix says, tilting his head at the guy. His tone is light, conversational, like they're discussing the weather. "Bit cliché, though, don't you think?"

"What the fuck are you on about?" The guy's voice is rising now, his frustration palpable.

"Oh, you know," Felix says, gesturing vaguely toward the gun with a casual flick of his wrist. "Big scary man with a weapon compensating for some deeply-rooted insecurities. Classic projection."

"What the fuck did you just say?" the guy spits, his stance bristling with barely-contained rage.

"You heard me," Felix smirks, his voice laced with mockery. "Screams small dick energy."

Your laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, loud and breathless, and you double over slightly, gripping Felix's arm to steady yourself. Felix looks down at you, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. The guy's face, what little of it is visible beneath the ski mask, flushes an angry red.

"You little shits," the guy growls, his voice trembling with rage. "Keep running your mouths, see what happens."

"Oh no," Felix deadpans, leaning closer to you like he's letting you in on a joke. "He's threatening us, sweetheart. Whatever will we do?"

"I don't know. Maybe if we laugh hard enough, he'll rethink his life choices."

"You're fucking insane!" the guy shouts, taking a menacing step forward. His hands shake harder now, the barrel of the gun wobbling slightly as he points it between the two of you.

Felix raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Us? You're the one waving a gun around at four in the fucking morning. You might wanna reevaluate some things."

Before the guy can reply, there's a sudden, sharp crack from behind him. The sound echoes through the store, followed by a guttural thud as the guy stumbles forward and crashes face-first onto the dirty tile. The gun clatters to the floor, and behind him stands the cashier, gripping a battered wooden baseball bat like it's his lifeline.

The cashier's eyes are wide, his chest heaving as he stares down at the unconscious man. For a moment, no one moves. Then Felix lets out a slow clap, each exaggerated smack of his hands ringing out in the silent store.

"Fucking hell," Felix says, his tone downright cheerful. "Didn't think you had it in you. That was beautiful. Poetry in motion."

The cashier glares at him, his grip on the bat still tight. "Nice job distracting him with your dumb fucking jokes and fake giggling," he mutters. "Really helped."

"Oh no, that wasn't a distraction," Felix replies, shaking his head with a shit-eating grin. "That was one hundred percent real. Funniest fucking thing I've ever been part of."

"You're kidding," the cashier deadpans, his face a mix of exhaustion and disbelief.

"Not even a little," Felix says, grinning wider. "You're a goddamn hero, though. Iconic. Sweetheart, wasn't that iconic?"

You nod, still laughing as you lean against Felix for support. "To be fair," you say, your voice breathless, "who even robs a convenience store at four in the fucking morning? Deserved it."

The cashier stares at you both like you're clinically insane, but his shoulders sag as he lets out a heavy sigh. "You're both fucking crazy," he mutters. "Anyway, whatever you want? It's on the house. Just take it and get the fuck out of here before I have to call the cops."

Felix's eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Oh, sweetheart, you heard the man. Free shit. Quick, grab more ramen. And vodka. Lots of vodka."

"Lix," you groan, though you can't keep the laughter out of your voice. "We don't need-"

"Sweetheart," Felix interrupts, grabbing another basket with one hand and slinging his free arm around your shoulders. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You don't say no to free snacks."

You roll your eyes but let him lead the way, watching as he raids the shelves like a man on a mission. Chips, candy, booze, more energy drinks, instant ramen, it all goes into the basket with reckless abandon.

You grab a few more chocolate bars and a pack of cookies for good measure, and by the time you're done, the two of you are weighed down with enough junk food to survive a nuclear apocalypse.

"Thanks, legend," Felix says as he carries the overloaded basket to the door. "You've earned that Employee of the Month title."

The cashier doesn't even respond, too busy dialling the cops as you and Felix step out into the chilly night air. The faint wail of sirens carries in the distance, and Felix glances down at you, his grin softening slightly as he balances the bags in his hands.

"You alright, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice quieter now.

You nod, leaning into his side as you start the walk back. "Yeah. You?"

He hums thoughtfully, then smirks. "Honestly? Best fucking night of my life."

The streets are eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the faint breeze as you and Felix stumble your way back to the Alpha Phi frat house. The neon-lit chaos of the convenience store feels like a fever dream now, the vodka in your systems the only tangible evidence it even happened.

Both of you are giggling like fucking lunatics, swigging from your bottles with zero regard for the fact that it's nearing five in the morning. The night air bites at your exposed skin, but the vodka burns hot in your veins, a liquid fire keeping you both upright. Barely.

Felix pauses mid-step, his sneakers scraping against the pavement as he takes another long drink from his bottle. His cheeks are flushed a warm pink, and his eyes gleam with sloppy amusement as he holds up the now-almost-empty bottle like it's the fucking Holy Grail. "Fuck me, this is some good shit. Tastes better 'cause it's free."

You laugh, tipping your own bottle up for another swig. The sharp sweetness burns your throat, but it's the good kind of burn, the kind that makes everything seem a little funnier. "Cherry vodka might actually be the love of my life," you say with a contented sigh, lowering the bottle. "Sorry, Lix."

Felix gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest like you've just personally betrayed him. "Sweetheart, how could you? I thought we had something special. Something real."

"Not as real as this vodka," you tease, stumbling a little as your foot catches on a crack in the sidewalk. Felix reacts instantly, one arm looping around your waist to steady you.

"You're fucking hopeless," he mutters, grinning as he tugs you closer to his side. "You fall for vodka faster than you fall for me. What the fuck is that about?"

"It's vodka," you reply, deadpan. "What do you expect?"

By the time you reach the corner leading to the frat house, both of your bottles are empty. Felix stares at his in mild disappointment, tipping it upside down and watching the last drop cling stubbornly to the glass before giving up with a huff. "We're not even fucking home yet, and we're already out," he mutters. "What's the plan? Drink more when we get back?"

"Obviously," you say, leaning into his shoulder. "We've got enough booze to kill an entire marching band."

Felix throws his head back and laughs, the sound echoing into the empty streets. "Alright, operation 'drink until we don't remember shit' is a go."

The sight of the frat house looming ahead sends another wave of laughter through you both. By the time you reach the front steps, you're practically doubled over, clutching Felix's arm as you try to keep your balance. He's no better, leaning heavily on the railing with the bags of stolen snacks and booze swinging precariously from one hand.

The front door creaks open just as you're about to fall inside, the sound startling enough to cut your laughter short. Heavy footsteps echo from the stairs, and you both look up to see Chan and Changbin at the top landing, their faces an unholy mix of confusion and irritation.

Chan's hair sticks up like he's been electrocuted, and his hoodie is lopsided. Changbin leans against the railing, squinting at you like you're a cryptid that wandered into their territory.

"What the fuck are you two doing?" Chan asks, his voice hoarse from sleep. "It's almost five in the fucking morning."

Felix, unbothered, beams up at him like he's just spotted his long-lost soulmate. "Cahn," he says, waving a hand dramatically. "You wouldn't believe the night we've had. We almost got shot."

Your nod is enthusiastic, but your balance is shit, and you clutch at Felix's sleeve to keep from toppling over. "Yeah! Gun! Right in our fucking faces."

"A real one," Felix adds helpfully, his grin spreading wider. "With bullets."

"Pew pew bang bang!" you chime in, mimicking finger guns to drive the point home.

Felix, clearly inspired, joins in with his own finger guns. "Yeah, pew pew bang bang! Dude fired into the ceiling, real bullets and everything."

Chan's jaw drops. He looks from you to Felix and back again, his eyebrows knitting together in sheer disbelief. "I beg your fucking pardon?" he finally says, his voice rising an octave.

You wave your hands like you're trying to explain quantum physics to a toddler. "So, we were at the store, and this guy walks in with a gun, and-"

"And we started laughing," Felix interrupts, his tone as casual as if he's explaining what he had for breakfast.

Changbin throws up his hands, his voice thick with exasperation. "Why the fuck would you laugh?"

"Because it was hilarious," Felix says, slinging an arm around your shoulders like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Chan's expression darkens, his voice low and deadly as he points a finger at you both. "I'm telling my mother."

Your gasp is immediate and full of melodrama. "Noooooo! Jess will lecture me for hours! I don't have parents! I'm supposed to be allowed to make dumb fucking decisions!"

Chan crosses his arms, his face blank but his tone sharp as a knife. "Tough shit. You're getting a lecture."

"I'll be good!" you plead, clasping your hands together like you're in front of a judge. "I swear, I'll be so fucking good."

Chan raises an eyebrow. "You've never been good a day in your life."

You let out a loud, mock-serious sigh. "It all started when my mom left me as a safe haven baby."

"Nice fucking try," Chan says. "That shit stopped working on me years ago"

Felix, still grinning, leans into you conspiratorially. "You're really playing the abandonment card?"

"It's my trump card," you say, throwing your hands in the air. "But apparently it doesn't work on Chan! What's the point of being parentally abandoned as an infant if I can't use it to get out of shit?"

Another voice slices through the quiet, low and laced with irritation. "It's five in the fucking morning. What the hell is going on down here?"

Everyone turns to see Minho standing at the top of the stairs, his red hair sticking up in every direction, a messy halo around his head like he's some pissed-off, sleep-deprived god of chaos. He leans heavily on the railing, his hoodie half-zipped and sliding off one shoulder.

His eyes narrow as he surveys the scene. the bags of snacks and booze, you half-drunk and clinging to Felix for balance, Chan and Changbin looking like disapproving parents. It's a tableau of absolute fucking nonsense.

Felix takes one look at Minho's dishevelled figure and immediately bursts out laughing, doubling over and clutching his stomach. "Oh god," he wheezes between giggles, his voice echoing down the hall. "It's all three dads. We're so fucked."

Minho raises an unimpressed eyebrow, his tone flat but deadly as he crosses his arms. "Alright, my dear children, tell Daddy Minho why you disturbed his very precious fucking rest before I drag you both into the front yard and bury you alive."

"We almost died!" you announce, pointing a dramatic finger in his direction like you're presenting damning evidence. "Gun! Right to the face!"

Minho doesn't flinch. His expression doesn't even flicker. "Yeah, okay. What did we tell you about going to the convenience store at stupid o'clock?"

Felix grimaces, scratching the back of his neck like a guilty kid caught sneaking snacks. "Uh... don't?"

"Exactly," Minho snaps, his voice sharp as a whip. He gestures vaguely toward the bags and the bottles in Felix's hands. "And yet, here we are. Grounded. Both of you."

"Nooooo!" you and Felix groan in perfect unison, your voices overlapping like two toddlers being told to go to bed early.

"Wait, wait, wait!" you blurt, holding up a finger like you've just had the best idea ever. "Vodka! We got vodka for free! The cashier gave it to us!"

Felix nods enthusiastically and hoists one of the bags up as proof. "Yeah, we've got vodka, tequila, energy drinks, snacks—everything you could ever fucking want. We're heroes, Minho."

Minho's eyes narrow further, but there's the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Tequila?"

Felix gasps, looking genuinely insulted. "What do you take us for, fucking amateurs? Of course, we grabbed tequila."

For a moment, Minho stares down at you both, his silence heavy, his expression unreadable. Then his arms drop, and he lets out a low, resigned sigh before a sly grin creeps across his face. "No longer grounded," he declares, his voice light with amusement. "Let's get pissed."

"Minho!" Chan yells, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. He storms down the stairs, his face a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. "It's five in the fucking morning! They're already half-drunk! You're supposed to be the responsible one!"

Minho shrugs, stepping off the last stair with the calm, unshakable determination of a man who has long since stopped giving a fuck. "It's cocktail hour somewhere."

Felix throws his hands in the air like he's just scored the winning goal in overtime. "That's the fucking spirit! Come on, sweetheart," he says, grabbing your hand and dragging you toward the living room. "We've got three pseudo-dads, a liquor stash, and zero self-control. Let's make some fucking memories!"

Changbin, still leaning on the railing, shakes his head with a groan. "I'm not babysitting these drunk fucks," he mutters, gesturing vaguely toward you and Felix.

You, Felix, and Minho collapse onto the massive couch. Felix pulls you onto his lap without hesitation, his arms circling your waist in a loose, easy hold as you lean back against his chest. The bags of snacks and booze are scattered across the floor, casualties of your impromptu raid on the convenience store.

Minho lounges on the other side of the couch, unscrewing the cap of the tequila bottle with the kind of dramatic flourish that makes it clear he's ready to wreak havoc.

"Straight from the bottle," Minho declares, holding the tequila aloft like it's the fucking crown jewels. "Let's go, my child. Make Daddy proud."

You laugh, reaching for the bottle of vodka Felix just cracked open. "Honestly, Minho, you and Chan are the closest things I've ever had to father figures. You've been promoted."

Minho immediately slams his free hand over his chest, his face crumpling into a mask of mock emotion. "You are my child. I birthed you."

Felix chokes on his drink, shaking with laughter as his chin digs into your shoulder. "Birthed? Minho, what the actual fuck are you on about?"

"I did!" Minho insists, his voice rising in indignation as he takes a long swig from the tequila bottle. "Chan impregnated me, and I carried her for nine long, beautiful months. I sacrificed my body."

You nod solemnly, raising your vodka bottle in agreement. "That tracks. Explains the trauma."

Minho gives you a look of absolute reverence like you've just said something profound. "I will give you away at your wedding. You are my legacy. Always."

"Okay," Chan cuts in, his voice sharp and disbelieving as he hovers by the arm of the couch with his hands on his hips. "What the fuck is happening right now?"

Minho points at him with the tequila bottle, his expression stone-cold serious. "Our child is seeking validation, Christopher. As her other father, you should be supporting this."

"How many times have we had this conversation?" Chan demands, his tone flat but laced with exasperation. "You pull this shit every time you drink."

"Denial is a river in Egypt, my friend," Minho replies smoothly, taking another swig of tequila. "And it doesn't look good on you. Accept that you have a daughter."

"I mean, can I have, like, a trust fund or something? That'd be nice."

Chan's glare turns to you, his voice dripping with judgment. "I'm not giving you a trust fund. But, if we're doing this whole 'parent' thing, can we at least ban her from having boyfriends?"

Felix's arms tighten around your waist, his laughter cutting through the air as he jerks his head toward Chan. "Oi, what the fuck, Chan? You can't just ban her from dating!"

"Yeah, Chan," you add, your voice teasing as you twist in Felix's lap to face him. "What are you, the fucking dating police?"

Minho shakes his head, waving the tequila bottle in the air like a judge passing a decree. "It's fine. My daughter is a virgin anyway, right?"

You nod seriously, lifting your vodka bottle in toast. "Absolutely. Pure as snow. As virginal as Mary"

Felix lets out a snort so loud it's almost a honk, his lips pressed to your shoulder as he tries to suppress the full-on laugh threatening to escape. "Oh yeah," he says, his voice trembling with barely contained laughter. "Virgin. Totally. 100%."

Chan raises an eyebrow, his tone dry as a fucking desert. "Yeah, sure. Do you know how many times I've had to pick her up so she doesn't have to do the walk of shame?"

Minho gasps so dramatically you're surprised he doesn't pass out. "My baby! My sweet, innocent child! Grounded. For life."

"Still drinking vodka, though, right?" you ask, already taking another swig.

Minho waves a dismissive hand, sighing like a man resigned to his fate. "Yeah, fine. But get off that man's lap. Disgusting. My daughter will not date a man. It's unnatural. Foul."

Felix nearly spits out his drink, laughing so hard he doubles over, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You just raise an eyebrow at Minho, unimpressed. "You're gonna let me drink straight vodka at five in the fucking morning but not sit on my boyfriend's lap?"

"Correct," Minho says without hesitation. "I have standards."

Changbin, perched in the armchair across from the couch, has been quietly watching the entire exchange with wide-eyed amusement. Finally, he snorts, shaking his head. "You're all fucking insane."

Before anyone can respond, a loud, rapid thud thud thud comes from the stairs, and Jisung bounds into the living room like an overexcited puppy. His silver hair is a mess, his hoodie half hanging off one shoulder, and his eyes immediately lock onto the chaos on the floor.

"Ooh! You woke up Daddy One, Daddy Two, and Daddy Three. Naughty, naughty. Ooh, tequila! Vodka! Energy drinks! Gimme, Gimme, Gimme-"

Felix raises his vodka bottle like it's an offering to the gods. "A man after midnight!"

Jisung cackles, flopping onto the arm of the couch next to Minho and swiping the tequila. "So what's the occasion?"

"We almost got shot," Felix says casually, taking another swig of vodka.

"Cool, cool, cool," Jisung replies, nodding along. Then his eyes widen, his hand freezing mid-air. "Wait, WHAT?"

You and Felix burst into laughter so hard you're practically wheezing. Jisung stares at you both like you've grown a second head. "Shot? As in bang bang, bullet-in-the-head shot?"

"Yep," Felix says, popping the "p" as he grins at you. "Sweetheart and I were just chilling at the convenience store, and this guy walks in with a fucking gun."

"And we got the giggles," you add, waving your vodka bottle like it's a fucking magic wand.

Jisung turns to Chan, Changbin and Minho, his expression pleading for sanity. "Are they serious?"

Changbin pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering, "Oh, they're serious. They think almost dying is fucking hilarious."

"It was hilarious!" Felix insists, his grin widening. "The guy told us to get on the floor, and we just couldn't stop laughing."

"I hate both of you," Chan says flatly.

"And I love them," Minho announces, clinking his tequila bottle against your vodka. "Idiots, the lot of you, but you're my idiots."

Jisung, still processing, raises the tequila bottle. "Alright. To not dying, I guess."

"To not fucking dying!" Felix and you cheer, clinking bottles with him as the chaos spirals deeper into drunken absurdity.

Two hours later and the living room looks like a warzone. Empty bottles are scattered across the floor like casualties of a battle waged entirely with booze. Crushed chip bags and forgotten ramen cups lie abandoned among the chaos, the salty smell mingling with the faint tang of spilt tequila. 

You're sprawled on the couch with Jisung, the two of you draped over each other like a pair of drunk koalas clinging to the last branch of sanity.

Between you sits a half-empty bottle of vodka and a pot of ramen Chan reluctantly made because, as he so eloquently put it, "There's no fucking way I'm letting you absolute morons near a kettle."

Felix is next to you, his legs spread wide as he lounges back comfortably. He's working his way through a family-sized bag of Doritos with the lazy satisfaction of a man who knows he's witnessing peak entertainment.

Minho is perched precariously on the arm of the couch, swaying slightly as he holds a bottle of tequila. His hands gesture wildly as he launches into yet another drunken tirade, his words slurred but his enthusiasm unrelenting.

"You see," Minho begins, pointing dramatically between you and Felix, "Y/N is my child. Chan's child. Our love child. I birthed her myself. With pain. Like a hero."

You snort, nudging Jisung with your elbow. "See, Ji? I told you. Minho's my real dad."

Jisung clutches his chest with mock emotion, lifting the vodka bottle in a toast. "To Dad Minho, the strongest mother we know."

Minho beams like a drunk king accepting his coronation. "Exactly. And you, Jisung, you're the sad little bastard we found under a bridge and decided to keep out of the goodness of our hearts."

Jisung gasps, clutching at his hoodie dramatically. "You mean... I'm adopted?!"

"Of course you are," Minho replies, patting him on the head like a puppy. "But don't worry. We love you anyway"

Felix crunches loudly on a Dorito, raising an eyebrow at Minho. "Alright, then what the fuck does that make me?"

Minho's face twists into an exaggerated grimace, and he waves a dismissive hand in Felix's direction. "You? You're the boyfriend. The bad influence. We don't approve."

Felix gasps, pressing a hand to his heart like he's been mortally wounded. "Excuse me?! I am an amazing influence."

"Bullshit," Minho snaps, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You're corrupting my firstborn."

Felix turns to you, his eyes wide and filled with mock sincerity. "Sweetheart, am I corrupting you?"

You shrug, slurping a mouthful of ramen before replying, "If by 'corrupting' you mean ingraining the word cunt into my vocabulary, then yes."

"Traitor," Felix mutters, stuffing another Dorito into his mouth as Minho grins triumphantly.

Across the room, Chan and Changbin sit squished together on the loveseat, sipping coffee like two parents forced to watch their kids self-destruct in real time.

"I love them," Changbin says after a moment, his voice soft but full of incredulity. "But their brains need studying. Like, properly. By professionals."

Chan groans, rubbing a hand down his face. "At this rate, I'm going to need a fucking PhD just to figure out what goes on in their heads."

Before either of them can say more, footsteps echo from the stairs, and the rest of the frat stumbles into view. Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jeongin stop dead at the sight of the living room, their faces a mix of confusion and barely contained horror.

"What the fuck?" Hyunjin snaps, his long black hair falling into his face as he surveys the scene. "Why are you all awake at seven in the fucking morning?"

Chan points vaguely toward the couch, his voice flat. "Y/N and Felix almost got shot. Now they're doing... this." He waves his hand in a wide arc at the mess of people, booze, and crushed chips. "Minho decided to turn it into some Freudian family shit."

"Shot?" Jeongin asks, his eyes wide as he looks at you. "As in... bang bang, shot?"

"Yes!" you pipe up, raising your hand like a kid in class. "Gun! Bang bang! It was awesome."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Seungmin mutters, rubbing his temples. "What is wrong with you people?"

Minho, still perched like a drunk king on the arm of the couch, lights up at the sight of Jeongin. He spreads his arms wide, nearly toppling over as he grins. "Innie! My youngest! My pride and joy! Come here, baby boy."

Jeongin's face twists into a scowl, his voice flat. "I'm older than Y/N."

Minho waves him off. "Shush. You're my baby. Deal with it." He then swivels to Seungmin and points the tequila bottle at him. "And you, Seungminnie, you're the family dog."

Seungmin blinks, his face deadpan. "The what?"

Minho doesn't even pause. "And Hyunjin!" He turns his wild grin on the tall figure standing in the doorway. "Hyunjin is the obnoxious aunt. Definitely had plastic surgery but denies it."

"Excuse me?" Hyunjin's voice cracks. "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Just own it, darling," Minho says serenely, taking another swig of tequila. "Oh, and Hyunjin's married to Changbin."

Changbin nearly spits out his coffee, coughing. "What?!"

"You're married," Minho says, gesturing between them with the tequila bottle. "And you want to kill yourself because of it. Classic sitcom material." He claps his hands, grinning widely. "And that's our family!"

Chan groans, burying his face in his hands. "Why the fuck am I friends with any of you?"

"Because you love us," you chime in, poking your head up from Felix's shoulder with a grin.

"I fucking tolerate you," Chan fires back, glaring.

"That's basically love," Felix says, laughing as he pulls you closer into his lap. "Don't fight it."

Hyunjin throws his hands in the air. "I'm going back to bed. Good luck with... whatever this is."

"Coward!" Minho yells after him, raising his bottle like a battle cry.

Jeongin and Seungmin share a look of pure exhaustion before turning and trudging back toward the kitchen, muttering about the need for industrial-strength coffee. The door swings shut behind them, leaving the rest of you in the thick of the chaos.

"Still don't approve of you dating my firstborn," Minho mutters, pointing a finger at Felix.

"Still don't care," Felix replies with a grin, popping another Dorito into his mouth.

Minho groans dramatically, flopping back against the couch. "Why do my children hate me?"

"Because you're fucking insane," Changbin says dryly, his voice muffled by another sip of coffee.

"And yet," Minho says, raising his bottle for the umpteenth time, "you all love me."

"Unfortunately," Chan mutters, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, we do."

The clock ticks closer to 9 AM, and the booze has finally won the battle. The four of you are sprawled across the couch in varying stages of disarray. Minho's top is half off, Jisung's hoodie is somehow inside out, Felix's hair is sticking up at impossible angles, and you're pretty sure there's a chip stuck to your thigh. The room smells like tequila, vodka, ramen, and regret. A recipe for both a headache and a lecture from Chan later.

"Bed," Minho groans, dragging a hand down his face as he pushes himself off the couch. His steps are slow and heavy, like his body might give out at any second. "I'm fucking done with all of you."

"Noooo," Jisung whines, already crawling after him like a determined, overgrown toddler. "Your bed's huge, Minho! We're coming with you."

You and Felix exchange a glance and with zero hesitation, you stumble off the couch after them, your legs wobbly as Felix laces his fingers with yours and tugs you close. His hand is warm, steadying you as the four of you shuffle down the hallway like a drunken parade.

Minho's room, as expected, is pure chaos disguised as order. The space is spotless, the faint scent of cedarwood lingering in the air, but the bed is unnecessarily massive, a king-sized monstrosity with pristine white sheets and an unreasonable number of pillows. Jisung faceplants into it immediately, sprawling out like a starfish as Minho looms over him.

"Move, you little shit," Minho mutters, shoving Jisung's leg with his foot. "You're not hogging the whole fucking thing."

Jisung groans but shifts over just enough to make room for Minho, who flops down beside him with a dramatic sigh. You and Felix follow, collapsing onto the bed like marionettes with cut strings. Felix lands on his back, pulling you down beside him, his arm slipping around your waist as you curl into his side.

"Holy fuck," you mumble, pressing your face against Felix's chest. "This bed feels illegal. It's too soft."

"Minho's bed has diplomatic immunity," Felix replies, his voice laced with a teasing slur. He nuzzles into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. "It's like sleeping on a goddamn cloud."

Minho grumbles something unintelligible, half-buried in a pillow. Jisung lets out a contented hum, his arm flopping lazily across Minho's stomach as his eyes flutter shut.

The room settles into a hazy quiet, the only sounds the occasional rustle of fabric and the soft rhythm of breathing. The morning light streams through the curtains, painting the room in a muted gold.

Jisung and Minho are the first to drift off, their bodies going slack as exhaustion finally wins. You're tucked snugly against Felix, your head rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"Sweetheart," Felix murmurs, his voice low and thick with exhaustion. "You awake?"

"Mmhm," you reply, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes are heavy-lidded, but there's a familiar warmth in them, his lips quirking into a lazy grin.

"Good," he whispers, his hand slipping up to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. "Because I've been wanting to do this all night."

Before you can ask what he means, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that's as messy and uncoordinated as it is perfect. The taste of vodka lingers between you, sharp and heady, but you don't care. His lips are soft, warm, and slightly chapped, and his fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls you closer.

You kiss him back, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him as the world narrows to just the two of you. The kiss is desperate and imperfect, all teeth and alcohol-fueled fervour, but it feels right. Time blurs as his lips move against yours, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your waist.

The moment is broken by a sharp, muffled grumble from beside you. Suddenly, a pillow smashes into Felix's face with enough force to make him jerk back in surprise. You both turn to see Minho glaring at you, his expression a mix of grumpy and murderous as he wields another pillow like a weapon.

"Absolutely fucking not," Minho snaps, shoving Felix with one hand and using the other to wedge himself between you. "Not in my bed. I will not be subjected to this bullshit."

"Minho!" you protest, groaning as you roll onto your back. "We weren't even doing anything."

"Bullshit," he fires back, scowling as he claims the space between you and Felix like a petty landlord. "You can only have sex in my bed if I'm involved. House rules."

"Sweetheart," Felix says, his voice half-laugh, half-exasperation as he props himself up on his elbow. "Your pseudo-dad's cockblocking me."

You burst out laughing, turning away from Felix and burying your face in Jisung's chest to stifle the sound. Jisung stirs slightly, blinking up at you with a sleepy smile as he instinctively wraps his arms around you.

"Hey," he mumbles, his voice thick with drowsiness. "You comfy?"

"Comfy," you reply, snuggling closer to him. His chest is warm, his heartbeat a slow, steady rhythm against your cheek.

Felix, now fully displaced, groans as he flops onto his back on the other side of Minho. "Fine," he mutters, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Guess I'll just cuddle you instead, Minho."

"Don't fucking touch me," Minho snaps, though he doesn't push Felix away when the blonde drapes an arm across him with a shit-eating grin.

"You smell like tequila and bad decisions," Felix quips, his voice full of amusement.

"And you smell like vodka and desperation," Minho shoots back, though there's no real venom in his tone. "Perfect match."

Across the bed, Jisung hums softly, already half-asleep again, his arms tightening around you. The room falls into a peaceful quiet, the warmth of shared bodies and the morning sunlight creating a cocoon of comfort. Minho grumbles one last time about "fucking kids" before burying his face in a pillow and letting sleep take him.

Felix shifts slightly, resting his chin on Minho's shoulder as he murmurs, "Goodnight, sweetheart."

You smile, your eyes drifting closed as you reply softly, "Goodnight, Lix."

And finally, the chaos fades, replaced by the gentle cadence of steady breathing and the warmth of four idiots crammed into one bed. It's messy, unconventional, and absolutely fucking perfectly imperfect. 

[fishing-lesbian-catgirl]

So I have chronic nosebleed problem…

(spoiling bc it’s really gross to even talk about and most people don’t like talking about blood) (no pictures or anything like that though just text) (only typing this because it was a weird fucking experience and I need to tell someone or I’m going to go insane) (⚠️‼️I warned you‼️⚠️)

And today I got the worst nosebleed probably in my entire life since I started getting them like 14 years ago. The blood was dripping really fucking fast to the point that there was almost no space in between each drop. I’m not on blood thinners or anything but for a bit there I was worried that it might never end. After a few minutes of this, letting it drip into the sink, morbid curiosity got the best of me. I plugged the bottom of the sink and let the blood pile up at the bottom without running water or anything, I wanted to get a visual for just how much blood I was losing.

My nose kept bleeding for over an hour, and it only started slowing down in the last 20 minutes or so. The entire bottom of the sink was a pool of blood deep enough that I could submerge my hand in it (my hands already had blood on em and I was going to clean everything and then wash em anyway, so I had to at least see how deep it was. Yes that is a weird and gross thing to do, but I was bored after sitting there letting my nose drip into a sink for over an hour, don’t judge me).

(Even more disgusting text below warning)‼️

And because blood isn’t really just a liquid it was a really weird texture, kind of like pudding that congeals and has that mass on the top when it cools, it was like a semisolid mass submerged in water. I could grab the mass and squish it through my fingers. It was so fucking weird idk if I’ve ever seen a liquid or semi-liquid with textures and properties like that. It was kind of cool, in a weird nasty way. I realized that’s probably not a thing most people get to or have to experience. The blood was kind of cold at that point, nearing room temperature.

It was really interesting getting to see just how much blood I lost from a nosebleed that bad. Normally I’m constantly trying to plug the bleeding, clean the sink, or fill the sink with a pool of water to drip into so it doesn’t make as much of a mess, or am in the shower, so even if I spend an hour bleeding into a sink I have no clue how much I’ve actually lost. I’ve heard people say that if you feel dizzy or weak after a nosebleed (or when they draw a small vial of blood for a blood test) that it’s mostly placebo making you feel that way, not the small loss of blood. But that was soooo much more than a vial for a blood test. I feel physically weak and woozy. I’m really dehydrated too. It’s neat to know it’s not just a placebo I was right all along.

[saltedsolenoid]

❓️

GIRL WHO IS SO

[deoidesign]

Thinks about my next series again... I drew the icon for it!

I'm planning to have it launched within a year! I'm hoping for summer 2025. I want to make a prelaunch page before Time and Time Again ends so people can subscribe if they're interested, but I'm worried the series return would be too early...

[hplonesomeart]

Hey. Sorry about the inactivity, but pretty sure no one cared that much anyways lol. Been a looooong time since I kept that distant from Tumblr…at least now I know I’m able to survive without checking posts every day/being chronically online! I’ve got an intense love-hate relationship with this lifestyle I’ve dug myself into. Think I’m getting a little bit better with the balance even if school isn’t really giving me an option. Got a load of work I need to keep catching up on if I don’t want to disappoint my professors. We’ll survive somehow. Here take a quick batch of Puzzle doodles k bye

[eristhenat]

「気息奄々」

[spaceratprodigy]

✨🤠 It's Teddy and Zinnie Besties Hours!! 🐮✨

@oldworldwidgets — felt like we deserved something quick and silly today <3

Commission Info | Ko-Fi | My Links

[riiviir]

hey guys so I just started reading Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott and OMG AHSBNSBSBSNSNBSHZHSHDBFHGGHFHGRJ2KSHSBSNSK AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE THINKING ABOUT THE RELATIVITY BETWEEN DIMENSIONS!!!!!!

[artsy-1diot]

why does inspiration feel like being mentally hit by a brick but like in a good way

[cringefailfagcat]

I love it /s when attachment issues are like. no you don't get to be normal and happy about this.

[tetradic-echinoidea]

Allow me to expand upon this a little bit to share my thoughts:

In this party, there are thousands and thousands of people, most of them you don't know. There's also thousands of people who have brought cakes, and every single one of them will feel dejected if no one tries their cake, or if they don't get enough positive commentary from amongst the chaos of the sea of strangers wandering around, seeing what kind of cake is being offered or even themselves carrying their own cakes.

This, inherently, is not the best situation to base your worth as a baker on, or to let determine whether or not you want to keep baking cake in the future.

(Disclaimer: I'm a professional artist who has been posting art on various forums and platforms for 18 years.)

This issue is very multifaceted - there's the current social media digital infrastructure not fascilitating art or writing well. There's the lightning fast 21st century current of constant 'content' going past people every day at all hours. There's people shouting into 'the void' and wondering, why no one is answering amongst the deafening noise of all that.

It's unfortunate, especially when you see others (most of the time people who have spent years and years cultivating their craft and an audience) get the kind of engagement you want, and you're just not getting it yourself. As much as artists aren't content machines, followers and social media users aren't constant engagement machines either. Sometimes a piece, no matter how deep the meaning behind it just doesn't manage to convey it's message to the audience it's reaching. Not all art speaks to all people. To get your audience to engage with you, the art needs to engage them first. And to achieve this consistently, you need to know what kind of audience you are presenting your work to.

Bare with me for a second here: there's this concept in dog training (that I've started to use in my mental health recovery as well, highly recommend) that in order to consistently succeed you need to set the dog up for success first by putting it in situations you know it can succeed in - that is to say, if you put it in a situation that's too difficult for the dog, it will fail. You should avoid that. How does this relate to art or the topic above you might ask? Well, especially beginner artists putting their work out on social media and expecting a certain amount or type of engagement are already setting themselves up for a failure. Like I said above it's a huge gamble, where you are fighting against all other content online for attention - it is not a fight you are likely to win.

In order to set yourself up for success, you need to ask yourself what you are actually looking for when you share your work. Think about where it is realistic to get what you want, whether that be in a smaller community or platform, or a friendgroup, or with other loved ones. Find those niche communities that like that thing exactly the same way you like it, engage with them, and they will engage with you. If you have trouble getting comments in a group setting, ask people individually. Reach out to artists and ask if they would like to give a quick comment about your art - some, like me, are happy to offer commentary and feedback!

Building an audience takes a lot, a LOT of time and patience, and willingness to withstand those times where something that spoke to you just doesn't speak to others, or it's not reaching the people it would speak to. Instead of sitting still and waiting for engagement to come to you, set yourself up for success and go to the engagement. Ask people if they'd like to try your cake, or what they thought of it. Engage with other bakers and share thoughts and tips about it.

You arrived to the party, now go offer people some cake.

“Your art isn’t valued by the number of notes you get” okay but. If you spent 6 hours baking a cake for a party, but no one at the party eats your cake, it’s still disappointing.

[tonytonychopprano]

much venting lately

[unanottexxx]

i was drawing while looking completely normal; hunched, bended towards table and had a calm, focused expression on my face. but inside, i was losing my mind. i was pulling a whole ass yotaro "im actually scared of drawing" panel. but i looked normal. it's so weird to me that i can lose my mind while sitting there and doing something i don't even have to. i was lying in my bed carefree and i chose to lose my freaking mind and be scared over some pen and paper. casually, of course. i lost my mind so casually even i was amazed by it.

[crushmeeren]

just imagine taunting touya or katsuki while having sex… asking if he can handle you… telling him he can’t make you cum

i am losing my mind 😭 i love ur works!

friend, this is…. diabolical. I LOVE IT. [and thank you.] /ᐠ. .ᐟ\ฅ

༝ ᭝ ༝ brief warning for some degradation used by touya. ༝ ᭝ ༝

master list link. ༝ ᭝ ༝ @pixelcafe-network

༝ ᭝ ༝ katsuki ༝ ᭝ ༝

This is something I can see very clearly happening when you first start having sex with Katsuki.

It’s the third or fourth time. The burn in your thighs worsens the longer you bounce on Katsuki’s cock, and sweat beads in the valley between your tits, trailing down your sternum.

Surprisingly enough, it didn’t become like pulling teeth to convince him to hand over the reigns.

Now, you brace your hands on his firm, flushed chest, supporting your weight, and roll your hips back and forth in his lap. The tip of his cock presses firmly against your g-spot, and you’re rewarded with hot sparks of pleasure bursting in your pelvis with each slow circle of your hips.

Katsuki’s fingers dig desperately into your waist, nails pinching your skin, and his breath catches when your pussy squeezes him. His lids flutter briefly and a low moan spills from his lips.

You grind slowly, studying the open and fucked out expression on his face. Then you grin.

“You sure you can handle me Katsuki?” You tease, a sweet heat curling up your spine when you deliberately push your hips back even harder.

Katsuki scowls, the pink blush on his cheeks turning scarlet. “Fuck you. I can handle you just fine.” He jerks his hips upwards to emphasize his point, cock sinking in even further.

Your small, delighted gasp dances in the air, pussy clenching on its own accord. “Pretty sure I’m fucking you. You already look like you’re about to cum. What, a big bad hero like you not gonna be able to make me cum this time?” With a smug smile you lean in close, nails biting into his pecs as you whisper. “I thought you were supposed to be number one at everything, Dynamight.”

Katsuki’s eyebrow twitches, jaw clenching tight as he grinds his teeth to dust.

“You think I can’t make that fuckin’ pussy cum, princess?” He asks hotly, grabbing a handful of your ass. The sharp sting of pain makes your pulse thunder in anticipation, the heat in your belly rising a few notches. “You’re gonna scream my name. Better yet, I’ll make you cry out for “Dynamight”, but he won’t save you.” A wolfish grin curls the corners of his mouth.

Your lips part in surprise as he shoves you off his lap, soft blankets cushioning your fall. He manhandles you like a rag doll onto your belly, yanking your hips into the air, looming over your back to shove your face into the sheets with hand to the base of your skull.

“Katsuki!” Your cry gets muffled by the sheets, a calloused palm raining down on your ass so harshly you’re certain his handprint will remain as evidence. He laughs meanly, readjusting his hips and pushes the slick tip of his cock to your pussy.

He clicks his tongue behind teeth in disapproval. “That’s not the right name, princess.” His voice is strained as he slides back inside you, bottoming out with a harsh smack of his hips against your ass. He plants one hand by your head and tangles his fingers through your hair with the other, yanking your head off the mattress. “Go on, cry out for Dynamight,” he murmurs in your ear, warm breath tickling your skin.

Katsuki draws his hips back, cock slipping out halfway, before brutally snapping them forward and filling you entirely.

“Dynamight!” You wail, the next breath becoming a choked off gasp.

His chest rumbles with a moan. “That’s what I was lookin’ for, such a good girl.”

By the end of it, you’re a jelly limbed pile of mush in his bed, voice scratchy from overuse. You’re never going to let him live down the fact that’s it’s so damn easy to get under his skin.

༝ ᭝ ༝ touya ༝ ᭝ ༝

Pushing your boyfriend to his limit usually results in being burned.

It’s not a secret that Touya is terrible at keeping his cool, hotheaded temper rising to the surface whenever you take it a step too far. But, to you, the ends justify the means. Especially when it comes to sex.

“Hell yes, fuck yourself back on my cock just like that baby. So goddamn hot,” Touya says through his teeth, one scarred hand resting on your tailbone to guide your movement. Your fingers fist the pillow supporting your head, cheeks blistering with heat as you work his cock in and out of your pussy. The hot, slick friction is amazing, but not enough.

You pant softly, frustration welling in your belly. “Yeah? It’d be even hotter if you put in any effort to make me cum,” you say with bite. Touya stiffens behind you, fingers suddenly grasping your hips with intent to bruise. He yanks you backwards, forcing a yelp out of you when the tip of his cock is shoved up against your cervix. You squirm with discomfort, but you can’t move an inch.

“The fuck did you just say?” His voice is coated in ice.

Yet, you keep digging your own grave. “You heard me.” You glare at him over your shoulder before turning back. “Seems like you can’t handle me,” you say arrogantly, resting your flushed cheek on the cool fabric of your pillow.

For a second, you think you may have stunned him. Then, the skin on your hips seems to start sizzling under his palms. It’s bright and searing, stealing your breath for a moment, and then you’re flipped onto your back within the next second.

Touya bullies his cock back inside you without another word, hand molding to the bottom of your jaw to keep your mouth shut. The look in his eyes is wild, a cruel grin on his lips when he leans in close until he’s a centimeter away from you. Your pulse thunders, kickstarting a rush of adrenaline.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are talking to me like that, sweetheart. But you’re lucky as hell I want to be inside your tight little pussy so badly.” He starts to shallowly rock his hips. “Otherwise I’d leave you alone and go jerk myself off.”

Your eyes dart across Touya’s face, his blue eyes bright with something like mania. Sick satisfaction curls in your chest, and you manage to keep yourself from smiling. He’s playing right into your hands, just like every other time.

Touya releases your jaw, hooking his hands under the backs of your knees and pushes until they sink into the mattress, folding you like a blanket. The angle makes it feel like his cock’s inside your stomach and you gasp, clutching at scarred wrists.

“Right there Touya, please!” You plead, back arching when he rewards you with a heavy thrust. Touya rolls his eyes, but he bends to your whim and picks up his pace. He smirks like he’s the one in control, lids lowering as his gaze stays glued to where he disappears inside you.

“My little whore,” he coos. “You’re not gettin’ any relief until you fuckin’ squirt for me, do you understand?” There’s no room for argument in his voice, and you nod, goosebumps littering your arms.

You’ll taunt him again and again and fucking again, if only to drive him up the wall and coax him into rearranging your guts.

[plutonianeris]

the late night thoughts…(their pov 18+) 🖤⛓️

pick a pile to read more about their late night thoughts about you (could be a past or future lover).

PILE ONE

You’re under my skin, deeper than I ever wanted anyone to be. I think about the way you touch me, the way your hands roam over me like you’re memorizing every inch of my body. I feel almost embarrassed about the way you had me groaning with my hands sinking into your skin as you bounced up and down. I close my eyes, and I can almost feel it—the heat of your skin, the weight of your body pressed against mine. God, I miss you. It’s terrifying, this need I have for you. I’ve never felt so out of control, so consumed by someone else. But with you, it’s different. You make me feel things I didn’t even know were possible. Every time you touch me, it’s like fire coursing through my veins, igniting something primal inside me. I tell myself I shouldn’t feel this way, that it’s dangerous to want someone this much. But every time I’m with you, the rest of the world fades away. You’re all I see, all I need. I want to lose myself in you, in the way you make me feel like I’m the only thing that matters. Even now, in the silence of the night, I’m aching for you. For your hands, your lips, your everything.And I know—no matter how hard I try to fight it—you own me. Heart, body, soul.

PILE TWO

The clock says it’s late, but sleep won’t come. Not when every thought I have is wrapped up in you. I’ve never felt this kind of pull before, this magnetic force drawing me to you, even when you’re not here. It’s maddening, really—how I can’t seem to think of anything else but your touch, your kiss, the way you make me feel like I’m losing control. You’ve awakened something in me. Something dark, something I didn’t even know I was capable of. And I want more of it. More of you.When we’re together, it’s like the air crackles with electricity. Every look, every word between us is charged, like the tension is about to snap. And when it does... God, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. You undo me, completely. It’s like you see right through me, to the core of who I am, and instead of running away, you want more. I can’t get you out of my head. I can’t get the way you make me feel out of my system. The way your hands grip my body like you can’t get enough. The way you kiss me like you’re starving for it, like I’m the only thing that can satisfy you. I should be scared of how much I want you. But I’m not. Because with you, I’m more alive than I’ve ever been. I dont want that to scare you. I just want to make you happy. I want to make you feel so good. Those little faces you make I want to see them while you’re under me, eyebrows scrunched, clawing at me and begging to give you exactly what I’ve been dying to give you.

PILE THREE

I think about your hands—how they know exactly where to touch, how they ignite a fire inside me with just a single brush against my skin. The memory of your lips on mine still lingers, and I bite my lip, trying to stop the rush of heat that spreads through me at the thought. There’s something about you. Something I can’t resist, even though I know I should. You push me, challenge me, make me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. You’ve become a part of me, and I don’t know if I can ever go back to the way things were before you. I hate how much I need you. I hate that you’re always in my head, even when I try to push you away. How you always have the perfect response and always know what just to say. But more than anything, I hate that I can’t stop wanting you. How every time you roll your eyes and grin at something stupid I say I imagine your eyes rolling back with your face pressed in the mattress, your hands reaching forward, whimpering that its too much and me pulling you by the waist even closer mumbling how you’re doing so good, that its yours, and that your mine so you’re going to be a good girl and take it all…